Mr. Zero (26 page)

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Authors: Patricia Wentworth

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She had been blackmailed by Mr. Zero on account of a card debt which she did not want to confess to her husband. Sylvia had been very convincing about this. She told the Coroner just how difficult she found it to remember what were trumps. A tear fell when she admitted that Francis had forbidden her to play. And she had played. And she had lost. Five hundred pounds. And she had been so dreadfully afraid that Mr. Zero would tell Francis. So she had taken a packet of letters out of her husband's safe. And so forth and so on. Not a word about the visit to Wellings and the Home Secretary's despatch-case. The Coroner led her gently but firmly through the pathetic tale. Sylvia left the court with the admiration and sympathy of everyone present. Tomorrow the Press would feature her as the lovely Lady Colesborough. Really it wasn't surprising that she should heave that gentle sigh and say how marvellously it had all gone off.

“Monty's been marvellous too,” said Algy, for Gay's ear.

Gay stuck her chin in the air.

“I don't see what he's got to be marvellous about.”

“Well, it hasn't been all jam for him. He offered to resign, you know, but they wouldn't let him. By the way, it puzzled me how Brewster could have known that Monty had got that memorandum and was taking it down to Wellings. You see, we were in the library, Carstairs, Brewster, and myself, and Monty was up in his room. Carstairs went out into the hall, took the envelope from the messenger, and gave it to me to take up to Monty. That's what started them suspecting me. I had the handling of it. I knew what it was. I could have substituted the blank envelope which was found in the despatch-case at Wellings, or I could have rung up someone who was going to Wellings and told them to go ahead, the paper would be there. Now Brewster was doing statistics at the far end of the library. He never had a smell of the paper, and as far as my knowledge went he couldn't have known that it had arrived, or that Monty had taken it with him.”

Gay shivered. She didn't want to talk about Mr. Brewster—who was Mr. Zero—who was dead. She said rather faintly,

“How did he know?”

“Carstairs told him. Beautifully simple—isn't it? Carstairs approved of Brewster. He didn't approve of me, chiefly because I'm Monty's cousin and his Roman soul abhors the thought of family interest. Therefore he was quite sure that if anyone was playing the fool it must be me. Very hot on the trail was Carstairs, and he never said a word about having told Brewster that the memorandum had come and that Monty was taking it to Wellings until Brewster had blown his brains out and he couldn't go on approving of him any more. Mind you, he really did think I'd taken the damned thing. He's vindictive, but he's honest. And now I step into Brewster's shoes, and he'll never cease regretting him.”

Sylvia shut the vanity case with which she had been busy. She had taken off her hat and her hair shone like pale gold. There were faint shadows under her lovely eyes. Her delicate pallor was unstained by rouge, but she had touched her lips with coral. She said,

“I suppose you really are engaged?”

A little flame burned in Gay's cheeks.

“I've been telling you so about twenty times a day ever since it happened.”

“I know, darling, but people do say these things—don't they?”

Algy looked across at her with a sparkle in his eye.

“We have Monty's blessing, I have written to all my relations, we have cabled the glad news to Gay's parents, Aunt Agatha is in process of being de-iced, and there will be an announcement in the
Times
tomorrow. If there is anything else you can suggest—”

Sylvia smiled a little vaguely. Algy sometimes made her feel as if he was laughing at her, and she found that rather confusing, because there was nothing to laugh at. She began to think about what she would wear at the wedding. Not black—but they mustn't get married too soon. She said in a plaintive voice,

“How long will it be before I can come to your wedding? I mean, I wouldn't like to do anything that wasn't
right
. I mean, poor Francis—well, you know what I mean.”

About the Author

Patricia Wentworth (1878–1961) was one of the masters of classic English mystery writing. Born in India as Dora Amy Elles, she began writing after the death of her first husband, publishing her first novel in 1910. In the 1920s, she introduced the character who would make her famous: Miss Maud Silver, the former governess whose stout figure, fondness for Tennyson, and passion for knitting served to disguise a keen intellect. Along with Agatha Christie's Miss Marple, Miss Silver is the definitive embodiment of the English style of cozy mysteries.

All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this ebook or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 1938 by J.B. Lippincott Company

Cover design by Maurcio Díaz

ISBN: 978-1-5040-3321-3

This edition published in 2016 by Open Road Integrated Media, Inc.

180 Maiden Lane

New York, NY 10038

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