Читать книгу The Unlawul Adventure - Aidan de Brune - Страница 3

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"SORRY, Miss Allerson, 'fraid I can't make use of you. Now, if you had only come here a couple of days ago. Mr. Montague Butte's secretary would have filled our job well. As it is, well you know, we've engaged a young lady, and—"

Matthew Chalmers, managing director, of the States Finance Company Limited, looked across his desk at the young girl. Quickly he added:

"If you'll leave your address, Miss Allerson—"

"Will that be of any use, Mr. Chalmers?" Ray Allerson's voice was low and pleasant. It was one of her greatest assets.

"Can't say," the stout, good-humoured managing director grinned. "We don't like to chop and change here. Our assistants are old friends, as well as old servants. They stay with us and we find that suits our business. Now, this young lady we've just engaged. Must give her a fair show. Say, three months. If then—"

"I may not be here in three months." Ray spoke dejectedly. She was thinking of the remaining few shillings in her purse.

"Sorry, Miss Allerson. We'd have liked to have had you. Excellent references—and all that—"

"Thanks, Mr. Chalmers." Ray turned to the door. "At present I am staying at the Occidental Private Hotel. If I change I will advise you."

"Do." Chalmers strode around the big desk. "And—and Miss Allerson, come and see me again, some time. I may hear of something that will suit you. See?"

Ray nodded, blinking back the tears that burned her eyes. She went quickly through the big offices to the street, longing for the open air.

How many times had she heard Montague Butte speak in that manner to applicants for positions when she sat secure in her position, at her desk? The words were kind; they were meant kindly, but they carried nothing tangible.

Now she was an applicant for work; she who had felt herself so secure in her position as personal secretary to the managing director of the Rayonon Hosiery Company. Montague Butte had died suddenly. A new man had occupied his chair—a man who wanted to bring in with him new people.

Ray had resigned under pressure, confident that her savings, would carry her through until she obtained new work. But Melbourne had proved barren, and she had come to Sydney.

Days had passed and she had grown desperate. Now her last hope had failed. She doubted if she had the pluck to try again—she had not the money to wait.

Ray turned down the long street towards the harbour, careless where she went. It was late afternoon. Soon she would have to turn towards the private hotel where she lodged. She feared to go there. Hints would be thrown out that she had not paid her last week's bill. Perhaps there would be more than hints—plain speaking. She might be asked for the money, and she did not have It.

Oscar Beringer! He stayed at the private hotel. A little shiver shook the girl when she thought of the man. He was suave, polite, subservient. But, under that manner, she sensed the predatory animal. At first she had rather liked him. Incautiously, she had let him know her position. He had offered her help—but with the offer had come a change of manner. He had tried to be possessive; hinting at arrangements that brought the hot colour to her cheeks.

She quickened her pace. What was she to do? She was young, strong and healthy. She could work, and work well. She wanted work—and there was no work for her.

Unconsciously she halted, abruptly, and looked about her. She had wandered into Macquarie Street and stood before Taunton House. Oscar Beringer had his rooms in that building. Why had she come there? The rich colour flooded her face and neck. She turned away, then hesitated.

Oscar had offered to lend her money. Could she accept his offer?

Why was she allowing sex to intervene? For all she knew the man had spoken in good faith. Had she wronged him, reading into his words and manner a meaning he had not intended? Something drew her to the building. She could not go home without money or work. If Oscar would lend her enough to settle her hotel bill, she knew she could get work soon. Then she could repay him; thank him for his friendship. She climbed the stairs, fearing to face the questioning eyes of the lift attendant.

Oscar Beringer's dental parlours were on the fifth floor. Ray was tired and distrait, when she stood before the closed door. She hesitated a moment, then summoned her courage and knocked gently. Then she knocked louder.

There was no answer to her summons. She knocked again, still louder; then tried the door-handle. The door was locked. With almost a sigh of relief she turned away. He must have gone home.

Again the distaste to return to the private hotel seized her. On the stairs she paused and counted her money. Could she remain in the city, seeking a modest meal at some cheap restaurant? She could not make up her mind.

Now she feared the streets, rapidly emptying of the homeward hurrying crowds of workers. To delay leaving the building she took to walking the corridors on each floor, scanning the names of the tenants painted on the frosted glass of the doors.

Half-way down a corridor on the third floor she halted suddenly before a door. On it was only a name—"R. S. Allerson." Ray chuckled.

Who was R. S. Allerson? Herself? That might be. She was Ray Sara Allerson—R. S. Allerson.

Some little quirk of devilment held her before the door. Who was this R. S. Allerson? Male or female? A strong curiosity possessed her. Before she left that building she must know.

Ray tapped lightly at the door. No one answered. She tried the handle, pushing gently. The door gave to her touch. Beyond it she gazed on a handsomely fitted lounge-room.

What was R. S. Allerson? Taunton House was mainly occupied by doctors and dentists. Which profession did this person follow? Ray looked around her, inquisitively. Nothing in the room gave a needed clue. She crossed the room, her steps deadened by the thick-pile carpet, to a door on the right. The door was ajar. Ray pushed it open and stepped into the adjoining room. She gave a little gasp on finding herself in a bedroom.

Now Ray found clues to answer one of her questions. "R. S. Allerson" was a woman. No one but a woman would fit a bedroom in that manner. The girl looked around her, appreciatively. She felt akin to her unknown namesake. R. S. Allerson was a woman of remarkably good taste.

A door on the opposite side of the room stood partly open. Ray went to it and peeped beyond. She looked on a room peculiarly feminine—the exclusive boudoir of the unknown. The zest of exploration overcame Ray's scruples. Beyond the boudoir she found a bathroom and a beautifully appointed kitchenette.

The girl sighed enviously. Who was this R. S. Allerson who could occupy so wonderful a suite in the city's most exclusive quarter? The rent of the place must be enormous. The furnishings represented many years' income for the business girl. A strange curiosity to see and study her namesake came over Ray. She passed quickly through boudoir and bedroom to the first floor. She named it the reception room.

Reception room, to what? There were no signs of trade or profession in the suite. Certainly "R. S. Allerson" could not be a dentist. Nowhere were there signs of the multitudinous instruments and machines peculiar to that industry. The room had not the atmosphere of a surgery or consulting room.

Ray dropped, tiredly, into a comfortable chair and leaned back restfully. Her cloche hat irritated and she plucked it off, throwing it and her bag and gloves on a nearby table.

A quirk of mischief seized Ray. She would wait there until "R. S. Allerson" came, and introduce herself. She wanted to see the woman who bore her name. Did she do so in full? Were there two Ray Sara Allersons. In the world?

For some time Ray sat, cosily relaxed. The humour of the situation had faded—now only curiosity remained. She kicked off her shoes and wriggled her toes lazily. It was good to be there—to allow that restful chair to possess and comfort her tired body—to close her eyes, knowing that around her were beautiful, soothing things, comforting to her rather material soul—to close her mind—and—

Ray slept, while the long shadows of the afternoon blended into the grey of dusk. She slept, serene and confident, gradually falling into that deeper slumber where dreams and Imaginings cease to exist.

"MISS ALLERSON! Miss Allerson!" A woman's voice lifted Ray again into this world. She opened her eyes and drew her stockinged feet under the chair. By her side was standing a woman, tall, fair and buxomly built.

"Miss Allerson!"

"Yes," Ray answered, vaguely. She sat up. "Have I been asleep?"

"I should say so." The woman laughed. "We found the door open and—"

"I found the door open," Ray interrupted. "I came in and sat down for a moment and—"

"And went to sleep." Again the woman laughed. "S'pose I must introduce myself. I am Maude Penlop—Miss Maude Penlop, y'know."

Ray nodded. The name meant nothing to her. She wondered how the woman had come to call her by name.

"I knew you by your photograph—cute to send it to us so that we should recognise you." There was subservience in Maude Penlop's voice that Ray disliked intensely. "Oh, by the way! Mr. Frederick Dutton, one of our—er—assistants. You know him?"

Ray nodded, although she had not even heard the name before. The woman and man intrigued her; she wanted to know more before she revealed herself.

"It's fine to meet our chief, at last." Dutton, a short stubby man with a florid face decorated with a tooth-brush moustache, spoke easily. "We have long admired your brains, Miss Allerson. It is a compliment to be allowed to work under you. In the short space of time in which you have built up your organisation—"

"We've found it damned profitable, eh, Freddie?" Maude laughed hardly. "Don't take any notice of Freddie's talk, Miss Allerson. He can spin on like that by the hour. The worst is that he can't snap out of it. Keeps if flowing, even when he's among friends. Just fancy you coming in and dropping down in the first chair asleep. My, but you must be tired."

"I was." Ray stifled her bewilderment. Organisation! Compliment to be allowed to work under you! She wanted to laugh. She, who that day had been refused a chance to work!

"All talk, Maudie." Dutton sauntered across the room. "You talk and forget what you came here for. Remember, Miss Allerson has came off the long train journey from Melbourne, has no doubt had a busy afternoon and drops asleep directly she gets into her rooms. Now I suggest that you help her to a bath and a change. I'll amuse myself for half-an-hour."

With a gesture he opened the door leading into the bedroom and waited for the girls to pass him. Maude nodded.

"Bright idea! Come on, Miss Allerson I'm lady's maid for this occasion. I unpacked your things, as you requested and put everything in order. My, your frocks are 'IT!'"

Thoroughly bewildered, Ray allowed herself to be led into the bedroom. As she passed Maude the woman closed the door, at the same time touching her on the arm.

"See this, Miss Allerson?" She touched a button on the wall. Immediately another door slid across the opening. "Gives you all the privacy you want. You shut yourself in your private rooms, leaving the reception room apart. Great idea. Isn't it? I thought of it and Freddie designed the works. There's other doors to the corridor you can use when you don't want to go through that room. See!"

Ray nodded. She was looking for a door to the corridor to the bedroom. There was not one. Quickly she passed into the boudoir. There were doors to the bathroom and the kitchenette, but not one to the corridor.

"But these rooms were designed as offices?" she commenced. "Why is there no door—"

"Oh, you mean the corridor there," Maude laughed. "Come and look—"

She went to a section of the wall in the boudoir and touched a spring. Two panels slid aside. The woman opened a door then revealed, swinging it back. On the glass was painted "J. Tomlinson."

"Each door has a different name on it," the woman explained. "All the rooms have been taken in the names of different tenants. Now watch!"

She pulled Ray into the corridor and shut the door.

"The panels slid across directly the door was shut." Maude explained. "Here are the keys. When you put the key in the lock a spring rolls back the panels and you can open the door. Get it? Now come in and tidy up."

In half an hour Ray followed her companion into the reception room, bathed, refreshed and clad in a dress that was a dream in green. As she entered Dutton sprang to his feet, admiration glowing in his eyes.

"Miss Allerson!" he murmured. "Jove I never thought—"

"You never do, Freddie," laughed Maude, as if she had scored a personal triumph. "You'll soon forget the little Maude you profess to love when you view the resplendent Miss Allerson. S'pose I must fall in line—a mere mistress of the ceremonies. Ah!"

A knock sounded at the door Maude went and opened It.

"Now I commence my duties," she announced, dramatically. "Miss Allerson, allow me to announce and present our local chief."

Ray turned, a premonition tugging at her heart—to look into the keen, suspicious eyes of Oscar Beringer.