The Girl in Blue (21 page)

‘Chippendale?
Why Chippendale?’

‘It’s
rather a long story. Complex, too. I’d better tell it you from the beginning.
You’ll understand as the plot unfolds.’

Watching
Willoughby’s face as the plot did this, the motion-picture magnate would have
found his favourable opinion confirmed, for Willoughby, who had depicted joy,
bewilderment and impatience so efficiently, now showed that he could do you
horror, agony and dismay with equal facility.

‘You mean,’
he said, speaking hoarsely, like a Shakespearian actor with tonsillitis, ‘that
everything depends on Crispin pushing this policeman into a brook? Crispin
couldn’t push a Singer’s midget into a brook. I wouldn’t trust Crispin to
squash a wasp with a teaspoon. Ring for this fellow Chippendale.’

‘You
want to speak to him?’

‘I want
to break his spine in three places if he doesn’t hand over that miniature
before I count ten.’

In
Chippendale’s demeanour, as he answered the summons, a physiognomist would have
noted a certain deviation from the normal. As a rule he looked like a Wyandotte
or Plymouth Rock with nothing particular to occupy its mind. Now, surprisingly,
he was registering joy as wholeheartedly as Willoughby had done in his
pre-horror and agony phase. Plainly something had occurred to bring the sun
smiling through.

Willoughby,
in whom years of financial solidity had developed a tendency towards
imperiousness, seldom concealed his emotions. Possessing stocks and bonds in
large numbers at his bank and money rolling in all the time, he did not have
to. When he felt annoyed, he showed that he was annoyed. His manner in
addressing Chippendale was curt.

‘You!’

“Who
me, cocky?’

‘Yes,
you, blister your blasted kidneys. Where’s that miniature?’

‘What
miniature?’

It
occurred to Jerry that the situation would be greatly clarified if
introductions were performed.

This is
Mr Willoughby Scrope, Chippendale.’

‘Oh,
that’s
who you are,’ said Chippendale, relieved. ‘I was hesitating to speak freely
in front of you, because how was I to know that you were a bloke I could speak
freely, in front of? If you’re the fellow who’s the unseen mastermind behind
our little group of workers, there’s no need to seal my lips. Has Mr ‘West been
telling you of all that’s transpired?’

‘Yes.
Where’s the miniature?’

‘I’ll
be coming to that. Did he mention about the necessity arising for bunging the
local police officer into the drink? ‘Well, you’ll be happy to hear that it’s
been attended to. I was looking out of the window just now, and I saw him
squelching along soaked to the eyebrows. Not a dry stitch on him. It reminded
me of that song about singing in the rain, not that he was singing, far from
it. I’ve never seen a wetter copper except the time when one was trying to
pinch my uncle Reggie for street betting and my aunt Myrtle threw a pail of
soapy water over him, a wifely act for which she subsequently did thirty days
without the option of a fine. So the thing that’s been holding us up has been
disposed of, and nothing stands in the way of me delivering the goods, which I
shall be glad to do as soon as I can get to my room. The you-know-what is in
the chest of drawers there, concealed beneath my socks and summer underwear. I’ll
go and get it.’

For
some moments after Chippendale’s departure Willoughby sat dumb and motionless,
as if in a trance. Then, reaching out for the whisky, he uttered a single word.

‘Amazing!’

That
Chippendale’s heart should have been so set on immersing Constable Simms?’

‘No,
that Crispin should have had the nerve and know-how to carry through such a
delicate operation without a hitch. I wouldn’t have thought he had it in him.
What a lesson this should be to all of us never to write off a man as an
incompetent poop simply because all his life he has behaved like an incompetent
poop. Often he merely needs an incentive to bring out his hidden qualities. The
crisis comes and his executive ability is revealed. He acts, as Crispin has
done. It’s really extraordinary. I could tell you stories of Crispin as a boy
and in early manhood and for the matter of that even lately which would make
you marvel that he ever escaped the loony bin. And yet in an enterprise which
would have taxed the skill and ingenuity of an professional criminal… Crips!’
cried Willoughby, for the head of the family had tottered in and was gazing at
the whisky decanter with the air of one who has come to journey’s end. That
gargoyle who calls himself a butler has just been telling us of your
magnificent conduct.’

‘Eh?’
said Crispin. He seemed dazed.

‘At the
brook.’

‘Oh, at
the brook?’ said Crispin.

‘And I
was saying to Jerry here that I never would have suspected you of such courage
and adroitness. Didn’t your nerve fail you for an instant?’

‘No,’
said Crispin. ‘It had to be done, so I — er — did it. Any man would have done
the same.’

‘I
disagree with you. It was —’

Willoughby
was about to add the word ‘heroic’, but at this moment Homer Pyle entered the
library. He had seen Crispin climbing the stairs and had followed him in order
to fill him in on the subject of mice and bedrooms. He had got as far as ‘Oh,
Mr Scrope, I am sorry to trouble you’, when his eye fell on Willoughby.

‘Why,
Mr Scrope,’ he exclaimed. ‘I did not know you were here.’

‘Just
arrived. I drove down. I had to see someone oh business. Miss Hunnicut.’

‘A
charming young lady.’

‘About
a legacy she has had.’

‘Ah
yes, she was telling me about that only this morning.’

‘I’ll
bet she didn’t tell you all, because she wouldn’t have known about the latest
developments. But never mind that. How are you, Mr Pyle?’

‘In
excellent health, thank you. I find the quiet of Mellingham soothing to the
nerves.’

‘Did
you have a good time in Brussels?’

A
shadow flitted over Homer’s globular face, and for an instant he forgot mice
and bedrooms. He was remembering dinners with Vera Upshaw, walks with Vera
Upshaw and talks with Vera Upshaw when, if he had only been able to muster up
courage, he might have asked her to be his.

‘It was
very educational,’ he said. ‘By the way, Mr Scrope, you got my message?’

‘Message?’

‘I
telephoned your office after you had left for your golfing holiday and told
them to tell you that I had put your miniature in the middle drawer of your
desk. I will explain in more detail when we are alone. For the moment I will
merely say that I thought it safer,’ said Homer significantly. ‘I think you
will understand what I mean. I was afraid that it might fall into the wrong
hands if left on the mantelpiece. So after considerable reflection I came down
at one o’clock in the morning — or it may have been nearer two — and
transferred it to the middle drawer of the desk in your study.’

When he
was strongly moved, as sometimes by the vagaries of the office boy Percy, ‘Willoughby’s
rather florid complexion always took on a deeper hue. It turned now to a royal
purple, presenting a picture which would have interested a doctor in his blood
pressure. His eyes bulged. He stared at Homer as a snail might have stared at
another snail which had said something to shake it to its depths. His very ears
had reddened, and it was evident from his manner that he was finding a
difficulty in believing them.

‘You
mean…’ He choked. ‘You mean it’s been there all the time?’

‘Exactly.’

Then
what’s the one your sister gave the vicar?’

‘I beg
your pardon?’

‘Mrs
Clayborne gave a miniature to the vicar for his jumble sale in aid of the
Church Lads Annual Outing.’

‘Oh,
that one?’ said Homer, and permitted himself a light laugh. ‘She told me about
that. She bought it for five shillings at a pawn shop and had intended to give
it to you as a little token of her gratitude for your hospitality, but she felt
that it was such an insignificant object that it was not worthy of inclusion in
your collection. The reason I wished to see you, Mr Scrope,’ said Homer,
changing the subject and addressing Crispin, ‘is that there is a mouse in my
bedroom. It comes out at night after I have gone to bed and makes a scratching
noise which is very disturbing. But I see that you are occupied just now, so
perhaps you will give me a few minutes later on.’

It was soon
after he had left that Willoughby, who was still purple, was struck by a
thought which did much to bring his complexion back to normal. Interrupting
himself in the middle of a critique of Homer in which he stressed his
disapproval of the latter’s officiousness and practice of meddling in things
that were no business of his, he said:

‘Well,
this saves me two hundred pounds,’ and Crispin, grasping his meaning without
difficulty, uttered a bleating cry which drew from his brother a sharp
reproach.

‘Don’t make
those animal noises, Crips. You surely aren’t expecting me to pay out large
sums of money for nothing.’

‘But,
Bill!’

‘I pay
by results. Business is business.’

Jerry
put a question, on the answer to which much depended. His agitation, like
Crispin’s, was extreme.

‘Does
that apply to me, too?’

Willoughby
considered the point, and relieved his mind.

‘No, it’s
different with you. You’ll get your money, and if you’re going to marry Jane
Hunnicut, you’ll need it.’

To
preserve my self-respect, you mean?’

‘Self-respect
be blowed. You’ll need it to pay the household bills.’

‘I don’t
understand.’

‘You
will. By the way, where is she?’

‘She
went to London. She told me her New York lawyer had come over and wanted to see
her.’

‘I saw
him this morning. Then he’ll have told her.’

Told
her what?’

‘That
she hasn’t a penny to bless herself with.’

‘What!’

The
ejaculation proceeded from both Jerry and Crispin simultaneously, Crispin’s
having the greater volume. His voice, as he went on speaking, had in it the
suggestion of coming from a tomb which it had had when he was announcing Mrs
Bernadette Clayborne’s donation to the vicar’s jumble sale in aid of the Church
Lads Annual Outing.

‘You
told me she was a millionairess and might buy the house.’

‘Well,
she isn’t a millionairess and she won’t buy the house. I was exaggerating when
I said she hadn’t a penny, but she won’t have much.’

‘I
think I’ll go and lie down,’ said Crispin.

The
comparison, made earlier, between the younger of the brothers Scrope and a
staring snail would have been equally applicable to Jerry as the door closed
behind Crispin. His eyes bulged as Willoughby’s had done, and he seemed to be
experiencing the same difficulty in believing his ears.

‘But
what’s happened? Have they found another will?’

‘Hidden
behind the third brick on the left in the kitchen wall? No, nothing like that.
Jane Hunnicut gets everything, but the United States Federal sharks will see to
it that that isn’t much. The late Mr Donahue appears to have been one of those
men who don’t approve of income tax. He hadn’t paid his for fifteen years. You
can imagine what the sharks will do with a case like that. They’ll have a field
day. Add debts, liabilities for surtax, capital gains tax, death duties and all
the rest of it, and there won’t be a lot left. The same thing happened with a
client of mine the other day. His gross estate was four hundred thousand
pounds, and they whittled it down to something like seven thousand net. If Jane
Hunnicut gets away with about that, she’ll be lucky.’

‘How
absolutely wonderful!’ said Jerry. ‘How simply topping!’, and as he spoke
Chippendale entered. He was carrying a small brown paper parcel.

Willoughby
eyed him austerely.

‘What
do you want?’

The
question amused Chippendale. He cackled like the fowl he so resembled.

‘What
do
I
want? It’s what
you
want, cocky. If you’ve forgotten what
you sent me to fetch from beneath my summer underwear, you ought to see your
medical adviser. Here it is, mate, but before we go any further I’ve been
thinking it over and I’ve decided to make a slight adjustment in the matter of
terms.’

‘What
are you talking about, you blot?’

The
arrangement was that you were to cough up two hundred in the event of success
attending the enterprise. It’s not enough. Considering all I’ve been through on
your behalf, shut up in small rooms with man-eating tigers and straining my
brain to the utmost, we’ll make it three hundred.’

That
pretty shade of purple had begun to creep once more into Willoughby’s cheeks. ‘Three
hundred!’

‘Nice
round sum.’

Willoughby
heaved himself to his feet, breathing stertorously. He laid a large hand on
Chippendale’s shoulder.