Hot Water (11 page)

Senator Opal was all genial cordiality. He patted Packy's shoulder in the heartiest possible manner.

'You get that letter back, and you won't find any kick coming from me. Franklyn? ... Franklyn? ... You aren't the football Franklyn, are you?'

'I did play football at Yale.'

'Played football at Yale! You made the All-American.'

'Yes, I did, as a matter of fact.'

'I'm a Yale man myself. Why, dammit, I know all about you. Somebody left you two or three million a few years ago.'

'My uncle.'

Senator Opal regarded his daughter in a manner that suggested that he was uneasy about her sanity.

'A Yale man... An Ail-American half-back... A fellow with three million dollars... Why you wanted to have all this secrecy and hole-in-the-corner business is more than I can imagine. Why you couldn't have told me straight out...' He turned to Packy and the severity of his demeanour softened to a sort of mellow unction. He looked like a Victorian father about to bestow a blessing. 'You're simply exactly the very son-in-law I've always been hoping for. Kiss her!'

If there had been a touch of embarrassment in Packy's manner before, there was more than a touch now. He was not a young man who blushed readily. Indeed, many of his friends looked upon him as one who had forgotten how to blush at the age of six or thereabouts. Nevertheless, there undoubtedly stole into the healthy tan of his face at this point a faint pink, turning it to a rather pretty crushed strawberry.

'Oh, that's all right, sir,' he said, backing a little and averting his gaze from the now incandescent Jane.

Senator Opal was a man who, when he issued instructions, liked to see them obeyed with a snap. He had, moreover, wholesome, old-fashioned views on how young lovers should behave towards one another. The geniality in his face waned.

'You hear what I said? You kiss her.'

'But...'

'Come on, come on, come on!'

It is not easy to bestow a kiss with a warmth sufficient to satisfy a father who likes his kisses emotional and at the same time to convey to the party of the second part a suggestion of deep and respectful apology. But Packy did his best.

'Right!' said Senator Opal briskly, apparently passing the salute as adequate. And you can do that as often as you like. And now about this letter. Do you know where I'm off to?' he asked, staring impressively from beneath his bushy eyebrows.

'You aren't going, Father?' said Jane, with some concern.

'Yes, I am going, and I'll tell you where I'm going. Now that this young man has come, we can get action. And the first thing to do is to find out where that infernal woman will put that letter of mine. She's sure to bring it back with her. Women are like that. If a man had a thing of that sort, he'd put it in a safe-deposit box. But women, poor fools, like to keep their valuables by them, so that they can take them out every two minutes and gloat over them.'

'Quite true,' said Packy.

'Of course it's quite true. And that's what this Gedge woman will do. I know that from the way she's always acted about her jewellery. I used to tell her to keep it at the bank, but she never would. This letter is going to be put in a safe, and I'm ready to bet that safe is in her bedroom. I'll go and see. Meet me on the terrace in twenty minutes.'

He stumped off, and Jane and Packy started to walk back to the Château. They walked in silence, each a little pensive.

Packy was feeling mildly surprised that, considering how deeply in love he was with Beatrice, the recent embrace had not revolted him more. He had not enjoyed it, of course. He could scarcely have been expected to do that. But it had not really revolted him. He was, however, conscious of a feeling of relief that Beatrice had not been an eyewitness of the episode.

Jane was thinking rather along the same lines. It would be too much, naturally, to say that she had derived any pleasure from Packy's kiss. On the other hand, it had not jarred every fibre of her being. But she was glad that Blair had not happened to be looking on at the moment.

They came meditatively in view of the house.

'How funny these old French Châteaux are,' said Jane.

'Very funny,' said Packy.

'All those turrets and things.'

'Yes, all those turrets.'

They began to discuss mediaeval French architecture in a guarded way.

I
T
was some fifteen minutes later that the garden door of the Château was flung exuberantly open and Senator Opal came bounding out with quite a juvenile jauntiness in his step. His quest had been completely successful. The briefest of explorations of the Venetian Suite had shown him the safe, let into the wall beside the bed. He was feeling pleased with himself and his manner showed it.

During these last days, Senator Opal had been dwelling in the shadows. There are few less agreeable experiences for a man of proud and autocratic temperament than to find himself tied hand and foot and at the mercy of a woman for whom he has always felt a definite dislike. And what had added to Senator Opal's bitterness was the fact that there was absolutely nobody else to blame. To his carelessness, and to his carelessness alone, the disaster had been due.

But now everything was splendid once more. Mrs Gedge, when she returned to the Château, would bring the letter with her. She would put it in the safe. He had located the safe. And that excellent young fellow, Franklyn, of whom he was beginning to approve more highly every moment, knew a man who could open safes and had promised to open one for him any time he gave the word.

Rendered quite lissom with relief, Senator Opal began positively to frisk up and down the terrace. And as he frisked he suddenly became aware of a young woman approaching him. It was Medway, Mrs Gedge's maid. In one hand she carried a book, in the other a half-smoked cigar.

This surprised the Senator. He was far from being an anti-tobacconist, nor had he any prejudice against the fashionable modern addiction of women to the weed. But he could not remember ever having seen a woman with a cigar.

Medway drew closer. Halting, she fixed him with a respectful eye and extended the cigar-stump between dainty fingers.

'Would you be requiring this any further, sir?'

'Eh?'

'You left it in moddom's room, and I thought perhaps you would be needing it.'

A good deal of Senator Opal's effervescence evaporated. An almost automatic and unconscious smoker, he had forgotten that he had been half-way through a cigar when he embarked on that search of his. A well-defined feeling of constriction in the muscles of his throat caused him to utter a faint sound like the gurgle of a dying duck.

'You weren't there!'

'Yes, sir.'

'I didn't see you.'

'No, sir.'

The Senator cleared his throat noisily. There were several i35 questions he would have liked to ask this calm-browed girl, but he felt that the asking would be injudicious. The salient fact, the one that must be dealt with immediately, was that she had seen him nosing about in the Venetian Suite. Where she had been concealed was a side issue.

'H'r'r'mph!' he said awkwardly.

Medway awaited his confidences with quiet respect. And yet, the Senator asked himself as he gazed into it, was that eye of hers quite so respectful as he had supposed? A demure girl. Difficult to know just what she was thinking.

'I dare say,' he said, 'it seemed a little strange to you that I should be in Mrs Gedge's room?'

Medway did not speak.

'The fact is, I am a man with a hobby. I am much interested in antiques.'

Medway remained quiescent.

'An old place like this... a historic old house like this... a real old-world Château like this, full of interesting objects, is – er – interesting to me. It interests me. I am interested in it. Most interested. It – er – interests me to – ah – potter around. I find it interesting.'

A fly settled on his snowy hair. Medway eyed it in silence. He cleared his throat again. He was feeling that he would have to do a little better than this.

'But I can quite see,' he proceeded, contriving now to achieve a faint suggestion of the orotundity which so impressed visiting delegates at Washington, 'I can quite understand that Mrs Gedge might not like ... might object ... might view with concern the fact that in her absence I have been visiting her – ah –
sanctum sanctorum.
It might strike her as ... in fact, just so. I should be greatly obliged to you, therefore, my good girl, if you would say nothing to her about the matter. Here,' said Senator Opal, getting down to business and bringing paper money out of his pocket. He hoped it was not a
milk,
but he did not dare to stop and look. 'You take this and say nothing about it.'

'Thank you, sir.'

'You understand? Not a word.'

'Yes, sir.'

'It is not that ... It is not that I feel ... On the other hand, there is no doubt that I ought to have waited until Mrs Gedge returned and was able to conduct me in person about the Château. ... But as ... er ... seeing that ... Well, in short, I think it will be best if you ... ah ... h'r'r'mph ... just so.'

'Very good, sir.'

The girl's docility charmed the Senator. Her tactful behaviour in what might have been a situation of some embarrassment had completely restored his sense of well-being. He did not mind now if it had been a
mille.
He felt thoroughly kindly-disposed towards her, and it seemed to him that a little affability of a strictly paternal nature would now not be out of place.

'Got a book there, I see.'

'Yes, sir.'

'Fond of reading?'

'Yes, sir.'

'I suppose you have a good deal of leisure with Mrs Gedge away?'

'Yes, sir.'

The Senator began to like this girl more and more. Most attractive, her nice deferential manner.

'And what are we reading?' he asked, in a voice which was practically tantamount to a pat on the hand. 'Some love story?'

'No, sir.'

'Don't you like love stories?'

'No, sir. I don't believe in them. Men,' said Medway, with the first touch of feeling she had shown, 'aren't sincere. Them and their love!' said Medway, now quite bitterly.

The Senator shrank from probing the tragedy at which her words and manner hinted.

'A mystery story, eh?' he said, catching a glimpse of the book's jacket, which revealed a muscular gentleman with a mask on his face apparently engaged in jiu-jitsu with a large-eyed girl, the pair of them seemingly unaware that a hand holding a revolver was protruding from behind a curtain in the background. 'One of those thrillers?'

'Yes, sir.'

'Well, don't let me keep you. I dare say you've just got to the most exciting part?'

'Yes, sir. It's where these criminals are trying to burgle a safe in a country house, little knowing that the girl they think is a maid is really Janice Devereux, the detective. Good afternoon, sir.'

She passed on her way, moving gracefully over the turf. But it was not mere aesthetic pleasure at her gracefulness that caused Senator Opal to stand gazing after her until she was out of sight. A sudden monstrous suspicion had come to him.

'Goosh!' he soliloquized.

A gay clatter of voices broke in on his fevered meditation. His daughter Jane had come on to the terrace, accompanied by that young fellow Franklyn.

The slight feeling of embarrassment which at first had militated against an easy flow of conversation between Jane and Packy had not lasted long. They were now on excellent terms, and Senator Opal, listening to their carefree chatter, thought he had never heard a more revolting sound.

'Hey!' he called sharply. He resented cheerfulness at such a moment.

Their voices died away. The fact that he was undergoing some upheaval of the soul was one which nobody, at such close range, could fail to observe. Jane was concerned, for she loved her father. Packy was surprised, because it was a revelation to him that the Senator could look like that. He had always supposed him a man of blood and iron, impervious to the weaker emotions.

'Whatever is the matter, Father?'

The Senator glanced about him conspiratorially. Except for a frog which had come out of the bushes and was sitting staring in that odd, apoplectic way frogs have, as if wondering what to do next, they were alone. Nevertheless, he lowered his voice to a hoarse whisper.

'Listen! We've got to watch out.'

'I'm watching,' said Packy airily. 'Leave everything to me, everything to me. Old P. ("Reliable") Franklyn. I have the situation well in hand.'

'Don't talk like a damned fool.'

'Father!'

'And don't you say "Father!" Do you know what's just happened?'

And, still speaking in that low, bronchial voice, Senator Opal proceeded to relate his story. He told of the purposeful dash for the Venetian Suite, the successful discovery of the safe, the subsequent sensation of triumph and exhilaration, the walk on the terrace with chest out and chin up.

Then the recital passed into a minor key. He spoke of Med-way and cigars, of Medway and enigmatic looks, of Medway and mystery novels, of Medway and parting words, which if they weren't sinister – well, what were they?

'It's where these criminals try to burgle a safe in a country house, little knowing that the blasted maid is a detective in disguise. Those were her very words, and I wish you could have seen the sort of flick of the eye she gave me when she said them. If she had told me straight out that she was a private detective, she couldn't have made it any plainer. I went all cold.'

Jane was an optimist.

'Oh, she can't be.'

The Senator was a pessimist.

'She is, I tell you.'

Packy held the scales between the two.

'It is quite possible, of course, that Mrs Gedge may have engaged a detective to look after her belongings,' he conceded. 'But what this girl said was nothing but a coincidence, if you ask me.'

'I don't ask you.'

Jane said it was no use being a gump and losing your temper. The Senator said he was not a gump and had not lost his temper.

'I am quite calm, perfectly unruffled. I am merely placing the facts before you, so that we may debate upon them and explore every avenue. All I am trying to get at is what we are going to do if this woman is a detective, and when I was a young man girls did not speak to their fathers like that.'

Resisting an impulse to ask him to tell them all about when he was a young man, Packy frowned thoughtfully.

'I agree with you that it is a thing which we ought to know for certain before starting operations,' he said. This colleague of mine, of whom I have spoken, is a tough bozo, but I suppose even tough bozos prefer not to work in the dark. It would scarcely be fair to ask him to do his stuff in a state of uncertainty as to whether or not a female dick was likely to pop up out of a trap and make a flying tackle the moment he got action. Grateful though he is to me, it might pique him if we let him in for anything like that.'

'He means the man might find it awkward if there was a detective in the house,' explained Jane.

The Senator said he was aware that that was what Packy had meant. He also threw the butt of his cigar at the frog, hitting it on the nose and removing all its dubiousness as to what it proposed to do next. It made the bushes in two jumps, and Packy, who had employed the interval in tense thought, advanced a suggestion.

'Our first move,' he said, 'must be to find out about this girl. We must institute a probe or quiz and make her come clean.'

The Senator asked how the devil they were to do that.

'The problem,' said Packy, ignoring his slight brusqueness, 'is not so much "How?" That part of it is simple. Obviously, somebody has got to ingratiate himself with her – not to mince matters, flirt with her – make love to her – worm his way into her confidence and get the truth from her. The question is – Who?'

He looked at the Senator so meaningly that the latter asked if Packy seriously intended to suggest that he, a pillar of the United States Government, should go about organizing petting-parties with ladies' maids.

'You wouldn't have to do much,' urged Packy.

'Of course you wouldn't,' said Jane.

'Just a kindly word or two and an occasional squeeze of the hand.'

'He could kiss her.'

'He might kiss her. Yes, that would help.'

'I don't believe he would have any trouble at all. Father's got quite a lot of
It
. You'd be surprised.'

'I am,' said Packy

The Senator uttered a sharp cry. For an instant, Packy supposed it to indicate the advent of one of those fits of Berserk rage to which he was so unfortunately subject, and he backed a little to be ready for the rush. With a man like Senator Opal, you could never be quite sure when you might not be compelled to put in some shifty footwork.

But it was not fury that had caused the other's emotion. The cry had denoted inspiration.

'Eggleston!'

'Eh?'

'Eggleston,' said Senator Opal, 'is the man to do it. That infernal, ugly, idle, lop-eared valet of mine. Everything points to Eggleston.'

If he had expected this ingenious solution of the problem to meet with unanimous approval, he was disappointed. Packy, it is true, saw its merits immediately. Apart from the fact that it was high time he started doing something constructive for the Cause, Blair Eggleston was ideally situated for the purpose they had in mind. He had endless opportunities of foregathering with this Medway, and what could be more suitable than that a valet should pass the time flirting with a lady's-maid? There was a sort of artistic inevitability about it. It seemed somehow to round off the picture. As far as Packy was concerned, the Senator had got one vote.

Jane was less enthusiastic. During her sojourn at the Château she had had plenty of time to observe Medway, and the thought of Blair on chummy terms with one so attractive jarred on her sensibilities.

'Oh, but, Father!'

'Now what?'

'He wouldn't do it.'

'Of course he would do it. If he has any fidelity or sense of duty in his system, he will jump at the chance. I've always treated the man with unremitting kindness, and if he won't do a little thing like this for me, I'll kick his spine up through his hat.'

And in accordance with his customary method of summoning his personal attendant Senator Opal threw his head back and began to howl like a timber-wolf, and continued to howl until Blair Eggleston came running round the corner of the house with a clothes-brush in his hand. He had been some little distance away, but his master's voice was a carrying one.