Читать книгу Death Makes a Prophet - Ernest Elmore - Страница 24

Table of Contents

Penpeti looked glum. He was glum. Even the very excellent rissole à la Bernard Shaw, which was the plat du jour of the Rational Feeding Restaurant, failed to relieve his depression. Sitting over his lunch he tried to take a more optimistic view of the future, but no matter in which direction he gazed the outlook was black. It was just one damned thing after another. First Yacob’s untimely visit; then the sudden loss of Mrs. Hagge-Smith’s patronage, and, finally, his utter inability to make any headway with Penelope Parker. Financial headway, that is. His headway in other directions had been both startling and swift. At his second visit, Penelope, with the brazen shamelessness of a woman who knows exactly what she wants, declared that she was in love with him. At the third visit, for decency’s sake, he was forced to take her into his arms and kiss her. Beyond that dangerous moment he dared not think. He only knew that his original surmise was correct. Beneath the mystic veils lurked a really virulent specimen of the Eternal Eve. In less than a week he had landed himself in a very ticklish situation.

But Penelope’s purse-strings were as obstinately knotted as Mrs. Hagge-Smith’s. His hints had been broad enough, but not a penny-piece was forthcoming to make this amorous adventure worth-while. Penpeti felt desperate. In another week Yacob would come sneaking back into Welworth demanding the money that Penpeti had been unable to pay out on his previous visit. Yacob had given him just fourteen days in which to find, what he always referred to as, “the necessary”. Either “the necessary” was forthcoming, or else...and Penelope was his last hope!

Then there was another upsetting complication. Penelope had warned him that Hansford Boot was out to sabotage his position in the Movement. Penelope swore that Boot wanted the office of Prophet-in-Waiting for himself. He was working day and night to set Mrs. Hagge-Smith against him. Well, there was some truth in that! Alicia certainly seemed cold and unapproachable these days. She was constantly in Hansford Boot’s company. Yes—it was all very depressing.

Penpeti had always detested Boot. No definite reason—just an instinctive antagonism. His dislike was coupled with the firm belief that he’d met Boot before. He couldn’t for the life of him say where and when, except that it was during the period of his life in which Yacob had so expansively figured. Perhaps Yacob would remember. But no matter in what circumstances he had previously met Boot, the idea lingered that the fellow had been connected with something shady, something secret, even criminal. Penpeti decided that when Yacob next turned up in Welworth, he would show him the group photo of the Coo hierarchy taken outside the temple, and see if Yacob could identify Boot. After all it would be very, very useful to know something about Boot, that Boot himself might be anxious to conceal. Such knowledge could be used as a lever. Or would “chisel” have been the better word?

And then, startled by the coincidence, Penpeti was suddenly aware that Hansford Boot had entered the restaurant and was escorting Mrs. Hagge-Smith to an adjacent table. Penpeti hastily clapped his napkin to his mouth, hiding his beard, and bent lower behind the tall vase of cape gooseberry. Once the couple were seated he knew he would be safe from discovery, for the tables at the Rational were separated from each other, like loose-boxes in a stable, by a series of low partitions. The wood of these partitions, however, was so thin that it was possible by listening carefully to overhear at least the gist of any conversation that took place behind them.

From the moment they had settled down and given their order, Penpeti’s interest was aroused. In the very first sentence he heard mention of his name, and fast on the heels of that, his own name in connection with the police. He listened intently, almost holding his breath, whilst Hansford quickly slashed his reputation to shreds in his peculiar telegraphic English. From mention of the missing Crux Ansata, he passed on to a detailed exposition of his belief that he, Penpeti, was the only possible person who could have stolen it. It all sounded devilish clever and convincing and there was no doubt that Hansford’s reasoning was cutting a great deal of ice with Alicia.

Penpeti’s hackles rose. So Penelope was right, by heaven! Hansford was out to besmirch his good name in the eyes of the one woman he was most anxious to impress. Damn the man! It was intolerable, despicable! Somehow, by hook or by crook, he must put an end to this devilish slander. But how? Was Yacob the answer? Was it possible that Yacob’s memory would prove to be more alert than his own? Was it possible that Yacob would recall just where he had met Hansford Boot before? Yacob was smart. He forgot nothing. If there was anything shady in Hansford’s past record then, by God, Yacob was the man to know all about it!

“But the police,” he thought. “No—that’s more serious.”

It was obvious that they had got the police on to the job of recovering the missing Crux Ansata and that he, himself, was destined to be put through some sort of cross-examination. And, at that moment, an interview with the police was something that struck Penpeti as peculiarly distasteful. But how to avoid it without rousing suspicion? Damn this fellow Boot!

Well, he’d have to wait until Yacob turned up to collect the money he didn’t seem likely to get. Unless, of course, at the last minute, Penelope...?

But Penpeti, for all his prowess as a high-powered Casanova, had little hope in this direction. He shook his head dolefully and dug a vicious spoon into his sickly-looking fig mould. His world seemed to be falling apart.

Beyond the partition, the hateful voice of Hansford Boot was saying: “So secretive about his past. Sticks in my gullet. Never been happy about his reserve. Suggestive. But mustn’t influence you, my dear Alicia. Unfair. Fellow not here to defend himself. But queer, eh? Air of mystery. Personally I don’t like it!”