‘When can you get hold of them?’
‘As soon as the police stop harassing you. And they soon must; there’s nothing to hold you on. Get in touch like we arranged and we can get on with it.’
‘No tricks meanwhile,’ said Edgar warningly.
‘Of course not,’ said Patsy warmly. And she meant it. He deserved his share thoroughly.
When some days later she judged that the time was ripe, she went back to Dr. Fable’s. Miss Hodge was in the act of shrugging on her outdoor coat. ‘The doctor’s left, I’m afraid.’
Patsy knew that. She had not come to see Dr. Fable.
Miss Hodge took off her coat again and led the way back into her office. ‘You’ve come for the pills?’
‘I’ve tried to hold out. But the craving—it’s terrible,’ said Patsy, going into her act. ‘I just simply must have them.’
‘No doubt,’ said Miss Hodge. She had turned and now half sat on the edge of her desk and she was looking very straight at Patsy. ‘You see, Miss Comfort—I know what the pills are.’
Patsy played for time. ‘Well, I explained to you—’
‘I mean I know that they’re not pills,’ said Miss Hodge.
‘Oh,’ said Patsy. It did seem rather final.
‘You see,’ said Miss Hodge, ‘you made one small mistake. Yes, I am in love with Dr. Fable; to any one of your age, no doubt that’s very amusing. But it does mean something: it means that Dr. Fable knows he can trust me—that I’d never ever let him down. He would never in his life have warned you not to tell me.’
So she’d looked in the box. But—having looked there, reflected Patsy, taking heart of grace, had done nothing; hadn’t gone at once to the police. Perhaps even the Miss Hodges of this world had their price? ‘Have you told this to anyone?’ she said.
‘No, I haven’t,’ said Miss Hodge; (perhaps the glass of sherry was paying dividends then?) ‘I thought… Well, you have shown yourself very—friendly—towards me, Miss Comfort. And I know Lady Blatchett, she’s a patient of ours—and I know she’s a horrid old woman. So I thought I’d wait and hear your side of the story.’
‘Let’s sit down and have a natter, Miss Hodge,’ said Patsy.
So they sat down side by side on the long upholstered seat beneath the upside-down picture where by arrangement with Miss Comfort Edgar Snaith had lately made a fool of himself. ‘You see,’ said Patsy, ‘Lady Blatchett is my aunt. And when my uncle died, she fiddled things—nothing illegal that anyone could get hold of: just worked on our doddering old family solicitor till she’d done us out of something like twenty thousand pounds. Well, that was too bad; but now my father’s dead and my mother’s ill—so beautiful, she is, Miss Hodge, and still quite young—and so dreadfully ill! And twenty thousand pounds—or ten thousand or five, for that matter—might make all the difference to her living a little longer and living that little in comfort. So… Well, one day our little house in Scotland was burgled and I caught the thief—no one more surprised than I was; unless it was him!—and locked him up in a room. And then, instead of sending for the police, I had a little chat with him. I mean, suddenly I saw that if I could bring in a professional, I might get some of my own back—and I do mean that, Miss Hodge,’ said Patsy, ‘get my own back. The pearls would be only a part of the value of what she’s robbed us of. So—we went into partnership. His name, no doubt you realise, was Edgar Snaith.’ And she went off into fits of giggles describing the alternative plans she and Edgar had devised, for drawing the fire of the police. ‘He’s safe enough. He’s never touched the pearls, they can’t pin anything on him for drinking pink medicine and looking at a picture. Unless, of course,’ she asked, raising her sweet blue eyes, half alarmed, half smiling, ‘you’re going to give us away?’
‘You mean,’ said Miss Hodge, ‘that I’m simply to hand over the pearls to you!’
Patsy half opened her mouth to propose a ‘cut’; but knew better and closed it again. ‘Would you—please?’ she said.
Miss Hodge got up and fetched the round white box with its green lettering. She sat nursing it in her hand. She suggested pleasantly: ‘Fifty-fifty?’
‘Fifty-fifty?’ said Patsy; incredulous.
‘Twenty-five percent each for you and Mr. Snaith. The other half to me.’
Patsy made a wild snatch at the box. It was empty. ‘I was waiting for that,’ said Miss Hodge. She added that Miss Comfort need not worry; the pearls were quite safe—but not where she would find them.