Chapter 13

John Lenley, after a brief visit to his house, where, behind a locked door, he packed away carefully a small cardboard box, had gone to town to see a friend of the family.

Mary came home to an empty flat. Her head was aching, but that was as nothing to the little nagging pain at her heart. The little supper was a weariness to prepare — almost impossible to dispose of.

She had eaten nothing since breakfast, she remembered, and if she had failed to recall the fact, the queer and sickly sensation of faintness which had come over her as she was mounting the stone steps of Malpas Mansions was an unpleasant reminder of her abstinence.

She forced herself to eat, and was brewing her second cup of tea when she heard a key turn in the lock and John Lenley came in. His face was as black as thunder, but she had ceased to wonder what drove Johnny into those all too frequent tempers of his. Nor was there need to ask, for he volunteered the cause of his anger.

“I went out to the Hamptons’ to tea,” he said, as he sat down at the table with a disparaging glance at its meagre contents. “They treated me as though I were a leper — and those swine have been entertained at Lenley Court times without number!”

She was shocked at the news, for she had always regarded the Hamptons as the greatest friends of her father.

“But surely, Johnny, they didn’t — they weren’t horrible because of our — I mean because we have no money?”

He growled something at this.

“That was at the back of it,” he said at last. “But I suspect another cause.”

And then the reason flashed on her, and her heart thumped painfully.

“It was not because of the Darnleigh pearls, Johnny?” she faltered.

He looked round at her quickly.

“Why do you ask that? — Yes, it was something about that old fool’s jewellery. They didn’t say so directly, but they hinted as much.”

She felt her lower lip trembling and bit on it to gain control.

“There is nothing in that suggestion, is there, Johnny?” It did not sound like her voice — it was a sound that was coming from far away — a strange voice suggesting stranger things.

“I don’t know what you mean!” he answered gruffly, but he did not look at her.

The room spun round before her eyes, and she had to grasp the table for support.

“My God! You don’t think I am a thief, do you?” she heard him say.

Mary Lenley steadied herself.

“Look at me, Johnny!” Their eyes met. “You know nothing about those pearls?”

Again his eyes wandered. “I only know they’re lost! What in hell do you expect me to say?” He almost shouted in a sudden excess of weak anger. “How dare you, Mary…cross-examine me as though I were a thief! This comes from knowing cads like Wembury…!”

“Did you steal Lady Darnleigh’s pearls?”

The tablecloth was no whiter than her face. Her lips were bloodless. He made one effort to meet her eyes again, and failed.

“I—” he began.

Then came a knock at the door. Brother and sister looked at on