by Pamela Brown
‘You don’t have to,’ said Nigel. ‘You could go back to London and try your luck again.’
‘On what?’ demanded Lyn. ‘I haven’t got a penny to my name. And I must be here, in case we get the money back suddenly and start again.’
They trailed wretchedly along, with the cold wind blowing against them, occasionally having to acknowledge acquaintances who looked at them curiously, pityingly.
‘Let’s—let’s go down to the theatre this afternoon,’ said Maddy suddenly.
‘No,’ cried Lyn. ‘I couldn’t bear it.’
‘Well, I must,’ said Maddy, ‘to collect my grease-paint and things to take back to the Academy.’
‘Yes,’ said Nigel, ‘it might be as well to take a few belongings out of the dressing-rooms. The Council may want to let it.’
As they collected up their belongings that afternoon they spoke in lowered tones, and it seemed as though the theatre had been empty for a long time. Just as they were about to leave it, Lyn suddenly put down her suitcase and said loudly and firmly, ‘No!’ They all turned and looked at her.
‘I will not leave this theatre until we have decided what our plan of campaign is to be. As it is we’re just sitting back and—and knuckling under. We can’t just leave our careers hanging in mid-air like this, and slouch around Fenchester until our parents find ghastly dull jobs for us. Now! What shall we do?’
Slowly the old flame of ambition was kindled in the hearts of the Blue Doors. They looked around their theatre, seeking for inspiration. Then Bulldog said, ‘But it’s obvious—’
‘What?’ they cried.
‘Find Lucky.’ His large face beamed with enlightenment. ‘That’s it, isn’t it? He’s got our money, and the police can’t find him—so we must.’
Nigel whistled thoughtfully. ‘How would we go about it?’
‘A little amateur detective work,’ said Bulldog. ‘We’ve read about it often enough in books. So we should know how to set about it.’
‘I suppose you fancy yourself as Bulldog Drummond.’
‘Be sensible, Maddy. This is serious,’ Jeremy reprimanded her.
‘Yes,’ said Nigel. ‘Lucky must be somewhere. And we’ve got a more personal interest in finding him than the police have—’
‘But what about the parents?’ Maddy wanted to know, adding sagely, ‘they’d call it a wild goose chase.’
‘Yes, I’m afraid they wouldn’t have to know,’ said Jeremy, ‘but we must remember that we haven’t any money.’
‘Oh, gosh,’ said Vicky. ‘It always comes back to the same thing.’
Mechanically they had grouped themselves round the stove, although it was not alight. Sandra held out her hands to the imaginary warmth, and said thoughtfully, ‘I’ve got an idea—’
‘Cough it up,’ said Maddy vulgarly.
‘Why don’t we split up? The boys to chase Lucky—because it’s more of a man’s job, and we three girls to finance the search. We could just disappear, and go round trying to get work—preferably theatre work because it pays better—but taking anything that will make money, and sending as much as we can to the boys so that they can continue—’
‘But what about me?’ wailed Maddy. ‘I suppose I’ll be stuck in the Academy like a pig in a poke.’
‘The simile is yours,’ smiled Nigel, already elated by the new plan. ‘No, Maddy. You could be very useful at the Academy. You would be our headquarters. We would use you as a permanent address, and communicate through you.’
‘I’ll direct proceedings,’ shouted Maddy excitedly. ‘Calling all Blue Doors—calling all Blue Doors…’ she parodied. ‘Proceed at once to Piccadilly Circus, where Lucky is resisting arrest.’
Bulldog’s eyes were shining. ‘It would be fun. It would be exciting. It would be something to do. We shouldn’t just be sitting waiting.’ His face clouded suddenly. ‘But fancy being supported by a lot of girls…’ They laughed at his crestfallen expression. It was the first time that laughter had rung through the theatre for many days.
‘Yes, yes,’ said Vicky, ‘it would be a fine idea. We’d be supporting you, but on the other hand, we’d be going on with our acting—if we can get jobs.’
‘Rep., I should think,’ said Sandra. ‘Because it’s cheaper living in the provinces than in London. We could live in working girls’ hostels.’
Ideas were tumbling out of them now.
‘We must just disappear—all of us—at once, before we’re shoved into the local Ministry of Nincompoops as office boys.’
‘What shall we do for money to get started?’
‘Sell something. What?’
‘Our clothes—’
‘Yes, that’s right. We’ve all got large wardrobes now, having done a long rep. season. And we shall only have to have necessities with us—’
‘One change of clothing,’ added Bulldog.
‘It’ll be better than helping out at cookery classes, won’t it, Sandra?’
‘It will,’ said Sandra carefully, ‘if it’s a success… if you boys find him… if we can manage to keep you going… if we can get enough work. Travelling expenses will be the difficulty.’
‘Stooge!’ cried Maddy. ‘Hitch-hike.’
‘Of course,’ said Nigel ‘We shan’t have money to spare for things like trains.’
‘But what happens,’ said Sandra, ‘if we don’t find him?’
‘Stop “iffing” for goodness sake!’ cried Lyn. ‘Don’t you see that now we’re alive again? We’re starting to do something! There’s no time for “ifs”.’
‘What is the first thing to do?’ demanded Vicky.
‘Sell our clothes,’ said Nigel.
‘The difficulty will be getting them out of the house without our parents asking a lot of difficult questions.’
‘Nonsense,’ said Lyn. ‘We’ve come out with cases today, collecting things from the theatre, so why shouldn’t we tomorrow? No-one will know whether they’re full or empty—’
‘Exactly,’ said Nigel. ‘But another important thing is to get a clue as to where we are to start looking for Lucky.’
‘London,’ said Vicky promptly.
‘Why?’
‘He had a Cockney accent.’
‘Yes,’ agreed Nigel. ‘But that isn’t necessarily where he has gone. I think the first thing to do tomorrow after selling the clothes is to visit his landlady, and see if she can help us.’
‘The police have questioned her a lot,’ objected Bulldog.
‘But she’s probably frightened of the police. We must just chat, not question her. In fact, we’ll pay the rent he owed when he left. That’ll help.’
‘With the proceeds from my new dinner-jacket, most probably,’ mourned Bulldog.
‘Well, you always did look rather a funny shape in it,’ Maddy comforted him. ‘Going out where you should go in.’ The scuffle that followed was quite like old times, and they resumed the discussion breathless but enthusiastic. They were, in fact, quite hilarious at the prospect of a new adventure, of doing something definite.
‘It’ll be grand,’ said Vicky romantically. ‘We shall be out on the open road—seeking our fortunes—or rather not our fortunes, but our theatre’s fortune.’
‘And we shall be mysterious sleuths, dodging like shadows in pursuit of the culprit.’
Nigel and Sandra shook their heads in a pitying fashion at these highly coloured word-pictures.
‘And I shall be the brains behind it all,’ Maddy chimed in, ‘sitting in my den in the Academy, smoking a Meerschaumer—or whatever it is—and saying “Elementary, my dear Buster” at intervals.’
‘What,’ said Sandra ‘about our parents?’ Their merriment faded, and they shuffled uneasily.
‘Of course, they’ll be upset, our disappearing like that, but it’s no good telling them—’
‘We must leave them notes,’ said Sandra; ‘you boys telling them that you’ve gone to London to look for work and keep a look out for Lucky, and we’ll say we’re going roun
d the reps. for work. That’s quite true. And we’ll explain that we didn’t tell them beforehand, in case they dissuaded us from going.’
‘And when the money is found,’ said Maddy, ‘they’ll be terribly glad, because they’ll have us home again.’ But they still felt a little guilty at planning to deceive their parents.
‘After all, we’re not kids any more,’ said Nigel, after a pause, ‘except Maddy, and she’ll be safely at the Academy.’ Sandra frowned at him. ‘Being the brains of it all,’ he added hastily.
‘Well, is everything settled?’ demanded Lyn. ‘We sell clothes tomorrow?’
‘Oh, and I’ve got some jewellery,’ added Vicky. ‘It was left to me by our grandmother.’
‘Good. That can go too. And we can see Lucky’s landlady so that you boys can pick up the scent. O.K.?’
‘We must succeed,’ said Lyn passionately. She stalked round the auditorium just as she used to when she was much younger, and was impressing on the others how bent she was on becoming an actress. Her face and body were taut with determination as she looked around, seeming to challenge the very walls of the place.
‘I will not sit around accepting things as they come,’ she cried. ‘I will not be a failure.’
7
SPLIT UP
The second-hand clothes shop smelt very strange. It was a mixture of moth balls, old boots and the gas from the gas fire that blared and hissed in the corner. Mrs Mintey, the proprietress, was enormous, and seemed to be wearing all the most outlandish specimens from her stock. Her dress was trimmed with black jet, and over it she wore a mauve woolly cardigan. On her head was a man’s check cloth cap, and her wrists jangled with bracelets—charm bracelets, gold bracelets, ivory bracelets—all her most valuable pieces were there.
The Blue Doors had spent a distressing morning tramping round the second-hand dealers with their bulging suitcases. Selling their clothes had not turned out to be as easy as they had expected. The better-class dealers sold only on commission, which would have meant waiting until the garments were re-sold before collecting their money. One very superior proprietress had opened Lyn’s case, and, fingering a little black dress to which she had been devoted, said, ‘Rather worn, isn’t it? And we really only buy up models.’ Lyn had been so offended that they had all turned round and walked out of the shop.
And now Mrs Mintey was turning over their clothes with fat dirty fingers like sausages. She finished off Vicky’s and said firmly, ‘Six pounds.’ Then she started on Sandra’s, muttering under her breath the value of each garment. Sandra could hardly bear to watch. There went the lovely dress she had made herself for Cinderella’s ball dress, in their amateur days…
‘Six bob,’ said Mrs Mintey, hissing through her broken teeth. And now her ballet skirt from the Academy…
‘Five bob,’ was the verdict on it. And there was the evening dress that she had worn on the fatal night when they had discovered Lucky’s disappearance. She had only worn it twice… Vicky put her arm through Sandra’s.
‘Think how lovely it will be each morning, not to have to wonder what to put on.’ They had allowed themselves only slacks, jersey, heavy coat, scarf and boots, and the girls also had tweed skirts, so that they could look ladylike if need be.
‘How we’re going to manage if we get into rep. I can’t imagine,’ sighed Sandra.
‘We’ll just have to borrow,’ said Vicky. ‘Thank goodness rep. people are good about lending.’
‘Seven quid,’ said Mrs Mintey stolidly, closing Sandra’s case. ‘And that’s bein’ generous, mind.’
‘I’m sure it is,’ said Sandra sadly, as she took the grubby notes that were offered her.
When they got out of the shop, Nigel said, ‘Congratulations, girls.’
‘Why?’
‘I knew you’d sacrifice a lot for the Blue Door Theatre, but I never thought I’d see you selling up your wardrobes without turning a hair.’
‘Several of my hairs turned,’ admitted Sandra. ‘But it’s necessary, so it can’t be helped.’
‘And what,’ said Bulldog, ‘is the next step?’
‘Go home and dump our suitcases,’ said Nigel, ‘and then call on Lucky’s landlandy.’
‘I don’t think all of us had better go,’ observed Jeremy. ‘We might frighten her. Nigel, you’d better go.’
‘And one of the girls,’ said Nigel.
‘Sandra,’ said Lyn. ‘She’s the most tactful, and can make polite conversation.’
As they made their way home a taxi stopped by them, and Maddy, on her way to the station, popped her head out.
‘I’m in a frightful hurry. Can’t stop. How did you get on? Much money? Must go… Good luck. Keep in touch. Hound him down, won’t you?’ she gabbled. Then, to the driver, ‘The station, quickly—and don’t spare the horsepower,’ and the taxi shot off before they had time to say a word.
‘Yes, it will be useful having Maddy at the Academy,’ said Nigel thoughtfully. ‘She can keep us in touch with each other.’
Nigel and Sandra got rid of their cases, and then went round to Lucky’s landlady’s house, which was not far away from their homes. They knocked on Mrs Quantock’s door, and when she opened it she did not look at all pleased to see them.
‘Oh, no,’ she quavered, before they had time to speak.
‘I can’t take in any more theatricals—not after the last—not after Mr Lucky. Lucky, indeed—Unlucky, I’d call him. Left owing me three pounds, ’e did. I know ’e robbed you left and right, o’ course—but still—three pounds—’
‘But, Mrs Quantock,’ cut in Nigel smoothly, ‘we haven’t come to ask you to take in any more lodgers. We’ve come to pay you back your money.’
Her grey face brightened immediately. ‘Oh, Mr Nigel—you shouldn’t reelly!’ But her hand was already out-stretched for the notes that Nigel had produced with a flourish from his wallet. He gave her three from the five which he had raised on a very nice lounge suit, a silk dressing-gown and two sports coats.
‘How is your rheumatism, Mrs Quantock?’ asked Sandra kindly. She wasn’t sure that Mrs Quantock had rheumatism, but it seemed a pretty safe bet.
‘Chronic, miss, in this cold weather,’ said Mrs Quantock.
‘Won’t you come in and have a bit of warm?’ She did not have to ask them twice. When they were sitting round the range in her kitchen, she said, ‘Oh, yes, it’s a bad business about Mr Lucky. They ’aven’t found ’im yet, I suppose?’
‘Not yet,’ said Nigel, ‘but I expect they will. The police have been working on it. I expect they bothered you with a lot of questions?’
‘Oh, yes, but I couldn’t ’elp them. ’E used to talk a lot, but never said much, if you know what I mean. I knew he lived in London somewhere, and ’ad worked at a lot of different things, but that’s all.’
‘I suppose he didn’t leave any belongings behind?’
‘Nothing much. The police took all the bits and pieces ’e did leave.’ Sandra and Nigel exchanged a despairing glance. ‘’Ow about a cupper tea? The kettle’s on the boil.’
‘That would be very nice,’ said Sandra, and Mrs Quantock hurried off into the scullery. While she was gone, Nigel wandered disconsolately round the room, peering into corners.
‘It seems so easy in a film. Clues seem to sprout from everywhere—gosh!’
‘What?’ said Sandra jumping. Nigel was squatting in a corner grovelling in the waste paper basket. He held up some fragments of paper.
‘Here’s something the police didn’t get. This can’t have been emptied for ages. Look…’ It was an envelope torn in half, with an address on the front that read ‘Mr L. Green, The Blue Dore Theatre, Fenchester, Fenshire,’ and on the back of the letter in large ungainly handwriting, ‘From Mrs Green, 5, Linden Grove, S.E.’
‘His wife—his mother…’ conjectured Sandra.
‘We shall see,’ said Nigel, softly and determinedly, as Mrs Quantock returned with the tea. They could hardly contain themselves as they supped it.
Sandra said casually, ‘Was Mr Lucky married, do you know?’
‘’E never mentioned it as I remember,’ said Mrs Quantock, gulping her tea appreciatively. ‘’E did mention ’is mother once—“the old girl”, ’e called ’er. But ’e seemed quite fond of her, I thought.’
‘Well, we must be getting along,’ said Nigel as they finished their tea.
As soon as the front door was closed behind them, Nigel produced the envelope again, and they studied it eagerly.
‘The letter wasn’t in the basket too?’ inquired Sandra.
‘No, I don’t think so. But this is something to go on—a great help. If we can see his mother we may get something out of her. She obviously corresponds with him.’ They raced back to tell the other Blue Doors.
‘A clue—a clue—’ cried Bulldog, swinging ecstatically on the garden gate.
‘Sh!’ they all turned on him, and glanced uneasily at the windows of their houses. The problem of getting away unobserved was now uppermost in their minds.
‘It must be tonight,’ said Lyn, ‘while we’re still enthusiastic over the clue.’
‘It’ll be easy,’ said Bulldog. ‘Don’t you remember how we did it once before, to go toboganning?’
‘This is rather different, isn’t it?’ said Nigel. They heaved sighs and thought how young they had been in those days before they went to the Academy. They lingered at their gates, unwilling to go in for the evening meal, because it would mean the last lap—after that there would only be bedtime—and the setting off on this most uncertain of adventures.
At dinner Jeremy’s father said, ‘Well, old man, what do you say to coming into the business? You’d have to start at the bottom, you know, and work upwards, but it’d be a good job when you got to the top—and—well, you know I’ve always hoped that’s what would happen. I’d pay you a wage at first, even though you’d only be learning.’
Jeremy blushed and stammered and caught Lyn’s eye, who said, ‘Well, Jerry?’
‘I’ll think it over, if I may.’ Mr Darwin appeared pleased and attacked his dinner in good humour, still talking of the business and how useful it would be to have Jeremy in it too. Jeremy writhed, and grew more and more uncomfortable, while the worse state he got himself into the more contained Lynette became.
