Polly.
"They're going to give me a bad time, aren't they? They're not going to believe this."
Nobody said so, but Milo's reading of events was probably right. His camp manner wasn't likely to help him at the police station.
Shirley-Ann said, "Couldn't you just send it back to the Postal Museum in an envelope?"
"That's what Rupert and I said in effect," said Jessica. "The trouble is, there are six of us who know about this. He's going to have to rely on us all keeping the secret. Who's to say that any one of us won't let the cat out of the bag in some unguarded moment? Then he'd be in far worse trouble."
Polly said, "I don't really agree that we should stay silent. I think Milo ought to go to the police directly."
"So do I," chimed in Miss Chilmark. "Let the truth come out, whatever it is. What do the rest of you think? What about you?" she said to Shirley-Ann.
"I think the decision is up to Milo. I don't mind staying quiet if he doesn't want to get involved."
"And you?" demanded Miss Chilmark, swinging around to face Sid.
Sid's shoulders were hunched as usual. He said, without looking up from the floor, "I can stay quiet."
"No one will argue with that," said Rupert. "Milo, my old cobber, the house is divided. Four of us are willing to turn a blind eye, and two want to hand you over to the rozzers."
"That isn't right," Polly protested. "Milo tells us he knows nothing about this, and I'm willing to believe him. He has nothing to fear from the police. The sooner he reports this and gives them the chance to catch the real thief, the better."
"My sentiments exactly," said Miss Chilmark.
Milo gave a nod. "You're right, of course. I'd better hand this in as soon as possible."
"Do you want anyone to go with you?" Polly asked. "We can all back up your story. We're solidly behind you, Milo."
Milo thanked her and said he thought he would rather go alone. He placed the precious envelope tightly between the pages prior to closing the book. "The amazing thing is that it was here, like a bookmark, at the very chapter I was going to read out."
"The one about the locked room lecture?" said Jessica.
"Yes."
"Did you have a bookmark here?"
"No need. I knew it was chapter seventeen."
"But you'd opened the book to look at it?"
"Sometime during the week, yes. I suppose when the thief opened it, the pages fell open at the chapter I'd been studying. But why me? Why do a thing like this to me, of all people?"
There was no response from anyone. If any of the Bloodhounds knew the answer, or had a private theory, this wasn't the moment to air it. Polly suggested closing the meeting early—it was still only 8:45—and there was no dissent. Milo put on his overcoat and fur hat and was the first to leave.
Chapter Thirteen
Shirley-Ann could hardly wait to tell Bert, her partner, about the dramatic moment when the Penny Black was found. She gave him the update as soon as she got back to their flat in Russell Street. Bert was a difficult man to impress, a modern embodiment of the stony indifference displayed by the English archers at the Battle of Agincourt. Admirable, but frustrating when you were the French army at the charge, so to speak, with lances raised and banners unfurled. He listened in silence, hardly raising an eyebrow until Shirley-Ann had finished. Then came the comment: "I suppose we'll have the police around here asking questions next."
Bert had this unerring ability to raise alarming images in Shirley-Ann's brain. She pictured two burly officers in uniform sitting in the living room. She, straight from the kitchen, caught wearing that vulgar PVC apron with its lifesize image of an overdeveloped female torso in basque and suspenders. No good saying her regular apron was in the wash and this one belonged to Bert, a silly prize won in the rugby club raffle. She visualized the policemen eyeing suspiciously her shelves of books stacked with crime fiction and perhaps even finding on the bottom shelf among the atlases and art
"They're going to give me a bad time, aren't they? They're not going to believe this."
Nobody said so, but Milo's reading of events was probably right. His camp manner wasn't likely to help him at the police station.
Shirley-Ann said, "Couldn't you just send it back to the Postal Museum in an envelope?"
"That's what Rupert and I said in effect," said Jessica. "The trouble is, there are six of us who know about this. He's going to have to rely on us all keeping the secret. Who's to say that any one of us won't let the cat out of the bag in some unguarded moment? Then he'd be in far worse trouble."
Polly said, "I don't really agree that we should stay silent. I think Milo ought to go to the police directly."
"So do I," chimed in Miss Chilmark. "Let the truth come out, whatever it is. What do the rest of you think? What about you?" she said to Shirley-Ann.
"I think the decision is up to Milo. I don't mind staying quiet if he doesn't want to get involved."
"And you?" demanded Miss Chilmark, swinging around to face Sid.
Sid's shoulders were hunched as usual. He said, without looking up from the floor, "I can stay quiet."
"No one will argue with that," said Rupert. "Milo, my old cobber, the house is divided. Four of us are willing to turn a blind eye, and two want to hand you over to the rozzers."
"That isn't right," Polly protested. "Milo tells us he knows nothing about this, and I'm willing to believe him. He has nothing to fear from the police. The sooner he reports this and gives them the chance to catch the real thief, the better."
"My sentiments exactly," said Miss Chilmark.
Milo gave a nod. "You're right, of course. I'd better hand this in as soon as possible."
"Do you want anyone to go with you?" Polly asked. "We can all back up your story. We're solidly behind you, Milo."
Milo thanked her and said he thought he would rather go alone. He placed the precious envelope tightly between the pages prior to closing the book. "The amazing thing is that it was here, like a bookmark, at the very chapter I was going to read out."
"The one about the locked room lecture?" said Jessica.
"Yes."
"Did you have a bookmark here?"
"No need. I knew it was chapter seventeen."
"But you'd opened the book to look at it?"
"Sometime during the week, yes. I suppose when the thief opened it, the pages fell open at the chapter I'd been studying. But why me? Why do a thing like this to me, of all people?"
There was no response from anyone. If any of the Bloodhounds knew the answer, or had a private theory, this wasn't the moment to air it. Polly suggested closing the meeting early—it was still only 8:45—and there was no dissent. Milo put on his overcoat and fur hat and was the first to leave.
Chapter Thirteen
Shirley-Ann could hardly wait to tell Bert, her partner, about the dramatic moment when the Penny Black was found. She gave him the update as soon as she got back to their flat in Russell Street. Bert was a difficult man to impress, a modern embodiment of the stony indifference displayed by the English archers at the Battle of Agincourt. Admirable, but frustrating when you were the French army at the charge, so to speak, with lances raised and banners unfurled. He listened in silence, hardly raising an eyebrow until Shirley-Ann had finished. Then came the comment: "I suppose we'll have the police around here asking questions next."
Bert had this unerring ability to raise alarming images in Shirley-Ann's brain. She pictured two burly officers in uniform sitting in the living room. She, straight from the kitchen, caught wearing that vulgar PVC apron with its lifesize image of an overdeveloped female torso in basque and suspenders. No good saying her regular apron was in the wash and this one belonged to Bert, a silly prize won in the rugby club raffle. She visualized the policemen eyeing suspiciously her shelves of books stacked with crime fiction and perhaps even finding on the bottom shelf among the atlases and art
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