Hide My Eyes

by Margery Allingham

  “I haven’t done that for fifty years,” he said.

  “Then get on with it,” said Polly, setting a plate before him. “Be a devil. Cut the other half. You are a fathead, Matt. I am fond of you. Freddy used to say you really are the finest stuffed shirt in captivity. Now try this. It ought to be just right.”

  “It is,” he assured her. “You’re a wonderful cook. You always were. You’re looking young too, if I may say so. I mean unusually so. Radiant. Has anything happened?”

  “Has it!” From across the table she looked up at him, her bright blue eyes dancing. “Matt, old sport, it came off. They sent her. Not the eldest, but the second girl. Nearly eighteen, trying to look grown up. I soon stopped all that.”

  “Did they, by jove?” He paused, his fork in mid-air. He was pleased but astonished. “Frederick’s niece. I wondered if they would. I didn’t know what to advise you to write. Well, good for them, Polly, eh? That settles a lot of problems, doesn’t it? I can see you took to her. I shall look forward to meeting her. When is she coming to London again?”

  “She’s here now, only arrived this morning. I thought you might want to talk business so I gave her some lunch early and sent her out to look at the shops. She’ll be back before you go. Matt, you’re going to be startled.”

  “Oh dear, am I?” He was suspicious at once. “If she’s a relative of Frederick’s, of course, she may have any peculiarity. What is it?” He permitted himself a little smile. “Two heads perhaps?”

  “If she had I’d still love her. But no, Matt, she’s a beauty, a real true film-star knock-out. Really lovely. One of those faces which turn your heart over and a body like one of the little bits of nonsense you see on the screen. I’ve been most careful not to let on I noticed anything, because I do hate conceited kids, but there’s no getting away from it. You wait.”

  He burst out laughing. “You’re clucking, Polly,” he said, “but I’m thankful to hear it. As I told both you and Frederick, blood is so much thicker than water when it comes to it.” He hesitated. “You’ll be completing that document, then?”

  “Oh, I think so. I’d only got to put the name in, hadn’t I? You were right, Matt. I realised it when I saw her.”

  “Oh well, I’m glad,” said Mr. Phillipson sighing. “I brought it along with me, as a matter of fact. Just slipped it in my pocket in case, don’t you know. I don’t want to hurry you, of course, but these things are better completed. We’ll see to it after lunch.”

  She exchanged his plate for a clean one and uncovered the cheese. She was smiling to herself.

  “You don’t really trust me, do you, Matt? You think I’m like any other silly old woman, liable to change my mind every ten minutes.”

  “No no, I don’t,” he protested. “It’s not that at all. It’s simply that you and I are old-fashioned people in an old-fashioned situation, in which years of experience have proved that any young relative, however distant, is apt to turn out to be a better bet in the long run than the—er—stranger without the gates.”

  Mrs. Tassie was making the coffee and did not answer immediately, but as she brought the tray to the table and re-seated herself she ventured a guarded question.

  “You’re going to have a word with that boy for me this afternoon, aren’t you?”

  “I saw him yesterday.”

  “Gerry Hawker?” She had started and the dark fragrant liquid spilled over the saucer and into the tray. “You told me his appointment was for today.”

  “So it was. The rascal came a day early, assuming no doubt that I shouldn’t be able to see him. However, I made time for him. Don’t look like that, Polly. He’s the guilty party, not you.”

  She was busying herself mopping up the coffee tray.

  “Did you tell him I knew?”

  “No. I obeyed your instructions faithfully. If it’s any comfort to you, that appeared to be the aspect which worried him most, but I think that without perjuring myself I left him happy on that score. I conveyed that I made the discovery quite alone. He believed me.”

  “He must.” She was speaking almost to herself. “He came in here this morning.”

  “Really?” Mr. Phillipson was shocked. “He’s a cool customer. He was trying to find out if I’d reported to you, I suppose? What a very good thing I hadn’t. That means he still has every incentive to come back tonight with the money as arranged. I promised him complete secrecy if he pays up.”

  “Are you making him pay it back?”

  “Of course I am, my dear girl.” He flushed with annoyance. “That’s the very least I can do. He has altered one of your cheques from eleven pounds to seventy, robbing you of fifty-nine pounds as surely as if he’d taken it from your purse. By condoning …”

  “I haven’t done that.” She spoke sharply. “I may feel towards Gerry as if he were my own, but I won’t stand for him doing anything really wrong. As soon as I noticed it, didn’t I write to you at once? I feel guilty because I know I’ve got bad handwriting and I must have made it very easy and tempted him if he was pushed for money.” She hesitated and then continued very carefully as she struggled to express herself. “Gerry has got to be pulled up good and sharp. But I want to keep out of it, not only because I don’t want to lose his confidence but because I don’t want him to lose me. Do you see what I mean?”

  “Perfectly” he assured her dryly. “You realise that he depends on you. You’re behaving like a mother thinking solely of the child. You always do. I’m not blaming you, my dear girl. In fact I’m stretching far too many points to abet you. But I can’t say I like it.”

  “Of course you don’t. It’s criminal.” She made the admission with awe. “It could mean prison for him if he did it to someone else. That’s why I had to do something. But he’s a dear, Matt, a kind good boy when you know him. Freddy liked him very much. We first met him as a young officer in the war and he’s been dropping in to see me on and off ever since. We’ve grown very fond of one another. He couldn’t turn out to be a real bad hat after all these years, could he?”

  It was a plea, and Mr. Phillipson, who was fond of her too, knew exactly what she meant.

  “Oh, he’s not the ordinary irresponsible type,” he assured her. “There are brains there and considerable charm and he certainly seemed quite frank.”

  “Did he tell you he lived in Reading?” She made the enquiry cautiously and as if she feared his answer. But for once Mr. Phillipson was not noticing. He was trying very hard to be charitable.

  “Outside Reading,” he corrected her. “He has part share in a garage there, but I gather there has been some trouble with the partner’s wife. I was inclined to believe his story. In my experience women in business … well, there’s no point in going into that, but the possessive wife is always cropping up in these stories. Anyway, the story he told was one I could well believe and, to a certain extent, sympathise with.”

  “All Gerry’s stories are.” Polly spoke absently. She was stirring her coffee round and round and her mild eyes were troubled.

  “And what exactly do you mean by that?” he demanded. “Aren’t those the facts as you know them? Has he lied to me?”

  “No, dear. I’m sure he hasn’t.” She was flustered. “I only meant that Gerry sometimes presents things in the way that is most likely to convince the audience he happens to be talking to. I mean he might leave out the bit about the woman when talking to me, and he might make the partner his brother and the garage a factory, to sound bigger, you see?”

  “Has he done that?”

  “Oh no, dear, no. I’m sure I’ve heard about the Reading garage.”

  Matthew Phillipson, warm and well fed and flattered by her obvious dependence on him, sat looking at her sternly.

  “Yes … it’s a very good thing the matter’s in my hands,” he observed at last. “I don’t like clever women, Polly, never did. To me, you’re worth a dozen of them, just as you are. We’ll do what can be done for this wretched chap. If he honours his word and turns up w
ith the money tonight that’ll be the end of it, but I shouldn’t see much more of him.”

  She smiled at him gratefully but her lips were still forming the words which she did not like to utter.

  “The people in your office will know all about it?” she said at last.

  “No, they won’t. I’ve prepared for that. He’s coming in after five. I shall wait for him until half past, and I’ve kept your two letters on the subject out of the file. You marked them personal and they were kept private. I’ve promised him the whole thing is confidential between himself and me, and if he does his part it will remain so. He’ll have had a good fright, which may prove salutary. And now, my dear, if you feel like it, we’ll settle that little matter of the residue of your estate.”

  He put his hand in an inside pocket and she nodded absently, her mind still on the earlier subject.

  “Gerry’s all right,” she repeated stoutly. “He only wants the right girl to love him and boss him. I’ve been thinking about it for a long time. What he needs is someone young and affectionate and his own class and …” She became aware of Mr. Phillipson’s shrewd glance and stopped abruptly. “I’m not,” she protested guiltily, although he had not spoken. “I’m neither planning nor hoping anything. Honestly, it’s hardly gone through my mind.”

  “I’m very glad it hasn’t.” He was severe with her. “If this niece of Freddy’s is under twenty-one, and the only thing we know for certain about Jeremy Hawker is the present very unfortunate incident, then really I can hardly advise you to let them even meet.”

  “Not - not if I’m there?”

  “Oh Polly!” He was exasperated with her. “Don’t be absurd. You must know by this time you can’t look after everybody. If you take my advice you’ll strike this young blackguard quietly off your list.”

  “Don’t say that, Matt.” She looked positively frightened. “Truly don’t. I tell you I’m fond of him. I needn’t worry because you’ll always be about, won’t you? I’ll never do anything without you, dear. I do admit that when I first found out about this dreadful business I thought he needed a wife to keep him straight, and I thought of Freddy’s niece and I thought she must be twenty-four or five. But that turns out to have been the elder sister and she’s engaged anyhow. This child who has come along is far too young, but she’s sweet. I like her for her own sake. I’m not a fool, I shall look after her. You can trust me. Now give me the pen.”

  Fifteen minutes later as she was letting him out of the front door Annabelle came up the path. Mr. Phillipson looked down at her from the top of the porch steps and turned a blank face to his hostess.

  “Good heavens,” he said briefly.

  “I know,” she murmured. “I told you,” and went on, glowing down at the newcomer, “hullo darling, how are the shops?”

  “Absolutely whizz.” The schoolgirl suddenly emerging from behind the sophisticated young lovely took Mr. Phillipson unaware. He found her enchanting, and although quite conscious that Polly was laughing at him for it he still displayed a fine flourish of old-fashioned gallantry as the introductions were performed.

  Just before he left them he turned to his old friend.

  “This young lady’s a very great responsibility.”

  Polly met his eyes. “My goodness, yes.”

  Annabelle laughed at them both. “I’m fairly safe out” she murmured, reddening.

  “Of course you are. He doesn’t mean that.” Polly flew to the rescue. “He’s just telling me to look after you as he looks after me, like a hen. Who gave a taxi-driver ten bob to take me home when I was waiting in the rain, eh Matt? Go along with you, you old sinner, looking so innocent.”

  Mr. Phillipson had not the face for innocence but he did appear astonished.

  “Not I,” he said earnestly.

  “Oh, rubbish, don’t lie to me. The taxi-man told me an old friend. In fact what he really said was ‘Op in, Ma. The bloke is on the corner watching to see I don’t scarper with the lolly. If I don’t take you he’ll give me in charge.’ I looked back but I couldn’t see you so I got in very gratefully and came home.”

  Mr. Phillipson continued mystified. “You’ve accused me of this before and I’ve told you I’m not guilty. It’s a charming story,” he said. “I’m sorry to have to disclaim it.”

  “Oh, Matt, you haven’t forgotten the Avenue, that dreadful wet night when there were murders going on all round.”

  He stared at her in amazement. “You’re rambling.”

  “I’m not. There was a murder going on in the very next street. Next day the papers were full of it. You must remember the moneylender who was taken away in a ’bus?”

  “I do,” Annabelle put in unexpectedly. “There were other people in the ’bus too, which made it idiotic. Didn’t you read about it?”

  “No.” Mr. Phillipson wiped his hands of the whole affair. “I avoid crime except when I have to deal with it. I must go. Goodbye, Miss Tassie. Enjoy your stay in London. Goodbye, Polly my dear. Don’t worry about anything. I’ll telephone you either tonight or tomorrow morning.”

  He went off down the path, waved from the gate, and strode away, a slender upright figure. Polly watched him go with deep affection.

  “Such a sound old boy,” she remarked. “So kind, and he’ll never take thanks. I rely on him. He’s my common sense.”

  The girl glanced at her curiously.

  “I don’t think he paid the taxi-man that time, though, do you? I think he rather wished it had been him.”

  “Oh, but he must have.” Polly put an arm round the tweed-clad shoulders as they went into the house. “Who else could it have been? I’ve lived most of my life up north, I haven’t many old friends in London.”

  “Perhaps it was the murderer.” Annabelle was delighted with the mystery and her voice was full of joyous nonsense. “I know, the murderer saw you and thought you might recognise him and stop him, and so he got you out of the way. That means he’s someone you know.”

  “Don’t!” Polly’s reaction was so violent it startled even herself. As the word escaped her she looked astonished. “Oh, how you frightened me,” she said, laughing as she caught sight of herself in the hall glass. “I’ve gone white. What a horrible idea, darling. No, of course it was Matt, bless him. I knew it at the time. Otherwise I wouldn’t have dared to get into the cab, would I?” She paused for a moment, her hand on the stair rail. “No,” she repeated at last. “I know some damn silly boys but no murderers, thank God. Besides,” she added with complete inconsequence, “I had a postcard from Gerry, sent from Yorkshire and dated that very evening. I noticed it particularly at the time. Come along, my poppet, it’s nearly late enough. Let’s make ourselves a cup of tea.”

  Chapter 7

  AFTERNOON WITH MUSIC

  THE MAN WHO had introduced himself as Jeremy Chad-Horder, and had disclaimed his wartime rank of Major as out of date, was still chattering amiably.

  “As the nineteen fifty-seven car said, between you and me dearie, the trouble is I can’t tell my boot from my bonnet,” he remarked cheerfully as he and Richard paused outside the huge plate-glass window of the Piccadilly motor salesroom. “I find that’s the most important thing to remember about modern cars. If they appear to be shrinking it’s all right, they’re going away. I perceive it is closing time. Where shall we stagger next to top up the alcoholic content? What about the Midget Club in Minton Mews?”

  “Good idea.” Richard noticed with relief that he had kept all trace of doggedness out of his tone. They were both very sober, he suspected, although they had so far visited the Rivoli, the Small Bar of the Café, Ley’s Oyster House, and an assortment of pubs of varying elegance. At each of these establishments his companion had been recognised and sometimes with enthusiasm, but they had stayed long nowhere. The younger man had been able to hold his own financially and socially, but it had been an effort and so far he had succeeded in discovering little more about the stranger than had been apparent at the barber’s.

 
Beyond the fact that he was obviously a charming and convincing liar, very little else that was concrete had emerged. The one thing certain was that he had no intention of letting Richard get away from him. Every tentative effort which the young man made to escape was parried neatly and some new inducement offered to keep him by his side.

  Richard was interested because none of the usual explanations appeared to fit the bill. Moreover, since he was particularly anxious to discover what kind of people had got hold of Annabelle without actually spying on her, the opportunity seemed heaven-sent. The more he discovered the less he liked, and he decided to stay with the man for a bit.

  The Lagonda was parked in Curzon Street and they walked through to collect it and drove to the northern side of the West End, leaving the car in a little alley which Gerry knew of just behind Minton Square. It was very full but he took an immense amount of trouble to get in, and Richard was struck by the contrast between the driving skill he was displaying and the fuddled facetiousness he was attempting to convey.

  The wooden box was now safely in the boot. It had not proved practicable to carry it around with them on their quest for refreshment, and they had stowed it away on their first stop. Gerry looked in the back for it as they got out and was reassured as he remembered.

  “You can’t leave anything in an open car,” he explained. “The whole blessed place seems to be on the twist these days. The Midget is just along here on the right. Some people call it Edna’s, after the woman who runs it. If you’ve not met her before you may find her amusing.”