Luck of the Bodkins (34 page)

'Yoicksl' cried the inner voice, for once varying its formula. Tally-ho!
‘
replied Reggie Tennyson. Two thousand quid I' said the inner voice, returning to the old programme. 'Absolutely I' said Reggie.

Brimming over with sunny optimism, he bounded forward. He reached the wickerwork basket. He stooped over it. He lifted the lid and plunged his hand in.

The time was now precisely fifteen minutes past ten.

Lottie Blossom had taken coffee with Ambrose in the lounge at the conclusion of dinner and had sat there with him for an hour or more, endeavouring to lighten his gloom with guarded remarks - they had to be guarded - to the effect that all was not yet lost and that a way might still be found out of the unfortunate position in which they were placed. In this fashion she passed the time until a glance at her watch showed her that it was ten o'clock, the hour at which she had arranged to meet Monty on the second-class promenade deck and talk things over.

As she was quite determined not to part with the fateful mouse until he had fulfilled her already stated conditions, it seemed to her a mere waste of time to talk to Monty; but she had given her promise, so at one minute past ten she placed a hand to her forehead, registered distress with practised skill, and informed Ambrose that she had a headache and proposed now to withdraw to her state-room and go to bed.

This naturally gashed Ambrose like a knife, and the process of soothing his anxiety and allaying his fears and convincing him that the malady, though painful, was not dangerous occupied another five minutes. It was not till ten-seven that she was able to get away. When she did, she moved quickly, and reached the junction of the first- and second-class decks in one minute and thirty-six seconds. And there, as had already been indicated, she found Albert Peasemarch straddling, like Apollyon, right across the way.

Her interview with Albert was brief. It was not the steward's wish that it should be so, for he could have spoken - and, indeed, endeavoured to speak - at considerable length of his triumphs on the concert platform. But years of experience in the studios of Hollywood had made Lotus Blossom a past-mistress of the art of throttling down people who tried to tell her how good they were. By twelve minutes past ten
Albert P
easemarch had delivered Monty's message and vanished into the night. Miss Blossom then turned and started to go down to her state-room.

She was annoyed, and not without reason. It irked her to have to immure herself in a state-room at this early hour, for she was a girl who liked the night life of cities and of ships, and always got brighter and brighter and happier and happier up till about four-thirty in the morning. But she had left herself no alternative. The very artistry with which she had played the role of a fragile invalid with shooting pains across the temples made it impossible for her to return to the lounge and its lights and music. Were she to do so, Ambrose would inevitably suppose that she was being brave and enduring silent tortures in order to entertain him and keep him from being lonely, and his chivalrous soul would revolt at the idea. He would fuss like a shepherd with a sick lamb and probably make her go to bed anyway, so that was out.

No, there was nothing for it but the state-room at what -she looked at her watch as she turned into the corridor and saw that it was just fourteen minutes past ten - was virtually the shank of the afternoon. Muttering an observation which she had once heard from the lips of a director as she walked off the set at the height of his activities, she approached the door. And as her fingers touched the handle she jerked them away as if it had been red-hot.

From inside the room there had suddenly rent the air a sharp, agonized scream.

She did not hesitate. Lottie Blossom may have had her faults - Gertrude Butterwick could have pointed out dozens - but lack of courage was not one of them. She had jumped about six inches on hearing that scream, it is true, but most girls in her position would have jumped twelve. Returning to terra firma, she acted swiftly. She was not armed, and the fact that somebody had just been murdered in her state-room argued that there must be
a
murderer in there as well as a corpse, but she pulled open the door without an instant's vacillation.

Her eyes rested on her old friend Reginald Tennyson. He was doing a sort of Astaire pom-pom dance round the room with the little finger of his right hand in his mouth.

A girl who has been led to suppose that there is
a
fiend in human shape in her sleeping-quarters and discovers instead a young man with whom she has frequently dined and supped and trodden the measure is apt to experience a certain difficulty in finding words with which to express her astonishment Nor is this difficulty diminished if she notes that he is dancing about the floor sucking his finger. Lottie Blossom, accordingly, in the first moments of this unexpected meeting merely stood in the doorway with her mouth open.

Nor was Reggie more conversational. He had stopped gyrating on observing her, but he did not speak. Often, while making his way to this state-room tonight, he had speculated as to what he should say if by some mischance its owner happened to come in and catch him. Now that this had actually occurred, he said nothing. His finger was giving him considerable pain, and he went on sucking it in silence.

It was Lottie, after all, who was first to find words.

'Why, Reg-GEE!'she said.

Reginald Tennyson withdrew his finger from his mouth. He would have had every excuse for looking guilty and shamefaced, but he did not look guilty and shamefaced. His demeanour was that of a man who seethes with righteous indignation, a man who has been badly treated and legitimately resents it.

'What the devil,' he enquired emotionally, 'have you got in that basket?'

Lottie began to see daylight. Amusement took the place of surprise. She had a simple, wholesome mind, easily entertained by clean, simple comedy, and the reactions of those who opened her little wickerwork basket always diverted her.

'That,' she said, 'is Wilfred, my alligator.'

'Your w
’
a
’
?'

'Alligator. Don't you know what an alligator is? Oh, well, you will another time '

The clearing up of the mystery did nothing to soothe Reggie.

'Alligator? What on earth is the idea of having the place alive with alligators? What's the bally thing doing in a civilized state-room?'

Lottie Blossom was anxious to get on to the main enquiry or probe, but she perceived that it would be impossible to rivet her guest's attention until this point had been explained to his satisfaction.

'It's just a Press stunt. My Press agent thought it would help the general composition. He wavered at one time between it and a mongoose, and then he wavered between it and my being at
heart a simnle little home body
who was never so happy as when among her books, but in the end he cast his vote on the alligator ticket, and I'm glad he d
id, because an alligator Is cer
tainly value for money. Yessir, believe it or not. It's publicity of the right sort, and nobody who has not had personal experience of travelling around with an alligator in a little wicker-work basket, can have any conception of the amount of quiet fun there is to be got out of it What happened? Did Wilfred snap at you?
’

'He merely nearly took my bally arm off.
’

'You shouldn't have teased him.'

'I did not tease him.'

'Then I guess he mistook you for a fly.
’

'The animal must be non compos. Do I look like a fly?
’

Lottie Blossom had been smiling in the pleased, jolly way in which she always smiled when conversing with those who had recently lifted the lid of Wilfred's wickerwork basket. The smile now faded from her lips, leaving them tight and compressed.

'Shall I tell you what you look like?'

'What?'

'You look,
’
said Miss Blossom quietly, but none the less formidably, 'like a man who's going to tell me what he's doing in my state-room.'

From the very beginning of this interview, Reggie had been uneasily aware that sooner or later he would be called upon to throw light on that very point. Now that the moment had arrived, his uneasiness was not lessened. He was conscious of being in a distinctly equivocal position and, like most men who are conscious of being in distinctly equivocal positions, he fell back on bluster.

'Never mind that! We're not talking about that. We're talking about this damned man-eating crocodile of yours. Look what it's done to my finger. If that's not a nasty sore place, I've never seen one. Crocodiles, forsooth!' said Reggie with bitterness, for it was a subject on which he felt strongly.

Lottie Blossom corrected him.

'We
are
talking about that We're talking about that right now. What are you doing in my state-room, you blot on the escutcheon? You'd best come clean, young by golly Reggie Tennyson, or we'll have to see what we're going to do about it
’

Reggie coughed. Still sucking the little finger of his right
hand, he passed the forefinger of his left round the inside of his
collar. He coughed once more. ‘

Well?'

Reggie made up his mind. If he had thought bluster would be any good, "he would have gone on trying it, but a single glance at his hostess was enough to convince him that it would be no good at all. There was about Lottie Blossom now none of that geniality which had made her in happier days so agreeable a companion at the dinner-table. Her air was that of a girl stonily resolved to get down to brass tacks and have no more evading of issues. He noted the glitter in her eyes, the prominence of her out-thrust chin, the ominous pressing together of her strong front teeth. By an odd sort of optical illusion, due no doubt to the craven panic induced by these phenomena, it seemed to him that her hair had suddenly grown redder.

He decided on absolute frankness.

'Listen, Lottie.'

'Well?'

'I'll tell you everything.
’
'You better had.'

'I came here to look for that mouse of Monty's.' 'Ah!'

The one you pinched from him, you know. He wanted me to get it back.'

Lottie Blossom was smiling again now, but it was a grim smile, not one that in any way softened the menace of her aspect. The revelation had occasioned her no surprise. Her mind was capable of drawing conclusions from evidence submitted to it, and she had long since begun to suspect the hidden hand of Monty Bodkin.

'Ah,' she said. 'And did you find it?'

‘
No.'

‘
No luck, eh?' 'No.'

‘
I see. Well, you've found it now
’

From beneath the wrap which she carried over her arm she drew the Mickey Mouse. 'Good gosh!'

'Well, you didn't think I'd be
such a chump as to leave it
lying about in my state-room, with young thugs like you prowling around, did you?'

Reggie was gaping at the mouse with undisguised emotion. Indeed his eyes were rolling in his head.

'Lottie!' he cried. 'Give me that mouse 1
‘

Lottie Blossom stared at him amazedly. Long and intimate acquaintance with Reginald Tennyson had left her in no doubt that he was a young man abundantly possessed of crust, but she had never supposed that he had as much crust as this.

'Do what?
Give
it to you?
’

'Yes.'

'Black out on that laugh,
’
advised Lottie. 'You'll never be able to top it. Give you this mouse I Yes, that's good. What do you think I am?'

Reggie swung his arm in a wide, passionate gesture.

'A pall
’
he cried. 'Lottie, old bird, you don't know what it means to me if I get it.'

'Reggie, old caterpillar, you don't know what it means to me if I keep it.'

‘
But Lottie, have a heart!
I'll tell you the whole thing. I'm in love.'

I've never known you when you weren't.' 'But this time it's the real thing, the real registered Al at Lloyd's stuff.' 'Who is she?' "Mabel Spence.'

'A good sort,' said Lottie cordially. 'I've always liked Mabel, Have you fixed it up?' ·No. And why?'

‘
Because she's got too much sense.
’
Reggie sawed the air wildly.