Читать книгу The Mouthpiece - Edgar Wallace - Страница 8

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JACQUELINE did her best to work out the problem which Jim Asson had set her, but she found it more difficult than she had expected to arrive at a definite answer to it. As regards x, the unknown quantity of affection which Jim had for her, she had no doubts. She was quite certain, in the way that a woman is certain of such things, that x equalled nought. Jim did not love her at all. Then why did he want to marry her? There were several possible answers to that question, but none was completely satisfactory. Jim liked her, no doubt, and found her an agreeable companion; but a man, she argued, does not ask a girl to marry him for no better reason than that. She could not escape the feeling that Jim, though he had given her several more or less cogent reasons why she should marry him, had not mentioned the one which weighed with him most. All the time when they were discussing the subject she had had the impression that he was keeping something back, hiding something from her, carefully omitting his real reason and searching anxiously for others which might pass muster with her.

Of course, she was pretty: she knew that, and indulged in no mock modesty with herself on that score; and she asked herself whether, since x equalled nought, her good looks alone were sufficient to explain Jim's desire to marry her. She did not think so. If that was all Jim wanted, there were plenty of girls who could give him far better value for his money than she. And Jim had not given her that impression in the least. He had not kissed her, had not even touched her. As a matter of fact, he had been almost ludicrously cold-blooded and unsentimental about it, and had seemed to look on it more as a business arrangement than anything else. But if it was a business arrangement, it was difficult to see what advantage Jim Asson could possibly hope to get out of it.

She considered it from her own point of view. The advantages were obvious: no more pinching and scraping; an end of this constant wandering about Europe; security, a home of her own, an assured income for her mother. Against all that must be set the fact that she loved Jim Asson no more than he loved her. But was it necessary to love him? She knew that nine girls out of ten, in such circumstances as these, married for the financial advantages they would get out of it, and did not feel they were doing anything dishonourable. She liked him well enough, and there seemed every chance of their rubbing along together amiably enough. It was indeed possible that they might be a good deal happier on that unemotional footing than if they were romantically in love with each other. If there had been only herself to consider, there would have been no question as to what she should do: she would send Jim Asson about his business. But there was her mother to be considered, too. After all, she owed her mother a good deal, and she was quite obviously building on securing Jim Asson as a son-in-law. If marrying Jim Asson would put her mother on velvet for the rest of her life, Jacqueline had a feeling that she had no right to shirk it.

But for several days she could come to no final decision, and each time that Jim Asson begged for her answer she replied that she was still working it out and he must wait. Why, she asked herself again and again, did Jim want to marry her? She could not get rid of a sneaking sort of feeling that there was something behind it which she did not understand, that, in the list of good reasons why she should marry him, the reason for his wanting her to do so was not included. What that reason might be, however, she could not even guess.

She was sitting on the terrace one afternoon, frowning at the river as disapprovingly as her mother had frowned, when Colonel Lutman seated himself in the chair next to hers.

"And what has the Danube done," he asked, "that a charming young lady should frown on it?"

Jacqueline glanced at him and smiled. She always found Colonel Lutman rather entertaining.

"I was just wondering, Colonel," she said, "whether it's better to be broke to the wide on the banks of the Danube or to have plenty of money on the banks of the Thames."

Lutman nodded.

"A very interesting speculation, Miss Jacqueline. And the conclusion?"

She shrugged.

"I'm hanged if I know."

"No?" He smiled. "Experience has taught me that, provided one has plenty in one's pocket, the banks of the Styx, or even the banks of the Thames at Rotherhithe, can be quite a pleasant spot, and that without money it doesn't matter whether one is on the banks of the Danube or the Rhine or the Mississippi or the Nile, since it's equally hell anywhere."

"Money isn't everything, Colonel Lutman."

He smiled indulgently.

"If I may answer one platitude with another, Miss Jacqueline, money may not be everything, but it is the price of everything that's worth anything. Even of the bare necessities of life. One can't even have a bath without money."

She glanced at him quickly, but he was smiling guilelessly at the end of his cigar.

"And speaking of money, Miss Jacqueline," he went on, "you must forgive me for broaching a rather delicate question. I am, as you may know, young Jim Asson's trustee, and he tells me that he has asked you to marry him."

Jacqueline nodded. "Well?"

"I may say that I am delighted. He could not, in my opinion, have made a more suitable choice—a charming young lady, a charming mother, everything set fair for a happy married life. The boy is very delighted about it, and so am I."

"But I haven't agreed to marry him yet, Colonel."

He nodded.

"So I understand. That is why, as Jim's trustee, I wanted to have a little chat with you. Jim would hardly like to mention such matters himself, but there is a financial side of marriage, Miss Jacqueline. I want to assure you that the financial arrangement will be satisfactory in every way. Jim is a very wealthy young man, and I can promise you that when you marry him the course of true love will run quite smoothly." He smiled again. "It will run, in fact, to a very considerable figure."

The girl nodded.

"Thanks, Colonel Lutman. I suppose this sort of thing has to be discussed."

"Unfortunately, yes," said Lutman. "Naturally, you resent the intrusion of such sordid details into love's young dream, but you may trust me to keep them as unobtrusive as possible. There is, of course, your mother to be considered. She is not, Jim tells me, too well off, and of course, since she is your mother, Jim wishes to remedy that. He insists that an income must be settled on her so that she may live as you would wish her to live, and as Jim can well afford it, I am happy to agree. The exact figure—"

"If the marriage comes off, Colonel, you and Jim can settle that with mother. But I don't know yet; I haven't decided. I'm trying to decide now."

He nodded.

"And, in arriving at your decision, Miss Jacqueline, may I, without seeming impertinent, suggest that you should pay particular attention to the position of your mother? It lies in your power to place her beyond—"

"I'm not likely to forget that."

"I'm sure you are not," said Lutman. "But I'm wondering whether you have any idea just how difficult things are for your mother. I have got to know her fairly well, and she has confided in me to a certain extent—and I have a great admiration for her—the way she has struggled on with a mere pittance—"

"I know all about that, Colonel Lutman."

"I wonder! She has, I know, always done her best not to let you know what difficulties she has had to cope with, but in the circumstances, since you are about to make a decision which affects her future happiness so vitally, I think you should know. I think you should fully realize just what she has been—and still is—up against. Perhaps—"

His hand went to his breast pocket, and for a few moments he hesitated.

"Yes—in the circumstances—I think I am justified," he said, drew a wallet from his pocket, took from it a folded slip of paper and handed it to the girl. "Just look at that, Miss Jacqueline, will you?"

Jacqueline unfolded the slip of paper, glanced at it and frowned. It was a cheque signed by her mother—for one hundred and fifty pounds—payable to Colonel Alec Lutman. As she gazed at it she was aware of a strange sinking feeling inside her.

"Well?"

"Your mother asked me to cash that for her a few days ago."

"And—and you did?"

"Of course. She needed the money urgently, she said, and did not want to wait until it arrived from her bank in London." Jacqueline forced a smile.

"Mother's always doing that, Colonel Lutman. We had to wait several days at a hotel in Vienna because she had forgotten to send for her money and we couldn't leave until it arrived. It was nice of you to come to her rescue."

"I'm afraid you don't understand, Miss Jacqueline," said Lutman. "The really significant part of that cheque is the remark in red ink in the top left-hand corner."

He touched the spot with his finger.

"'No effects,'" read Jacqueline aloud.

"Exactly."

"Does that mean that—that—"

"It means that there was no money in your mother's account and the bank refused to meet the cheque.

"But I'm sure—mother wouldn't dream—she can't possibly have known."

Lutman took the cheque and slipped it into his pocket.

"I'm afraid," he said, "that she can't possibly have failed to know. I don't wish to distress you; I am only telling you this because I think it's my duty to make you realize, if I can, how difficult things are for your mother and how much depends on your decision. But it is, frankly, ridiculous to pretend that Mrs. Smith did not know that she was giving a cheque which would not be met. She is not so wealthy that she does not know whether she has a hundred and fifty pounds or not."

"But I can't believe that even mother—of course, I know she does stupid things—through not thinking—"

"That is a charitable way of looking at it, Miss Jacqueline. But other people might use harder words. They might call it fraud." The girl flushed angrily.

"It wouldn't make the slightest difference what they said—" she began, but Lutman cut her short.

"Your mother may have done a foolish thing," he said, "but there is no avoiding the fact that she has done a very serious thing—a criminal thing— which might easily lead to the most unpleasant consequences. If this matter were reported to the police—"

"Colonel Lutman—you wouldn't—you're not suggesting—"

"That I should report it? I should be very unhappy to bring any disagreeable consequences on your mother, Miss Jacqueline. I am merely pointing out to you what her foolish action might easily lead to. And I want you to realize just how hard pressed she must have been to do a criminally foolish thing like that. And it rests with you to see that she is never in such a position again. You have the chance to marry Jim Asson, and I think you should consider very seriously, for your mother's sake, whether you can afford to turn it down."

Jacqueline made no answer, and Colonel Lutman rose.

"The sooner you tell Jim you'll marry him, the better. Miss Jacqueline. It'll save a whole lot of trouble," he said, and strode away along the terrace.

For some moments Jacqueline did not move. She sat, with flushed cheeks and angry eyes, staring straight in front of her. 'It'll save a whole lot of trouble,' Colonel Lutman had said. Had that been a warning—a threat? The thought flashed into her mind that Colonel Lutman was desperately anxious that she should marry Jim Asson, and was using that cheque as a means of forcing her to do it. If she did not promise to marry Jim, Colonel Lutman would go to the police. She dismissed the thought as absurd. Colonel Lutman was a gentleman, and had only mentioned the cheque because he wanted her to realize how hard up against things her mother was. It was very decent of him, really. How on earth her mother could have done such a crazy thing as to cash a dud cheque with a chance acquaintance....

She suddenly got up from her chair, strode into the hotel, knocked at the door of her mother's bedroom, and went in. Mrs. Smith, with her eyes closed, and a wisp of handkerchief grasped in her hand, was lying on the bed.

"Mother!"

The older woman opened her eyes and closed them again.

"What is it, Jacqueline?" she said in a weary voice. "I don't want to be disturbed just now."

"I've been talking to Colonel Lutman."

"Yes, dear. So have I. At least, he has been talking to me. I'm feeling dreadfully upset. I had no idea Colonel Lutman had such a hasty temper. He shouted."

"He has told me about the cheque."

Mrs. Smith opened her eyes.

"Well?"

"Mother, what on earth made you do a thing like that? It's awful. It's fraud—cheating—you must have known there was no money there."

"Yes, dear, of course I did."

"Yet you wrote a cheque and asked Colonel Lutman to cash it."

"No, dear, I didn't ask him. He offered. I suppose I let slip that I was a little short of money, and he said he'd be pleased to cash a cheque for me, so I did it. But I never dreamed the bank wouldn't give him the money for it. I've often overdrawn my account before—"

"But for a hundred and fifty pounds, mother—as much as two quarters' allowance from Uncle Alan—"

"Well, the bank would have got it back, Jacqueline, in due course, and I really had to have it. I'm sure I don't know where all the money goes. It's no use getting cross with me, Jacqueline. Colonel Lutman wasn't at all nice about it, and I really can't stand any more. Look on the dressing-table, dear, will you? I believe there's a bottle of aspirin."

Jacqueline did not move.

"I suppose you realize, Mother," she said, "that if Colonel Lutman had gone to the police—"

"Oh, yes, I realize that. Colonel Lutman told me. I was an unscrupulous woman, he said, and he could put me in prison if he chose to. It's the first time anybody has called me an unscrupulous woman, and I'm terribly hurt about it, dear, and if you start bullying me, too—"

"Did you give the money back to Colonel Lutman?"

Mrs. Smith gazed at her in surprise.

"Give it back, Jacqueline? Of course I didn't give it back. The Colonel asked for it, but I said I'd spent it already and he couldn't have it."

"I see," said Jacqueline. "And where is it, Mother?"

"I'm not going to tell you, Jacqueline. I know what's in your mind. You want to take it and give it to Colonel Lutman—"

"Mother, we must—as much as you've got left—"

"I'm not going to do it, Jacqueline," said her mother firmly. "And I'm not going to let you do it. I—I can't. It's all I've got, and I don't care what anybody thinks of me—I'm not going to give it up. If it's fraud and cheating, and all that sort of thing—then I'll be a fraud and a cheat."

"Mother! I wonder you're not ashamed—"

"That's it—now you turn against me, Jacqueline. Ashamed! Perhaps I am ashamed. Perhaps—all these years—lying and pretending and using nasty little subterfuges—perhaps I've always been ashamed. You've never thought of that, have you? You've thought I was hard—unprincipled—that as long as I could have nice food and pretty clothes I didn't care what petty little meannesses I used to get them. But I didn't mind your thinking that as long as I could somehow keep going and give you everything you needed—"

"Mother—please!"

Mrs. Smith dabbed her eyes with her wisp of handkerchief. "You've thought I was just a deceitful, conceited, selfish woman," she went on, "who didn't realize the cheap, contemptible sort of life I was leading. But I've always realized, and I've always hated it just as much as you have, and now you're turning against me—" Suddenly she buried her face in the pillow, sobbing.

Jacqueline went to her and laid a hand on her shoulder. "Mother—"

"No—leave me alone, Jacqueline. You don't understand—you've never understood. I've kept struggling on, trying to do my best for you, and you've only despised me—"

"Mother, I haven't despised you. And I have realized. I've often thought how wonderful you were—"

"So you may have done, Jacqueline," sobbed her mother; "but you've never done anything to help me. I've tried so hard to fix everything for you so that you shouldn't have to live the sort of life I've lived, and you've never backed me up. There was that charming young fellow in Paris with more money than he knew what to do with. He was dreadfully in love with you, and everything would have been splendid if you'd married him, but you ruined everything—just because he hadn't a great deal of chin."

"But, Mother, I really didn't love him—"

"You didn't try to, Jacqueline. You hardly knew the man. He was perfectly charming if you'd looked a little farther than the chin. And it was the same in Rome, and the same in Vienna, and the same everywhere else. If their chins were all right, you always found something else wrong with them. I'm sure I don't know what you do want as a husband. You can't marry a Greek god. People in our station of life can't expect to do that sort of thing. And if you did, you wouldn't be happy. You'd have to keep him under lock and key. And now—now—oh, go away, Jacqueline, and leave me. I'm just terribly unhappy."

"And now what, Mother?"

"And now there's Jim Asson," sobbed Mrs. Smith. "He's terribly rich and very good-looking, and if only you'd marry him—but of course you won't. You'll probably find he's got a hammer toe or something, and we shall just go on and on, living the same cheap sort of life, pinching and scraping, telling lies and—oh, it's all so hopeless, Jacqueline. I feel I can't go on any longer. I just want to lie here and cry."

The girl was silent, frowning thoughtfully; and then her frown vanished, and her eyes seemed to soften; her hand went out and touched her mother's shoulder again.

"Mother—listen."

"Just leave me alone, Jacqueline."

"There's no need to be unhappy, Mother. There's no need to cry. I suppose I've been a selfish little beast, but I won't be any more. And you won't have to struggle and tell lies and pinch and scrape any more, either. Are you listening?"

Her mother nodded.

"That's all done with—forever, Mother, because I am going to marry Jim Asson."

Mrs. Smith suddenly sat up.

"Jacqueline! My dear—if you really mean it—"

"I do. Does that make you happy?"

Mrs. Smith caught her hand, drew her close, and kissed her cheek.

"Bless you, dear!" she said. "I'm sure you'll be terribly happy."

"I'm going to tell Jim now."

Her mother nodded.

"Do, dear," she smiled. "And then I'll talk to Colonel Lutman about the business side. You can safely leave that to me."

"I'm sure I can. Mother."

"It must all be done legally," said Mrs. Smith. "I shall write to Mr. Stuckey at once. Run along, dear, and find Jim."

Jacqueline hesitated.

"About that cheque, Mother...."

"My dear, I'm sure I shan't worry about that now. Why, Colonel Lutman will be almost a relative. I don't suppose he'll mention it again when he hears of your engagement."

"And if he does?"

Mrs. Smith smiled.

"Well, you'll soon be married, dear, won't you?"