“Here a bit and there a bit,” said Bohun. “I’d hate to have to go through with my articles again. That really was uncomfortably like hard work. John Cove seems to bear up all right, though.”
“John’s a good chap,” said Bob. “And not nearly such a fool as he makes out. If only he found things a bit more difficult he might have to work a bit harder—which wouldn’t do him any harm. It’s that fatal charm of his—”
“A charm,” said Bohun, “which Miss Mildmay appears to have been the only person in the office capable of resisting.”
He perpetrated this thundering indiscretion deliberately, turning his back on Bob as he did so. The glass front of the bookcase made a convenient reflector.
The shot went home with surprising effect. On Bob’s face, in the fleeting, reflected glimpse which he allowed himself, Bohun saw a look which he had no difficulty in recognising. Half of it was made up of possession and the other half of apprehension.
A small section of the puzzle fell neatly into its place.
“Why do you say that?” Bob made a perfunctory effort to sound casual.
“Really,” said Bohun. “I’m afraid that was very indiscreet of me. I imagined that it was public knowledge—from the way he discussed it with me.”
“John and Anne—Miss Mildmay.”
“Yes. Apparently she turned him down. It was unforgivable of me. If I hadn’t thought that you knew, I should never have mentioned it.”
“No, I didn’t know.”
“You’ll oblige me very much, then,” said Bohun, “by forgetting all about it.”
“Of course,” said Bob. “Naturally.”
“Liar,” said Henry. But this was to himself, after Bob had left the room.
IV
Mr. Birley, having disposed of Miss Chittering, looked round for fresh conquests. After a moment’s thought he rang the bell and summoned Mr. Prince to his presence.
Mr. Prince, who has already flitted vaguely on the outskirts of the story, was an elderly Common Law clerk. He had spent his professional life with the firm of Cockroft, Chasemore and Butt, whom he had served efficiently, and on the whole happily, for forty years. Unfortunately the firm had failed to survive the war and Mr. Prince had found himself thrown on the labour market. Bill Birley had snapped him up gratefully, made full use of him and paid him a good deal less than he was worth. Since Mr. Prince stood in considerable awe of Mr. Birley, and in even greater fear of losing his job, he was a very convenient whipping-block. Mr. Birley reduced him to a state of quivering impotence in something less than five minutes, and then clumped downstairs to plague Mr. Waugh, the cashier.
Mr. Waugh had heavier reserves than Mr. Prince, but was at the disadvantage of only having been a fortnight in the firm. It was not long before Mr. Birley had cornered him into admitting several small breaches of the Horniman routine. Using these as his text he proceeded to preach Mr. Waugh a pungent sermon on the virtues of Order and Method.
Mr. Hoffman, who was working at a table in the cashier’s room, was a silent spectator. When Mr. Birley had taken himself off he added at the foot of the account he was casting, a note in his meticulous handwriting. It seemed to cause him some amusement.
V
“You seem to be a bit off colour, Miss Mildmay.”
“Yes, Mr. Craine.”
“Not sickening for anything, I hope.”
“I hope not, Mr. Craine.”
“I expect you’ve been put out by all these unpleasant goings-on in the office. You mustn’t let it get you down, you know.”
“No, Mr. Craine.”
“Anyhow. It’s obviously nothing to do with you. We shan’t begin to suspect a little girl like you of running round committing murders. Ha, ha.”
“I feel like it sometimes,” said Miss Mildmay, moving her chair two foot further to the left.
“Dear me, I expect we all do sometimes. But, seriously, my dear, the thing is not to worry.”
“I’m not worrying, Mr. Craine.”
“That’s right, then.”
“And, Mr. Craine.”
“Yes.”
“I only mention it in case it has escaped your attention, but that’s my hand you’ve got hold of.”
“Goodness gracious, so it is. Well, now. Dear Sir, We thank you for yours of the fourteenth ultimo enclosing the draft Conveyance as amended and approved, and we are now proceeding to have the same engrossed for execution by his Lordship.”
VI
Mr. Birley felt as Napoleon might have felt after the destruction of a couple of minor European monarchies and a German bishopric. His appetite was sharpened by his victories, and he was contemplating with some pleasure the approach of lunch-time. It occurred to him that there was one more recalcitrant subject to reduce to submission.
He rang the bell and sent for Bohun.
Henry was on the point of going home to his own lunch at Mrs. Magoli’s, but good-naturedly took off his coat again and followed Miss Chittering.
“You want to look out,” she said. “He’s in an awful temper.”
“Indeed,” said Henry.
Mr. Birley opened fire as soon as the enemy was inside the door.
“Now, look here, Bohun,” he said. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to say to you. We pay you to attend to our business. I’ve no doubt you do very good work—at all events I’ve no information to the contrary—but I can’t have you spending so much of your time talking to that policeman. Anything that must be said, go along after office hours to Scotland Yard, or wherever it may be, and say it there. You understand.”
“Perfectly.”
“Well, then—”
“I mean that I understand perfectly,” explained Henry. “Whether I shall take any notice of your advice is, of course, a separate question.”
For a moment Mr. Birley was almost bereft of the power of speech. Then he recovered sufficiently to say: “If I understood that as insolent I should have no alternative but to have you dismissed.”
“I have no doubt you would,” said Henry pleasantly. “Only I doubt if you have the power. I understand that you need the consent of both your other partners before employing or dismissing anybody. It says so in your partnership articles, so I expect it’s correct. If you think that you can persuade Mr. Craine and Mr. Horniman to support you, then no doubt it would be worth trying.”
“I—”
“But there’s one thing I must warn you about. If you did succeed in dismissing me frivolously—out of mere temper, I mean, and not for professional incompetence or inattention to duty—then I should put the whole case in writing before the Law Society.”
This time Mr. Birley really was speechless. Henry resumed, even more pleasantly: “In any case, since you pay me the lowest possible salary for a qualified man, I can’t see that I should be much worse off if I did have to go. Mind you, I don’t want to leave. I like it here. It isn’t every solicitor’s office which has an undetected murderer working in it. Why, it’s even possible that he may repeat his performance.” Pausing at the door he added thoughtfully: “He might even pick a more suitable victim this time.”
VII
And so, after a thoroughly unsatisfactory and irritating morning, the various components of the firm departed for their lunches: Mr. Birley and Mr. Craine to their clubs, Bob Horniman and Eric Duxford to the dining-room of the Law Society. John Cove to the less exclusive canteen of the same. Henry Bohun to his home. Mr. Prince and Mr. Waugh to a subterranean and cavernous restaurant attached to the Law Courts. Miss Cornel and Miss Mildmay to an A.B.C., and Miss Bellbas and Mrs. Porter to a Lyons. Sergeant Cockerill and Charlie ate sandwiches in the basement and Miss Chittering, who was on duty at the partners’ telephone, stifled the pangs of hunger with a bag of macaroons.