“What! said Gay. And then, ”But you’ll have to tell Francis. He’s the only person who can help you to pay five hundred pounds.“ Sylvia shook her head.
“Oh, no, he isn’t-that’s just it.”
Long practice enabled Gay to snatch the meaning from this remark.
“You mean someone else gave you the money, and that’s why you can’t tell Francis?”
“Only half,” said Sylvia, accepting this interpretation.
“This blue pencil creature?”
“I don’t know.”
Gay stamped her foot.
“You don’t know who gave you the money?”
“No, darling.”
A kind of furious calm possessed Gay.
“Sylvia, if you don’t tell me the whole thing right away, I’m off. No, don’t bleat-begin at the beginning and go right on to the end. You lost five hundred pounds at baccarat. Now begin there, and get a move on!”
The line came again on Sylvia’s forehead.
“Someone rang me up-”
“When?”
“Last week-end-last Saturday-because we were going down to stay with the Wessex-Gardners. At least, I was going, and Francis was going to come if he could, and he did, only rather late for dinner-we were half way through the fish.”
Gay broke in.
“Sylly, for goodness’ sake-”
Sylvia stared in surprise.
“So I know it was Saturday. And the bell rang whilst I was dressing. I was all ready except for my fur coat, so I expect it was about five o’clock.”
“Good girl! Go on-keep on going on! Someone rang you up-”
“Yes. They said-”
“Who said?”
“Well, it was a man-and he said would I like to earn two hundred pounds.”
“Earn two hundred pounds?”
“That’s what he said. And I said of course, so then he told me how.”
A feeling of the blackest dismay came seeping into Gay’s mind. It was like ink seeping into blotting-paper. What on earth had Sylvia done? She said,
“What did he tell you?”
“How to do it,” said Sylvia. “It was quite easy really.”
“What did you do?” said Gay. Her mind felt perfectly blank.
Sylvia was looking quite pleased.
“I just waited till he’d gone along to his bath. Of course he’d left his keys on the dressing-table-men always do-and the paper was in his despatch-box, just like the man said it would be, so I got it quite easily.”
“Sylvia-what are you talking about? Francis-you took a paper out of Francis’ despatch-box?”
“Oh, no,” said Sylvia in a tone of surprise-“not Francis.”
Gay wouldn’t have believed that she could feel worse, but she did.
“You stole a paper from someone else. If it wasn’t Francis, who was it?”
“The Home Secretary man-at least, I think that’s what he is. He’s quite nice looking, but he’s got such an ugly name-Biffington-Buffington-Billington-one of those names, you know.”
“I suppose you mean Mr. Lushington?”
Sylvia brightened.
“Darling, you’re so clever about names. Yes, Lushington. And his wife’s sister is married to Binks.”
“Binks?”
“Binks Wessex-Gardner-he is Buffo’s brother. They were all staying with the Wessex-Gardners, and so were we. Darling, they’ve got the most lovely place. And you never saw anything like her clothes-too too of course, but dreams. She had an evening dress all white and gold patent leather-”
“What was this paper you stole?” said Gay.
Sylvia winced.
“Oh, that’s a horrid word!”
“It’s a horrid thing. What paper was it?”
Sylvia stared.
“I haven’t the least idea.”
“What did it look like? You must know that.”
“Oh, yes, he told me. He said it would be a sort of list on a piece of paper-what do they call that big sort of paper?”
Gay’s eyes danced for a moment.
“Do you mean foolscap?”
“Yes, that’s it! And there wasn’t any printing on it-just a lot of writing and a list of names-in one of those long envelopes. And he said I was to take the envelope just as it was, after I’d looked inside to see if it was the right one, and he said I was to put a plain envelope there instead.”
Gay gave a horrified gasp.
“Sylvia!”
“I did it very well,” said Sylvia with innocent pride.
“You put a plain envelope there instead?”
Sylvia nodded.
“Yes, he told me to-he said to take one off Francis’ table, and he told me what size, and he said to put some paper inside it to make it look all right, and I did.”
“Sylvia-you said you had to look inside the envelope you took to make sure it was the right one?”
“Yes, and I did. I was ever so quick.”
“What were you to look for?”
Sylvia’s white brow wrinkled.
“I keep forgetting the word-such a funny one-something to do with shoes-”
Gay said sharply, “Nonsense, Sylly!”
“Oh, but it was-not English ones-those French wooden things-”
“Sabots?”
Sylvia’s brow relaxed.
“Yes, that was it-that’s what I had to look for. He said it would be there, right on top, and it was-sabotage.”
“What did you do with it?” said Gay in a tired voice.
“I did exactly what he said. I didn’t make any mistakes. I put the envelope in my bag. And after dinner we were in the winter garden and they were playing cards, and what I was to do was to walk down the drive and keep close to the bushes on the left, so I did. I had a fur wrap of course, and when I got about half way down someone flashed a light on me and I stopped, and I said, ‘Who is it?’ like he told me to, so as to be quite sure of not making a mistake and giving it to the wrong person. And he said, ‘Mr. Zero,’ like he said he would, so then I gave him the envelope.”
“Did you see him?”
Sylvia shook her head.
“Oh, no-it was dark. Besides, he didn’t come out of the bushes. He just put out a hand and took the envelope. And then he gave me another with the money in it, and I ran back as fast as I could.”
Gay still had the two pieces of newspaper in her left hand. She looked at them now, her mind quite dark, quite helpless. “Same time-same place-same money-” She read the words aloud.
“What does it mean?” she said.
“It means he wants some more papers,” said Sylvia.
IV
Gay went to the window, wrestled with it, opened it, and stuck her head out into the foggy, frosty air. Sylvia was exactly like a jelly, a beautiful, bright, quivering jelly with plenty of sweet whipped cream round it. If you had to talk to her for any length of time, you began to feel as if you were sinking into the jelly and smothering there. The warm room, Marcia’s fripperies, Sylvia’s violet scent, and all that rose colour were suddenly too much for her. The carpet had begun to wave up and down in a horrid pink mist. She much preferred the January fog outside with the lights shining through it like orange moons, and the hard smell of soot and frost. It was cold though. Her head steadied and she drew back with a shiver, but she left an open handsbreath to keep the carpet steady.
Sylvia was doing her mouth with a pale pink lipstick. She gazed earnestly at her own reflection in the little platinum-backed mirror which belonged to the bag, and said in a plaintive voice,
“Darling-such a draught!”
“You made my head go round,” said Gay. “You’d make anyone’s head go round. Now, Sylvia, put all that rubbish away and listen!”
“Rubbish?” said Sylvia. She turned the mirror to show the diamond S on the back. “Why, it cost masses of money.”
Gay pounced, removed the lipstick and mirror, put them into the grey suede bag, and shut it with a snap.