CHAPTER XV

It was next day that Charles Moray walked into Miss Silver’s office by appointment. The exercise-book with his name lay open before her. The pages had been written on in a small neat hand.

Miss Silver sat upright and knitted. She appeared to have finished the grey stocking he had seen last time and to have embarked on a second one, for only about three inches of dark grey ribbing depended from the steel needles. She nodded to Charles in an absent way and let him take a seat and say “Good-morning” before she opened her lips. Then she said,

“It is a great pity you did not come to me before.”

“Why, Miss Silver?”

Miss Silver heaved a gentle, depressed sigh.

“It is a pity. You would like to hear my report? I will begin with Jaffray.”

“Jaffray?”

“The man you wished me to report upon, lodging with Mrs. Brown at 5 Gladys Villas, Chiswick.”

“Yes. What have you been able to find out?”

“You shall hear.” She glanced at the exercise-book, but continued to knit. “He was until recently in the employment of Mr. Standing the millionaire, on whose family affairs you also wished for a report.”

“In his employment?”

“Yes, as valet and general factotum when he was on board his yacht.”

“Do you mean that Jaffray remained on the yacht?”

“Yes, that is what I mean. Mr. Standing liked to have someone there who knew his ways. He used to wire: ‘Coming on board such and such a time,’ and Jaffray would have everything ready for him. He could afford to pay for his fancies. I found Mrs. Brown a very pleasant, talkative person. She seemed to have a very high opinion of Jaffray, who has lodged with her on and off for the last nine years.”

“Was he with Mr. Standing on his last cruise?”

“Oh yes-he has only just got back.” Miss Silver took out a needle, looked at it for a moment, and then began another row. “Mrs. Brown seemed to think it a little strange that Jaffray was not more upset at the loss of so good an employer. She said she wondered he didn’t trouble at not having any work. And I think she was worrying about whether he would be able to go on paying his rent regularly. I have always found worried people very willing to talk. The more worried they are, the more they will tell you.”

Charles leaned forward.

“Is Jaffray really deaf? Did Mrs. Brown tell you that?”

Miss Silver pressed her lips together for a moment.

“Mrs. Brown talked a good deal about what she called Mr. Jaffray’s affliction. She said he lost his hearing in the war at the time Hill 60 was blown up. She very much deplored the disadvantage to Mr. Jaffray in his search for a new situation, and she repeated more than once that she could not understand why he did not take it more to heart.”

“Is he deaf?” said Charles. ”

“Mrs. Brown spoke as if he were.”

“But is he?”

The needles flashed and clicked. Miss Silver said, “I don’t think so, Mr. Moray.”

Charles gave a violent start.

“You don’t think he’s deaf at all!”

“No, I don’t think he’s deaf. But I’m not sure. I will report to you again. I think I can find out. Now as to the other matter on which you wished me to report. I am really extremely sorry that you did not come to me before.”

“What has happened?” Charles spoke apprehensively.

“Miss Standing has disappeared,” said Miss Silver in mournful tones.

A hideous sense of responsibility weighted Charles to the ground. He had known that the girl was threatened, and because of Margaret he had held his tongue. He turned a hard face on Miss Silver.

“How can she have disappeared?”

“I will tell you what I know. She left her house in Grange Square yesterday afternoon. She had a trunk with her, and she took a taxi to Waterloo Station. There she took another taxi and drove to No. 125 Gregson Street. She had engaged herself to go there as secretary to a man who calls himself Percy Smith. It was extremely ill-advised of her to take this step. Mr. Smith is not a man of good character. He has been mixed up in one or two very nasty scandals.”

“Go on,” said Charles, “what has happened?”

Miss Silver dropped her knitting in her lap.

“I can only tell you what happened up to a certain point. Miss Standing had dropped her own name-she called herself Esther Brandon.”

“What!” said Charles. “No-go on!”

“She called herself Esther Brandon. And she arrived at 125 Gregson Street at seven o’clock yesterday evening. She was only in the house for about half an hour. She left in a great hurry and without any luggage, and no one has any idea of where she went. So far I have not been able to trace her; but I certainly hope to do so.”

Charles stared at the floor. Esther Brandon-what on earth had Margot Standing to do with Esther Brandon? Chance-coincidence-no, not by a long chalk. If Mr. Standing’s daughter had taken Esther Brandon’s name, it was because the name meant something to her. Now what did it mean?

“If you would tell me everything, it would be easier, Mr. Moray,” said Miss Silver.

He stopped looking at the floor and looked at her.

“Don’t I tell you everything?”

She shook her head.

“You are like the people who let a house and keep one room locked up. You needn’t be afraid that I shall open the door when you are not there. But it would be easier for me to serve you if you would give me the key.”

“It’s not my key, Miss Silver,” said Charles.

Miss Silver took up her knitting again.

“I see,” she said.

CHAPTER XVI

Margot Standing ran out into the street. Her heart was thumping so hard that it shook her; her legs shook under her as she ran. Her world had been so violently shaken that it seemed to be falling about her. She was really only conscious of two things-that she was frightened, oh, dreadfully frightened; and that it was dreadfully difficult to get her breath. She didn’t feel as if she could go on running; but she must go on running, because if she didn’t, the man might come out of the house and catch her. The thought terrified her so much that she went on running even after it seemed as if she could not breathe at all.

It was quite dark and foggy, and she did not know in the least where she was going; she only ran, and went on running until her outstretched hands came up hard against a wall. The shock upset her balance. Her left shoulder hit the wall. She swung half round and then fell in a heap. She had not breath enough to cry out. She lay at the foot of the wall with a sense of having come to the end of anything she could do. There was nothing but fog, and darkness, and cold wet stones.

After a few minutes her breath began to come back. Presently she moved and sat up. She wasn’t hurt, but her bare hands were scraped. She had run out of the house in Gregson Street without any gloves on; her gloves were on the table where the cocktails were. When she thought about the gloves, she could smell the strong sickly smell, and she could see Mr. Percy Smith standing there and holding out a little glass full of yellow stuff with a cherry and a grape bobbing about in it.

Sitting there on rough, wet cobblestones, Margot began to cry. She cried with all her might for ten minutes, and then began to feel better. She had got away. If he hadn’t gone out of the room-Margot dabbed her eyes with her very wet handkerchief and saw herself sitting there quite stupid and dumb with the cocktail in her hand, and Mr. Percy Smith going out of the room and saying he wouldn’t be a minute.

She scrambled up on to her knees because she didn’t want to see that picture any more. It made her feel exactly like she had felt when Mrs. Beauchamp took her to the top of the Eiffel Tower and told her to look over. Margot had looked for a moment; and then she wouldn’t have looked again for anything in the world. To stand on the edge of a frightful drop and to think how easily one might fall over it-