Grey Mask

CHAPTER XXXIX

Archie Millar had been spending the most horrible afternoon of his life. He went first to Harridge’s, where he questioned the commissionaire without adding anything to what Mrs. Foster had already told him. He then rang up The Luxe, only to discover that Charles Moray was not in the hotel.

He found Miss Silver’s office closed, and again rang up The Luxe. Still no Charles.

After this he rushed into Sauterelle’s and demanded Margaret Langton. Miss Langton had taken a selection of hats to a customer on the other side of London. On the plea of very urgent family affairs Archie extracted the customer’s address and proceeded there. Margaret had left ten minutes before.

He rang up The Luxe again from a public call-office and returned to Sauterelle’s. Margaret had just come in. He had to wait whilst she was fetched. She found a very distracted young man.

“Margaret, she’s gone!”

Margaret did not need to ask who. A most sickening feeling of fear drove the faint colour from her cheeks.

“What has happened.”

“She’s disappeared. Ernestine had no business to leave her.” He poured out the commissionaire’s story. “I’m nearly off my head. Charles told me about the bus. They’ve carried her off. Heaven knows why she went with him, but she’s such a darlin’ little innocent, she’d never think- Margaret, what are we to do?”

“You must go to the police.” Her voice was quite steady.

“Charles said-Look here, I’ll have another shot at Miss Silver first.”

“I’ve heard of her. But I don’t see-”

“Charles was seein’ her. She knows all about everythin’. He told me last night. I wish to heaven I could get hold of Charles. It’s past five-he may have come in. I’ll go and have another shot.”

“Wait,” said Margaret. “Wait a minute. I-there’s something I can do. I get off at six. There’s someone I can go and see. I don’t know that it’s much good, but-it might be. Where shall I find you?”

“Better telephone to Ernestine. I’ll ring up at intervals and find out if there’s any message. I can’t tell where I’ll be.”

He went off once again, tried to get Charles, and, failing, asked without hope for Maud Silver’s number. To his overwhelming relief he got it, heard a most welcome click, and then Miss Silver’s voice saying “Hullo!”

“Miss Silver, is that you?”

“Speaking.”

“It’s Archie Millar. I’ve met you at my cousin’s. Charles Moray told me-”

“Quite so, Mr. Millar. I may say I’ve been expecting you.”

“I came round, and your office was shut up.”

“Quite so-I had to go out. You wish for news of Miss Wilson?”

“Miss Silver, d’you know where she is?”

“I know where I think you may have news of her. Will you take down the address? Number ten, Grange Square.”

“But I say, Miss Silver, that’s where-I say, you know what I mean-isn’t that-”

Miss Silver rang off.

Quarter of an hour later he was ringing the doorbell of No. 10. The door was opened by a plain, neat young woman in cap and apron. Of butler or footman there was no sign. Up to this very moment it had not occurred to Archie that he had no idea for whom he was going to ask; his idea had been to get to the house, to get news of Greta, to-well, to get to the house.

He looked at the plain young woman, and felt like a fool.

“Mr. Millar?” said the maid.

Archie walked into the hall and followed dumbly up a marble stair. On the first floor, a long corridor with Persian runners; a dim, soft light; and air of hushed expectancy.

Archie stopped being harassed and torn by doubts and fears. An overpowering sensation of having walked straight into a story from the Arabian Nights removed all other feelings. He breathed the air of hushed expectancy and found it pleasant.

The maid opened a door.

“Mr. Millar,” she said.

Archie passed into the room and heard the door close behind him.

The room was large and solemn; it had the ordered richness of a shrine. The Persian rugs upon the floor were dim and soft and old. The light came from crystal sconces set on the panelled walls.

Archie looked down the room and beheld Miss Margot Standing curled up on a purple couch. She wore a white frock and a pleased expression. She was eating chocolates.

He had no very clear idea of how he got across the room. He found himself with his arm around Margot’s waist; he had an impression that he had just kissed her, and that she did not seem to mind; he was saying things like “My blessed little darlin’ ”; and she was staring at him with round, surprised blue eyes.

“Archie! How f-funny you are!”

Archie kissed a sticky little hand and held it to his cheek.

“My blessed child! Darlin’, where have you been? I’ve been nearly off my head about you.”

Margot took her hand away and sucked the stickiest finger. She looked through her black lashes at Archie and giggled.

“Did you think I was lost?”

Archie nodded.

“I said you would-I said you and Charles would both think I was lost. Were you in a frightful state? Is Charles nearly off his head too? I do hope he is! It’s frightfully exciting to have people in a frightful state about you.”

Archie began to pull himself together.

“You leave Charles alone-he’s not on in this scene. You fix your mind on me. What d’you mean by runnin’ away like that? I haven’t had time to look in the glass, but I shouldn’t be a bit surprised if my hair hadn’t been doin’ the turnin’ white in a single night stunt.”

Margot giggled.

“It hasn’t.” She pushed the chocolates towards him. “Have a choc. That’s a most frightfully good sort, only it comes off creamy on your fingers. I’m sticky all over from mine. Do have one.”

Archie shook his head.

“I only eat that sort in my bath.”

“Tell me about Charles. Is he looking for me?”

“I don’t know.”

“Doesn’t he know I’m lost?”

“I don’t suppose he does.”

“Oh, but I want him to-I want him to be frightfully upset, and then frightfully pleased to find me, just like you were. You were pleased to find me-weren’t you?”

She put her face up to his.

Archie kissed her again, this time quite deliberately. Margot returned his kiss with engaging frankness. Then she sat back. Neither of them heard a door open and close again.

“Are you proposing to me? Because you haven’t done it at all properly if you are. You ought to have said things first, and not kissed me till I said ‘Yes.’ ” Her mouth quivered a little. “It’s my first proposal, and I did want it to be a proper one. I don’t count Egbert.” Archie took both her hands-they were still rather sticky. He kissed them gently.

“My darlin’ child, I’d propose to you from here till the end of next week if it was the slightest good. I love you quite a lot, you know.”

“That’s better,” said Margot. Then her mouth quivered a little more. “Why isn’t it any good? Aren’t you going to? Why aren’t you?”

“Because you aren’t old enough,” said Archie. “You’re just a blessed baby, and I should be a perfect brute if I asked you to marry me.”

Margot’s bright round eyes filled with angry tears. She pulled her hands away with a jerk.

“Why, I’m eighteen! Lots of people are married by the time they’re eighteen. One of the girls at school had a sister who was engaged six times before she was eighteen.” She began to cry. “I think it’s frightfully horrid of you. And you’ve spoilt my first proposal. And-and-you needn’t think I’d have said ‘yes.’ And you needn’t think I like you the least little bit, because I don’t!”

“Look here, darlin’-”

“I think you’re frightfully horrid!” said Margot with a sob. Then suddenly she caught him by the hand. “You did say you loved me, didn’t you?”

“I oughtn’t to have said it.”

Margot pinched him very hard.

“I hate you when you talk like that. You kissed me, and you did say you loved me-you know you did. And then you go and spoil everything by saying I’m not old enough.” She made a snuggling movement towards him. “Archie- darling-do propose to me properly. I might say ‘yes’ if you ask me frightfully nicely.” Then she looked up and gave a little scream.

Archie turned around.

A man with thick grey hair and rather hard features was leaning on the end of the sofa. His expression was one of amusement.

Archie sprang up. He stared at the man, and his jaw dropped. A dozen different photographs of this man had frowned or smiled in just this sarcastic manner from the pages of every illustrated paper in London. The shock of recognition was so great that he forgot everything else.

The man spoke. There was a suspicion of a northern burr in his voice.

“How do you do, Mr. Millar? I must introduce myself. My name is Edward Standing.”