Outrageous Fortune (25 page)

Jim restrained himself.

“What
did
you hear, Min?”

“It didn't amount to anything.”

“Have you ever been sworn at in Spanish?” said Jim.

She stared at him, and the corners of his mouth twitched.

“Well, my dear, it's a copious language, and if you don't want it loosed on you, you'll get down to brass tacks and tell me exactly what Nesta's friend did say.”

She looked at him in alarm.

“Maybe he didn't mean anything.”

“What did he say?”

“He said, ‘Don't be late,'” said Min with a gasp.

Don't be late..… Well, don't be late for what—and when—and where?..… And he spoke as if he had something in his mouth..… Perhaps it was a gap in his upper jaw—perhaps it wasn't. Jim's head whirled with possibilities.

“Anything more?” he asked.

She shook her head.

“He went off, and she came in.”

“Which way did he go?”

“Ledlington way.”

He walked beside her in silence for a moment.

“You could see that it wasn't me? Now Min, how much could you see? Would you know him again?”

“Oh no.”

“Then how did you know it wasn't me?”

“He wasn't so tall.”

“A small man?”

“Not to say small.”

“Wasn't there anything you noticed particularly?”

She shook her head helplessly.

“I could just see the shape of him like.”

He got no more out of her than that.

At the lower end of the colonnade they parted.

He crossed the square and went into the library.

XXVIII

As Jim Randal entered the free library in Ledlington, a car stopped at Miss Pansy Arbuthnot's wicket gate and a small dapper man got out. He slammed the door of the car behind him, clicked open the gate, marched up the path to the front door, and delivered a smart rat-tat. His hair and moustache were white, the former thick and the latter bristling, and his face so tanned that strangers learned with surprise that it was ten years since he had set foot outside the British Isles. He wore an air of military impatience, and after the briefest of intervals his knock was repeated, and so loudly as to bring Pansy Ann out of the scullery without waiting to dry her hands. Her consternation was considerable at finding the Chief Constable on the doorstep at such an hour—the breakfast things not cleared away; her feet—Pansy was proud of her feet—in her oldest shoes; and her hands and arms dripping with the geranium dye in which she had just immersed an aged pink sports coat. It was all very agitating, and if she hadn't thought it might be the post and a letter from Robert, she wouldn't have gone near the door—and what on earth Major Anderson was doing here at half past nine, heaven alone knew.

Her colour rose. She put up a hand to her hair, left a gruesome stain on her temple, and said in an agitated voice,

“Oh good morning, Major Anderson—I'm dyeing.”

Major Anderson when at school had recited Macauley's
Lays of Ancient Rome.
He was reminded of one of them now. He had a martinetish sense of humour which he kept under strict control. Macauley's words bobbed up and tickled it.

On the right side went Romulus

With arms to the shoulder red
—

Was it shoulder, or elbow? Tut tut! He couldn't be sure, but the bit about Remus was really more appropriate.

On the left side went Remus

With wrists and fingers red
—

Hang it all, the girl looked as if she had been killing a pig.

With all this in the back of his mind, he removed his hat and said, “Good morning.”

“I'm afraid I'm an early visitor,” he proceeded, “but I've come on a matter of business. Perhaps I might see Miss Leigh.”

Pansy made a heroic effort to conceal her anguish. If she left her coat in the dye, unstirred and unprodded, it would certainly come out streaky, and if she took it out now, it would be only half done. She indicated a chair, apologised for the breakfast things, and ran upstairs in despair to inform Caroline.

“Major Anderson is downstairs, and my coat's only half done—and just look at me!”

Caroline was dusting her dressing-table. She straightened up with her back to Pansy.

“Major Anderson?”

“Yes—the Chief Constable—on business. What
can
he want? He asked for you. I must just get some of this stuff off my hands. Do go down.”

“All right,” said Caroline without moving.

She heard Pansy go into her own room.

The Chief Constable..… She must go down. Her legs felt weak and shaky. She looked in the glass and saw that she was as white as a sheet. If she went down looking like that, she might just as well throw up the sponge and have done with it.

She put on a little colour and went down.

Major Anderson was looking out of the window. He might have been admiring the dahlias. He turned as she came down the stair, said, “How do you do?” and pulled a chair away from the breakfast table for her.

Caroline was glad to sit down, because her joints felt exactly as if they were made of melting wax. She bit the inside of her lip hard and waited for the Chief Constable to tell her that Jim had been arrested. Instead, he gave a funny little cough and, sitting very bolt upright in their best wheelback chair,

“Miss Leigh,” he said, “I've called at what, I hope, is not a very inconvenient hour to make some inquiries about—well, about Jim Randal.”

Caroline said, “Yes?” Her voice sounded deep and mournful. It did not shake; that was one comfort. It didn't matter how mournful it sounded, because, as far as Chief Constables and people like that were concerned, Jim had better be drowned. If you are feeling horribly frightened, it is quite easy to look tragic—it is, indeed, a relief.

“Now, Miss Leigh,” said Major Anderson—“perhaps you wouldn't mind telling me when you last heard from Jim Randal.”

“It was the beginning of August,” said Caroline.

“Can you give me the date?”

“Yes—the fourth.”

“Would you mind telling me what he said?”

“Oh no. It was just a few lines. I was staying with Mrs Ogilvie at Craigellachie. Jim was coming there too. He wrote to say he would take a steamer up the coast.”

“Did he say what steamer?”

“No.”

“Did you hear again?”

“No, we didn't.”

Major Anderson leaned forward.

“Had you any reason to suppose that he was on the
Alice Arden?”
His small, sharp grey eyes fixed Caroline.

“We thought he must have been.”

“Why?”

“He didn't come, and he didn't write.”

“I see..… You say he didn't write. You're sure of that?

You're sure he hasn't communicated with you since the wreck of the
Alice Arden?”

“Quite sure,” said Caroline. She wondered whether this was a lie. What was “communicating”?

“Now, Miss Leigh—I believe you went to the Elston cottage hospital in response to a broadcast message stating that they had a man there who appeared to have lost his memory. It was believed that his name was Jim Riddell, or Randal. You went there?”

“Yes.”

“You didn't see the man?”

“No—his wife had fetched him away.”

“Yes, his wife—and left no address.”

“She said his name was Riddell,” said Caroline. She hoped she did not say it too quickly.

“You were satisfied that it could not have been Jim Randal?”

“Jim isn't married—she said it was her husband.”

“And you've heard nothing from your cousin since then?”

The telephone bell rang on the other side of the room. Caroline had never been so glad to hear anything in her life. She went over to the foot of the stair and lifted the receiver. As she did so, Pansy's door opened and Pansy's voice called to her.

“I expect that's Jenny to know whether I'm coming to the treasure hunt this evening. If it is, tell her I can't. You can easily get someone to go with you if you want to. I'm
just
coming down.”

“I'm so sorry,” aid Caroline over her shoulder to Major Anderson. Then she put the receiver to her ear, and heard Jim say,

“Caroline—”

It was the most paralysing shock. For one moment Caroline thought she was going to faint. The telephone was just by the stair foot. She leaned hard on the balustrade. Jim—telephoning to her—and the Chief Constable exactly three yards away, waiting for an answer to his question: “And you've heard nothing from your cousin since then?”

Jim's voice again:

“Caroline—”

Pansy was coming down the stairs.

“I'm so sorry, Major Anderson, but I was simply drenched with dye. Do forgive me for being so long. Caroline won't be a moment. Jenny Ross has got a treasure hunt this evening, and I said perhaps I'd go, but I don't think I will. I don't care for them really, and after last night—Wasn't it a frightful storm? I don't think I ever remember anything worse than that last crack of thunder. Caroline was out, and I was dreadfully nervous.”

“Yes, yes,” said Major Anderson—“Miss Ross' treasure hunt—I hope it will be fine. My nephew Jack is going, I believe. I hope there will be no more thunder.”

Caroline spoke into the telephone.

“Yes?”

“Caroline, I've just rung up to say I've had to go off. You mustn't go there again. Good-bye, my dear.”

“Wait,” said Caroline. “Wait.” Her lips were so stiff that she could hardly get them to move. How was she to find words that would mean nothing to Pansy and Major Anderson and yet stop Jim from going away where she couldn't find him or get into touch with him? She
had
to give him Susie Van Berg's message and to let him know the frightful danger he was in. If Elmer died, Susie would tell the police that she had heard him quarrelling with Jim, and that it was Jim who had shot him.

“I mustn't wait,” said Jim. “Don't worry.”

“Where are you ringing from?”

As she waited for Jim's answer, she heard Major Anderson say to Pansy,

“Then you believe that your cousin was drowned?”

Then Jim:

“Ledlington post office. I can't stop.”

Caroline's head cleared suddenly. She had got to see Jim and tell him about Susie, and about Caroline Bussell and Nesta. She bent down to the mouthpiece and spoke in quite a natural voice.

“Wait a moment—you don't forget you're coming to Jenny Ross' treasure hunt, do you? They won't begin while it's light, so we'd better meet about nine.”

“What are you talking about? Caroline, you've got to keep out of this.”

Caroline achieved a laugh.

“I can't stop either—I've got a visitor. I'll be at the end of Nesta's road—I can't remember its name—at nine o'clock. Will that be all right?”

“Caroline, you're not to come! I can't be there.”

“Very well, I'll be there at nine.… Yes, of course I'll come—I wouldn't miss it for anything.”

She hung up the receiver and turned to face the room.

“That wasn't Jenny?” said Pansy.

“No,” said Caroline.

Major Anderson rose to his feet.

“If you have any news of your cousin—” He stopped, said “H'm!” and changed the construction of his sentence. “If your cousin should communicate with either of you, will you ask him to get into touch with me as soon as possible—in his own interests—” He checked himself for the second time. It was more than probable that Jim Randal would never communicate with anyone again, since he had either been drowned or else had the very strongest motives for making himself scarce. A bad business. Much better if he's drowned—much better all round. Used to be a damn nice youngster. Well, well.

He shook hands with an air of relief and reflected that Pansy Arbuthnot talked enough for half a dozen, and that Caroline Leigh was an uncommon pretty girl—bit peaky when he first came in, but she'd cheered up after answering that telephone call—some young fellow-my-lad she was going off treasure-hunting with to-night—wouldn't have done to have asked who it was, he supposed. Well, well—let the boys and girls have their fun. But twenty years ago it wouldn't have been considered quite the thing for a girl to be running round treasure-hunting when there had just been a death in the family. Pretty girl though—uncommon pretty.

He got into his car and drove away.

XXIX

Jim Randal went into the free library, but he did not stay there long. He did not even ask for the file which he had come there to look at. The past and what had happened in the past was nothing like so important as the present and what was likely to happen in the immediate future.

He sat down on one of the stiff upright chairs, shut his eyes, and went over what Min had told him. It was just as if she had pushed into his hand half a dozen of those queerly shaped and coloured bits of wood which go to make up a jig-saw puzzle. Of the rest of the bits, some were in place, others set down tentatively here and there, and a great many still entirely missing. The question was, did the bits that Min had just given him fit in with the bits he had already? He thought they did. He put them down one by one, and saw them slip smoothly into place.

Nesta had come down in the small hours at the summons of a handful of gravel thrown up against her window. She must have both known who was summoning her and have agreed with him that their interview must be a secret one. She had been away for something over an hour. That meant either an intrigue or the deuce of a lot to talk over. He dismissed the idea of an intrigue. Nesta struck him as a good deal too practical to embark on a haphazard, snatched, uncomfortable affair like this. No—Nesta's passion was for the Van Berg emeralds. If she left her comfortable bed, it was because she had some strong inducement. Well, she had gone out, stayed out for more than an hour, come back, and then immediately gone out again as far as the gate, bringing with her something, presumably money. Min had then heard her say “It's all I've got,” and something about keeping money in the house; after which the man said a lot of things she didn't hear, and one that she did. She heard him say, “Don't be late.”