She came close to Jimmy and whispered,
“Jimmy—don’t think me mad. I want to see your ghost.”
“My angel child!”
“No—it’s serious. Jimmy, it’s deadly serious. I can’t tell you about it, but I think I know where we might see him. Will you come with me and not ask any questions? Will you?”
“But, my dear old thing—”
“Jimmy, there’s no time to argue about it. Will you come?”
“All right—where?”
“Blenheim Square.”
Jimmy Thurloe burst out laughing.
“That stronghold of respectability! My child, what a desperate adventure! Lead on!”
Out of the murk behind them came a muffled knocking. Clap, clappity, clap it went, with the sound of large soft surfaces bumping against one another.
“Mabel!” said Elsie in a stage whisper.
Mabel and four hat-boxes emerged from the fog.
“Well, if you aren’t the meanest girl I ever knew, going off and leaving me like that—and all these boxes to carry! It’s too bad—that’s what I call it!” Mabel’s ordinarily soft, lazy voice was sharp with offence.
Elsie took two of the boxes, and Jimmy the other two.
“I’m most awfully sorry. Did she keep any of the hats?”
“Three,” said Mabel, a little mollified. “Tried them on one after another just like lightning, and paid me cash down.”
“You shall have all the commission,” said Elsie quickly.
“Oh no, I couldn’t, dear. We’ll share.”
“No—I ran away.” She came closer and whispered, “Did anyone ask about me—in the house?”
“No, not a word. Why should they? She took the hats and I came away. I must say I thought you were mean.”
“Never mind, ducky—I won’t do it again.”
It was past six when they reached the shop. Jimmy waited at the corner, and presently Elsie came to him, hurrying.
“That’s done, thank goodness! Now for Blenheim Square.”
CHAPTER XVI
LONG BEFORE THEY REACHED Blenheim Square Elsie was wondering at the impulse that had brought them there. When Jimmy Thurloe had told her he had seen the ghost of Lindsay Trevor, it had been just as if two wires had been brought together, making an electric circuit. She had felt the current run strong. Now it seemed to have gone quite dead. For those first few moments she had felt that it was the easiest thing in the world to come here and wait to see whether Lindsay Trevor’s ghost would come to this house where Restow lived, and whether Lindsay Trevor’s ghost was taking a new lease of life as Trevor Fothering.
Now that she and Jimmy were actually in the square, the whole thing seemed a tissue of improbabilities. Jimmy had been deceived by a chance likeness; or if he hadn’t, the man whom he had seen had had plenty of time to get away. They might just wait fruitlessly for hours.
“You might explain what you’re driving at,” said Jimmy.
There is a garden in the middle of Blenheim Square. An iron railing almost hidden by an overgrowth of laurustinus bushes guards its amenities. Elsie and Jimmy stood back against the railing and watched the lamp that made the fog luminous in front of Restow’s house. The fog was not quite so thick here. The light streaming out into it showed it as a moving mist flowing in a southerly direction on the unseen current of a freshening breeze. Every now and then there was quite a clear space, and they could see the ornate portico and the steps leading up to it.
“I want you to speak to him—if he comes, you know.”
“But why on earth?”
“I want you to. I want you to go up to him and say, ‘Hullo, Trevor! Lindsay Trevor—isn’t it?’ You must most particularly say Lindsay.”
“Can’t be done. I’m not—I mean I wasn’t on those sort of terms with him.”
“What does it matter what sort of terms you were on? You can say his name, I suppose?”
“Not like that, I couldn’t. He’d think I’d got a nerve. You see, there’s a bit of a gulf between a junior reporter and a partner in a big publishing firm like Hamilton Raeburn.”
“Is that what he is?” asked Elsie.
“That’s what he was. I told you the poor chap was killed flying. He was just going to be married too.”
“If you saw him, he wasn’t killed,” said Elsie obstinately.
“It must have been a likeness,” said Jimmy.
Elsie closed both hands on his arm.
“There’s someone coming,” she said in a soundless whisper.
That flowing stream of mist had almost ceased to flow. The sound of footsteps came to them from over the way. Then, immediately under the lamp, there emerged from the fog the form of a man with his back towards them, his head and shoulders gigantic like a shadow thrown on a lighted screen. He went up the steps. The door opened. He stood, a tall black silhouette against light streaming from within.
Jimmy, astonished, became aware of Elsie pressed close and small between him and the railings, her face hidden against his coat sleeve, her whole body trembling.
“Old thing—what is it?”
“Has he gone?”
“The old magic lantern show? Rather! Is he a friend of yours?” He felt her shudder and gave her a cheerful squeeze. “He’s gone all right.”
“No, Jimmy—don’t kiss me! There isn’t time. If the ghost comes, you must, you really must speak to him. Try his name, and then give him a message from me.”
“Hullo! What’s this?”
“I’ve got something very important to say to him. He’d better come straight to Santa’s.”
“I’m to say that?” said Jimmy rather seriously.
“You’re to say, ‘Elsie Manning has got something very important to say to you. Will you come straight to Santa’s?’”
Jimmy put a hand on her shoulder.
“Look here, you’re making my head go round. Did you know Lindsay Trevor?”
“Jimmy, I can’t answer any questions.”
“Why don’t you speak to him yourself?”
This was a tone she had never heard from Jimmy before.
“I can’t.”
“Why?”
“I might be seen.” He could only just catch the words. “Jimmy, if you love me—”
“Oh, you’re counting on that, are you?”
“Jimmy!”
The roughness in his voice shocked her into a realization that the phrase she had used without serious meaning was serious enough to him. They had played together happily for six months or so—danced, dined when either of them had any money, kissed occasionally, all in the way of modern, unsentimental youth. The roughness in Jimmy’s voice struck a new note. She pulled away from him impatiently.
“Don’t be stupid, Jimmy!” Then, catching at his arm, “He’s coming! Jimmy—please.”
Lindsay Trevor came round the corner of the square. He had lost the man he had been following, and he was hoping that no one had followed him. The whole affair was like the fog—you couldn’t see straight in it—you got glimpses, and then had every sense choked. That was a queer encounter with young Thurloe. The fog came in useful there. Of course Thurloe would only think he had been caught by a likeness, but if it hadn’t been for the fog. … That was the worst of red hair as a disguise—the minute you had to put your hat on, it practically lost its value. Anyhow he was well quit of Thurloe.
He passed under the lamp which lighted Restow’s steps and met Jimmy Thurloe face to face. The air was momentarily clearer; what the lamp gave out was light, not luminous fog. Jimmy was only a yard away, staring with all his eyes. Lindsay looked back at him as one looks at any chance-met stranger. He took the first two steps, and heard Jimmy’s voice at his elbow:
“I say—Trevor.”
Lindsay turned.
“I’m afraid—”
“I’m Thurloe. Aren’t you Trevor—Lindsay Trevor?”
“My name’s Trevor Fothering.” He remembered the trick of the mouth, the pitch of the voice; and as he spoke, he removed his hat and hoped that the light was strong enough to do justice to the red in his hair. He decided that it was. Thurloe was undoubtedly taken aback.
“I—it’s a most amazing likeness!”
“Yes,” said Lindsay. “We were cousins—but he hadn’t got red hair.”
Jimmy stood there with one foot on the bottom step.
“It’s an amazing likeness! I—I’ve got a message for you—no, for him—I say, dash it all, I don’t know who the message is for.”
“My cousin was killed in a flying accident a few days ago.”
“Yes, I know. But she knew that. Perhaps I’d better give you the message.”
“I don’t think it can be meant for me,” said Lindsay.
He went up another step, but Jimmy followed him.
“I’d better give it you. You ought to know whether it’s for you. It’s from Elsie Manning.”
Lindsay turned back. A message from Elsie Manning would be a message for Trevor Fothering.
“What is the message?”
“She says you’re to go to Santa’s at once. She’s got something very important to say to you.”
“Tell her I’ll come,” said Lindsay.
As he spoke, he came down the steps and without another word walked away into the fog.
CHAPTER XVII
LINDSAY FOUND SANTA’S SHOP window densely black. He knocked on the door but nothing happened, tried it and found it fast. He fell to pacing up and down, and in something under five minutes Elsie Manning passed him, walking quickly. He heard her fitting her key in the lock and came up behind her.
Without turning round, she said,
“Don’t speak—come right in.”
He followed her across the shop and into the inner room where they had talked before. She switched on the light, and the hat shapes and cardboard boxes sprang into view.
Elsie sat down and motioned him to do the same.
“I can’t talk to people standing up in the air. I don’t know why men always want to stand. I’m on my feet all day, so I take a chair when I can get one.”
Lindsay sat down.
“You wanted to see me?”
She pressed her lips together for a moment.
“Well—” Then, after a pause, “Will you just listen?”
Lindsay nodded. He wondered what was coming. She looked pale, her brows one frowning line, her mouth unnaturally red. He thought she must be very young indeed.
She began to speak.
“Mabel Wallace and I were sent out with some hats to a Madame Ferrans at 3 Cannington Place—” Lindsay fished out a note-book and pencil. She stopped immediately. “That address isn’t one to go leaving about.”
“Thanks,” said Lindsay—“but you needn’t worry. I’d like to take notes, but you shall see me tear them up if you like before I leave this room. Won’t you go on?”
She looked at him intently under those frowning brows, then went on speaking:
“Madame Ferrans was out. We had to wait in the hall. Mabel went to sleep. When the front door opened, I heard a man speaking. It was the man I told you about.”
“The one you followed to Restow’s house?”
She gave a vehement nod.
“Yes, Restow’s house—but he didn’t call himself Restow eight years ago. I heard his voice, and I bolted into the dining-room.”
“Why?”
“Because I’d rather be dead than meet him—that’s why.”
Lindsay considered this. It suggested a good many questions, but she had better tell her story first.
“There was another room opening out of the dining-room. He—that man—went in there. Madame Ferrans sent Mabel upstairs to wait. Then she joined him. I got behind the curtains. I couldn’t get away, because Madame Ferrans locked the door on the hall side. The only way out was through the room where they were talking.”
“Could you hear what they said?”
“Yes, I could. There were folding doors, and they weren’t quite shut. I listened. I thought perhaps you would like to hear what they were talking about.”
“Undoubtedly,” said Lindsay.
“He told her to go back to Paris. Now why do you suppose she wanted fifteen hats on approval if she was just going back to Paris? Our hats are all right, but they’re not Paris models.”
“Perhaps she didn’t know she was going back to Paris when she sent for the hats.”
Elsie nodded.
“Perhaps she didn’t—and perhaps she did.”
“Tell me what they said.”
“She was to go back to Paris, and she was to tell, I think it was F—he didn’t say any names, only letters—F and J, and I think N, but I’m not sure.”
“They spoke English?”
“Oh yes, English.”
“Goon.”
“She was to tell F that he hadn’t been giving satisfaction—his articles weren’t strong enough. No, wait a minute—” She pressed her finger tips against her eyes like a child that is trying hard to remember something. “He said, ‘F is not satisfactory—not carrying out his undertaking.’ He said, ‘He won’t receive a second warning. A—a—definitely—provocative—’ yes, that was it—’A definitely provocative article must appear next week.’ That was all about F. He said J had been doing well, but he was to emphasize the Italian question. Then he said, ‘Here are some notes for N.’ He said N was to use them for his next speech in the Chamber. He was to make an antagonistic speech with one specially violent sort of sentence that was sure to be repeated in all the foreign newspapers.” She dropped her hands in her lap and gave a little sigh of relief. “That was all.”
“You didn’t hear any more?”
“Not about that. I heard something about you. That is—” She stopped suddenly.
“You heard something about Trevor Fothering, and you don’t know who was meant?”
She nodded emphatically.
“You’d better tell me just what you heard.”
“I heard Trevor’s name—Trevor Fothering—just like that. It was right at the beginning, when I was only thinking about running away, and I thought I’d better hear what they’d got to say about Trevor.”
“And what had they got to say?”
I He said Trevor was a police dog, and that he had. put a collar round his neck and offered him a bone. He said he had a whip as well as a bone. He said, ‘Fothering will do as he is told—for his own private reasons and his own private interest.’ And he said when he had used you as he was going to use you, you would be too deeply—dipped to give anything away. What did he mean by that?” Her colour had risen and her round bright eyes were fixed anxiously on his face.
Lindsay smiled reassuringly.
“Nothing much that I didn’t know before.”
She went on looking at him.
“Trevor was—a police dog?”
“More or less.”
“What did he mean by the collar—and the whip?”
Lindsay looked away.
“What did he mean?” she said.
“Well, I should say he was boasting.”
She leaned forward with a sudden impulsive gesture.
“Trevor wouldn’t. You don’t think— Oh, he wouldn’t! He must have been pretending. He—”
“My dear,” said Lindsay, “if you would tell me just what passed between you and Froth in Leaham Road before his accident, I think it would be a lot safer for both of us.”
She shook her head.
I can’t.
“Then let’s get back to Cannington Place. Did you hear anything else?”
>
“No. They talked, but I didn’t dare listen. I stayed behind the curtain.”
“How did you get away?”
“He went, and then she unlocked the dining-room door and went up to Mabel, and I simply ran.”
Lindsay was thinking hard. “Did she buy any hats?”
“Three.”
“Did she ask Mabel any questions?”
Elsie shook her head.
“Not a question. She tried on the hats like lightning one after another, and kept three. What do you make of it?”
“She might have wanted to get a footing here as a customer.” He spoke slowly and hesitatingly. “He might want her to come across you—naturally—in the shop—I’m just feeling my way.”
Elsie’s hand gripped the edge of the table; she leaned forward on it. He saw her knuckles whiten.
“She doesn’t know—anything about me,” she said.
Lindsay went on watching her.
“Oh, but I think he does.”
“He doesn’t—he can’t.”
“Drayton does then.”
“Who’s Drayton?”
“Restow’s librarian.”
“How does he know about me?”
“I can’t tell you—but he knows that Fothering met you at the corner of Leaham Road on the day he had his accident.”
“Oh!” she said with an angry gasp. “He couldn’t!”
“Fothering was followed. Drayton could tell me that he walked up and down talking to you for half an hour.”
“He said talking to me?”
“To Elsie Manning. That”—he smiled suddenly—“that is how I knew your name.”
She unclenched her hand and sat back.
“Who is Drayton?” she said under her breath. And then, “If he knows—who told him? Restow?” Her eyes were puzzled and afraid.
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