Hue and Cry Read online

  “We’re so hungry.” Barbara was hopping on one leg.

  “Well, that’s new. What have you been doing to her, Miss Lee?”

  Mally only laughed, but Barbara poured out a torrent of excited words.

  “We’ve had lovely lessons and a lovely, lovely walk. And we’re going to do it all over again tomorrow, or else something nicer. And she told me a story in bed. And she says she will every day if I’m good. And she isn’t a bit like a governess. And oh, please may we go and have our lunch, because we’re so frightfully hungry.”

  The days went on very pleasantly. It is agreeable to be adored—and Barbara made no secret of her adoration. It is also agreeable to feel that one is pleasing one’s employer and one’s employer’s sister. Mally told herself that she was in luck, and became daily in less of a hurry to marry Roger and settle down at Curston. She was like a child in her enjoyment of London. She and Barbara explored together, and ranged enthusiastically from Museums to the Zoo.

  She had been installed for about a week, when Roger Mooring rang up. Mally, arriving breathless from the top of the house, was surprised to find a little glow of pleasure warming her. She said, “Roger!” and then, “How near you sound!”

  “I am near—I’m in town.”

  “For the day? What energy!”

  “No, I’m up for some weeks settling up Aunt Catherine’s affairs. I’m at her flat, which is just as she left it. You’d better take the address and the telephone number.”

  “How do you know I want them?”

  Roger took no notice of this impertinence. He said, quite eagerly for him, “I want you to come out and dine with me to-night. We’ll go somewhere where we can dance.”

  “Do governesses dance?” said Mally with a little gurgle. “I’m a governess now, you must remember—and my employer mightn’t like it.”

  Roger said something cross under his breath.

  “What did you say?”

  “I said, ‘Ask him.’”

  “No, you didn’t. But I will. You’d better hold on.”

  She ran down to the study and stood for a moment by the door, wondering whether Sir George would be alone. Then as she turned the handle she heard him say in a harsh voice, “I’ve not the slightest idea whether he meant anything or not,” and with that she came into the room and felt a sudden chill, a sudden constraint. The chill was in Sir George’s voice, and the constraint in his manner as he asked:

  “What is it, Miss Lee? Do you want anything?”

  He was sitting at his table, and Mr. Craddock was standing beside him. Mally came to a standstill a yard from the door.

  “I’m sorry—you’re busy. I’ll come some other time.”

  “No, no. Let’s have it now. What is it?”

  She felt the strongest possible desire to get out of the room.

  “It’s only—Roger. He rang up. He wanted to know if I could dine with him to-night.”

  Sir George laughed a little; but it seemed to Mally that the chill was still there—in the laugh, in Mr. Craddock’s pose, in the way Sir George looked at her when he said, “Of course, of course—arrange it with my sister.”

  “Thank you,” said Mally, and was gone. It was nice to have the door between her and the study. As she ran upstairs again, she remembered that Paul Craddock had never once raised his eyes or looked in her direction.

  The telephone lived in its own telephone room, very nobly installed, with directories, reference books and tablets in profusion. Mally left the door open, and caught up the receiver.

  “It’s all right—he says I can. What time?”

  “Eight o’clock at The Luxe.”

  “Where’s that?”

  Roger restrained himself. He—he, Roger Mooring—was engaged to some one who had never heard of The Luxe! He said patiently:

  “I’ll come and call for you at a quarter to eight.”

  Mally hung up the receiver and went to find Mrs. Craddock. When Roger was patient with her he roused all her worst passions. She thought of several things which she would have liked to say, and felt inordinately virtuous because she had not said them. She opened the door to Mrs. Craddock’s sitting-room upon a sight so odd that she forgot Roger and his misdeeds.

  Mrs. Craddock, on her hands and knees, seemed to be slowly prowling across the carpet, patting it as she went. Her knitting lay half under a chair, and three balls of fleecy wool trailed with her as she went, and became more inextricably entangled at every moment. She looked up vaguely at Mally and said:

  “Oh, Miss Lee, have you—I mean—I suppose you haven’t seen it anywhere—but it really must be somewhere, mustn’t it?”

  “What is it? Your knitting? It’s under the chair.”

  “Oh no, not my knitting. It’s really very careless of me, indeed, because I certainly knew the pin was loose. But it must be somewhere.”

  “Your wool?”

  Mrs. Craddock sat back on her heels. She looked very flushed and unhappy.

  “Oh no, not my wool. I thought I’d explained.”

  “No, you didn’t. Do let me help you up—you look so frightfully uncomfortable. What have you dropped? I’ll look for it.”

  Mrs. Craddock allowed herself to be assisted to a chair. When her knitting and her fluffy balls of wool had also been picked up, she said, “I thought I’d told you all about it. I must have dropped it last night, because I know I was wearing it on the front of my dress. But the catch must have come undone. And my brother is dreadfully vexed—quite, quite angry, in fact.”

  “You haven’t told me now what it is that you’ve lost,” said Mally.

  “My dear Miss Lee! My grandfather’s diamond of course. That is to say, the pendant was really my grandmother’s. She was a Miss Warrender, and he met her in Grand Canary. But my grandfather had the diamond put in the centre instead of the ruby that was there before. He brought it—I mean the diamond—from the East Indies. And I believe it belonged to a great Mogul or some one else with one of those names that one really can’t be expected to remember, though George does get annoyed with me about it.”

  “Oh,” said Mally, as the poor lady stopped to take breath. “And is it the diamond you’ve dropped, or the whole pendant?”

  “Well, it isn’t exactly a pendant now, because my mother had it made into a brooch. And the pin has never really been very secure. And what with the diamond being so valuable, and my brother so put out——But then I keep on saying to myself it must be somewhere. Oh, my dear Miss Lee, it really must, mustn’t it?”

  “You dropped the whole thing?”

  “Oh, yes, the whole thing.”

  “And when did you miss it?”

  “About half an hour ago. At least I didn’t miss it, but my maid did. And she asked me if I’d taken it to be mended. And of course I ought to have. And if I had, it would have been safe—wouldn’t it? Only I keep saying to myself that it must be somewhere.”

  “Of course it must,” said Mally cheerfully.

  But the hours passed, and still a most rigorous search failed to discover that somewhere.

  CHAPTER VII

  Roger Mooring was quite surprised to find how eagerly he was counting the minutes until Mally came. It was a matter of minutes now, because he was waiting amongst Sir George’s cold statuary, with a taxi ticking by the curb outside.

  When he was with Mally, he quarrelled with her most of the time, or rather she quarrelled with him; but when he was away from her, other people seemed dull and life went stodgily.

  He stood amongst the statues and watched the staircase with quite an ardent gaze, yet his first glimpse of Mally brought a faint line of disapproval to his brow. He had made a pleasant picture of a Mally chastened by absence coming sedately down the shallow steps, with the modest light of welcome in her eyes, and perhaps—so far had fancy led this misguided young man—perhaps a slight, delightful blush upon her cheeks.

  Actually, Mally whisked round the corner by Sir George’s bust and took the remaining steps three at
a time with a laughing, “Am I late? Have you been waiting? I don’t want to lose a single instant. Do let’s come along quick! We are going to dance, aren’t we?”

  The pleasant vision of Mally fled. Roger looked at the actual Mally, and for a moment wished that he had not suggested The Luxe. Mally’s one evening dress, known familiarly as Old Black Joe, was certainly not up to Luxe standards; and Mally herself, with her short dark hair, cut by a country hairdresser, and her little pale face, had neither the beauty nor the distinction that can carry off an old frock.

  The thought was hardly there before it was gone again. Mally’s odd greenish, dancing eyes, with the eager something that was half laugh, half sparkle, met his; Mally’s little nose wrinkled at him; and Roger ceased to be aware of anything but that she was Mally and that he had not seen her for a week.

  Mally came home between one and two in the morning in a sort of delightful golden dream. She had never enjoyed herself so much in all her life before—never. The Luxe was like a fairy palace, and she herself exactly like Cinderella at the King’s ball, except that the whole delightful dream went on in spite of the clock striking twelve. Such an amusing dinner. Such thrilling things to eat. And Roger to tell her that the fat, bald man at the corner table was the terrifically rich Mr. Marcus Aurelian, and that the lady in pearl ropes and a very little silver tissue was Mlle. Tanga Miranda, the world’s most sinuous dancer. Then the dancing floor—you couldn’t really have a floor like that except in a dream. And whatever Roger was or was not, he certainly could dance. Yes, the whole evening was like a dream. And wonderful beyond all other wonders, she and Roger had not quarrelled even once.

  Mally passed the statues, all coldly awake and staring, and went up the stairs, leaving a sleepy-eyed young footman to the congenial task of putting out the lights. As she turned by Sir George’s bust, she saw them vanish one by one, leaving her in semi-darkness, with all the light there was coming from above.

  At the top of the stairs she stood for a moment looking along a rather dim corridor. The door of the telephone room was ajar. Light streamed out of it, and just as she was wondering who could be telephoning at this hour, Mr. Paul Craddock opened the door wide and stood there looking at her.

  Mally was friends with all the world to-night. She beamed at Paul and said:

  “How late you are! I’m so glad some one else is late besides me. I’ve had such a frightfully lovely time.”

  He switched off the light and opened the door of the next room.

  “Come in and have a sandwich and tell me about it. There ought to be coffee and sandwiches here.”

  Mally hesitated. She knew very well that she ought to go to bed. If you are a governess you don’t eat sandwiches with strange secretaries at two in the morning.

  She sniffed the coffee and was lost. There was a lovely fire too, and the room had crimson curtains and looked so warm after the marble staircase. Before she could make a good resolution she was eating a sandwich and telling Paul Craddock about Tanga Miranda and her pearls.

  Paul Craddock listened with an amusement which began to pass into interest. He had had a very dull evening, and he found Mally stimulating. He had asked her to share his sandwiches on an impulse born partly of boredom, and partly of something else.

  “I must go,” said Mally, finishing her coffee. “I don’t want to, but I must. I hate going to bed after a party—don’t you? I would have liked this evening to go on, and on, and on, and on, and on.”

  Paul Craddock smiled. He put down his cup and got up, all rather slowly and lazily.

  “Well,” he said, “why not let it go on a bit longer?”

  Mally got up too.

  “No, it’s got to stop. I’m really Cinderella, you know, and it’s hours past twelve.”

  “Only two hours. There’s no hurry. Since you’re so fond of dancing, when will you come and dance with me? Or”—he smiled a little more—“does Mooring not allow it?”

  Mally stuck her nose in the air. She knew very well that she ought not to stay. But she stayed—to put Mr. Paul Craddock in his place.

  “How sudden of you!” she said. “Really, Mr. Craddock, I think you’re the suddenest person I ever met. This afternoon, when I came into the study, you wouldn’t even see me, and now—l’invitation à la valse.” She made him a little bob curtesy. “Sir, your most obliged.”

  “What does that mean?” He was leaning over the back of the chair from which he had risen.

  “It’s a very polite way of saying ‘No.’”

  “And why ‘No’?”

  “Because—Oh, has Mrs. Craddock found her diamond?”

  “No, she hasn’t. Why won’t you dance with me?”

  “Because I won’t, Mr. Craddock. Good-night.”

  Paul stepped back and leaned against the door this time.

  “Then Mooring does want all the dances? Selfish fellow!”

  “Mr. Craddock, I want to go upstairs.”

  “All in good time. What are you afraid of? That he’ll break my head—or the engagement?”

  “Will you let me pass, Mr. Craddock?”

  Paul Craddock laughed.

  “I think you’ll have to pay toll, Mally.”

  Mally walked straight up to him with her eyes like green fire.

  “Let me pass at once! I’ll scream if you don’t.”

  “Then I must stop your mouth,” said Mr. Craddock, still laughing; and as he laughed, he caught her by the shoulders and bent to kiss her.

  Mally ducked. Mr. Craddock exclaimed. The kiss grazed the top of her head, which she instantly jerked upward, causing him to bite his tongue. He swore, felt a vicious pinch on the inside of his raised arm, and, recoiling from it, received a very hard, stinging slap in the face. The next instant the door had opened and banged again. Mally was gone.

  When she had reached her own room and locked the door, she told herself with some truth that she was a perfect little fool, and that it was all her own fault. Then she reflected with a good deal of pleasure upon the hardness of the slap which she had administered. Mr. Craddock had a good sort of face to slap—the sort that feels soft.

  “Ouf!” said Mally. “Slug! Pink slug!” She spread out her fingers and looked at them. Then she went to the washstand and washed them very carefully.

  Downstairs Mr. Craddock had passed from incoherent soliloquy into a dangerous silence. He stood for some time with his elbow on the mantelpiece, looking down into the fire. From time to time he thrust savagely at the embers with his foot and stirred them into a blaze.

  When about half an hour had gone by, he slipped his left hand into his waistcoat pocket and took out something which he laid in the palm of his other hand. The light dazzled on a heart-shaped wreath of diamond leaves from which hung pendant-wise a very large and brilliant diamond.

  Mr. Craddock stared at the diamond. Then he said, “I wonder,” and slipped it back into the pocket from which he had taken it.

  CHAPTER VIII

  Mally overslept herself next morning, and Barbara got no story. This cast a gloom over the breakfast table, where Barbara behaved very badly indeed, becoming ruder and less tractable with each of Mrs. Craddock’s rather plaintive reproofs.

  After breakfast Barbara disappeared. Mally searched the house for her in vain, and arrived reluctantly at the conclusion that the naughty little thing had taken refuge in the study. To the study she therefore went, knocked, and, receiving no answer, opened the door.

  Sir George was not there, but Paul Craddock was standing by Sir George’s table, holding the table telephone in one hand and the receiver in the other. His own writing-table, littered with papers, was behind him. The safe beside it stood open.

  Mally had begun to draw back, when something moved by the window. Barbara’s head looked round the corner of the curtain, Barbara’s eyes glowered at her, and Barbara’s tongue shot out defiantly. Instead of running away, Mally ran into the room and pulled the curtain back.

  Paul Craddock scowled at her entrance a
nd then rather ostentatiously turned his back.

  “Ah yes, Jenkinson,” he was saying. “Well, Sir George would like a reply. Yes, that’s the message he left with me—he would like a reply by the end of the week without fail. No, I don’t think it would be any use your ringing up again. No, he’s not in the house—I can’t say when he’ll be back. He left a very definite message, and nothing would be gained by your calling up again.”

  “Barbara!” said Mally while this was going on. “How could you? Come quick, before he stops telephoning.” She had her lips against Barbara’s ear, and spoke in an almost soundless whisper.

  Barbara twisted away, put out her tongue again, freed herself with a jerk from the folds of the curtain, and ran across the room and out at the door. Her feet made no sound on the thick carpet. Paul Craddock had not seen or heard her go.

  Mally straightened the curtain and followed Barbara out of the room. By the time she reached the foot of the stair, Barbara was already out of sight. As Mally took the marble steps three at a time, she thought of quite a number of pungent things to say to the little wretch later on.

  She was running along the corridor, when the door of Mrs. Craddock’s sitting-room was opened and Mrs. Craddock’s worried face looked out.

  “Have you found her? Where was she?”

  “Yes. She’s run upstairs. She was in the study.”

  Mrs. Craddock came out of the door and caught her by the arm.

  “Oh, don’t talk so loud! Oh, my dear Miss Lee! Oh, please come in here.”

  “But Barbara——”

  “Hush. Oh, please hush. Come in here and I’ll explain.”

  Mally followed Mrs. Craddock into the sitting-room.

  “What is it? What’s the matter?”

  “Oh, my dear Miss Lee! Oh, please shut the door. Are you sure it’s shut? Did you say she was in the study?”

  “Yes—hiding behind a curtain. And now she’s run upstairs. I really ought to go to her, Mrs. Craddock.”

  “In the study?” Mrs. Craddock actually wrung her hands. “Was any one there? Did any one see her?”