Grey Mask (18 page)

Archie Millar had been spending the most horrible afternoon of his life. He went first to Harridge’s, where he questioned the commissionaire without adding anything to what Mrs. Foster had already told him. He then rang up The Luxe, only to discover that Charles Moray was not in the hotel.

He found Miss Silver’s office closed, and again rang up The Luxe. Still no Charles.

After this he rushed into Sauterelle’s and demanded Margaret Langton. Miss Langton had taken a selection of hats to a customer on the other side of London. On the plea of very urgent family affairs Archie extracted the customer’s address and proceeded there. Margaret had left ten minutes before.

He rang up The Luxe again from a public call-office and returned to Sauterelle’s. Margaret had just come in. He had to wait whilst she was fetched. She found a very distracted young man.

“Margaret, she’s gone!”

Margaret did not need to ask who. A most sickening feeling of fear drove the faint colour from her cheeks.

“What has happened.”

“She’s disappeared. Ernestine had no business to leave her.” He poured out the commissionaire’s story. “I’m nearly off my head. Charles told me about the bus. They’ve carried her off. Heaven knows why she went with him, but she’s such a darlin’ little innocent, she’d never think— Margaret, what are we to do?”

“You must go to the police.” Her voice was quite steady.

“Charles said—Look here, I’ll have another shot at Miss Silver first.”

“I’ve heard of her. But I don’t see—”

“Charles was seein’ her. She knows all about everythin’. He told me last night. I wish to heaven I could get hold of Charles. It’s past five—he may have come in. I’ll go and have another shot.”

“Wait,” said Margaret. “Wait a minute. I—there’s something I can do. I get off at six. There’s someone I can go and see. I don’t know that it’s much good, but—it might be. Where shall I find you?”

“Better telephone to Ernestine. I’ll ring up at intervals and find out if there’s any message. I can’t tell where I’ll be.”

He went off once again, tried to get Charles, and, failing, asked without hope for Maud Silver’s number. To his overwhelming relief he got it, heard a most welcome click, and then Miss Silver’s voice saying “Hullo!”

“Miss Silver, is that you?”

“Speaking.”

“It’s Archie Millar. I’ve met you at my cousin’s. Charles Moray told me—”

“Quite so, Mr. Millar. I may say I’ve been expecting you.”

“I came round, and your office was shut up.”

“Quite so—I had to go out. You wish for news of Miss Wilson?”

“Miss Silver, d’you know where she is?”

“I know where I think you may have news of her. Will you take down the address? Number ten, Grange Square.”

“But I say, Miss Silver, that’s where—I say, you know what I mean—isn’t that—”

Miss Silver rang off.

Quarter of an hour later he was ringing the doorbell of No. 10. The door was opened by a plain, neat young woman in cap and apron. Of butler or footman there was no sign. Up to this very moment it had not occurred to Archie that he had no idea for whom he was going to ask; his idea had been to get to the house, to get news of Greta, to—well, to get to the house.

He looked at the plain young woman, and felt like a fool.

“Mr. Millar?” said the maid.

Archie walked into the hall and followed dumbly up a marble stair. On the first floor, a long corridor with Persian runners; a dim, soft light; and air of hushed expectancy.

Archie stopped being harassed and torn by doubts and fears. An overpowering sensation of having walked straight into a story from the Arabian Nights removed all other feelings. He breathed the air of hushed expectancy and found it pleasant.

The maid opened a door.

“Mr. Millar,” she said.

Archie passed into the room and heard the door close behind him.

The room was large and solemn; it had the ordered richness of a shrine. The Persian rugs upon the floor were dim and soft and old. The light came from crystal sconces set on the panelled walls.

Archie looked down the room and beheld Miss Margot Standing curled up on a purple couch. She wore a white frock and a pleased expression. She was eating chocolates.

He had no very clear idea of how he got across the room. He found himself with his arm around Margot’s waist; he had an impression that he had just kissed her, and that she did not seem to mind; he was saying things like “My blessed little darlin’ ”; and she was staring at him with round, surprised blue eyes.

“Archie! How f-funny you are!”

Archie kissed a sticky little hand and held it to his cheek.

“My blessed child! Darlin’, where have you been? I’ve been nearly off my head about you.”

Margot took her hand away and sucked the stickiest finger. She looked through her black lashes at Archie and giggled.

“Did you think I was lost?”

Archie nodded.

“I said you would—I said you and Charles would both think I was lost. Were you in a frightful state? Is Charles nearly off his head too? I do hope he is! It’s frightfully exciting to have people in a frightful state about you.”

Archie began to pull himself together.

“You leave Charles alone—he’s not on in this scene. You fix your mind on me. What d’you mean by runnin’ away like that? I haven’t had time to look in the glass, but I shouldn’t be a bit surprised if my hair hadn’t been doin’ the turnin’ white in a single night stunt.”

Margot giggled.

“It hasn’t.” She pushed the chocolates towards him. “Have a choc. That’s a most frightfully good sort, only it comes off creamy on your fingers. I’m sticky all over from mine. Do have one.”

Archie shook his head.

“I only eat that sort in my bath.”

“Tell me about Charles. Is he looking for me?”

“I don’t know.”

“Doesn’t he know I’m lost?”

“I don’t suppose he does.”

“Oh, but I want him to—I want him to be frightfully upset, and then frightfully pleased to find me, just like you were. You were pleased to find me—weren’t you?”

She put her face up to his.

Archie kissed her again, this time quite deliberately. Margot returned his kiss with engaging frankness. Then she sat back. Neither of them heard a door open and close again.

“Are you proposing to me? Because you haven’t done it at all properly if you are. You ought to have said things first, and not kissed me till I said ‘Yes.’ ” Her mouth quivered a little. “It’s my first proposal, and I did want it to be a proper one. I don’t count Egbert.” Archie took both her hands—they were still rather sticky. He kissed them gently.

“My darlin’ child, I’d propose to you from here till the end of next week if it was the slightest good. I love you quite a lot, you know.”

“That’s better,” said Margot. Then her mouth quivered a little more. “Why isn’t it any good? Aren’t you going to? Why aren’t you?”

“Because you aren’t old enough,” said Archie. “You’re just a blessed baby, and I should be a perfect brute if I asked you to marry me.”

Margot’s bright round eyes filled with angry tears. She pulled her hands away with a jerk.

“Why, I’m eighteen! Lots of people are married by the time they’re eighteen. One of the girls at school had a sister who was engaged six times before she was eighteen.” She began to cry. “I think it’s frightfully horrid of you. And you’ve spoilt my first proposal. And—and—you needn’t think I’d have said ‘yes.’ And you needn’t think I like you the least little bit, because I don’t!”

“Look here, darlin’—”

“I think you’re frightfully horrid!” said Margot with a sob. Then suddenly she caught him by the hand. “You did say you loved me, didn’t you?”

“I oughtn’t to have said it.”

Margot pinched him very hard.

“I hate you when you talk like that. You kissed me, and you did say you loved me—you know you did. And then you go and spoil everything by saying I’m not old enough.” She made a snuggling movement towards him. “Archie— darling—do propose to me properly. I might say ‘yes’ if you ask me frightfully nicely.” Then she looked up and gave a little scream.

Archie turned around.

A man with thick grey hair and rather hard features was leaning on the end of the sofa. His expression was one of amusement.

Archie sprang up. He stared at the man, and his jaw dropped. A dozen different photographs of this man had frowned or smiled in just this sarcastic manner from the pages of every illustrated paper in London. The shock of recognition was so great that he forgot everything else.

The man spoke. There was a suspicion of a northern burr in his voice.

“How do you do, Mr. Millar? I must introduce myself. My name is Edward Standing.”

Archie felt a tug at his sleeve. Margot had jumped up, scattering her chocolates. She hung on his arm, laughing and excited.

“Archie, you didn’t guess, did you? Papa, I didn’t tell him. I wanted to frightfully, but I didn’t. So you see I can keep a promise. I didn’t tell him a single word—did I, Archie? Archie, isn’t it frightfully exciting about Papa not being drowned? Papa, may I tell him all about it now? Because we’re very nearly engaged—aren’t we, Archie? Papa, he won’t propose to me because he says I’m not old enough. Archie, if Papa says I’m old enough, will you do it nicely? Papa;—”

Mr. Standing put a hand on her shoulder.

“I want to talk to Mr. Millar. Run away and play.”

Margot pouted, then brightened.

“My hands are a bit sticky. If I go and wash them, will that be long enough?”

Mr. Standing gave her a push toward the door.

“I’ll call you when I’m ready.”

When she had gone, he turned a cool, hard gaze upon Archie.

“So you think Margot’s too young to be engaged?”

The back of Archie’s neck burned.

“I don’t quite know when you came in, sir.”

“Well, I heard you tell her she was too young. I agree with you. We’ll leave it at that. You didn’t, I take it, expect to find me here.”

“I didn’t expect to find Margot. I came because Miss Silver told me to come.”

“Yes, I know all about that. I have met Miss Silver. She tells me I am very considerably indebted both to you and to Mr. Charles Moray. I am very glad to have the opportunity of thanking you and of explaining some of the rather extraordinary things that have been happening. Sit down, Mr. Millar.”

Archie sat down. He was irresistibly reminded of interviews, now happily remote, with his headmaster; there was the same feeling of unpreparedness.

Mr. Standing laughed suddenly. The atmosphere changed.

“We’re being a bit solemn, aren’t we? That’s my fault, I’m afraid. I must have been a bit of a shock to you. Now Margot took me with perfect calm—she merely remarked, ‘Oh, Papa, you’re not drowned! How frightfully nice!’ and at once proceeded to pour out a full account of some very curious adventures. Well, I’m beginning at the end of the story. I must go back a bit.”

Mr. Standing sat forward in his chair.

“I want to begin by saying something about all this rubbish that has appeared in the papers on the subject of my daughter’s legitimacy. I am sending a statement to the press to-morrow. I married as a young man, and I am now a widower. My marriage did not take place in England. Margot is my legitimate daughter. I had not failed to provide for her future. I made my will fifteen years ago. The document was in the hands of my solicitor, Mr. Hale senior. It was destroyed after his father’s death, and after my supposed death, by Mr. James Hale.”

“He was in it then! Do you know, sir, it was Margot who wouldn’t let us go to him—and a jolly good thing we didn’t. Charles Moray was tellin’ me all about it last night.”

“Yes, James Hale was in it. And so, I regret to say, was my nephew Egbert. Well, that disposes of the will. About a year ago I became aware of the existence of a criminal conspiracy directed by a singularly cunning and able rascal. Certain things came to my knowledge; but I hadn’t a shred of evidence against anybody. Then, about two months ago, my man Jaffray came to me with a most extraordinary story. He was a good fellow whom I used as a sort of steward-cum-valet on my yacht. He’d been left stone deaf after shell-shock. Well, a queer thing happened—he got his hearing back. He said it came quite suddenly one day when he was crossing Hammersmith Broadway. He said one minute everything was quiet, and the next the roar of the traffic nearly knocked him down. Well, he didn’t tell anyone except me. He said he wasn’t sure it would last. And then he had another reason. He went down to the yacht to get ready for my cruise, and he overheard a conversation between the understeward and my butler, Pullen. It was an appalling conversation. He came off and told me about it. Pullen and this man Ward were discussing the best way of murdering me—that’s what it amounted to. Well, I thought things out, and I made up my mind to give them a helping hand. D’you see?”

“Well, I don’t, exactly.”

“I might have called in the police, and I suppose I could have got Pullen and Ward. But I wanted the others. Most particularly, I wanted the man who was running the show, Grey Mask. I thought I’d let them think their plan had succeeded, and see if they didn’t come out into the open a bit. So I told Jaffray to see if he couldn’t get taken on as second murderer. He did it very well—started by grumbling to Ward about his wages and one thing and another, got up some good red-hot Communist stuff, and let it off at discreet intervals. In the end Ward told him the whole thing. But Ward only knew Pullen—and he didn’t know him as Pullen or as my butler. He didn’t know any of the others. Well, Jaffray and I fixed up a very nice high-class assassination. We lay off Majorca, and I hired a boat to hang around and pick me up after Jaffray had pushed me overboard on a dark, windy night. I’m a first-class swimmer, and I had a life-belt in case of accidents. It came off nicely enough. I went over to Paris and waited for news. Jaffray went back to London. And then the fun began. They came out into the open just as I hoped they would. James Hale gave himself away by saying there was no will—he had handled it in my presence only a week before I sailed. My nephew Egbert also knew that there was a will—I had acquainted him with the terms of it no farther back than last August. He and Hale trumped up a forged letter from me alluding to Margot being illegitimate. They staged the affair so that one of Hale’s clerks, a perfectly innocent young fellow, found the letter. It would all have been very clever if I had really been dead. What I want to say to you is this, I never dreamt of any risk for Margot—it didn’t occur to me that Hale would get her back from Switzerland. As soon as Jaffray wrote and told me she was here alone, I came across. By the time I arrived she had disappeared. It was Jaffray who discovered her whereabouts. I decided that she was safe with Miss Langton. I was extremely anxious not to be recognized, as I had not yet got the evidence that I needed against Pullen and another man, the footman called William Cole. I was also extremely anxious to find out who was really running the show. On Tuesday, however, I made up my mind to fetch Margot away. I went with Jaffray and the car to fetch her. But she took fright. I had told Jaffray to tell her I was there. He said ‘Mr. Standing,’ and she jumped to the conclusion that it was her cousin Egbert who was trying to carry her off. Not unnaturally, she ran away.”

“Yes, she told me. So that was it?”

Mr. Standing nodded.

“As you know, you upset my plans by taking her to a new address next day. It took me all day to find her. This morning Jaffray and I followed her in the car, and I sent Jaffray into Harridge’s with a note for her. She came at once, and I brought her here. A conversation which I myself overheard last night between Pullen and William Cole convinced me that I could not risk waiting any longer. The two men were arrested this morning. James Hale, I am sorry to say, got out of the country. My nephew has thrown himself upon my mercy. I believe him to be a mere tool. The man I want—the man who’s at the back of everything, the coldblooded ruffian who gave orders to have my daughter ‘removed’, in other words murdered—Millar, I’m no nearer knowing who he really is than I was when I began.”

“He isn’t Hale?”

“No, he’s not Hale—though I believe that Hale knows who he is. I don’t believe any of the others do, and—Hale’s out of the country.”

The door opened and Margot came in with a doubtful air.

“You didn’t call—but you’ve been simply ages.”