The Collected Works. Josephine Tey
the astonished man, in red on a Cash’s label.
“It’s a great mistake to be too sceptical,” she said, letting the elastic snap back into place.
“So you’re doing it for a chauffeur, eh?” Harry leered at her, trying to get back his lost ground. “You’re very concerned about a chauffeur, aren’t you?”
“I’m desperately in love with him,” Erica said, in the tone in which one says: “And a box of matches, please.” At school theatricals Erica had always had charge of the curtains.
But it passed. Their minds were too full of speculation to be concerned with emotion.
“How much?” said the woman.
“For the coat?”
“No. For telling you where to find it.”
“I told you, I’ll give you ten shillings.”
“Not enough.”
“But how do I know you’ll tell me the truth?”
“How do we know you’re telling the truth?”
“All right, I’ll give you a pound. I shall still have to buy it from the pawnshop, you know.”
“It isn’t in a pawnshop,” the man said. “I sold it to a stone-breaker.”
“W-h-a-t!” cried Erica in a despairing wail. “Do I have to begin looking for someone else?”
“Oh, no need to look, no need at all. You hand over the cash, and I’ll tell you where to find the bloke.”
Erica took out a pound note and showed it to him. “Well?”
“He’s working at the Five Wents cross-road, Paddock Wood way. And if he ain’t there, he lives in a cottage in Capel. Near the church.”
Erica held out the note. But the woman had seen the contents of the purse.
“Wait, Harry! She’ll pay more.” She moved between Erica and the path through the wood.
“I won’t give you a penny more,” Erica said incisively. Indignation overcame her awareness of the black pool, the silence, and her dislike of woods. “That’s cheating.”
The woman grabbed at her purse; but Erica had played lacrosse for her school only last winter. Queenie’s eager hand, to her great astonishment, met not the purse but Erica’s other arm, and came up and hit her own face with surprising violence. And Erica was round her stately bulk and running across the clearing, as she had swerved and run, half-bored, half-pleased, through many winter afternoons.
She heard them come after her, and wondered what they would do to her if they caught up with her. She wasn’t afraid of the woman, but the man was small and light, and for all his drinking might be speedy. And he knew the path. In the shade of the trees, after the bright sunlight, she could hardly see a path at all. She wished she had said that someone was waiting for her in the car. It would have been—
Her foot caught in a root, and she rolled over and over.
She heard him coming thudding down the soft path, and as she sat up his face appeared, as it were swimming towards her, above the undergrowth. In a few seconds he would be on her. She had fallen heavily because she was still clutching something in either hand. She looked to see what she was holding. In one hand was the china figure; in the other her purse and—the whistle.
The whistle! She put it to her mouth and blew a sort of tattoo. Long and short, like a code. A signal.
At the sound the man stopped, only a few yards from her, doubtfully.
“Hart!” she called with all the force of her very good lungs. “Hart!” And whistled again.
“All right,” said the man, “all right! You can have your —— Hart. Some day I’ll tell your pa what’s going on round his house. And I’ll bet you pay me more than a few quid then, me lady!”
“Good-bye,” said Erica. “Thank your wife from me for the whistle.”
14
“And of course, what you want, Inspector, is a rest. A little relaxation.” The Chief Constable heaved himself into his raincoat. “Overworking yourself disgracefully. That never got a man anywhere. Except into his grave. Here it is Friday, and I dare swear you haven’t had a night’s sleep or a proper meal this week. Ridiculous! Mustn’t take the thing to heart like that. Criminals have escaped before and will escape again.”
“Not from me.”
“Overdue, then. That’s all I can say. Very overdue. Everyone makes mistakes. Who was to think a door in a bedroom was a fire-escape, anyhow?”
“I should have looked in the cupboards.”
“Oh, my dear good sir—!”
“The first one opened towards me, so that I could see inside. And by the time he came to the second he had lulled me into—”
“I told you you were losing your sense of proportion! If you don’t get away for a little, you’ll be seeing cupboards everywhere. You’ll be what your Sergeant Williams calls ‘falling down on the job.’ You are coming back to dinner with me. You needn’t ‘but’ me! It’s only twenty miles.”
“But meanwhile something may—”
“We have a telephone. Erica said I was to bring you. Said something about ordering ices specially. You fond of ices? Anyhow, she said she had something to show you.”
“Puppies?” Grant smiled.
“Don’t know. Probably. Never a moment in the year, it seems to me, when there isn’t a litter of sort at Steynes. Here is your excellent substitute. Good evening, Sergeant.”
“Good evening, sir,” said Williams, rosily pink from his high tea.
“I’m taking Inspector Grant home to dinner with me.”
“Very glad, sir. It’ll do the Inspector good to eat a proper meal.”
“That’s my telephone number, in case you want him.”
Grant’s smile broadened as he watched the spirit that won the empire in full blast. He was very tired. The week had been a long purgatory. The thought of sitting down to a meal in a quiet room among leisured people was like regaining some happier sphere of existence that he had known a long time ago and half-forgotten about. Automatically he put together the papers on the desk.
“To quote one of Sergeant Williams’s favourite sayings: ‘As a detective I’m a grand farmer.’ Thank you, I’d like to come to dinner. Kind of Miss Erica to think of me.” He reached for his hat.
“Thinks a lot of you, Erica. Not impressionable as a rule. But you are the big chief, it seems.”
“I have a picturesque rival, I’m afraid.”
“Oh, yes. Olympia. I remember. I don’t know much about bringing up children, you know, Grant,” he said as they went out to the car. “Erica’s my only one. Her mother died when she was born, and I made her a sort of companion instead of letting her grow up in the nursery. Her old nurse and I were always having words about it. Great stickler for the comme il faut and all that, Nannie. Then she went to school. Must find your own level, that’s all education is: learning to deal with people. She didn’t like it, but she stuck it. A good plucked ’un, she is.”
“I think she is a charming child,” Grant said heartily, answering the “justifying” tone and the Colonel’s worried look.
“That’s just it, Grant that’s just it! She isn’t a child any longer. She should be coming out. Going