Sylvia looked surprised.
“Oh, no, darling, that was in London, but we were just going down to Cole Lester, and he said to wait till it was dark and then go and walk in the yew alley. It’s very old, you know, hundreds and hundreds of years, and it meets overhead, so that it’s like being in a tunnel. I didn’t like it very much, but I thought I’d better go, and when I got to the end he said, ‘Is that you?’ And I said, ‘Yes, and please be quick,’ because that sort of place always has spiders and earwigs in it, and he hurried up and told me how to get the paper.”
“He was in the alley?”
“Oh, no, darling-outside. I was the one who was in the alley. He was outside. There’s a sort of window, and we talked through it, all whispery. I didn’t like it a bit, and Francis might have thought the most dreadful things, so when he wanted me to go again I wouldn’t. And now he says he’ll tell Francis I took the paper, and if he does, Francis will know about the five hundred pounds, and I don’t know what he’ll say.”
Gay tried to keep her head.
“You say this person wants another paper. How do you know he does?”
Sylvia’s eyes widened.
“Darling, he told me.”
Gay put a hand on her shoulder-a firm and angry little hand.
“Sylly, I shall shake you in about half a minute. How many times have you talked to this man?”
Sylvia began to count on her fingers.
“There was the time he rang up-that was the first time. And there was the time I’ve been telling you about at Cole Lester, and the time I was just starting for Wellings. And then I took the paper, and gave it to him, and he gave me the money-I don’t know if you count that.”
“Count everything,” said Gay. “That’s four. Now what is five?”
“I suppose it was when he rang me up again.”
“He rang you up again? Where?”
“In Bruton Street. And he said he wanted me to do something else, and I said I couldn’t, and I thought I heard Francis coming, so I rang off. And he rang up next day, and the minute I heard his voice I hung up, and he went on ringing for ages, and I just let him. And then I got a big cut out of a paper, and it just said, ‘Two hundred and fifty pounds reward.’ And next day this bit of paper-” she touched the torn piece on her knee-“and today there was the other one to say he was going to tell Francis, and if he does, I shall die.”
Gay took her hand away, walked to the window, stared blankly at the fog, and came back again.
“You’ll have to tell Francis,” she said.
Sylvia’s colour failed suddenly and completely.
“He’ll kill me,” she said in a frightened whisper.
“Nonsense, Sylly!”
“He said he would.”
“Francis said he’d kill you?”
Sylvia’s eyes were terrified.
“No, no-the man-he said he’d kill me if I told Francis-and he would-he said he’d kill me if I even thought about telling Francis.”
“When did he say all this?”
“I think it was last night,” said Sylvia vaguely. “I didn’t mean to listen, but he said I must. And we’re going down to Cole Lester, and if I don’t take him the papers, he’ll tell Francis-”
“What papers does he want this time?” said Gay.
Sylvia looked at her with brimming eyes.
“The ones Francis keeps in the safe in his study,” she said.
V
Algy Somers jumped out of the taxi, ran up the six steps which led up to Miss Agatha Hardwicke’s front door, and rang the bell. Almost before it had finished ringing the door opened and Gay appeared. That was one of the nice things about Gay, she never kept you waiting. If you said nine o’clock, nine o’clock it was. Algy had bitter memories of girls to whom nine meant anything this side of ten o’clock.
Gay said, “Hully, Algy!” ran down the steps, jumped into the taxi, and settled herself, all in one quick flash.
Algy Somers was one of the very kind-hearted people who helped to make life with Aunt Agatha endurable by taking her out. The fact that she was wearing the same old black dress in which she had dined and danced ever since the parents had departed to Madeira was not to interfere in any way with her enjoyment, neither did she mean to lose a single minute of it. That was another nice thing about Gay, she enjoyed everything so much. Her eyes shone and her cheeks glowed as she turned to Algy and enquired,
“Where are we going?”
Algy looked at her admiringly, and then looked away, because he was a careful young man and girls were apt to get wind in the head if looked at like that. Gay, of course, wasn’t like other girls, but still you had to watch your step. He said,
“I’m awfully sorry about dinner. I had to stay over time. Carstairs had a lot of stuff he wanted typed-confidential stuff, you know, so I couldn’t take it home and do it later.”
Gay looked away. She looked straight out in front of her over the bonnet of the car and along the dark street. It was one of those quiet streets where the houses look as if everyone in them always went to bed at ten o’clock. She said in a small, vague voice,
“Mr. Carstairs is Mr. Lushington’s private secretary, isn’t he?”
Algy stared at her profile.
“Well, you ought to know that by now.”
Gay laughed suddenly.
“If you’d been talking to the sort of person I’ve been talking to this afternoon, you wouldn’t be sure you knew anything. I wouldn’t have sworn to my own name by the time I got away. I hope you don’t expect me to be bright and sparkling, because that sort of thing leaves you as dull as ditchwater.”
Algy was going to say that she couldn’t be dull if she tried, but he thought better of it. An ambitious young man who has hopes of a political career cannot be too careful. He had begun to find Gay a trifle unbalancing. He proceeded to steady himself by talking about the career.
“I think Carstairs is getting a bit reconciled to having me about,” he said. “He’s Lushington’s right hand of course, and he’s so appallingly efficient himself that he can’t stand anyone who isn’t a hundred per cent punctual, orderly, accurate, discreet, and all the rest of the official virtues. Brewster, who’s been there ten years, is the model-a frightfully brainy chap, and knows the job from A to Z. Well, when I came in, and when Carstairs knew that I was a sort of umpteenth cousin of Lushington’s, he naturally made up his mind that I was going to be completely useless, and it’s only by keeping the nose on the grindstone in the most unremitting manner that I have managed to allay his foul suspicions. Do you know that I’ve only been late once in eighteen solid months?”
“Marvellous!” said Gay. “How do you do it?”
“Well, the once was quite early on, and Carstairs looked at me with a cold, penetrating eye and said in a voice like a north-east wind, ‘This must not occur again, Somers.’ And, my child, I saw to it that it didn’t occur. Look here, I thought we’d dance-and then what about a spot of supper and a cabaret? They’ve got a marvellous show at the Ducks and Drakes.”
“Lovely,” said Gay.
The Ducks and Drakes had a very good floor. People were telling each other that it was the best floor in London. There was a new sort of cocktail, and a new coloured dancer-“Simply too marvellous, my dear-her boa-constrictor dance-well, no bones at all! The most amazing thing!” This being the case, the floor was, naturally, so crowded that for the most part you did not so much dance as oscillate gently to the strains of the latest swing tune.
Gay and Algy oscillated with the rest. A saxophone moaned like a wounded siren. The rhythm drummed and thrummed and beat its way through the commonplace melody. The most archaic sense of all awoke to it, thrilled to it, kept time to it. The soloist lifted up a nasal tenor and sang with swooning sweetness, “Heaven’s in your arms, and I’m there.”
When the music stopped they found two chairs and one of the little red and black striped tables. There were quite a lot of well known people in the room, and Algy was much gratified at being able to do showman.