Read Online Look to the Lady by Margery Allingham - Free Book Online Page A

‘I’m glad that chap’s gone. I’m sick o’ nobs. As soon as I caught a bosso of ’im and ’is ’arem going up that street I come up to see what the ’ell you was up to – sir.’
    Mr Campion resumed his spectacles. ‘You’re a disgrace,’ he said. ‘You’ve got to make the “valet” grade somehow before tomorrow morning. I don’t know if you realize it, but you’re a social handicap.’
    â€˜Now then, no ’iding be’ind ’igh school talk,’ said Mr Lugg, putting a heavy hand on the table. ‘Show us what you’ve got in yer pocket.’
    Mr Campion felt in his hip-pocket and produced the revolver obediently.
    â€˜I thought so.’ Mr Lugg examined the Colt carefully and handed it back to his master with evident contempt. ‘You know we’re up against something. You’re as jumpy as a cat. Well, I’m prepared too, in me own way.’ He thrust his hand in his own pocket and drew out a life-preserver with a well-worn handle. ‘You don’t catch me carryin’ a gun. I’m not goin’ to swing for any challenge cup that ever was – but then I’m not one of the gentry. And I don’t know wot you think you’re up to swankin’ about the cash your uncle left you. I know it paid your tailor’s bill, but only up to nineteen twenty-eight, remember. You’ll land us both in regular jobs workin’ for a livin’ if you’re so soft-’earted that you take on dangerous berths for charity.’
    He was silent for a moment, and then he bent forward. His entire manner had changed and there was unusual seriousness in his little black eyes.
    â€˜Sir,’ he said, with deep earnestness, ‘let’s ’op it.’
    â€˜My dear fellow,’ said Mr Campion with affable idiocy, ‘I have buttered my bun and now I must lie on it. And you, my beautiful, will stand meekly by. It is difficult, I admit. Gyrth’s a delightful chap, but he doesn’t know what we’re up against yet. After all, you can’t expect him to grasp the significance of the
Société Anonyme
all at once. You’re sure that was Natty Johnson?’
    â€˜Wot d’you take me for – a private dick?’ said Mr Lugg with contempt. ‘Of course I saw ’im. As little and as ugly as life. I don’t like it.’
    He glanced about him almost nervously and came a step nearer. ‘There’s something unnatural about this business,’ he breathed. ‘I was listenin’ down in the bar just now and an old bloke come out with a ’orrible yarn. D’you know they’ve got a blinkin’ two-’eaded monster up at that place?’
    â€˜Where?’ said Mr Campion, considerably taken aback.
    â€˜Up at the Tower – where we’ve got to do the pretty. I’m not going to be mixed with the supernatural, I warn yer.’
    Campion regarded his faithful servitor with interest. ‘I like your “fanny”,’ he said. ‘But they’ve been pulling your leg.’
    â€˜All right, clever,’ said Mr Lugg, nettled. ‘But it’s a fac’, as it ’appens. They’ve got a secret room in the east wing containin’ some filfy family secret. There’s a winder but there’s no door, and when the son o’ the house is twenty-five ’is father takes ’im in and shows ’im the ’oreor, and ’e’s never the same again. Like the king that ate the winkles. That’s why they leave comin’ of age till the boy is old enough to stand the shock.’ He paused dramatically, and added by way of confirmation: ‘The bloke ’oo was telling me was a bit tight, and the others was tryin’ to shut ’im up. You could see it was the truth they was so scared. It’s bound to be a monster – somethin’ you ’ave to feed with a