Hole and Corner (20 page)

“Wasn't it
awful?
”

Jasper's frown was an attempt to conceal the fact that he was now completely bewildered. He said with an angry note in his voice,

“Are you making this up?”

Shirley went on giggling.

“No, darling—I'm not clever enough.”

“Then what's Napoleon got to do with it?”

“N-nothing. He just gave them to Josephine—when he came back from Italy, you know. They've got N's all over them.”

“What have?” Mr Wrenn was now scowling like a brigand.

Shirley patted him on the arm.

“The emeralds. I
knew
you weren't attending. There's a whole set of them—a headband, and earrings, and two brooches, but they only planted me with the headband and one of the brooches. Perhaps I shall find the earrings in my toothpaste when I get hold of it. Do you know, I had to wash my teeth with hotel soap on the corner of a towel this morning. It tasted revolting.”

Jasper pulled himself away with a jerk.

“Is this true?”

“Absolutely. Darling, why should I deceive you? It was bright pink soap like a sugar sweet, but it tasted of tallow.”

“I don't mean about your teeth—I mean about the emeralds. You're not making it up—you've really got them?”

“Not now,” said Shirley with modest pride.

“How do you mean not now?”

“I've parked them.” She was just going to say that they were in the pocket of Anthony's pyjamas, when it occurred to her that perhaps she had better not. Perhaps better be tactful about Anthony, not, so to speak, rub it in. And the pyjamas would need explaining. She decided not to explain them, and went on hastily, “You know, darling, I
had
to park them, because if a policeman had arrested me red-handed, I wouldn't have had an earthly—would I?”

“Where are they?” said Jasper very crossly indeed.

Shirley hesitated.

“Of course if you don't
trust
me!” The scowl was terrific.

“Jas, I do wish you'd stop being a fool! Of course I trust you!” She dived into her handbag. “They're in the left-luggage place. Here's the receipt. And when you've collected my toothbrush I want you to go and find Anthony Leigh.”

“
Why?
” It was an angry and explosive monosyllable.

Shirley sighed with exaggerated patience.

“You said you wanted to help me—that's why.”

He caught at her hand.

“I'll do anything in the world!”

“Well, find Anthony. I've been a complete mutt. I lost my head and ran away instead of waiting for him in Ledlington, and now he doesn't know where I am, and he doesn't know about the emeralds. I want you to find him, and tell him, and give him the receipt, and fix up somewhere for me to meet him. I think he's bound to come back to his chambers some time to-day. You could ring up to start with and then go round if he's there. I'll give you the address and the telephone number.”

The angry colour came into Jasper's face. She knew the fellow's telephone number without having to look it up. She must have used it dozens of times. She must know him awfully well. He began to say something, and gulped it down.

“You will—
won't
you?” said Shirley in a coaxing voice. Then, on a note of anxious pleading, “
Angel
Jas.”

“Oh, all right,” said Mr Wrenn in a far from angelic tone.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

When Jasper had departed to fetch the toothbrush and a quite considerable number of other things of which he had made a careful list upon the back of a poem entitled “Cosmos”, Shirley walked up and down the alley-way and sustained herself with the thought of a joyous reunion with, (a), her own clothes, and, (b), Anthony. Anthony should of course have been (a) both alphabetically and romantically, but in point of time the reunion with a probably bulging suit-case would come first—“And I only trust Jas won't
over
-bulge it, because the hasps are on the wonky side, and if they suddenly go pop and scatter my undies all over the stairs or on the front doorstep, what fun for the Maltby!”

The hasps were holding nobly when Jas came hurrying between the posts. He was running as he came up to her and without a word caught her by the arm and started her running too.

She looked back when they came to the posts at the other end of the alley. There was no one in sight. They turned right, and dropped into a fast walk.

“What happened? Did anyone see you?” She was a little breathless from the sudden run.

“I don't know,” said Jas. His voice sounded startled.

“How do you mean you don't know? What happened?”

“A door banged. We'd better hurry.”

“I'm not going to run—it attracts attention. How do you mean a door banged?”

“I don't know.” His voice was rather sulky.

He wouldn't have minded dying for Shirley, the details of the decease being veiled in a mist heavily charged with romance, but he did bar being scolded by her. Here he had just been crawling up the stairs, and rummaging noiselessly for all the things she wanted—and nobody who hasn't tried to rummage noiselessly has any idea how difficult it is—and then creeping down those flights of stairs again thinking what a fool he'd look if anyone came out of a room and wanted to know what he was doing with Shirley's suit-case—well, after all this, instead of glowing with gratitude she kept saying things like “How do you mean you don't know?” And he didn't know. A door had banged when he was nearly down. A door had shut—shut with a sudden bang, as if the wind had caught it, as if someone had come out of a room to look down over the stairs and see what he was doing and a draught had caught the door and banged it to. That was what it had sounded like. He told Shirley so.

She pursed up her lips, emitting a faint whistle.

“Whose door was it?”

“I tell you I don't know.”

Shirley laughed.

“Oh well, if there
was
a door, there's only one door it could be. If anyone was snooping and spying, it would be the Maltby. So we needn't hurry—I don't see her sprinting after us.”

“She might take a taxi.”

“She wouldn't—she's too mean. And you can't get a taxi like that all in a hurry on a Sunday afternoon, and she doesn't know where we're going.”

“Where
are
we going?” said Jasper.

Shirley's eyes danced at him.

“I don't know either.”

Jasper the realist was shocked and exasperated.

“You
must
know.”

“Darling, I don't. I wish I did. It would be lovely to feel that there was a gas fire waiting for me somewhere, and crumpets for tea. It's been Sunday for weeks and weeks and weeks, and I've been running away all the time, and the last meal was about a week and a half ago in a railway refreshment-room—and I think it was a bun and a cup of tea, but it's so definitely a has-been that I can't be sure—it may have been coffee and a sandwich. I could do a plate of crumpets very nicely, and the sort of tea Aunt Emily never let me have, very hot and very strong with the sugar sticking out of the top of the cup.”

“It sounds foul,” said Jasper gloomily.

They turned out of Redfield Terrace and came into what on a week-day would have been a crowded thoroughfare. With the shops all blind and shuttered, it had a deserted look.

“But if you don't know where you're going, why are you going this way?”

“Must go some way, darling. Perhaps I shall meet a crumpet and follow it home.”

He grabbed her by the arm and brought her to a standstill outside a hairdresser's shop. The lower part of the window was covered by a half blind of green shaded silk over the top of which there appeared the heads of three wax ladies.

“Look here, Shirley—talk sense! I've got to take you somewhere before I can go off and look for your Anthony Leigh, haven't I?”

He waited for her to say, “He isn't my Anthony Leigh,” but she didn't say it. His throat went dry. He waited a little longer. She only said in a thoughtful tone,

“Well, there's something in that. But where can I go?”

“A friend—”

She shook her head.

“There's no one I can go to like this. But I've got some money—I could take a room if I knew where to go.”

She gazed at the wax ladies as if for inspiration. The one in the middle had auburn hair slicked sideways in a series of flat waves, and a parting which bristled with diamond triangles. Shirley was wondering how on earth you would keep them on, when Jasper's voice broke in,

“We can't just stand here, you know.”

She turned round regretfully. Running away by yourself was depressing and rather frightening, but running away with someone else whom you could tease and provoke, and who would carry your suit-case, was fun. She didn't want to go back to the lonely sort of running away a bit, but she supposed she'd got to. She said in a resigned voice,

“All right—you push off and find Anthony.”

“I can't just leave you here.”

“I know.… What shall I do? I suppose I could go and sit in a station. They don't turn you out till about one in the morning, do they?—and you're bound to have found Anthony by then.”

“You can't do that,” said Jasper crossly.

She contemplated saying “Why can't I?” but abandoned the idea. The prospect of spending nearly eleven hours in a railway waiting-room, and then perhaps having to stagger forth with a heavy suit-case and sleep on the Embankment, or wherever you did sleep when they turned you out, was not one which inspired her to battle. She gazed at Jasper with comparative meekness and said,

“All right, suggest something. It's your turn.”

Jasper brightened a little.

“I've got a cousin—”

“Male or female?”

“Female—name of Helena Pocklington. She's only a sort of a cousin really.”

“Well? What about her?”

“She lives in Pattenham Mews. She's by way of being an artist. She's got a studio and a bedroom.”

“How's that going to help me?”

“She's away,” said Jasper.

“Then how—”

With subdued triumph he said, “I've got her key.”

Shirley said, “Oh—” Then her eyes began to sparkle. “You've got it with you?”

“In my trouser pocket.”

“Lovely!” She went on sparkling. “Where is it? Will there be any food? I don't suppose there's anywhere we can buy anything, is there? If I can't have crumpets I must have muffins. I suppose there won't be any food.”

“Only canary seed,” said Jasper. “That's why I've got the key. She's got a canary, and she made me promise to go in every day and see to it.”

“Darling, I can't live on canary seed! I should be a desiccated corpse! You'll have to burst into a pub and buy bread and cheese, or sandwiches or something. You can pretend you're a hiker. Hikers always want sandwiches. They used to pour into our village like locusts in summer, and Aunt Emily made me pull down the blinds because of the girls in shorts—only I'm not sure she didn't think flannel trousers worse—anyhow all very corrupting and—where did you say your cousin's Mew was?”

Jasper frowned at her levity. He was not very happy in his mind about using Helena Pocklington's key. She was one of those determined women to whom a relative originally known in the schoolroom remains there for the term of his natural life. She made Jasper feel an uncomfortable eight years old. When bidden to visit her flat and feed her canary, he had said, “Yes, Cousin Helena,” and gone on saying “Yes” at respectful intervals while she told him just how much seed Chippy ate, and just how much water Chippy drank, and just how careful he must be not to make a mess when he cleaned out the cage. If Helena ever found out—

Shirley's voice cut in impatiently.

“Jas—wake up! Where is this Mew of yours?”

The consequences would be absolutely grim
. He said in a tone of gloom,

“Just round at the back of Redfield Terrace.”

“Then we'd better go there,” said Shirley briskly.

He acquiesced. There was a snag in it—there were several snags. He said so aloud, and the light of controversy glinted in Shirley's eye.

“What do you mean by a snag?”

“Snags—plural,” said Jasper. “And then some.”

Her foot tapped the pavement, the glint brightened.

“Jas, you're enough to make a saint hit you over the head. What
are
the snags?”

“The Maltby's one of them.”

Shirley's eyebrows went right up out of sight.

“The Maltby!!!”

He nodded with an air of sheepish gloom.

“How
can
she be a snag?” Her voice had an edge on it. “What can she possibly have to do with your Helena Pocklington?”

“They were at school together,” said Jasper.

Shirley stamped so hard that her leg pringled all the way up.

“They
can't
have been!”

“Well, they were. That's why I'm at Mrs Camber's. The Maltby told Helena that it was a nice respectable place for me to live, so she made me go there. I stayed because of you.”

“Nice of you,” said Shirley in rather an absent manner. Then she made up for it with a brilliant smile. “Jas, I don't see that it's really a snag—not to matter. I shall only be there an hour or two—at least I hope so. And after all it's you who have got the key, not her.”

“She's got one too,” said Jasper.

“She
hasn't
!”

“She has.”

Shirley stamped again.

“Why?”

He smiled an embittered smile.

“To make sure that I feed the canary.”

Shirley said, “Help!” And then, with a rapid reversion to being practical, “Well, I haven't anywhere else to go. We'll have to chance it. Better get a move on.”