Look to the Lady by Margery Allingham Page A

Val.
’
    He folded the paper, thrust it in an envelope and went to the top of the oak cupboard staircase. Mrs Bullock’s tousled head appeared round the door at the foot.
    â€˜Throw it down,’ she whispered, ‘and I’ll send young George around with it.’
    Val went back to Campion. ‘I say,’ he said, ‘what about Lugg? He won’t talk, will he?’
    Mr Campion seemed amused. ‘Not on your life,’ he said. ‘Lugg’s down in the four-ale with his ears flapping, drinking in local wit and beer.’
    Val crossed to the window and looked out over the inn garden, a mass of tangled rambler roses and vivid delphiniums stretching down amid high old red walls to the tiny stream which trickled through the village.
    â€˜It seems impossible,’ he said slowly. ‘Up in your flat the story sounded incredible enough, but down here with everything exactly as it always was; so quiet and peaceful and miles away from anywhere, it’s just absurd. By jove, I’m glad to get back.’
    Mr Campion did not speak, and at that moment the door opened and Mrs Bullock returned with a tray on which were two tankards, bread and butter, and a great plate of water-cress.
    â€˜It’s home-brew,’ she said confidentially. ‘I only keep it for ourselves. The stuff the company sends down isn’t what it used to be. You can taste the Government’s hand in it, I say. I’ll send Miss Penny up the moment she comes,’
    She laid a fat red hand on Val’s shoulder as she passed him, an ineffably caressing gesture, and went out, closing the door behind her.
    â€˜Here’s to the fatted calf,’ said Mr Campion, lifting his tankard. ‘There’s something so Olde English about you, Val, that I expect a chorus of rustic maidens with garlands and a neat portable maypole to arrive any moment. Stap me, Sir Percy! Another noggin!’
    Val suddenly turned upon his companion, a shadow of suspicion in his eyes. ‘Look here, Campion,’ he said, ‘this isn’t some silly theatrical stunt to get me back into the bosom of the family, is it? You’re not employed by Hepplewhite, are you?’
    Mr Campion looked hurt. ‘Oh, no,’ he said. ‘I’m my own master now. No more selling my soul to commerce – not while Uncle’s money lasts, anyhow. I’m one of these capitalistic toots. Only one in five has it.’
    Val grinned. ‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘But thinking it over in cold blood, I suppose you know that the Chalice is in the Cup House chapel, and that is burglar-proof. No ordinary thief could possibly touch it.’
    â€˜No ordinary thief would want to,’ said Mr Campion pointedly. ‘You seem to have forgotten your fun in the taxicab. I suppose you know you bashed that chap up pretty permanently, and he didn’t even mention to the hospital authorities that he had a fare on board? If someone doesn’t try to murder one of us every two days you seem to think there’s nothing up. Drink up your beer like a good boy, and old Uncle Al will find a nice crook for you to beat up. All I’m worrying about is if they’ve already got busy while we’re hanging about. I say, I wish your sister would come. The Tower isn’t far away, is it?’
    â€˜It’s just up at the top of the hill,’ said Val. ‘You can’t see it because of the trees. Hold on a moment – I think this is she.’
    There was a chatter of feminine voices on the staircase. Campion walked over to the bedroom.
    â€˜I’ll stay here till the touching reunion is over,’ he said.
    â€˜Don’t be a fool,’ said Val testily. He got no further, for the door opened, and not one but two young women came in, with Mrs Bullock hovering in the background.
    At first glance it was easy to pick out Val’s sister. Penelope Gyrth was tall like her brother, with the same clear-cut features,