Читать книгу The Green Pack - Edgar Wallace - Страница 9

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Louis Creet's dressing table would have delighted any woman's heart. In selecting it Louis had obviously been influenced by considerations which had more than counterbalanced his prejudice against dust and germs; for it was a highly decorative piece of furniture with a multitude of drawers. It had soft, cunningly hidden lights, and its long, handsome mirrors were adjustable to give a full-length view of the figure from every angle from which a woman could wish to see herself. Its appurtenances were in keeping. There were comb, brushes, and hand mirror in tortoise shell and gold; an array of exquisite little boxes containing three shades of face powder, rouge, cream; several dainty cut-glass bottles of perfume.

Jacqueline stared at them, frowning. She picked up a gold lipstick case and pulled off the cap. The lipstick was worn to half its full length. She tossed it aside with a wry smile. She wondered what sum the others had received.

She raised her head and stared long and searchingly at her reflection in the mirror. She could detect no difference in herself. She felt mildly surprised at that. She had always had an idea that when a girl had experienced what she had just experienced there was some subtle change in her expression. According to her mother her eyes should have lost their look of innocence, and guilt and shame should be impressed on her face. But her eyes looked exactly the same as usual, as far as she could see, and she was not conscious of any feeling of guilt or shame. She felt disgust when she remembered...

But she was not going to remember. Once away from Louis's flat, she would blot this evening from her memory.

She turned, went, without a glance to right or left, from the room, and hurried along the corridor towards the front door of the flat. Halfway along it she hesitated, retraced her steps along the corridor. The door of the dining room was ajar and she pushed it open. Louis was lolling on the couch in front of the fire.

"Louis, I'm going home. You'd better take me."

Louis rose, took her arm, and drew her into the room. What's the hurry, darling?"

"I want to go home—at once."

Louis raised his eyebrows.

"Is that wise? It's barely eleven o'clock, and you're supposed to have gone to a dance with me. If you return so early from a dance your people will wonder, darling—"

"Oh, for God's sake don't keep calling me 'darling,' Louis," she exclaimed impatiently. "The farce is over."

"Farce? You've no idea how you hurt me, Jackie, when you talk like that. I'm very, very fond of you. I wish you'd try to believe that. When I call you 'darling' I mean it." He drew her to the couch and sat beside her. "You've been very sweet to me this evening, Jackie. I had no idea that anyone could ever be so wonderful, so—"

"Appetizing?" suggested Jacqueline. "Listen, Louis, I don't want you to run away with any wrong impressions. What I've done this evening I've done because I couldn't help myself. Monty insisted on having his money. He actually came to the house to see Father yesterday, and the only way out of the mess in which I'd landed myself was to accept your beastly proposal. I suppose in the end I should have had to accept it in any case, because I could never have raised the money in any other way, and you'd have told Father if Monty hadn't. You'd have played your compelling tune on that theme, and sooner or later I should have had to dance to it. But every moment of this evening, Louis, I've been thinking what a septic sort of swine you are, and if you can get any satisfaction out of that sort of sweetness you're welcome to it."

Louis listened placidly, with a faint smile. He was not without experience of these subsequent displays of nerves. He suggested a cup of coffee.

Jacqueline glanced at her watch and frowned. Louis was right; it was too early to go home yet.

"Thanks, Louis. I'd like a cup of coffee."

Louis rose.

"Stimson is out," he said. "I thought it more discreet that he should be, so I gave him permission to go to the pictures after dinner. I'll make the coffee myself."

Remembering the lipstick, Jacqueline reflected that Stimson, after several years in Louis Creet's service, must by now be a connoisseur of the pictures, but she made no comment. She nodded, and Louis went from the room.

Jacqueline rose, noticed the figure of the dancing girl on the mantelpiece, stood for some moments gazing at it, and turned abruptly away. She understood now why, when she had first seen it, she had so emphatically disliked it. It symbolized love as Louis understood it. Louis, when he looked at her, saw her as that figure on the mantelpiece.

She began restlessly pacing the room, chafing at the hour which must somehow be got through before she could go home. She must not arrive too soon. Her father would not go to bed much before midnight, and she shrank from meeting him tonight. Despite the assurance of Louis's mirror there might be some subtle difference in her which his keen eyes would detect. She wondered whether Larry would have been able to detect a difference. She felt sure that he would, that, even had it been possible to do so, she could never have looked into Larry's eyes now. If there had been the least chance of her ever again looking into Larry's eyes, if Larry had even been alive and there had been no possibility of their ever again meeting, she could never have done what she had done tonight. As it was, it hadn't mattered—very much.

She took a cigarette from her case and glanced round in search of matches. An automatic lighter stood on the writing desk, and she crossed the room, seated herself in the swivel chair, and stretched out her hand for the lighter. Something touched her elbow, and she turned to see several sheets of paper from a pile on the desk go fluttering to the floor.

She lighted her cigarette, rose, and began to collect the scattered sheets. As she retrieved the third of them, she paused, frowning, glanced at it again, and then, as the colour drained from her cheeks, straightened herself and stood staring at it with fear and bewilderment in her eyes. It was a cable, she realized—addressed to Louis. The message ran as follows:

LOCATED FIELD AMAZINGLY RICH MEET US CAPE TOWN EARLIEST POSSIBLE MOMENT. WIRE DA SILVA'S HOTEL LOBITO BAY. LARRY.