Priscilla's Spies Part 11

"More or less the same thing," said Priscilla. "Of course, if that's what she's at, she's not a spy, and we oughtn't to go on treating her as if she was. I don't think it's right to suspect people of really bad crimes unless one knows. Do you, Cousin Frank?"

"Of course not. All the same, the way she's going on is rather queer.

She's just put something that she picked up into that tin box she has slung across her back. That doesn't look to me as if she had gout."

"If only Jimmy Kinsella would turn this way," said Priscilla, "I'd wave at him and make him come over here. It's perfectly maddening being stuck like this when such a lot of exciting things are going on. What time is it?"

"A little after two."

"It's low water then," said Priscilla. "From this on the tide will be coming in again."

The _Tortoise_ lay on the top of a grey bank from which the water had entirely receded. Between her and the channel, now a tangle of floating weed, lay a broad stretch of mud, dotted over with large stones and patches of gravel. The wind, which had been veering round to the south since twelve o'clock, had almost entirely died away. The sun shone very warmly. The _Tortoise_, lying sadly on her side, afforded no shelter at all. Both the beer and the lemonade were finished.

Priscilla drank some peach juice from the tin.

CHAPTER VIII

After wading about for a little more than half an hour, Jimmy Kineslla's lady went ash.o.r.e. She rolled down the sleeves of her blouse and let her skirt fall about her ankles, but she did not put on her shoes and stockings. Jimmy Kinsella was summoned from his stone and launched his boat.

"I daresay," said Priscilla, "that she thinks her rheumatism ought to be cured by now. That is to say, of course, if she really has rheumatism, and isn't a nefarious spy. I rather like that word nefarious. Don't you?

I stuck it into an English comp. the other day and spelt it quite right, but it came back to me with a blue pencil mark under it. Sylvia Courtney said that I hadn't used it in quite the ordinary sense. She thinks she knows, and very likely she does, though not quite as much as she imagines. n.o.body can know everything; which is rather a comfort when it comes to algebra. I loath algebra and always did. Any right-minded person would, I think."

"It looks to me," said Frank, "as if they were coming over here."

Jimmy Kinsella was heading his boat straight for the bank on which the _Tortoise_ lay. In a few minutes she grounded on the edge of it. The lady stepped out and paddled across the mud towards the _Tortoise_.

Seen at close quarters she was, without doubt, fat, and had a round good-humoured face. Her eyes sparkled pleasantly behind a pair of gold rimmed pince-nez.

"She is coming over to us," said Priscilla. "The thing is for you to keep her in play and unravel her mystery, while I slip off and put a few straight questions to Jimmy Kinsella. Be as polite as you possibly can so as to disarm suspicion."

Priscilla began the course of diplomatic politeness herself.

"We're delighted to see you," she said. "My name is Priscilla Lentaigne, and my cousin is Frank Mannix. We're out for a picnic."

"My name," said the lady, "is Rutherford, Martha Rutherford. I'm out after sponges."

"Sponges!" said Frank.

Priscilla winked at him. The statement about the sponges was obviously untrue. There is no sponge fishery in Rosnacree Bay. There never has been. Miss Rutherford, so to speak, intercepted Priscilla's wink.

"By sponges," she said, "I mean??"

"Won't you sit down?" said Priscilla.

She picked her stockings from the gunwale of the boat, leaving a clear s.p.a.ce beside Miss Rutherford.

"Bother!" she said, "the dye out of the purple clocks has run. That's the worst of purple clocks. I half suspected it would at the time, but Sylvia Courtney insisted on my buying them. She said they looked chic.

Would you care for anything to eat, Miss Rutherford?"

"I'm nearly starved. That's why I came over here. I thought you might have some food."

"We've lots," said Priscilla. "Frank will give it to you. I'll just step across and speak to Jimmy Kinsella. I want to hear about the baby."

"I'm afraid," said Miss Rutherford, when Priscilla left them, "that your cousin doesn't believe me about the sponges."

Frank felt deeply ashamed of Priscilla's behaviour. The prefect in him rea.s.serted itself now that he was in the presence of a grown-up lady. He felt it necessary to apologise.

"She's very young," he said, "and I'm afraid she's rather foolish.

Little girls of that age??"

He intended to say something of a paternal kind, something which would give Miss Rutherford the impression that he had kindly undertaken the care of Priscilla during the day in order to oblige those ordinarily responsible for her. A curious smile, which began to form at the corners of Miss Rutherford's lips and a sudden twinkling of her eyes, stopped him abruptly.

"I hope you'll excuse my not standing up," he said, "I've sprained my ankle."

"I'd like to get in and sit beside you if I may," said Miss Rutherford.

"Now for the food."

"There's some cold tongue," said Frank.

"Capital. I love cold tongue."

"But?I'm afraid?" He fished it out from beneath the thwart, "?it may be rather grubby."

"I don't mind that a bit."

"And?the fact is my cousin?it's only fair to tell you?she bit it pretty nearly all over and??" Frank hesitated. He was an honourable boy. Even at the cost of losing Miss Rutherford's respect he would not refrain from telling the truth, "And I bit it too," he blurted out.

"Then I suppose I may," said Miss Rutherford. "I should like to more than anything. I so seldom get the chance."

She bit and munched heartily; bit again, and smiled at Frank. He began to feel more at his ease.

"There are some biscuits," he said. "The macaroons are finished, I'm afraid. But there are some cocoanut creams. I'm afraid they're rather too sweet to go well with tongue."

"In the state of starvation I'm in," she said, "marmalade would go with pea soup. Cocoanut creams and tongue will be simply delicious. Have you anything to drink?"

"Only the juice of the tinned peaches."

"Peach juice," said Miss Rutherford, "is nectar. Do I drink it out of the tin or must I pour it into the palm of my hand and lap?"

"Any way you like," said Frank. "I believe there's a bailer somewhere if you prefer it."

"I prefer the tin, if it doesn't shock you."

"Oh," said Frank, "nothing shocks me."

This was very nearly true. It had not been true a week before; but a day on the sea with Priscilla had done a great deal for Frank. Miss Rutherford threw her head back, tilted the peach tin, and quaffed a satisfying draught.