Trouble on the Thames (21 page)

Owen glanced at his watch. “I have given my solemn oath to Ruth that I won't stop for more than ten minutes. She says the doctor's orders are that you're not to be tired or excited.”

“Damn the doctor!” Sally puffed out a rebellious cloud of smoke. “I've got to know what's going on, or I shall just blow up like a rocket.”

“The trouble is that there are one or two things I'm not allowed to talk about, even to you. What it actually amounts to, however, is this. For certain—what shall we call them—national and political reasons the Big Noises in Whitehall are desperately anxious to prevent the real facts from coming out in the newspapers. They want it to be regarded as a sort of private quarrel amongst a pack of gangsters, and if all the people concerned play the game and keep their months shut, they will probably be able to get away with it. Of course the two they are chiefly bothered about are you and Ruth.”

“But how thrilling!” The blue eyes danced mischievously. “Makes me feel like the heroine in a spy story.”

“That's exactly what you are—only it happens to be a true story. Between ourselves, you've butted into something that might very easily start a world war.”

“Have I really!” Sally's expression suddenly sobered. “Well, if it's like that they needn't worry. You can tell them that, although we are merely a couple of females, Ruth and I are quite capable of holding our tongues.”

“As a matter of fact, I have already gone bail for you to one of his Majesty's Cabinet Ministers. Greystoke asked him to lunch so that I should have the chance of making a favourable impression.”

“Oh, I
do
hope he's going to do something for you.”

“He has. He's arranged for me to be transferred to the Naval Intelligence branch.”

“What does that mean?”

“Oh, just scouting around and keeping one's eyes open. I shall only be a sort of glorified policeman, but it's a bit better than being shoved on half-pay.”

“And a bit more dangerous, I suppose?” Sally was surveying him with an air of disconcerting gravity.

“Shouldn't imagine so. I expect most of it will be as dull as ditchwater. According to Greystoke—Good Heavens, that reminds me! He sent you a present, and I've been talking so much I clean forgot about it.”

“A present—for
me
!”

Sally took the rather crumpled envelope which he was offering to her, and slitting it open, pulled out its contents. At the sight of them a little startled gasp broke from her lips.

“Why, it's Sheila's letter—Sheila's letter to that beast Sutton!” She stared at it half incredulously. “Where on earth—”

“It was in the possession of that charming lady who tootled you out to St. John's Wood. She appears to have been rather a particular pal of Craig. He must have found it in the bungalow and handed it over to her for safe custody. I expect that when all this hullabaloo had died down they intended to follow in Sutton's footsteps and do a little spot of private blackmail.”

“But this is too perfectly marvellous! I—I must ring up Sheila and let her know.” Sally drew in a deep breath. “Of course it's all your doing, every little bit of it. I'll never be able to thank you enough—never as long as I live.”

“I wouldn't say that.” Owen took her hand. “If you like, you can have a shot at it right now.”

“How do I start?”

“You just swallow twice, and say, ‘Owen Bradwell, I promise to marry you as soon as I'm well enough to get up.' ”

“But, darling, I wanted to, anyway—didn't you know that? Why, I've been throwing myself at you in the most shameless fashion. Ruth says—”

“Come along now! Time's up, you've had your ten minutes.”

From somewhere below an imperative voice echoed up the staircase.

“Damn!” Owen glanced round ruefully. “Tell me, angel, do you think it would tire you if I gave you a kiss!”

Sally shook her head. “Not if it was a short one.”

As he took her in his arms the shawl slid off her shoulders, and for a heavenly moment he could feel her lips pressed to his and the quick beat of her heart throbbing against his own. Then, flushed and breathless, she slipped out of his embrace, and with a long sigh sank back against the pillow.

“Just as well you're colour-blind, isn't it, darling?” she whispered.

“Why?” he demanded.

She laughed softly and drew up the bed-clothes.

“Because you can't see me blushing.”

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