Mr. Zero by Patricia Wentworth Page B

The word was rather breathless.
    He looked away from her because it was dangerous to be so near, to see her eyes so soft and anxious—for him. He said in a studiously quiet voice,
    â€œSomeone’s trying to get me into trouble. If they bring it off, I should be finished as far as my present job is concerned, and as far as politics are concerned. There’d be a black mark against me. But they’re not going to bring it off. I’m going to get to the bottom of it and clear myself.”
    â€œYou can’t tell me about it?”
    He did look at her then. This was a Gay he had not seen before—serious, troubled. He said,
    â€œI don’t think so. You’ll hear the talk—you’re bound to.”
    Her lip quivered. She put up her hand to it like a child and shook her head.
    â€œI wouldn’t listen—you know that. Won’t you tell me?”
    â€œI don’t think I must, Gay.”
    She looked away with a quick turn of the head as if he had hurt her. He found his hand on her arm.
    â€œGay—don’t. I’d like to tell you, but it’s not my affair.”
    Gay jumped up.
    â€œCome and dance! That’s what we came here for, isn’t it? Oh, no—you did say something about wanting to talk to me—didn’t you? But of course—how stupid of me—you only meant to find out whether someone had been blackmailing me into putting stolen whatnots into your pocket.”
    â€œGay!” He had got up too. There was the width of the table between them, and hard breaking waves of anger.
    Gay’s head was high and her eyes bright.
    â€œWell, that was it, wasn’t it! Wasn’t it? You can’t say it wasn’t—can you?”
    Algy was quite as angry as she was—angrier perhaps, because he had the disadvantage of a guilty conscience. He smiled and said,
    â€œIs this an invitation to the waltz?”
    Gay considered. Even in the middle of her just indignation she could be practical. If you quarrel with your young man at a night-club, proper pride demands that you either go off with someone else or that you take a taxi home. As the only possible alternative to Algy was Mr. Danvers, and going home would mean more capital punishment, she blenched. Her lip twitched and she broke into an angry laugh.
    â€œFor tuppence I’d catch the Danvers’ eye!”
    Algy produced the tuppence and held it out.
    â€œThis will be number two in our programme entitled ‘Why Girls Take Gas.’ Go on—I dare you!”
    â€œAlgy, you’re a beast!”
    He put the coppers in his pocket, slipped his arm round her waist, and said,
    â€œFierce—aren’t you? Come along and dance.”

XIV
    They had made their way as part of a rhythmically moving crowd to the other side of the room, when Gay looked across the packed floor and said in a surprised voice,
    â€œThere’s Sylvia—and Francis.”
    Algy looked with admiration at Sylvia in white, and with interest at the big fair man beside her.
    â€œThey’re a good-looking couple.”
    â€œYes. I only met him once—and at the wedding, you know. I was a bridesmaid. But you couldn’t miss him, could you?”
    The Colesboroughs penetrated the dancing mass and were absorbed, but the two fair heads could be distinguished. Algy followed them with his eyes, then turned to Gay.
    â€œMy word, she’s lovely! What’s she really like, Gay?”
    Gay lifted eyes with a sparkle in them.
    â€œYou’ve danced with her, darling.”
    â€œYou always call me darling when you’re annoyed. Does one know what a person is really like after dancing with her once?”
    Gay said, “You very often think you do when it’s someone like Sylvia.”
    He let that go, and said in a serious voice,
    â€œI really want to know. Tell me what she’s like.”
    Gay dropped her lashes. She said,
    â€œI’ve known her all my life.