XXVI
The Bottle of Chloroform
Thalia Drummond was writing a letter when her visitor arrived, and of the many people whom Thalia expected to call, Millie Macroy was the last. The girl looked ill and tired, but she was not so far from human that she could not stand and admire the dainty drawing-room into which Thalia showed her, her servant having gone home for the night.
“Why this is a palace, kid,” she said, and regarded Thalia with reluctant admiration. “You know how to do it all right, better than poor ‘Flush.’ ”
“And how is the elegant ‘Flush’?” asked Thalia coolly.
Millie Macroy’s face darkened.
“See here,” she said roughly, “I don’t want any kind of talk about ‘Flush’ in that tone, do you understand? He is where you ought to be. You were in it as well as him.”
“Don’t be silly. Take off your hat and sit down. Why, it’s like old times seeing you, Macroy.”
The girl grumbled something under her breath, but accepted the invitation.
“It is about ‘Flush’ I want to see you,” she said. “There’s some talk of framing a murder charge against him, but you know he didn’t commit any murder.”
“I know? Why should I know?” asked Thalia. “I didn’t even know that he was in the house until I read the newspapers in the morning—how wonderfully clever they are on the Press to get news so red-hot.”
Milly Macroy had not come to discuss the enterprise of the Press. She drove straight into her subject, which was, as Thalia had expected, “Flush” Barnet and his immediate prospects.
“Drummond, I’m not going to quarrel with you,” she said.
“I’m glad of that,” said Thalia. “I can’t exactly see what there is to quarrel about, anyway.”
“That may or may not be,” said Miss Macroy ironically. “The point is, what are you going to do for ‘Flush’? You know all these swells, and you’re working for that swine Yale,” she almost hissed. “It was Yale who put Parr up to the Marisburg Place job; Parr hadn’t got brains enough to think it out for himself. Were you working with Yale all the time?”
“Don’t make me laugh,” said Thalia scornfully. “It’s certainly true I am working for Yale, if writing his letters and tidying his desk is work. But what swells are you talking about? And what can I do for ‘Flush’ Barnet?”
“You can go to Inspector Parr and tell him the old, old story,” said Macroy. “I’ve got it all worked out; you can say that ‘Flush’ was sweet on you, saw you go into the house and followed, and couldn’t get out.”
“What about my young reputation?” asked the girl coolly. “No, Milly Macroy, you’ve got to think up something prettier and, anyway, I don’t think they’re making a charge for murder against him, from what Derrick Yale said this morning.”
She rose and walked slowly across the room, her hands clasped behind her.
“Besides, what interest have I in your young man? Why should I take the trouble of speaking for him?”
“I’ll tell you why.”
Miss Macroy rose, her hands on her hips, and glared at the girl.
“Because when the Brabazon case comes on, there’s nothing to prevent me going into the box and saying a few plain words about what you did in the way of quick money-getting when you were Brab’s secretary. Ah! That’s made you jump, miss!”
“When the Brabazon case comes on!” said the girl slowly. “Why? Have they caught Brabazon?”
“They pinched him tonight,” answered the girl triumphantly. “Parr did it: I was up at the police station making inquiries about some money that ‘Flush’ left over for me, when they brought him in.”
“Brabazon a prisoner,” said Thalia slowly. “Poor old Brab!”
Macroy was watching her through her half-closed lids. She had never liked Thalia Drummond, and now she hated her. She feared her too, for there was something sinister in her very coolness. Presently Thalia spoke.
“I’ll do what I can for ‘Flush’ Barnet,” she said. “Not because I’m scared of your going into the box—that’s the part of the police court where you’ll be least at home, Macroy—but because the poor little wretch was innocent of the murder.”
Miss Macroy swallowed something at this description of her lover.
“I’ll talk to Yale in the morning. I can’t be sure it will do any good, but I’ll get a heart-to-heart talk with him if he gives me a chance.”
“Thank you,” said Miss Macroy, a little more graciously, and proceeded to admire the flat in conventional language.
Thalia showed her from room to room.
“What’s this place?”
“The kitchen,” said Thalia, but made no attempt to open the door. The girl looked at her suspiciously.
“Have you got a friend?” she asked, and before Thalia could stop her she had opened the door and walked in.
The kitchen was a small one and empty. The electric light was burning, which suggested to Miss Macroy that the girl had left the kitchen to answer her knock.
Thalia could have smiled at the obvious disappointment on Milly Macroy’s face, but her inclination to amusement departed as Macroy walked to the sink and picked up a bottle.
“What is this?” said she, and read the label.
It was half-filled with a colourless liquid, and Miss Macroy did not attempt to take out the stopper. The label told her all she wanted to know.
“ ‘Chloroform and Ether,’ ” she read, looking at the girl. “Why have you been using chloroform?”
Only for a second was Thalia taken aback, and then she laughed.
“Well, do you know, Milly Macroy,” she drawled, “when I think of poor ‘Flush’ Barnet in Brixton Gaol, I just have to sniff something to put him out of my mind.”
Macroy banged down the bottle on the table with a snort.
“You’re a bad lot, Thalia Drummond, and one of these days they’ll be waking you at eight o’clock, and ask you if you have any message for your friends.”
“And I shall reply,” said Thalia sweetly, “bury me next to ‘Flush’ Barnet, the eminent crook.”
Miss Milly Macroy did not think of a suitable retort until she was in the Marylebone Road, and then it came to her with annoying force that, for all her interview, Thalia Drummond had promised nothing.