Mystery of Mr. Jessop by E.R. Punshon Page A

extent, and with two tall, narrow cupboards at one side, one for hats and cloaks and the other for brooms and brushes, though each so small the plural did not seem the appropriate number to use. Opposite was another door, admitting to the main apartment, into which Hilda now led the way.
    â€œSit down,” she said to him. “Well, what is it?”
    With some hesitation, for he was not quite sure that it would not collapse under his weight, Bobby lowered himself into the chair she indicated, and, under pretence of not quite knowing what to do with his helmet, gave about him one of those quick, searching, intent glances by which he had trained himself to observe and memorise every detail of his surroundings, no matter how apparently trivial or unimportant it might seem.
    The room had a pleasant and attractive look, and considerable pains must have been taken with the colour-scheme, to tone wherewith even the flowers in the vases on the table, before the window, on a corner bracket, had evidently been carefully chosen. To the masculine eye there was perhaps a lack of really comfortable-looking chairs, but there were many cushions and pouffes, on one of which, ingeniously shaped like a pig, Hilda had now seated herself. Altogether a very feminine apartment, Bobby thought, with its many photographs and knick-knacks – on the mantelshelf stood a perfect Zoo in tiny models of animals, ranging from expensive things in bronze to others in papier mâché , bought probably at sixpenny stores – and its general appeal to the aesthetic sense rather than to any mere vulgar ideal of comfort. But, then, ideas of comfort are relative, and Hilda May’s idea of it was to sit on the floor with her legs tucked under her and her head against a chair she seldom thought of using as a seat, just as her idea of a really satisfying meal was a soft boiled egg, followed by a plentiful supply of cream buns and eclairs.
    At one side of the room, curtains, matching perfectly those before the windows, and making, with the table cover, a delicate harmony too subtle for Bobby’s imperfect colour sense to appreciate, veiled a recess he guessed contained a divan bed. The table cover, however, he did notice for its beauty. It was really an Indian shawl with a lovely golden thread running through the pattern. Owing to two small accidental burns it had suffered, it had been relegated from its status of evening wrap to its present use, the two small, neatly darned holes being less noticeable so. Two doors admitted to what were probably, Bobby supposed, a bathroom and a kitchenette, and he noticed on a wall bracket what at first he thought was a real cat, till a second glance showed him it was manufactured from some soft black furry material that with the aid of a well-modelled head gave it quite a life-like appearance.
    â€œWell?” Hilda asked again.
    Bobby decided to keep his helmet on his knee and transferred his attention to her. Sitting there, a little stiffly, she no longer made that impression of extreme grace and ease of bearing she had given before. Gone, too, was the suggestion of a radiant brightness her movements in the dance had seemed somehow to convey. Now she looked merely a somewhat heavily built, hefty young woman, a little awkward somehow, though probably one who would do well on the links or the tennis-courts. Before, Bobby had hardly been conscious of her looks, so much had they seemed subordinate to the unknown message hidden in the lovely harmony of her movements. But now it struck him that if anything she was almost plain, or at any rate with no pretensions to unusual good looks. The lower part of her face was much too heavy, with a wide mouth and large square chin contrasting with the small nose and low forehead. Her hair was dressed in the conventional permanent wave style, the only conventional thing about her, and her complexion, too, was dark, and apparently less laid over with cosmetics than is usually