if I liked, but he advised me to put on four bets of two-pound-ten each instead. Someone or two were sure to get home.
‘I didn’t like the idea, but I was sure he wouldn’t have offered such a thing unless there really was a good chance. So after some time I thanked him and agreed. I know I shouldn’t have done it, but there it is. I’m telling you just what happened.’
French smiled.
‘If we were all as wise as we should be, Miss Darke, there would be no stories to tell. Never mind. Just go on with yours.’
‘Well, you can guess what happened. I lost every single one of my bets! There was I without a penny left and owing Mr Westinghouse ten pounds.’
Miss Darke evidently had something of the dramatic sense. She paused unconsciously to give point to her climax, then went on:
‘He was very nice about it at first, but soon I saw a different side to his character. He began to press for the money and the more I told him I couldn’t pay and asked for time, the more persistent he got. At last, about ten days ago, he said he would give me a fortnight more and that if I had not paid by then he would go to my employers and ruin me. When I said it was his own fault for tempting me to borrow he got furious and said I’d see whose fault it was and for me to look out for myself.
‘I was in a terrible state of mind, Mr French. I didn’t know what would happen to me or who to turn to. And then the night before last who should I meet going home in the tube but Gwen Lestrange.’
Again Miss Darke paused at her climax and French, who had been listening carefully though without a great deal of interest to the commonplace little story, offered a sympathetic comment. How many times had just such a little drama been enacted, and how many times it would again! Probably since before the dawn of history gambling had been used to get fools of the human race into the power of the knaves. There was only one point in the episode still unrevealed—the source of wealth to which this silly girl had access and from which Westinghouse expected to be paid. That, however, would no doubt soon be revealed. For French could not bring himself to believe that it was anything so crude as robbing the till in the cinema, the only thing which appeared to follow from the story.
‘Gwen seemed pleased to see me. She said her mother had been ill and she had got a couple of days’ leave from Birmingham. She asked me to have coffee with her next morning at Lyons’ Corner House, so that we could have a chat.
‘I think I told you I started work about one o’clock, and shortly before twelve next day I joined her at Lyons’. She exclaimed at once about my looks. “Why, what on earth’s wrong with you,” she cried. “You’re in trouble of some kind.”
‘I didn’t want to talk about myself, but she insisted on hearing, and when she learned what had happened she was very angry. “That old scoundrel!” she cried, “and I used to think he was straight!” She got quite excited about it. She advised me to tell Westinghouse to go to hell and dare him to do his worst. He couldn’t do me any harm, she said. I had only to deny the story and say he had been persecuting me and he could produce no proof. But I knew that was no good and that the mere raising of the question with the cinema manager would lose me my job. And it would have, Mr French.’
‘I daresay it would,’ French admitted.
‘Well, I wasn’t on for it anyway, and when she saw I wasn’t she let that drop. Then she said that she felt sort of responsible for me, seeing that it was through her I got into the thing, and that she would therefore try and help me out. There was a cousin of hers, a really good sort, who might be able to help me. He had helped her at one time when she was in the same trouble herself. She would stake her reputation that he at all events was straight, and if I wished she would introduce me to him.
‘Well, I needn’t take up your time by telling you all our conversation. It ended in my agreeing to go to Mr Style, as the cousin was called. Gwen fixed up a meeting. I was to be at St Pancras when his train came in from Luton, where he lived, and he would talk to me on the platform. I went there and he found me at once.’
‘You might describe Mr Style also.’
The girl shivered as if at an unpleasant memory.
‘I can easily do that,’ she said, and her expression became almost that of horror. ‘As long as I live I’ll remember his appearance. He was thin and tall and sallow, with a small, fair moustache. But his eyes were what struck you. He had such queer, staring eyes that would look at you as if they could see right into your mind. They made me feel quite queer. Sort of uncanny, if you understand what I mean.’
French nodded and she went on:
‘He said that his cousin, Miss Lestrange, had told him of me and the fix I was in, and he thought he could do something to help me. He said he had a job which he thought I could do and which would pay me well. It was easy as far as actual work was concerned, but it required a young lady of good appearance and manner and some shrewdness to carry it through. Also it was highly confidential and the young lady must be above suspicion as to character and discretion. Those were his words as far as I remember.’
Again French nodded.
‘I said I already had a job which I didn’t want to give up, but he said I could do his job at the same time as they didn’t clash. It was perfectly easy and perfectly safe, but old-fashioned people mightn’t altogether approve of it and that he was glad to know that I had no prejudices in that respect.
‘As you may imagine, Mr French, I wasn’t very pleased at this, and I asked him rather sharply what he meant. And then he said something which upset me horribly and made me wish I had never seen him. I scarcely like to repeat it.’
‘I’m afraid you must.’
‘He asked what I thought of a young lady who betted on borrowed money which she couldn’t repay if she lost. Then, always with his horrible smile, he went on to say that a potential thief could scarcely be tied down by out-of-date ideas of morality.’
‘Plain speaking.’
The girl made a hopeless little gesture.
‘You may say I should have got up and walked away,’ she continued, ‘but I just couldn’t. Somehow I felt as if I had no strength left to do anything. But I was terribly upset. I had not realised that I had done anything so serious and I grew sort of cold when I thought of it. He watched me for a moment, then he laughed and said not to be a fool, that I had done what anyone would have done in my place, and that he only mentioned the matter so that I might not imagine that I was above the little weaknesses of ordinary people. I said I never imagined anything of the sort, and he answered that that being so we might get to business.’
Though Miss Darke was now telling her story as clearly and collectedly as French could have wished, it was evident that the personality of Style had profoundly impressed her. The more she spoke of him, the more nervous and excited she grew. But French’s sympathetic bearing seemed to steady her, and after a short pause she continued.
‘He said then that he would make me a confidential offer. He would take over all my liabilities and make me an immediate advance to get me out of my present difficulties. He would also guarantee me a substantial increase to my income, without in anyway prejudicing my present job, if I would do as he asked. He assured me that what he would ask was absolutely safe if I was careful, and that though it might not exactly accord with certain straightlaced ideas, it would not injure anyone or cause any suffering. He also declared on his honour it was nothing immoral or connected
