The Tall House Mystery. Dorothy Fielding

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СКАЧАТЬ affections have a way of circling round," the mother, too, spoke a trifle dryly. There was a short silence.

      "As for your own conduct," she went on frankly, "it's splendid. But then, you're a born realist."

      "What's that?" he asked.

      "I mean by that, a person who goes for the substance and not for the shadow. Winnie is born to go for shadows. You have the good sense and cleverness to know that she's only making a fuss over you in order to tease poor Basil Haliburton."

      Gilmour liked being thought clever. "Is that it?" he asked. He looked genuinely relieved—and was.

      "It makes it damned awkward for me sometimes," he said honestly. "I wish she wouldn't!"

      For a second the mother's eyes flashed. And Mrs. Pratt's eyes could shoot fire on occasions, he saw to his surprise.

      "You're the first man who has ever complained about it," she said, and he grinned at once placatingly and ruefully.

      "I don't suppose I would either, but for—" He hesitated. "I'm giving you confidence for confidence, Mrs. Pratt. There's a certain girl whom I hope very much will some day be my wife. I want her to come up to The Tall House for a couple of days—"

      "That's just what I told Winnie!" she said almost jubilantly. "I felt sure there was something like that. I do congratulate you, Mr. Gilmour. What's her name?"

      "Alfreda Longstaff. But it's not settled—unfortunately. It's only a hope," he put in hastily.

      "Do have her up here," she begged. "I'll chaperone her with pleasure. But now to come back to my first, my only grievance," she smiled at him now with genuine kindliness, "please don't try to wreck your friend's life—for if he were really to fall in love with my daughter, it would be such a pity!"

      "It's too late to say that," Gilmour replied gravely. "He is deeply in love with her."

      "He'll have to get over it," she said bruskly.

      "I still don't see why he should have to." Gilmour's face was that of a man who would not easily give up his chosen path. "I don't in the least see why he should."

      There was no mistaking the change in Mrs. Pratt's look. For a second she stood pressing her lips together, then she said slowly:

      "Does Mr. Haliburton strike you as a man of unlimited patience? He doesn't me."

      "He's very good-natured..." he began vaguely. Gilmour hardly knew Haliburton.

      "He has that reputation," Mrs. Pratt threw in, "but—well—I doubt his standing much nonsense. He's not been accustomed to it. Besides, why should he? And if he let Winnie go—" Her face seemed to grow pinched at the mere words. "No, listen!" she said imperiously, "I'll be quite frank. I'm living on my capital. I was a wealthy girl myself, and married a man who was believed to be well off. So he was—so we both were for a time. But we were both extravagant, and when he died I found that even his insurance had been mortgaged. I was left to struggle along with Winnie as best I could, for we neither of us had any relations. Bit by bit my capital has been eaten into, until—well, I can't keep the flag flying much longer. Now Basil Haliburton at the moment would settle half the world on Winnie. And she loves him. In reality." The last two words came defiantly. "Anything else is just play. I want the affair settled when we leave here. And so it will be if you head off your friend."

      "But he's quite well to do," Gilmour urged.

      "Not as Mr. Haliburton is!" was the unanswerable reply. "Let alone as well off as Basil will be when his grandfather dies."

      "I know he has big expectations," Gilmour agreed, "but I assure you that Ingram's means—"

      "Are not the kind that I want for Winnie," snapped Mrs. Pratt.

      "But perhaps the kind that she wants for herself," came the reply with a smile that Mrs. Pratt called "positively fiendish" in its impudence.

      "It's no good, Mrs. Pratt. I'm backing my friend to win."

      There was a moment's silence.

      "Do you suppose I've endured what I have to be thwarted now—when the struggle is nearly over?" Her tone startled him by its intensity. He saw that he had gone too far.

      "Look here, Mrs. Pratt," he spoke in a more conciliatory tone, "give Ingram a trial. You talk as though he were a pauper. He's anything but."

      Again came that snap of her fingers at her side, and suddenly Gilmour guessed—rightly—that Mrs. Pratt had borrowed money on the strength of her daughter's coming engagement to Haliburton. But she only gave him a rather fierce look and moved away. Gilmour looked after her ruefully. He very much disliked unpleasantness.

      "Mrs. Pratt seemed peeved with me—just like you," he said under his breath to Moy.

      "I don't wonder. You're a sort of involuntary dog-in-the-manger. And she looks a good hater."

      "Well, if my corpse is found some fine day lying in the tool shed, you'll know where to look," and Gilmour broke off to watch with open pleasure Ingram capture Miss Pratt and lead her off to the house under the plea of some books having come from Hatchett's and wanting her help to choose a couple for his sister's children.

      Ingram led the way into the library which had been handed over to him for his exclusive use all the more absolutely in that no one else wanted it. He was the only member of the five who had to continue his work at The Tall House itself, and it evidently was work that admitted of no putting off. During the day and early evening he might—and did—dance attendance on Winnie Pratt, but from ten onwards every night he shut himself into the library and let nothing disturb him. Sometimes it was long past midnight when he went up to his rooms. No one at the house got up early. Moy talked as though he let the milkman in on his way to his office in Lincoln's Inn, but a quarter to ten was the earliest that ever saw him running down the steps to his little car. At half-past nine Gilmour would have started for the tube. Half-past ten saw Haliburton off the premises. Moy sometimes thought that it was because Ingram could be with Winnie so many hours of the day, that he left suppers and the evenings to Haliburton. Certainly as far as the two men were concerned, the balance seemed only too even. Whichever one was with her appeared to be the favored man.

      In the library she carefully selected the books whose bindings pleased her the best, and then stayed on listening to Ingram's eager words about the popular book he was planning on the arithmetical aspect of the universe. He was a charming talker and, as she listened, as she watched his rapt eyes, something of the fascination which he could exert over her came back again. No one but Ingram ever talked to Winnie as though she had a brain. He appealed to it, and Winnie's intelligence struggled forward to meet the appeal. Perhaps, too, something was due to Gilmour's flat refusal to be led on her string. At any rate, for the time being, Ingram regained something of his old ascendency over her. There had been a week or two when he had entirely eclipsed Haliburton.

      That young man now strolled in and joined in the chat. He seemed genuinely interested in Ingram's talk and gave a little sigh when Winnie drifted out again in answer to Mrs. Pratt's urgent reminder that she and her daughter were due at a friend's cocktail party.

      When she was gone Haliburton would have lingered, but Ingram made it clear that he wanted to write a few pages before the post left. As a rule he let no one inside his writing-room. By sheer personality he had established a sort of frozen line at the door СКАЧАТЬ