Traitor's Purse Read Online Free

account,’ he announced didactically. ‘We were more than lucky to get him here at Bridge. I remember the famous session when his appointment was announced to the Secret Conclave. As Hereditary Secretary to the Society I was very much congratulated, but I said “Don’t thank me, Masters of Bridge” – that’s the customary address, you know – “Don’t thank me. Thank the man himself for coming to us.”’
    He settled himself in his seat and sighed. It was clear to Campion that he was talking of matters very near his heart. Pride and more than a touch of pomposity glowed from him.
    Anscombe? The name meant nothing to Campion. But Bridge, and the Institute, struck a vaguely familiar note. He fancied that they were well-known terms, something he had heard about all his life.
    Presently the old man spoke again.
    ‘Aubrey is a wealthy man too, you know,’ he said. ‘It’s not generally known, but he donates the whole of his two thousand pound salary to some scholarship fund in the north. His private income must be considerable. Still, it suits him, you know. He has a unique position which no money in the world could buy, and a house which is virtually a museum-piece, also not for purchase. You’re comfortable there, aren’t you?’
    ‘Very. It’s a glorious house, isn’t it, Albert?’
    It took Campion some seconds to realize that she was talking to him, but his response, when it did come, was manfully enthusiastic.
    Mr Anscombe turned in his seat.
    ‘You’re tired,’ he said. ‘That experience of yours took it out of you. That sort of thing often does. London is exhausting, too. What are you wearing? A mackintosh? I can hear something rustling but I can’t see you. It’s very warm in here. Why don’t you take it off?’
    ‘No. I don’t think I will, thanks.’ To his horror he heard himself beginning to laugh, but again the girl came to his rescue.
    ‘Leave him alone,’ she said. ‘He’s in disgrace. He’s taken the wrong car, led us miles out of the way, and now he dozes off smelling like a bicycle shop. You’ll have to give up oilskins, Albert, at any rate for wear in a confined space. Still, we’re practically there. This is your gate, isn’t it, Mr Anscombe? You wouldn’t think it awfully rude of us if we didn’t take the car into the drive, would you?’
    ‘Oh of course not, of course not. I’m late myself. Thank you very much for all your kindness. I feel I forced myself on you this afternoon, but you’ve been so very good, so very good.’
    He was hoisting himself out of the low seat with difficulty as he spoke and his hollow foolish voice squeaked and trailed away as he landed himself safely on the pavement and closed the door. Through the window the remaining passenger caught a glimpse of him disappearing between high stucco pillars towards a steep dark house beyond.
    ‘Silly little man,’ said the girl suddenly. ‘He’s left his parcel. I shan’t be a moment. I’ll take it to him.’
    ‘That’s all right, I’ll do that,’ Campion said hastily, fumbling for the door handle.
    ‘You can’t in those clothes.’
    ‘Yes, I can. He won’t see me. Or if he does he’ll have to realize I’m an eccentric. Where’s his baggage?’
    She turned towards him in the darkness.
    ‘It’s books, I think,’ she said. ‘Here you are,’
    He took the square parcel and staggered out after the departing figure. It was brighter than he thought and he did not call to the man but came up the small drive quietly. The front door was already closed when he found it, and, rather than knock, he laid the package on the step and hurried down the drive to the waiting car again.
    With the departure of Anscombe the very car seemed more comfortable. The girl let in the clutch softly and they slid away. The man, who was still trying to remember if his name really was Albert Campion, leant forward. Now that he was alone with this delightful if unrecognizable wife of his he felt unexpectedly