Читать книгу Put Out the Light - Ethel Lina White - Страница 10

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THE following morning, as the Pyes were at breakfast in the shabby comfort of the dining room, they were disturbed by the loud shrilling of a bell.

"Telephone," said Miss Pye, who always explained the obvious.

The next minute Betsy entered, her mouth pursed with importance.

"Official, please," she announced.

With astonishing speed for his build, Pye lumbered out into the hall. He was always expectant whenever he answered the telephone, even though he knew that he was doomed to disappointment.

"Some woman's set her chimney on fire on her neighbor's washing-day," he thought acidly, as he took up the receiver.

When he returned to the dining room his blue eyes looked fierce, which was a sign of suppressed pleasure and excitement.

"Burglary at the Moat House," he announced. "Look sharp with the car, Flo."

His sister lost no time in getting the secondhand Morris from the garage and bringing it round to the front gate. She helped her brother into his coat, without an unnecessary question.

At last a chance had come to Adam. Although her powerful voice contained only three notes, full of holes, she sang loudly as she picked a buttonhole of early snowdrops, to decorate the hero, on his return.

Pye's hopes were high when he reached the Moat House. The housemaid who opened the door was in such a state of palpitation, that she might have been the heroine in a drama. He concluded that her excitement was symptomatic of a wholesale loss of silver. When he was shown into the drawing room Mrs. Antrobus also fostered the illusion, for she welcomed him with the enthusiasm of a girl.

"Thank goodness you've come at last, Superintendent," she cried.

"Glad to be of use," he said, waving aside the cigarette she offered him. "Now, don't talk, please. It will save time, if you answer my questions. I understand that your house has been burgled. What was taken?"

"A pair of Dresden china ornaments," replied Mrs. Antrobus.

"Thanks, I will, after all, if I may change my mind," remarked Pye, striking a match in an heroic attempt to hide his disappointment.

"I know it sounds unimportant," said Mrs. Antrobus, vaguely aware of a flop. "But there are unusual features in the case, which will interest you. In fact, they constitute a real mystery."

Pye stared at a brown rose on the carpet, in a creditable effort to register concentration, as he listened to the story of the initial theft, embellished with Mrs. Antrobus' own deductions. It seemed to bear a family resemblance to one of his sister's stories about Betsy.

"And I took her for an intelligent woman," he thought. "They're all alike. Scrambled eggs for brains."

Then he became aware that Mrs. Antrobus was waiting for his comment.

"You were right," he said. "Just a servant's trick. You should do what my sister does. Lay a trap for her."

"No," declared Mrs. Antrobus crisply. "I was wrong. Last night we had a second burglary, which proves I misjudged Fletcher. After the first incident, I gave orders for the French windows of the drawing room to be shuttered at night. We'd grown careless in the matter, as we never have burglars here."

"I'm glad we're of some use, after all," Pye reminded her. "And what way did your gentleman come, last night?"

"Through the conservatory. Come and see for yourself."

Pye followed her across the room and into the small greenhouse, which was built out of it. Here, one of the lights was smashed, and a pot of cyclamen overturned.

"I've not touched anything," declared Mrs. Antrobus virtuously.

She was vexed that the Superintendent fell short of her own standard of investigation. He merely blew out a cloud of smoke, looked around him with interest and then pounced down on a drooping plant.

"Not yours, I hope?" he asked.

"No. I'm housing it for a neighbor, who's gone abroad."

"Run it out, at once, unless you want your vines infected. It's got mealy-bug. That's all here. I'll just have a look at the lock that was forced."

After a cursory glance at the French window, he plumped down again on his chair.

"And what did you say was taken last night?" he asked.

"The remaining Dresden figure," said Mrs. Antrobus reproachfully. "Surely I told you that? The shepherdess."

"Were the ornaments genuine?"

"They were on my drawing-room mantelpiece."

"Sorry. But we have to ask these questions in the force. I can see for myself you have a very tasty room. Now, you're sure no other valuable is missing? Been through everything?"

"With a fine comb."

Mrs. Antrobus' opinion of Pye was rapidly sinking.

"The man's a fool," she thought.

"Well, Superintendent," she said, "what steps do you propose to take?"

"I propose to do nothing," replied the Superintendent.

As she remained silent through sheer indignation, he proceeded to explain.

"To begin with, these burglaries are the work of a rank amateur. Your pup would make a better job of breaking in a house than he's done. It's plain he was all on the jump, no nerve and no head. His first visit, he must have heard some sound which startled him so that he hopped it, with only one figure; and the second time, he's clumsy as a steam-roller. No, madam, wash him out. He's not a serious proposition. You probably know him as well as you know me."

"What do you mean by that?" demanded Mrs. Antrobus frigidly.

"Well, your burglar is either a bright young joker and done it for a rag, or else he's a rival collector, who coveted your figures."

Mrs. Antrobus' violet eyes grew thoughtful.

"There might be something in your last deduction," she said, "if only the first figure had been taken, it might have been wanted to make up a pair. But, together, they're not of outstanding value."

"Then we must leave it as someone's little joke," observed Pye, heaving out of his chair, as a sign that the interview was over.

Mrs. Antrobus could restrain her annoyance no longer.

"Do you mean," she asked, "that I'm to sit down under this outrage and make no attempt to punish the offender? Look at those lovely rose cyclamens. And the broken light. Who's going to pay the glazier's bill? Why, it's positively monstrous."

Pye glanced at the clock, and edged nearer to the door.

"That's my advice," he said.

Mrs. Antrobus mechanically followed his eye.

"Oh, I wish the Judge were here," she cried petulantly, as though the deceased magistrate were five minutes late for an appointment.

Pye had a fellow-feeling for her disappointment.

"It's because of the respect I had for the Judge," he said, "and also, because of my respect for you, that I don't want you to advertise your loss. You'll only have a pack of brainless idiots laughing in their sleeves at you. I want to preserve your dignity."

Mrs. Antrobus' face softened as she held out her hand.

"That's nice of you," she said. "I'll be guided by you."

Pye paused in the doorway, in an attempt to atone.

"If you find you've got the mealy-bug," he said, "lose no time. Send for me."

"Yes," remarked Mrs. Antrobus bitterly, when the door had closed behind him. "That's about your mark. Mealybug and dog-biscuit. And you stand for the law. Oh, if only the Judge were here. He'd know what to do."

For the first time, she seemed to be finding the flaws in her complacent widowship.

In his turn, Pye arrived home in a bleak mood. His grim red face slightly brightened, however, as he saw a smart blue Baby Austin blocking the road for him, before the Cherry Orchard.

Miss Pye—big and fair—met him, at the gate; and another woman—bigger still, and fairer—stood at the open door.

"Doris is here," announced Miss Pye.

"You don't say so," murmured Pye, as he smiled and nodded to the proprietress of the Timberdale Arms.

Miss Pye took no notice of his sarcasm, as she caught his arm.

"Well, Adam, what was it?" she asked.

"Oh, she'd lost a pocket-handkerchief in the wash," was the acid reply. "Hullo, Doris, old girl."

In his eyes, his favourite sister was still the slim, golden-haired girl who had rushed Major Law's defenses during his sole leave, although nothing was left of the war idyll but the golden hair and the Major's pension.

"Go on. She never called you in about a hanky?" asked Miss Pye.

"Well, perhaps, it was a nightie."

"Nothing we don't know, in our business, about lost nighties and the funny places they turn up in," said Mrs. Law, whose humour tended to be Rabelaisian in brand.

"Naughty girl," remarked Pye, playfully slapping her. "What's for dinner, Flo?"

"Steak-and-kidney pudding," replied Miss Pye.

The sun shone again as Pye addressed the Universe.

"Now, who wants women to have brains when they can make a crust like you, Flo? That's women's business, bless them. Stopping for dinner, Doris?"

Mrs. Law shook her golden head.

"No, Adam. I only just dropped in to ask Flo to cut the cards for me."

"Why? Nothing's wrong?" asked Miss Pye.

"No. Everything's fine."

"Worried, then?"

"Golly no. But I just wanted to know what's going to happen."

Mrs. Law was a heavy smoker and her ash fell continuously on the cards, as she leaned over the table. In spite of her frequent bursts of loud laughter and her broad comments, it was plain that her mind was not at rest. She fed Miss Pye with questions, as though trying to force a favourable fortune.

"Can't you see a letter for me, with good news? Can't you see a pleasant surprise? Those hearts are good, aren't they? You can't see treachery threatening me, can you?"

Miss Pye, who took her soothsaying seriously, did her best to give the beloved younger sister a promise of good luck. But the cards were not too propitious, and even Doris cried out at certain ominous combinations.

"No good stringing me along, Flo, old girl," she said. "I know a bad card as well as I know a bad florin. Well, well, such is life, and may the best woman win. I'll have to rush back to relieve the bar."

She brushed the ash off her smart black-and-white suit, dusted her red face with powder, lit another cigarette, and hurried out to her car. As she grasped the wheel, while her brother and sister watched her in admiration, she gave them a clue to her uneasiness.

"You never knew anything like the rumours we get in the trade. I bet the war was started in a pub. Guess the latest. Some smart Aleck was saying there's going to be a Munster Hotel in Timberdale. All hot air, I say. The place would never cover two hotels."

Adam's eyes grew anxious.

"Would it injure you?" he asked.

Mrs. Law shook her head with an explosive laugh.

"Don't worry, old son. I'm too well dug in. My place is historic and I've got a following. A real first-class connection. I can hold my own against any opposition. I'm much more bothered about what's going to win the Lincoln and National double."

After Mrs. Law had driven off, puffing at her cigarette in gay defiance, Pye and his sister remained staring into each other's eyes.

"That dam' painted scarecrow," thundered the Superintendent, glaring up at Jamaica Court.

"Don't excite yourself before eating," urged Miss Pye, "or the meat will poison you."

But directly after the cloth was removed Miss Pye again took out her pack of cards and laid them out, in the form of a horseshoe. As she counted and sucked in the corners of her mouth, she seemed to find grim consolation in her pastime.

For there it was again. Murder of a spinster by night.