Death in Silhouette. John Russell Fearn

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СКАЧАТЬ “Well then, it’s up to you.”

      Pat said: “I’ll invite Madge Banning for one. She’s my best friend and relief cashier at the restaurant. And there’s Betty Andrews. She used to be at Roseway with me. Haven’t seen her for months. I want her and Madge Banning to be my bridesmaids—they’d love a celebration.”

      “They shall have it. I’ll get some wine and we—”

      “No wine, Dad,” Pat said seriously. “Please!”

      “A celebration without wine, girl? What’s the world coming to?”

      “Not after what happened to Keith tonight. Please—no wine. Let’s have non-intoxicants—ginger beer, lemonade, or something like that. Suppose Keith—or even Madge or Betty—passed out? They might. Three on our hands would be awful. Mr. Robinson would recite the entire Book of Psalms to us!”

      “She’s right, Harry,” Mrs. Taylor insisted. “It’s her party, after all. We’ve got to consider her feelings.”

      Mr. Taylor grinned. “And we will, my love. All right then—lemonade.… Now, anybody else you want to come?”

      Pat considered and then gave a little smile. “Yes just one person. Miss Black, my old headmistress. She has friends in Redford she can stay with.”

      “Oh?” Mr. Taylor looked dubious. “Miss Black? I can’t see how your former headmistress can bring joy to the proceedings. More likely to prove a wet blanket.”

      “Not Miss Black,” Pat answered, smiling. “There wasn’t a girl in the college who didn’t like her—at the time I was there—and I don’t think she’s changed much. I’d love her to come. She’ll be highly interested in my getting married.”

      “Langhorn, in Sussex, is a good fifty miles from here,” Mr. Taylor pointed out. “Do you think she’d—”

      “Don’t start raking up obstacles, Dad! She’s got a little Austin Seven—and enough basic for the trip, I hope.”

      “How do you know she’s got an Austin Seven?”

      “Oh, I write to her now and again,” Pat said airily. “You know, problems I can’t solve myself and which I—” Pat hesitated—“and which I don’t want to bother you or Mum with.”

      “I like that!” her mother exclaimed. “The child’s got a second mother pushed away and we never guessed.…” Then she laughed. “All right, Pat, you ask her. As I remember her she will be an asset to any party—even if only to put old Ambrose where he belongs. By the way, doesn’t she dabble in crime study or something?”

      “It’s her hobby,” Pat said, and she laughed. “But surely that hasn’t anything to do with it?”

      “Well, I don’t think there is a thing in my shady past which will interest the lady,” Mr. Taylor commented, grinning. “And anyway, a headmistress who is a criminologist sounds crazy to me. Dabbler, I suppose.”

      “A dabbler who’s solved four cases which the police could not,” Pat stated proudly. “That’s why I keep on writing to her—apart from the personal problems I raise.”

      Her father stared at her. “What on earth are you talking about?”

      “Crime, of course. It’s everywhere these days—in books, magazines, films, and real life. I’m interested in it—and there is no doubt that Greg is. I often wonder if anybody will ever commit the perfect crime.…”

      Mrs. Taylor shook her head. “What next?” she sighed. “Even supposing somebody did, it would be so perfect nobody would know anything about it.… Now get on with your tea dear, then maybe you’d better write Miss Black and Betty and see what they have to say.”

      * * * *

      Keith Robinson opened an eye. It closed again before the naked brilliance of electric light. He reopened it more slowly and the other eye with it. He was looking at a silhouette of his father against the light. Head and shoulders with the face shadowed. He was reading something lying on his upthrust bony knees.… A Bible. Keith’s eyes strayed beyond his father to the clock on the mantelshelf. It said eleven. There was dull pain at the back of his head and a vile taste in his mouth.

      “For the love of Mike, what happened?” he whispered sitting up and rubbing his face.

      His father laid aside the Bible on the table and sat considering him.

      “This is what you get for becoming engaged to a girl who loves this world’s pleasures,” he said bitterly. “You drank some wine, and it proved too much for you.”

      Keith pressed finger and thumb to his eyes. “The wine.… Of course! And have I got a hangover! I—I passed out, then?”

      “You passed out.” Long pause. “Keith, we’ve got to talk this thing over. You’re planning to marry a girl who drinks and I know her father does. I cannot let you throw yourself away on a girl who’s upbringing is—”

      “Just a minute! There’s nothing the matter with Pat!” Keith lowered his hand and his handsome face was decidedly set. Anger kindled his grey eyes. “One drink doesn’t matter. It’s I who am the fool not to have been able to stand it. And you can’t tell me what to do, Dad. We’ve never hit it off together particularly well, and parting is about the best thing that could happen for both of us.”

      “Have you no gratitude, boy?” Ambrose Robinson whispered.

      “Gratitude! For what?”

      “Have I not brought you up? Have I not guarded you? Have I not—”

      Keith set his feet on the floor and sat upright. “Listen, Dad, I’ve spent all my life, when at home, listening to your everlasting psalm-singing about the evils of the world and the baseness of everybody except yourself. In any case, even if I had not decided to marry Pat, I would have walked out on you. You don’t see as much of life as I do. You’re cooped up in this little ironmongery shop, passing judgment on your customers and spending the rest of your time reading Scripture. That isn’t religion; it’s self-centred bigotry. Down at the station I see folk as they are, and as I mean my own children to be, if I have any. All this may sound callous but—I’m sick of you!”

      “‘When the wicked spring as the grass it is they who shall be destroyed for ever.…’”

      “Oh—rats!” Keith snorted, and got to his feet. “I won’t listen to such stuff any longer. Where’s Pat gone?”

      “I told her to leave.”

      “You told her to! By what right?”

      Ambrose Robinson’s cadaverous face turned. “By the right of a father, Keith. Listen to me, boy. Don’t you realize what you are doing? You are marrying a woman whose first thought upon becoming engaged was to make you insensible with drink! If you must marry—and I had hoped to God it would never come to it—at least choose one who doesn’t touch drink.”

      “It was Mr. Taylor’s idea,” Keith said sourly. “And even if I did pass out, it was only a single glass. Don’t start magnifying things. I’m marrying to get out of this beastly circumscribed СКАЧАТЬ