As he absorbed this information, Miss Silver continued to address him.
“If you will be so good as to ring up Scotland Yard, Chief Detective Inspector Lamb will tell you that he knows me well, and. that I am a person to be believed. Detective Sergeant Abbott, or in fact any of the officers on the detective side, will be able to assure you that I have the confidence of the police. If, of course, you are prepared to admit that a mistake has been made, and to offer to this young lady an unqualified apology, we need not trouble Scotland Yard.”
The manager, thus baited, turned with ferocity upon the shopwalker. His diminished ego obtained some helpful support from having a subordinate at hand to bully.
“Mr. Sopeley!”
“Sir?”
“On what evidence did you act? This lady says that one of the assistants came up and spoke to you. Who was it, and what did she say?”
Mr. Sopeley began to see before him the unenviable role of the scapegoat. An elderly survivor of the war period, his tenure was not so secure that he could afford to have it shaken. With a feeling that his collar had suddenly become too tight for him, he stumbled into speech.
“It-it was Miss Anderson. She said a lady had whispered to her that this-” he paused and swallowed-“this young lady was filling her pockets, and she thought she ought to mention it.”
“Then why is she not here as a witness?”
“She said she had a train to catch,” said Mr. Sopeley in an ebbing voice.
The manager’s bald head became suffused with an angry flush.
“Miss Anderson should have detained her.”
Perceiving a possible ram in a thicket, Mr. Sopeley agreed that Miss Anderson had been very remiss, though just how she could have detained a determined customer in full flight to catch a train, neither he nor the manager was prepared to say. In a tone of virtuous indignation he remarked,
“I spoke to her quite severely on that point, sir.”
Miss Silver intervened.
“It is perfectly clear that this woman who brought the accusation and then disappeared is the person who placed the stolen goods in this young lady’s pockets. I would press you now to ring up Scotland Yard. A full and unqualified apology is due to this young lady, and I shall not be satisfied until it has been offered.”
Chief Detective Inspector Lamb lifted the receiver from the instrument on his office table. The voice of Sergeant Abbott came to him.
“I say, Chief, here’s a lark! I’ve got the manager of the De Luxe Stores on the line, wanting to know if Maudie is a credible witness! He’s asking for you. An offensive fellow-perhaps you’d like to crush him yourself.”
Lamb grunted.
“What’s it all about?”
“Case of shoplifting. Maudie says the girl was framed. Says she saw a woman put a hand into her pocket, afterwards skipping to an assistant to lay information, and then vanishing from the scene to catch a train. Shall I put you through?”
Lamb’s grunt must have conveyed assent. It was followed by a click and the impact on his ear of a voice which he thoroughly disliked. A shrewd and experienced observer of human nature, he deduced the man who has made a bloomer and is trying to bluster his way out. He stemmed the current by announcing himself.
“Chief Detective Inspector Lamb speaking.” Every syllable slowly and ponderously fraught with authority.
The manager had to begin all over again, and didn’t like it. He began to wish that he had apologized to Dorinda Brown and left Scotland Yard alone.
The Chief Inspector stopped him before he had got very far.
“I have nothing to do with what happened in your shop. If you wish to charge anyone, it is a matter for the local station. In so far as your inquiries relate to Miss Maud Silver, I am prepared to deal with them. I know her very well and can assure you that she is an entirely credible witness. She has been of great use to the police on many occasions, and if I may say so, you would be well advised to be guided by her opinion. If she says this girl is innocent, you’d better believe her-she knows what she’s talking about. One moment-I will speak to her, just to make sure of her identity.”
In the manager’s office Miss Silver took up the receiver with a preliminary cough.
“Chief Inspector Lamb? How very pleasant to hear your voice! You are well, I hope?… And Mrs. Lamb?… And the daughters?”
When the compliments were over Lamb was pleased to relax into a chuckle.
“What have you been up to?”
“My dear Chief Inspector!”
The chuckle became a laugh.
“Had to come to the police to get you out of it-eh? Now, you know, that’s very pleasant for us-isn’t it?”
“I am always quite certain that I can rely upon you,” said Miss Silver gravely. She handed the receiver back to the manager, whose bald head had now assumed the colour of a beetroot, and stepped back.
Made aware of the change, Lamb said briskly and ungrammatically,
“There’s only one Miss Silver, and that’s her all right.”
Chapter VIII
Justin Leigh was a little puzzled by his Dorinda. She had remembered to wear clothes which he had once commended. She appeared to be in perfect health, and she seemed to be extremely pleased to see him. But all the same, there was something. Her attention wavered, and he missed the zest which should have accompanied the selection of a furbelow at somebody else’s expense. Mrs. Oakley’s ideas on the subject of what should be paid for an evening frock seemed to be thoroughly sound.
Dorinda, who had never scaled such giddy heights, ought to have been leaping from peak to peak with carefree enthusiasm, instead of which she remained aloof. It wasn’t until The Dress had been extracted from some inner shrine and reverentially displayed that she seemed to be taking any interest at all.
The Dress had a compelling effect. She said “Oh!” and her colour rose. Justin remarked that she had better try it on, and she retired to do so.
When she came out in it there were of course no doubts. It was It. It had that magic touch so impossible to describe. It moulded, and it flowed. It was dead plain. By some subtle art the unrelieved black made her hair look richer than gold. It brightened her eyes, it brightened her skin.
Justin said in rather an odd tone,
“That’s the ticket. Go and take it off, or there won’t be time to have any lunch.”
When the dress had been packed up and a vast sum paid for it, they took it away with them.
Justin had found a new place for lunch, their table pleasantly retired in a shallow recess. It being now possible to converse, he looked at her very directly and said,
“What’s the matter?”
He was a good deal concerned when she turned very pale and said with a shake in her voice,
“I nearly got arrested for shoplifting.”
Concern became something more as she poured it all out.
“If it hadn’t been for Miss Silver, they would have arrested me. It’s given me the most frightful sort of giddy feeling-like thinking you’re on quite an ordinary path, and all of a sudden your foot goes down and there isn’t anything there. I expect you’ve done it in dreams-I have, often. But it’s never happened when I was awake-not till this morning.”
When the waiter had come and gone he made her tell it all over again.
“Had you ever seen any of those people before?”
“No. Miss Silver wanted to know about that. We went and had coffee together after they had apologized. She’s a marvel. She knows everyone at Scotland Yard, so of course they had to listen to her. She simply flattened that awful manager.”
The memory cheered her a good deal. “But, Justin, she said was there anyone who would like to get me into trouble, or get me out of the way, and of course I said no. Because it couldn’t-it simply couldn’t have anything to do with the Wicked Uncle-could it?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, there was a photograph of him all crumpled up in Marty’s toy-cupboard.”
“Dorinda!”
She nodded.
“Well, there was. It was the twin of the one Aunt Mary had- Charles Rowbecker & Son, Norwood. And I put it on Mrs. Oakley’s writing-table, and I didn’t say anything to her, and she didn’t say anything to me. Justin-it couldn’t be that!”