The Skull Beneath the Skin Read Online Free Page B

unwelcome, perhaps because it forced him to acknowledge what he had implied but never stated, that his wife’s fear for her life was hysterical and unreal. She had demanded protection and he was providing it. But he didn’t think it was necessary; he believed neither in the danger nor in the means he was employing to reassure her. And now some part of his mind was repelled by the thought that his wife’s host and her fellow guests were to be under secret surveillance. He had done what his wife had asked of him, but he didn’t like himself any the better for it.
    He said curtly: “I think you can put that idea out of your head. My wife has no reason to suspect any of the house party of wishing to harm her, no reason in the world.”

2
    Nothing more of importance was said. Sir George looked at his watch and got to his feet. Two minutes later he said a curt goodbye at the street door, neither mentioning nor glancing at the offending nameplate. As she climbed the stairs, Cordelia wondered whether she could have managed the interview better. It was a pity that it had ended so abruptly. There were questions which she wished she had thought to ask, in particular whether any of the people she was to meet on Courcy Island knew of the threatening messages. She would have to wait now until she met Miss Lisle.
    As she opened the office door, Miss Maudsley and Bevis looked up over their typewriters with avid eyes. It would have been heartless to deny them a share in the news. They had sensed that Sir George was no ordinary client and curiosity and excitement had virtually paralysed them. There had been a suspicious absence of clacking typewriters from the outer office during his visit. Now Cordelia told them as little as was compatible with telling them anything worth hearing, emphasizing that Miss Lisle was looking for a companion-secretarywho would protect her from an irritating but unimportant poison-pen nuisance. She said nothing about the nature of the threatening messages nor of the actress’s conviction that her life was seriously threatened. She warned them that this assignment, like all jobs, even the most trivial, was to be treated as confidential.
    Miss Maudsley said: “Of course, Miss Gray. Bevis understands that perfectly well.”
    Bevis was passionate in his assurances.
    “I’m more reliable than I look. I won’t utter, honestly. I never do, not about the Agency. But I’ll be no good if anyone tortures me for information. I can’t stand pain.”
    Cordelia said: “No one’s going to torture you, Bevis.”
    By general consent they took an early lunch hour. Bevis fetched sandwiches from the Carnaby Street delicatessen and Miss Maudsley made coffee. Sitting cosily in the outer office they gave themselves over to happy speculation about where this interesting new assignment might lead. And the hour wasn’t wasted. Unexpectedly, both Miss Maudsley and Bevis had helpful information to give about Courcy Island and its owner, pouring out a spate of antiphonal chat. It wasn’t the first time this had happened. Their more orthodox skills might be suspect, but they not infrequently provided a bonus in the way of useful gossip.
    “You’ll enjoy the castle, Miss Gray, if you’re interested in Victorian architecture. My brother took the Mothers’ Union to the island for their summer outing the month before he died. Of course, I’m not a full member, I couldn’t be. But I usually went on the outings, and this one was so interesting. I particularly enjoyed the pictures and the porcelain. And there’s one delightful bedroom which is almost a museum to the Victorian arts and crafts movement: De Morgan tiles, Ruskin drawings, Mackmurdo furniture. It was quite an expensive outing,I remember. Mr. Gorringe, he’s the owner, only allows parties once a week during the season and he restricts the numbers to twelve at a time, so I suppose he has to charge rather a lot to make it worth while. But no one grumbled, not even Mrs.