possibles, you must work through the improbables, and may even end up with an impossible.
He stood frowning into the glass as he dealt with his tie. He was good at ties, and it came out well. Faint memories of some historic character who took particular pains over a toilet for the scaffold flitted through the hinterland of his mind. They were presently supplemented by the refrain of a ballad about the gentleman called Gilderoy:
âSae rantingly, sae wantonly.
Sae dauntingly gaeâd he.
He played a spring and danced it round
Beneath the gallows tree.â
âthe sort of thing that would come into your head at this sort of moment.
He buttoned his waistcoat and slipped his arms into his coat. With his hands at the lapels he surveyed the result. Not too bad. âSae rantingly, sae wantonlyââ There was the dashed thing again, and he couldnât even remember how he came to know it. He turned, and was aware of the light glancing oddly across the tail of his coat. The excellent Barker had furnished the room with a nice fumed oak suite. The wardrobe sported a long strip of mirror glass upon its door. Algy was always afraid that the weight of it would bring the whole thing over, but for the moment it stood firm. The glass showed a bulge in the left-hand tail where no bulge should beâsomething in the pocket. But there oughtnât to be anything in the pocket. He would never dream of putting anything there. People did of courseâthe cigarette-case. He knew a man who harboured a handkerchiefâa most slovenly habit. But this wasnât a cigarette-case, and it certainly wasnât a handkerchief. It was stiff, and it crackledâpaperâthickish paper. He drew it out, and beheld a manila envelope doubled up, folded neatly. He unfolded it, laid it flat. It was an official envelope, and it bore an official address:
The Rt. Honâble. Montagu Lushington.
The words dazzled, the words swam before Algyâs horrified eyes. Because he had handled this envelope before. He had taken it from Carstairs at the study door and gone up to Montyâs room and put it down on Montyâs dressing-table. He hadnât looked at the address. He hadnât consciously looked at the envelope. But now that he had it in his hand again, he knew that he had noticed the blot in the left-hand cornerâa round blob of a blot which had dried very thick, and black, and shiny. This was undoubtedly Montyâs envelopeâthe stolen envelope. And someone had planted it on him. Someone must have planted it on him at the Ducks and Drakes last night.
He stared at it. Why? Rather crass attempt to deepen suspicion? Or rather subtle attempt to put the wind up him? Other possibilities ⦠Too many possibilities.â¦
He turned the envelope over, and the flap hung loose. He lifted it and looked inside.
The envelope was empty.
IX
Giles and Linda Westgate lived in a flat which consisted of one large room and several darkish cupboards euphemistically labelled bedroom No. I, bedroom No. 2, kitchen, and bathroom. Linda had done her best by painting each one a different colour and in the brightest possible shade. Her cupboard was a brilliant jade, Gilesâ canary-yellow, the bathroom emerald, and the kitchen a cheerful orange. The large room she had left alone. It had cream walls, a parquet floor, and no furniture except piles of cushions, a collapsible table, and a dozen chromium-plated chairs. Their brittle, angular brightness reminded Algy of some insectâs legsâgrasshopper, dragonfly, mantis.
Linda furnished her room with people. There were eight of them for dinner, and a crowd afterwards. She wore scarlet velvet, which went very well with her cream skin and her cream walls. She had black hair which never stayed where it was put, and dancing eyes with a dark, malicious sparkle in themâa vivid creature, decorative and talkative as a parrot and quite as indiscreet. Giles, a budding
He stood frowning into the glass as he dealt with his tie. He was good at ties, and it came out well. Faint memories of some historic character who took particular pains over a toilet for the scaffold flitted through the hinterland of his mind. They were presently supplemented by the refrain of a ballad about the gentleman called Gilderoy:
âSae rantingly, sae wantonly.
Sae dauntingly gaeâd he.
He played a spring and danced it round
Beneath the gallows tree.â
âthe sort of thing that would come into your head at this sort of moment.
He buttoned his waistcoat and slipped his arms into his coat. With his hands at the lapels he surveyed the result. Not too bad. âSae rantingly, sae wantonlyââ There was the dashed thing again, and he couldnât even remember how he came to know it. He turned, and was aware of the light glancing oddly across the tail of his coat. The excellent Barker had furnished the room with a nice fumed oak suite. The wardrobe sported a long strip of mirror glass upon its door. Algy was always afraid that the weight of it would bring the whole thing over, but for the moment it stood firm. The glass showed a bulge in the left-hand tail where no bulge should beâsomething in the pocket. But there oughtnât to be anything in the pocket. He would never dream of putting anything there. People did of courseâthe cigarette-case. He knew a man who harboured a handkerchiefâa most slovenly habit. But this wasnât a cigarette-case, and it certainly wasnât a handkerchief. It was stiff, and it crackledâpaperâthickish paper. He drew it out, and beheld a manila envelope doubled up, folded neatly. He unfolded it, laid it flat. It was an official envelope, and it bore an official address:
The Rt. Honâble. Montagu Lushington.
The words dazzled, the words swam before Algyâs horrified eyes. Because he had handled this envelope before. He had taken it from Carstairs at the study door and gone up to Montyâs room and put it down on Montyâs dressing-table. He hadnât looked at the address. He hadnât consciously looked at the envelope. But now that he had it in his hand again, he knew that he had noticed the blot in the left-hand cornerâa round blob of a blot which had dried very thick, and black, and shiny. This was undoubtedly Montyâs envelopeâthe stolen envelope. And someone had planted it on him. Someone must have planted it on him at the Ducks and Drakes last night.
He stared at it. Why? Rather crass attempt to deepen suspicion? Or rather subtle attempt to put the wind up him? Other possibilities ⦠Too many possibilities.â¦
He turned the envelope over, and the flap hung loose. He lifted it and looked inside.
The envelope was empty.
IX
Giles and Linda Westgate lived in a flat which consisted of one large room and several darkish cupboards euphemistically labelled bedroom No. I, bedroom No. 2, kitchen, and bathroom. Linda had done her best by painting each one a different colour and in the brightest possible shade. Her cupboard was a brilliant jade, Gilesâ canary-yellow, the bathroom emerald, and the kitchen a cheerful orange. The large room she had left alone. It had cream walls, a parquet floor, and no furniture except piles of cushions, a collapsible table, and a dozen chromium-plated chairs. Their brittle, angular brightness reminded Algy of some insectâs legsâgrasshopper, dragonfly, mantis.
Linda furnished her room with people. There were eight of them for dinner, and a crowd afterwards. She wore scarlet velvet, which went very well with her cream skin and her cream walls. She had black hair which never stayed where it was put, and dancing eyes with a dark, malicious sparkle in themâa vivid creature, decorative and talkative as a parrot and quite as indiscreet. Giles, a budding
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