Hole and Corner by Patricia Wentworth Read Free Book Online Page A

one another across the table and kept their voices low. The tables were rather close together. If Miss Miller had pushed back her chair six inches, her arm would have touched Shirley’s shoulder. She had brought with her into the dining-room a large white fox fur which kept slipping from her shoulders as she shrugged them. The waiter picked it up twice, and she herself made constant play with it, hitching it up, pushing it back, letting it slip down upon the floor, and snatching it again, all these movements being made more noticeable by the flashing of the small diamanté bag which she wore suspended from her right wrist. Anthony was rather amused by her antics. He guessed the fur and the horrible little shiny bag to be new acquisitions—gifts, perhaps, of the foxy gentleman. The lady was obviously throwing her weight about. The Luxe was new ground to her. He wondered if they would get through the evening without Shirley coming in for a swish from the white fox tail or a bang from the little gleaming purse. Then the lady seemed to quieten down. The fox subsided between her and the back of her chair, and the diamanté bag worried his eyes no more.
    He and Shirley were going to dance presently. He stopped teasing her, and they talked about everything and nothing, with the little thrill running through it all which comes when talk is just a way of exploring another mind. You never know what you are going to find—you’ve never been that way before, so you have to walk warily and look where you are going. There is danger, adventure, charm. There may be anything round the next corner from Bluebeard’s Chamber to the Garden of Eden. At any moment a cavern may open at your feet or a river come rushing out of nowhere to carry you away. The air is quick with possibilities.
    They had coffee at the table, and when they had drunk it Shirley pushed back her chair and stood up. Her bag had slipped from her lap. She stooped to pick it up. It was an old-fashioned bag with a cut steel handle, inherited from Miss Emily Dale. The black velvet of which it was made was probably as old as the frame, and appeared to be as indestructible. It had such a good hasp that it surprised Shirley very much to find that it had opened with the fall.
    Anthony came round the table and said, with the teasing note back in his voice,
    â€œDo you always drop your bag?”
    She said, “Nearly always,” and put her hand on the clasp to fasten it.
    And then an odd thing happened. It was just as if something ran tingling up her arm from the fingers which were touching the clasp. She moved a step nearer Anthony, and felt her shoulder brushed by the white fur wrap of the queer-looking woman at the next table. The tables were really too close together. A funny breathless feeling came up in her throat, and all at once her fingers moved with a jerk and the bag was open again. She didn’t know why she had opened it, but as soon as it was open she saw a bright twist of silver cord sticking up against the black satin lining.
    She said, “What’s that?” in a quick uneven voice. Then she jerked at the silver cord, and up came the little shiny diamanté bag which had hung from the wrist of Miss Ettie Miller until half way through dinner. Shirley held it out to Anthony Leigh. “That’s not mine,” she said. “How did it get into my bag?” And with that Ettie Miller jumped to her feet, pushing her chair aside and crowding into the narrow space between the tables.
    â€œI’m sorry, but that belongs to me,” she said. Her voice was loud enough to attract attention. Heads were turned. A couple of waiters stood by uneasily.
    Shirley looked towards the voice. She was rather pale, her eyes were wide and puzzled. The little shiny purse dangled from her outstretched hand.
    â€œIs it yours? How did it get into my bag?” she said.
    And then Anthony was at her shoulder with his hand slipped just inside