British Mysteries Collection: 7 Novels & Detective Story. Ethel Lina White
found it, lying under a chair, she held it up, and broke into a recitation.
"'Who steals my purse, steals trash...
But he, that filches from me my good name,
Robs me of that, which not enriches him,
And makes me poor indeed.'"
Clowning to the last, she snatched up the Rector's hat, and handed it round the circle, with gales of laughter.
As the Rector contrasted her self-abandon and high spirits with the timid restraint of the polite guests, she seemed—to him—the only vital person in a company of ghosts.
But the doctor saw her as a shade, herself, fading away on an empty stage, after the curtain had fallen and the last note of the orchestra died into silence.
CHAPTER X — THE SECOND LETTER
The next day was overcast and sultry, with the sputter and grumble of a distant thunderstorm. Apparently, the weather affected Dr. Perry, for he was silent and preoccupied, during dinner. Presently he spoke to his wife, who was eating raw cabbage and carrots.
"Expect a pain, Mary Ann."
"Spoken like a doctor," said Marianne. "You're all archaic about food. Uncooked vegetables are marvellous for the complexion."
"If you can digest them. But you're no ostrich."
"I'm certainly not." Marianne's voice was meaning. "I see all there is to be seen."
Dr. Perry raised his pale face from his plate.
"In that case," he said, "have you seen Miss Corner today?"
"I have...This afternoon...By the King's Head...She'd just come off the bus."
Dr. Perry drummed on the table cloth.
"I've worried about her," he said. "Rushing over to Cheltenham, today, with a long journey, and a night in the train, before her. She's asking for it. But she's stubborn as a mule. And she has hardly slept this week."
"How do you know that?"
"By her light. I wish I could persuade her to take a sleeping-draught tonight."
Marianne sprang to her feet, anxious to work off her nervous energy.
"The usual?" she asked. "I'll toss one together now, on spec. It'll be ready, when you are."
"No." Dr. Perry frowned thoughtfully at a bowl of floating pansies. "I'll mix it myself. I'm not sure what she'll best respond to—and I want it to be effective."
Later in the evening, when his wife was in the night-nursery, indulging in a rapture of idolatry, Dr. Perry came out of the dispensary, a small dark-blue bottle in his hand. As he crossed the green, it was growing dusk; a red line, searing the sky, was all that remained of a spectacular sunset. The Scudamores had returned to the Clock House, and the street was deserted.
In the distance sounded the postman's faint double-knock. Miss Corner was leaning over her garden-gate. She wore a drill coat and smelt of the good red earth, with which she was plastered.
"Well, Horatio," she boomed, "I'm working off the effects of your party."
"You ought to be resting," he said reproachfully.
"I thought it was you," she told him. "That remark gives you away. I've just smashed my glasses—but it's no use your trying on your wife's fur, and pretending you're little Esau. It is the voice of Horatio Perry."
"Smashed your glasses?" The doctor spoke sympathetically. "But, surely, you've an extra pair?"
"Left them at the optician's, when I was in Cheltenham this morning. But I've just got through to them, on the phone, and they have promised to rush them over, by special messenger, before I start. Bless them...And you, too, my friend, shall have my blessing."
"I'll accept it, if you will take something of mine, in exchange," said the doctor persuasively, as he held out the small bottle. "I know you hate them but I specially want you to take this draught, tonight."
"Filthy stuff," grimaced Miss Corner. "I'd rather try the hat-cure for toothache. Know it? You go to bed with a hat and a bottle of whisky. You hang up the hat on your bed-knob, and drink the whisky. When you can see three hats, your toothache's cured."
The doctor listened patiently to the familiar joke, and gave a passable imitation of joining in her laughter. But he returned to his point.
"Gardening, on top of yesterday's tennis, is altogether too much for your blood-pressure, Julia. You worry me. I speak as a friend. I want you to consider me, for a change. A good night will help you through tomorrow. Promise me to take a draught."
"All right, hand it over," said Miss Corner. "Is it the usual poison?"
"No, it's extra-strong, so be careful of your quantities. Shall I come in now, and pour out the exact dose?"
"No. I've still two hands. And two eyes. I may be blind as a bat, but I saw all there was to be seen, yesterday...Well, if the cap fits me, I'll wear it, provided it's a becoming shape."
She laughed loudly, but her face grew so crimson that Dr. Perry looked grave.
"Don't let this silly business keep you awake tonight," he urged.
"I give you my word, it shan't, Horatio," promised Miss Corner. "Honestly, it's nothing to me. I get nothing out of the people here. Their minds are like dried mustard...Anything for me, Mr. Postman?"
She broke off to beam at the globular little postman, who had just rolled up to the gate.
"Yes, one, mum," he replied.
Miss Corner glanced at the envelope, and then raised her bushy eyebrows.
"The address is printed. It must be some youthful fan-mail. I just love my little boys...Do you mind?"
In spite of her explanation, Dr. Perry's eyes glinted behind his glasses, as he watched Miss Corner scan the letter. Then, her mouth puckered, her jovial face creased, and she shook in an explosion of laughter.
"Well," she gasped. "Well. It's anonymous, and I'm accused of being a secret soaker. Me—a pillar of Temperance. I—I keep a bottle of whisky in my wardrobe...Oh dear, oh dear...here, read it for yourself."
Since Miss Corner had given him the gist of the letter, Dr. Perry felt protest was unnecessary. A little thrill of triumph ran through him as he thought of the Rector. This time he was privileged to receive a lady's confidence.
He noticed that the note, which was brief, was printed, in Roman characters, on paper of a good quality. It contained the word, 'decrescent', and was correctly spelt.
"Am I to take this seriously?" he asked. "It's really too absurd. Of course, it's meant as a joke."
"Self-evident," agreed Miss Corner. "It must be from Miss Asprey's secret admirer. Joan Brook warned me I should probably be the next victim."
"Oh, did she?" The doctor's voice was interested. "That is an intelligent young lady...Well, what are you going to do about it?"
"Can I do better than follow Miss Asprey? I shall burn it."
"But—is that wise?"
"Why not? The cases are identical. Miss Asprey's letter didn't do her a ha'porth of harm, because it accused her of the one thing no one could believe, past, present or future. Mine is the same."
Dr. Perry looked dubious as he remembered the sympathy with which the first victim had been overwhelmed, and contrasted it with Miss Corner's present unpopularity.
"Then—you want me to be silent about this?" he asked.
"Miss Asprey did," said Miss Corner. "It seems the most effective way of spreading it abroad."