The Missing Angel by Erle Cox (english books to improve english txt) đ
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his face. He looked at the money, scarcely daring to touch it. âAre you
sure it was ten oâclock, sir?â he almost whispered.
âQuite,â responded Jones. âI remember the time and the words most
distinctly. Why?â
âJerry McCann was killed by a motor car just before eight oâclock, in
Swanston Street. All the papers have it this morning.â
Tydvil Jones had no need to act the astonishment and shock that he felt
from the announcement, though they arose from causes other than Billy
Brewer supposed. âImpossible! IâŠâ He stopped and stared, too, at the
money in his hand.
âAmazing!â muttered Billy. âHe actually said, âdead or aliveâ?â
âBeyond a doubt,â said Tydvil.
âDo you thinkâŠ?â Billy paused, staring at Jones.
He shook his head. âI donât know what to think, Brewer,â he said. âBest
take this and say nothing about it. He owed it to you, I suppose?â
Billy nodded, taking the notes. âYes, and that is what he said to me last
weekââDead or aliveâ!â
Slowly, and with bent head, Billy walked down the warehouse towards the
main entrance. He felt a drink was essential to his sanity. As he reached
a huge stack of Manchester goods at the foot of the staircase, he almost
ran into Amy in his abstraction. Starting, he raised his hat
respectfully. But Amy paused and shook a gloved finger at him playfully.
âOh, Mr. Brewer!â she smiled. âIâm afraid you are very, very naughty. You
quite frightened me last night.â She passed on, still smiling.
Unseen by either, Miss Geraldine Brand, who was coming down the steps,
had seen and heard the encounter. Billy, wondering if he had heard
aright, or if he were mad, stood with his lips apart, not seeing
Geraldine until that young woman made him aware of her haughty presence
by saying, âSo! It is not only Hilda Cranston, but Mrs. Jones!â
Billy came to earth from the clouds that enveloped him, âWhat were you
saying, Geraldine?â He strove to pull himself together.
âI heard what Mrs. Jones said about your frightening her last night. I
suppose youâll say I didnât!â
He waved his hands feebly. I donât know what she was talking aboutâŠâ
âAnd,â she went on with steam-roller scorn, âI suppose you were not
talking to Hilda Cranston outside His Majestyâs Theatre last night just
after eight oâclock.â
âGeraldine!â he protested. âI swear I havenât spoken to Hilda Cranston
for nearly three months. I told you I had cut out that sort of thing.â
âI prefer,â she shot at him, âto believe the evidence of my own eyes. I
saw youâyouâŠ!â Words failed Geraldine, and she swept past him.
But Billyâs cup was not yet full, though it overflowed ten minutes later
in the Carillion bar when he offered the blonde Connie eleven pounds in
notes.
âDonât act the goat, Billy!â she laughed, pushing the money aside.
âBut King Rufus won!â he insisted.
âLook here, Billy!â the girl said seriously. âJudging from that lovely
eye you have, you must have had a fair load on last night, but you were
quite sober when you paid over that money to me; you couldnât have
forgotten it.â
âI was here last night, and paid you?â
She nodded.
âAnd without this eye?â He indicated the dark purple decoration.
Again she nodded. âHere, quit fooling and put this down your neck.â She
pushed a whisky and soda across to him. âYou must need a reviver.â
Billy shook his head and pushed it back again. âNot me, Connie! Not me!â
he muttered. âIâm on the water-waggon for the rest of my life.â He turned
and almost tottered into Elizabeth Street. Life was too much for him, he
felt.
But Billy Brewer was not the only, one to whom the day brought problems.
When Geraldine Brandâs were presented to her, they came from her evening
paper which she read on the way home. No king had died. No murder had
been committed. No political crisis had occurred. Space was plentiful,
and news had been dull until the story sent in by a district
correspondent from the St. Kilda court had gladdened a news editorâs
heart. It went on to the front page, headed âBlack Eye Comedy,â and the
story, with an almost verbatim report of the evidence, lost nothing in
the telling.
Geraldine read that damning story of the alleged activities of one,
William Brewer, on the previous night, with ever-increasing indignation.
But her indignation was levelled not at the culprit, so much as at his
detractors. She was a wise, competent and level-headed young woman. She
read and re-read the evidence, and more especially the evidence which
touched on the decoration she had bestowed on Billy, until she almost
committed it to memory. And Geraldine thought and thought all that
evening. Long after she had retired for the night, she lay awake trying
to make sense of what she had read and that which she knew, herself, to
be true. But none of it made sense.
It was only when she was reading the story, that there flashed into her
mind inexplicable truth that she had overlooked in her anger against
Billy on the previous evening. The Billy who had been talking to Hilda
Cranston outside of His Majestyâs Theatre had not a black eye! Of that
she was now certain. Yet, both she, and apparently that Cranston woman,
had accepted him unreservedly as Billy. So, according to his evidence,
had Cranston, who, as Geraldine virtuously reflected, deserved that sort
of wife.
It was difficult enough to accept the suggestion that that Billy was not
her Billyâshe had unaccountably, found herself thinking of him as her
Billy, and liked the idea immensely. But there was something else, known
only to herself. The evidence of Mr. Tydvil Jones was almost more
astounding than the problem of two Billies.
She, Geraldine Brand, was prepared to swear and take oath that, despite
his sworn evidence in the St. Kilda court that day, Tydvil Jones had not
worked back at the office on the previous night. Therefore, it followed
logically that the Tyddie she believed to rank among the most virtuous of
men had gone into the witness box and had sworn deliberately to some most
tremendous fibsâwhoppers! Somehow she liked him better for the
knowledge, especially so as the fibs had clearedâmore or lessâBillyâs
character.
Of one thing she felt sure, and only one. Billy, where ever he may have
been that night, was innocent of wrong doing. She reasoned that somehow
Tyddie was sure of Billyâs innocence. Had he not been, he would most
certainly have sacked him. It seemed inconsistent that Tyddie would
commit perjury himself and execute Billy for a lesser offence, but she
felt she was right.
But then, how did Amy come into the picture? Geraldine had seen her shake
her finger at Billy and had heard every syllable of that slightly gay
reprimand. She remembered Billyâsâher Billyâsâutter astonishment and
consternation at the time. Evidently, she concluded, Amy had been barking
up the wrong Billy and did not know it. The activities of the false Billy
must have been as prodigious as they were incomprehensible. They
certainly reflected adversely on his taste in feminine friends.
Then there was that perplexing and flagrant perjurer, her employer. What
had he been up to?â Here, Geraldineâs usually clear, incisive mind
refused to reason. Had it been any other man, Geraldine would have jumped
to the only reasonable conclusion, that he had been running wild.
Geraldine knew as much of Tydvilâs business as he knew himself, and she
was positive that there was nothing that could have kept him back at the
office on the previous eveningânot business, anyway. Could TyddieâŠ?
No, impossible! Her mind refused to put such a thought into form.
Geraldine stopped the vigorous brushing of her hair and stared at herself
for a long time in the mirror, but she did not see herself. Her
abstraction made her miss a charming picture.
Much later that night, before she slept, Geraldine made two resolutions.
One was, that Billy Brewer needed a woman, preferably, much preferably,
herself, to look after him and keep him out of mischief. The other was,
that in the very near future she would be very much less hostile in her
manner to Billy, and further, that having won his confidence he would be
called upon to answer a lot of questionsâquite a lot of questions. But
her last and dominant thought was one that would have compensated Billy
for all his trials had he but known of it.
Amy, also, had read of the âBlack Eye Comedy.â The unexpected appearance
of Mr. Brewer and his still more unexpected disappearance, had caused her
a great deal of very mixed emotion. That kiss! Amy was not quite sure
whether she was more angry with herself or Mr. Brewer. Yes, Mr. Brewer,
who had no black eye. She read Tydvilâs testimony to the effect that his
Mr. Brewer did have a black eye. Yet her Mr. Brewer, whose eyes were both
normal and both bold, had told her he had been working back in the office
with Tydvil.
Knowing least of anyone of the events of the previous night, Amy could
only decide that it was all very, peculiar. It was more peculiar that
Tydvil had not mentioned the matter at breakfast that morning. She felt
an urgent need for enlightenment, but felt more urgently still that such
investigation as she embarked on through Tydvil would require much
circumspection and diplomacy.
Meanwhile, the joint causes of all these perplexities were comfortably in
conference in the office of Tydvil Jones. Tydvil had indulged in a very
good dinner, it would have been better, he thought, if he had had the
courage to order a small bottle of wineâbut he was still Tydvil Jones.
But the cigar he was now smoking compensated to some extent for the
omission.
Nicholas had listened in amused silence to Tydvilâs account of the final
episodes, in his own home, of the previous nightâs excursion. Said he,
when the tale was told, âDoes it occur to you, Tydvil, that Brewerâs
black eye has become the pivotal point for some difficult explanations?â
Disregarding the question for the moment, Tydvil, from the depths of his
chair, chuckled happily. âIt was a most successful night for a beginner.â
Then, thoughtfully, âIâm afraid, Nicholas, I shall have to abandon
adopting a known individuality for a creation of my own.â
Said Nicholas dryly, âIf Brewer were fully informed on the matter, I
should say he would be among the first to applaud your decision.â
âYes,â admitted Tydvil, âit never occurred to me that I would put him
into such a hole. By all the laws of decency, I am bound to help him
out.â
âHe is going to need help, too,â responded Nicholas. âThe husband of your
lively young friend of last night spent this afternoon arranging for a
divorce with Brewer as the contributing factor.â
Tydvil sat erect. âGreat Scot!â he groaned. âI never thought of that,
either; what on earth can we do?â
Nicholas shrugged his shoulders. âThe least of your troubles, I think. If
a judge in divorce can make anything out of the same evidence as was
given at St. Kilda this morning, he will be a very astute man. No,â he
went on, âyour immediate problem comes from a different source.â
Tydvil stared an interrogation.
âIâve been keeping an eye on that secretary of yours. You should know
better than I that that girl is no fool.â
âHump, and what then?â Tydvil asked curiously. âHave you seen the evening
papers?â
Tydvil shook
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