have,” said Rachel. “He was rather attractive, you know, and he must have pots of money; it would have been nice for Jessica to have had a rich stepfather and I’m a bit sick of scraping along at four pounds ten a week. But since the flat episode—no, thank you.” “You shouldn’t have stayed so late, dear.” “I know, Irene. It was asking for trouble. Anyway, it put an end to my girlish illusions, so it may have been a good thing, in the end.”
“It’s easy for us to talk, Rene,” said Toria. “Bevan’s never cast his lecherous eye in our direction. I wonder why,” she added with genuine interest.
“Well, you’re too heavily married, dear, and as for me—I’ve been with Christophe’s so long that he looks on me as part of the fixtures and fittings. Awkward when the detective asked us about Doon being engaged, wasn’t it? You were very good then, Rachel, putting him off. We didn’t want to get mixed up in all those revelations, did we?”
“We didn’t put him off very much,” said Victoria, thoughtfully. “He’s an odd young man. He’s just offered to give me his silk hankie, because I said I liked it; and when I wouldn’t take it he rushed out of the place like a madman.”
“Victoria! You don’t mean to say that he’s fallen for you?”
“God forbid,” said Victoria, piously.
“Why do all the free men get keen on Toria?” asked Rachel, with mock petulance. “Only the dirty old men go for you and me, Irene.”
“ I don’t want them, bond or free,” said Victoria. “I’ve got Bobby Dazzler and he’s all I can do with. Anyway, you can hardly call Bevan a dirty old man, Rachel!”
They fell into a discussion of Bevan’s attributes: but Charlesworth, doggedly determined to put the detective before the man, was closeted in his little office, with the notes of the case spread around him, trying to find some connection between Doon’s murder and an affair between Bevan and Victoria. Pushed out of sight in a drawer was a blue silk handkerchief.
4
To Gregory a murder in the shop was no excuse for slackening efficiency. She cheerfully shouldered Doon’s work as well as her own and filed from morning till night and calculated with unabated enthusiasm, until the luckless Macaroni almost cried for mercy. On the Thursday morning, three days after Doon’s death, the work was completely up to date and she dismissed the snivelling secretary to her own dungeon and sat complacently in Bevan’s office, reviewing her handiwork. Bevan came in and threw himself into a chair.
“Oh, Frank, I’m so glad you’ve come. I’ve been wanting to ask you …”
“For God’s sake don’t call me Frank in business hours,” said Bevan, roughly. “How many times have I told you that? Can’t you be more careful?”
It was the first time she had ever made such a slip and he had certainly never mentioned it before. Her eyes filled with tears and she sat silent, gazing at the neat papers before her.
“Well, what is it?” he asked, and as she made no reply, “What’s the matter? Why don’t you say what you were going to say?”
“Never mind now; I’ll ask you another time.”
“What the devil’s the matter with you, these days?” said Bevan in a savage undertone. “What are you always weeping and moping about?”
“Don’t you think I’ve got something to weep and mope about?”
“That’s just the damn silly kind of thing a woman always says; what sort of a reply do you expect me to make to such a remark as that?”
“Well, I think a few kind words wouldn’t be a bad reply,” said Gregory, sadly. “They’d be the first you’d spoken to me for a very long time.”
“My dear girl, you don’t want me to make love to you before the whole shop, do you? Do pull yourself together and keep that sort of thing for out-of-business hours.”
“I never see you now in out-of-business hours.”
“I like that—only last Monday I spent most of the morning at your
“It’s easy for us to talk, Rene,” said Toria. “Bevan’s never cast his lecherous eye in our direction. I wonder why,” she added with genuine interest.
“Well, you’re too heavily married, dear, and as for me—I’ve been with Christophe’s so long that he looks on me as part of the fixtures and fittings. Awkward when the detective asked us about Doon being engaged, wasn’t it? You were very good then, Rachel, putting him off. We didn’t want to get mixed up in all those revelations, did we?”
“We didn’t put him off very much,” said Victoria, thoughtfully. “He’s an odd young man. He’s just offered to give me his silk hankie, because I said I liked it; and when I wouldn’t take it he rushed out of the place like a madman.”
“Victoria! You don’t mean to say that he’s fallen for you?”
“God forbid,” said Victoria, piously.
“Why do all the free men get keen on Toria?” asked Rachel, with mock petulance. “Only the dirty old men go for you and me, Irene.”
“ I don’t want them, bond or free,” said Victoria. “I’ve got Bobby Dazzler and he’s all I can do with. Anyway, you can hardly call Bevan a dirty old man, Rachel!”
They fell into a discussion of Bevan’s attributes: but Charlesworth, doggedly determined to put the detective before the man, was closeted in his little office, with the notes of the case spread around him, trying to find some connection between Doon’s murder and an affair between Bevan and Victoria. Pushed out of sight in a drawer was a blue silk handkerchief.
4
To Gregory a murder in the shop was no excuse for slackening efficiency. She cheerfully shouldered Doon’s work as well as her own and filed from morning till night and calculated with unabated enthusiasm, until the luckless Macaroni almost cried for mercy. On the Thursday morning, three days after Doon’s death, the work was completely up to date and she dismissed the snivelling secretary to her own dungeon and sat complacently in Bevan’s office, reviewing her handiwork. Bevan came in and threw himself into a chair.
“Oh, Frank, I’m so glad you’ve come. I’ve been wanting to ask you …”
“For God’s sake don’t call me Frank in business hours,” said Bevan, roughly. “How many times have I told you that? Can’t you be more careful?”
It was the first time she had ever made such a slip and he had certainly never mentioned it before. Her eyes filled with tears and she sat silent, gazing at the neat papers before her.
“Well, what is it?” he asked, and as she made no reply, “What’s the matter? Why don’t you say what you were going to say?”
“Never mind now; I’ll ask you another time.”
“What the devil’s the matter with you, these days?” said Bevan in a savage undertone. “What are you always weeping and moping about?”
“Don’t you think I’ve got something to weep and mope about?”
“That’s just the damn silly kind of thing a woman always says; what sort of a reply do you expect me to make to such a remark as that?”
“Well, I think a few kind words wouldn’t be a bad reply,” said Gregory, sadly. “They’d be the first you’d spoken to me for a very long time.”
“My dear girl, you don’t want me to make love to you before the whole shop, do you? Do pull yourself together and keep that sort of thing for out-of-business hours.”
“I never see you now in out-of-business hours.”
“I like that—only last Monday I spent most of the morning at your
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