Richard Gordon - A QUESTION OF GUILT

By seven-thirty he was dressed, his steaming cup of Camp coffee wedged among last night's dirty crockery on the kitchen table. He felt Belle was as usual asleep under the bright pink coverlet of her bed with pink bows on the corners. As far as the world would know, she was. By his usual homecoming time she would be going to America. It was fascinating, living her life for her.

He bolted the tradesman's entrance and locked the front door behind him. No one would call. Mrs. Harrison visited only when invited. As they used condensed milk the milkman knocked only on Sunday, the baker left a loaf on the side step Wednesdays and Saturdays. He took his usual way to Caledonian Road Underground station, skirting the Cattle Market. He arrived before nine at Aural Remedies at Craven House in Kingsway. Miss Ena Balham, thirtyish, in black serge, with pince-nez and a faint moustache, was behind her big, square black typewriter.

'Did you say "White rabbits"?' Crippen looked mystified. 'It's February the first,' she chided him.

He took her inch-thick sheaf of newly opened letters. Aural Remedies was a correspondence clinic. People with bad ears responded to advertisements in Tit-Bits or _John Bull_-enclosing postal order with stamped addressed envelope-and Crippen dispatched the remedies. He flicked through them silently, pencilling code-numbers for which letter Miss Balham should write, or which bottle of ear-drops dispatch.

'You quite well this morning, doctor?' she asked kindly.

'Perfectly.'

She gave a slight laugh. 'You seem so quiet. Not your usual self.'

'I've some urgent business at the Tooth Specialists.'

He hurried towards Oxford Street. A few minutes, and he would be seeing Ethel. Now they were really hub and wifie. They could live under the same roof. The future shone like a summer sunrise.

The shiny black leatherette cover stood on her machine. 'Where's Ethel?' he asked explosively.

The office contained only Miss Marion Curnow, the middle-aged manageress, in white blouse and check skirt. She looked surprised. 'She just phoned from Constantine Road. She's a little poorly this morning.'

Ethel was often poorly. They called her behind her back, 'Not Very Well, Thank You.'

'Well, doctor, it's an important day in your life.'

Crippen started. 'Why?'

'You're freed from slavery to Munyon's.'

Crippen nodded distractedly. He had drawn dwindling commission as an agent since Munyon's office in Oxford Circus failed.

'You don't take it hard, doctor, my continuing as Munyon's London manageress?' Miss Curnow accepted his manner as pique.

'No, not at all. The money was hardly a king's ransom.' He paused. All four who worked in his office knew that Crippen had been short of funds since Christmas. His wife's dresses alone…Miss Curnow had thought severely. 'I'm expecting quite a considerable sum coming in from America.'

Crippen went to his room.

He left before noon. 'Tell Dr Ryland I shan't be back today,' he instructed Miss Curnow.

The head would be a difficulty. It needed cutting into fairly small bits, and he had not the luxury of time. Perhaps some other approach would suggest itself. The limbs should sever easily at the joints, with assistance from the Arthrology section in Gray. He hurried to Shaftesbury Avenue, turned into No 1 King Edward's Mansions, and rang the bell of the Martinetti's flat.

'How's Paul?' he asked Clara at the door.

'He's just gone into a nice sleep. If you don't mind I shan't waken him. How's Belle?'

'Oh, she's all right.'

'Give her my love.'

'Yes, I will.'

The next day was Wednesday, and the weekly meeting of the Music Hall Ladies' Guild. The morning was bitter and overcast, gas flaring in the shop windows as Crippen made his way to work. He went directly to the Tooth Specialists. Miss Curnow was unpinning her hat. He set a packet on Ethel's typewriter, and left immediately for Aural Remedies round the corner.

Ethel arrived ten minutes later. She wore under her overcoat a blue serge costume trimmed with black braid. She sat at her typewriter, unhurriedly opening the packet. Inside was an envelope addressed to her. 'Well I never!' she exclaimed. 'She's gone to America.'

'Who has?'

'Mrs. Crippen.'

'Hasn't she been threatening to for years?'

Crippen's note asked her to pass an enclosed package to Miss Melina May, secretary of the Music Hall Ladies' Guild on the floor below. He would look in later. They could have a pleasant little evening.

The errand seemed unurgent. Ethel passed over the package at ten to one, on her way to lunch. 'Mrs Martinetti's just telephoned,' remarked Miss May, at her desk with her typewriter and wire baskets of correspondence. 'She can't come to the meeting, her husband's still poorly.'

Miss May opened the packet. She was dark, pale, pretty, once broke her leg, developed a limp, had to renounce the stage. She was surprised to find the Guild's cheque book, pass book and paying-in book. Two letters were addressed from Hilldrop Crescent and dated that day.

_Dear Miss May,_ said the first.

_Illness of a near relative has called me to America on only a few hours' notice, so I must ask you to bring my resignation as treasurer before the meeting today, so that a new treasurer can be elected at once._

She frowned. The writing was not Belle's. She looked at the foot.

Yours, _

_Belle Elmore, p.p. H.H.C._

Miss May resumed,

_You will appreciate my haste when I tell you that I have not been to bed all night packing, and getting ready to go. I hope I shall see you again a few months later, but cannot spare a moment to call on you before I go. I wish you everything nice till I return to London again. Now, good-bye, with love, hastily._

'Well, really!' complained Miss May.

The other letter was longer, addressed to the Committee-'Dear Friends'-explaining the sudden flight, submitting Belle's resignation, urging the rules be suspended for election of another treasurer that very day, sending 'my pals' her loving wishes. It was in the same handwriting as the other. Miss May was cross. Everyone liked the ebullient Belle. Anyone merited sympathy over a sick relative. But suddenly changing the treasurer meant enormous unnecessary fuss.

Crippen had two mornings' work in one at Aural Remedies. Eardrops must be made up and packed in their pasteboard cases. The January accounts needed sending to Eddie Marr-the New York advertising man who put up Aural Remedies' money. He longed to see Ethel but dared not reach Albion House before the Music Hall Ladies' Guild dispersed at about four. He strolled down Oxford Street to Attenborough's, with the three brass balls outside. He pawned seven diamond rings, a pair of diamond earrings and a diamond brooch, taking the Ј195 in banknotes. He signed the contract note readily. He was well known in the pawnshop. He often brought Belle's jewellery for repair.

It was only three-thirty. He turned the opposite way to Albion House, towards Shaftesbury Avenue. He was surprised to find Mrs Martinetti in, not at the meeting.

'Well, you're a nice one,' she greeted him at the door. 'Belle gone to America, and you didn't let us know anything about it. Melinda phoned from the Guild. I couldn't leave Paul in bed, though he's much better.'

Crippen came into the flat, which was small, mahogany-panelled and embellished with framed photographs of other theatricals, all ebulliently and lovingly autographed. 'Why didn't you send us a wire?' She was more curious than scolding. 'I would have liked to go to the station, and bring some flowers.'

'There wasn't time. The cable came late last night. I had to look out a lot of papers-legal and family papers. The rest of the night we were busy packing.'

She said with resignation, but unable to suppress annoyance, 'Packing and crying, I suppose?'