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‘Good going,’ said the girl.
A tram flashed past them, they were on the outskirts of London. They flashed in and out of the traffic. Edward’s heart stood in his mouth. She was a wonderful driver, this girl, but she took risks!
Quarter of an hour later they drew up before an imposing house in a frigid square.
‘We can shed some of our clothing here,’ said the girl, ‘before we go on to Ritson’s.’
‘Ritson’s?’ queried Edward. He mentioned the famous night-club almost reverently.
‘Yes, didn’t Gerald tell you?’
‘He did not,’ said Edward grimly. ‘What about my clothes?’
She frowned.
‘Didn’t they tell you anything? We’ll rig you up somehow. We’ve got to carry this through.’
A stately butler opened the door and stood aside to let them enter.
‘Mr Gerald Champneys rang up, your ladyship. He was very anxious to speak to you, but he wouldn’t leave a message.’
‘I bet he was anxious to speak to her,’ said Edward to himself. ‘At any rate, I know my full name now. Edward Champneys. But who is she? Your ladyship, they called her. What does she want to steal a necklace for? Bridge debts?’
In the feuilletons which he occasionally read, the beautiful and titled heroine was always driven desperate by bridge debts.
Edward was led away by the stately butler, and delivered over to a smooth-mannered valet. A quarter of an hour later he rejoined his hostess in the hall, exquisitely attired in evening clothes made in Savile Row which fitted him to a nicety.
Heavens! What a night!
They drove in the car to the famous Ritson’s. In common with everyone else Edward had read scandalous paragraphs concerning Ritson’s. Anyone who was anyone turned up at Ritson’s sooner or later. Edward’s only fear was that someone who knew the real Edward Champneys might turn up. He consoled himself by the reflection that the real man had evidently been out of England for some years.
Sitting at a little table against the wall, they sipped cocktails. Cocktails! To the simple Edward they represented the quintessence of the fast life. The girl, wrapped in a wonderful embroidered shawl, sipped nonchalantly. Suddenly she dropped the shawl from her shoulders and rose.
‘Let’s dance.’
Now the one thing that Edward could do to perfection was to dance. When he and Maud took the floor together at the Palais de Danse, lesser lights stood still and watched in admiration.
‘I nearly forgot,’ said the girl suddenly. ‘The necklace?’
She held out her hand. Edward, completely bewildered, drew it from his pocket and gave it to her. To his utter amazement, she coolly clasped it round her neck. Then she smiled up at him intoxicatingly.
‘Now,’ she said softly, ‘we’ll dance.’
They danced. And in all Ritson’s nothing more perfect could be seen. Then, as at length they returned to their table, an old gentleman with a would-be rakish air accosted Edward’s companion.
‘Ah! Lady Noreen, always dancing! Yes, yes. Is Captain Folliot here tonight?’
‘Jimmy’s taken a toss – racked his ankle.’
‘You don’t say so? How did that happen?’
‘No details as yet.’
She laughed and passed on.
Edward followed, his brain in a whirl. He knew now. Lady Noreen Eliot, the famous Lady Noreen herself, perhaps the most talked of girl in England. Celebrated for her beauty, for her daring – the leader of that set known as the Bright Young People. Her engagement to Captain James Folliot, V.C., of the Household Calvalry, had been recently announced.
But the necklace? He still couldn’t understand the necklace. He must risk giving himself away, but know he must.
As they sat down again, he pointed to it.
‘Why that, Noreen?’ he said. ‘Tell me why?’
She smiled dreamily, her eyes far away, the spell of the dance still holding her.
‘It’s difficult for you to understand, I suppose. One gets so tired of the same thing – always the same thing. Treasure hunts were all very well for a while, but one gets used to everything. “Burglaries” were my idea. Fifty pounds entrance fee, and lots to be drawn. This is the third. Jimmy and I drew Agnes Larella. You know the rules? Burglary to be carried out within three days and the loot to be worn for at least an hour in a public place, or you forfeit your stake and a hundred-pound fine. It’s rough luck on Jimmy spraining his ankle, but we’ll scoop the pool all right.’
‘I see,’ said Edward, drawing a deep breath. ‘I see.’
Noreen rose suddenly, pulling her shawl round her.
‘Drive me somewhere in the car. Down to the docks. Somewhere horrible and exciting. Wait a minute –’ She reached up and unclasped the diamonds from her neck. ‘You’d better take these again. I don’t want to be murdered for them.’
They went out of Ritson’s together. The car stood in a small by-street, narrow and dark. As they turned the corner towards it, another car drew up to the curb, and a young man sprang out.
‘Thank the Lord, Noreen, I’ve got hold of you at last,’ he cried. ‘There’s the devil to pay. That ass Jimmy got off with the wrong car. God knows where those diamonds are at this minute. We’re in the devil of a mess.’
Lady Noreen stared at him.
‘What do you mean? We’ve got the diamonds – at least Edward has.’
‘Edward?’
‘Yes.’ She made a slight gesture to indicate the figure by her side.
‘It’s I who am in the devil of a mess,’ thought Edward. ‘Ten to one this is brother Gerald.’
The young man stared at him.
‘What do you mean?’ he said slowly. ‘Edward’s in Scotland.’
‘Oh!’ cried the girl. She stared at Edward. ‘Oh!’
Her colour came and went.
‘So you,’ she said, in a low voice, ‘are the real thing?’
It took Edward just one minute to grasp the situation. There was awe in the girl’s eyes – was it, could it be – admiration? Should he explain? Nothing so tame! He would play up to the end.
He bowed ceremoniously.
‘I have to thank you, Lady Noreen,’ he said, in the best highwayman manner, ‘for a most delightful evening.’
One quick look he cast at the car from which the other had just alighted. A scarlet car with a shining bonnet. His car!
‘And I will wish you good-evening.’
One quick spring and he was inside, his foot on the clutch. The car started forward. Gerald stood paralysed, but the girl was quicker. As the car slid past she leapt for it, alighting on the running board.
The car swerved, shot blindly round the corner and pulled up. Noreen, still panting from her spring, laid her hand on Edward’s arm.
‘You must give it me – oh, you must give it me. I’ve got to return it to Agnes Larella. Be a sport – we’ve had a good evening together – we’ve danced – we’ve been – pals. Won’t you give it to me? To me?’
A woman who intoxicated you with her beauty. There were such women then . . .
Also, Edward was only too anxious to get rid of the necklace. It was a heaven-sent opportunity for a beau geste.
He took it from his pocket and dropped it into her outstretched hand.
‘We’ve been – pals,’ he said.
‘Ah!’ Her eyes smouldered – lit up.
Then surprisingly she bent her head to him. For a moment he held her, her lips against his . . .
