these silver and gold pieces in here. He’s a thief.’
Damn bloody Keith, I thought, smothering panic. I’d stolen better than gold, and intended to keep what I’d taken. Stronger I might be, but couldn’t yet swear to the outcome of a straightforward brawl, one against two. Guile, I told myself: all I had in the locker.
I raised my chin, until then tucked down in abashment. I looked as unworried as I could manage. I propped the walking stick against the desk, unzipped the front of the easy jacket which had spent several days earlier draped over the chair in Roger’s office, slid my arms out of it and threw it to Conrad.
‘Search it,’ I said.
He caught the bunched cloth. Keith seized the jacket and went through the pockets. No silver or gold. Nothing stolen.
I was wearing my loose wool checked shirt. I unbuttoned the cuffs and undid the front buttons, tugged off the shirt and threw it too to Conrad.
I stood bare to the waist. I smiled. I unzipped my fly and began to unbuckle my belt.
‘Trousers next?’ I asked Conrad lightly. ‘Shoes? Socks? Anything else?’
‘No. No.’ He was confused. He made an upzipping gesture. ‘Put your shirt on again.’ He threw the shirt back to me. ‘You may be untrustworthy – I’m disappointed, I admit – but not a petty thief.’ He turned to Keith. ‘Let him go, Keith. Pick your fight somewhere else. Not in this room.’
I put my shirt on and did up the buttons, but left the tails hanging down, like a coat.
Dart said abjectly, ‘Father, I’m sorry.’
Conrad made a dismissive gesture. Dart edged round the desk, looking warily at Keith, who still held my jacket.
I followed Dart, limping slowly, the walking stick both a prop and a defence.
Conrad said mordantly, ‘I don’t want to see you again, Mr Morris.’
I ducked my head, acknowledging fault.
Keith clung onto my jacket.
I was not going to ask for it back. Don’t push your luck, I thought: the slightest quiver could erupt the volcano. I was glad simply to reach the door unmolested and to creep through into the hall, and scuttle across it ignominiously, as low in Conrad’s esteem as a cockroach.
I held my breath until we were out of the house, but no angry yells stopped us. Dart scurried into his car, now flanked by Keith’s Jaguar, and waited impatiently during my slower progress.
He let out an agonised ‘Whew’ of relief as his engine fired and we sped to the road. ‘My God, he was angry.’
‘You’re a bloody lousy look-out,’ I said bitterly. ‘Where was my warning?’
‘Yes, well, look, sorry.’
‘Were you asleep?’
‘No… no… I was reading.’
Comprehension arrived. ‘You were reading that damned magazine about hair loss!’
‘Well… I…’ He grinned, shamefacedly, admitting it.
There was nothing to be done about it. The toots on the horn would have given me time to transfer from Conrad’s sanctum to the innocence of the bathroom near the rear entrance. Being caught with my hand in the till, so to speak, had not only been a rotten experience but might set Conrad checking the contents of the boxes. The consequences could be utterly disastrous.
‘You took such a long time,’ Dart complained. ‘What kept you so long?’
‘Just looking around.’
‘And it was Keith’s car they came back in,’ Dart said, excusing himself. ‘I was on the look-out for Father’s.’
‘Not much of a look-out.’
‘You looked terribly guilty,’ Dart said accusingly, shifting the blame.
‘Yes, I felt it.’
‘But as for Keith thinking you’d steal…’ He paused. ‘When you took your shirt off… I mean, I knew parts of the stands fell on you, but all those stitches and bruises… they must hurt.’
‘Not any more,’ I sighed. I’d forgotten, in the urgency of the moment, that he’d been standing behind me. ‘It’s the cuts on my legs that have made walking difficult, but they’re all getting better.’
‘You gave Keith a shock, catching that walking stick.’
I had made him more careful, I thought ruefully, which might not be a good thing, from my point of view.
‘Where are we going?’ Dart asked. He’d turned out of the gates in the direction of the racecourse, automatically. ‘Back to the Gardners?’
I tried to think, to pull together a few scattered wits.
I asked, ‘Is Rebecca racing today, do you know?’
He answered as if bewildered, ‘No, I don’t think so. She was at the meeting, of course.’
‘I need to talk to Marjorie,’ I said. ‘And to go to Stratton Hays.’
‘I don’t follow you.’
‘No, but will you take me?’
He laughed, ‘I’m your chauffeur, now?’
‘You’re a better chauffeur