Dorothy Eden (38 page)

“Yes, we realized that,” Harriet agreed. “But yesterday he would have seen Millie leave with only Arabella. He had probably been waiting for that opportunity for days. That’s if it is a man.”

“You think it might be a woman ?”

“Millie has been talking about this strange blonde woman, the one Jones caught a glimpse of the other day. I thought she was imagining things, but now one doesn’t know what to think.”

“Jones, you were about at that time yesterday. Did you happen to notice anything at all?”

“I’m afraid not, sir. I didn’t even see when Millie took the children out.”

“Do you think Millie’s telling the entire truth, Harriet?”

Harriet sighed wearily. “How does one know? She simply bursts into tears when one says anything at all. But one thing is certain, she’s had a nasty shock. She’s absolutely terrified.”

“The police would question everybody. Someone in the flats must have seen something.”

“It didn’t happen at the flats; it happened outside Woolworth’s at the busiest time of the day, when no one would notice a child cry, much less who took it away.”

“Harriet, my sweet numbskull, this is a most urgent police job.”

“All right,” said Harriet bitterly, “fill the place with police. And have my babies dredged out of the river or suffocated in a cupboard.”

“Oh, Mrs. Lacey!” exclaimed Jones in a shocked voice.

“Well, can’t that happen? Don’t you agree?”

“In America, perhaps—”

“This may be an American kidnapper, someone who knows of Joe’s family in Boston. How does one know who it is? But one thing I do know. I have the money. I drew it out of the bank this morning. The kidnapper gets his chance to return the children safely.”

“You really think he’ll ring you and tell you where they are?”

“I have to take that chance.”

“There I agree with Mrs. Lacey, sir,” Jones put in. “He’d prefer to do that rather than have two kids to feed. Or shall I say two corpses on his hands? You have to be realistic, sir. They’re flesh and blood and can’t disappear into thin air when they’ve served their purposes, so to speak.”

“Unless he becomes greedy and asks for more money.”

“Flynn, stop it!” Harriet cried. “I can’t stand this. Just stay out of it, will you? And you, too, Jones, with your horrible suggestions.”

“Jones is thinking of the smashing story he’ll have to tell his wife tonight.” Flynn’s voice was full of its old bitter sarcasm.

“That isn’t quite fair, sir,” Jones said in a hurt voice.

“All right, all right, I’m sorry.” Flynn got up and began walking about the room slashing at things with his stick. “Nothing’s fair on this beautiful planet. You won’t have the police. I’m as much use to you as that fat spaniel in the basket—”

“Flynn! Flynn!” His sudden impotent rage had the effect of calming Harriet, and she went to take his arm. “If this fails tonight, I promise you tomorrow I will get the police.”

“Heaven’s above, that may be too late!”

“On the other hand, there is something you can do for me. Take me out to Zoe’s.”

“Zoe’s?”

“Yes, I don’t suppose I’m right, but she may have been playing a trick on me.”

“A trick like this!”

“I know it seems improbable. I suppose it is. But she was very upset yesterday, and a jealous woman can lose her sense of proportion. She may have decided it would be amusing to give me a fright. And you must admit she has been mysterious about her address.”

“Damned mysterious. I only prised it out of her when I asked her where to address a case of champagne! It’s a forlorn hope, but we can try it. Jones will drive us. Go and get the car out, Jones.”

“Before lunch, sir?” Jones turned an anguished glance towards the kitchen, from which appetizing aromas were coming.

“Instantly.”

M
ILLIE HATED TO BE LEFT
alone now. She wanted to protest when Mrs. Lacey went down to Mr. Palmer’s, but even more so when Mrs. Lacey rushed up to get her coat and said she would be out for an hour or so. It wasn’t fair to be the one who was told to stay in in case the telephone rang. Mrs. Lacey wouldn’t like to be there alone herself, with that sinister voice likely to speak in her ear at any time the telephone rang. But then Mrs. Lacey didn’t know about the sinister voice. Only Millie knew that. The secret was so frightening that she didn’t think she could keep it much longer. She would almost rather go to prison.

The flat was so empty! It made her feel queer to see the children’s toys. Mrs. Blunt had tidied them up, with some puzzled remarks about it being strange that Arabella hadn’t wanted to take her rabbit or Jamie his very prized set of trucks. But tidied up was almost worse than having them scattered about. It looked as if they were neatly put away forever.

Oh, dear, how her head ached. For two pins she’d go home, except for all the questions Mum would ask. And, of course, giving up Fred. Why didn’t Fred ring? It was funny that he didn’t. He would have seen Mrs. Lacey leave in Mr. Palmer’s Bentley, and know that she was alone. It was really mean of him not to when he knew how upset she must be.

Supposing she rang him. That was the idea. That also would save her the awful cold feeling of dread she got every time the telephone rang.

She dialed the number of the basement flat and waited eagerly. Oh blow! It was Fred’s mother who answered.

“Hello, Mrs. Helps. This is Millie here.”

“Who?”

“Millie. From Mrs. Lacey’s flat. Can I speak to Fred?”

“Oh, Millie.” The old lady’s tone was faintly acid. “Fred’s on duty. He can’t speak to you now.”

“I wish you’d tell him I want to see him, Mrs. Helps.”

“What do you want to see him about?” Yes, the old lady’s voice was definitely suspicious. Silly old geezer.

“Oh, just things, I’m all alone up here and Mrs. Lacey said I mustn’t go out. I’m that lonely.”

But that last pathetic plea had no effect on Fred’s mother.

“You wouldn’t be if you’d taken better care of those children.” Her voice was sharp, yet it seemed to have something desperate and frightened in it, as if they were her children, for goodness’ sake!

“You will tell Fred, won’t you, Mrs. Helps?”

“I’ll tell him you were ringing.”

The phone clicked implacably, Millie sniffed and sighed. Silly old fool! What would she have done if she had been threatened the way Millie had been? After all, the children would be back later tonight, wouldn’t they, and no one the worse for it except for Mrs. Lacey losing five hundred pounds. But she could afford that. Look at the lovely flat. Some people didn’t know how lucky they were.

But supposing, after the children were back, that blackmailer threatened her again about the earrings! She hadn’t thought of that.

Oh, Fred, it was all your fault! she thought despairingly. You made me lose them.

The telephone gave a preliminary ping which nearly made her jump out of her skin, and then began to ring steadily.

Millie looked at it in frozen horror.

Oh, but it would be Fred, she suddenly remembered joyfully. His mother had given him her message and he’d ring instantly, the darling.

She picked up the receiver and sang gaily, “Hello!”

“Is that you, Millie?”

There was no mistaking the husky whispering voice, anonymous, sexless. Millie wanted to drop the receiver as if it were red hot, as if it would bite a piece out of her plump young cheek. But like a magnet it hugged to her ear.

“H-how do you know my name?” she asked quaveringly.

There was a hoarse chuckling, low and dreadful.

“I know a lot. I made it my business to. Tell me, has Mrs. Lacey called the police?”

“No-no.”

“Good. That’s what I wanted to know. See that she doesn’t. That’s a good girl. Au revoir, now. If you don’t know what that means, it means you will be hearing from me again.”

To the accompaniment of the hoarse chuckling the receiver clicked and went dead.

Millie stood rigid. She couldn’t stay here alone! She just couldn’t. She’d run down and find Fred. But no, she couldn’t. Because he knew nothing about these telephone threats, and if she told him she would have to admit her guilt She would go home, pack her things and run away. But Mum would want to know why. Mum always ferreted things out, and she was a stickler for honesty. She would think it her duty to tell the police. And that way Millie would lose Fred forever…

There was nothing she could do. There was no one to help her. She had to stay. But she felt so terribly alone, as if there were no one else in all the world…

Harriet, who had been nervous in fast cars ever since Joe’s death, was urging Jones to break speed limits. She was not happy about leaving Millie in the flat alone. The girl seemed to have become quite stupid, scarcely taking in what was said to her, and obviously in a state of constant terror. It was doubtful whether she would be able to take a telephone message correctly, or whether she would behave sensibly if anything at all happened. Besides, one had to be a little sorry for her, when she was suffering from such acute shock and remorse. Perhaps Fred would go up and talk to her. One could only hope she would not be foolish enough to leave the flat and talk indiscriminately outside.

She scarcely noticed the direction in which they were going. If Zoe were perfectly innocent what was she going to say about their bursting in like this? But it was all so strange and suspicious. She had been so mysterious about her address; she had refused to lunch with Flynn when hitherto her day had revolved on Flynn’s wishes. If she were engaged on a macabre practical joke such as this she was giving the whole day to it, perhaps hoping Harriet would discover the children earlier, perhaps seriously planning to collect the money this evening for her own use…

No, these were fantastic thoughts. The kidnapper would be some anonymous person off the street, who had watched assiduously and laid his plans, some thin, desperate, wandering straw in the wind, leaving no clues because of his anonymity.

The back of Jones’s head was long and narrow, like his face. He drove with the same unobtrusive ability with which he prepared meals and valeted Flynn’s clothes.

“Where are we now?” asked Flynn, with that edge of impatience in his voice.

Jones half-turned his head.

“Just crossing Battersea Bridge, sir.”

“Lord, what sort of a place does Zoe live in? Why doesn’t she tell me if she’s short of money? She’s the last person I would have thought to have false pride. What did you say, Harriet?”

“I said nothing.”

“You sniffed. Or you did whatever is the modern equivalent of the expressive Victorian sniff. Open the window, would you mind?”

“It’s very cold.”

“At least I can smell the water, can’t I?”

His touchy rejoinder shamed her. She opened a window, and the ice cold wind came sweeping in.

“Just for a minute,” he apologized. “I used to row on this stretch of river. Are there any swans?”

“I can’t see any. Only barges and a tug and a few seagulls. And, of course, the power station. The water is the color of dirty mud.”

Flynn patted her hand. “My love, if I’m to hire the use of your eyes, they’ll occasionally have to see more charming things. No swans? Only dirty mud. Jones does better than that. What can you see, Jones?”

“We’re just turning off the bridge, sir. The houses here aren’t what you’d call palatial, sir.”

Harriet, to her extreme surprise, found herself laughing.

Then she knew that was what Flynn had meant to happen with his apparently idle chatter. Perhaps he had been trying to make himself laugh, too. Passing remembered spots, with no eyes to see, would not be amusing.

“Where do you live, Jones?” she asked.

Jones didn’t turn his head this time. “Well, we’re sort of temporary, see,” he said, as if Harriet were planning to go snooping. “Our place is too small and it’s on the ground floor, and damp. I’d like Nell to be upstairs where she’d get a view. I’m looking for something all the time. I want just the right place, so Nell won’t have to shift again.” He turned his head slightly. “We’re coming to the street now, sir.”

Flynn sat forward. “What’s it like?”

“Facing the river, sir. Bit run-down looking.”

Harriet looked at the row of narrow shabby houses, tightly packed, as if one supported the other. They all had the dreary look of second-rate rooming houses. Their paint was faded, and at high tide, there was no doubt that water sometimes lapped into their basements.

Zoe, the smart and immaculate, with her pert air of self-sufficiency, lived here. But only recently, and probably only temporarily.

Harriet leaned forward tensely.

“Jones, it might be better if the car isn’t seen. Park it around the corner. I’ll go to the house.”

“I, also,” said Flynn.

“No, you wait here.” Harriet laid her hand on his arm, restraining him. “Because if we’re wrong how will you explain what we’re doing?”

“How will you?” he retorted. “I, at least, have come to take her home to lunch. Anyway, if she spoke the truth she won’t be there. If she didn’t, I guess there’s a reason.”

“If only the children are here!” Harriet scarcely dared put that hope into words. Could it be possible? Could this nightmare end so simply?

The woman who opened the door was gaunt-faced and tired. She said shortly, “Miss Mansell ain’t home.”

“Oh, dear, how unfortunate!” said Flynn in his most beguiling voice. “And we’d come to take her out to lunch. Now, Harriet, isn’t that too bad!”

Flynn had his arm tucked in Harriet’s. They looked, Harriet reflected, like a respectably married couple, with none but the most friendly intentions towards Zoe. This was obviously what the woman was thinking, for her curtness relaxed a little, and she volunteered, “I can give her a message, if you like.”

That was Harriet’s opportunity, and she quickly seized it.

“I wonder if we could leave one ourselves in her room.”

“I don’t know as I should let you do that,” the woman said doubtfully. “She locks her door, anyway.”

“But you would have a key, wouldn’t you? Actually, we’ve walked quite a long way, and my husband gets tired. He hasn’t been long out of the hospital.”