Sparkling Cyanide

‘Every family’s got a black sheep,’ said George.

She nodded comprehendingly.

‘This is a cousin of my wife’s—a thorough bad hat, I’m afraid. He’s half ruined his mother—a fatuous sentimental soul who has sold out most of what few shares she has on his behalf. He started by forging a cheque at Oxford—they got that hushed up and since then he’s been shipped about the world—never making good anywhere.’

Ruth listened without much interest. She was familiar with the type. They grew oranges, started chicken farms, went as jackaroos to Australian stations, got jobs with meat-freezing concerns in New Zealand. They never made good, never stayed anywhere long, and invariably got through any money that had been invested on their behalf. They had never interested her much. She preferred success.

‘He’s turned up now in London and I find he’s been worrying my wife. She hadn’t set eyes on him since she was a schoolgirl, but he’s a plausible sort of scoundrel and he’s been writing to her for money, and I’m not going to stand for that. I’ve made an appointment with him for twelve o’clock this morning at his hotel. I want you to deal with it for me. The fact is I don’t want to get into contact with the fellow. I’ve never met him and I never want to and I don’t want Rosemary to meet him. I think the whole thing can be kept absolutely businesslike if it’s fixed up through a third party.’

‘Yes, that is always a good plan. What is the arrangement to be?’

‘A hundred pounds cash and a ticket to Buenos Aires. The money to be given to him actually on board the boat.’

Ruth smiled.

‘Quite so. You want to be sure he actually sails!’

‘I see you understand.’

‘It’s not an uncommon case,’ she said indifferently.

‘No, plenty of that type about.’ He hesitated. ‘Are you sure you don’t mind doing this?’

‘Of course not.’ She was a little amused. ‘I can assure you I am quite capable of dealing with the matter.’

‘You’re capable of anything.’

‘What about booking his passage? What’s his name, by the way?’

‘Victor Drake. The ticket’s here. I rang up the steamship company yesterday. It’s the San Cristobal, sails from Tilbury tomorrow.’

Ruth took the ticket, glanced over it to make sure of its correctness and put it into her handbag.

‘That’s settled. I’ll see to it. Twelve o’clock. What address?’

‘The Rupert, off Russell Square.’

She made a note of it.

‘Ruth, my dear, I don’t know what I should do without you—’ He put a hand on her shoulder affectionately; it was the first time he had ever done such a thing. ‘You’re my right hand, my other self.’

She flushed, pleased.

‘I’ve never been able to say much—I’ve taken all you do for granted—but it’s not really like that. You don’t know how much I rely on you for everything—’ he repeated: ‘everything. You’re the kindest, dearest, most helpful girl in the world!’

Ruth said, laughing to hide her pleasure and embarrassment, ‘You’ll spoil me saying such nice things.’

‘Oh, but I mean them. You’re part of the firm, Ruth. Life without you would be unthinkable.’

She went out feeling a warm glow at his words. It was still with her when she arrived at the Rupert Hotel on her errand.

Ruth felt no embarrassment at what lay before her. She was quite confident of her powers to deal with any situation. Hard-luck stories and people never appealed to her. She was prepared to take Victor Drake as all in the day’s work.

He was very much as she had pictured him, though perhaps definitely more attractive. She made no mistake in her estimate of his character. There was not much good in Victor Drake. As cold-hearted and calculating a personality as could exist, well masked behind an agreeable devilry. What she had not allowed for was his power of reading other people’s souls, and the practised ease with which he could play on the emotions. Perhaps, too, she had underestimated her own resistance to his charm. For he had charm.

He greeted her with an air of delighted surprise.

‘George’s emissary? But how wonderful. What a surprise!’

In dry even tones, she set out George’s terms. Victor agreed to them in the most amiable manner.

‘A hundred pounds? Not bad at all. Poor old George. I’d have taken sixty—but don’t tell him so! Conditions:—“Do not worry lovely Cousin Rosemary—do not contaminate innocent Cousin Iris—do not embarrass worthy Cousin George.” All agreed to! Who is coming to see me off on the San Cristobal? You are, my dear Miss Lessing? Delightful.’ He wrinkled up his nose, his dark eyes twinkled sympathetically. He had a lean brown face and there was a suggestion about him of a toreador—romantic conception! He was attractive to women and knew it!

‘You’ve been with Barton some time, haven’t you, Miss Lessing?’

‘Six years.’

‘And he wouldn’t know what to do without you. Oh yes, I know all about it. And I know all about you, Miss Lessing.’

‘How do you know?’ asked Ruth sharply.

Victor grinned. ‘Rosemary told me.’

‘Rosemary? But—’

‘That’s all right. I don’t propose to worry Rosemary any further. She’s already been very nice to me—quite sympathetic. I got a hundred out of her, as a matter of fact.’

‘You—’

Ruth stopped and Victor laughed. His laugh was infectious. She found herself laughing too.

‘That’s too bad of you, Mr Drake.’

‘I’m a very accomplished sponger. Highly finished technique. The mater, for instance, will always come across if I send a wire hinting at imminent suicide.’

‘You ought to be ashamed of yourself.’

‘I disapprove of myself very deeply. I’m a bad lot, Miss Lessing. I’d like you to know just how bad.’

‘Why?’ She was curious.

‘I don’t know. You’re different. I couldn’t play up the usual technique to you. Those clear eyes of yours—you wouldn’t fall for it. No, “More sinned against than sinning, poor fellow,” wouldn’t cut any ice with you. You’ve no pity in you.’

Her face hardened.

‘I despise pity.’

‘In spite of your name? Ruth is your name, isn’t it? Piquant that. Ruth the ruthless.’