Patricia Wentworth: Beggar’s Choice

“Go on.”

“I got the money all right.”

“May I ask how?”

“Yes-that’s the point-I got it from a man.”

“What sort of man?”

“A man called Fosicker. I-met him-”

Car raised his eyebrows. He said with cold conviction,

“You met him. You mean you picked him up?”

Just for a moment Fay looked around at him. He wondered if she was going to strike him, but the look was all the blow he got. Then, as she turned away, he heard her say in a confused, choking voice,

“You never-took me-out.”

He felt utterly bewildered. What did she mean? They were talking about money… He got back to it with a determined effort.

“This man lent you money?”

“He gave it to me”-with a toss of the head.

“For nothing?” said Car with bitter irony.

“No-of course not. I’m not a fool. I didn’t expect him to. But I can look after myself. It wasn’t what you think.”

“What was it?” said Car gravely. This was Peter’s wife.

“It was a business arrangement.” Fay’s tone had hardened. The worst was over. She let go of the mantelpiece and began to light another cigarette. The bit about the check was the worst. Men fussed so about things like that, and Car-

Car was speaking:

“Will you go on?”

“Well, he let me have the money, and I said-that is I-agreed-I-it’s rather difficult to explain.”

“It seems to be. But I think you’d better try.”

“Well, he had a business. He wanted me to be a sort of agent-you know.”

“I don’t yet.”

“How dull of you!”

“Yes. What was the business?”

Fay blew out a cloud of smoke. It hung in the air like a shifting veil. She could have wished it thicker, because Car’s eyes-

“Well, that’s just it.” She laughed, not very successfully. “That’s just it, you see-because I suppose it’s a sort of smuggling.”

“What sort?”

“I can’t see why people shouldn’t have those things if they want them and like to pay for them,” said Fay airily.

“What things?”

“Oh, Car, for the Lord’s sake stop saying ‘What’!”

“I will when I get an answer. What things?”

“Drugs,” said Fay in a sullen whisper.

Half an hour later Car felt as if he was still playing blindman’s buff in the crowd of Fay’s evasions- shifting, half caught, but never plainly grasped. If she made a statement, it was only to qualify it with the next breath. If he thought he had touched fact, it slipped from him and was gone. From standing over her, he had taken to pacing the room as a relief to his impatience. He had come to anchor now astride of a chair, his arms across its back, and in the silence that had fallen he tried to sort her story, or stories, out.

She had taken money from Delphine and replaced it with what Fosicker had given her. But she could only have replaced it partially, since she spoke of Delphine’s finding her out. Or perhaps she had replaced it all, and had again found it convenient to “borrow.” When pressed, she slid away. Fosicker frightened her. “If he gets his knife into you, you’re done-every one says so. There was a girl-” And then Fay’s bitten lip, and the jerk of the head which sent a shower of ash all over her bare neck. One thing emerged with the utmost clearness-Fay was frightened, and the farther they got with this game of blindman’s buff, the more plainly did it appear that she had reason.

As far as he could piece it together, Fosicker carried on a lucrative business selling forbidden drugs. But Fosicker took care to run no risks himself. Why should he when he could get fools like Fay to take them for him? And if they kicked, they could be threatened with exposure to Delphine. Yes, that was how it was worked.

He looked over the top of Fay’s head rather grimly. It was a pity the great Lymington smash hadn’t happened just one week earlier. Car’s cynicism decided that Fay Everitt would probably not have entered into matrimony with the son of a ruined man. It seemed to him that Peter was likely to pay pretty dear for his secret marriage. Meanwhile Peter was in America and Fay was his wife, and some one had got to get her out of this beastly mess.

“I think you might say something,” said Fay.

“I don’t know what to say. You’ve pretty well torn it, haven’t you?”

“If I had five hundred pounds-”

“Yes-what would you do with it?”

“Square things up and get out of the country.”

“You owe Delphine five hundred pounds?” The euphemism left a bitter flavor in his mouth. Owe? Good Lord, she’d stolen the money! But five hundred-even in the most careless establishment!

“No, of course not!” Her tone was virtuously surprised.

“What do you-owe?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Fosicker gave me fifty last week, and that-let me see-” She plunged into calculations.

“It’s awfully hard to say exactly-but not more than three hundred or three-fifty.”

“Oh, not more than that!”

“No, I don’t think so. You see it all goes through my hands, and sometimes I’m nearly square, and then sometimes I’m a good bit down.”

“I see.”

The irony of his voice drew a jerk of the shoulder.

“I see,” said Car again. “Well, you’ll square up-and then?”

“I thought I might go out to Peter,” said Fay with a quick sidelong glance. “Suppose it took four hundred to clear everything right off-that would leave a hundred to get my passage and anything I really had to take with me.”

Car got up.

“And what do you propose to tell Peter?”

Fay’s lids lifted; her eyes, palely blue, looked straight at him with an effect of innocent surprise.

“There wouldn’t be anything to tell him-I should be all square,” she said.

“The clean slate! Well?” He laughed harshly. “Where’s the money coming from?”

“Car!”

The fear in her voice was not put on. Yes, Fay’s fear was the one thing that stood out plain. She was unmistakably afraid.

“Car-Peter said he’d have my passage money saved by October. If you cabled to him and said I must have it now-”

“It wouldn’t be five hundred pounds.”

“No. But if I got out of the country-if I got clear-do you think they would try and get me back?”

“Yes-they might.” He was considering. “Yes, I think they would-if you’d gone off with four hundred pounds.”

“I haven’t! I wish you wouldn’t say things like that. They couldn’t bring me back because I’d borrowed some money- I’m sure they couldn’t.”

Car got his hand on the door.

“Oh, stop talking about borrowing! Call things by their proper names if you want me to help you.” He steadied his temper with an effort. “Look here, Fay, I’ll help you if I can.”

“For Peter’s sake?”

“Yes,” said Car.

“Not for mine?” Her lashes were low over the watching blue of her eyes. He had the feeling that something was waiting for his answer, something that he didn’t understand.

He opened the door.

“I’ll do what I can,” he said roughly, and went out of the room.

When the door shut, Fay was staring at it, her eyes wide open now. They were angry, bright, and daring. But the door was shut.

The door was shut, and Car’s steps going away. She jumped up and ran to the door, but he was gone. What was the good of calling him back? He only cared about Peter. He didn’t care for her. If she was Peter’s wife, he would know that she existed; but if she was only Fay Everitt, he wouldn’t even know that. Her face went white and hard. Why should he care about Peter like that-stupid, fat, blundering Peter? If he was only going to help her for Peter’s sake, he could leave it alone. No-no-no-she’d got to be helped. Fear came again like a stabbing pain.