Patricia Wentworth - Mr. Zero

Sylvia wrinkled her smooth white brow.

“He was very jealous about me,” she said in a doubtful voice. “He thought a lot about being older than me, and he used to say things like ‘I’ll never let you go. I’ll find a way to keep you, my dear.’ And once he said, ‘I’ve thought of a way to put a chain round your neck, my sweet.’ That was just before it all began to happen, and when I asked him what he meant he said a very horrid thing. He said, ‘You’ll stay because you’ll be afraid to go.’ ”

Gay said, “You think he made you take the paper so as to have a hold over you?”

Sylvia nodded.

“Of course, he wanted the paper too. And he needn’t have been jealous-he ought to have known that. I mean, I’m not that sort-am I, darling? No one in our family ever has been-we just don’t . And Mummy would have had a fit.” Horror widened Sylvia’s eyes. “Oh, darling , isn’t it a good thing they’re not going to arrest me? What would Mummy have said?”

Mr. Brewster was turning things over in his mind. Like Gay Hardwicke, he felt considerably relieved to learn that there was no intention of putting the law in motion against Lady Colesborough. He had been too discreet to ask any direct question, but it had transpired that the lovely Sylvia would grace the witness box and not the dock. It should be a very interesting trial. The trouble was that until the dock could be, so to speak, filled, no trial would take place. Mr. Brewster considered that Algy Somers would be very suitably cast for the part of prisoner at the bar. He had always disliked Algy a good deal, and although concealing this and some other emotions under a precise and formal manner, he now permitted himself to hope.

The matter which exercised him most was the exact line of conduct which it would be correct for him to pursue with regard to the widowed Lady Colesborough. The situation was a very delicate one. She was a newly made widow, and as such to be treated with all possible respect. He, as one of Mr. Lushington’s secretaries, must demean himself with the utmost possible tact and discretion. Yet it was in these very circumstances that an indelible impression might be made upon the feelings of a beautiful young woman who had been so suddenly and strangely bereaved. Now was the moment for delicate sympathy and loyal friendship, now was the moment to plant what might later burgeon and bear fruit. Francis Colesborough’s widow was lovely, rich, and for the moment, friendless. Mr. Brewster thought deeply on the possibility of stepping forward in a true spirit of chivalry to support and comfort the mourner. On the other hand he would have to be very careful, because it was now certain to come out that Lady Colesborough had compromised herself by abstracting papers from the Home Secretary’s despatch-case. There might be no prosecution, but she would remain compromised, he could not afford to associate with persons whose probity was not above suspicion. It was all very delicate and required the most careful handling.

Mr. Brewster looked at his watch and found the time to be half past three. He thought he would take a walk. Fresh air and exercise would assist his mental processes. A strong inclination to walk in the direction of Cole Lester presented itself. He was engaged in a prudent resistance, when the telephone bell rang and a voice demanded Mr. Lushington. He recognized the voice as that of Mr. Brook and made a note of the fact that the tone suggested urgency.

When staying at Railing Place, Mr. Lushington was accommodated with a sitting-room which opened out of his bedroom. Both rooms were provided with telephone extensions. Mr. Brewster informed his chief that he was wanted on the line and withdrew. But at the same moment that Mr. Lushington was saying “Hullo!” his secretary was opening the bedroom door and very carefully closing it again. It was essential that he should discover what had brought that urgent tone into Mr. Brook’s voice. He crossed silently to the bedside instrument, lifted the receiver, and listened in. He had lost nothing except the preliminary “Hullo!” for he could hear the Home Secretary saying, “What is it, Brook?” And then Mr. Brook, still with that subdued urgency, “Well, sir, I thought I had better tell you. There’s something come to light among those papers we took out of the safe.”

“Yes, Brook?” Montagu Lushington’s tone was quiet.

“Well, sir, I’m afraid it’s conclusive.”

“Will you tell me what has been found?”

“A scrap of paper with a couple of lines of cipher on it-just a bit that had been torn off and had got caught up in a pile of bills. That’s why it wasn’t noticed before.” Mr. Brook’s voice dropped a shade. “I’ve just had it decoded. It runs: ‘To have one of Lushington’s secretaries in our pay is worth all he asks-and more.’ I’m sorry, sir, but I’m afraid it is quite conclusive. The Chief Constable is having Mr. Somers arrested at once.”

“I see,” said Montagu Lushington in a tired voice. What he saw was family disgrace, public scandal, and the end of his own career.

Mr. Brewster slipped quietly out of the bedroom, and downstairs and out of the house. Whatever prudence counselled, he was going to walk over to Cole Lester. It would be worth some risk to see Algy Somers arrested.

He took a short cut across the fields which would reduce the distance from five miles to three. The path presently skirted a deserted quarry and came by way of a rough cart track out upon the high road again.

Algy Somers looked up from the letter he was trying to write and said, “Come in.” The knock which he thought he had heard was so weak and hesitating that it might have been any chance sound. He was therefore faintly surprised when the door opened and displayed William in a condition of acute embarrassment.

“Yes?” said Algy. “What is it?”

William stood and twisted the handle. It went sharply through Algy’s mind that the police had come to arrest him, and that William knew it. He managed a smile, and said,

“Out with it, William. What is it?”

William came a hesitating step into the room, let go of the handle, fumbled for it again, and reverting to a less polished standard than that set up by the late Mr. Sturrock, reached with a nervous foot and kicked the door to behind him.

“If you please, sir-” he said, and stuck.

“Well, William?” said Algy.

William dragged a handkerchief from his cuff and wiped a clammy brow.

“If I might have a word with you, sir-”

Relief rushed in on Algy. So it wasn’t his arrest-not yet. He said cheerfully.

“As many as you like. What’s up, man? Why are you dithering?”

“I don’t rightly know how to begin, sir.” But the handkerchief went back into his cuff and his brow remained fairly dry.

“Begin at the beginning. What’s it all about anyway?”

William turned bright plum colour.

“I’ve got a young lady, sir-”

Algy very nearly said, “So have I,” but it seemed well to keep William to the point if possible, so he substituted an encouraging “That sounds all right.”

“She works at the Hand and Flower at Railing,” said William.

Algy sat up and began to take notice.

“The deuce she does! Well, that’s very interesting. What about it?”

William’s forehead began to glisten again.

“It don’t seem as if I ought to hold my tongue.”

“Then I shouldn’t.”

“Only my young lady she don’t want to be drawn into it, if you take my meaning, sir.

Algy laughed a little grimly.

“I don’t suppose any of us wanted to be drawn into it.”

“No, sir. All very well on the pictures murders are, but close at hand there’s something ’orrid about them to my way of thinking.”