Towards Zero Read Free Page B

again.
    He turned round slowly and looked at his daughter.
    Sylvia stood just inside the door, which she had closed behind her. She was tall, dark, angular. Her face was sullen and bore marks of tears. She said timidly rather than defiantly:
    â€œWell, here I am.”
    Battle looked at her thoughtfully for a minute or two. He sighed.
    â€œI should never have sent you to this place,” he said. “That woman’s a fool.”
    Sylvia lost sight of her own problems in sheer amazement.
    â€œMiss Amphrey? Oh, but she’s wonderful. We all think so.”
    â€œH’m,” said Battle. “Can’t be quite a fool, then, if she sells the idea of herself as well as that. All the same, Meadway wasn’t the place for you—although I don’t know—this might have happened anywhere.”
    Sylvia twisted her hands together. She looked down. She said:
    â€œI’m—I’m sorry, Father. I really am.”
    â€œSo you should be,” said Battle shortly. “Come here.”
    She came slowly and unwillingly across the room to him. He took her chin in his great square hand and looked closely into her face.
    â€œBeen through a good deal, haven’t you?” he said gently.
    Tears started into her eyes.
    Battle said slowly:
    â€œYou see, Sylvia, I’ve known all along with you, that there was something. Most people have got a weakness of some kind or another. Usually it’s plain enough. You can see when a child’s greedy, or bad-tempered, or got a streak of the bully in him. You were a good child, very quiet—very sweet-tempered—no trouble in any way—and sometimes I’ve worried. Because if there’s a flaw you don’t see, sometimes it wrecks the whole show when the article is tried out.”
    â€œLike me!” said Sylvia.
    â€œYes, like you. You’ve cracked under strain—and in a damned queer way too. It’s a way, oddly enough, I’ve never come across before.”
    The girl said suddenly and scornfully:
    â€œI should think you’d come across thieves often enough!”
    â€œOh yes—I know all about them. And that’s why, my dear—not because I’m your father (fathers don’t know much about their children) but because I’m a policeman I know well enough you’re not a thief. You never took a thing in this place. Thieves are of two kinds, the kind that yields to sudden and overwhelming temptation—(and that happens damned seldom—it’s amazing what temptation the ordinary normal honest human being can withstand) and there’s the kind that just takes what doesn’t belong to them almost as a matter of course. You don’t belong to either type. You’re not a thief. You’re a very unusual type of liar.”
    Sylvia began, “But—”
    He swept on.
    â€œYou’ve admitted it all? Oh yes, I know that. There was a saint once—went out with bread for the poor. Husband didn’t like it. Met her and asked what there was in her basket. She lost her nerve and said it was roses—he tore open her basket and roses it was—a miracle! Now if you’d been Saint Elizabeth and were out with a basket of roses, and your husband had come along and asked what you’d got, you’d have lost your nerve and said ‘Bread.’”
    He paused and then said gently:
    â€œThat’s how it happened, isn’t it?”
    There was a longer pause and then the girl suddenly bent her head.
    Battle said:
    â€œTell me, child. What happened exactly?”
    â€œShe had us all up. Made a speech. And I saw her eyes on me and I knew she thought it was me! I felt myself getting red—and I saw some of the girls looking at me. It was awful. And then the others began looking at me and whispering in corners. I could seethey all thought so. And then the Amp had me up here with some of the others one evening and we played a sort of word