The Missing Angel by Erle Cox (lightest ebook reader TXT) 📕

Senior in a subdued voice lest he attracted attention from the outside.

He was very glad to become Tydvil Jones again, because Basil Williams had

been very much the worse for wear, and not remarkably sober.

Then he pulled himself up, noticing for the first time the dejected air

of his friend. Nicholas was again seated on the edge of the bed,

melancholy in every line of his pose.

“By Jove! Nicholas,” he enquired anxiously, “what’s happened? You look

done in.”

Nicholas straightened himself. “Tydvil,” he answered miserably, “I’m too

ashamed almost to face you. I have fallen down on my job.”

Enlightenment came to Tydvil. “Amy?” he asked. Nicholas nodded. “She

talked…”

“Ah! Buck up, Nicholas, and forget it. I’m terribly sorry. It wasn’t fair

to ask you to carry on with a job like that.”

But Mr. Senior was not consoled. “You haven’t heard the worst,” he went

on.

“What was it? The court affair?” asked Tydvil curiously.

“Oh, I bluffed her off that,” replied Nicholas. “It was really the Moral

Uplift Society and your letter to the papers that caused it.

She’s—er—well, annoyed—and I—I…” The confession would not come.

“Holy Wars! Nicholas, did she get that cheque?” Tydvil whispered in

dismay.

Nicholas nodded. “Oh, Tydvil, I am ashamed, but…”

“Couldn’t you have done a bunk up here as I told you?” he asked.

“That is what caused the trouble,” explained Mr. Senior. “She got in,

too, and beat me to the key.”

“You were locked in with her?” Tydvil’s dismay changed to heartfelt pity.

“For two hours nearly,” admitted Nicholas, “and she talked…”

“She would,” agreed Tydvil, with deep understanding. “Nicholas, I

apologise with all my heart. It was not fair to you to let you run such a

risk.”

“But I failed. I betrayed your trust, my friend.” Nicholas took his

wallet from his pocket, and drawing out the promissory note, offered it

to Tydvil.

Tydvil waved it away, smiling. “Dash it all, Nicholas! Ours is a

gentleman’s agreement. Do you take me for a usurer? The fault was mine

entirely. You should he the one to complain.”

“By Jove, Tydvil, you’re a sportsman! But you must let me reimburse you

for the cheque…”

“I don’t deserve it, but if it’s on your conscience you may do so.” Then

he laughed wryly. “Amy will gloat, I’m afraid.”

“It puts you in such a hole over that letter,” Nicholas sympathised.

“Yes,” admitted Tydvil, “she’s got me there, but…” He broke off

suddenly. “Listen, Nicholas! Do you think you could arrange an accidental

meeting between Amy and me, as Billy Brewer, in a way that would make her

feel grateful to Brewer—that’s me?”

The face of Mr. Senior grew brighter. “Yesterday,” he replied, “I would

have protested that the idea was not sporting. Now,” and he smiled a sour

smile, “I feel that your plan involves less than retributive justice.

I’ll take care, too, that there are no complications with Brewer.”

“Good!” replied Tydvil with sinister emphasis. “And then we shall see

what we shall see. Let me know when you’re ready, but not until Brewer’s

eye is normal.”

“Talking of eyes,” said Nicholas, “I noticed one of those policemen you

were engaged with, had a beauty.”

Tydvil chuckled reminiscently. “Phew! That was swift going while it

lasted…”

“You seem to have quite a flair for mixing it with the law—what led up

to that picnic you were having?” Senior asked curiously.

It appeared that Tydvil had met a charming young woman named Elsie. He

was rather indefinite as to how or where the acquaintance was made, and

Nicholas, recognising his embarrassment, forbore to press for details.

Anyway, Elsie suggested that there was plenty of fun to be had at a night

club she knew of in Little Collins Street, just off Exhibition Street.

“It was quite a pleasant place,” Tydvil explained, “with a Bohemian

atmosphere. We had supper, at least, Elsie had supper, but I joined her

in the wine.”

“I should say you did,” commented Nicholas.

Tydvil nodded a plea of guilty. “You see, Elsie knew nearly everyone

in the place. She seemed very popular. She introduced me to a lot of

people…” He paused.

“And the night grew wet,” Nicholas suggested.

“Not at first,” Tydvil explained. “Among them was a man I knew, Archie

Graham, of Graham and Stone—they have a place in the Lane. He joined us

with a large blonde named Minnie. When I told him I was Basil Williams

and came from Castlemaine, he said he knew my father.”

Nicholas, who was consulting his master card, looked up. “If it is I he

means, I’ll say he does know me. But not as well as I know him.”

“Well,” continued Tydvil, “we had a few bottles of champagne, and Graham

said there was nothing in it, and called for burgundy. And then two or

three of Graham’s friends joined us—there was an orchestra—and Elsie

and Minnie tried to teach me to dance.”

“Seems innocent enough so far,” commented Nicholas.

“Yes,” admitted Tydvil, “it was not until we turned over the tables and

made a steeplechase course, that it began to get really lively.”

“Bright idea,” smiled Nicholas.

“It was a lot brighter when Graham proposed fox hunting with Elsie and

Minnie as foxes. The men had to go over the jumps, but the foxes could go

round them. Then most of the men joined in, and all the girls wanted to

be foxes, too.” Tydvil paused reflectively. “I think that the trouble

began about then.”

“You certainly had the material for it,” smiled Nicholas.

“You see,” Tydvil explained, “clearing the jumps was not so easy as you’d

think because of the champagne and burgundy, and we were a bit crowded. I

was going strong after my fox, Elsie, when some fellow got ahead of me

and caught her. I came up and explained that the game was for hunters and

not for hounds…” He paused a moment, and went on, “You know, I

thought at the time that sounded funny. He didn’t seem to like it, and

tried to hit me.”

“Well?” queried Nicholas.

“That started it all,” Tydvil explained. “He was standing in front of a

hurdle, and when I slugged him he went over backward, and then his fox, a

dashed little Jezebel, took a swipe at me with a bottle. So Elsie tried

to strangle her, and then everybody, seemed to join in at once. All I

know is, I was trying to get Elsie away when someone threw a handful of

spaghetti in my face, and I pulled a leg off one of the tables and went

after him.”

“By Jove! Tydvil,” laughed Nicholas, “considering your lack of

experience, you displayed excellent technique in an emergency.”

“Not at all,” disclaimed Tydvil modestly. “It was just instinct. That

spaghetti roused my worst feeling, and I wanted to do something worth

while to the man who threw it. He reached the door about two jumps ahead

of me, and then someone switched off the lights. A lot of good that did,”

he laughed, “because they all came out into the street and carried on.”

“And then?” Nicholas asked.

“To tell you the honest truth, I don’t know much about it. I was trying

to knock out the spaghetti man when the police arrived, and I had to

leave my man to attend to them. They had about got me done up. I was on

my back and just managed to let out with both legs and get two of them,

when you arrived.”

“Well,” came Mr. Senior’s verdict, “all I can say is, that for a man of

your limited training, your success has been phenomenal.”

“You are proud of your pupil?” Tydvil laughed.

“Pupil, indeed!” Nicholas replied. “You don’t want any teaching; your

capacity for finding trouble is native genius. But I think you had better

get to bed.”

Tydvil stood up. “I think you’re right. Oh, by, the way. I have an

appointment to meet Archie Graham at his place for a game of poker in a

night or two.”

“Well, try not to bring in the police force again,” was Mr. Senior’s

friendly advice.

“See you tomorrow—no, tonight at dinner,” said Tydvil glancing at the

clock.

Mr. Senior left him to his well-earned rest.