Suspects—Nine Read Free Page B

ALICE BELCHAMBER
    But the eager hope that had for a moment glimmered in Vicky’s eyes died down again as Bobby, put in possession of the facts, shook a somewhat dubious head.
    â€œJolly awkward,” he said, “but I don’t see quite what you can do.”
    â€œBut she’s stolen it, it’s theft,” cried Vicky indignantly. “Why can’t you arrest her? Police can, can’t they?”
    â€œWell, so can you for that matter,” Bobby answered, “only you’ve got to justify it afterwards. And so have we.”
    â€œWhen somebody steals something,” protested Vicky.
    â€œNobody seems to know the difference between a felony and a misdemeanour,” Bobby told her, “but I expect this would be called a misdemeanour and a warrant would be necessary.”
    â€œBut you could tell her who you were and you were going to,” urged Vicky. “It would frighten her, and if she gave it back, then it would be all right. It’s stealing, running off with someone else’s hat.”
    â€œI don’t think,” interposed Olive, looking doubtful, “that Lady Alice would frighten very easily.”
    â€œI’m afraid,” observed Bobby, “they wouldn’t like it very much at the Yard if we went about trying to frighten people—especially if there were private friends in it. If you did prosecute, I should have to be careful to keep out. You can apply for a warrant but honestly I’m not sure you would get it. Most likely you would be told your remedy was a civil action.”
    â€œBesides,” added Olive, “we don’t want clients to think if they come here, they may be arrested.”
    â€œWe must do something,” Vicky wailed, “we must get it back or what will Mrs. Tamar say? She may think we let it go on purpose because of being paid extra.”
    â€œIt’s jolly awkward,” agreed Bobby, wrinkling a puzzled forehead.
    â€œIt’s ruin,” said Vicky dramatically. “Blue ruin,” she added, apparently convinced that ruin of that hue was ruin worst of all.
    â€œYou could get your lawyers to write and threaten proceedings,” observed Bobby.
    â€œWould that be any good?” asked Olive.
    â€œNot a scrap,” said Bobby. “Goodness knows when the case would come on. You would probably get judgment for the return of the hat or its value and costs—costs being about half your expenses, probably. Most likely Lady Alice would swear you said she could have it, and her counsel would go all out on suggesting you were only bringing the action to put yourself right with the client you had let down. If the judge’ believed that you might get let in for costs yourselves.”
    Vicky rose, to her feet. There were times when Olive felt that the stage had lost a great tragic actress in Vicky. With one hand clenched against her breast, one held out at length, she cried in vibrant tones,
    â€œDo you mean there isn’t a damn thing we can do?” There was a silence, a deep and solemn silence, broken only when the door from the shop opened and Jenny poked her head in.
    â€œWere you calling?” she asked.
    No one took any notice of her. Bobby said,
    â€œThat’s about the size of it.”
    Once more silence reigned. Jenny, more scared than ever, withdrew. A moment later she appeared again.
    â€œOh, please,” she said, “there’s a message and I think it’s from her.”
    No need to ask who ‘her’ meant. They all knew. Jenny produced an envelope. Olive opened it. It contained a cheque for £26 5 s . Olive let it flutter to the ground from her nerveless fingers. Vicky picked it up.
    â€œIt isn’t the hat,” she said sadly.
    â€œConsolidating the position, that’s called,” observed Bobby. “Pretty stiff price, isn’t it?”
    â€œNine guineas and a half was the real figure, wasn’t it, Vicky?” Olive