particular encumbrances—which was perfectly true as far as it went—and she had made up her mind that if he were the unscrupulous adventurer which history seemed to have painted, he would not be content to allow his acquaintance with her to drop.
She was not deceived. Helm allowed the next two days to pass, and then Mrs. Bradley received a letter saying that Helm had been in touch with the principal of the school, and had secured a copy of the prospectus, which he would be pleased to talk over with her if she would be kind enough to take tea with him any afternoon that suited her. Mrs. Bradley went that very afternoon, and found him, very spruce, awaiting her.
“I had a feeling that you might come to-day, dear lady,” he said. The sparse sandy hair was parted in the middle and carefully brushed. The grey suit was neat and smartly cut. Knife-edged creases down the trousers and a tie-pin of extraordinary brilliance completed his outward appearance, and the whole effect compelled Mrs. Bradley to smile like an alligator which sees its evening meal within measurable distance of its jaws.
chapter xi: admirer
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i
By some means or other, Helm had certainly contrived to obtain a vast amount of information about the school. He knew the names and qualifications of the whole staff, the acreage of the school playing fields; he was able to sketch for Mrs. Bradley an accurate plan of the ground floor; he described the science laboratory, the art and music-rooms, the garden, the swimming-bath, and was able to indicate the many other amenities of one of the most modern school buildings in existence. Mrs. Bradley supposed that he had obtained his information from the printed prospectus. He had certainly taken great pains to learn it off by heart if that were the case. On the other hand, if he had actually explored the school with the intention of finding out the best method of murdering Miss Ferris…
But why, Mrs. Bradley asked herself, should he have gone to the school rather than found out the address of her lodgings, if he really intended to seek her out and kill her? She fancied that the most likely explanation was that he had considered it improbable that even Miss Sooley would supply him with Miss Ferris’s private address, whereas the school address could not be so readily and plausibly withheld. But then, if Miss Sooley’s evidence could be trusted, he had known the address of the school without having asked her for it. That was a most puzzling point. She began to talk about the dead woman.
“Of course, I never knew her,” she said.
“I did,” responded Helm. It was a piece of information he could not very well refuse to give, owing to the fact that he knew Mrs. Bradley was living with Miss Ferris’s aunt, who would certainly have explained that he, too, had been a boarder there, and had met the niece.
“Oh, yes, of course! The burglars!” said Mrs. Bradley, shuddering realistically in her assumed character of silly old lady.
“Burglars my boot!” said Helm, succinctly. Mrs. Bradley conquered a genuine start of surprise, and said anxiously:
“Was it her imagination, then, poor girl?”
“It wasn’t burglars, anyhow,” said Helm. “Not a thing was taken.”
“Oh, but I understood from Miss Ferris’s aunt that the men became alarmed and fled before they actually entered the house,” Mrs. Bradley said. Mr. Helm made a noise expressive of deep contempt, and suggested that perhaps she would like some tea. Mrs. Bradley, rightly suspicious of the victuals offered by (in her opinion) an unconvicted murderer, refused charmingly and said that she would not take up any more of Mr. Helm’s valuable time. She thanked him for his kindness in procuring details of the school, apologized for having mistaken the meaning of the friend who (she thought) had told her he was the German Master there, and took her leave.
Mr. Helm watched her from the window as she walked down the pebbled path to the gate. There was an unpleasant smirk upon his face. The fact had emerged during conversation that Mrs. Bradley’s life was insured for ten thousand pounds. It was insured in her son’s interest. Mr. Helm’s smirk widened into a cheerful grin. He walked up to the galvanized iron bath and played the devil’s tattoo upon it with his knuckles.
Mrs. Bradley also wore a cheerful grin. Sheltering behind a breakwater, and with the collar of his dark grey waterproof turned up against the bitter December wind, was Noel Wells.
“Here I am, dear child,” said Mrs. Bradley. She cackled harshly and pinched his elbow. Wells looked gloomy. Tom, on the road, drove slowly away.
“I don’t like it, you know,” said Wells. “It’s playing with fire. And I’m not sure it’s honest. In any case, what good am I to you, stuck out here on the beach? He could murder you and bury the body on the other side of the bungalow, and I should be none the wiser.”
Mrs. Bradley took an orange out of her capacious skirt pocket.
“When you see an orange come hurtling through the bungalow window on this side, dear child,” she said, “come at once to my assistance.”
“But you may not always have an orange to throw,” objected Wells. “And what if it’s dark?”
“You’ll hear the crash of glass, dear child.”
“Oh, yes. Of course. But suppose you haven’t an orange?”
“I shall throw the soap out, dear child.”
“The soap?”
“The soap.”
“But what I mean is—”
