If other matters had not been teeming in Penelope’s mind she might have viewed with some surprise the furnishings of the room to which she was ushered. The dingy aspect of the outside of the house had promised nothing of this kind. It might have been the boudoir of some princess. Luxurious carpets, chaste and delicate silken hangings, a bed and chairs made by artists of long ago and matching the small bookcase and writing-desk that seemed designed for the niches into which they fitted, and two or three dainty water colours that in themselves must have cost a small fortune, completed a room that would have sent a professional decorator into ecstasy. On that small room money and thought had been lavished.
“You see it’s a kind of sitting-room as well as a bedroom?” explained Sophie. “I have laid out some things for you on the bed. I had only a general idea of your size but I think they will fit. Would you like me to help you try them on?”
“Oh, no, no. Not now,” said Penelope. She caught the other by the arm. “Where is this place, Mrs. Lengholm?”
Sophie shook her head. “I’m to do anything for you except answer questions, miss.”
“I know I’m somewhere on the Kent or Sussex coast,” said the girl. “The signposts coming down told me that.”
Sophie maintained an inflexible silence. Penelope considered her for a moment.
“Perhaps you don’t know that I have been brought down here by force,” she ventured. “If you could post a letter for me—to let my friends know. I could make it worth your while—”
A slow ironic smile broke over the elder woman’s face. Penelope saw what the answer must be before she spoke. “Didn’t you hear what Mr. Hughes said? You can’t bribe me.” She moved towards the door. “If you want anything more, will you please ring.”
Down in one of the morning rooms Larry Hughes smoked a thoughtful cigarette and nursed his right knee between his hands. He straightened up as Sophie entered soft footed.
“Well,” he demanded, “everything all right?”
“She offered me money to post a letter.”
“Didn’t you take it?” he replied carelessly. “More fool you.”
He did not even look at her, and the glowering eyes of the woman were lost to him. “What are you going to do with her?” she asked.
He flicked the ash from his cigarette, and turned curiously to her. “You’re growing inquisitive in your old age, Sophie,” he said with a slight rising inflection in his voice. “All you’ve got to do is to look after her while I tell you.”
“There’s some things I won’t do, Larry Hughes,” she retorted steadily.
He got to his feet and with darkened face took a step towards her. “What’s that you say, woman? Don’t I pay you enough?”
She met his eyes stubbornly. “The pay’s all right. I’m not complaining of that. You’ve always done generously by me in that way. And I’ve been useful to you. I may be a crook, but I’m not that sort of woman.”
“What’s biting you?” he asked threateningly. “Do you know where you would be in a couple of days if I passed the word? In gaol with your husband and seven or ten years staring you in the face. Tread on the soft pedal, Sophie—and don’t Larry Hughes me. Sir, from you, and don’t you forget it.”
She placed her hands on her hips. “I know. All the same I won’t be dragged into this kind of dirtiness.”
His frown faded. Comprehension showed in his face. “I see,” he smiled. “I didn’t know that you were that kind of puritan. You can relieve yourself of any scruples. I intend to marry the lady.”
“If that’s the case—” She hesitated in doubt.
“Oh, it’s all true enough,” he insisted. “She knows too much for my health. If ever I go down, Sophie, it’s going to be bad for a lot of us. So I’m going to shut her mouth by marrying her. I think I’d have married her anyway. Now you’ve got the strength of the whole thing, Sophie.”
He resumed the attitude he had held on her entrance, and accepting this as a dismissal she withdrew. Larry grinned to himself with some cynicism over this touch of human nature. Here was old Sophie Lengholm, daughter of criminal parents, married to a man even now in prison for an attack on a police officer that was only just short of murder, and herself a not inconsiderable ally in all sorts of wickedness for years, turning squeamish over what she thought was an affair of morals. Women were queer cattle. Well, anyway, she could be relied upon now that he had put matters straight for her. Quite apart from all considerations of money she would risk too much if she played any monkey business with him. He trusted none over whom he could not crack a whip.
Meantime, alone in her room Penelope was trying to decide upon some course of action. Her head ached with the effort to see some solution. She had no doubt that Larry Hughes had meant what he said when he declared his intention to marry her. The very audacity by which he had trapped her showed that there was no length to which he was not prepared to go. She was afraid, but she told herself that she must not let her faculties become paralysed. He could not force her to marry him. Such things were not done these days. At all costs she must try to get some word to London. The construction that would be put upon her absence was appallingly plain to her. But how? Her baffled mind beat wildly about the problem.
Gradually she became more collected. If an opportunity was to come for a way out she must look for it. She wondered if it would be possible to throw Larry off his guard. Could he be duped by an apparent acceptance of the situation on her part until such time as she found an avenue of
