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

the case to-day. But her eyes were really fine; large, dark, and shining with a kind of inner light, though so carefully hidden beneath heavy, drooping lids they were seldom clearly seen. It was a mannerism, partly natural, partly acquired from a conviction, strengthened by experience, that their brilliance made them unsuitable for business hours. The general impression that she made upon Bobby, as indeed was often the case with others, was that of a personality of doubtful and yet perhaps tremendous potentialities. And another conviction that stole into Bobby’s mind was that she was afraid. He thought her hands were pressed together a little too closely, her eyes hidden a little too carefully, as if she did not wish to be seen what it might be they showed. Nor had her voice, he thought, been quite steady when she uttered that last “Well.”
    â€œYou are employed by Messrs. Jessop & Jacks,” he said slowly. “Can you give me Mr. Jacks’s private address? I have been to Mayfair Square, but I couldn’t get an answer.”
    She got up slowly; and now she was standing he was impressed again by her height and build, and also he still noticed a certain heaviness, almost awkwardness of manner, that in her dancing had seemed to fall from her like a cast-off garment. He had the impression, too, that his question had come to her as a relief, as if she had feared something else. Stretching out a long, white, well-formed arm that showed, too, a ripple of muscle beneath the skin, she took down the life-like cat from the wall bracket and showed it had served as a cover for a telephone. Lifting the instrument, she dialled a number and said presently: “Miss May speaking – Hilda May, Mr. Jessop’s secretary. There’s a policeman here. He wants Mr. Jacks. No, he has not said why. He says he can’t make anyone hear at Mayfair Square.” She listened a moment, and then turned to Bobby. “Is it important?” she asked. “Can’t it wait till morning, or till Monday?”
    " I am afraid not,” Bobby answered.
    â€œHe says not,” Hilda repeated over the phone, and, after listening a minute or two, turned again to Bobby. “Mr. and Mrs. Jacks are out. They went to the cinema and they were going on to play bridge. They didn’t say where – to friends. Mr. Jacks said they might be late. They aren’t likely to be long now, though. Is there any message?”
    â€œNo, except that I must see Mr. Jacks as soon as possible. Will you say I am coming on at once, and, if Mr. Jacks gets in first, will he please expect me and will he wait up for me. What is the address?”
    Hilda gave it – a house in a Bayswater square. She had passed on his message, and now put down the instrument. Bobby said to her:
    â€œWas Mr. Jessop a married man? Had he children, relatives?”
    â€œHe is a widower,” Hilda answered. “He has a service flat – Bloomsbury. There’s one daughter, I think. She lives in Australia. I don’t know of any other relatives. I expect there are some. I don’t know. Why? Has there been an accident? Or?”
    â€œOr – what?” Bobby asked.
    â€œOr what is it?” she completed her sentence quickly, but not, Bobby fancied, as she had originally intended. “What do you want Mr. Jacks for? At this time... asking about – relatives,” she concluded, a little breathlessly.
    â€œMr. Jessop has been shot,” Bobby told her then.
    â€œShot?” she repeated, and, oddly, his first impression was that this word brought her overwhelming relief. But then her expression changed as she seemed to realise more clearly what was implied. “Shot?” she repeated. “You don’t mean... not on purpose... not – killed? Not – murdered?”
    Bobby made an affirmative gesture. He was watching her closely. He saw that she had gone very pale, and she turned a little away, as if to