Beggar’s Choice by Patricia Wentworth Read Free Book Online

bald. That ought to have been a help, but for the life of me. I couldn’t place him. I listened all the harder.
    â€œBound to rise—he’s absolutely on his uppers. Now look here—it’s just possible he may come in here. He’s at a loose end, and he may get it into his head to come nosing around. If he does, you don’t know anything—naturally.”
    The little man spread out his hands again, and the diamond on his finger twinkled.
    â€œNot a word. How do I know? If he come, I say nothing—I know nothing—I speak nothing—isn’t it?”
    The fat man put on his bowler and nodded. Then he beat with his hand on the counter.
    â€œNow look here—that isn’t all. If he does come, I want to know what he’s looking like and how he speaks. I want you to be sharp. Get him into talk about anything you like and watch him a bit. I want to know how keen he is. You understand?”
    The hands went out again.
    â€œYes, yes, yes—if he come, I see how he look. Hungry?” He threw an abominable cunning into his voice and looked knowingly out of screwed up eyes. “Yes, he will be hungry. Five hundred pounds is a good dinner! He will be hungry to swallow it—isn’t it? Oh, my, my, my, my, my!” He began to laugh. “And not a word to the other—no, no, no!”
    The man in the bowler lifted the flap of the counter and walked through.
    â€œI want a word with you about that,” he said, and they went out through the door at the back of the shop, and as soon as they were gone I nipped out into the street and got round the corner.
    I thought I had found the International Employment Exchange, and I thought I would post my letter even if it did cost me a penny halfpenny; for I had no manner of doubt that I had heard Hair-oil told to size me up, and I thought I wouldn’t give him the chance.

VI
    September 15 th —Something has happened which I can’t understand at all. I was too wild to write about it last night, but I’m going to put everything down to-day.
    I posted my letter to the International Employment Exchange and came back to my room, where I made quite a decent supper of bread and cheese. I was just about ready for it, as I hadn’t had anything since breakfast. I’m getting quite good at knowing how long one can go without it’s being uneconomic in the long run. I suppose one really used to eat a great deal too much.
    When I had finished my supper I opened the drawer where I had put Isobel’s letter—and it wasn’t there. That sounds awfully bald, but that’s how I felt. It wasn’t there. I felt as if I’d tried to take a step that wasn’t there to take. You know how that brings you up short. I took everything out of the drawer—there wasn’t much to take—but the letter wasn’t there. Then I went through the other drawers, and every minute I was getting angrier because, although I felt bound to go on looking, I knew that the letter was gone, and that meant that some one had come into my room and taken it. I turned out everything I’d got, and I went through my pockets. But the letter was gone.
    I went downstairs in a rage and tackled Mrs. Bell. At first she was as angry as I was, and said no one hadn’t ever accused her of thieving . But after a bit she sobered down and was pretty decent about it in a sentimental sympathizing sort of way, so I had to beg her pardon, though I really preferred her being angry. I don’t know why she should have thought it was a girl’s letter, because of course I took care to say it was about business. She told me a long story about a letter she’d had from her husband before they were engaged, and how there was mischief made—“And you couldn’t believe the artfulness, nor the perseveringness of that girl Maud. All was fish that came to her net, whether it was her own young gentleman or some one