Elsie, back again, and from her furtive manner not anxious to be seen. Her attitude was a listening one, but what had struck Diana still more sharply was her altered, hag-ridden appearance, in grotesque contrast to the jaunty green hat and dangling jade ear-rings she continued to affect. There was no rouge now on her muddy complexion, her hazel-green eyes were red-rimmed and small. Her clothes hung on her gaunt, big-boned frame, and her badly waved hair, once mouse-coloured but recently brightened with henna, straggled in dispirited wisps round her ears and neck.
Feeling sure this room was her objective, Diana held a rapid debate with herself. Should she accost the secretary boldly or hide and watch her? A second cautious peep made her decide on the latter course. The woman’s late behaviour and present air of secretiveness vetoed any hope of getting the truth from her by persuasion or bluff. Better find out why she had come, and afterwards—
Not an instant too soon was Diana flattened against the windows with the thick curtains covering her. Indeed, she was not yet sure she was hidden when a swift, surreptitious movement told her Elsie had entered. She heard the key turn, and experienced a slight shudder to think that here she was, locked in with a creature quite possibly mad. Adrian had suggested it, how seriously she did not know; but her momentary nervousness was quickly submerged in intense curiosity, mingled with which was the hope that now she might be on the verge of some vital discovery.
Mad? No! Far too much method here, in spite of the wild, tormented expression of eyes for one second gleaming red with reflected firelight. Without hesitation, the intruder had pulled the green-shaded lamp round so as to focus its rays on the big table, planked down a pair of dark, fleece-lined gloves on the blotting-pad, and from a small attaché-case she carried taken out a bunch of keys. Her movements were business-like, brusque; and though she was on the far side of the table, there was no doubt as to what she was doing. She was opening all the drawers in turn and running with practised thoroughness through their contents. Twice she lifted out a file and pored over it with a strained, desperate sort of eagerness; but throughout she worked so quietly that only an occasional crackle of paper betrayed her occupation. Whatever it was she was looking for, it was not the will, for when she came upon it—the document was clearly visible in the lamplight—she put it back without a glance.
Every drawer had been hauled out and replaced, not before the searcher had thrust her arm into the farthermost recesses and drawn it out again with a gesture of despair. Now she gave up and stood, leaning clinched hands on the table, with her shabby musquash coat flung back to reveal the bony cavities in her neck, and the harsh cone of light throwing her strong features into pitiless relief. Formerly she had been a plain, unnoticeable woman, but scrupulously neat. That was in the days when Diana had known her merely as Uncle Nick’s employee, and not thought of her twice. Now she was unkempt, one might almost say unwashed, looking as though she had not slept for nights and been roaming the streets in rain and mud; and yet for a brief interval prior to this last phase, she had indulged in a pathetic coquetry, tricked herself out in garments designed to captivate, saturated herself in chypre! Diana could smell the stale scent now, half-across the room.
With her underlip caught between her irregular teeth Elsie exhaled a sobbing breath. Then, muttering to herself, she began to pad softly about, prying into every receptacle, including the cellarette. Before the expanse of bookshelves she paused, letting her gaze travel over the closely-packed volumes. A few of these she removed, only to stick them back, hopelessly. Her shoulders sagged. She broke into hushed, spasmodic laughter, dreadful to hear, but it did not last long. With another of her lightning movements she turned, swooped upon her gloves and attaché-case, and in a twinkling had quitted the room.
Diana slipped forth to hide behind the door and peep through the crack. She was just in time to see Elsie go into her employer’s bedroom, where she remained for a few minutes, only to come out again with the same baffled expression. For a second she hovered in the hall, undecided. Then she plunged her hand into the huge oak cupboard and took from the nail the spare key to the flat above. In another instant she was out of the door and had softly closed it.
Did she mean to extend her search amongst the dead woman’s belongings? Diana waited till she felt it was safe to look out, then reopening the door a mere crack saw the tall figure disappearing round the bend of the stairs. The door of the other flat was being unlocked. A shaft of light streamed out of it. Half a minute passed—and then down the invader rushed, so precipitately that Diana barely had time to dart back to the library. Now, if ever, was the moment to speak to Elsie; but while she was considering the wisdom of this a little metallic “ping” announced the return of the spare key to its nail, and immediately the hall door shut. The secretary was gone.
Quick! She must be followed, for only in this way could her present habitation be discovered. She had no intention of being located, that was evident. Probably she had watched in the gloom across the way until she had seen both Blundell and Gaylord go out before she ventured to enter. She might get clean off before Diana could carry out the purpose now uppermost in her mind; but it was worth a try.
Within fifty seconds Diana had made a dash for her coat and hat and was running along the single outlet Queen’s Close possessed. Its short length terminated in a broad street leading from the park down towards Kensington Station, so at the junction she paused to scan the distance in both directions. Yes, she could make out the angular form in the musquash coat at the parking-place in front of the Albert Hall. Hurrying, she overtook it just as the traffic was held up and, unnoticed, crossed the road behind it to the opposite bus stop. Elsie boarded a downgoing bus. To the top of it Diana scrambled, and kept a sharp look out at each stopping place.
Along Knightsbridge they trundled, up Park Lane, along the crowded hurly-burly of Oxford Street, then by a devious route to Baker Street Station. There! Elsie was getting out. Three minutes more and, still unaware of pursuit, she was entering a Number Thirty, travelling east. Again Diana kept out of sight by riding on top. They reached the huge, dingy mass of King’s Cross Station, rounded the side, and climbed the long slope towards Islington. Now they were in a neighbourhood of slums, with here and there some rather better backwater given over to artists and professional people to whom low rents were an attraction and the surroundings no serious disadvantage. It struck Diana that hereabouts would be as good a place as any in which to lose oneself.
The Number Thirty bus, following tram-lines, stopped opposite a low, walled-in embankment, grass-covered, and with a railing round it. Some sort of reservoir it was, not far from Sadler’s Wells Theatre. Here her quarry descended, one of a crowd, and so inconspicuously that she was well away before Diana saw her hurrying figure detach itself from its chance companions. The bus was moving on. She swung off it perilously, just escaped a tram and managed, by extra speed, to lessen the distance between the secretary and herself. On the two went, Elsie with bent head and long, awkward strides, Diana afraid on the one hand that she would be seen, on the other that at any moment the woman she was tracking would vanish into some dark doorway just round a corner. Neither calamity happened. Elsie did not turn, and paused only at a news-and-tobacco shop, coming out at once with a newspaper in her hand.
Now she crossed and entered the bottle-necked opening to a small, dimly-lit square, where low-roofed houses huddled round a railed enclosure of laurels and stunted plane-trees. It was a shabbily-decent place, aloof and superior to the street just quitted. Elsie was already on the far side before Diana, anxious to remain unrecognised, dared overtake her, the result being that when she turned the corner of the iron railings the pavement before her was empty. All the houses facing her were dark; but as she looked a light flared up in the upper front window of one of them. For an instant only, then a blind was drawn down to hide it; but it had given a reliable clue.
With bold resolution she rang a jangling bell—and waited. After a long interval of total silence, two grubby little boys, pottering in their own interests, appeared, as by accident, in the tiny area below. She addressed the larger one.
“Might I see Miss Dilworth?”
The larger boy stared up at her indifferently, took a juicy bite of an apple, and transferred his attention to the apple itself.
“Miss ’Oo?”—lusciously. “No sich lady ’ere.”
Elsie, she then thought, might be using another name.
“Never mind,” she persisted. “I’m speaking of the lady who has just gone in. I may have got the name wrong, but—”
Another stare, loud champing of apple, and a contemptuous shake of the head.
“We ain’t heard nobody come in—’ave we, Ted? I say! Got that bit of string? Then whoopee!”
Up the area steps the roisterers charged and off into the echoing distance. Diana was left to ring, and to hammer on the iron knocker, now in the discouraged belief that the woman within had no intention of answering. There must, she reflected, be a landlady now absent, but sure to return in the course of time. Doggedly she decided to await this event; but thinking it was a mistake to remain here in full view of the upper windows, she made for the other side of the railed garden.
For perhaps five minutes she walked slowly up and down, keeping her eye on the ribbon of light which she was convinced marked Elsie Dilworth’s room. A few wayfarers passed her, but not one turned in at the house she was watching. Then a taxi blundered in through the bottle-neck of the square, prowled tentatively round, and halted expectantly beneath the gleam of radiance. Evidently it had been summoned, whether by telephone or by the two small boys there was no saying. In any case, the light above now blacked out, and even as she made haste to skirt the railings she saw Elsie emerge, dressed as before, but laden this time with a heavy suitcase and what looked like a typewriter. Too late to catch the muttered direction given to the driver. The woman she had tried to corner had got into the taxi and was being rattled away.
Gone—and the luggage indicated it was for good and all. Not the least use hoping for another taxi in this trackless waste of what might be Pentonville or Islington, Diana knew not which. The chase had failed, just when success of a sort seemed a matter of patience. All that remained was to take note of the sign dimly visible on the railings—Floyd’s Square, and the house just vacated was Number Seventeen. That done, she wended her way back to the thoroughfare and began her long trek homeward.
What had Elsie hoped to find, either in her employer’s papers, or in the flat overhead? She had left a handkerchief in the latter place, but it was hardly likely she would return for that, impossible she would search for it amongst business or private files. Almost certainly she had been looking for a document of some kind—but of what kind, and why?
These questions Diana turned over painstakingly when, regaining her new quarters, she sat down to try and eat some of the delicious meal kept hot for her over a spirit-lamp. She was dead tired, but coffee revived her a little, and still more did the cigarette she took from the silver box at her side. They were Aunt Rose’s cigarettes, but how mild! Poor darling Mummy had not been much of a smoker, or she would never have thought that her friend could have suffered through indulging in these. What was it she had said on the subject of Rose’s excessive smoking? It was in that last letter, still reposing, with the two letters Aunt Rose had written from Vichy, in the back-flap of her handbag. Idly she reached for them—and, with a shock of astonishment, withdrew her hand. The pocket was empty!