Tenterhooks | Page 3

you're not to have it, Archie).'
'But, Mother, I've got it.... I can soon mend it, Mother.'
On Sunday evening Bruce's high spirits seemed to flag; he had one of
his sudden reactions. He looked at everything on its dark side.
'What on earth's that thing in your hair, Edith?'
'It's a bandeau.'
'I don't like it. Your hair looks very nice without it. What on earth did
you get it for?'
'For about six-and-eleven, I think.'
'Don't be trivial, Edith. We shall be late. Ah! It really does seem rather
a pity, the very first time one dines with people like the Mitchells.'

'We sha'n't be late, Bruce. It's eight o'clock, and eight o'clock I suppose
means--well, eight. Sure you've got the number right?'
'Really. Edith!... My memory is unerring, dear. I never make a mistake.
Haven't you ever noticed it?'
'A--oh yes--I think I have.'
'Well, it's 168 Hamilton Place. Look sharp, dear.'
On their way in the taxi he gave her a good many instructions and
advised her to be perfectly at her ease and absolutely natural; there was
nothing to make one otherwise, in either Mr or Mrs Mitchell. Also, he
said, it didn't matter a bit what she wore, as long as she had put on her
best dress. It seemed a pity she had not got a new one, but this couldn't
be helped, as there was now no time. Edith agreed that she knew of no
really suitable place where she could buy a new evening dress at
eight-thirty on Sunday evening. And, anyhow, he said, she looked quite
nice, really very smart; besides, Mrs Mitchell was not the sort of person
who would think any the less of a pretty woman for being a little
dowdy and out of fashion.
When they drove up to what house agents call in their emotional way a
superb, desirable, magnificent town mansion, they saw that a large
dinner-party was evidently going on. A hall porter and four powdered
footmen were in evidence.
'By Jove!' said Bruce, as he got out, 'I'd no idea old Mitchell did
himself so well as this.'... The butler had never heard of the Mitchells.
The house belonged to Lord Rosenberg.
'Confound it! 'said Bruce, as he flung himself into the taxi. 'Well! I've
made a mistake for once in my life. I admit it. Of course, it's really
Hamilton Gardens. Sorry. Yet somehow I'm rather glad Mitchell
doesn't live in that house.'
'You are perfectly right,' said Edith: 'the bankruptcy of an old friend
and colleague could be no satisfaction to any man.'

Hamilton Gardens was a gloomy little place, like a tenement building
out of Marylebone Road. Bruce, in trying to ring the bell, unfortunately
turned out all the electric light in the house, and was standing alone in
despair in the dark when, fortunately the porter, who had been out to
post a letter, ran back, and turned up the light again.... 'I shouldn't have
thought they could play musical crambo here, 'he called out to Edith
while he was waiting. 'And now isn't it odd? I have a funny kind of
feeling that the right address is Hamilton House.'
'I suppose you're perfectly certain they don't live at a private idiot
asylum?' Edith suggested doubtfully.
On inquiry it appeared the Mitchells did not live at Hamilton Gardens.
An idea occurred to Edith, and she asked for a directory.
The Winthrop Mitchells lived at Hamilton Terrace, St John's Wood.
'At last!' said Bruce. 'Now we shall be too disgracefully late for the first
time. But be perfectly at your ease, dear. Promise me that. Go in quite
naturally.'
'How else can I go in?'
'I mean as if nothing had happened.'
'I think we'd better tell them what has happened,' said Edith; 'it will
make them laugh. I hope they will have begun their dinner.'
'Surely they will have finished it.'
'Perhaps we may find them at their games!'
'Now, now, don't be bitter, Edith dear--never be bitter--life has its ups
and downs.... Well! I'm rather glad, after all, that Mitchell doesn't live
in that horrid little hole.'
'I'm sure you are,' said Edith; 'it could be no possible satisfaction to you
to know that a friend and colleague of yours is either distressingly hard
up or painfully penurious.'

They arrived at the house, but there were no lights, and no sign of life.
The Mitchells lived here all right, but they were out. The parlourmaid
explained. The dinner-party had been Saturday, the night before....
'Strange,' said Bruce, as he got in again. 'I had a curious presentiment
that something was going wrong about this dinner at the Mitchells'.'
'What dinner at the Mitchells'? There doesn't seem to be any.'
'Do you know,' Bruce continued his train of thought, 'I felt