The Listening Eye

Chapter 19

WHEN Miss Silver had left her to go up to the house Minnie Jones did what she could to tidy herself. She regretted the piece of looking-glass which had once had a place in her bag, but which had met the fate which waits on pocket-mirrors quite a number of years ago. A vague impression that it was unlucky to break a looking-glass had always prevented her from replacing anything so likely to get broken again, but she had a comb in her bag, and she could make sure that her hair was neat without looking at it. She dusted her hat with her handkerchief and put it on again. The ground was not damp enough to have stained her coat, for which she was grateful. There were some specks of what looked like bark and a withered leaf or two adhering to the black stuff. When she had brushed them off she considered that she had done as much as she could.

She felt weak, but not ill. Miss Silver had been so very kind, and she was going to be driven to the station. She would not have to go back to the house, and she would not have to see Moira Herne again. She wouldn’t have to see her, and she must try-oh, yes, she must try very hard not to think about her.

The trouble about that kind of resolution is that it is apt to defeat its own ends. If you have to make a strong effort not to think about someone, it means that they are there, stuck fast in your mind like a thorn that has run in so far that you can’t see it. You only know that it is there because it hurts.

Minnie had got to her feet. She moved now, taking the small path which led back to the drive.

She did not have to wait very long. Miss Silver had been fortunate in finding Annabel Scott alone. A very few words were enough to explain the predicament and enlist her help. Annabel ran up to her room for a coat, and coming back with the least possible delay, suggested that they should walk round to the garage together and avoid comment by starting from there. As the car turned into the drive she laughed and said,

“We shan’t have very much time to make ourselves beautiful for dinner! Lucius always pretends that he despises make-up, so he ought to be pleased. Actually, he likes it all right if it’s done well. The art of concealing that there’s any art to conceal!”

They picked up Minnie Jones and ran out along Cranberry Lane on to the high road. Minnie, on the back seat with Miss Silver, found herself definitely assuaged. Mrs. Scott was being ever so kind. She had pressed her hand and said, “We were all so sorry about Arthur,” and it was said the way you say things when you really mean them. Miss Silver slipped a hand inside her arm and said she thought there would be time for her to have a cup of tea and something to eat at the station. A cup of tea would be lovely. Everyone was being so kind.

It was when they were coming down the incline to the station yard that something happened. Miss Silver said, “Here we are,” and Minnie leaned forward to look out of the window. The down train had just come in, and passengers who had arrived by it were emerging. Minnie would not have expected to know any of them, but a good deal to her surprise she was aware of a face that she had seen before. She said, “Oh!” and when Miss Silver asked her whether there was anything the matter something seemed to push the words right out of her mouth. She didn’t know why, but that was the way it seemed. She said,

“That gentleman coming out now-that’s the one that was with the gentleman Mr. Pegler recognized.”

Annabel was backing into a parking-place. Minnie Jones continued to point. The man who had come out of the station continued to walk up the incline. Miss Silver said firmly,

“Do you mean that this is the gentleman who talked with Mr. Pegler in the gallery?”

Minnie didn’t mean anything of the sort. She hastened to make it perfectly clear that she didn’t.

“Oh, no, this was the other one we saw last night in the Emden Road. I said I’d know him again-you remember I did.”

Annabel, taking her hands from the wheel, looked where they were looking.

“Someone you know?” she said, “What-not that man!”

Minnie nodded.

“Oh, yes, that’s him. I said I’d know him.”

Annabel began to say something and stopped. Miss Silver touched her on the shoulder.

“Mrs. Scott, do you know who it is?”

The answer had a laughing inflection.

“Rather better than I want to.”

Miss Silver spoke low and insistently.

“Who is it?”

And Annabel Scott said,

“It’s Arnold Bray.”