Money in the Bank (4 page)

The delightful voice was right on the job, as usual.

"Yes, Mrs. Cork?"

"Come here, please."

"Yes, Mrs. Cork."

And after a brief interval, during which Mrs. Cork made some strong observations about dishonest butlers and Mr. Trumper squeaked a good deal and Dolly Molloy fermented in silence, the door opened and Anne Benedick appeared.

Nature, in assembling Anne Benedick, had done a nice bit of work. She was a slim girl of twenty-three, one of those alert, boyish-looking girls of whom one feels what jolly children they must have been. She had a demure mouth, with a whimsical twist to it, and eyes that looked as if they saw the humour of things. The first thought any male observer would have had about her—except Mr. Trumper, who naturally regarded such a position as a privilege—was that she seemed made for something better than sitting at a telephone saying "Yes, Mrs. Cork."

Her employer, direct as always, came to the point with the decision of a machine-gun.

"Miss Benedick. Cakebread. Pay him a month's wages, and see that he leaves to-day."

Her words were so definite, her tone so resolute, that one might have supposed that the girl's only possible reply would have been another "Yes, Mrs. Cork." To that autocrat's astonishment, however, and to Mr. Trumper's shocked disapproval, Anne Benedick did not take her cue.

“What!" she cried. " Why?"

Mrs. Cork had once had a native bearer who, when given his orders for the day, had said "Why?" You can recognise him easily, if you happen to be in his village, by the dazed, stunned look which still lingers on his face and the way he has of jumping, if anyone speaks to him suddenly. That had been nearly ten years ago, and nobody had tried it since, amazement, accordingly, held her dumb for an instant, and before she could rally from the shock Dolly Molloy intervened.

"I'll tell you why," she said vehemently. "I don't know who hired this darned Cakebread to haunt this house, nor what his charges were, but he's turning in a swell job. You can't go anywheres in the place without finding him floating around like ectoplasm. He's been in Mrs. Cork's room, he's been in Mr. Trumper's room, and he's been in my room, twice in two days. And what we kinda feel is that he'd best be shot out before he gets through with checking up on our stuff and deciding which of it to pack in his old kit bag and which is too heavy to lift."

"Exactly," said Mrs. Cork. " Get rid of him at once."

Anne Benedick's mouth twitched. One would have said that she was amused.

"I'm afraid you can't get rid of him."

Again, Mrs. Cork was conscious of a sense of shock.

"Can't get rid of him?"

"I'm afraid nor. I don't think you can have read the lease of the house carefully, or you would have noticed the clause about Cakebread. My uncle insisted on having it put in."

"Clause? What clause?"

"That in no circumstances is he to be dismissed from his position."

"What!"

"I'm afraid so."

There was a silence. Then Mrs. Cork said she had never heard of such a thing, and Mr. Trumper said it was quite incredible. Mrs. Molloy did not speak. She seemed to be thinking.

"It's annoying, of course."

"Annoying!"

"But Uncle George refused to let the place under any other conditions."

Mrs. Molloy came out of her reverie.

"Well, say, listen," she cried. "There's nothing in the book of the words to prevent Mrs. Cork having the bozo pinched and stowed away in the cooler, if he's a thief and gets caught with the goods?"

"Yes, I suppose she could do that," said Anne. "But really, Mrs. Cork, you're quite mistaken about Cakebread. It's just that he has an enquiring mind."

"Well, look," proceeded Mrs. Molloy. "Lemme tell you how you can swing it. Hire a detective, and have him watch the bimbo."

She gazed at Mrs. Cork hopefully. Here, her agile mind had perceived, was one of those cases where a single stone may be utilised for the undoing of two birds. The sanctity of private property could be protected against any oompus-boompus, and at the same time she would have on the premises a trained ally, observing her Soapy's movements both in and out of rose gardens.

Mrs. Cork's eyes lightened.

"An admirable suggestion."

"Admirable," agreed Mr. Trumper.

"And I've got the very man for you," said Mrs. Molloy. "Sheringham Adair, of Halsey Court, Mayfair."

"Mayfair," said Mr. Trumper, impressed.

"Mayfair," said Mrs. Cork, well satisfied. "That sounds all right."

"He's as smart as a whip. One of the best men in the business."

"Then I will put the matter in his hands. You have the name and address, Miss Benedick? Sheringham Adair, Halsey Court, Mayfair."

"But really---"

"Please don't stand there, saying 'Really.' Go at once. If you start immediately in the two-seater, you will be able to reach him before he leaves his office. If possible, bring him back with you. I shall not feel easy in my mind till the man is in the house."

"Nor I," said Mr. Trumper.

"Me neither," said Mrs. Molloy.

Anne Benedick gave an imperceptible shrug of her trim shoulders, but she knew better than to argue. Those who had the privilege of serving Clarissa Cork soon learned to acquire the Light Brigade outlook. What though the secretary-companion knew someone had blundered, hers not to reason why. What she had to do was go to the garage, get out the two-seater and make the seventy-minute trip to London.

Nevertheless, though outwardly acquiescent, it was not to the garage that she proceeded on leaving the room, but to the butler's pantry. She found its occupant seated at the table, playing chess with himself. From the contented expression on his face, he appeared to be winning.

He looked up, as Anne entered.

"Hullo, my dear. Come for a little chat, hey?"

There was a motherly severity in Anne's manner.

"No, I haven't," she said. "If you wish to know, my angel, I'm off to London, to engage a detective. Did you hear that? A detective. He's coming to stay at the house, and his task will be to watch your every movement with his magnifying glass."

"Lord-love-a-duck! Yer don't mean that?"

"Yes, I do," said Anne. "Your conduct has aroused the liveliest suspicion. You've certainly made a nice mess of things, Uncle George."

CHAPTER IV

At about the time when Anne Benedick, at the wheel of Mrs. Cork's two-seater, was passing through the outer fringe of the suburbs on her way to Halsey Buildings, Jeff Miller stood leaning out of his third-floor window in Halsey Chambers, his eyes fixed on the entrance of the court. His air was one of anxiety and apprehension. He looked like Mr. Trumper just before his interview with Mrs. Cork.

Nor would anyone who had been placed in possession of the facts have been surprised at his trepidation. Earlier in the day, he had received a telegram from Myrtle Shoe-smith, announcing that she would be with him in the course of the afternoon. And if Myrtle had cut short her visit to her friends in the country and was rushing back to see him in this impetuous fashion, it could mean but one thing. She had been reading about the case of Pennefather
v.
Tarvin.

Full reports of this had appeared that morning in all the brighter London journals, in some cases on the front page. And if this should seem strange, seeing what a minor case it was, it may be mentioned that what had caused light-hearted reporters to describe the proceedings at considerable length had been the football celebrity of plaintiff's counsel and his entertaining methods of cross-examination.

Jeff would not have done it for pleasure, but he could, if called upon, have recited those newspaper reports verbatim. They were graven on his mind. An excerpt from one flashed before him now, in letters of flame.

C
OUNSEL
:  Is it not a fact, Green---

J
UDGE
:     Mr. Green, if you please, Mr. Miller.

C
OUNSEL
:  Oh, sorry.

J
UDGE
:     Not at all, Mr. Miller. Pray continue.

C
OUNSEL
:
Right ho.   Thanks.   Is it not a fact, Mr. Green ... Look at me, if you please, and not at the jury

J
UDGE
:     Witness is looking at you, Mr. Miller.

C
OUNSEL
: Oh, is he? Right ho. Is it not a fact, Mr.

Green, that at school you were known as Stinker, and that we were given a half-holiday the day the news came out that you had had a bath?

W
ITNESS
: Your worship!

J
UDGE
:   It is more customary to address me as "My lord," Mr. Green, or, alternatively, as "Me lud." However, I find your emotion intelligible. Have these references to witness's apparently misspent youth any bearing on the case now before us, Mr. Miller?

C
OUNSEL
: I'm shaking him, me lud—showing what a louse he is.

J
UDGE
:  
Do not use the word "louse," Mr. Miller.

C
OUNSEL
: As your ludship pleases. Well, anyway, Stinker, putting aside for the moment the question of your niffiness, wasn't it notorious that you couldn't tell the truth without straining a ligament? What I'm driving at is that this story of yours about the blow or buffet being really a prod or tap is a tissue of lies from soup to nuts. Come on now, come clean, you unspeakable wart.

J
UDGE
:    The expression "wart," Air. Miller

There had been quite a lot of this sort of thing, culminating in Counsel requesting the Learned Judge for heaven's sake not to keep interrupting all the time, and His Lordship, ceasing to be urbane, speaking of contempt of court and advising Counsel to lose no time in adopting some other walk in life, for he, His Lordship, could see no future for him at the Bar. And the thought of Myrtle Shoesmith's eyes perusing it, and Myrtle Shoesmith coming to have a long, cosy talk about it, was not an agreeable one.

He craned his neck out of the window, scanning the horizon, and nearly overbalanced as Ma Balsam's voice spoke unexpectedly behind him. For one awful moment, he had thought that Myrtle had arrived unseen and sneaked up in his rear.

"When would you be wanting tea, sir?"

Jeff eyed her wanly. It seemed to him she had got a wrong angle on this interview which confronted him.

"I very much doubt, Ma, if the question of tea will arise."

"Young ladies like their cup of tea, sir."

"True. But I think you are overstressing the social side of this reunion. I have an idea that Miss Shoesmith will be far too busy talking to have leisure for refreshment."

"I've made some nice rock cakes."

"Even for nice rock cakes. You might tempt her with my blood, but a sip or two of that, as I see it, will be all that she will be requiring. I may be wrong, but I have an uneasy feeling, Ma, that she has been reading about the Case. You did, I suppose?"

"Oh, yes, sir."

"You know, Ma, the whole thing is just one more instance of how one can regret doing something which seemed a good idea at the time. When I beheld this Lionel Green cowering before me in the box, and suddenly realized that he was the Stinker Green who had embittered my early boyhood, it appeared such an obvious course to slip it across him and bathe him in confusion that I didn't hesitate. 'You are on the right lines, J. G. Miller,' I said to myself."

"Then you knew the gentleman, sir?"

"Didn't you gather that from the trend of my examination? Yes, we were at school together. He was a couple of years older than me. It was he who secured for me the repulsive nickname of ' Socks,' which I succeeded in living down, thanks to some lissomness on the football field, only in my last two years. 'Socks,' I may mention, was short for 'Bed Socks.' This blot Green spread abroad the foul canard that I wore bed socks at home and always had to sleep with a nightlight because I was afraid of the dark. Well, you know—or possibly with your pure mind you do not know—what hellhounds the young of the English leisured classes are. They were on to it like wolves."

"Not nice of the young gentleman, sir."

"Not at all nice. I was too small at the time to biff him in the eye, but I swore a dark oath of vengeance. I can now write that off."

"I thought the Judge was very nasty to you, sir."

"Very. I had always supposed that Counsel on these occasions was allowed to say whatever he liked, while the Judge leaned back and chuckled heartily at his ready wit, and it was a rude shock to me when His Lordship kept kicking me in the stomach. Still, these Judges have a great deal of penetration, Ma. Shrewd fellows. You noticed what this one said, about how I ought to give up the Bar? He was merely putting into words what I have so often felt myself. From now on, I shall concentrate exclusively upon the work where I am convinced that my real talents lie. I shall write thrillers, and I shall do nothing but write thrillers, and if they come to me and plead with me to appear in the latest
cause célèbre,
I shall reply that I am sorry, but I cannot fit it in. You merely court disaster in these days of specialisation, if you dissipate your energies.  Oh, yes, Ma, I am quite clear that all this has been the best thing that could possibly have happened. But if you ask me if I am looking forward to the prospect of explaining that to Miss Shoesmith, I answer frankly ... Oh, my God!" said Jeff, a powerful shudder passing through his well-knit frame. " Here she is!"

He squared his shoulders manfully, endeavouring to overcome a sinking sensation in the pit of the stomach. Watching Myrtle Shoesmith, as she crossed the court, it would have been impossible for the dullest and least observant eye not to have seen that her walk was the walk of an overwrought soul. Mrs. Cork, had she been present, would have noted instantly the resemblance to a leopard on the prowl. She disappeared into the doorway of Halsey Chambers, and Jeff, after a momentary hesitation, went out on to the landing to meet her, bracing himself for what was plainly going to be a sticky
tete
-a
-tete.