The Old Vengeful

'So?'

'It's absurd—it makes no sense.'

'It makes sense to someone, Miss Loftus.' He echoed Mitchell's words from the previous evening. 'That's why we need your help, you see.'

'My help?' Elizabeth was so grateful he'd dropped the subject of money that she didn't frown.

'You're the expert on his book—you did all his typing, Mitchell tells me.'

'Yes—no . . .' Caution re-asserted itself. 'I only typed the chapters when they were complete, he never discussed them with me or told me what he was doing. And he kept most of his notes in his head, it seemed to me.'

Audley nodded. 'But he was re-writing one particular chapter, I gather?'

They were back to the absurdity. 'Yes, but that was to do with Number Seven—the old Vengeful—' She didn't want to dummy3

discourage him, but it was no good pretending to knowledge she didn't possess '—and I really don't know why, or what.'

Another nod. 'Perhaps not. But if we do come up with anything new, then you'll be able to advise Mitchell here. You can be his technical adviser, in effect.'

She looked at Paul Mitchell. She could hardly refuse to help him now, Audley himself had made sure of that. And even apart from that moral obligation there was her money to be considered—they had made that her prize-money, and prize-money had to be earned in battle.

And that left her no choice at all.

'Very well, Mr Audley.' As she came to her no-choice decision it occurred to her that she'd been manoeuvred into this surrender by Paul Mitchell and Mr Aske and Mr Bannen just as surely as Endymion and the Pomone and the Tenedos had brought Decatur's President within range of the Majestic's seventy-four guns. But Decatur had struck his flag then without loss of honour, so she could do the same.

Paul Mitchell smiled at her. 'It'll take you out of circulation too, Elizabeth. And that's probably just as well at the moment.'

She didn't know quite what to make of that, because she knew she couldn't trust him. But it sounded well- meant, and she wanted to believe that it was.

'I don't see how I can help you, Mr Audley. But if it really is Number Seven . . .'

dummy3

'Ah . . .how we've been lucky there.' Audley had brightened with her surrender. 'Owing to Mitchell's . . . exuberance ...

we cannot put any questions to your burglars. But before your arrival on the scene they had collected all they wanted to steal, it seems. So at least we know what they wanted.'

Paul Mitchell nodded at her. 'Number Seven, Elizabeth.'

'The old Vengeful, Miss Loftus,' said Audley.

V

'PUT ON YOUR seat-belt,' said Paul. 'Aske keeps telling me that I must wear it at all times. It's getting to be a habit.'

The belt clicked, and she had better keep her wits about her, snapped the sound of it. 'And now?'

'And now. . .' his foot went down on the accelerator '. . .and now . . . tell me about Number Seven, Elizabeth.'

'Where are we going?'

'Ah . . . you must have made quite an impression on David, because he's doing you a great honour—you should be pleased . . . and reassured—you're going to Steeple Horley.'

'Steeple Horley?'

'The old house— his house . . . You'll like his wife—Faith is a great lady in her way—' he snorted as he changed gear '—to be married to David Audley she has to be a great lady.'

Great lady? ' His wife?' Elizabeth looked down at her creased dummy3

and shapeless dress. It wasn't even very clean, either: there was something suspiciously like a stain right in the middle of it—she had last worn this dress when she'd helped the Vicar's wife with her meals-on-wheels for the old people of the parish. It was certainly not what she would have chosen to wear for a great lady. 'Oh lord!'

'Don't worry!' He observed her consternation. 'I don't mean

'grande dame', I mean she's sympathetic. And she's not a lot older than me—than you too, Elizabeth. Like they say, he married a much younger woman . . . and they live in this marvellous rambling old house under the downs —we haven't got far to go.'

Elizabeth was still appalled. Apart from the dress there was her face and hair, which were irreparable. There was probably a mirror on the other side of the car's sun-visor, but she couldn't bring herself to look in it. Everything was bad enough as it was, but to have to meet another woman was downright unfair. She hunched herself up at the thought of it.