Fool Errant (19 page)

“Thank you,” said Loveday. She dropped a little curtsey, made a schoolgirl grimace, and went over to where Mr. Hacker frowned savagely at an innocent water-colour.

“Hélène says I am to show you photographs,” she said, and forthwith picked up a little book of snapshots.

Hélène sat down on the sofa by the fire.

“I want more cushions. Yes, that blue one—and the one with the silver roses. Thank you. And now come and sit down and tell me why you blushed when you came in?”

Hugo did it again.

“Did I b-blush?”

She looked at him with an air of mournful reproach.

“Did you? Is that what you're asking me?”

Hugo went on doing it. The mournful look lifted; something sparkled and glanced.

“You might tell me why. Everybody tells me things except that sulky, obstinate James. Isn't he detestable? Do tell me why you blushed.”

“It was very stupid.”

“Was it? Why did you?”

“I s-saw you—”

“And you blushed for me?”

“It was very s-stupid.”

Hugo hoped earnestly that she would believe him and talk about something else. He hoped earnestly that she really thought him a singularly stupid young man. If only he hadn't been ass enough to look at Loveday! He was aware of her now out of the tail of his eye, sitting up primly and turning the leaves of an album which Hacker made hardly a pretence of looking at. He wanted to punch Hacker's head; he wanted to throw the furniture about; he wanted to smash something and shout.

Mme. de Lara hadn't done with him.

“You
might
tell me,” she said, and her eyes teased and promised.

“I had a m-most awfully f-funny dream last night,” said Hugo.

“So bad that you had to blush for it?”

Hugo would have given about ten years of his life to have boxed her ears. He supposed she thought she was being attractive. He controlled himself sufficiently to look as if he thought so too.

He said, “Oh—no,” and found a hand upon his arm. It clung there for a moment with a delicate pressure.

“Did you dream about me?”

“Yes, I d-did.”

“Tell me! Ah now, do tell me! If I was in it, it's my dream as well as yours. What did we do in our dream?”

“We d-danced,” said Hugo. He was looking down at the big diamond with its circle of tiny emeralds; it shone most amazingly bright. She had a little skinny hand. He thought how much nicer the ring would have looked on Loveday's finger. And then quite suddenly he hated the idea of Loveday wearing the ring, and he hated the ring.

“We danced—” echoed Hélène de Lara. Her voice sank and was sad; her hand fell from his arm. “We danced.… Go on.”

“We just d-danced.”

He had a vision of the fiery toad-stools and of Mme. de Lara's burning heels and the sparks that flew from her hair. The wild dream and his own banal phrase shook him with inward laughter.

“Where were we?”

“It was a f-funny sort of place.”

“Ah, tell me now! You're not telling me.”

Hugo looked blank.

“We just d-d-danced.”

CHAPTER XXVI

“Do you like looking at photographs, Mr. Hacker?” said Loveday.

“Not especially.”

“I thought you didn't.” She shut the album with a snap. “I think it's one of the most boring things in the world—so now we needn't do it any more. Why don't you go and talk to Hélène and let Mr. Ross come and talk to me?”

“I didn't know you knew him,” said Hacker.

“I didn't say I knew him. He looks nice.” She began to get up. “Let's go over to the fire.”

Hacker pulled himself together. It was his business to keep Loveday from talking to Hugo. He said,

“I believe you do know Ross all the same. Where did you meet him?”

Loveday hesitated.

“Well—I don't know. I didn't say I
had
met him.”

“But you
have
.”

“Oh—well—”

“Is it a secret?”

“Yes, it is. No, I don't mean that. I can't think why you should think I know him.”

“Well, you jumped when he was introduced to you.”

“Did I?” Her eyes opened very wide.

“Yes, you certainly did.”

“How clever of you to notice! It was only—only—well, I did know his name.”

“Did you? I say, this is getting exciting!”

Loveday pursed up her lips.

“It isn't really.”

“You knew his name, but you didn't know him by sight.”

Her eyes opened still wider.

“How frightfully clever of you! How
did
you know?”

“Well, I was looking at you, and you didn't jump until you heard his name.”

“How
frightfully
clever! Why were you looking at me?”

“Because you're rather nice to look at.” He said it with the ease born of considerable practice.

Loveday's finger-tips pricked and tingled. It was not only Hugo who wished to box the ears of the person he was talking to. Her colour rose.

“I'm not the only person who's told you that, I'm sure,” continued Mr. Hacker.

Loveday got up and walked over to the fire. The orange cat lay curled up on the hottest part of the hearth-rug. She knelt down and began to pull its whiskers. The cat woke up and sneezed. Hugo turned round to look, and Loveday addressed him.

“His name is Pif-paf-pouf. Isn't he beautiful?”

Mr. Hacker had apparently ceased to exist.

It was at this moment that the butler came in. He approached Mme. de Lara and said in a low voice,

“Miss Dumaresq is on the telephone.”

“Ask her to give you a message.”

He hesitated.

“Miss Dumaresq hoped you would be able to come for a moment.”

Mme. de Lara jumped up.

“Why does one have a telephone?” she said, and ran out of the room.

Mr. Hacker strolled across to the fire. He frowned absently for a moment at Loveday on her knees beside the orange cat. Then, with the air of a man who has suddenly remembered something, he went quickly out of the room and shut the door. Hugo and Loveday were left alone, and Loveday opened her mouth to speak.

It was a most horrible moment, because Hugo was quite sure that they were not really alone; he was quite sure that they would never have been left alone; the telephone message and Hacker's departure were according to plan; they were being watched and tested.

Hugo did not think these things one after another; there was a sort of mental flash, and he just saw them. The flash did not take up an instant of time. He saw Loveday opening her lips to speak, and he knew that if she said so much as a single word, if she even said “Hugo,” he would have failed, utterly and miserably. He could not warn her; she was going to speak—she was speaking.

She said, “Isn't Pif-paf-pouf a nice name?”

“V-v-very nice,” said Hugo.

“Are you Mr. Minstrel's secretary?” said Loveday.

“Yes, I am.”

“Do you like it?”

“V-v-very much.”

Loveday looked down because she was afraid she would laugh if she went on looking at Hugo; he looked so embarrassed, and he sat on the edge of Hélène's comfortable sofa as if it had been a hard wooden bench. It was very funny. She wondered how long they would have to make silly remarks to each other, and she thought how awful it would be if she got the giggles. She tickled Pif-paf-pouf under the chin and said in a fluttered voice,

“Do you
really
like it?”

“Yes, v-very much.”

Loveday said “Oh!” and took a plunge: “Oh, Mr. Ross—there's something I want to say.”

“Is there?”

“Yes—I think I ought to—but I don't know—perhaps—” She hesitated, and before she could say another word the door opened and Mme. de Lara came in a little out of breath.

“I knew it wouldn't be anything,” she said in a vexed voice. “Marie Dumaresq is the limit, and every time she makes a mystery and drags me to the telephone I swear I'll not be taken in again. Would you believe what she wanted? An address that I've given her one dozen times already! She tires me!” She gave the cushion with the silver roses an angry pat. “Where's James? Still sulking?”

Mr. Hacker appeared as if this had been his cue—perhaps it was. He came over to the group by the fire, and seemed to have recovered his temper.

Mme. de Lara looked at him teasingly.

“Have you thought of something to say? It's half an hour since you said anything, I believe.”

“As bad as that? How dull of me! I've really got rather a lot on my mind just now, if that's any excuse. I shall be glad when Minstrel's got rid of this job.” He laughed a little. “You think I'm bad-tempered—but you should see
him
. The fact is, after innumerable delays the Ministry have pinned him down, and he's sworn to hand over the plans and specifications tomorrow. They're sending a man down, and Minstrel's like a volcano in consequence—he does hate parting. You'd think he'd be glad to be rid of the whole thing—I know I shall be. It's a most infernal responsibility having the plans of a thing like that knocking about. He's so dashed careless too—as often as not he forgets to lock the safe, and when he does lock it, he leaves the keys lying about.”

Hélène laughed airily.

“Well, it's safe enough. No one's going to steal his old plans.”

Hacker frowned.

“Aren't they? Do you realize that they're worth fifty thousand pounds?
Fifty?
” He laughed. “They're worth a hundred or a thousand times that if you work it out in terms of cities. What's the City of London worth?” He laughed again.

Hélène lifted her eyebrows.

“What are you talking about, my friend?”

“L.S.D.,” said Hacker—“and Minstrel's infernal carelessness. I shall sleep a good deal better when the Ministry has got those plans in their own official safe, and that's a fact.”

Hugo found this very interesting. He began by wondering why Hacker's tongue had suddenly loosened; and then he decided that this also was according to plan. If it were to appear that Hugo Ross had sold the plans, it might be useful to be able to prove that Hugo Ross had knowledge of certain things—as that the plans were carelessly kept, and that they were due to be handed over to-morrow. He wondered when he was going to be afforded an opportunity of becoming a criminal.

He continued to sit on the edge of the sofa and to look very shy.

CHAPTER XXVII

Hacker made an early move, for which Hugo was sufficiently thankful. He shook hands with Mme. de Lara and felt her fingers cling to his for a moment whilst her lashes swept up and down again over darkly mournful eyes. They seemed to say, “Ah! If we were alone—”

Hugo turned to Loveday sitting on the rug beside the orange cat. He touched her hand, and she said, “You must say good-bye to Pif-paf-pouf—he is a very important person. Just feel how lovely and soft he is.”

He stroked the orange fur, and as he did so, Loveday's hand slipped up to his and pushed a scrap of paper under his stroking fingers. Pif-paf-pouf gave a little sleepy growl as Hugo's hand closed. He rolled over and stretched himself. Hugo got up with a beating heart. He slipped the scrap of paper into his pocket and went out with Hacker.

The night was dark, cloudy, and mild; a gusty wind blew overhead in the tree-tops. They were hardly clear of the house before Hacker began to talk with a curious suppressed energy that showed itself every now and then in a word suddenly jerked out or over-loud.

“I wish I could be sure—” he began and then broke off. “Sure—you can't ever be sure of Minstrel. He's supposed to be handing over those plans to-morrow. Well, I'll bet anything you like that he'll play something up and go back on it. He loathes parting, and he won't part as long as he can invent an excuse—but he's never been as bad as this. It's getting on my nerves.”

“Does it m-matter?” said Hugo. He wondered why he was being confided in.

Hacker gave a jerky laugh.

“Matter? That's good!”

“But why?”

“You heard what I said up there. The plans are too dashed valuable, and he leaves them lying about.”

“Well, I don't s-see”—Hugo spoke in a slow, puzzled way—“I m-mean supposing the Ministry have the plans to start making the—the aeroplanes or whatever they are—well, you can't keep things like that very s-secret. I don't see it's really worth anyone's while to steal the plans.”

“Don't you?” Hacker's tone was one of open contempt.

“No, I d-don't.”

Hacker laughed.

“They're worth fifty thousand—the two secret processes alone—” He stopped with the air of pulling himself up.

“S-secret processes?”

“Well, you'd better forget that—I oughtn't to have said it—and yet I don't know that it matters. The thing's on my mind. D'you know what it is to have a thing so much on your mind that you can't help talking about it? No—I don't suppose you do.” He walked for half a dozen yards in silence, and then said, low and abruptly, “It's the two secret processes that are worth the money. They're worth double—treble—but they'd
fetch
fifty thousand.” He laughed harshly. “They'd fetch more in the open market—they'd fetch anything you like to ask. I can't tell you about them, but they're going to revolutionize flying. I tell you there's not as much difference between a toy balloon and the best modern plane as there will be between that plane and Minstrel's. There!”

The last word was fired at Hugo like a shot. He said, “Oh, I s-say!” and waited for more.

There was no more.

On the step of the house Hacker shook himself and said gruffly, “Don't talk about it.” Then he went across the hall and up the stairs at a run.