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"Do you have a cigarette?" Henry asked sharply.
Without looking at him his father produced a small thin cigar and a light.
"The marriage is still the essential thing," Randolph murmured almost as if he were speaking to himself. "A new bride simply doesn't have time to think about business. And for the time being, I've arranged for you to stay with her. She cannot remain alone."
"Good Lord, Father, this is the twentieth century! Why the hell can't she remain alone!"
Stay in that house, and with that disgusting mummy on display in the library? It sickened him. He closed his eyes, savored the cigar silently, and thought of his mistress. A series of sharp, erotic images passed quickly through his mind.
"Damn it, you do what I tell you," his father said. But the voice lacked conviction. Randolph gazed out the window. "You'll stay there and keep an eye on her and do what you can to see she consents to the marriage as quickly as possible. Do your best to see that she doesn't move away from Alex. I think Alex has begun to irritate her slightly."
"Small wonder. If Alex had any gumption ..."
"The marriage is good for her. It's good for everyone."
"All right, all right, let's drop it!"
Silence as the car moved on. There was time for dinner with Daisy, and a long rest at the flat before he hit the gambling tables at Flint's, that is, if he could force a little immediate cash out of his father....
"He didn't suffer, did he?"
Henry gave a little start.
"What? What are you talking about?"
"Your uncle?" his father asked, turning to him for the first time. "The late Lawrence Stratford, who has just died in Egypt? Did he suffer, for the love of God, or did he go quietly?"
"One minute he was fine, the next he was lying on the floor. He was gone within seconds. Why do you ask about something like that?"
"You're such a sentimental young bastard, aren't you?"
"I couldn't prevent it!"
For one moment, the atmosphere of that close little cell came back to him, the acrid smell of the poison. And that thing, that thing in the mummy case, and the grim illusion that it had been watching.
"He was a pigheaded old fool," Randolph said almost in a whisper. "But I loved him."
"Did you really?" Henry turned sharply and peered into his father's face. "He's left everything to her, and you loved him!"
&nb
sp; "He settled plenty on both of us a long time ago. It ought to have been enough, more than enough--"
"It's a pittance compared to what she's inherited!"
"I won't discuss this."
Patience, Henry thought. Patience. He sat back against the soft grey upholstery. I need a hundred pounds at least and I won't get it like this.
Daisy Banker watched through the lace curtains as Henry stepped out of the cab below. She lived in a long flat above the music hall, where she sang every night from ten P.M. until two in the morning; a soft ripe peach of a woman with big drowsy blue eyes and silver blond hair. Her voice was nothing much and she knew it; but they liked her, they did. They liked her very much.
And she liked Henry Stratford, or so she told herself. He was certainly the best thing that had ever happened to her. He'd got her the job below, though how she could never quite work out; and he paid for the flat, or at least he was supposed to. She knew there was quite a bit owing, but then he was just back from Egypt. He'd make it right or shut up anyone who questioned him about it. He was very good at doing that.
She ran to the mirror as she heard his tread on the stairs. She pulled down the feathered collar of her peignoir and straightened the pearls at her throat. She pinched her cheeks to work up the blush just as his key turned in the lock.
"Well, I'd just about given up on you, I had!" she bawled as he came into the room. But oh, the sight of him. It never failed to work on her. He was so very handsome with his dark brown hair and eyes; and the way he conducted himself, so truly the gentleman. She loved the way he removed his cloak now and threw it carelessly over the chair, and beckoned for her to come into his arms. So lazy he was; and so full of himself! But why shouldn't he be?
"And my motor car? You promised me a motor car of my own before you left. Where is it! That wasn't it downstairs. That was a cab."
