“South Africa is a problem,” Wade said, sighing. “What were you saying about a contact in Western Australia?”
“A man called Garvin. By an extraordinary coincidence, he went to my prep school. What he said was that someone was going to get rich if he struck oil, and he didn’t mind if it was me. He sent me a cable today.” Maurice felt in his pocket and produced a form. He tossed it to Wade. It was on Cable and Wireless paper, and said, “Happy Birthday, Sam.”
“What does it mean?” Wade asked.
“Code,” Maurice said succinctly, and took it back. “It means they’ve struck, and the news will be out on Friday.”
“Isn’t it a bit dishonest of your friend Sam?” Prudence asked sternly. She had been very quiet all through dinner, listening and learning.
“Yes, it is, Prudence,” Maurice said. “The whole arrangement is open to criticism. I’d like to pose as an ethical man, but money isn’t entirely an ethical object. That’s why I want to get out of the City for good, and into furniture.”
“Furniture!” Wade said impatiently, remembering perhaps the money he had lost on antiques. He moved the food around his plate, then put down his knife and fork. When the meal was over he could go into another room and talk to Maurice alone.
“No one seems hungry tonight,” he said. “Would it be too much trouble for my daughters to bring coffee to Maurice and me in the little room? While we discuss the mystery of money.”
“There’s a souffle,” Prudence said in a threatening voice. “Oh, no, not a souffle. Not a souffle tonight,” Wade said. “We’ll have the coffee now. The souffle will do another time. There will be all the less to cook tomorrow. I have to consider the cook, now that she’s my daughter,” he added, smiling to Maurice.
Prudence looked stricken. “The souffle will do tomorrow!” she repeated. “Father, you’re – I mean you don’t know what you’re saying.”
“It will be all the better tomorrow. We can have it cold,” he said with a pleasant smile.
“I’ll rush out and buy a refrigerator,” Hester suggested.
Prudence blinked several times, then recovered. “Where’s Vogue?” she asked dramatically. “Where’s Harper’s Bazaar? I’m going to begin on clothes now.”
“I’ll make the coffee,” Hester said quickly.
She stood up, then bent her head forward, listening.
“I thought I heard a noise upstairs.”
Everyone listened.
“I think you’re right,” Maurice said.
“It’s that damned Harry, searching my room again!” Morgan shouted.
“But he’s not in the house,” Wade said.
“Yes, he is. He’s in the bathroom,” Hester said.
“He’s not, he’s up in my room,” Morgan said, surrendering himself entirely to rage.
They all began to move out of the room. In the hall they met Harry, coming, not from the bathroom, but the kitchen.
“Did you hear something?” he asked blandly. “Because I thought I did.”
They went upstairs, moving far more cautiously now that they feared the existence of a real burglar.
Morgan, followed by the others, rushed into his bedroom. There was no one to be seen. Maurice ran along the passage and opened another door. It was Wade’s room. He hesitated briefly, then pounced at the far side of the bed.
“I’ve got him,” he cried, looking in some bewilderment at what he’d got.
It was a small, fair youth in green trousers and a yellow pullover. He stood with his face sunk on his chest while the others crowded into the room.
“Ring for the police, Morgan,” Wade said, but when he looked around Morgan wasn’t to be seen. “Then, Hester, will you ring?”
“Don’t call in the police, Guv’nor,” the boy whined. “It’s m’first job, and I’ve stolen nothing. Why don’t you kick me round the room? You’d like to give it to me, wouldn’t you? Go on, give me a good kicking.”
He made an appealing gesture of martyrdom. Wade shrank away.
“Ring for the police,” Maurice, the voice of society, repeated.
The boy still stared at his toes. “I’d never have done it, except I thought I’d pick up a watch or a fur coat. I’ve no money and no job and m’mother’s ill. I’m a waiter, see, I was away ill and lost m’job and m’mother’s in hospital. I’d be working if I had the chance. All I need is a chance, see, and I’d work as well as anyone.” He stood drooping before them, one of the system’s rejected serfs.
Harry laughed. Wade looked at him reproachfully. Harry was always striking the wrong note.
“Give him a job,” Harry said cheerfully. “You need help in the house, don’t you?”
“I’ll go straight,” the boy said eagerly. “Honest, Guv’nor, it’s m’first time up a ladder and it’ll be m’last. If I had a job and some money…”
“Perhaps I could find you work with someone else,” Wade suggested weakly.
“It’s up to you,” Maurice said crisply. “I’ve no patience with his kind. I’d ring the police and be done with it.” The Wades didn’t sympathise with this intolerant attitude, but by some strange process it made Maurice seem more admirable than ever – a man whose support for society and the law was automatic and unyielding.
Wade hesitated. “Do you think he’s speaking the truth?” he asked weakly. “Hester?”
“I don’t know. The police – I’m sure we ought to tell the police. No. Couldn’t we just let him go?” She thought for a minute, then assumed responsibility, as she always would. “Give him a job,” she said firmly. “We must give him a job, Father. I see that now.”
Prudence had been standing aside, delighted by the drama.
“If it means someone will wash the dishes, by all means give him a job,” she said in a splendidly bored voice.
“Give him a job,” Harry agreed. “He might be an honest man. You’ve got the fact that he broke into the house to encourage you.”
Wade looked unhappy. “We’ll talk it over,” he said.
“I’ll take the poor fellow into the kitchen and give him a cup of tea,” Harry offered, in a concerned voice.
Hester, following the others downstairs, thought she heard her name as the echo of a whisper. She turned. About two inches of Morgan’s face was visible through his partially-open door.
She went back.
“Hester,” he said, and groaned.
“If you’re not well, Morgan, why don’t you lie down?” she suggested.
He put a handkerchief to his lips. He seemed too ill to speak.
“Are you in pain? Where is it?” She guided him towards his bed.
He slumped abruptly, like a man on the verge of unconsciousness. She wasn’t sure that she could feel any sympathy for him, but she tried. He must be a very miserable man if his only pleasure lay in pretending to be ill.
“I think it’s here,” he said, touching his heart fearfully. “And other times it’s in the small of my back.”
“I think you had better lie down until you have decided,” she said patiently.
“Hester, have you sent for the police?”
She sighed. “No, we’ve decided to let him work here for a little. He might change, if he was given a little human sympathy.”
“First Harry, then a ladder boy! I wonder what your father will collect next? Hester, I’ve been feeling very bad. Do you think a change of air would do me good?”
“It would depend on the air,” Hester said.