“I’m not sure of that,” Joan said. “It’s what you said about Angus last July, but we all feel now what a horrible mistake it would have been.”
“Angus was different. He was sorry he’d been an ass. This chap’s only sorry he was found out.”
“If we give him another chance he may be as sorry as Angus is.”
“Well, tell Angus to be careful what he says. He doesn’t want the story of his own crime to come out, and that’s his real reason for wanting Alf to be let off.”
“Do you think I ought to tell them—about Rykie and me, last summer?” Angus asked anxiously, when Joan broke the news that he would have to see the Inspector. He looked white and tired, and unfit for any ordeal, and Joan was determined the interview should be short.
“No, Angus, I don’t,” she said urgently. “You mustn’t say anything about last summer; you must not! It would worry us all; and there’s not the slightest need. Just say you don’t want to get Alf into trouble.”
“They’ll no’ understand. That was the reason.”
“We know that; we understand. But none of that matters to the police. Say as little as you can; they won’t stay long. Anybody can see you ought not to talk much yet.”
Angus was so evidently in pain, and the nurse was so anxious that he should not be worried, that the Inspector had perforce to cut short his questioning.
“Mr. Reekie is being very generous to Watson,” he said to Joan afterwards. “He is determined we shall not proceed against the fellow, and yet he is obviously suffering and it is Watson’s doing. I feel as if there must be something more than we have heard, to account for his attitude.”
Joan made up her mind. “Well, there is. Mr. Reekie was once nearly in trouble himself, so he can feel for Watson. He has been quite frank about it to us; it was some time ago, and he is still young—younger than his age, in many ways. It is best forgotten now; but you can understand that he feels for another silly lad who is in much the same sort of mess!”
“I see. That certainly sounds more natural. I could not understand his surprising generosity. That is all I am to hear of this earlier story, I suppose?”
“Absolutely every single word.” Joan smiled at him calmly.
“Ah, well! It is nothing to do with us. He comes from Scotland, of course; his voice betrays him with every word. And the girl who refused to go away and sat and held his hand? She looked at me like a tigress.”
“Poor Selma!” Joan laughed. “She thought you would make him talk too much.”
“His sister? She is not like him in looks.”
“Oh, no! Something much more thrilling than a sister! They will be married some day.”
“I’ll wish them luck. Well, I suppose I shall have to be content to caution Watson and assure him we shall keep an eye on him in future.”
“Please! That is what we all wish, except Selma, who would like to see him hanged, drawn and quartered, whatever that means.”
The Inspector laughed. “Something very unpleasant, I believe. I’ll talk severely to Watson. Don’t leave those jewels lying about, Miss Shirley. It is putting temptation in people’s way. Put them out of sight somewhere.”
“We’ll certainly do that,” Joan promised.
She raised the subject that evening. “We must decide what to do with Jehane’s jewels. They’re being only a trouble to us and other folks.”
“I’ve told you what to do.” Jen pored over her atlas. “Where’s the Indus? Oh, got him—good! Bury them, Joan, and don’t tell anybody where you’ve put them.”
“The bank would be better than that.”
“I’ll have a small safe put in the wall of my bedroom and keep them there, and no one but Joan and I will know the secret letters that open it,” Joy said.
“That’s better,” Joan agreed. “But thieves sometimes force safes, and you can’t be in your room all the time.”
“They do it when the family is at dinner.” Jen looked up again. “I’ve read about that in the papers. And a safe’s so obvious, especially a new one. Anybody would guess you’d had it put there because you had something precious to keep in it.”
“That’s true,” Joan admitted. “But I don’t like your idea of burying them, Jenny-Wren. It seems such horrible waste.”
Jen pushed away her books. “Give them back to Ambrose. Perhaps we oughtn’t to have taken them away from him. They’ve been jolly unlucky to us.”
“Give them to Ambrose? How could we do that?”
“Put them back where they were, in the crypt, and stick down the big stone hard on top of them. You and I dug them up; I think we ought to put them back. Ambrose will take care of them for us.”
Joan and Joy looked at one another. “It’s an idea,” Joan began. “We could fetch them, if we really wanted them.”
“But people go down into the crypt all the time,” Joy objected.
“They wouldn’t know,” Jen explained. “Not even Ann Watson would know; she mustn’t know on any account, or she’ll have fits about burglars. Nobody would know but us three; we’d bury the casket darkly at dead of night, ‘The sods with our bayonets turning’; but it’s a huge block of stone, not sods! No one would dream there were jewels buried near the tomb of old Abbot Michael. It’s only because people know where they are that there’s any danger; if it’s a secret, they’d be perfectly safe.”
“Yes, of course.” Joan sat thinking over the problem.
“Or you could divide them and each take care of your own share,” Jen added. “Then if one lot was pinched, you’d still have some of Jehane’s jewels to show, to prove the story is true.”
“Or we could have them made up into chains and rings and bracelets, and wear them,” Joy suggested, a gleam in her eyes. “If they’re not to be on show they might as well be used.”
“I liked to have them in the refectory,” Joan said wistfully. “Perhaps we could leave two or three little ones, as specimens, and keep the valuable ones hidden.”
“That bobby would say it was putting temptation in people’s way. You don’t want to do that,” Joy remonstrated.
Jen bent over her atlas again. “Where’s the Karakoram Range? What ghastly names these people have! Joy, our tourists and Americans aren’t the sort who steal jewels. Nor the nice old ladies and school kids who come to see the Abbey.”
“No, but they might go away and talk about them,” Joy argued.
“And somebody who heard might come as a tourist!” Jen’s imagination seized on the situation joyfully. “He’d have an accomplice, who would take up Ann’s attention at the critical moment, and then the thief would bag the jewels and walk out with them in his pockets, looking as innocent as the Mother Superior, and Ann would only find they were gone next time she went up with a party, and by then the thieves might be selling the jewels in London.”
“Dear me!” Joan began to laugh. “You make it sound the easiest thing in the world! I wonder somebody hasn’t tried it before now.”
“Somebody did; Rykie and Angus,” Joy pointed out.
“Yes, but from inside; Rykie stole the keys. You said that story was to be forgotten.” Jen looked reproachful. “Joan, I do think you’ll be tempting people, if you leave the jewels in the refectory. And Ann Watson will hate it. Bury them, or wear them, or give them away; but don’t keep them on show in a glass case!”
“Even in an Abbey which is closed at night? You know nobody can get in!”
“Jen’s thinking of somebody playing a trick on Ann by day,” Joy said. “I believe she’s right. Suppose we choose a few little ones to keep for ourselves, and bury the big ones. We can always fetch them, if we want them. We might—er—marry and want to go into Society and wear tiaras and ear-rings and things. The jewels might be very useful.”
“I can’t see myself in a tiara,” Joan retorted. “But if you want one you must certainly have Jehane’s jewels. I want one little ruby for use now.”
“Right! I’ll have a little emerald. What will you do with yours? You know yo
u can’t wear rubies!”
“Have it put in a ring for Selma. The poor kid’s had a rotten time here, in some ways; when she goes away with Angus, I’d like her to have something as a keepsake. It won’t be an engagement ring; Angus must give her that. But an Abbey ring. What are you grinning at?”
“That’s what I want my emerald for,” Joy said blandly. “To put into a ring for Selma.”
“Oh, Joy! Really? Did we both think of it? How lovely!”
Jen sat staring at them, her eyes glowing, rivers and mountain ranges forgotten. “How super perfect! You both want the same thing! Oh, I wish the stones were mine! I’d give her a sapphire; then she’d remember us all!”
“She won’t forget you,” Joan remarked. “If we gave you a little sapphire, to use as you like, would you really give it to Selma?”
“I would so!—as she would say. I must be catching it. Oh, Joan—Joy! Would you? It would make a lovely ring—the ruby in the middle, and a green stone on one side and a blue one on the other! It would be most original!”
“Come up to my room and choose Selma’s stones,” Joy suggested.
They ran quietly upstairs. Joy locked the door and spread the jewels on the bed. “I’ll be glad to get rid of the things. You’ve made me nervous about them. I expect to be murdered in my bed any night. That’s my emerald—for Selma!”
“Match it in size,” Joan said to Jen; and they chose the sapphire and the ruby carefully.
“We’ll have the ring made up; I’ll see to it,” Joy said. “What about the rest?”
Jen looked at Joan. “Give them to Ambrose. They’ll be safe with him.”
“Yes,” Joan said. “We’ll give them back to Ambrose. And it will be a secret, just for us three. No one else in the world must know.”
“Oh, glory!” Jen whispered gleefully. “I’ll never tell a soul!”
CHAPTER 31
A SECRET BADGE
Late at night a small procession crossed the entrance hall and slipped through a panel in the wall and disappeared. By torchlight they made their way along the old passage and up the steps, then along another passage under the chapter-house, and so down into the crypt. Centuries ago, the monks had dug and paved these tunnels; an inquisitive schoolboy and his sister had discovered them, and Dick had nearly died when he fell into the hermit’s well and lay there injured all through one long dreadful night.
Joan set candles on the richly ornamented tomb of the first Abbot, Michael, and the crypt was brightly lit; the well, the tomb, the gaping hole in the corner which was the way to Ambrose’s grave and to the gate-house entrance, and the inscription on the wall, cut by Ambrose so long ago, when he had buried his lady’s treasures—“Jehane III.”
“That rather gives away the hiding-place,” Jen said.
“Doesn’t matter. Everybody knows there’s nothing there now,” Joy reminded her. “At least, everybody thinks there’s nothing there!”
Jen grinned joyfully. “But we know the stones have come back! We know, but nobody else does.”
“I told Mother what we were going to do,” Joan observed. “She thinks it’s sensible, and she’s glad.”
Jen gave a smothered scream. “Something ran at my legs! Is it those rats I was so terrified about once? There is something prowling round, Joan!”
Joan laughed. “Not a rat, I think. Somebody much more friendly!” and she lifted the slim black Curate and set him on the old Abbot’s tomb. “He wants to know what we’re doing here, at this time of night.”
“Oh, Curate! How like you!” Jen said indignantly.
The Curate curled his tail neatly round his legs and settled down to watch the strange antics of his friends.
Joan stroked his smooth round head. “Good lad! Now can we lift that stone?”
“Easy!” Jen had come armed with pick and shovel from the gardener’s shed. “Heave, Joy! It’s heavy, but it’s quite loose. We can do it. Yo heave ho!”
They heaved together and one end of the stone rose slowly. “You drop the casket in, Joan,” Joy said. “The hole’s shallow; it won’t hurt.”
Joan had wrapped the casket in the silk duster which had held the jewels. She knelt and slipped the treasure into the space Ambrose had dug so long ago, while Joy and Jen held the stone raised.
“There! That’s safe!” Joan stepped back. “I was afraid you two would let that thing fall on my hands.”
They lowered the stone carefully into position, and all stood gazing down at it.
“Sure we haven’t buried the Curate? It would be just like him to have sneaked into the hole,” Jen said.
“You won’t get rid of him as easily as that,” Joy observed.
Jen looked at the Curate, sitting upright among the rich stone decorations of the tomb, his eyes gleaming like emeralds in the candle-light. “Doesn’t he look superior?”
The Curate closed his eyes and opened his mouth and gave a wide pink yawn.
“So that’s how you feel about our midnight doings!” Joan laughed.
“That stone looks exactly as it did five minutes ago,” Joy remarked.
“Yes, no one will suspect. Ann must never know,” Joan said. “If we change our minds or want the jewels we can fetch them easily. It’s much better than a hole in the garden.”
Jen stood looking down at the stone. “Take care of them for us, dear Ambrose! We’ve brought them back to the place you chose for them. They’ve had adventures, but we’ve saved them, and now they’ve come back to you again.”
“We kept out a few little ones,” Joan explained. “Joy and I think we can use them.”
Jen nodded. “There’s no need to bury those you can use. You ought to wear some of them, even if you aren’t going into Society. Are you going to have tiaras?”
“No, not tiaras,” Joan laughed. “Now come home! It’s bed-time, Jenny-Wren.”
“It’s past bed-time. That’s part of the fun.” Jen chuckled happily. “Shall we leave the Curate here?”
“He’ll find his way out. He’s going to sleep. Good-night, boy!”
“I am so glad you thought of the ring for Selma,” Jen said, as they went through the tunnels. “I wish she could know about it at once. She’s utterly in the dumps about Angus going to hospital.”
“But it’s only for X-ray examination!” Joan protested. “The doctors must see that his arm is properly set. It’s so desperately important for him that it should be all right.”
“She thinks they’ll say it’s too badly broken ever to be quite right.”
“We must hope, and pray, that won’t happen,” Joan said, very gravely. “It would be too heavy a price to pay for the jewels.”
“Yes, but Angus knew and he risked it. I do think he was a brick!”
“Hear, hear, Jenny-Wren!” Joy exclaimed. “But we won’t tell Selma about the ring till it’s ready. I’ll see about it at once.”
The next few days were filled with acute anxiety for everybody and with an agony of fear for Selma. Angus, very nervous, went off in an ambulance with the nurse, and Selma was left behind, looking white and frightened, and not greatly comforted by a promise that she should see him every day.
Joan, balanced and sensible as usual, advised her to go back to school. But Selma protested that she could not work, so she was allowed to stay at home. She helped Joan in household tasks, went tramping with Joy, and had long intimate talks with Mrs. Shirley.
The doctor’s first report was cautious. The arm was very badly broken; everything possible would be done, and there was great hope that for ordinary life he would be able to use it, though it would need care for some time. But whether it would ever be flexible and strong enough for the violin—the doctor shook his head and said that for that they would have to wait.
Selma’s fear deepened, and except when she was with Angus she lived in the depths of misery. No efforts to cheer her were any use. She saw, in her imagination, Angus with no career before him, cut off from the music he loved, with no great audiences to
applaud, no big orchestra for his background. Everything was over; he would have to find some other job—go into a shop, perhaps, or work in an office.
“I’ve brought the ring,” Joy said one day, after a trip to town, “but I sha’n’t say anything about it. It would take more than a ring to cheer Selma up just now.”
“It would be more likely to enrage her,” Jen said gloomily. “She’d hate the sight of the thing; the stones would remind her. Is it pretty?”
“Lovely. Any girl in her right mind would cry with joy, but Selma isn’t, at present.”
“She’s heartbroken.” Joan agreed with Joy’s decision. “If only we could hear that he’ll be all right some day! We won’t mind if he has to wait, if there’s hope for the future.”
McAlistair, in Glasgow, was kept informed of Angus’s progress, and wrote in frantic distress. “You must get that arm well! The boy has a great future before him. Have doctors from London, anything! Are you sure everything is being done to help him?”
“Goodness! McAlistair thinks a lot of Angus!” Joy exclaimed. “He’s off his head with worry.”
“I shall let Dr. Brown see the letter, so that he’ll understand,” Joan said, with decision. “We’ve told him it’s important, but he may not realise quite how urgent it is. I’m sure he is doing all he can, but he might be able to think of something more.”
Dr. Brown read the letter and handed it back to her. “We are doing everything possible. Pity it ever happened! I hope he’ll be able to play again. It’s a case of waiting, and keeping him cheerful.”
Joy called Jen into her room one evening, as the end of term drew near. Joan was already there, sitting by the fire, and nursing the Curate.
Jen looked at her in surprise. “Is it a family conference? I say, there’s not bad news of Angus, is there? Are you going to break it to me gently?”
“No news at all. He’s coming back to us to-morrow. It’s something quite different. Look!” Joy handed her a tiny box.
“Selma’s ring? Oh, Joy, she ought to show it to us herself!”
“Not Selma’s ring. Look!” Joy said again.
Jen opened the box curiously, and gave an exclamation of delight. “How pretty! Oh, lovely, Joy!”
Selma at the Abbey Page 16