The Riddle of the River Read Online Free Page B

hold pretty things, frivolous things, luxurious things all day long, and probably never have the chance to own even one. I turned back firmly to the subject of the bracelet and proceeded to recount a string of falsehoods that I had prepared while on my way to the shop.
    ‘I found this bracelet on the street,’ I began, ‘and was almost certain that it must come from here. I thought I would try to return it to its rightful owner if I could possibly identifyher. But it would probably be too much to ask, that you should remember to whom you sold it. If it was you who sold it at all – it might of course have been someone else?’
    ‘Oh no,’ she said. ‘This is my counter. I’m here all day, every day, except Sunday, of course.’
    ‘It must be tiring,’ I said.
    ‘Oh, well. It’s not such a bad place,’ she answered quickly. ‘I help gentlemen choose gifts, I sell beautiful things, and I see different kinds of people. By the way, I do remember who bought the bracelet,’ she added, and then looked up at me, surprised at my sudden access of tension, although I said nothing. ‘I don’t know who they are, of course,’ she amended, ‘but I remember quite well what they looked like.’
    ‘They?’ I asked.
    ‘Yes, it was a couple. A rather elderly gentleman bought the bracelet for a – for a woman. A young person. They hesitated over any number of things first – she tried them all on, I think. That’s why I remember it.’
    A woman? A
young person
?
    ‘Was there only one such bracelet? Were there not several similar ones?’ I asked, just to be certain.
    ‘Oh no. There were no two the same. Each one was different. This was the only ivory one with beads, as a matter of fact.’
    ‘Ah! Well then, tell me what the people who bought it were like. Can you describe the girl?’ I said, and my heart beat till the blood rushed in my ears. Those limp fingers…
    ‘She was…well…she was very pretty and friendly,’ she said guardedly. ‘And curious. She kept on trying things and laughing. The gentleman seemed fond of her. But, well…’
    The photograph was in my bag – I reached for it, thenhesitated. I was afraid that it would turn our cheerful chat into an investigation, and that she would become suspicious and silent.
    ‘But what?’ I said.
    ‘She wasn’t a lady,’ she replied shortly. There was a world of meaning, of contempt, of resentment, of jealousy, in her words. A
young person,
being offered jewellery by an
elderly gentleman,
whilst she herself remained forever a prisoner behind her glass counter, a
good girl
. Thumbnail sketches of the dramatis personae of British society passed in front of me.
    ‘And the gentleman? What was he like?’
    ‘Oh, he was distinguished, with a cane and silver grey hair. He had a rather loud voice, and a lot of authority. I don’t know who he is, but I think he lives in Cambridge. I see him sometimes, passing in the street.’
    ‘Ah!’ I cried, as the import of her words sank into me. This fact presented an astonishing opportunity to succeed in my task.
    ‘Well,’ she added, ‘at any rate, I believe I’ve seen him passing in front of the shop more than once. I spend a lot of my time staring out at the street.’
    I turned involuntarily, and followed her gaze out of the broad display window. The sunlit street appeared like an aquarium, with brightly coloured fish floating past, deprived of their legs by the lower wall.
    ‘I wonder how I could manage to find that gentleman?’ I said.
    ‘If all you want is to give him back the bracelet, then why don’t you simply leave it here with me? I can dash out and catch him next time I see him passing by, and give it back to him.’
    ‘No!’ I said, struck suddenly by the awful image of a man suddenly being handed, in bright daylight, a bracelet he knew to belong to a dead girl –
a bracelet he may even be aware that she was wearing when she died
.
    It could be dangerous; he could see it as a preliminary to