“I don’t know who loosened the nuts on my off front wheel yesterday afternoon, but it was someone who knew we should be running down Emberley Hill. Moira knew that, and what she knew Masterson would know, though in view of what has happened to them, I don’t suppose they did the job themselves-that’s pushing coincidence too far. I suspect Arnold, who is definitely in the jackal class, but I suppose we shall never know for certain unless he gives himself away. They were probably double-crossing him by going off without giving him his pay, so he repeated his performance for their benefit. Meanwhile the two of them had another trick up their sleeves, and it’s thanks to Miss Silver that it didn’t come off. Now this is for you, and it’s to go no farther. Moira drugged my coffee last night, and she brought Masterson into my room between twelve and one in the morning to smother me with a damp pillow. I don’t know what put it into Miss Silver’s head that anything of that sort was on foot, but something did, and she brought David Moray along and caught them. Masterson came out with being married to Moira-a last gambler’s throw-and I told them to clear out. They cleared, but they didn’t get far.”
He stopped, and there was a long pause. Garratt had pushed back his chair a foot or two. He did not look at Lucius. After a while he said in an exhausted voice,
“When do you want me to go?”
Lucius Bellingdon leaned sideways and picked up a pencil. He sat there on the edge of the table and balanced it between two of his fingers, his air one of intense concentration. Anything or everything might have hung on that delicate balance. All in a moment he tossed the pencil back on to the tray from which he had taken it and said,
“Why should I want you to go?”
Hubert Garratt lifted one of his hands and let it fall again.
“I ought to have told you-about the snuff -I’ve been in hell. You wouldn’t feel-you could trust me. I don’t trust myself.”
Lucius got to his feet. He said in a casual tone,
“Don’t be more of a damned fool than you can help, Hubert. Be up at the house in half an hour, will you. There’s quite a lot to do.”
Chapter 39
SALLY had never been so glad to get away from a house in her life. She had never been so glad to get back to London. They travelled up together, she, and Miss Silver, and David, and Wilfrid Gaunt. Miss Silver said goodbye at the terminus, but Wilfrid insisted on making a third in the taxi which she had hoped to share with David. He not only accompanied them to Porlock Square but came in and up the first flight to Sally’s very door, where she turned upon him.
“Wilfrid, I don’t want you and I can’t do with you. I want to unpack.”
He leaned negligently against the jamb.
“Darling, you don’t know what unpacking can be till you’ve seen me do it.”
Aware of David moody in the background, Sally’s tone sharpened as she said,
“Then go and unpack at home!”
He shook his head mournfully.
“Not a sympathetic atmosphere-not one that inspires me to do my best. Mrs. Hunable is definitely an earthy influence. Her father, so she tells me, was a market gardener. She has all the virtues of the cabbages amidst which she grew up, but she lacks charm. Now to watch you unpack-”
Sally put her key into the door.
“You are not going to watch me unpack-no one is! I’m going to light my geyser and have a bath. I feel as if it would take about a dozen baths to get rid of the feeling the last few days have given me.”
Wilfrid appeared interested.
“How psychic of you, my sweet. Now just what sort of a feeling was it?”
Sally opened the door just enough to slide her suit-case inside and to follow it herself. She said,
“Slugs and snails and spiders and snakes!” And then she said, “For goodness sake go away, Wilfrid!” and she banged the door and shot the bolt on the inside.
David had already gone on up the stairs. He didn’t look back either then or when Wilfrid heaved an ostentatious sigh and departed.
It was an hour or two later Sally opened her door to find him on the other side of it. She had told herself that it would be Wilfrid if it was anyone. She had to change her expression rather quickly, but when she was about half way through she thought about its being a give-away, because she really had turned on quite a glare, and David might get ideas if it suddenly changed into a welcoming smile. Actually it would have been better if she hadn’t stopped to think, because the colour rushed into her face, and blushing is just one of those things which you can’t explain away. She stepped back, and David came in and shut the door behind him. Then he said, “I want to talk to you,” and she didn’t say anything at all.
Sally had some nice furniture. There was a very comfortable sofa with its back to the windows. She sat down in one corner of it and David sat down in the other. He repeated his previous remark.
“I want to talk to you.”
Sally didn’t say anything at all. She didn’t seem to have any words, only bright elusive thoughts weaving soundlessly to and fro in the clear space that was her mind. There was a pause. Sally watched her bright weaving thoughts. They were there, and David was there. He looked very large, and he had a most portentous frown. He said,
“Why don’t you say something?”
“I haven’t got anything to say.”
His frown deepened.
“As if that stopped anyone! The difference is, I have got something to say.”
She waited for him to say it, but he just sat there not even looking at her, until at last he came out with,
“He’s offered me a commission, but of course it won’t be the same thing.”
Sally said,
“Who has offered you what?”
“Bellingdon of course-a commission. But it won’t be the same.”
Sally put up a hand and pushed back her hair. If he had been looking at her he would have known it for a weather sign.
“David, if you want me to scream, you’ll go on talking just like that. I haven’t the least idea what it’s all about.”
He stopped frowning at the opposite wall and frowned at her instead.
“You would have if you were paying attention. What’s the use of my coming down here to talk to you about it when you won’t take the trouble to listen to what I say?”
Sally took hold of her temper with both hands and downed it. If he really wanted to talk to her… Something in her melted. Her eyes softened, and so did her voice.
“I really am listening. You were just being cryptic. What has Mr. Bellingdon given you a commission for?”
He shook his head.
“For is the wrong word. You’ve got the whole thing wrong. He has given me a commission to paint Annabel Scott.”
She couldn’t stop herself from putting out her hands to him.
“Oh, David!”
His corner of the sofa was too far away for him to take the hands-he mightn’t have taken them anyway. He said in an abstracted voice,
“She’s quite paintable. As a matter of fact it’s beginning to grow on me. I’ve got rather a good idea for the pose. She took it the other evening quite naturally, and I thought then, ‘If I was going to paint you I would do it like that.’ And I believe I could-but of course it’s not the same.”
Sally had got there. She said rather carefully,
“You mean it won’t be like doing Moira Herne as Medusa?”
He nodded.
“I could have done that and made something of it. I could still do it. I’ve got the sketches I made-but I can’t use them. I told Bellingdon I wouldn’t.”
“Oh, no, you couldn’t-not now! It would make the most frightful lot of talk.”
David gave a gloomy nod.
“He was very decent about it. He’s giving me this commission to paint Annabel Scott. I told him I’d like to paint him too. I would, you know. He’s got the makings of a fine portrait. He said something about ‘All in good time.’ He wants Annabel first. They’re going to be married, you know, right away.”