With a stifled gulp Sheila glanced round apprehensively in the direction of the door. “I—I suppose it’s quite safe to talk here? I don’t want that Barlow girl to come bursting in. She hates me: I can see it in her face.”
“Don’t be a fathead. Ruth isn’t exactly your cup of tea, but she’s a grand sport, and the most generous-hearted soul I’ve ever known. Besides there isn’t the faintest chance of her coming down here. If I’m wanted she’ll just lean over the stairs and howl.”
A longish pause followed, and then, lifting a pair of beautiful, woe-begone eyes, Sheila braced herself up for what appeared to be a supreme effort.
“It’s that beast Granville Sutton,” she whispered.
“Granville Sutton!” Sally frowned. “Why, six months ago you told me that you’d finished with him for good and all.”
“So I had. At least, I thought so at the time.”
“You haven’t changed your mind, have you?”
“Of course not. I hate him. I loathe him. After the way he behaved.”
“Then what on earth’s the trouble?”
“It’s—it’s a letter of mine he’s got.” Sheila flushed and lowered her eyes.
“A letter?” Sally drew in a quick breath. “You mean the sort of letter that you wouldn’t like anyone else to read?”
“I must have been mad. I can’t imagine how I ever came to write it. I was so in love with him then I hardly realised what I was doing.”
“Is he trying to blackmail you?”
The other nodded miserably. “He rang up last Friday and asked me to meet him in Kensington Gardens. He hinted what it was about, so I didn’t dare to refuse. I hoped that perhaps I could persuade him to give it me back.”
“How much did he ask?”
“He—he wants me to pay him a thousand pounds for it. He knows about my engagement, and he says that unless I am prepared to buy it for that amount he will put it in an envelope and post it to Julian.” Sheila clenched her fists. “I could kill him. I would kill him if I only had the pluck.”
“It’s no good talking like that. What you really ought to do is to go to Julian and tell him the truth.”
“Oh, Sally, I couldn’t, I couldn’t. You don’t know him as well as I do. He loves me all right, he loves me frightfully, but if he thought there was any chance of a scandal, anything that might interfere with his public career—”
“He’d chuck you over at once—is that what you mean?”
“I’m sure he would. You see, he’s so keen on getting into the Cabinet, and he takes everything so desperately seriously.”
“Well, I wouldn’t break my heart over a man like that. He isn’t worth it.”
“But I want to marry him. I’ll never meet anyone else who’ll suit me so well or give me such a good time. Besides, think of all the horrid things people would say if it was broken off now. Oh, I just couldn’t face up to it. I—I’d rather go out and throw myself in the river.”
“But a thousand pounds! Why, it’s fantastic. How can you possibly get hold of it?”
“I can’t. All I could raise would be five hundred. I could get that by selling Aunt Lucy’s necklace.”
“And you would, I suppose?”
“Why not? What’s an ugly old necklace to me compared with the chance of marrying Julian?”
“Even then it would only be half what he’s asking for.”
“That’s where I want you to help me. You’re so clever, and you don’t get frightened and rattled like I do. It wouldn’t be the slightest use my trying, but if you were to go and see him and have a talk to him—”
“I!”
“Oh, you will, Sally, promise me you will.” With an imploring gesture Sheila caught hold of her sister’s hands. “It’s so terribly important, and there’s no one else I can trust. If you were to let me down—”
“Don’t say any more about drowning yourself, darling, because I don’t believe it.” Sally smiled wryly. “Let’s cut out the sob stuff and come to the point. What you’re suggesting is that I should drop in on this beauty and do a spot of bargaining for you?”
Sheila wriggled uncomfortably and drew away her hands. “I feel it’s an awful lot to ask,” she murmured.
“Where does he hang out, and how could one get hold of him?”
“That’s what makes it so difficult. He—he wants me to drive down to Playford on Sunday night and bring the money to his bungalow. He says he won’t give me the letter otherwise.”
“Playford? You mean that little place on the river?”
Sheila nodded.
“But what’s the idea? Why can’t you meet him in London?”
“I don’t know. I expect he’s afraid I might go to the police, and he thinks he’ll be quite safe down there.”
Sally remained silent for a moment.
“What time was this precious appointment for?” she demanded.
“Half-past ten, he said. You see how impossible it is? Suppose someone I know saw me going in there and went and told Julian.”
“I imagine he’d be a trifle vexed.”
“He’d never speak to me again. Besides, what would be the good of it, anyway? That beast Granville knows I’m frightened of him, and if I only brought five hundred he’d just say that there was nothing doing. Now if it were you—”
“What’s the name of the bungalow?” asked Sally curtly.
“It’s called Sunny Bank, and it’s the last one you come to going towards Thames Ferry. It’s some way from any of the others—a small, white place with a red roof and a green fence in front.”
“Gosh!” said Sally. “It only wants pink curtains to make it the Ideal Home!”
Sheila stared blankly for a moment, and then a sudden gleam of hope leaped into her eyes.
“You mean you’ll do it? You will really?”
“I suppose I’d better.” Sally shrugged. “Can’t say I feel wildly enthusiastic. I still think the right thing would be to tell Mr. Sutton to go to Hell, and then let Julian know all about it. If he had any decency he’d tear up the letter without reading it.”
“He’s not that sort.” Sheila shook her head decisively.
“Well, you know him best. What I want to make quite clear, though, is that if I agree to tackle the job I’m going to do it in my own way.”
“How do you mean?”
“I shall tell Sutton you’ll pay five hundred and not a farthing more. He can either accept that and bring the letter here, or if he prefers to go without the money and gratify his spite he can hand it over to Julian as soon as he likes. I don’t intend to haggle with the swine.”
“Oh, but suppose—”
“No use supposing,” continued Sally firmly. “It’s the only way to deal with a blackmailer unless you’re prepared to go to the police. From all I’ve heard about Mr. Granville Sutton, I’ll bet you a shilling that he’ll accept my offer.”
“ ‘Pr’aps you’re right: I hope you are.” The other paused unhappily. “Anyhow, I’ll take the necklace round to Hink’s this afternoon and collect the cash. Would you like me to leave it here, or—”
“No, I don’t want it at present. Pay it into your bank and wait till you hear what’s happened.”
“I will come round early on Monday morning.” Opening her bag and producing a miniature compact, Sheila began to powder her nose. “Of course I’m fearfully grateful, darling. It’s terribly decent of you to do all this, and I—”
“Don’t start thanking me now: it will be time enough when you’ve got the letter.” Sally rose from the couch and glanced at the various articles strewn about the floor. “I’m sorry I’m so busy, but I simply must finish this job before lunch. You go and fix up about the necklace and leave the rest to me. I’ll talk to the beauty, and unless he’s more of a fool than I take him for I’m pretty certain I’ll
manage to pull it off.” She smiled encouragingly. “Anyway, I’ll do my damnedest, so hope for the best and keep your chin up.”
***
“Well, what was it all about?” Leaning back and putting her hands behind her head, Ruth looked inquiringly at her partner.
“I don’t think I ought to tell you.” Sally came forward from the top of the staircase and perched herself on the arm of a chair alongside the desk.
“That means that she’s landed herself into some fresh trouble and that you’ve promised to get her out of it.”
“How did you guess?”
“My sweet child, I’m not halfwitted. When she came in I could see that she was worried stiff, and when she walked out she looked as sleek and pleased with herself as a cat that’s just pinched the milk. I expect you’ve promised to do something desperately idiotic.”
“That’s what you’d call it, and I suppose you’d be right.” Sally stroked her nose thoughtfully. “Perhaps I’d better ‘come clean’, as they say in the films. It’s rather a sticky business, and in any case I shall want the loan of your car. You’ll make a point of keeping the whole thing to yourself, won’t you?”
“Have you ever heard me going round blabbing out other people’s secrets?”
“Never,” admitted Sally. “That’s why I don’t mind letting you in on it.” She slid down into the chair, and leaning forward, helped herself to a cigarette from the box on the desk. “Sheila’s being blackmailed,” she announced bluntly, “blackmailed by that rotten twirp Granville Sutton.”
There was a brief pause.
“What’s she been up to?” demanded Ruth. “Having an affair with him?”
“Very much so, apparently. They were trailing about together a lot last autumn, and I told her at the time that I didn’t think much of her taste. It was no use talking to her then: she was absolutely besotted about him. He’s one of those plausible, good-looking crooks who can get round almost any girl if they choose to take the trouble.”
“I know.” Ruth nodded disgustedly. “The only thing that surprises me is that Sheila should be such as ass. I should have thought she was too keen on making a good marriage.”
“It was a sort of obsession: didn’t last very long. She had broken with him before she met Julian, and after that the only thing she wanted was to forget all about it.”
“And now I suppose he’s threatening to give her away?”
“He’s got a letter of hers.” Sally lit the cigarette which she had been holding in her hand and blew out a long trail of smoke. “I don’t know exactly what’s in it, but I gather that if it ever came into the wrong hands—” She shrugged expressively. “He’s offering to sell it back to her for a thousand pounds.”
“Is that all!”
“I told her she ought to go to the police, but of course she wouldn’t listen to me. Her one idea is to marry Julian, and if she had the money she’d stump up like a shot. As it is, the most she can raise is five hundred.”
“I see.” Ruth’s lips tightened. “And you’re to do the bargaining, I take it?”
“I’ve promised to go down and see the skunk. He’s got a bungalow at Playford, and the arrangement is that she’s to meet him there on Sunday night. He’s evidently afraid of a trap, and he’s not taking any chances.”
“So that’s why you want the car?”
“I had to say I’d take the job on: what else could I do? Sheila’s in a state of panic and she’d only make an unholy mess of it. I’m not the least frightened of the swine. I shall tell him that he can either bring the letter here next week and collect the five hundred or else he can hand it over to Julian and go to Hell. I’m absolutely certain it’s the right line to take—don’t you agree?”
“Speaking candidly, darling, I think you ought to be locked up.” Ruth surveyed her companion with a sort of exasperated affection. “You’re just about as hopeless as King Arthur and Don Quixote. Even if she is your sister, why the heck should you do all her dirty work for her? She’s quite old enough to look after herself, and the sooner she starts the better. It may teach her to behave more sensibly.”
“I’m only keeping a promise I made to Mummy.” Sally paused. “She simply adored Sheila, but she was always terrified that something would happen to her when she grew up. I was sitting by her bed holding her hand the evening before she died, and she suddenly told me in a whisper that it was the only thing she was really worried and unhappy about. I swore faithfully that if Sheila was ever in any trouble I would do my very best to help her. I know it comforted her, because she gave a little smile and I felt her squeeze my fingers. I couldn’t go back on that, Ruth—I couldn’t possibly.”
“My dear, I wouldn’t ask you to.” The elder girl nodded understandingly. “All the same, I’m not going to let you handle this job entirely by yourself. I’m coming with you.”
“Oh, but you can’t, Ruth! If Sheila knew that I’d given the show away—”
“Hst! Look out—here’s a customer.”
The shop door swung open, and stubbing out her cigarette, Sally jumped up hastily and stepped forward past the desk.
“We’ll talk about it later,” she whispered.
Chapter III
With that silent efficiency that characterised all his actions Watkins deposited a couple of silver dishes upon the sideboard and then cast a final glance round the neat and perfectly appointed breakfast table. As he did so Owen turned back from the open window.
“Another grand morning,” he remarked. “More like July than September.”
“Very remarkable weather indeed, sir,” agreed Watkins. “A trifle belated, if one might use the expression, but none the less agreeable for that.”
“I understand you’ve been having a lousy summer in England.”
“Precisely, sir. It is the exact adjective which I should have selected myself.”
There was a sound of whistling accompanied by approaching steps, and a second later Joe Anstey marched briskly into the room. In his hand was a small sheaf of opened letters which had evidently arrived by the early post.
“Hello! Beaten me by a head.” He tossed his correspondence on to the table and surveyed his guest with an inquiring grin. “What sort of a night did you have? Manage to sleep all right?”
“Not too bad, considering the time we turned in and the amount of whisky you made me drink.”
“Feel you can face some breakfast? Let’s see what there is.” Moving over to the sideboard, Joe lifted up the two covers. “Devilled kidneys and fried eggs and bacon. How about a spot of both? Go splendidly together.”
Without waiting for an answer he ladled out a couple of generous helpings, and carrying them across to the table, planted himself down alongside of Owen who had already taken his seat. Watkins, having apparently decided that everything was in order, faded away to his own quarters, closing the door behind him. From outside, four storeys below, the faint hum of the early-morning traffic along Park Lane drifted up in a monotonous rumble.
“Bound to happen just as you blew along.” With a disgusted shrug Joe pushed across a cup of coffee. “I’ve had an S O S from Halsey screaming for my presence at the Works. He’s heard from the Ministry about this new scheme of theirs, and he thinks we ought to go into a huddle straight away. Says that if I can manage it he’d like me to run up there to-night.”
“Well, you must go, naturally. How long do you imagine you’ll be away?”
“Lord knows. Maybe a couple of nights, maybe a week.” Joe stabbed viciously at a morsel of bacon and transferred it to his mouth. “Won’t interfere with your arrangements, though. You’ll stay on, of course?”
“How about Watkins?”
“He’ll be delighted. As I told you before, you’re the one friend I’ve got with whom he condescends to be a shade human.”
“Makes one feel quite conceited.” Owen laug
hed. “Still, if that’s really the case, I think I’ll accept your offer. Don’t suppose I’d get as good a breakfast anywhere else.”
“Splendid. That’s all settled, then. If you find it too hot in Town you can always slide down to Playford and have a day on the river. I’ll give you a chit to Martin before I go.”
“Thanks very much.”
“By the way, there’s a cover to one of those punts, so if you happen to feel like taking along some grub and camping for the night you’ve only to mention it to Watkins. He’ll fix you up with a hamper.”
“Sounds gorgeous.” Owen nodded gratefully. “Nothing I’d enjoy more, provided I can get away. Depends upon whether Greystoke has anything to suggest.”
“When’s your appointment?”
“Eleven-thirty.”
“Hope something comes of it. All I can say is that if they don’t find you a decent berth they must be a pack of blithering nitwits.”
“Can I mention that as being the opinion of an exceptionally acute observer?”
“Certainly. I’ll put it in writing if you like.” Joe chuckled and glanced across at the clock. “Curse it all, I shall have to be pushing along in a minute or two. I must catch the five-twenty, and there’s sure to be a Hell of a lot to do at the office.” He spread some butter on to a piece of toast and daubed it lavishly with marmalade. “You’ll make yourself at home, won’t you? Ask Watkins for anything you want, and give me a ring about ten o’clock to-night. I’d like to hear what’s happened. The number’s Rockton two six double one: you’ll find it written down on the pad beside the phone.”
“Don’t suppose there’ll be any news. Doesn’t seem the least likely to me.”
“I’m not so sure. I’ve a sort of feeling that you’re going to strike lucky. What would you do if he offered you a job at the Admiralty?”
Owen reached out for the toast-rack. “I’d probably kiss him,” he replied cheerfully.
***
Though only a stone’s throw from Victoria Street, Queen Anne’s Gate still retains a good deal of its mellow eighteenth-century charm. Notwithstanding the fact that most of its houses have been altered for the use of government departments, Time and the Office of Works have not yet succeeded in wholly eradicating that gracious atmosphere of a bygone London, towards the final destruction of which their relentless energies are apparently directed. Even to-day the spectacle of a sedan chair in that sedate backwater would seem far more in harmony with the general background than the haughty and contemptuous swish past of the customary Rolls-Royce.
Trouble on the Thames Page 3