Part 7 (2/2)
Margot poured out tea for herself and Ron, and, taking the hot-water-jug on her knee, warmed her numbed hands on it as she ate. For the first five or ten minutes no time was wasted in talking; then, the first pangs of hunger being appeased, the two young people began to compare impressions.
”Do you suppose this is the only sitting-room? Do you suppose we shall have to sit here in the evenings and when it rains? Fancy a long wet day, Ron, s.h.i.+ning on horsehair chairs, with your feet on an oil-clothed floor, gazing at funeral cards! I should go to bed!”
”It wouldn't be a bad idea. Rest cure, you know! If we are very energetic in fine weather, we may be glad of a rest; but there _is_ another room. I caught sight of a sanctuary filled with woollen mats and wax flowers, with a real live piano in the corner. 'The best parlour,' I should say, and the pride of Mrs McNab's heart. I don't know if she will allow you to enter.”
”She will; but she won't have a fire. It has been spring-cleaned, and has a waterfall of green paper in the grate--I can see it all!” Margot declared, with a shudder. She hugged the hot-water-jug still closer, and s.h.i.+vered expressively. ”I shall be obliged to raid the kitchen-- there's nothing else for it!”
”You daren't!”
Margot laughed derisively, but her answer was checked by the sudden appearance of a man's figure pacing slowly past the window. Brother and sister sprang from their chairs, with a simultaneous impulse, rushed across the room, and crouched behind the moreen curtains. ”Is it?” they queried breathlessly of each other--”Mr Elgood? Can it be?”
If it were Mr Elgood, he was certainly not imposing, so far as looks were concerned. A dumpy little man, of forty years or more, dressed in a baggy suit of grey tweed, with carpet slippers on his dumpy little feet. He had evidently started out of the inn to enjoy a smoke in the open air, sublimely unconscious of the scrutiny that was levelled upon him the while. His uncovered head showed a large bald patch, his face was round and of a cherubic serenity.
”I could twist him round like a teetotum!” whispered Margot, holding up a pert first finger and peering complacently.
”He looks terribly commonplace!” sighed Ronald disconsolately. ”Not in the least the sort of man I expected.”
Together they peered and peeped, ducking behind the curtains as the stranger approached, and gazing out again the moment his back was turned. Every now and then he halted in his promenade, stuck his hands inside his baggy pockets, and tilted slowly to and fro on the points of his carpeted toes. Anon he took his pipe from his mouth, and blew out big whiffs of smoke, glancing around the while with an expression of beatific contentment. The whole appearance of the man was an embodiment of the holiday spirit, the unrestrained enjoyment of one who has escaped from work, and sees before him a pageant of golden idle hours. Margot and Ronald smiled in sympathy even as they looked. He was a plain little man, a fat little man, a middle-aged little man, but they recognised in him the spirit of abiding youth, and recognising, felt their hearts warm towards him.
”He is nice, Ron, after all! I like him!”
”So do I. A capital chap. But he can't possibly be Elgood of the _Loadstar_.”
Even as he spoke the last word the door was thrown suddenly open, and Mrs McNab entered, carrying a plate of hot scones. She stopped short to stare in surprise, while the two new arrivals hurried back to the table, obviously discomposed at being discovered playing the part of Peeping Tom.
Seated once more before the tea-tray, Margot made an effort at composure; decided that honesty was the best policy, and said in her most charming manner--
”We were looking at the gentleman who is walking up and down! Another of your guests, I suppose? It is interesting to see people who are staying in the same house.”
Mrs McNab planted the scones in the centre of the table, and gathered together the soiled plates with a wooden stolidity. To all appearances she might not have heard a word that had been said. Margot seized the hot-water-jug, and s.h.i.+vered ostentatiously, trusting to pity to prevail where guile had failed; and sure enough the pale blue eye turned on her like a flash of steel.
”What's ailing ye with the water-jug?”
”I'm ailing myself!” returned Margot meekly. ”So cold! I can't get warm. Tired out after the long journey.”
She tried her best to look delicate and fragile, but the healthy bloom on her cheeks contradicted her words, and the landlady's reply showed no softening of heart.
”Cramped, more like! Better go ye're ways for a guid sharp trot, to bring the blood back to your veins. Ye'll be in time for the afternoon's post; but unless ye're expecting news of your own, ye needna fash for the rest. Mr Elgood's gane to fetch them.”
”Mr Elgood?” Information had come at last, and in the most unexpected fas.h.i.+on. ”The gentleman we have been watching?”
The thin lips lifted with a suspicion of scorn.
”Oh, him! That's just the brither. The real Mr Elgood's away till the village. You pa.s.sed it on the road.”
She disappeared into the ”lobby,” and brother and sister nodded at each other solemnly, the while they munched the hot b.u.t.tered scones.
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