Money in the Bank (10 page)

He massaged Lionel Green's arm affectionately, ignoring its unresponsive stiffness. It was almost a pity, he was feeling, that he had decided to abandon his career as a pleader at the Bar, for there was no question but that he had a way of putting a case extraordinarily well. Still, what the Bar lost, literature gained. You had to look at these things from every angle.

"And another point, Stinker," be proceeded
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as they stepped into the station cab. "Mrs. Cork, in instructing me to watch you, had in mind not only your relations with Miss Benedick, but your practice, as she suspects, of sneaking off on the sly and supplementing her wholesome Ugubu fare with carnal snacks at the village inn. I may tell you that she has warned mine host that her eye is on him, and that if he attempts to slip you so much as a chump chop and chips he will get it right in the neck at the next quarter sessions, when the question of renewing his licence comes up. You spoke?"

Lionel Green had not spoken. He had merely uttered a hollow groan. He had been relying on the village inn.

"So you will need my kindly services more than ever. Not being, like you, a marked man, I shall be able to act as an intermediary or go-between, establishing a liaison between you and this provider of the necessaries of life. Place your orders with me, and I will see that they are filled."

Lionel Green brightened. Nothing would ever make him actually fond of this old schoolmate of his, but he was willing to concede that the fellow had more good in him than he had supposed.

"That's very kind of you, Miller."

"Not at all. It will be a pleasure. And now tell me something of this Miss Benedick—her tastes, I mean. Just give me a list of her favourite topics of conversation, the books she likes, the subjects to avoid when chatting with her and all that sort of thing. You see, in order to convince Mrs. Cork that I am not loafing on my job, it will be necessary for me to see something of the girl from time to time. In which case, it is always a good thing to know what to talk about."

Five minutes later, having stopped the station cab at the gates and alighted with renewed assurances to his companion of his good wishes, Jeff started to saunter through the grounds of Shipley Hall, lost in agreeable meditation.

He was well pleased with the success of his diplomacy. He had eliminated Lionel Green as a menace, and he had acquired a sound working knowledge of Anne Benedick's tastes and preferences, which could scarcely fail to come in handy. He knew nothing of the real Sheringham Adair, apart from the fact that he had a waxed moustache and an uncanny knack of dissolving into thin air, but he doubted if even that trained expert could have handled a situation better.

It was now the gloaming of the June day, and the air was full of soothing sounds and scents. Birds chirped drowsily in the bushes, insects droned as they passed on their way to supper and bed, the grass was fragrant under the failing dew. He strolled along at random, enjoying these phenomena, until presently he found himself on the margin of a small pond not far from the house. Here he paused, to study the activities of certain water beetles which were skimming about its surface in the fussy, energetic way so characteristic of water beetles all the world over.

From the scrutiny of these he was roused by the sound of voices, and, looking round, saw that his solitude had been invaded by a young woman of boldly attractive aspect and a man in the middle forties whose appearance suggested vaguely an American Senator.

They were, though he had as yet, of course, no means of identifying them, that interesting and enterprising couple, Mr. and Mrs. Soapy Molloy.

CHAPTER X

THE news, conveyed to him some quarter of an hour earlier by his wife, that his old acquaintance, Chimp Twist, was on his way to Shipley Hall, had startled and disconcerted Mr. Molloy. And when it had become clear to him that it was through her instrumentality that this unwanted addition was being made to the strength of Mrs. Cork's little group of serious thinkers, he was more amazed than ever.

"For goodness' sakes, honey," he exclaimed, "what ever did you want to go and do a thing like that for?"

Mrs. Molloy was looking cold and proud.

"Oh, I thought I would."

"But Chimp, sweetie!" Mr. Molloy had as poor an opinion of the sleuth hound of Halsey Court as the latter had of him. "You know what he's like. As slippery as an eel dipped in butter. A bird you can't trust an inch."

"Chimp's all right."

"He's not all right. His work is raw. You know that as well as I do. The first thing that'll happen when he fetches up here is that he'll see something that takes his fancy and isn't nailed down, and he'll swipe it and be gone like the wind. And then what? We're in bad for recommending him. I give us a coupla days. After that, we'll be handed our hats and told to get the hell out."

"You wouldn't like that."

"You betcher I wouldn't like it."

"No. It would break your heart, wouldn't it, to have to part from your Mrs. Cork."

"What do you mean, pettie? You're acting strange."

All the banked-up fires in Dolly Molloy burst out.

"So you don't know what I mean? That's a laugh. You think I haven't been hep to your goings-on, do you? Well, I have. Who roamed with her in rose gardens, having blooms stuck in his buttonhole?"

Mr. Molloy gaped. "But, sweetie---"

"Who patted her hand on the terrace this very afternoon, trying to look like great lovers through the ages? You don't know I seen you, did you? Well, I did, and it was like as if someone had batted me over the bean with an iron casing. I'd never of thought it of you, Soapy. After all that stuff the minister put across about forsaking all others and sticking around me in sickness and in health, and you nodding as much as to say that it was okay by you."

"But, sweetie, you've got me wrong."

"You patted her lunch-hook."

"Sure I patted her lunch-hook. And why? Because I was trying to sell her oil stock."

"What!"

Mr. Molloy looked like a Senator clearing himself of the trumped-up charges of a foul and corrupt opposition.

" Sure. When you're married to a business man, you've got to let him have his sales methods. She was telling me about her nephew Lionel and what a hell of a time he'd been having in the law courts and how she feared it might have bruised his eager, sensitive spirit permanent, and I threw in a pat just to help things along. It worked, too. It wasn't more'n a coupla minutes later that I was interesting her in a block of Silver River. We had to break off the conference just then, on account there was a guy she wanted to see indoors, but it's all fixed. She's giving me her cheque to-morrow."

The stony expression had faded from Dolly Molloy's piquant face, as if erased by a sponge. As she realized how she had wronged this good man, tears of remorse dimmed her bright eyes.

"Oh, Soapy! What a sap I've been."

"It's all right, sweetness."

"But why didn't you tell me?"

"I was keeping it as a surprise for your birthday."

"How much do we cop?"

"Close on a thousand."

"Dollars?"

"Pounds."

"A thousand pounds? Oh, Soapy!"

She flung herself on her husband's ample bosom, sniffing emotionally. Nothing marred the ecstasy of this supreme moment, except those pangs of remorse which still continued to rend her. "Sap," she was feeling, was the exact word. She must have been a super-sap not to have understood from the start that her Soapy would never have dreamed of bestowing caresses upon another woman, unless actuated by the soundest commercial motives.

Presently, the long, tender embrace ended. Mr. Molloy said "Gee!" and lit a cigar. Mrs. Molloy said "Gosh!" and powdered her nose. They walked along together in silent contentment. "Oh, blessings on the falling out that all the more endears," they were possibly saying to themselves. Or possibly not.

"You know, sweetie-pie," said Mrs. Molloy dreamily, touching on an interesting point, "I've sometimes wondered if somewhere or other there really is a Silver River oil well."

"Me, too."

"There might be."

"There might."

"Funny, if there was."

"Very funny," agreed Mr. Molloy. "What you would call a coincidence." He smiled, then struck a graver note. "But about Chimp, honey. I'm free to admit that I don't like the notion of that little grifter being let around loose in this joint."

"I wouldn't worry."

"But I do."

"I mean, you don't have to. Chimp likes his home comforts. He won't stick it out here a day. Not when his stomach gets on to it that all that's coming to it is vegetables."

"Something in that," said Mr. Molloy, brightening, and the conversation turned to other topics. They were debating the chances, if Mr. Molloy played his cards right, of Mrs. Cork putting in a repeat order for Silver River, when they rounded the corner of the shrubbery and perceived before them, standing on the brink of the pond, a personable young man whose air was that of one who watches water beetles.

"Hello," said Mrs. Molloy.

"Who's here?" said Mr. Molloy. "Looks like a new internee."

They approached, and Mr. Molloy, in pursuance of his policy of being a ray of sunshine to all men, for you never knew who might not be wanting a sound investment in oil, gave Jeff a cheery good evening.

"Good evening," said Jeff. He found the other impressive. The sweeping removal of Air. Molloy's hat had revealed a fine, high forehead, rather like Shakespeare's.

"New member of our little community, sir?"

"Just arrived. Nice place."

Dolly uttered a mirthless laugh.

"There's nothing wrong with the place. But, oh baby, wait till that dinner gong goes!"

"The wife," said Mr. Molloy explanatorily. "My name is Molloy."

"Mine is Adair," said Jeff, and was surprised to observe that the affable couple seemed startled.

"Ad-what?"

"Adair. Sheringham Adair."

Mr. Molloy looked at Mrs. Molloy. Mrs. Molloy looked at Mr. Molloy. Then they transferred their gaze to Jeff, subjecting him to a penetrating stare. The lady's eyes were particularly questioning in their bright intentness.

"Something wrong here," said Mr. Molloy.

"Oompus-boompus, if you ask me," assented Dolly, whom a strenuous life had rendered peculiarly swift in the identification of oompus-boompus. "What's the game?" she demanded coldly.

Jeff's heart had given a little jump. When Mr. Molloy, with that air of his of bestowing a public honour on a deserving recipient had told him his name, that name had had a vaguely familiar ring. But only now did he realize that this woman, whose eyes were boring into his with such unpleasant fixity, must be the Mrs. Molloy who had recommended Sheringham Adair to Mrs. Cork. He had not anticipated that on arrival at Shipley Hall he would meet someone presumably well acquainted with his neighbour of Halsey Court.

But then, he reminded himself, he had not anticipated that he would meet Lionel Green. And look how he had handled him. He braced himself to handle with equal smoothness this new menace.

Mr. Molloy, though shaken, had not abandoned his suavity of manner. He agreed with his wife that something was toward that had all the appearance of oompus-boompus, but he was prepared to listen to explanations.

"What Mrs. Molloy means," he said, "is that we were expecting a friend of ours named Sheringham Adair around these parts to-night."

"The private investigator," said Dolly.

"And you're not him."

"You're dead right he's not him."

Jeff smiled. He had suddenly perceived that this was going to be absurdly easy. "How very amusing!"

"I haven't started laughing yet," said Dolly austerely.

"I don't wonder you're surprised. How long is it since you saw your friend?"

"I was talking to him this morning."

"And he didn't tell you he had sold the business?"

"Sold the business?"

"Lock, stock and barrel, with all the goodwill and everything. I took over this afternoon. Of course, one naturally assumes the trade name."

Mrs. Molloy looked at Mr. Molloy.

"Chimp Twist never said a word to me about selling out."

"He didn't?"

"No, sir. Not a syllable."

"You have found Mr. Twist a secretive man?" said Jeff, interested. "I noticed the same thing. A valuable quality, no doubt."

Dolly was still unconvinced.

"You don't look like a detective."

"Surely," said Jeff, throwing in a "dear lady" for good measure, "that is just how a detective ought to look, in order to lull suspicion in suspects. Hullo," he went on, looking at his watch, "it's later than I thought. I suppose one ought to be going in and dressing. Good-bye, Mrs. Molloy. Good-bye, Mr. Molloy. For the present, of course. In the not distant future I hope that we shall see much of one another."

He disappeared with long strides, trusting that he had not been abrupt but convinced that he had chosen a very suitable moment for breaking off the conversation, and Mrs. Molloy turned to her husband.

"How about it, Soapy?"

"Maybe it's on the up and up."

"But wouldn't Chimp have mentioned he was selling out?"

"He doesn't mention much."

"And why would he sell out, sudden, like this?"

"Maybe he had to skip, quick. He often does have to skip quick, the dishfaced little weasel."

"That's true."

They fell into a thoughtful silence, which remained unbroken till they had passed through the front door.

CHAPTER XI

A helpful housemaid directed Jeff to the room which had been allotted to him, and he had finished dressing and was relaxing over a cigarette, when the door was pushed open as by some irresistible force and a vast body of familiar aspect appeared on the threshold. From the kindly smile on the slablike face that topped it, Jeff saw at once that he was now in the presence of George, Viscount Uffenham, not of Cakebread. There was about the visitor none of that cold aloofness which had prevented a fusion of soul at their last meeting.