“Why the window?”
“The dining-room window,” said Sylvia, as if that explained everything. “I was behind the curtain, and, darling, I nearly died, because just as I was getting it to move I heard his latchkey, and there he was in the hall.”
“Who was?”
“Francis, darling-I told you I heard his latchkey. And of course he wanted to know what I was doing downstairs in my dressing-gown, and just as I got him soothed he saw the curtain move, and when he found I’d been opening the window he was quite dreadful-all suspicious, like a person in a play. As if I would!”
Sylvia’s moral indignation was most edifyingly genuine. She would steal-and call it something else-but to her last breath she would remain an honest woman.
Gay released herself. She wanted to be firm and impressive, and it is difficult to impress when you are being clutched. She said,
“Sylvia, if you don’t tell Francis, something dreadful will happen.”
Sylvia opened lovely startled eyes.
“There couldn’t be anything worse. You don’t know him. And you’re not letting me tell you what happened. We had a dreadful night, and in the morning, just as I dropped off to sleep, that horrible Zero man rang up again.”
“Where was Francis?”
“Having his bath. He always gets up most frightfully early, and I thought I was going to get a little sleep.”
Gay was definitely unsympathetic.
“That doesn’t matter. What did the creature want?”
“Those papers,” said Sylvia in a frightened whisper-“a packet of letters tied up with a rubber band. He says they’re in Francis’ safe and he’s simply got to have them. He says they belong to him. He says I’ll know which they are because they’ve got Zero on them. He says it’s too late to get the keys for him now-he says I must get the papers myself.”
Gay cast an anxious look at the attendant, but the sandy lashes lay on the pasty cheeks,, the hands were folded in an ample lap, and a sound which came very near to being a snore reassured her. She turned back to Sylvia.
“Sylly, you can’t!” she said.
“I must-he says so. If I don’t he’ll tell Francis, and I’d rather be dead. And we’re going down to Cole Lester tomorrow-because of the window being opened, you know. And I’m to take the letters down and give them to him-in the yew walk, like when I met him before.”
“What time?” said Gay.
Sylvia caught her breath. “He’s very frightening,” she said. “He knows everything. He knows when I go to bed, and he knows Francis sits up writing in his study till half past one. So that’s when I’m to take the papers. The servants will be in bed, and Francis will be in his study, and everyone will think I’m asleep. And I’m to go to the alley, and he’ll be outside to take them through the window in the hedge. And if Francis finds out, I think he’ll kill me.”
Gay felt a sudden horror between them. She caught her breath and said quickly,
“Don’t talk nonsense, Sylly!”
“It isn’t nonsense,” said Sylvia Colesborough. Her eyes widened. A shiver went over her. The lovely natural tints faded from her face. She looked past Gay as if she saw something behind her in the empty room and said in a half whisper, “I’m frightened-I am frightened, Gay.”
Gay said, “Tell Francis, you mustn’t do what this man wants you to. If you tell Francis you’ll be safe, because he won’t have a hold over you any more.”
Sylvia choked down a sob.
“I can’t-I can’t-you don’t understand-and you don’t know Francis-I can’t tell him.”
Gay said, “Let me,” and saw Sylvia’s face go grey.
She caught at Gay and stood there trying to speak. The words wouldn’t come, not till Gay got her into a chair and knelt beside her saying every soothing thing that she could think of. Then the words came with a flood of tears.
“You mustn’t-you won’t-you can’t! Oh, Gay!”
Gay was ready to promise her the moon. The attendant still snored, but she would be bound to wake if Sylvia went on crying like this. In any case what could she do except say, and swear, and mean it, that of course she wouldn’t dream of telling Francis what Sylvia had told her in confidence?
This had the desired effect, and with no more than a tear or two entangled in those long lashes, Sylvia gazed at her reproachfully.
“Darling, you did upset me. I’ve always told you things, and I never dreamed you would think of telling anyone, especially Francis.”
Gay was relieved but provoked.
“Well, I never meant to,” she said.
Sylvia turned to the mirror.
“You’ve made me look too frightful.” She produced cream and powder from a be-diamonded bag and began to repair the damage. “You know, Gay, you really ought to be careful not to upset people. I might have fainted, and then what would you have done?”
Gay couldn’t help laughing.
“Rubbish, Sylly-you’ve never fainted in your life!”
Sylvia looked back over her shoulder quickly, as if there might be something behind her.
“I thought-I was going to-I felt-” She shivered again, then went back to rubbing cream into her face. “I don’t generally put any colour on, but I think I’d better have a little-don’t you?”
Gay said, “Yes, I think so.”
“But I’m sure it will be all right really. I mean, if I do what this Zero man wants me to this time, he won’t ever ask me anything again-he’s absolutely promised that. You see, he says the letters are really his and Francis won’t let him have them. And of course, he says, he could go to law and get them that way, but it would cost such a lot that we might all be ruined, so it’s much better for me to do what he wants, and I’ve told him it’s no good his thinking I’ll do anything more, because I won’t. I really feel quite all right about it now.”
She got up, smiled at her own reflection, slipped her arm into Gay’s and said,
“I don’t know what made me feel like that. It was horrid-just as if something dreadful was going to happen.”
XV
It was next day that it began to dawn upon Algy that Brewster was sorry for him. The remoteness of Carstairs continued. The atmosphere of the office was glacial in the extreme. Brewster, in the capacity of intermediary, wore a worried and deprecating air. Impossible as the day wore on to escape the conviction that Brewster was being kind. Algy, conscious of ingratitude, wished that Brewster wouldn’t. In the role of Samaritan he found him frankly intolerable. He preferred him as a human encyclopaedia. This being Saturday, there was, however, only half a day to be endured. There was hope that the kindness of Brewster might have expended itself before they met again on Monday morning. Possibly, though not probably, Carstairs might have thawed. Anyhow, whatever had happened or was going to happen, Algy intended to play golf. Too much office-too many stuffy rooms-too many feelings, thoughts, suspicions. He had a conviction that fresh air and exercise were most urgently required.
The new Bentley had never run better. He returned to town a good deal soothed. He had played like an angel, done a 76 off the back tees, and taken half a sovereign off Smithers, who was as sick as mud.
He came whistling up the stairs, and was arrested half way by Barker, who emerged soundlessly from the dining-room and informed him that a lady had been ringing him up-“No name, sir, and no message, except that she said she would be ringing again later.”