CHAPTER XX
THE night of Wednesday came dank and dark, with a cold drizzling rain. As he set out for Porlock Hill the tension of Paul's mind and body gave to his movements a deceptive calm. He reached the Royal Oak shortly after seven, and having first surveyed the surroundings of the tavern, he crossed the street and peered through an uncurtained window of the saloon. Everything appeared normal, and with a quick movement, he went inside, advanced to the table Burt usually occupied, and sat down.
He glanced round. The place was about half full — two domestic servants were talking and tittering with their young men,
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a middle-aged married couple sat drinking beer in stolid silence, two old cabbies were playing dominoes, surrounded by their watching cronies, a square-headed man in a dark suit who looked like a butler was absorbed in a pink sporting paper. Paul decided he had nothing to worry about — no one was paying the least attention to him.
Then, as his eyes returned to the door, he saw Burt come in and walk towards him.
He got to his feet, holding out his hand in welcome.
"Louisa!" he exclaimed. "It's good to see you again."
She gave him a restrained smile, and a ladylike pressure of her gloved fingers, then arranged herself affectedly at the table. He noticed that she was rather more done up than before, with a string of blue glass beads round her neck and an embroidered handkerchief, smelling strongly of scent, tucked under the bangle on her wrist.
"I didn't ought to have came," she remarked reproachfully. "After the way you disappointed me before. I believe you was out with another young lady."
"No, indeed," he protested. "You're the one I'm interested in."
"So you say. You fellas is all alike." She patted the puffs of hair over her ears, and nodded an intimate greeting to the waiter. "The usual, Jack. Bring the bottle."
Paul leaned forward. "The difference is that I'm serious." He forced an admiring smile. "You look a treat tonight."
"Get away with you!" Flattered out of her pique, she spoke almost archly and took a sip of her gin. Then she looked at him sideways.
"Don't think I don't know what you're after. But I'm a respectable girl."
"That's why I'm attracted to you."
"Mind you, I'm no prue though I am a lady. If I like a fella I would go with him. Provided he saw me prop'ly. You do have a regular job, don't you?"
"You bet I have. And you know I'm gone on you." He pressed his knee against her leg under the table.
"So that's it." She giggled unexpectedly. "Well ... a little of wot you fancy does you good. I know a place we could go . . .
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maybe later. A sort of hotel, very classy, we could have the big room. But not for all night, mind you. I have to be back by eleven."
"Of course," he agreed. "By the way, I hope you had no difficulty in getting here?"
She straightened.
"What makes you say that?"
"Why, you mentioned it yourself in your letter . . . about being careful."
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"Yes . . . so I did." She sat back and took another drink. "It's just that the housekeep . . . that Mr. Oswald is shocking particular about some things. He's very high principled. You've surely heard of him? One of the biggest charity eontributors in Wortley. Gives hunderds and hunderds away to the hospitals every year, and in the winter puts up free coffee stalls for nothing . . . thev call it the Silver King Canteen. He's a toft all right for all he's so strick. And he's always treated me like a lady, else I wouldn't have stopped."
"Then you've been there some time?"
She nodded complacently.
"I wasn't more nor eighteen when they took me in. You don't believe me?" she inquired, archly crossing her plump knees and arranging her skirt.
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"Of course." He wondered if she were lying about her age. "It's just that you look so young.''
"I do, don't I."
"I'm surprised you never married."
Under his flattery she gave a conceited little smirk.
"The Oswalds would like me to. It's a fact They keeps on saving what a good thing if I got married and settled down with somebodies, say like Frank their handyman, or Joe Davies the milk roundsman. Oh, they're steady fellas all right but both of them's over fifty. Now can you imagine me and them? Well, I might one of these days, vou never can tell. But at the present time, catch me! 1 like a bit of fun. Do you blame me?"
"No, no," he agreed, squeezing her hand. The pattern he had suspected was emerging clearly: the philanthropic Oswalds had
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befriended this unfortunate and erratic girl, had done their best to keep her on a steady course, even to the point of suggesting marriage with a sober and reliable man. But despite all this, there existed in her mind a deep-rooted grievance, a grudge against life. And suddenly he saw how he could use this to his advantage, to secure the very thing he sought. Controlling the excitement that rose within him he murmured: "It seems odd to me that anyone as smart as you shouldn't have a better job."
"You're right," she nodded sulkily. "Mind you, I wouldn't of took up the domestic, that is the housekeeping line except that I was talked into it." As she spoke her self-satisfaction faded, her eyes filled with tears of self-pity. "The truth is, dearie, I've had a dirty deal. And after all I've went through."
He affected disbelief. "Nobody could have been hard on a nice girl like you."
"That's what you think. And all because I done something what was right, something noble you might call it."
Holding himself in check, he absently refilled her glass, murmured sympathetically:
"People often suffer for a good action."
"You said something there. Oh, it was right enough at first. They put me in all the papers . . . photographs and everything ... on the front page . . . just like I was a queen."
While she looked at him sideways as though gauging the effect of her words, he laughed, with just the correct note of incredulity. She reacted immediately.
"So you think I'm a liar, eh? That only shows your ignorance, as to the person you're addressing. It may interest you to know that at one time . . ." she broke off.
"Ah, I knew you were joking." He smiled and shook his head.
Her face went red. She looked over her shoulder, then brought her head close across the table.
"Is it a joke to nearly get a man hung?"
"Oh, no," he exclaimed, in shocked admiration. "But you never did that?"
She nodded her head slowly, then tossed off her second gin.
"That's the very thing I done."
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"Was it tor murder?" he gasped.
She nodded again, with pride, holding out her glass while he tilted the bottle.
"And but for yours truly, they'd never of got him. I was the big noise in the case."
"Well!" he exclaimed in an awed tone. "You could knock me over with a feather. I never dreamed . . ."
"Let that be a lesson to you — " she sunned herself in his open adulation — "as to the lady in whose society you find yourself. And 1 could surprise you a lot more if I wanted."
"Go ahead then."
She gave him a sly and amorous glance.
"That would be telling, Mr. Curious. Still, I've took to you. A perfect gent if I say so to your face. And it's so long ago . . . it can't reely hurt. Well, here's how . . . chin, chin, and all the best. Now, suppose yours truly had somethink up her sleeve that could reely of blew the lid off. For instance . . . ever hear of such a thing as a green bicycle?"
"A green bicycle?"
"That's right, dearie. Bright green." She broke into a titter. "Green as grash."
"Never knew of such a thing."
"That's what thev all said in court. Laughed they did, when some old bird swore he saw the man ride off on one. But / could of made them laugh a different tune. I knew my way around when I was a kid ... I was always on the str
eets I was. / knew about green bicycles."
As she hesitated, Paul laughed incredulously.
"1 believe you're making all this up."
"What!" She flushed indignantly. "You won't make me a liar. Just at that time there was a cycling club in Eldon, mostly made up of fellows what called themselves the Grasshoppers. And, just lor swank, to go with the name, every member's bike 'ad to be a special bright green colour."
"The Grasshoppers?" He spoke with assumed indifference. "Then the man that owned the bike you speak of must have been a member ol the club."
"Exactly. And a bit of a spark as well," Burt answered, with a
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knowing wink. "The kind that might 'ave 'ad fancy tastes . . . and a fancy sort of purse . . . say one actually made out of a human being's skin. Do I shock you?"
Paul tried desperately not to show too much interest. Surreptitiously he refilled Burt's glass.
"Indeed you do."
"Now I ask you, dearie, what kind of a person would ave that sort of purse?"
"A crazy person?"
"Ah, go lay an egg. What about a medical stoodent, as dissected bodies for anatomy?"
"My God," Paul exclaimed. He had never dreamed of making such a deduction, yet he saw at once that it was unmistakably correct. He recollected now that at Queens's a few of the bolder anatomy students often removed portions of epidermis from the dissecting rooms and had them tanned as souvenirs.
■ There was a vibrant silence — Paul simply could not speak. Delighted with the effect she was producing, Burt gave a prolonged titter and took a fresh sip of gin. She was already swaying slightly on her seat.
"I could make your hair stand on end if I wanted. For instance . . . the fella they got their hooks on was married. All the girls that worked in the florist's shop where he dropped in occasional like, they knew it, including Mona — that's the young woman what got done in. Now from what I knew about her, I can tell you straight she'd never of got herself mixed up with a married man. She was too cute, too much out for a good match. . . . In other words the gent that she was mixed up with, what got her in trouble . . . was single. Furthermore, she'd been in trouble, in the family way, if you'll pardon the expression, for a good four months. Now the fella they accused 'ad only known her a matter of six weeks. 'E couldn't 'ave 'ad nothink to do with the condition she was in. The very thing they blamed him for was impossible."
Paul raised his hand to his eyes to mask the emotion which overwhelmed him. In a hoarse voice he muttered:
"Why . . . why was this never brought out?"
Burt laughed.
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"Don't ask me. Ask them what ran the show. They 'ad a lawyer there what tied everybody in knots from first to last."
The Public Prosecutor! At every turn he was confronted by this man, this high official who, though still remaining remote, invisible, nevertheless seemed omnipresent, the crux of the mysterious case, the power which had crushed his father, ruthlessly, into the living death of Stoneheath. For the first time in his life Paul knew hatred and with a burning question on his lips he leaned towards his companion.
But at that precise moment a startling change came over Burt's face. Her plump cheeks turned a sickly yellow and her eyes, over Paul's shoulder, were stricken with a sudden panic.
"Excuse me." Burt spoke in faltering tones. "I've suddenly come over giddy."
"Have another drink," Paul said. "Here, let me do it."
"No . . . isn't it silly ... I got to get out."
"No, no . . . don't let's go yet."
"I got to."
Paul bit' his lip perplexedly. It was maddening to be interrupted like this, just when he had brought Burt to the point of making the most vital disclosure of all. Come what may, he must hang on to her. He bent forward, spoke in a lowered voice:
"What is it?"
"A copper."
Half-turning Paul stared at the square-headed man at the neighbouring table. Perhaps, unconsciously, he had all the time been aware of that figure in the dark suit, deeply, almost too deeply, immersed in the racing news. The man had not once, in the past twenty minutes, changed by an inch the position of the folded pink paper which half concealed his immobile face. But now, imperceptibly, he lowered it, revealing himself as Sergeant Jupp.
Paul took a grip of himself, turned back to Burt.
"I'll come along with you. It is a bit hot in here. A breath of air will put you right."
Before she could protest, he called the waiter and paid for the drinks. Nervously, stealing glances at the adjacent table, she gathered her belongings, got into her coat. At last she was ready.
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They stood up. Immediately, Sergeant Jupp got up too, tucking the folded pink newspaper into his pocket and, gazing at nothing with a noncommittal air, walked out of the bar before them.
Paul's nerves were jangling like a peal of bells. As he walked out with Burt, would a hand be laid once again upon his shoulder, hauling him off again to Police Headquarters on some trumped-up charge? No, by God, he would not submit to that. His eyes darted ahead. He could see the policeman standing on the pavement, waiting, facing the swing doors. Grimly, taking the wilting Burt's arm, he kept on his way.
"Just a minute."
Paul drew up, faced the sergeant, who came closer, with a blank expression.
"I've been watching you in there. You're annoying this young woman."
"You're a liar."
"Oh, am I?" he turned towards Burt. "This fellow's been interfering with you . . . hasn't he?"
There was a hollow pause. Then, with a gasp, Burt shrilled:
"Oh, he has . . . askin' me to go with him . . . and all that, when I didn't want to."
"All right. Clear out of here quick."
As Burt took to her heels Jupp gave Paul a meaning glance.
"You see. Now look here. Mathry, we're not going to run you in. But the Chief wants you to know this is your second warning and he hopes you re wise enough to take it."
Instead of relief, Paul felt a blinding anger sweep over him. This assumed indulgence was harder to bear than actual injury. He did not wait. It was useless to follow Burt now. Breathing a little quickly, he swung abruptly into the shadows and turned the corner of the street.
After crossing three minor intersections he took a side road into the busy thoroughfare of Marion Street. Here he slowed his pace and mingled with the stream of people moving along the wide pavement towards Tron Bridge and the centre of the city. Mostly they were women, slowly promenading, singly, or in pairs with linked arms, along the wide and dusty tree-lined boulevards, offering their glances of invitation under the blue
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downpour of light which fell at long intervals from the overhead electric standards.
As he went forward, his jaw still set, recovering his breath in quick gulps, Paul's sense of outrage grew. He had escaped the immediate danger but his contact with Burt was irreparably broken. She would never recover from this scare. A savage exclamation broke from Paul's lips. The sense of being hampered, spied upon, and threatened at every turn fanned the dark embers which continually smouldered in his breast.
When he got to Poole Street he pulled off his clothes and fell, dog-tired, into bed. Would they seek him here? He did not think so. The actual occasion had passed and although it would be marked against him, he doubted if they would use it as a pretext to apprehend him. Rightly or wrongly he guessed that the purpose of the Chief Constable was still to frighten him away from Wortley. But if they did come he would not really care. He closed his eyes and slept heavily.
CHAPTER XXI
NEXT morning when he awoke it was to a clearer perception of what he had gained on the previous evening. Interrupted though the interview had been, he had nevertheless obtained from Burt several vital facts, of which not the least were those relating to the green bicycle and the skin purse. Reflecting deeply, Paul now realized that if the owne
r of the purse had been a medical student he must by this time, almost certainly, have qualified as a doctor. By checking the Medical Directory against an old list of the members of the Grasshoppers' Club it would be possible to determine his identity.
Spurred by this fresh hope, Paul jumped out of bed. It was after eight and fifteen minutes past his usual time for getting up. He shaved, dressed, rushed through his breakfast and hur-
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ried to the store. At the Bonanza he found Harris waiting for him inside the main entrance. This was unusual, the manager did not normally appear till ten.
"You're late," Harris said, stepping forward and blocking the way.
Paul looked at the big clock at the end of the store. It showed six minutes past nine. There were no customers in the shop yet, only the assistants, and most of them, including Lena, had their eves on the manager. Lena, in particular, seemed strangely troubled.
"I'm sorry," Paul muttered. "I'm afraid I overslept."
"Don't answer me back." Harris was working himself into a temper. "Have you an excuse?"
"What for?" Paul stared at the other in dull surprise. "I'm only six minutes behind."
"I asked you if you had an excuse."
*'No, I haven't."
"Then you're sacked. We've no use in this store for police suspects."
Giving Paul no opportunity to answer, he swung round and walked back to his office. As he traversed the aisle the assistants busied themselves at the counters — all but Lena, who still stood, pale and undecided, at her desk.
With a raw hurt in his breast Paul turned and went out of the store. As he walked along Ware Street he had a vague suspicion that he was being followed.
At first, in a restless fury of resentment, he strode rapidlv and without purpose through the busiest thoroughfares of the city, losing himself in the crowds that thronged the pavements. Then gradually his mood grew calm and cold. Freed from the tyranny of that insufferable piano, at least he was at liberty to put his deductions of the previous evening to the test.