Читать книгу The Elephant Never Forgets - Ethel Lina White - Страница 7

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IT was fortunate for the sake of morale that Anna possessed an orderly mind. In spite of recent shocks, she was resolved to concentrate on the actual position, and not to let her imagination be stampeded by a flock of nervous fears.

"It was a mistake to chase that money," she argued. "But that's all behind me now. The fact remains—the money's lost. And as it was already lost before I left the office, I'm no worse off...The first thing to do is to write home for some more."

She puckered her brow as she speculated upon her best source of supply. The obvious person was the lawyer who paid her the allowance left her by her stepfather. This gentleman, however, was not in her favour, owing to his chronic reluctance to write a cheque on demand.

"It will be no good to tell him it's urgent," she thought. "He'll only write a stalling letter, wanting to know what I've already told him, all over again. He'll do anything to put off the agony of parting with my money."

Her criticism was unjust, since she had overdrawn her account and was owing him the next quarter's remittance; but she was too worried to give her legal devil his due.

"I'll write to Uncle Charles," she decided. "He's a business man."

After she had scrawled a note on cheap mauve paper which she bought at the café, she anticipated a speedy end to her troubles. She knew that her uncle would act first and damn her later.

The open door was a little farther away—but she was still quite close to it.

As she licked on the stamp, it was tonic to think of her uncle who, at that moment, would be in his office at his modern flat, dealing with his correspondence. She pictured the comfortable steel furniture—the light which glowed from unexpected panels—the pale tints of green and buff which were just off the shade-card.

Although she could rely on him to be in London at this time of the year, it seemed wiser to guard against the contingency of illness or absence. She dipped her pen again into the pale-green ink.

"Private and confidential," she wrote at the top of the envelope. "If away, to be opened immediately by private secretary, please."

After she had posted her appeal, she made inquiries at the post office about the time it would take for her letter to reach London and the earliest date when she might expect a reply. Then she ringed the happy day in her purse-calendar and forced herself to endure the tedium of waiting.

Meanwhile, her letter was mailed to London with the minimum of postal delay and reached her uncle, who was at home and in excellent health. He was a brisk, ruddy man who looked more like a farmer than a soldier. On his retirement from the army, he had gone into the city, where he proved himself a keen man of business.

His highly-recommended new secretary—Miss Parmiter—had opened and sorted his mail before she handed him the personal letter. He gave her an appreciative glance, for she had already proved herself a treasure.

Then he recognised Anna's handwriting and his smile changed to a scowl, for he had no use for his intellectual niece.

"I'm broke to the wide," he read. "Please send me my fare home and something extra for contingencies to save me from a Russian prison. This realistic stuff is definitely off, as far as I am concerned."

A faint grin touched his lips as he reflected that the superior Anna sounded more human than usual.

"She's coming on," he muttered. "Cadging. Deal with this, Miss Parmiter. And now I'll dictate."

He tossed Anna's note on her pile of routine letters and began the business of the day.

Promptitude combined with efficiency—that was London. Over in Russia, the days crawled by. In spite of her fortitude, Anna felt the strain of waiting in a cold, dark town, with nowhere to go and nothing to do.

Presently she began to make inquiries at the post office, in the hope of a premature response to her S O S. But the official always shook her head and made the same reply.

"Nothing for you to-day, tovarishch."

She reached the ringed day, when, to her bitter disappointment, the position was unchanged. As she walked away stamping to keep her feet warm, she felt a faint tremor of apprehension.

"Suppose something unexpected broke before I could get away," she thought. "Conrad must have had some reason for wanting to pack me off."

For a second, she seemed to see the tip of an octopus-feeler flickering up through sunny green water.

The next minute she regained her self-control, as she reminded herself that her uncle's letter was only a day late.

"I'll try absent treatment," she resolved. "I'll will Uncle Charlie to think of me."

By a curious coincidence, she was then in his thoughts, as he sat in his office at the flat. He was glancing through his pass-book when he stopped to ask his secretary a question.

"Let me see, Miss Parmiter. How much did we send my niece?"

Miss Parmiter raised her delicately-arched brows in surprise as she repeated vaguely, "Your niece?"

Since her usually infallible memory did not appear to be functioning, he proceeded to jog it.

"You remember? The one we had to save from a Russian gaol."

She bit her lip. "Oh, was that a relative? I'm sorry—but naturally I destroyed the note with the rest of the begging letters."

As he glared at her, she was goaded to justify herself.

"You remarked 'Cadging,'" she reminded him, "and you told me to deal with it. If you had wanted me to send a cheque, of course you would have stated the amount."

The knowledge that the mistake was his own filled the colonel with bitterness.

"You are right, Miss Parmiter," he remarked with caustic suavity. "As always, you are ethically and morally right...And now, perhaps you will have the goodness to send fifty pounds to my niece at once."

Miss Parmiter made a swift note.

"I'll deal with it immediately," she promised him. "What is the name?"

"I have already told you—my niece."

"The note was signed 'A' only," Miss Parmiter reminded him.

"Of course. Sorry."

Properly rebuked, the colonel snatched up a pad and wrote Anna's full name and poste restante address in large, legible letters.

Admittedly, Miss Parmiter was a proven treasure, while he was an officer and a gentleman; but for all that, he had to control a savage impulse to bite the ear of his perfect secretary.