“Better tell me the whole thing. And why not sit down instead of wandering like something in a zoo?”
He himself was sitting on a corner of Miss Carthew’s table. Margaret came to a standstill beside him. She leaned on the back of one of the chairs.
“I won’t sit-I don’t feel like it. Look here, this is what she told me.”
She unfolded Margot’s tale in Margot’s own ingenuous words and without comment, but she kept her eyes on Charles. Charles, for his part, listened impassively. She made nothing of his expression.
“Of course, she’s a first-class little fool, but I don’t think she’s capable of inventing all this. What do you think? And does it occur to you that she may be somebody who will be looked for?”
“What do you mean by that, Margaret?” said Charles.
“Just that.”
There was a pause. Charles looked at her, dived into a pocket, and produced a copy of the Evening Gossip. He unfolded it with a certain slow deliberation and held it out. Margaret saw the large headlines and caught the paper from his hand:
MISSING HEIRESS
INTERVIEW WITH MR. EGBERT STANDING
STRANGE STORY
She turned to get the light on the paper, and Charles got off the table and read over her shoulder:
“Has Miss Standing disappeared? When our representative asked Mr. Egbert Standing this question, he replied to it in the negative. ‘My cousin,’ he said, ‘has suffered terribly from the shock of her father’s death, and from the uncertainty of her own position. It is by no means certain that she will inherit Mr. Standing’s fortune. My uncle left no will, and up to the present no legal proof of his marriage has come to light. In these circumstances my cousin decided to leave London. We are not in any anxiety on her account. We desire no publicity.’ ”
There was a good deal more of this sort of thing. There was an interview with the butler, who said that Miss Standing left the house at half past six on the previous evening; she took a taxi to Waterloo and she had with her a large brown trunk, the same she always took to school.
“Well,” said Charles, “What about it?”
“Oh, she’s Margot Standing. I guessed that as soon as she began to talk about her cousin Egbert and her father’s collection of pictures. I’m sure she’s Margot Standing-it’s her story I’m not sure about. What do you make of it? It’s pretty unbelievable-isn’t it? I don’t mean the Percy Smith part-that’s just the sort of trap a little fool of a schoolgirl would walk into. I don’t mean that; I mean all that part about her cousin and the other man planning to remove her. What do you make of that?”
Charles was making a good deal of it. He was remembering his mother’s sitting-room, and the man who had said,
“Margot,” and then, “The girl may have to be removed. A street accident would be the safest way.” And he was remembering that Margaret-Margaret-had talked with this man, that Margaret had been there. He wondered bitterly whether Margot Standing had not jumped out of the frying-pan into the fire.
“Charles! Do say something! Do you think there’s anything to it?”
“Do you?”
“Yes, I do.” The words burst out. “There’s something. She’s a little fool; but she’s not mad, and she’s not lying. What does it mean?”
Charles was standing very close to her. He had been looking over her shoulder at the paper. Then as they talked, she moved to face him. Now he touched her on the arm, a quick, insistent touch.
“Don’t you know what it means?”
“No-how can I?”
“You don’t know what it means?”
His tone startled her. “Charles-what-why should you say that?”
“Don’t you know?”
She drew back, paler. Something in her eyes-distress, anger-he wasn’t sure.
“Charles, what are you saying? What do you mean?”
Charles put a hand on her shoulder.
“Will you tell me that you’d never heard of Margot Standing before?”
“Of course I’ve heard of her. The papers-”
“That isn’t what I mean. Will you tell me that you’d never heard of her from another source?”
“I don’t know what you mean.” Her eyes were angry.
“Don’t you? Then will you tell me what you were doing on the night of the third of October?”
“The third?” said Margaret. “The third?” Her voice changed suddenly as she repeated the word; she was puzzled, and then she was frightened-sharply, unexpectedly frightened.
Charles felt all the muscles of her shoulder stiffen under his hand. He kept it there, holding her.
“Will you tell me what you were doing in my house that night?”
Margaret looked at him. Her eyes were dark and fierce.
“Well, Margaret?” he said; and then, quickly, “Don’t lie! I saw you.”
A wave of colour rushed to her face. She wrenched her shoulder free and flung away from him.
“How dare you say a thing like that? When did I ever lie to you?”
“When you said you loved me,” said Charles, and saw the colour ebb away and leave her fainting white.
She kept her eyes on his. They said, “I’ll never forgive you.” Then she turned from him and went to the window. With her back to him, she said in a low, hard voice,
“You saw me?”
“I saw you. And I heard-things.”
“What did you hear?”
“I heard-no, I won’t tell you what I heard. It’s no good carrying coals to Newcastle.”
She turned at that.
“What do you mean?”
“That you know it already, I heard enough to make me believe Margot Standing’s story.”
“Tell me what you heard.”
“Tell me what you were doing there.”
“I can’t.”
“Tell me whom you were meeting.”
“I can’t.”
“Margaret, for heaven’s sake! What sort of mess is this you’ve got into? Can’t you tell me about it? Can’t you trust me?”
“I-can’t!”
His manner changed. He said lightly,
“Then I’m afraid I can’t tell you what I heard.”
There was silence. Margaret stood looking at him. Her expression changed rapidly. He thought she was going to speak; but instead she pressed her hand over her eyes. The gesture shut him out, and shut her in. He wondered what company she had in the darkness which she was making for herself.
She dropped her hands at last. Her face was composed, too much controlled to tell him anything. When she spoke, her voice was quiet and a little tired. She said,
“Charles, what are we to do with her?”
The “we” was unexpected; it startled him.
“She doesn’t want to go back-she’s afraid to go back.”
“I think she has reason to be afraid,” said Charles.
“You do think so?”
“Don’t you?”
Margaret grew very much paler.
“Charles-” she said. Then she stopped.
Charles looked at her. His look did not help her. It was hard and steady.
“Charles-” she said again.
“What are you trying to say?”
“Charles, you asked me-what I know-I don’t-know- anything-”
“You mean you don’t know anything that you can tell me?”
“No, I don’t mean that. There’s something-I can’t tell you. But it’s not about Margot. I don’t know anything about Margot.” She paused; and all at once fire and colour came back. “Do you think I’d hurt her?”
Charles did not think anything of the sort. No evidence, not even his own, could make him think Margaret capable of hurting any girl. Every instinct, every memory rose up in her defense. He said soberly,
“No, I don’t think you’d hurt her. There might-be others.”
That struck her. She winced away from it.
“She can’t go back,” said Charles. “Can she stay here-safely?”
“Why do you say that?”
“You know. Is she safe here? Is she safe with you?”