Fool Errant (10 page)

“'Twasn't the doorstep,” said Ella with a gasp.

“Passages is
worse
,” said Mrs. Miles. “And gossip is what's brought many a girl to her ruin—as I hope and trust you won't find out.” She turned to Hugo. “Hacker was the name.”

“Hacker!”

“Said he'd took a chance of finding you, seeing as how you'd mentioned where you'd been living afore. And then he asks if he can write a note, and he writes it. And Ella she stands there a-gossiping while he done it.”

“Oh,
h'Aunt
!”

“Don't you go answering me, Ella Miles! Well, Mr. Ross, I come down the stairs, and I heard him say as bold as brass, ‘And is the foreign gentleman a friend of yours?' And Ella she giggles and says, ‘I don't know, I'm sure.' And what I don't know is how I kep' myself from going in and giving her what for—only I thought I'd get to the bottom of her goings-on, so I waited. And that there Hacker asks her if she ever heard you a-talking to the foreigner, and she ups and says she heard him offering to buy something off of you this morning, and she ups and says she wondered you didn't say ‘Yes' straight away, because you was pore enough and that there Miller seemed to want whatever it was pretty bad. And with that I opens the door, and I comes in, and I gives her a
look
.”

“Oh,
h'Aunt
!”

“And I says to that there Hacker, ‘
Good
-morning, sir,' and he up and went. And I told Ella what I thought about her—and here's your note, Mr. Ross.”

Hugo tore it open. It was quite short.

“D
EAR
R
OSS
,

“We are staying another day, so don't hurry back if it doesn't suit you. I was passing, and took a chance of finding you.

“Yours,

“J. H
ACKER
.”

He turned back to Ella.

“I s-say, Ella, d'you mind telling me how you and Hacker came to be talking about Miller?”

“And mind you answer truthful, Ella my girl,” said Mrs. Miles.

“Mr. Miller come down the stairs,” she said in an injured voice. “It wasn't my fault he come down the stairs, and it wasn't my fault if Mr. Hacker asked me who he was, and I didn't see no harm in saying he was a foreign gentleman. And then Mr. Hacker asked me was you and him friends, and I didn't see no harm in what I said. I only wish somebody would say they didn't mind what they paid for something as belonged to
me
.”

“Listen to her!” said Mrs. Miles.

Hugo went upstairs and considered. Hacker wanted him to stay in town—he wouldn't have taken the trouble to come round if he hadn't wanted him to stay. At the first glance then, it would be better not to stav. Hacker probably wanted to compromise him with Miller. Already Ella would be able to say that she had heard Miller offer him money.

Hugo considered.

The mischief was already done. As he read the situation, it was no good running away; he had to run into danger as the only possible road to safety, and the one thing that he must not do was to show that he suspected anything. The slightest sign of awareness, and his one asset went by the board. They thought him a mug, and they must without fail go on thinking him a mug; it was his one chance of bringing anything off.

He began to think about Loveday. He really had been a mug not to follow Cissie. He wanted to see Loveday very badly; he wanted to hear what she had to tell him; and he wanted to tell her that she mustn't stay with Cissie, and—well, he just wanted to see her.

CHAPTER XV

Hugo had a stroke of luck that evening, unlooked for and quite undeserved. He was walking along a little street in Soho, when he saw Cissie. She was in a taxi, leaning forward and calling out of the window to the driver. He recognized her at once.

The taxi went on and turned the corner; and Hugo ran after it. He turned the corner too, and there was the taxi drawn up at the kerb in front of a small restaurant. Miss Cissie was halfway across the pavement. She was bare-headed and wore a thick dark coat with a fur collar. She disappeared into the restaurant, and Hugo followed her. He found her sitting at a little table in an alcove.

The room was very hot and full of the ghosts of dead meals. Cissie had slipped off her coat, and sat there in a very short, thin dress of a bright shade of petunia. A spotted mirror in a gilt frame behind her showed the set of her head with its carefully waved hair. She was made up to a startling pallor, and the lashes that surrounded her bright blue eyes had been heavily darkened. She gave a jump when she saw Hugo, and said “Oh!” with a sort of gasp.

Hugo had wondered what he was going to say, but, to his surprise, he found it quite easy.

“I s-say, this is ripping! I saw you get out of your taxi, Miss Leigh.”

“You didn't!” She had hold of the table edge, and her breath came quickly.

“I d-did—really. I s-say, this is ripping—isn't it?”

Cissie was recovering her self-possession.

“You quite frightened me.”

“D-did I?”

“Yes, you
did
.”

“I s-say, won't you dine with me?”

Cissie looked at him sideways.

“Did you think I'd come here by myself?
Reelly
, Mr. Hugo, I'm sure I don't know what you must think of me! No
indeed
—I'm meeting a friend, and I shall have to be dreadfully angry with him for being so late—and you mustn't stay talking to me, because he's ever so jealous, and if there is an awkward thing, it's a man being jealous of you in a restaurant.” She pronounced the “t” at the end of this word.

Hugo wondered if the friend was Hacker.

“You must go—
reelly
, Mr. Hugo.”

“But when am I going to s-see you again?”

“Oh, I don't know. Do you
reelly
want to see me?” Hugo got a very arch glance indeed.

“Of course I do.”

It was at this point that Cissie remembered that she ought to have a bad cold. She had been speaking in her natural voice, rather high-pitched, rather bright; and then suddenly she remembered about the cold and began to cough.

Hugo wanted to laugh so badly that, like Mrs. Miles, he didn't know how he “kep'” himself.

“This horrible cold!” said Cissie. “Oh, Mr. Hugo, you
reelly
mustn't stay. You don't know what my friend's like—you wouldn't believe anyone could be so jealous.”

Hugo had not the slightest desire to meet Hacker. He wondered whether Cissie would tell Hacker that she had met him. He only wanted one thing, and he wanted it very badly—he wanted Cissie's address. He looked eagerly at her.

“When can I see you? Give me your address, and I can write to you.”

“Oh, I don't know.”

“
Please
,” said Hugo.

He was not playing a part; he had really forgotten everything except how much he wanted that address.

“If I give it you, you mustn't come and see me. It wouldn't do. You must promise you won't come and see me.”

“I promise I won't come and see you.”

“All right then.”

She scribbled on the menu-card and tore off the written slip.

“Don't tell Jim Hacker, will you, Mr. Hugo.”

“Of course not.”

He thought she meant that; he thought she was playing her own game, not Hacker's for the moment. He thought, with an odd little thrill, that she liked him—“
reelly
.” He felt a momentary softness towards Cissie.

She gave him a little push.

“Oh,
do
go! I don't want him to see you,” she whispered.

That sounded genuine enough. Hugo went away wondering what he should say if he were to meet Hacker on the doorstep. He certainly didn't want to meet Hacker.

He walked briskly along for a hundred yards or so, and then looked at the address which Cissie had given him. It conveyed nothing to him. He walked on until he came to a tobacconist's, where he bought a box of matches and asked for information.

The girl behind the counter was very affable.

“Morrington Road? Why, that's up off the Bayswater Road. I've got an aunt lives up that way, and this Lexley Grove must be one of the small turnings out of it. Oh, not at all—only too pleased to be any help.” This in response to Hugo's stammered thanks.

As he left the shop, he heard her remarking that she wouldn't half mind taking up with a nice young fellow like that.

He took a bus to the Bayswater Road, and then walked. He had a bit of thinking to do, because at every turn it seemed as if he had to find the one right thing amidst a hundred chances of doing the wrong one. He must see Loveday. But Hacker mustn't know that he had seen her. He must be warned; but if it were known that he had been warned, the value of the warning would be gone. He must know, and not appear to know. If he went to the door and asked for Loveday, he ran the risk of Cissie finding out that he had called; and if Cissie knew that, she would also know that her pretence of being Loveday hadn't deceived him. He couldn't afford to take that risk; there was too much at stake. But he had to see Loveday.

He decided to find the house and reconnoitre.

Morrington Road was one of those streets which have gone down in the world. Its tall houses had once been inhabited by well-to-do people. They were now let out as tenements, and the pavement in front of them was crowded with children at play—very dirty and uncared for, some of them.

Hugo found Lexley Grove at the less populated end of Morrington Road. It was a dark street with a row of tall houses on both sides, the even numbers on the right. The number Cissie had given him was fifty. He started to count the houses, for it was much too dark to read any number, and many of the houses showed no light.

Hugo did not like the street; he did not like to think of Loveday living there. He had counted sixteen houses, when he saw that the row on the other side had been interrupted; some dozen or more houses were gone, and in their place a dim street lamp showed a hoarding and dark, gaunt scaffolding poles.

He counted on. At twenty a policeman passed him—at least he guessed it to be a policeman from the measured tread. He had reached the twenty-fourth house, when he heard steps coming from the opposite direction. Someone ran up the steps of number fifty and put a key in the latch. Hugo heard it grate, heard the door swing in and the man enter. He heard these things, but he didn't see anything; it was too dark to see; the opening door showed no light within.

All the way along the street Hugo had been wondering what he was going to do—thinking. Now he didn't think at all. He ran up the steps, pushed the door, and found it, as he knew he would find it, ajar. He came into a dark hall, and heard hurrying footsteps on the stair above him. The man who had entered must be very familiar with the house, for he was running up the stairs without a light.

Hugo felt his way forward. It was black dark, and it was a darkness that could be felt. The house gave out darkness. He groped, and his hands touched the balustrade, his foot struck the bottom stair. He went up, moving quickly, quietly, listening for the steps that climbed above him. The man had left the door ajar—he had not waited to strike a light—he ran. These things meant great haste and the probability of as hasty a return.

Hugo turned a bend in the stair and, looking up, saw a narrow yellow beam of light high above him. Somewhere at the top of the house a door had opened. The hurrying steps had ceased. He heard voices.

He kept his hand on the banister and went on up the stair. It was uncarpeted, and he had to take the greatest care to move quietly. He came on to the landing immediately under the half-open door from which the light still streamed; and as he stood there, the door was drawn to. But the murmur of voices still went on; he heard a woman say, “How long?” and he heard a man answer her, “Ten minutes will be safe. You're sure she's off? We don't want a row.”

Hugo stood in the dark, and was afraid for Loveday.

The man spoke again; he had a foreign accent.

“Answer me—is she asleep?”

The woman cringed and answered him, “I don't know—I gave it to her.”

“Then she's off—and so am I.”

He came running down the stairs. Hugo slipped across the landing out of his way, and the man passed, hurrying down, down into the darkness. The front door banged, and overhead the woman gave a sort of gasp and began to sob. Hugo heard her whisper, “I can't—I
can't!
” and then he heard her fumble at the handle. The light streamed out again.

He ran up a dozen steps and came on to a narrow landing. A door on the left was open about a foot. The light was within, and he saw the woman's shoulder and arm against it. She turned with another gasp.

“Why have you come back? They haven't come—
already?
Oh, don't—
don't!
”

Hugo had his hand over her arm. It was very thin. She clutched at him with a hot, dry hand.

“Don't let them come! Don't—who—who are you? I thought—” The terrified whisper died in her throat.

“Where's Loveday? Is she here?”

“Who are you?” She was trembling violently.

“I'm Loveday's friend. What's happening?”

Her hand tightened on his.

“They're going to take her away.”

“Who?”—he felt her tremble—“Where?”

She spoke in a dry whisper.

“They're going to take her away. If you're her friend, why didn't you come before? They'll take her away and get her on board the ship, and no one will ever see her again. And she looks like Min!”

Hugo shook the arm he held.

“Where is she? I've come to take her away.”

“You can't—they're watching the house. They'll wait till the policeman's out of the street, and then they'll come. She knows too much.”