the stage. She was surprised to find the Guild's cheque book, pass book and paying-in book. Two letters were addressed from Hilldrop Crescent and dated that day.
_Dear Miss May,_ said the first.
_Illness of a near relative has called me to America on only a few hours' notice, so I must ask you to bring my resignation as treasurer before the meeting today, so that a new treasurer can be elected at once._
She frowned. The writing was not Belle's. She looked at the foot.
_Belle Elmore, p.p. H.H.C._
Miss May resumed,
_You will appreciate my haste when I tell you that I have not been to bed all night packing, and getting ready to go. I hope I shall see you again a few months later, but cannot spare a moment to call on you before I go. I wish you everything nice till I return to London again. Now, good-bye, with love, hastily._
'Well, really!' complained Miss May.
The other letter was longer, addressed to the Committee-'Dear Friends'-explaining the sudden flight, submitting Belle's resignation, urging the rules be suspended for election of another treasurer that very day, sending 'my pals' her loving wishes. It was in the same handwriting as the other. Miss May was cross. Everyone liked the ebullient Belle. Anyone merited sympathy over a sick relative. But suddenly changing the treasurer meant enormous unnecessary fuss.
Crippen had two mornings' work in one at Aural Remedies. Eardrops must be made up and packed in their pasteboard cases. The January accounts needed sending to Eddie Marr-the New York advertising man who put up Aural Remedies' money. He longed to see Ethel but dared not reach Albion House before the Music Hall Ladies' Guild dispersed at about four. He strolled down Oxford Street to Attenborough's, with the three brass balls outside. He pawned seven diamond rings, a pair of diamond earrings and a diamond brooch, taking the Ј195 in banknotes. He signed the contract note readily. He was well known in the pawnshop. He often brought Belle's jewellery for repair.
It was only three-thirty. He turned the opposite way to Albion House, towards Shaftesbury Avenue. He was surprised to find Mrs Martinetti in, not at the meeting.
'Well, you're a nice one,' she greeted him at the door. 'Belle gone to America, and you didn't let us know anything about it. Melinda phoned from the Guild. I couldn't leave Paul in bed, though he's much better.'
Crippen came into the flat, which was small, mahogany-panelled and embellished with framed photographs of other theatricals, all ebulliently and lovingly autographed. 'Why didn't you send us a wire?' She was more curious than scolding. 'I would have liked to go to the station, and bring some flowers.'
'There wasn't time. The cable came late last night. I had to look out a lot of papers-legal and family papers. The rest of the night we were busy packing.'
She said with resignation, but unable to suppress annoyance, 'Packing and crying, I suppose?'
'We have got past that,' he said vaguely.
'Did she take all her clothes with her?'
'One basket.'
Clara was amazed. 'But that wouldn't be nearly enough, to go all that way.'
'She can buy something over there.'
Clara stood holding the rounded back of a chair. Crippen was edging towards the door. The doctor was always busy. 'Belle's sure to send me a postcard from the ship,' she said more agreeably. 'Or she'll write when she gets to New York.'
'She doesn't touch New York. No, she goes straight on to California.'
'Whereabouts? To your son?'
'Around Los Angeles.' He made a broadly embracing gesture. 'Up in the hills. Right up in the mountains.'
Clara concentrated perplexity and irritation into a small sigh. 'I suppose you won't be wanting tickets for the Benevolent Fund Ball now? It's the twentieth, Sunday fortnight. At the Criterion, as usual.'
'I'll take a couple anyway,' he said generously.
She picked up a book of tickets from the cloth-draped mantelpiece. 'They're half a guinea each.'
He opened his wallet, taking care she did not see the pawnbroker's Ј5 notes. 'Perhaps somebody else would like to go,' he suggested absently.
He waited until five before reappearing at the Yale Tooth Specialists. Miss Curnow had gone home. Ethel was alone with two men in office suits, who were peering earnestly at the magazines while waiting for Dr Rylance. She arched her eyebrows. 'She's gone?'
'When I got home last night, she'd vanished.'
'She'll come back.'
'I don't think so.'
Ethel's eyes flicked towards the patients 'What about her luggage?'
'I suppose she took enough.' Why do women ask so closely about trifles like luggage? he wondered. He added in a low voice, 'She left a note saying I must do what I could to cover up the scandal.'
They looked at each other deeply for some seconds. All they longed for had unexpectedly, unbelievably happened. Remembering his note, she asked, 'Did you want to go somewhere this evening? Frascati's?'
'Perhaps I'd better get home this evening. There may be a wireless from the ship.'
'There must be a lot to clear up.' He nodded. 'Can I come and help?'
'Wait till Monday. We can go to the theatre then. It'll cheer me up.' He placed his hand upon hers by the typewriter, clasped it fiercely and left.
By Saturday, all was done. Sunday was Crippen's bath day. He closed the window, lit the geyser and lay in the hot water, gazing through the steam into the bright morning sunshine, deliciously
When Crippen did call upon Eliot, a couple of months had passed. Towards two o'clock on the afternoon of Saturday, April 2, he appeared at the People's surgery-which everyone in Holloway called 'The Free Medicine Shop.' Nancy had a coat over her blue-and-white striped nurse's uniform, specially made by Liberty's in Regent Street. She was going with Eliot to the Brecknock Dining Rooms, which served beefsteak pudding, cheese and tea on marble- topped tables for sixpence.
Their usual patients were augmented that morning by venturesome newcomers from the most unfortunate of British classes, the genteel lowest of the lower-middle, who fiercely upheld their distinction from the workmen. They could read. Friday's _Daily Mail_ had given a whole page to the surgery, with an inspiring photograph of Nancy-the young and beautiful daughter of a New York millionaire, sleeps rolled up to bandage and poultice the blemishes of the poor, called throughout Holloway 'The Angel from America.' Eliot had directed, 'Cut it out and send it to your father. Let him enjoy his philanthropy by proxy.'
Eliot greeted Crippen with a started look. The usual colourful tie was replaced by a black one, a broad band of black crepe ringed the sleeve of his light grey overcoat, his expression was of strained solemnity. He removed his bowler. 'I have bad news. I thought you would care to know, as you were acquainted, and live so near. Belle is dead.'
'I'm so sorry.' Eliot used his professional condoling voice. 'When did it happen?'
'The Wednesday before Easter. March 23.'
'I'm sorry, too Dr Crippen,' said Nancy 'When was the funeral?'
'Oh, Belle didn't die here' Crippen came into the shop, which reeked of the crowd that had packed its benches since seven in the morning. 'She died in California. She suddenly had to visit a sick relative, she took a chill on the boat going across, and never shook it off. I was shocked at a letter from her relations, saying she was very ill. Then I had one from Belle herself, telling me not to worry, she wasn't so bad as people said. I didn't know what to think. My head was full of bees,' he complained pathetically.
'Next thing, I had a cable saying poor Belle was dangerously ill with double broncho-pneumonia. I had to consider going over right away. But of course, it's more difficult for me to leave London overnight like she did,' he sighed. 'I sat at home, fearing every minute for another cable saying she was gone. Sure enough, that came the following day.'
