Part 34 (2/2)
”Yer reely mean it?” she asked eagerly. ”Yer reely think I'll look orl right in it? 'Course it do seem a bit funny like with this 'ere frock, but I got a green velveteen wot belonged to Mrs. Oldbury's niece. It won't 'alf go with that.”
”It won't indeed,” I agreed heartily. Then, looking up from my eggs and bacon, I added: ”By the way, Gertie, I've never thanked you for your letter. I had no idea you could, write so well.”
”Go on!” said Gertie doubtfully; ”you're gettin' at me now.”
”No, I'm not,” I answered. ”It was a very nice letter. It said just what you wanted to say and nothing more. That's the whole art of good letter-writing.” Then a sudden idea struck me. ”Look here, Gertie,” I went on, ”will you undertake a little job for me if I explain it to you?”
She nodded. ”Oo--rather. I'd do any think for you.”
”Well, it's something I may want you to do for me after I've left.”
Her face fell. ”You ain't goin' away from 'ere--not for good?”
”Not entirely for good,” I said. ”I hope to do a certain amount of harm to at least one person before I come back.” I paused. ”It's just possible,” I continued, ”that after I've gone somebody may come to the house and ask questions about me--how I spent my time while I was here, and that sort of thing. If they should happen to ask you, I want you to tell them that I used to stay in bed most of the day and go to the theatre in the evening. Do you mind telling a lie for me?”
Gertie looked at me in obvious amazement. ”I _don't_ think,” she observed. ”Wotjer taike me for--a Sunday-school teacher?”
”No, Gertie,” I said gravely; ”no girl with your taste in hats could possibly be a Sunday-school teacher.” Then pus.h.i.+ng away my plate and lighting a cigarette, I added: ”I'll leave you a stamped addressed envelope and a telegraph form. You can send me the wire first to say if any one has called, and then write me a line afterwards by post telling me what they were like and what they said.”
”I can do that orl right,” she answered eagerly. ”If they talks to Mrs. Oldbury I'll listen at the keyhole.”
I nodded. ”It's a practice that the best moralists condemn,” I said, ”but after all, the recording angel does it.” Then getting up from the table, I added: ”You might tell Mrs. Oldbury I should like to see her.”
When that good lady arrived I acquainted her with the fact that I intended to leave her house in about two hours' time. Any resentment which she might have felt over this slightly abrupt departure was promptly smoothed away by my offer to take on the rooms for at least another fortnight. I did this partly with the object of leaving a pleasant impression behind me, and partly because I had a vague idea that it might come in handy to have some sort of headquarters in London where I was known and recognized as Mr. James Nicholson.
Having settled up this piece of business I sat down and wrote to McMurtrie. It was a task which required a certain amount of care and delicacy, but after two trial essays I succeeded in turning out the following letter, which seemed to me about to meet the situation.
”DEAR DR. McMURTRIE:
”As you have probably heard, I received your letter yesterday, and I am making arrangements to go down to Tilbury tomorrow by the 11.45.
”Of course in a way I am sorry to leave London--it's extraordinary what a capacity for pleasure a prolonged residence in the country gives one--but at the same time I quite agree with you that business must come first.
”I shall start work directly I get down, and if all the things I asked for in my list have been provided, I don't think it will be long before I have some satisfactory news for you. Unless I see you or hear from you before then I will write to the Hotel Russell directly there is anything definite to communicate.
”Meanwhile please give my kind regards to your amiable friend and colleague, and also remember me to his charming daughter.
”Believe me,
”Yours sincerely,
”JAMES NICHOLSON.”
With its combined touch of seriousness and flippancy, this appeared to me exactly the sort of letter that McMurtrie would expect me to write.
I couldn't resist putting in the bit about his ”amiable” friend, for the recollection of Savaroff's manner towards me still rankled gently in my memory. Besides I had a notion it would rather amuse McMurtrie, whose more artistic mind must have been frequently distressed by his colleague's bl.u.s.tering surliness.
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