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swear I was not. I haven’t seen her for months. And I haven’t the vaguest
idea what Mrs. Jones was talking about. Please believe me, Geraldine.”
Geraldine laid down the paper knife and, for the first time, looked Billy
in the face. At the moment she did not care what he could read in it. The
misery in his voice hurt. Then, as calmly as her voice would permit, she
said, “I know now that it was all some dreadful mix up. And I want to
apologise for what I said—I am sorry, really—Billy.” That “Billy”
slipped out before she could stop it.
In the one active eye of Billy Brewer, rose a sudden light. He half stood
up, but a peremptory gesture of her hand sent him back to the seat.
“But,” he exclaimed breathlessly, “you called me Billy!”
Geraldine’s attempt to compose her face into lines of severity was not
altogether successful. “That slip was no reason for you to be silly.” But
she knew she had lost her grip.
“Call me Billy again,” he demanded.
“I’ll call you something that will astonish you in a moment if you’re not
serious. Don’t you see we have to talk this thing over?”
“But…”
“No, stop!” she half pleaded. “You must tell me everything, can’t you see
how important it is? Please—Billy!”
Billy resigned himself to her voice. There was a note in it that made him
feel a little dizzy. “All right, I’ll be a good boy, mamma. What do you
want to know?”
“Everything,” she insisted.
“It’s all so crazy,” he said a little doubtfully. “That I’m afraid you’ll
think I’m the world’s Olympic liar.”
She laughed. “Not this time, Billy. Come—everything!”
“Well, here goes!” he said. “But, remember I warned you it’s absolutely
barmy.” And Billy unfolded his story as it appeared to him.
Geraldine listened intently. She was one of the rare women who could
refrain from interruption. It was only when he had described Tydvil’s
surprising appearance in court that she said emphatically, “And that
evidence was flat perjury.”
“You knew that?” Billy asked in wonder.
“Of course I did. I knew as well as you did he was not working back. I
can always tell from his table. This man Mr. Olden, who is he?”
“Don’t know him from a bar of soap. A most impressive looking bird. But
Tyddie…”
“No—don’t stop,” she insisted.
She heard the Jerry McCann episode with a little wrinkle in the smooth
forehead. “You’re perfectly sure he said ten o’clock?” she asked.
“Absolutely,” Billy asserted. “And the amazing part of it is that Jerry
knew his reputation as a wowser too well to go near him, dead or alive.”
When Billy had closed his narrative with an account of the eleven pounds
that someone had paid on his behalf, he continued with a sigh. “All I can
make of it is that I must have a double. What do you think?”
“Double!” Geraldine sniffed. “It would take a treble to account for all
that. Billy, there is only, one thing about it I am sure of, and that is
that Mr. Tydvil Jones is the most unmitigated fibber on earth—and that
is understating it.”
“But,” protested Billy, “he only did it to get me out of a mess.”
“Um-m!” murmured Miss Brand. “That doesn’t account for that Jerry McCann
whopper.” Then she smiled at him. “Tell me, Billy, you ought to know, why
do men tell their biggest fibs?”
“Firmly disregarding the implied libel,” said Billy, “I should say it is
because they have something to hide.”
“Yes…”
At that moment a knock at the open door cut her short. Both stared
towards it. Framed in the doorway, and occupying most of its space, was a
policeman.
“Mr. Tydvil Jones?” enquired the apparition that made Billy wonder if
some fresh calamity were about to overtake him.
Geraldine stood up. “This is his office, but he has not come in yet. Is
there anything wrong? I am his secretary.”
Constable O’Connor advanced two steps into the room. His official voice
lost its edge as he met the frank eyes of the tall damsel who spoke.
“I’ve been sent down from Russell Street about this hat, Miss.” He held
out a grey felt to her.
Taking it, Geraldine turned it over. “Why!” she exclaimed, “this is Mr.
Jones’s hat! Where did you get it?”
“Exhibition Street, last night. Eleven forty-five p.m. Believed to be
stolen.” He spoke as though from the witness box.
“But how…?” Her voice trailed off as she looked from the hat to
Billy, who was now on his feet.
“There was a big brawl, Miss. You might have seen about it in the papers.
We arrested fourteen of them. The man who was wearing the hat seemed to
be ringleader—he escaped. We thought Mr. Jones might be able to identify
him.”
“Do you know what he was like?” asked Billy, taking the hat from
Geraldine.
“About six feet or a little more. Dark suit, black hair, broad shoulders,
rather prominent nose. When I saw him first he was trying to out another
man with a leg of a table. Fought like a bear cat. Got away from six of
us. Just vanished!”
Seeing the astonishment in Billy’s eyes, he went on. “Just as I said,
sir. Just vanished. We thought you might have seen someone like him
hanging round the place.”
The eyes of Geraldine and Billy met in bewilderment over the grey felt.
“Have you?” she asked.
Billy was equally mystified, and said so.
“We’d be glad to get him,” the constable said with some feeling.
“Well,” said Geraldine, “if you like to leave it here I’ll enquire from
Mr. Jones as soon as he comes in.” Constable O’Connor left with the
assurance that if Mr. Jones could throw any light on the matter he would
communicate with Russell Street at once.
When the uniform had disappeared, Geraldine placed the hat on the table,
and the two stared at it as though at some strange portent.
Said Geraldine, “Queer? That hat was hanging on its peg when I left the
office last night.”
“Well, that’s queer,” was all Mr. Brewer could find to say.
“Must have been pinched,” ventured Billy. Then, after a moment, “It
doesn’t seem to make sense.”
“It makes as much sense as the Jerry McCann business and all the rest of
it. I wish the thing could speak,” she said, taking up the hat again.
“But surely you don’t think…?” Billy did not like to put the amazing
question into words.
“That Tyddie has taken to rioting and assaulting the police?” Geraldine
had not such fine scruples. “The other Billy Brewer did,” she added.
“It’s mad—mad!” insisted Billy.
“So’s the whole business,” averred Miss Brand, “but I’m perfectly
certain, without any evidence but his preposterous stories, that he could
explain everything.”
“And what then?”
She tossed the hat back on to the table. “I don’t know. But,” and her
voice took on a note of determination, “I’m going to find out.”
“But Tyddie—impossible!”
“Why impossible?” she demanded. “He’s a man, isn’t he? Where was he the
night before last? He was not here.”
“But Geraldine,” he persuaded, “why should you get yourself mixed up in
it?”
“If it comes to that,” she answered, not looking up, “why should you be
blamed for something you didn’t do?”
Billy was standing beside her. “Geraldine—do you really care if I am
unfairly blamed?” he almost whispered.
Then Geraldine Brand, very incautiously, looked up. He gave her no time
to reply. She did not know how it happened, but the next moment she found
herself in his arms, feeling quite at home and deliriously happy.
When, perhaps thirty seconds later, Mr. Tydvil Jones entered his office,
he stopped abruptly. The spectacle that greeted his eyes was that of his
senior city representative standing with one arm round the waist of Miss
Geraldine Brand, and the other about her shoulders. Miss Geraldine
Brand’s very conspicuous head was resting on the shoulder of Mr. William
Brewer and both her arms were round his neck. The two were evidently
utterly insensible to any outside impressions.
Tydvil felt slightly embarrassed, but, after all, it was his office.
After giving them what he considered ample time to come out of their
trance, he said, a little apologetically, “Pardon me, if I am intruding.”
The only effect of his voice was that the group relaxed slightly. One of
Billy’s arms fell from her shoulder, and one of Geraldine’s came from his
neck. Her head remained in situ, though she turned it slightly to look at
him.
There was that in her eyes which made Tydvil Jones envy William Brewer.
That they had settled their differences gave him a feeling of
satisfaction. Billy, deserved some compensation, and he felt that this
was ample. A wide smile broke on his face. Said he, “Guard with your
left, Brewer, or you’ll have a pair of them.”
The only response of the unabashed Geraldine was to turn her lips
deliberately to Brewer’s.
Mr. Jones threw back his head and laughed heartily at the gesture of
defiance. “You win, Miss Brand. Congratulations, Brewer!” He held out his
hand.
Billy’s spare hand took it and shook it warmly.
“What are you going to do about it?” asked Geraldine uncompromisingly.
“I?” laughed Tydvil. “Nothing! I should say that Billy has done
everything necessary.”
It was the first time either of them had known Tydvil so far unbend as to
use the Christian name of one of his staff. It made them both realise
that all was well.
“But still,” Tydvil went on, unfastening his overcoat, “if you could
possibly unwrap yourselves, we might think about the mail. I only offer
it as a suggestion.” He wriggled himself out of the coat.
Geraldine’s arms relaxed slowly, and she smiled. “Thank you, Mr. Jones.”
Then, after a pause, she added, “But it would have been nicer if you had
come in a little later.”
Geraldine’s contribution to the conversation rather startled Billy, who
did not quite know whether he stood right side up or inverted. Tyddie did
not usually take kindly to airy persiflage.
But Tydvil looked from one to the other in evident amusement. “Don’t take
any notice of what she says, Brewer. You know, when people are coming
from under an anaesthetic they often talk queerly.”
She patted her somewhat disordered copper helm, now perfectly
self-possessed. “I don’t like you to call him an anaesthetic,” she smiled
at Tydvil. “I find him a stimulant.”
“Oh,” he held up his hands, “have it your own way! I am not going to
argue.” Then, in mock anger, “Are you, or are you not, going to begin
work this morning.”
Here Billy found his voice for the first time. He felt some sort of
apology or explanation was due to Tydvil. “I would like to say, sir…”
Tydvil cut him short with a laugh. “Save it, Brewer, you duffer! Let us
get on with our work now, and come back and take her to lunch. If you
don’t, I will.”
Billy caught Geraldine’s eye and obeyed without further attempt at
explanations. Geraldine’s thoughts had been working at something like
three thousand revolutions a minute. As the door closed behind him, she
turned to Tydvil who was putting his coat on a hanger. “Can you tell me
anything of how your hat was stolen, Mr. Jones?”
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