THE BEAST ─ five hargreeves

[ 052 ] lila is assaulted by a centipede

LII.

l i l a   i s
a s s a u l t e d   b y
a   c e n t i p e d e

—WHEN ZARA RETURNED to the party downstairs, she found Ralph chattering amiably with one of the pot-smoking boys that hung around the Gala like wasps. For a moment, remembering what she had heard and seen, Zara was doubtful of her reception, but she need have had no misgivings.

"Why, it's Zar! Glad to see you haven't been devoured by the crocodile upstairs."

He came forward to meet her, hand outstretched, his characteristic sunny smile lighting up his face.

"This has been a night full of surprises," remarked the other. "Hillenkoetter's really a piece of work, isn't he?"

"He is, he is. And you are the one person I am glad to see in this infernal place."

Zara raised her eyebrows. "What's the place been doing?"

He gave a vexed laugh. "It's a long story. Estranged family—you know the deal. I don't like to speak about it. But have a drink, won't you?"

"Thanks," said Zara. "Got any Fanta?"

He pressed a bell, then, coming back to the sitting room, threw himself into a chair.

"Not to mince matters," he said gloomily. "I'm in the devil of a mess. In fact, I haven't the least idea what to do next."

"What's the matter?" Zara asked sympathetically.

"It's my confounded grandfather."

"Has he done something?"

"It isn't what he's done yet, but what he's likely to do. The—er, sensitive matter he was discussing on the phone when we came in. You understand."

The bell was answered, and Ralph ordered the drinks. When the man had gone again, he crossed his arms, frowning to himself. He had lit another cigarette and the cigarette had gone out. That showed Zara just how disturbed he was.

"Is it really—serious?" she asked.

He nodded.

"I'm fairly up against it this time," he said soberly.

The unusual ring of gravity in his voice told her that he spoke the truth. It took a good deal to make Ralph grave.

"I'm fact," he continued, "I can't see my way ahead . . . I'm damned if I can."

"If I could help—" Zara suggested diffidently.

But he shook his head very decidedly.

"Good of you, Zar. But I can't let you in on this. I've got to play a lone hand."

He was silent a minute and then repeated in a slightly different tone of voice: "Yes—I've got to play a lone hand . . ."

. . .

—AS SHE WANDERED around the mansion, keeping an eye out for Five and the others, Zara thought how very odd these diplomat-types smelled. There was the chemical smell of shoe polish—the sticky smell of caramel pudding—the smell of carbonic soap and another very unpleasant smell. It was coming from the man walking in front of her, she decided. Zara sniffed cautiously, breathing in the smell of mothballs. It was, she thought, a funny scent to choose to put on yourself.