Hue and Cry by Patricia Wentworth Read Free Book Online

as the poor lady stopped to take breath. “And is it the diamond you’ve dropped, or the whole pendant?”
    â€œWell, it isn’t exactly a pendant now, because my mother had it made into a brooch. And the pin has never really been very secure. And what with the diamond being so valuable, and my brother so put out——But then I keep on saying to myself it must be somewhere. Oh, my dear Miss Lee, it really must, mustn’t it?”
    â€œYou dropped the whole thing?”
    â€œOh, yes, the whole thing.”
    â€œAnd when did you miss it?”
    â€œAbout half an hour ago. At least I didn’t miss it, but my maid did. And she asked me if I’d taken it to be mended. And of course I ought to have. And if I had, it would have been safe—wouldn’t it? Only I keep saying to myself that it must be somewhere.”
    â€œOf course it must,” said Mally cheerfully.
    But the hours passed, and still a most rigorous search failed to discover that somewhere.

CHAPTER VII
    Roger Mooring was quite surprised to find how eagerly he was counting the minutes until Mally came. It was a matter of minutes now, because he was waiting amongst Sir George’s cold statuary, with a taxi ticking by the curb outside.
    When he was with Mally, he quarrelled with her most of the time, or rather she quarrelled with him; but when he was away from her, other people seemed dull and life went stodgily.
    He stood amongst the statues and watched the staircase with quite an ardent gaze, yet his first glimpse of Mally brought a faint line of disapproval to his brow. He had made a pleasant picture of a Mally chastened by absence coming sedately down the shallow steps, with the modest light of welcome in her eyes, and perhaps—so far had fancy led this misguided young man—perhaps a slight, delightful blush upon her cheeks.
    Actually, Mally whisked round the corner by Sir George’s bust and took the remaining steps three at a time with a laughing, “Am I late? Have you been waiting? I don’t want to lose a single instant. Do let’s come along quick! We are going to dance, aren’t we?”
    The pleasant vision of Mally fled. Roger looked at the actual Mally, and for a moment wished that he had not suggested The Luxe. Mally’s one evening dress, known familiarly as Old Black Joe, was certainly not up to Luxe standards; and Mally herself, with her short dark hair, cut by a country hairdresser, and her little pale face, had neither the beauty nor the distinction that can carry off an old frock.
    The thought was hardly there before it was gone again. Mally’s odd greenish, dancing eyes, with the eager something that was half laugh, half sparkle, met his; Mally’s little nose wrinkled at him; and Roger ceased to be aware of anything but that she was Mally and that he had not seen her for a week.
    Mally came home between one and two in the morning in a sort of delightful golden dream. She had never enjoyed herself so much in all her life before—never. The Luxe was like a fairy palace, and she herself exactly like Cinderella at the King’s ball, except that the whole delightful dream went on in spite of the clock striking twelve. Such an amusing dinner. Such thrilling things to eat. And Roger to tell her that the fat, bald man at the corner table was the terrifically rich Mr. Marcus Aurelian, and that the lady in pearl ropes and a very little silver tissue was Mlle. Tanga Miranda, the world’s most sinuous dancer. Then the dancing floor—you couldn’t really have a floor like that except in a dream. And whatever Roger was or was not, he certainly could dance. Yes, the whole evening was like a dream. And wonderful beyond all other wonders, she and Roger had not quarrelled even once.
    Mally passed the statues, all coldly awake and staring, and went up the stairs, leaving a sleepy-eyed young footman to the congenial task of putting out the lights. As she turned by