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It was only a brainstorm. It passed. But I wanted to see Megan— I wanted to see her badly.
At half past nine that night I left the house and went down to the town and along to the Symmingtons.’
It was then that an entirely new idea came into my mind. The idea of a woman whom nobody had considered for a moment.
(Or had Nash considered her?)
Wildly unlikely, wildly improbable, and I would have said up to today impossible, too. But that was not so. No, not impossible.
I redoubled my pace. Because it was now even more imperative that I should see Megan straightaway.
I passed through the Symmingtons’ gate and up to the house. It was a dark overcast night. A little rain was beginning to fall. The visibility was bad.
I saw a line of light from one of the windows. The little morning room?
I hesitated a moment or two, then instead of going up to the front door, I swerved and crept very quietly up to the window, skirting a big bush and keeping low.
The light came from a chink in the curtains which were not quite drawn. It was easy to look through and see.
It was a strangely peaceful and domestic scene. Symmington in a big armchair, and Elsie Holland, her head bent, busily patching a boy’s torn shirt.
I could hear as well as see for the window was open at the top.
Elsie Holland was speaking.
“But I do think, really, Mr. Symmington, that the boys are quite old enough to go to boarding school. Not that I shan’t hate leaving them because I shall. I’m ever so fond of them both.”
Symmington said: “I think perhaps you’re right about Brian, Miss Holland. I’ve decided that he shall start next term at Winhays—my old prep school. But Colin is a little young yet. I’d prefer him to wait another year.”
“Well of course I see what you mean. And Colin is perhaps a little young for his age—”
Quiet domestic talk—quiet domestic scene—and a golden head bent over needlework.
Then the door opened and Megan came in.
She stood very straight in the doorway, and I was aware at once of something tense and strung up about her. The skin of her face was tight and drawn and her eyes were bright and resolute. There was no diffidence about her tonight and no childishness.
She said, addressing Symmington, but giving him no title (and I suddenly reflected that I never heard her call him anything. Did she address him as father or as Dick or what?)
“I would like to speak to you, please. Alone.”
Symmington looked surprised and, I fancied, not best pleased. He frowned, but Megan carried her point with a determination unusual in her.
She turned to Elsie Holland and said:
“Do you mind, Elsie?”
“Oh, of course not,” Elsie Holland jumped up. She looked startled and a little flurried.
She went to the door and Megan came farther in so that Elsie passed her.
Just for a moment Elsie stood motionless in the doorway looking over her shoulder.
Her lips were closed, she stood quite still, one hand stretched out, the other clasping her needlework to her.
I caught my breath, overwhelmed by her beauty. When I think of her now, I always think of her like that—in arrested motion, with that matchless deathless perfection that belonged to ancient Greece.
Then she went out shutting the door.
Symmington said rather fretfully:
“Well, Megan, what is it? What do you want?”
Megan had come right up to the table. She stood there looking down at Symmington. I was struck anew by the resolute determination of her face and by something else—a hardness new to me.
Then she opened her lips and said something that startled me to the core.
“I want some money,” she said.
The request didn’t improve Symmington’s temper. He said sharply:
“Couldn’t you have waited until tomorrow morning? What’s the matter, do you think your allowance is inadequate?”
A fair man, I thought even then, open to reason, though not to emotional appeal.
Megan said: “I want a good deal of money.”
Symmington sat up straight in his chair. He said coldly:
“You will come of age in a few months’ time. Then the money left you by your grandmother will be turned over to you by the public trustee.”
Megan said:
“You don’t understand. I want money from you.” She went on, speaking faster. “Nobody’s ever talked much to me about my father. They’ve not wanted me to know about him. But I do know that he went to prison and I know why. It was for blackmail!”
She paused.
“Well, I’m his daughter. And perhaps I take after him. Anyway, I’m asking you to give me money because—if you don’t”—she stopped and then went on very slowly and evenly—“if you don’t—I shall say what I saw you doing to the cachet that day in my mother’s room.”
There was a pause. Then Symmington said in a completely emotionless voice:
“I don’t know what you mean.”
Megan said: “I think you do.”
And she smiled. It was not a nice smile.
Symmington got up. He went over to the writing desk. He took a cheque-book from his pocket and wrote out a cheque. He blotted it carefully and then came back. He held it out to Megan.
“You’re grown up now,” he said. “I can understand that you may feel you want to buy something rather special in the way of clothes and all that. I don’t know what you’re talking about. I didn’t pay attention. But here’s a cheque.”
Megan looked at it, then she said:
“Thank you. That will do to go on with.”
She turned and went out of the room. Symmington stared after her and at the closed door, then he turned round and as I saw his face I made a quick uncontrolled movement forward.
It was checked in the most extraordinary fashion. The big bush that I had noticed by the wall stopped being a bush. Superintendent Nash’s arms went round me and Superintendent Nash’s voice just breathed in my ear:
“Quiet, Burton. For God’s sake.”
Then, with infinite caution he beat a retreat, his arm impelling me to accompany him.
Round the side of the house he straightened himself and wiped his forehead.
“Of course,” he said, “you would have to butt in!”
“That girl isn’t safe,” I said urgently. “You saw his face? We’ve got to get her out of here.”
Nash took a firm grip of my arm.
“Now, look here, Mr. Burton, you’ve got to listen.”
VI
Well, I listened.
I didn’t like it—but I gave in.
But I insisted on being on the spot and I swore to obey orders implicitly.
So that is how I came with Nash and Parkins into the house by the back door which was already unlocked.
And I waited with Nash on the upstairs landing behind the velvet curtain masking the window alcove until the clocks in the house struck two, and Symmington’s door opened and he went across the landing and into Megan’s room.
I did not stir or make a move for I knew that Sergeant Parkins was inside masked by the opening door, and I knew that Parkins was a good man and knew his job, and I knew that I couldn’t have trusted myself to keep quiet and not break out.
And waiting there, with my heart thudding, I saw Symmington come out with Megan in his arms and carry her downstairs, with Nash and myself a discreet distance behind him.
He carried her through to the kitchen and he had just arranged her comfortably with her head in the gas oven and had turned on the gas when Nash and I came through the kitchen door and switched on the light.
