osu
BEQUEST OF
Orma Fitch Butler, Ph.D., '07
PROFESSOR OF LATIN
n—


§ 22
Ale 5 2.4





SWEETER THAN HONEY
ARTHUR APPLIN IN HIS NEW BOOK, SWEETER
than honey", has very cunningly put old wine into
a new bottle; and his wine sparkles and has a de-
lightful bouquet of romance. This author's hap-
piest hunting ground has always been the Stage and
the Turf, but in "Sweeter Than Honey" he has cre-
ated a crook who bears no resemblance at all to the
type which Hollywood has exploited with such
tiresome regularity. Whether everyone will ap-
prove of the charming old apiarist and his
fascinating daughter remains to be seen;
but no one who reads the story can
fail to be intrigued and excited.


By the same Author:
picked up
THE BLACK NAIL
PICCADILLY
THE ACTRESS
COLD CREAM
THE GOLD TRAP
LUXURY UNLIMITED
THE DEATH MASK
THE FINAL PAYMENT
THE REVUE GIRL


SWEETER
THAN HONEY
ARTHUR APPLIN
GREEN CIRCLE BOOKS
NEW YORK


COPYRIGHT, 1936
BY LEE FURMAN, INC.
PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA


0. /**, &t*7~t- tz
It looked good to Tony, the rising sun turning the un-
ruffled waters of the Solent various lovely shades of green,
with the blue of the sky reflected in patches; the Isle of
Wight still half asleep under the thin counterpane of mist.
Yachts lying lazily at their moorings, a few small craft with
^ white or red sails looking for a breeze, motor-boats like
angry bees buzzing to and fro, and overhead a couple of
'planes circling around the Atlantia. Tony took a deep
breath of the soft, sleepy air, turned to Henry Van Dyke
standing just behind him, a small stubbornly built man
with eyes like flints, a thin, determined mouth and a large
nose—the business-man's nose that can smell gold across a
continent. "Sort of feel I've come home—I was born in
England, you know."
"Oh yes! Now I know what's wrong with you, Howard;
now I know why you've walked out on me. Not that I've
got anything against England, except that it suffers from
the Safety First complex and a swollen head."
Tony grinned. Walking out on Van Dyke—multi-mil-
lionaire, proprietor of the Chicago Herald and allied jour-
nals, and of one of the richest islands in Malaya—was the
first really courageous thing he had ever done, though it
needed no small amount of courage to be first news re-
porter and crime detector on the Herald. "Still feeling sore
5


6 Sweeter Than Honey
with me?" he asked. "I suppose I'm the first guy that's
walked out before he was worn out?"
Van Dyke grunted. "Well, do you know what you'll do
on this side? You'll fade out. There isn't a news-sheet
worth handling, nor a crime worth reporting." He glanced
over his shoulder at the passengers leaning over the rails.
"By the way, you know those two fellows that my wife
and I played contract with most evenings—kind of looked
as if they belonged to a good old English family on the de-
cline, sloppy clothes and an Oxford accent? Well, last
night my wife suggested asking them to the state-room to
play. When she went to bed one of them started dealing
a few hands of poker, and before I woke up and got wise
they'd taken six thousand grand off mel"
Tony stared at Van Dyke and laughed softly. "I'd like
to meet those guys; they must have done it for a bet. Can't
imagine any ordinary crook having the nerve to try and
best you, Henry." He could afford to be familiar now Van
Dyke was no longer his boss. "Haven't you reported them
to the purser or the captain?"
"Nothing like that. But, say, that's an idea, doing it for
a bet. You'll be a long time finding a job, Howard. Sup-
pose you trail these two dons and round them up; if you
look lively you might get them before they've time to cash
in, and you can keep the six thousand. That's a bet?"
Tony shrugged his shoulders. The ship was nearing the
dock. England didn't look quite so attractive now. A clut-
ter of masts and funnels, low, long buildings looking life-
less and deserted, ugly squat houses; but a little breeze
blowing off shore brought a splendid smell. That, he re-
membered, was how England smelled! His heart began to


Sweeter Than Honey j
beat fast with excitement. He had a queer feeling that
something was waiting for him. Adventure—discovery.
"I've had too much of crooks and crime to bother about
a couple of card-sharpers," he said. "I'm out to find some-
thing new."
Van Dyke flicked the ash off his cigar. "You need plenty
of dough for that, my boy. Well, I'd better go below and
see if the wife has finished packing the crown jewels. Look
us up at the 'Magnificent'—that's the new joint in Park
Lane. We shall be there until we sail for Malaya."
Tony nodded. "I'm leaving a suitcase there myself while
I have a look round."
Van Dyke's thin-lipped mouth relaxed into a smile, and
he gave Tony a quick glance. "Inside a year you'll be
applying to the Herald for a job as pay-boy."
Tony watched him walk away—in action Van Dyke re-
minded him of a penguin. Suddenly he felt sorry for the
man who had been his boss, whom all his life he had
envied and respected. The poor devil had everything in
the world he wanted. Poor devil, his only chance of hap-
piness lay in losing something.
While Tony was looking for a seat on the boat train
Mrs. Van Dyke waved a heavily jewelled hand at him from
her private drawing-room car in the Pullman, and the old
man indicated in pantomime that the boys who had taken
the six thousand off him were somewhere in the offing.
If they had been any good, Tony thought, they would
have relieved Mrs. Van Dyke of some of her jewels—that
would really have set Henry going, because he was fond
of his wife, when he had time to think about her. He had
married her when he had only fifteen dollars a week, and


8 Sweeter Than Honey
she was employed as a waitress in a rough joint down
town. Tony watched the country unfold itself as he sat
over coffee and a cigarette; that, he thought, was some-
thing that had never come into his life—a girl he wanted
to marry. And he was pretty hard-boiled now, and thirty
years old. He had always thought if he married it would
be an English girl—calm, warm, and gentle, like the
country.


"If you would make money you must spend money,"
was one of Van Dyke's famous dictums. Tony decided he
would spend money all right as long as he stayed at the
"Magnificent." Making it was not going to be easy—Lon-
don definitely was not Chicago. Nothing happened, life
was like a machine, highly polished, well-oiled, working
smoothly and quietly; you felt if an earthquake occurred
it would just go on working. He sat in the lounge near
the lift, watching the people who came and went, all of
the same pattern, and coloured like their town in half-
tones. The only exciting thing he had seen was a girl with
chestnut hair, hazel eyes, and a large red mouth; a nice
figure in a neat coat and skirt, with a gay scarf twisted
round her neck. She was carrying a large dressmaker's
box. He tried to read the name on it, but deciphered no
more than "Jane." She told the lift attendant to take her
to Mrs. Van Dyke's apartment. He waited for her to re-
turn, but when the cocktail bar opened he drifted in—
this was the meeting place of the magnates in the business,
literary, and dramatic world. Charlie, the cocktail shaker,
greeted him with a mixture of familiarity and respect
which was both flattering and useful. Charlie had been
round the world and knew most of the men who made a
noise in it. Had he chosen to talk, there were a few famous
9


io Sweeter Than Honey
people he could have put behind the bars, but silence
paid higher dividends than the police. Charlie's bar was
the best agency and private broadcasting house in town.
Tony made two bronx last until six-thirty. Charlie shook
his head sympathetically. "Very quiet today; but there's
a big charity show on tonight. If you look in about mid-
night—extension of licence—you'll find them all here. And
they'll open out, too—bored with watching duchesses imi-
tating chorus-girls."
Tony strolled back to the lounge. Through the wide
glass windows the park looked pleasant, tulips stood in
bloom: red and purple and bronze; chestnut trees already
threatening to burst into flower. He hesitated as he heard
the lift descending, remembered the girl with the chestnut
hair, wondered if she was in the lift if he would have the
nerve to speak to her. To hell with work! It was spring,
and there was something peculiarly exciting about spring
in London—very fragile and delicate and lovely.
The lift gates crashed back and two men got out in a
hurry—the antitheses of spring—bowler hats, white spats,
rolled umbrellas; the Savile Row Twins. But Tony's
trained journalistic eye noticed how badly the umbrellas
were rolled. As the revolving doors swung open he caught
a breath of fresh air, decided he would have a run round
the park in the secondhand Ford he had picked up for a
pony. He was running down the steps on to the pavement
when he heard a piercing cry. A woman was standing on
a balcony on the third floor. "Help! . . . Murder! . . .
Police!"
He saw her for a fraction of a second out of the corner
of his eye. She didn't look real and the words she shouted
sounded fantastic; but they stopped the traffic and arrested


Sweeter Than Honey 11
the attention of people on the pavement, who began to
ran towards the hotel. Everyone was running—except the
two men Tony had seen leaving the lift in the hotel. As
if unaware of the commotion, they had thrown themselves
into a rakish red Hispano car. The engine must have been
running for, as the door slammed, the car started. Tony
noticed that the door had closed on one of those rolled
umbrellas; it broke, hung suspended a moment before the
door opened again and it was drawn inside. He saw some
small object fall and roll into the gutter; he saw it shining
there in the evening sun, red, like a drop of blood. As he
dashed towards his Ford, which had been standing a few
feet in front of the Hispano, he picked it up—a large ruby
set in an ear-ring. Jumping into his car he started her, put
his foot on the accelerator and went in pursuit of the
Hispano. He was just in time to see it turn left, taking the
kerb and narrowly missing a Belisha Beacon.
When Tony got round the corner it was half way down
the street, turned left again. A taxi-cab baulked Tony; to
avoid crashing he had to swerve, miss the street, and run
straight on. Swinging round the next turning, he came
into the lower part of Grosvenor Square. Again he nearly
crashed, jammed on his brakes when the Hispano car
flicked his buffer with her tail as she skidded round—then
roared away in front of him. He cursed himself for not
being quicker in the uptake; if he had crashed he would
have got them. He calculated that they would cross the
north end of the Square, go up Duke Street and into Ox-
ford Street. He would lose them there unless he headed
them off first.
Did they know they were being followed? The odds
were they didn't; in that case he had only to keep going


12 Sweeter Than Honey
and with any luck he would get them. That screaming
woman on the balcony had put the wind up them; at the
same time it had attracted everyone's attention and given
them a chance of an easy get-away. After all, they were
probably only a couple of sneak-thieves who worked hotels
and private houses; women cried murder on the least
provocation, and it had done them a good turn.
Tony had jammed his foot on to the accelerator again,
but his thoughts were moving faster than the Ford; sub-
consciously he was figuring out the amount of publicity he
would get for himself, and the copy he could make if he
caught the Savile Row Twins!
The driver of the Hispano suddenly applied his brakes,
did a neat skid-turn again, and instead of going up Duke
Street shot into Brook Street. Tony grinned. Here they
had some half a dozen left-hand turnings from which to
choose, narrow streets where he could easily crash them.
They thought they were safe, but to his surprise they went
straight on as if they meant to get into Bond Street.
He heard the roar of the Hispano's exhaust as the driver
suddenly accelerated; he saw the traffic signal lights on
Davies Street turn from green to orange, then red as the
Hispano dashed past. Tony set his teeth and followed, a
fraction of a second too late—a motor-van shot across him.
Tony spun his wheel, cleared the van, ran on to the pave-
ment, swung left again where a stationary car was standing.
He tried to pull the Ford round, but the front wheels
locked; he skidded down the centre of the road, turned a
complete circle, and would have crashed into a plate-glass
window of a small shop but for the intervention of an
electric light standard. Tony was thrown forward as the
wind-screen crumpled up; the wheel caught him in the


Sweeter Than Honey 13
pit of his stomach, winding him. Kicking the off-side door
open, he crawled out and leant against the standard; a
crowd surrounded him. While he got his breath he tried
to locate the Hispano. It had disappeared. He looked at
the gaping faces and grinned cheerfully; they thought he
was mad or drunk. Marvellous thing, a London crowd,
something magnificent in its dumb immobility. The driver
of the light van, however, found his voice, and the air was
filled with biblical allusions which did credit to his Sunday-
school training. An old gentleman with a bristly moustache
forced his way forward and shook his stick in Tony's face.
"You ought to have been killed, sir; pity you weren't.
Where are the police? Of course, never to be seen when
they're wanted!"
Tony nodded. "You've said a mouthful. Did anyone
notice a red Hispano?"
The girl standing in the entrance of the shop pushed
her way through the crowd. "Hadn't you better do some-
thing about that wrist?" she said.
Tony glanced at his left hand, covered with blood; blood
was dripping on to the pavement—quite a small pool al-
ready. Pulling a handkerchief from his pocket, he wrapped
it loosely round his wrist, covering his hand with it. Then
he looked at the girl—wondered why she wasn't wearing
a hat. Her face seemed vaguely familiar. It was a pleasant
face; it was more than that, it was an exciting face. Glanc-
ing round at the crowd, which was now assuming un-
pleasant proportions, he decided that hers was the only
human face in it. The toughest crowd on the other side of
the Atlantic had never worried Tony; a roaring, fighting
mob was the life-blood of his job. But this mass of inar-
ticulate, well-dressed people, murmuring under its breath,


14 Sweeter Than Honey
shaking its head, staring vacantly at him as if he were a
circus and they were waiting for the next turn, began to get
on his nerves. And he was certainly losing more blood
than seemed healthy.
"It looks as if you'd cut an artery," the girl went on,
"and your handkerchief's not doing a bit of good. Why
doesn't someone run for a doctor?"
A youth with a bicycle said: "There's a doctor's house
at the top of the street, but I don't suppose he's at home."
"I'm all right." Tony took an unsteady step forward,
looked round for his hat; someone picked it up from the
gutter and gave it to him. "If I haven't smashed up the
old Ford it would be a good idea to get away." He reeled
unsteadily, supported himself against the lamp standard
again. . . . Hazel eyes, chestnut hair, lovely mouth with
a sense of humour—like a ripe plum—had plums a sense
of humour, though? "Say, your cops must be having a busy
day. What about blowing a whistle?"
"Hadn't you better come inside the shop and sit down?"
the girl said. "I can 'phone up a doctor—unless you want
to bleed to death."
Tony looked at the shop window; blinked, looked again.
Miniature models of well-developed females advertising
corsets, belts, and brassieres; expensive underthings hang-
ing in orderly abandon. He glanced at the name above
the door—Jane Estelle. Suddenly he remembered "Jane"
was the name on the box which the exciting girl at the
Hotel Magnificent had taken up to Mrs. Van Dyke's apart-
ment.
"Thanks awfully," he said, "but shan't I be a nuisance?"
The girl put her hand under his arm, the crowd opened


Sweeter Than Honey 15
to let them pass, still dumb and gaping. "It's quite all
right; I've just closed for the day."
She led him to a comfortable chair; it was a relief to
sit down. He saw himself reflected in several mirrors;
looked a nasty mess, blood on his face, tie hanging out,
hair rumpled. The girl shut the door, he heard the lock
dick. "Sit quite still," she said, "I shan't be a moment."
Tony began to talk, didn't matter whether she could
hear him or not. He wanted to reassure himself; begin-
ning to feel a bit faint. He was aware of ghostly figures
wrapped in white sheets, and curiously shaped, disturbing
garments in silk and satin. He kept the fingers of his
right hand pressed tightly on his left wrist—the blood was
still flowing—while he told Jane, or Jane's representative,
his name; that although he had only been in England a
week or two he was really British.
"You know, you're really the first live person I've met
on this side. Don't suppose you recognize me, but I saw
you at the 'Magnificent' this afternoon. Who are you—I
mean, is this your joint?"
"Keep quiet!" A voice came from an ante-room some-
where at the back of the shop. "I manage this place for
Jane; I'm Anne Chiltern."
Tony heard a noise like a dentist's drill working at high
speed, hoped she wasn't destroying some lovely's trousseau.
She returned with a dust-sheet, which she rolled into a
cushion and laid across his knees. Then she brought a
basin of water, cotton wool, a bottle which he eyed sus-
piciously, and two long strips of linen. She pulled off his
coat, rolled up his shirt-sleeves, tied a rough tourniquet
around his arm, then washed the wound on his wrist.


16 Sweeter Than Honey
"Quite a clean cut. This will hurt," she said, dabbing
his wrist with cotton-wool soaked in iodine. "I think it's
only one of the larger veins you've cut. If I plug it with
some wool and bandage it tightly you ought to be all
right until you get home."
"It's feeling fine, Anne. Is Nurse your second name?
I must say you are a sweetheart." She glanced at him, the
sort of look she had given him at the "Magnificent." "All
right, I'm not getting fresh, but that's what we call a girl
when she does something lovely in the States."
"This isn't the States. Hold on to the end of the bandage
while I get a couple of safety-pins. . . . Now you'd better
keep quiet; leave that tourniquet on for a few minutes
longer. I don't want the shop looking like a slaughter-
house, or when Jane comes tomorrow she'll cry murder."
Tony had dropped back into the chair with a sigh of
relief; he was beginning to feel good. Something had hap-
pened to him at last, but that word "murder" made him
sit upright again.
"Say, do you know what I was doing when my Ford
tried to get into your shop?"
"Looking for trouble, I should think!"
"Chasing it. Say, what were you doing at the 'Mag-
nificent' this afternoon?"
"Trying to squeeze a human penguin into a Charnaux."
"I don't know what a Charnaux is, but was the penguin
Mrs. Van Dyke by any chance?"
Anne turned away to light a cigarette. "How did you
guess that?"
It was growing dark in the shop. The light from the
window outlined Anne in clean, sharp lines: lovely neck,
brave shoulders, her body like a young tree, with finely-


Sweeter Than Honey 17
tapered limbs. Tony said: "What time did you leave
the hotel?"
She leant against the long mirror, blew a spiral of smoke
between her lips as she looked at the ceiling. Before she
could reply there was a loud, single knock on the shop
door. Tony glanced interrogatively at her. The bell rang.
Moving to the window, she looked out, then stepped back
and said quietly: "The police."


Tony heaved himself out of the chair. "Well, I suppose
I'm for it. Will they take me to the cells, or the lock-up,
or whatever you call it, or what does it cost to square
them?"
"You can't do anything like that," Anne said quickly.
"Our police don't take bribes."
"Oh nol" Tony was fumbling with the Chubb lock of
the door.
"Wait a moment. You can't go into the street—in your
shirt-sleeves without a coat."
"What's wrong with my shirt? You don't want the
police in here, do you? An inquisitive cop might take it
into his head to pull the wrappings off those models of
yours, and report you to the bishop"
"Here, I'll help you into your coat. Careful nowl You
must keep on that tourniquet for a bit." She dusted his
hat, gave him a quick brush.
"You are a sweet kid. All I want now is a cigarette. You
wouldn't light it for me? Just as you like—but I've only
got one hand working. All right, Officer, I'm coming! You
won't run away until I'm through with Little Boy Blue
outside, will you? And remember, you saw nothing, know
nothing. If I'm in a jam you've got to keep out of it."
He opened the door, and it closed behind him before
18


20 Sweeter Than Honey
There's a policeman and a Ford and a bloody young
man—you know what I mean! At first I thought someone
had been trying to rape your Charnaux models! What's
the trouble?"
She had left the door open and the trouble walked in.
"Sorry," Peggy said; "didn't know you were a friend of
Anne's."
"I was until Anne said I couldn't square the police. He
really believed I was a gentleman because I didn't take
the number of the light van and charge him with danger-
ous driving!" Tony turned to Anne. "Everything's O.K.,
bar a crumpled mudguard and the windscreen. I'll run
you round to your railway station."
"The Underground's quicker—and safer."
"You're afraid."
"I'm not," Peggy cried. "If you're going Bayswater way
you can drop me at Prince's Mansions."
Tony ignored her; he waited outside until Anne ap-
peared. He took her arm, ran her across the pavement,
and before she knew what had happened she was sitting
in the Ford and he beside her.
Tony started the car and told Peggy to jump in.
"The man thinks I'm an acrobat," Peggy gasped as she
tumbled into the back seat.
Tony was still holding Anne's arm, steering with his
right hand. She didn't like to struggle in case she started
his wrist bleeding again. She wondered if he was a little
mad. His eyes were rather mad; couldn't be sure whether
they were blue or green; an attractively impudent mouth
over an aggressive chin. He couldn't be drunk, she decided,
or the policeman wouldn't have let him get away with it.


Sweeter Than Honey 11
He was driving through Grosvenor Square into Upper
Brook Street.
"Just where do you think you're going?" Anne asked
coldly.
"Home. It would be easier if you gave me your address."
From the back of the car Peggy said: "Lavender Cot-
tage, Cookham. If you go down the Bayswater Road, I'll
fall out at the corner of Queen's Road; falling into your
car has started a ladder in a new pair of silk stockings."
"Nothing doing; stockings don't ladder in Fords!"
He swung into Park Lane, slowed down as they passed
the "Magnificent"; there was a crowd outside the entrance,
two policemen keeping it on the move. Tony remembered
the ruby ear-ring in his pocket; it could wait, and any-
way, he had lost the chance of a good news story. "What's
the riot?" he asked casually.
"Oh, queuing up to see the swells arrive for the big show
tonight," Peggy said quickly. "Hurry up, I'm late."
Tony released Anne's arm, glanced at her; she was lean-
ing back, staring through the broken windscreen, her
hands holding a little oblong box on her lap. When they
reached Queen's Road he put his hand on Anne's arm
again. As Peggy jumped out, she said: "Straight on through
Shepherd's Bush, in case you don't know, and then turn
right, keep right—and mind the bees don't sting you I
Cheerio, Anne."
As soon as they had cleared the bottle-neck at Notting
Hill Gate, Tony said, "I'm afraid you're taking a lot of
air. Do you mind?"
"Oh no, I love being blown to bits!"
"Well, stick your feet out and sink a bit. You look


22 Sweeter Than Honey
fine. . . . You're not feeling rattled with me, are you? The
least I could do was to take you home after what you've
done for me."
Slowly she turned her head and looked at his bandaged
wrist, afraid, though she wouldn't confess it, in case she
saw blood oozing through. "Isn't that tourniquet hurting?"
"Like hell it is, but it's going to stop there; keeps my
mind off higher things."
She was trying to hate him without any reason, but
curiosity prompted her to say: "Meaning?"
"You. This afternoon I was beginning to wonder why
I had left Chicago and a good job—now I know. I've fallen
in love, Anne." He opened wide the throttle; the wind
through the screen made a noise like a plucked fiddle-
string. "I've never been in love before; no woman has
ever made me feel that way. I've had—affairs, of course. I'm
human—hope you are. Don't say anything until I've
finished."
She said, "Here, turn right."
"Thanks, I guessed it. Just give me a break and sit tight;
wait till you know me."
"Perhaps I don't want to."
"You will."
"I suppose you think you know me?"
"Sure; you see, it's my job knowing people on sight.
I'm a newspaper man—or was. Nothing at the moment,
but I can get busy now and start right in collecting the
dough, and then we'll get married. D'you like travelling?
All over the world, I mean? You're too young to start hav-
ing a home and a lot of kids. This little star has got to
give us a heap of fun before we pass it on to the next
generation."


Sweeter Than Honey 2 3
"At the end of the by-pass you turn right again."
"I know it; the blonde told me. She's a swell kid too.
What's she do?"
"Restores ruins!"
"And you put them into straight-jackets? Pretty work—
and I suppose when Peggy finds a new ruin and has fixed
it up, she passes it on to you for the props. Do you work
the big hotels together? I might get a story out of you!"
Anne didn't reply. She had got rather a thrill when he
had pushed her into the car and driven off with her. She
was still intrigued, but beginning to feel just a tiny bit
scared. She had allowed herself to be picked up by a
strange young man who was evidently quite irresponsible.
Or had the accident outside Jane's shop been staged?
The speedometer had been registering a steady fifty; it
rose to sixty just before coming into Slough, and Tony
did not slow down until they were in the town. He took
the right turning; didn't speak again until they reached
Maidenhead Bridge. There they stopped suddenly, and
sent a piece of loose glass rattling on to the radiator. He
gazed upstream in silence for nearly a minute, then said
in a quiet voice: "That's great, isn't it?"
The sun had dropped, but it tinted an egg-shell sky
with crimson and purple; the stream reflected these
colours, but the banks threw out deep green shadows; a
white-sailed canoe drifted beneath the bridge. Higher
up, a girl was standing motionless in a punt, her pole held
lightly in one hand floating from the stern. She, too, was
sharply reflected in the water—blue shirt, brown trousers.
"I was wondering why you rushed out of London just to
sleep—but do you sleep?" Tony said.
A news-boy came running up the incline of the bridge


24 Sweeter Than Honey
shouting as he ran: "Attempted murder in West End
hotel. . . . Great jewel theft. . . . All the winners. . . .
Murder. . . ."
Tony held out his hand for a paper; threw the boy a
coin. Splashed across the top of the front page he read the
headlines:
DARING DAYLIGHT ROBBERY AT THE
HOTEL MAGNIFICENT
Murderous Attack on American Millionaire's Wife
Anne opened her bag, found a cigarette and leant for-
ward to light it, her hands cupping the flame of the match.
"That's pretty bad," Tony said. "Gee, what a scoop I
just missed." He pushed the paper in front of Anne.
"What do you know about that? Here, give me a cigarette."
He took the one she had just lit. "Excuse me, but I've
got to do some quick thinking. Can you find your way
home from here? I'll have to be getting back."
Anne was sitting upright, staring at the news-sheet.
"How awful!" she cried. "They say she's not expected to
live. Why, I was only with her a few hours ago—" She
broke off abruptly, looked at Tony. "You saw me leaving
the hotel, didn't you?"
"Yes. . . . Did that cop, who took the number of my
car, see you get into it and drive off with me?" He slipped
his hand into his coat-pocket, fingering the ear-ring.
"Looks as if we might get into a jam if we're not careful."
The voice of the news-boy came faintly from the lawn
of "Skindles," where he was distributing newspapers:
"Attempted murder in West End hotel. . . . Great jewel
robbery. . . ."


Sweeter Than Honey 25
Anne turned quickly towards Tony, her face suddenly
pale. "What do you mean? You weren't—I mean, you
haven't . . .?"
He looked at her thoughtfully; she gave him back the
newspaper. As she did so, the box lying in her lap slid to
the floor of the car. She picked it up quickly before Tony
could move. "If you've got to go back I dare say I can
pick up an omnibus from the railway station," she said,
"but can't you tell me what's happened? Why you've got
to go back?"
He didn't reply. He was staring at the placid river again;
the green shadows were lengthening. In the far west the
sky was almost blood-red—like a ruby. Anne waited a little
while, then put her hand on his bandaged wrist. The linen
was stained now. "You ought not to have driven me here.
Why did you?"
"I told you. Because I'm in love with you," he said
roughly. "Get wise to this: most big things happen sud-
denly. They may have been going on inside one uncon-
sciously, but realization is a matter of a second or two . . .
getting born, getting rich, getting bumped off, getting
loved. . . . What have you got in that box?"
He remembered the blonde girl, Peggy, had given it
to her; called it a buzzing box. She, too, had been to Mrs.
Van Dyke's apartment in the "Magnificent."
"Oh, nothing—it belongs to father. We're wasting time.
You'd better go. I can walk to the station. . . . Look after
your wrist. I'm afraid it's bleeding still."
She opened the door of the car, but before she could
rise he leant across her and shut it. "I'm taking you on.
Guess I've missed my chance, so there's no hurry." He
pushed the engine into gear. "You see, Van Dyke was my


26 Sweeter Than Honey
boss in Chicago. If I'd been on the spot I could have given
this murder-robbery stuff a good write-up; but it's broad-
casting through the States already. Where's your home-
town? Do we keep straight on?"
"Sharp right again."
Tony laughed as he swung the wheel round. Anne was
still pale, with the startled expression still in her eyes.
"You can't keep a fellow going right all the time," he
said. "At the next cross-roads I may take a chance!"


Lavender Cottage was hidden on the north from the
road by a high brick wall; the river bounded it on the
south, while on the east a mill-stream divided it from
the garden of Odney Club. Anne jumped out to open the
iron gates, and closed them when the car had driven
through. Tony peered through the drive, bordered with
beech and acacia trees. "I wondered why you came down
here to sleep. Now you've got me guessing why you spend
your day in a belt-and-bust shop making lovelies for old
trout that have missed the boat. This looks some estate.
Is your father a duke, or a lord, or what?"
"He's a simple old gentleman with one idea in his head.
You'll hear it buzzing directly."
"And the rest of the family?"
"No family; I'm the only specimen. Mother died soon
after I was born."
"That's tough. I guess your father won't exactly fall on
my neck. . . .Just look at that!" The car had swung
round to the left—on either side of it orchards of plum
and apple; pink and white blossoms were blown through
the broken windscreen. Tony throttled the engine down
until the car crawled. "I'm beginning to feel like that
fellow in the Russian ballet. Your father won't turn me
into a frog or a newt, will he?"
*7


28 Sweeter Than Honey
"Something smaller than that I"
Another turn in the drive brought them in sight of the
cottage. It looked like a toy which a child had dropped
in the centre of a vast garden: white-washed walls almost
hidden by jasmine, a thatched roof. All the lattice windows
were wide open. An Alsatian dog that was sleeping on
the lawn woke up and gave a warning bark.
"There's father at the far end of the lavender fields,"
Anne said. "You can see the bee-hives—or some of them.
They're the English bees, very rare and delicate; he gets
all broody about them this time of the year. I prefer the
Italians, they're hearty and good-tempered, even if they
do a bit of robbing occasionally."
Tony said: "You've got me beat."
He stopped the car outside the front door; here, on
either side of the drive were wide herbaceous borders; the
air was heavy with the smell of flowers. Before Anne could
rise, the dog jumped up on to the running board, nozzled
her hands, tried to lick her face. As soon as he had quiet-
ened down, Anne jumped out. "Thanks very much. Sup-
pose you haven't time to meet father and have a drink?"
"I've got to meet him some time; it might as well be
now. If I don't get rid of that tourniquet I shall pass out.
Shouldn't say 'no' if you offered to bandage my wrist
again."
She hesitated; looked at him thoughtfully. "I'll have to
let father know I'm here—and I must explain how we met.
You'd better go into the house and sit down. I shan't be a
couple of minutes."
"Rather come with you." He pulled off his coat; un-
fastened the tourniquet.
Anne led the way across the lawn, through a wooden


Sweeter Than Honey 29
gate into the lavender field. At the end of the long tiled
path there was a cluster of lime trees, and beneath these a
semi-circle of hives. Chiltern was examining one. When he
saw his daughter approaching he replaced the roof.
"Hallo! You're a bit earlier than usual, aren't you,
Anne?"
"Thought I was going to be late. This is Mr. Tony
Howard, Daddy—he motored me down—and here's your
precious box. I do wish they wouldn't send them by me.
I'm always terrified of mislaying one."
Chiltern chuckled: "I'd rather trust you than the post;
it's the English queen, I suppose. I've had bad luck with
the English breed lately." He glanced at Tony's wrist:
"Had an accident?"
"Missed the traffic signals and nearly skidded into your
daughter's shop. I'd have bled to death if she hadn't come
to my rescue. She's a great girl, Mr. Chiltern."
"Thanks for telling me," Chiltern said dryly. "All I
know about her is that she's a good girl." He took a large
coloured handkerchief from his pocket, wiped his face
and hands. Tony noticed his hands; finely made, long,
tapering fingers. He had a leonine head, eyes set wide apart,
but small—very small and busy, never seeming to rest for
more than a moment on any object. You couldn't see them
because you couldn't hold them, and you got an impres-
sion that they were always laughing at you, amused because
they knew you were baffled. "Come back to the house
and have a glass of beer—perhaps a cocktail is more in your
line though?"
"I drink anything."
"An American!"
"I was, but Anne's converted me."


30 Sweeter Than Honey
"Things happen to you very easily, don't they?" Anne
said.
The living-room in the cottage was the entrance hall,
a long, oak-panelled room with a large open fireplace; at
the far end a staircase led to a gallery and the bedrooms.
An old woman wearing a black cap on her grey hair
brought in the drinks. At first Tony wasn't sure whether
she was a servant or a friend. Though her face was lined,
it was beautiful and sensitive; her movements were slow
and deliberate. Tony noticed that Anne spoke to her
almost in a whisper and the woman answered only with
her eyes. "Deaf and dumb?" he hazarded.
"Born that way." Chiltern emptied his mug of beer.
"Been with me twenty years; warned her when she first
came that if she ever found her voice I'd sack her." He
picked up the box Anne had brought down. "Now, if
you'll excuse me, I'll see how my queen has travelled.
Perhaps you'd like to stop and have a bit of food with us—
very simple I warn you."
Tony looked at Anne; she began to go upstairs. "Shall
I stay?" he asked.
She didn't reply until she had reached her bedroom
door. She turned as she opened it: "You may miss a good
story if you do—and I don't think you'd be safe, driving
back at night."
She shut the door before he could speak again. Chiltern
had disappeared through a green baize door beneath the
staircase. Tony hesitated; there was a telephone on the
bureau by the window. He could get through to Van
Dyke at the "Magnificent"—but there was nothing he
could tell him over the wire.
He pulled the ruby ear-ring out of his pocket and


Sweeter Than Honey 31
examined the stone closely; the largest he had ever seen;
a true ruby he could swear, not reconstructed with small
ones fused together. In the pale light coming through
the window its colour seemed to vary from red to deep
violet. If the crooks had got the other, they would have
to be pretty smart to get rid of it without being traced.
He grinned as he wondered what would happen if this
ear-ring were found on him. What Anne would say if he
showed it to her . . . Perhaps she would recognize it?
Bad luck the Savile Row Twins hadn't crashed outside
Jane's shop. And then he wondered just who "Jane" was.
He glanced at the green baize door; old Chiltern was
introducing himself to the queen bee—he had never met
a queen, not of the bee variety, anyway. Tony ran a few
steps up the staircase.
"Anne!"
She must have heard—he had a penetrating voice—even
English oak wouldn't stop it. He climbed to the gallery,
knocked on her door, then opened it; she was standing
by the window. She had taken off her frock and was wear-
ing a green wrap.
"Anne, I guess you don't want me to stop to dinner, but
I've got to see you tomorrow. You'll be at the shop in the
morning?"
"Probably; but you can't see me there."
"I can see you anywhere. Don't you worry about Jane.
I know just how to treat those kind of dames. I'll tell her
we are going to buy your trousseau from her."
"I don't know whether you're trying to be funny, but
I think you're being a little mean, taking advantage of"
"Don't look at it like that," he interrupted eagerly.
"I've got to take every advantage I can. I love you. Every


3 2 Sweeter Than Honey
moment I'm with you I know it more surely. You are
what I've been looking for all my life. Get this: you mean
more to me than anything else. There's nothing I
wouldn't do for you—understand? I'm calling for you at
the shop at lunch time."
When he had gone she wanted to call him back; she
had forgotten his wrist, and she had noticed that the
bandage was red all over. She went back to the window
and looked out over the lavender fields to the apple
orchard; pink blossoms were floating on the breeze and
falling to the ground. It was strange—or wasn't it?—how
spring made you want to be loved. She had never been so
vividly conscious of the need of love before.


Tony hesitated between the green baize door and the
front door; already it was dusk and it would be dark long
before he reached London. Both headlights on his car
had been smashed; that wasn't worrying him. He was
wondering if through meeting Anne he hadn't lost a big
scoop. He was wondering why he had stopped the car on
Maidenhead Bridge just in time to meet the news-boy
shouting "Murder and robbery," and why he hadn't gone
straight back to London. It wasn't love, but some keen
instinct he possessed, very like second-sight, that had made
him drive on and discover this queer cottage standing
lonely in lavender fields and orchards. He found himself
listening—to the silence; not even the buzzing of a bee,
only now and then the breathless whisper of running
water from the mill-stream. Unaccustomed to silence,
never having known absolute quiet, Tony found himself
caught in its spell. He hadn't been prepared for this; he
felt uncomfortable, unsafe. Action was paralysed, while
fantastic ideas drifted slowly through his mind.
He mixed himself a gin-and-vermouth while he won-
dered why he had been left alone; for all they knew he
might be a crook. And for all he knew the eccentric old
man and his lovely daughter and the deaf-and-dumb ser-
vant . . . Tony emptied his glass and pulled himself
33


34 Sweeter Than Honey
together; the utter stillness, and the air, heavy with the
perfume of flowers and herbs, was playing hell with his
imagination. He visualized Chicago, the Herald office, the
press-room and pandemonium. Picking up the telephone
he got through to the Magnificent Hotel, and the cocktail
bar.
"Is that Charlie? Tony Howard speaking. Listen, Charlie,
I can't shout. Can you give me anything about Van Dyke?"
The barman said he knew nothing for sure. Mrs. Van
Dyke's maid had found her lying unconscious on the bed;
the jewels she had been going to wear at the ball that
night had been stolen. As far as he knew, the police had
made no arrest. All the servants had been questioned, in-
cluding himself. No one had been seen entering or leav-
ing her room.
"The police have no clue, then?" Tony asked. He
glanced over his shoulder at the gallery.
Charlie didn't reply at once. Tony could hear the clink
of glass, the subdued hum of voices and an occasional
laugh. "They had the hall-porter and the lift man for
examination for half an hour, and judging by the ques-
tions they asked me, they have got no clue. Must have all
happened in a couple of minutes. Can't talk any more,
we're busy."
"One moment, Charlie. Is Mrs. Van Dyke badly injured?"
"Not expected to recover." He heard the click of the
receiver as it was replaced.
So it really was murder. Wife of famous American mil-
lionaire! They'd got away with it—and with the jewels.
It looked as if a lucky chance had given him a break at
last, and the only clue lay in his pocket. Bowler hats, rolled


Siveeter Than Honey 35
umbrellas, white spatsl—the West End was stiff with
them, and he hadn't seen their faces—just one in profile.
Tony crossed the hall and went through the green baize
door. At the end of a stone passage he saw the kitchen,
the glow from an old-fashioned range, the servant bend-
ing over an open oven door. She turned as he approached,
and he said quickly: "Can you tell me where Mr. Chiltern
is?"
She smiled, rather a sweet smile, and her eyes interro-
gated him, yet he wondered if she was acting. He asked
again, forming each word with his lips. She nodded, left
the kitchen, beckoned him to follow her down a passage
on the right and through a courtyard. She pointed to an
outhouse that might once have been a small stable. Tony
walked past her, opened the door and went in.
Chiltern was standing at a long, narrow table; he ap-
peared to be fiddling with a couple of boxes; the only light
came from a large window facing him. At the far end of
the room was a carpenter's bench; shelves ran almost the
entire length of one wall. Intent on his work, Chiltern
had not heard Tony come in. He was about to speak when
he changed his mind and tried to see what the old man
was doing.
Again he was conscious of the leonine head, broad,
powerful shoulders, and the long, sensitive hands. An un-
usual type, Chiltern; a link between the past age and the
present. As Tony's eyes grew accustomed to the dim light
he saw that one of the boxes was that which Anne had
brought, the other resembled a cage; he was holding the
two together, a strip of cardboard between them, Presently
Tony became conscious of a faint smell of carbolic. He


36 Sweeter Than Honey
took a cigarette from his case, and as he lit it he said:
"Excuse me for walking in on you, but"
Without looking up, Chiltern said quickly: "Please
don't smoke. . . . The journey seems to have upset them,
but they're nearly all in now."
Tony stood beside him and asked if he might watch.
Chiltern told him to speak quietly: "Bees are very sen-
sitive to sound . . . now they are all inl You see, I have
to persuade the queen bee and the workers who have come
with her to leave the travelling cage and walk into the
introducing cage; they go through that little hole I've
made in the cardboard. Now they are secure and I take
them to the queenless colony you saw me examining when
you arrived."
"Gee! I wondered why Anne was so fussy about her
little box." He picked it up; examined it. "You don't
mind?" Chiltern didn't reply. Tony held the travelling
cage up to the light, peering through the thin gauze wire.
He saw a mass of sticky stuff; asked what it was while
he twisted the cage to and fro.
"That's candy; bees have to be fed when they travel.
Now, if you like to come with me, you can watch me intro-
duce her to the colony."
Tony dropped the cage; obviously nothing in it but
candy. He felt a vague sense of relief, afraid to ask himself
why he was relieved.
Ever since he had stopped the car on Maidenhead
Bridge and bought that evening paper, a bee had been
buzzing in his head, and from the moment Anne had
opened the iron-wrought gates of Lavender Cottage and
he had driven up the acacia-lined avenue through the
orchard into the fairy-like garden, he had felt in the grip


Sweeter Than Honey 37
of some sort of spell—mystery, enchantment. He wouldn't
have been surprised if suddenly he awoke in hospital
and learnt that when the Ford crashed he had been
stunned, and that this was no more than a dream.
He glanced round the room as he followed Chiltern.
"Bee-keeping looks like a full-time job."
"Every job's a full-time job if you're keen on it. I make
my own hives, frames and section crates. Anne helps me
in that, and she renders all the wax."
"She's a great girl. I may as well tell you, I've fallen
for her."
They had reached the drive through a door in a high
wall at the end of the courtyard. Tony didn't know
whether Chiltern heard. He was hurrying ahead; had to
introduce the queen before it was dark. Tony opened the
door of his car, switched on the side-lights; they were work-
ing, anyway.
"Afraid I shall have to be leaving," he shouted. "Got
to get back to town on business."
Chiltern turned: "Sorry; you must come in again one
day if you're interested in bee-keeping."
Tony said he was; he hoped the new queen would like
her home and do her duty. He wasn't quite sure what
were the duties of a queen bee; had a vague idea they spent
their time murdering their husbands and laying hundreds
of thousands of eggs. He glanced back as he drove down
the drive; a light was shining in one of the windows of
an upper room. He saw, for an instant, Anne sitting
before her dressing-table. She had slipped off her wrap
and was combing her hair. He put his foot on the
accelerator.
>
It was a quarter past nine before he reached London,


38 Sweeter Than Honey
left his car in the garage and walked across to the hotel.
The hall porter stopped him as he went in. "The police
have been inquiring for you, Mr. Howard," he said in a
low voice. "There's an officer in room thirty-three of Mr.
Van Dyke's suite now. Of course, you've heard what's
happened?"
Tony nodded. "What do they want me for?"
"Well, sir, you were in the cocktail bar about the time
the robbery took place; anyone who might be able to give
the slightest clue has been questioned. As I was on duty,
they expected me to give a detailed description of every
single person who came in or went out."
"And did you?" Tony asked.
"All those I saw—I've trained myself to remember faces
—but I can't be watching all the time. I've other duties."
Tony said he guessed the police could wait, he wanted a
drink before he talked. He went into the cocktail bar,
ordered a brandy fizz, ate a handful of chips while Charlie
was preparing it. The bar was full, nearly everyone dis-
cussing the affair on the third floor. Tony listened; learnt
nothing that he hadn't read in the newspaper except
that Mrs. Van Dyke was not expected to live. Charlie was
too busy to talk; rattled, too.
Before going to Van Dyke's suite Tony went to his own
room, changed his shirt, tore a handkerchief in half and
bound it round the blood-stained one on his wrist. The
police would have found out that he had left the hotel
just about the time of the robbery, and they would have
already discovered that he had crashed his car in Brook
Street. They might suspect he was a confederate. He had
come from the States on the same ship as Van Dyke, wa^
staying at the same hotel, would be presumed to know


Sweeter Than Honey 39
their movements and would be quite aware of the value
of Mrs. Van Dyke's jewels. If this had happened in Chi-
cago and the cops weren't able to pick on anyone else he
might easily have found himself in the cells waiting for
an application of the third degree. Still, Van Dyke knew
and trusted him; but you never knew how a newspaper
proprietor would react when he was hit below the belt.
His wife was dying, too, and he was fond of her in his own
way. If only he had succeeded in running down those
Savile Row Twins, Van Dyke would have set him up for
life—but then he would never have met Anne. He left
the ear-ring in his coat pocket; safer there than hidden
anywhere else.
When he took the lift down to the third floor he hadn't
decided on the story he would give the police; didn't
feel like making it a gift to anyone. When he got out of
the lift he saw a man standing outside the door, facing
him, studying the back page of an evening paper; his
trained eye recognized a policeman in plain clothes. Tony
walked past him, then turned and asked if he could direct
him to Mr. Van Dyke's room. Very slowly the man walked
up to him, asked his business.
Tony lit a cigarette; said: "I believe he wants to see
me." Without waiting for a reply he doubled back, opened
the door of thirty-three and shut it behind him before the
officer had realized his intention. He found himself in
a sitting-room; the door on the right led into a bedroom.
The officer was following him. Tony saw the bathroom
facing him, dashed through it into Mrs. Van Dyke's room.
On one side of the bed a Scotland Yard detective was sit-
ting, and on the other side a doctor was standing; Van
Dyke was leaning over the foot of the bed, watching his


40 Sweeter Than Honey
wife. Slowly Van Dyke turned his head, recognized Tony,
waved him away.
"I've got something, Chief. You must see me alone for
a moment," Tony said.
Van Dyke asked the doctor to call him if there was any
change. He followed Tony into the adjoining room; told
the plain clothes man to get out. He waited until the
door had closed. "They tell me there's not much hope—
for my wife—so make it snappy, Tony."
He spoke in a low, emotionless voice. It wasn't a mil-
lionaire newspaper magnate who spoke, but an ordinary
man who had come up against an unseen power, stronger
than himself.
"I was your best crime reporter on the Herald, Van
Dyke. I tracked Mole-faced Peters, the man who shot up
the Wynterham family—cornered him at San Diego,
brought him back and we handed him over to the police
commissioner in your office. That was our biggest scoop
ever."
Van Dyke didn't seem to be listening. He pulled a
cigar from his waistcoat pocket, bit off the end and began
to chew it. "Do you want those guys who put out Mrs. Van
Dyke and robbed her?" Tony went on.
"I want them more than anything in the world," Van
Dyke said between his teeth. "If she could only speak and
tell us. ... No one saw anything, no one heard any-
thing—only our maid found her lying unconscious on the
bed. Say, what sort of rough house do you call this?"
"Listen, Chief. I've a hunch I can find the men who've
done this. Give me a break. If we let the police into what
I know, they'll mess it up for sure. This is a one-man job."
Van Dyke took the cigar from his mouth; it broke


Sweeter Than Honey 41
between his fingers and he threw it away. "Where were
you when it happened?"
"In the cocktail bar, I guess. I was going out when I
heard a maid cry 'Murder!' from an upper storey—took
a fancy to a car that was moving off and followed it. That's
how I cut my wrist open—might have caught them other-
wise." He pulled the ear-ring out of his pocket and held
it up: "Picked this up in the gutter as I was starting."
Van Dyke snatched it from him. "I wish the whole
damn lot were there." He came closer to Tony, looked
hard at him. "You don't want to let the police in on what
you know. What's the idea?"
"I've said I've got a hunch I can round up these crooks
while they are messing about with finger-prints, photo-
graphs, and clues. And I want a job. I'll never let you
down, Van Dyke."
Van Dyke turned his back on Tony, walked to the
bedroom door, opened it and looked in, came back again.
"O.K. You've told me nothing. You know the risk you're
taking over here if you keep your mouth shut?"
Tony grinned. "You learnt me that taking risks was
the only way to live."
"Remember, it's not the jewels I want," Van Dyke said,
"but the swine who murdered my wife."
Tony held his tongue. It was no use trying to comfort
Van Dyke. He watched him take a wallet from his pocket,
pull out a wad of notes. "If you want any more let me
know—and keep away for the next few days."
When he had gone Tony sat down, counted the money
and stuffed it into his trousers pocket. The window fac-
ing him was wide open; he saw the trees in the park,
lights moving through them, like fire-flies. He listened to


Sweeter Than Honey 43
"In what part of the hotel were you when the jewels
were stolen?"
Tony smiled. "I don't know."
"You don't know?"
"No one gave me the time. Guess I must have been
somewhere between the cocktail bar and the exit into
Park Lane."
"Now, you're a newspaper man, Howard. You've been
trained to notice people and things that escape the man
in the street. Now, did you see any suspicious or queer
characters about the hotel?"
"Plenty."
The inspector began to suck the end of his pencil again.
"You left the hotel after Mrs. Van Dyke had been robbed."
"You're guessing now, Inspectorl The first I knew about
it was when I bought an evening paper. But just after
I'd left the hotel and was starting my car, I heard someone
shouting, and I looked up and saw a woman standing on a
balcony of the hotel, crying out she'd been robbed."
"And you didn't wait to see what the matter was?"
Tony flicked the ash off his cigarette. "If I'd stopped
to get a story out of every woman who'd screamed, I'd
have been in the free-meal queue long ago. Besides, I'd
got a date with a girl."
The inspector closed his book; the ghost of a smile
parted his tight-lipped mouth. "Late for that, weren't
you?"
"I certainly tried to beat the traffic signals." He held
out his damaged wrist. "One of your cops might have got
me for wilful suicide, but a light standard saved me."
The inspector got up. "Well, that's all, Howard—for


44 Sweeter Than Honey
the present. You can go. You've rooms in this hotel,
haven't you?"
"With bath—sorry, you call it 'barth' over here, don't
you?"
On his way through the sitting-room, Tony asked the
doctor if he had anything to tell him. "I'm a friend of
Van Dyke's, and I want a story for his own paper." The
doctor shook his head. Tony said he supposed he would
have to go on guessing.
He hurried back to his room, locked the door, and
picking up the telephone receiver, put through a personal
call to Murdock, the news editor of the Chicago Herald.
In less than half an hour he was talking to him. Tony
just gave him the bald facts of the robbery and murder,
said he would telephone the complete story later on.
"You're getting this before the London press. I was in
her room with Van Dyke, the doctor, and the police in-
spector. The instant she passed out I rang you—no one
in the hotel knows yet."
Tony heard Murdock's rasping voice giving orders,
other voices echoing and answering; the faint clicking of
typewriters, the drone of a machine. He realized fierce,
breathless activity. Murdock was telling him he was going
to throw out a special edition; "Gimme the whole story
now."
"Can't do that until I've seen the Chief again. I'll get
through to you in an hour or two. How much are you
giving me, Murdock? I want a thousand grand."
"You'll want."
"Then I'm broadcasting it to New York right away."
"O.K., Baby, but sling that story across before anyone


Sweeter Than Honey 45
starts writing an in memoriam card. . . . And say, Tony,
send a wreath from the boys."
Tony disconnected. He lit a cigarette, waited a couple
of minutes, then picked up the microphone again, asked
to be put through to Miss Sophie Boden's room.
"That is Mrs. Van Dyke's maid. I don't think "the
telephonist said.
"I didn't ask you to think," Tony interrupted sharply.
"I'm speaking for Mr. Van Dyke. Get through at once."
The bell buzzed for thirty seconds before the maid
replied; again Tony said he was speaking for Van Dyke,
and that she was to come round to room three-one-five
at once.
A long time elapsed before there was a timid knock on
his door. Opening it he told Sophie to come right in and
sit down. Her eyes, red with weeping, looked at him sus-
piciously. "Oh, it's you, Mr. Howard. I know what you
want, but I can't tell you anything. The police said—"
"Never mind what the police said." Tony stood with his
back against the door; the maid dropped into a chair by
the dressing-table. She began to twist a handkerchief nerv-
ously between her fingers; a strand of dark hair fell across
her forehead. Her large eyes, broad nose, and full-lipped
mouth indicated that there was a dark strain in her blood.
"The police don't come info this," Tony went on. "We
help them all we can, of course, but the Chief has given
me the job of finding who murdered Mrs. Van Dyke."
"She's not passed over? Don't tell me she's passed over!"
Sophie's deep Southern voice rose hysterically.
"No—but her condition is serious. Now you've got to
keep calm. She was a good mistress to you, wasn't she?
And you must help her now by telling me everything you


46 Sweeter Than Honey
know—and then forgetting you told me. Had she any
visitors this afternoon?”
The maid shook her head. “I’ve been all through this
once; I can't bear much more. Mrs. Van Dyke did a little
shopping after lunch; at half past four she had an appoint-
ment with a young lady from Madame Estelle’s.”
“What was her name?”
“Miss Chiltern, I think. She'd come to fit her with some
new corsets she'd ordered, and she brought some under-
things she was taking with her to Malaya.” Sophie began
to sob.
Tony crossed the room and shut the window. “Were
you with her all the time? How long was she here?”
“Oh yes, I never left the room. Mrs. Van Dyke always
wanted my advice about those things. I don't suppose the
young lady was here more than half an hour; and when
she'd gone I got Mrs. Van Dyke ready for her treatment.
She'd been having massage and such-like ever since she
arrived, but this afternoon it was something special, mud-
pack I think they call it, because she was going to the big
charity ball.”
She put her handkerchief to her eyes; the tears were roll-
ing down her face again. Tony gave her a few moments
to recover. “Now get on with it, Sophie.”
“I went down to have a cup of tea, and when I came
back the masseuse had gone.” Tony asked where she came
from and her name. “Some place called ‘Maison de Beauté’
in Bond Street. Never heard her name. Mrs. Van Dyke
just called her Peggy.”
“A blonde, young and attractive?”
The maid nodded. “I made Mrs. Van Dyke comfortable
so she could have a sleep before dressing for dinner, and


Sweeter Than Honey 47
then I got her things ready and put out her jewels. On
special occasions she always liked everything laid out on
the dressing-table, and then, when she was dressed, she
chose what she wanted to wear.”
“And then?”
“I sat reading for a bit and she went off to sleep.”
“How do you know she was asleep?” Tony asked.
“By her breathing—she breathed heavy when she slept.
It must have been somewhere about half past six when
I went into the bathroom to get her bath ready. I shut
the door so as not to disturb her. I couldn't have been
there more than three or four minutes, and when I came
back the first thing I saw was one of her cut-glass bottles
lying on the floor, and then I looked at the dressing-table,
and all the jewels were gone. And there she was lying on
the bed with her arms stretched out, and blood running
down her forehead.”
The maid covered her face with her hands and began
to rock to and fro.
“What did you do?”
“I can't tell you; I was paralysed. I seem to remember
rushing out on the balcony—the windows were wide open,
and I tried to cry out, but I couldn't hear nothing but
the traffic, and then I rushed out into the corridor; there
wasn't anyone about. I shouted for help and began to
run downstairs, and one of the valets, I think it was, came
along and he got help and fetched the doctor.”
“When you were in the bathroom, didn't you hear any-
thing? No cry for help?”
“I didn't hear a sound. You see, the noise of the traffic
and the rushing of the bath water drowned everything
else.”


48 Sweeter Than Honey
"When the police came, do you know if they got any
clue?"
"I don't know. There doesn't seem anything for them
to get hold of. That's all I can tell you. Please let me go
now."
"All right, Sophie. Tell me this, though, about how
long elapsed between the time the girl Peggy went and you
left the bathroom and discovered what had happened?"
She looked at him with frightened eyes. "I couldn't say
within a few minutes—three quarters of an hour, perhaps."
As soon as she had gone, Tony put on his hat, grabbed
a sheaf of note-paper from the bureau, and without wait-
ing for the lift, ran downstairs.
The lounge was crowded. People who had dined in the
hotel were waiting for the cabaret to commence before
going into the ballroom. They were dancing in the
restaurant. He knew that the grill-room would be full of
hearty men and fleshless women. He went out and picked
up a taxi. He was hungry and thirsty and wanted some-
where where he could sit with the pulse of life throbbing,
and make up a hot story for Murdock. Accustomed to the
uproar of the press-room he couldn't work in solitude
and silence. He stopped the taxi at the bottom of Stratton
Street; told the driver what he wanted.
"Well, there's the Spanish restaurant in Swallow Street;
or you might try the 'Blue Angel' just here on the left.
I've taken all sorts there."
Tony got a table with a sofa seat in an alcove. He
ordered chicken en casserole and a bottle of Pommard;
watched half a dozen couples dancing on a floor the size
of a billiard table. The women were young and amusing.
The majority of the men were not young; looked as if they


Sweeter Than Honey 49
had never been amused. When the waiter brought his
coffee and a cognac, he talked to Tony. Was the casserole
to Tony's liking? Had he been to the opera? That new
conductor from Moscow. His hands drew a sketch of the
conductor for Tony. A terrible affair that at the "Magnif-
icent." A friend of his was a floor waiter there; he had
been talking to him on the telephone a little while ago.
A mysterious affair; they'd killed the poor lady and got
away with all her jewels, thousands of pounds worth. Per-
haps, after all, a waiter was better off than a millionaire.
When he had gone, Tony began to make notes for his
story. The waiter had given him quite a lot of stuff that
would make good copy; and his own interview with Van
Dyke, the inspector and the doctor—from facts like those
he could turn out columns of fiction.
He was writing the description of some of the stolen
jewels, when he glanced up and saw Peggy sitting on the
other side of the room with a girl and a tired business man.
She crooked a finger at him, said something to her friend,
who got up and pulled Tired Business Man on to the
floor. Tony watched him push her round; though she had
painted a smile on her lips, she made no attempt to con-
ceal the boredom in her avaricious eyes. Tony went over
to Peggy and asked if she would dance with him.
"I've been giving you the glad eye ever since you came
in," she said, "but you've been too busy writing your love-
letters to notice me."
"Been writing up that murder at the 'Magnificent'," he
replied carelessly. "Now I've got to buzz off and 'phone
it to Chicago."
The band began to play a tango; he felt the pressure of
her body as she looked up at him. "How thrilling. I got


50 Sweeter Than Honey
an awful shock when I read it in the paper this evening.
I was there, you know, giving the poor old thing beauty
treatment a few hours before it happened. Tell me all
about it."
"Don't know a thing—the less one knows, the better the
.•story."
"I always say you can't believe a thing you read in the
newspapers. You got Anne to Cookham all right? I bet
she was shocked—or hadn't she heard?"
"Got the news going through Maidenhead."
"I suppose that's why you rushed back. . . . Glad you
-did; I was on the point of passing out when I saw you.
You see, when Joan's boss asks her out to dinner, she
always drags me along, too."
They passed them on the floor, and Joan made a grimace
over the man's shoulder. "We're just leaving," she said;
"you needn't hurry."
Peggy looked at Tony. "Do you want to get rid of me?"
"Not until we've had another dance, then I must get
busy." He called a passing waiter, and told him to take a
bottle of Perrier Jouet to his table. "It will have to be a
quick drink."
"I say, couldn't you send your message from here?
There's a telephone downstairs."
"Too public, and it would take too long."
Peggy didn't speak again until the band stopped play-
ing and they were sitting at the table, drinking the cham-
pagne. "If it's awfully important, you could telephone
from my flat if you like. Absolutely quiet there. You
would have the room to yourself while I'm putting on my
bath and playing around."
That was an idea, but why did she suggest it? He paid


Sweeter Than Honey 51
the bill, changing a fiver from the wad of notes Van Dyke
had given him. Peggy was powdering her face, but he saw
her give a sidelong glance as he stuffed the roll of money
back into his pocket.
The commissionaire called a taxi. Tony gave the driver
Peggy's address. Peggy leant back, put her feet up on the
little seat facing her. Tony made a note of her shoes and
stockings; wondered if she was wearing one of Jane's
Charnaux. Didn't look as if she was wearing very much,
but what she had was good. Beauty culture was a paying
business.
She said: "Why have you suddenly gone dumb? What
are you thinking about?"
"My story."
She leant towards him. "Tell me; I'm dying to know
what really happened. Do you think they'll find the man
who did it?"
"Sure thing."
"Were you in the hotel when it happened? Did you see
anything?"
"Left just about the time the murder was committed."
"Bad luck. She was a nice old thing, but still, a woman
who goes about with thousands of pounds worth of jewels
is asking for trouble, isn't she?"
"What were they like? You must have had a chance
of seeing them."
Peggy laughed. "Wish I had! Might have tried pinch-
ing something myself. No, whenever I gave her treatment
she hadn't as much as a ring on her finger. If you ask me,
someone in the hotel did it; one of the floor waiters, I
shouldn't wonder."
Tony nodded. "That's what I'm working on."


52 Sweeter Than Honey
The taxi stopped outside Prince's Mansions. Tony fol-
lowed Peggy into the hall. An electric lift took them to the
top floor; her flat was at the end of a long corridor. "It's
a bit of a bandbox," she said as she opened the door and
switched on the lights, "but the view's worth the money.
Have a look. You can see all London and a bit of Surrey
as well."
Tony picked up the telephone and asked International
Services for Chicago. While he waited for his number,
Peggy showed him round the flat. "Two makes a crowd,
but I'd rather be crowded and comfortable than have
the vast windy spaces of Victorian-converted mansions."
"You've got the States beat," Tony admitted, "but
you've been a long time in doing it. Gee, if a girl can get
a home of her own like this and every luxury she wants
by pressing a button, why marry?"
"Because if you let a man hang his hat in the hall with-
out getting a licence, you are liable to be left like a bit
of unlabelled luggage; find yourself in the lost property
office—annual clearance sale. And anyway, what will your
children say to you when they ask for their father and you
give them the refrigerator!"
She filled two glasses with iced Pilsner and went back
to the sitting-room. "When your call comes through, how
long will you be talking?"
"Five or ten minutes, perhaps."
"Well, when you start, I'll undress and have my bath,
and when you've finished, you can just walk out."
"Wouldn't you like to hear what a good story I can
make out of nothing?"
"Nothing! I like that! I bet you've found out more
than the police."


Sweeter Than Honey 53
"Maybe I have, but that's not much. I know, for exam-
ple, that you placed a mud-pack on Mrs. Van Dyke's face
at five-forty this afternoon." Peggy got up, slid back two
panels in the wall and pulled down her bed. "Nothing
mean or small about that, anyway," Tony said.
"We call it Mae West—Anne and I do, I mean—she often
stays here when she's kept working overtime. How long
have you known her?"
Tony was looking through his notes; he didn't reply at
once. "Oh, long enough to have fallen in love with her."
Peggy had drifted into the bathroom. "That's a blow,"
she cried. "You'll have to work hard; where men are con-
cerned, Anne is hard-boiled. And take my tip, keep out of
the way of her old man; he's batty, as perhaps you dis-
covered." The telephone bell buzzed. Peggy looked into
the sitting-room. "If that's your call, I'll shut you in. By
the way, you're not getting Chicago for twopence! Where
shall I send the account?"
Tony said: "I'll have the time checked and get them to
tell me the amount—twenty or thirty quid, I expect—I'll
leave it on the mantelpiece for you."
"Sounds too immoral; I shall wake up in the morning,
feeling like an abandoned woman. When you've finished,
scram, as they say in the best talkies."
She shut the sitting-room door; then Tony heard the
'bathroom door bang. Murdock's voice came over the wire:
"Is that Tony? You're too late, Kid, they've got it on the
radio."
"Oh, yes! Not what I've got. Take this."
When he had finished, Tony replaced the receiver,
wiped his forehead—sweating; he'd got a thrill out of that.
He visualized the front page of the Chicago Herald. He'd


54 Sweeter Than Honey
nothing but a background upon which to work, but he
knew he'd put across one of the best stories of his career.
Real people in it, too—the doctor, police inspector, maid,
the girl from the corset shop, and the beauty culturist.
He'd been in the death chamber a few minutes after the
murder. . . . What a scoop for Murdockl He ought to have
asked more money. It was a bit of luck meeting Peggy.
She'd given him inspiration—and the doll's-house flat up
in the sky—below it, London stretched like a map, pricked
with pin-holes, through which a million lights shone.
Somewhere down there were the Savile Row Twins with
the Van Dyke jewels. He lit a cigarette. Not a sound except
the distant rumble of traffic. He looked at the bed. A vision
of Peggy and Anne lying there asleep—the Kestos Twins—
perhaps they worked together. . . . He drained the glass.
A box like a cabinet pushed under the bookcase caught
his eye; he remembered seeing it when he first sat down.
Vaguely familiar. He moved it with his foot, then pulled
it out; of course, he'd used the thing himself once, a dicta-
phone.
He heard Peggy leave the bathroom. When she appeared
he was putting six five-pound notes on the mantelpiece.
"You will find that O. K. Sorry I've kept you out of bed."
"No one's ever done that." Throwing off her wrap she
jumped into bed. She looked attractive—blue pyjama
trousers, with a little tight-fitting, wine coloured jacket,
her yellow hair stood out like a mop, giving her a gamin-
like appearance. Sea-green eyes—he hadn't noticed their
colour before.
He said: "You've got me guessing."
"The answer is the lift."
"I know! Anyway, thanks for the loan of your room. I


Sweeter Than Honey 55
see you've got a dictaphone; I'll be borrowing that next.
The stenographer at the hotel is twenty degrees below
zero. . . . Say, do you compose your beauty hints on that
machine?"
"And I don't get paid extra for it. Couldn't you get me
the Woman's Gossip column on your Chicago paper?
'What to do with red noses.' 'Schoolgirl complexion for all.'
'How to lose five pounds of superfluous fat a day.' . . . Shut
the door quietly as you go out, and switch off the light."
Peggy waited until she heard the lift descending, then
she got out of bed, threw on her wrap again, and closed
the windows. She put the dictaphone on the table, slipped
in a cylinder, lit a cigarette, and began to dictate.


When Tony got back to the hotel, he found the lounge
deserted, although the ball was still going on. He asked
the man who took him up in the lift how long he had been
on duty.
"Since five o'clock, sir."
"You were here when the robbery took place?"
The man nodded. He looked surly, tired of being ques-
tioned. Tony slipped a pound note into his hand. "I've
just had to write a story for my newspaper, so anything
you can tell me now will not get into print."
"That's all right. I wish there was something I could
tell. The police seem to think the thieves must have used
the lift, but one thing I can swear to is that I didn't make
a stop on the third floor, and I wasn't called there for quite
ten minutes before the alarm was given."
The lift attendant shrugged his shoulders. They reached
the top floor, and he swung back the gates. Tony waited to
light a cigarette.
"It's a queer business—someone in the hotel, perhaps."
"As likely as not. They must have been pretty smart.
There was a party in Mr. Erbach's rooms on the fourth
floor. It was just after I'd taken a full load down from there
and was going up again when the valet stopped me and
56


Sweeter Than Honey 57
said someone had been murdered in Mr. Van Dyke's
room."
Tony asked if he could remember the people he took
down.
"Four ladies, foreign looking; three gentlemen. I re-
member one, an old fellow with a white moustache and
bushy eyebrows; the other two, well, I should say they were
about your style, sir—if you know what I mean. I think
one had a bit of a toothbrush moustache, like they used
to wear after the War."
"Did you notice if they were wearing bowler hats?"
"Can't say; you see, they took their hats off before getting
into the lift. That's always struck me as funny, sir, the way
men take off their hats when they get into the lift and put
them on when they get out! You don't see so many bowler
hats as you used to, and toppers are rare. I'd have noticed
a topper."
"Have you heard if the police have got hold of any clue
yet?"
"If they had, they'd keep it dark. It was quite a time
before they came, so the valet told me; but when the in-
spector went into the room with the doctor, he picked
up a handkerchief lying just inside the door. The maid
swore it wasn't Mrs. Van Dyke's, because all hers have her
initials on them. They won't get much out of that—she'd
lots of visitors—young ladies from shops, and that sort of
thing."
"Quite," Tony said. "A woman couldn't have murdered
her."
"No—but to my mind a woman was behind it, someone
who knew Mrs. Van Dyke's habits and movements, and
that she was lying down before going to the ball this eve-


58 Sweeter Than Honey
ning, and that the maid had put her jewels and things out
before leaving the room."
"It looks like that," Tony said. "The work of a pretty
smart gang, cleverly organized. But they didn't mean
to murder her. She must have woken up, seen them, and
cried out."
"That's it," the lift attendant agreed. "If she'd only re-
covered consciousness before she died, she could have told
the police what they looked like, and then I dare say I
should have had something to say. As it is, all the staff on
the third floor will be suspected." The bell rang, and he
closed the gates. "We've been warned not to open our
mouths, so you'll forget I've been talking to you, sir, won't
you?"
Tony watched the lift out of sight. He would like to get
hold of that handkerchief. If there were laundry marks on
it, the police might trace the owner, but he had an idea
that women didn't send their handkerchiefs to the laundry,
and they certainly wouldn't leave laundry marks on them.
When he got into bed he put out the light, and lying on
his back went through the events of the afternoon. The
two men with bowler hats, rolled umbrellas, and white
spats he'd seen get out of the lift had murdered Mrs. Van
Dyke and stolen her jewels. Of that he was certain; the
ear-ring they'd dropped was evidence enough. Yet, if he
met them tomorrow, he wouldn't be able to identify them.
He'd noticed their clothes first—those infernal spats had
caught his eye—and when he had looked up, all he had
got was one man in profile: swarthy complexion, thick
neck, something of the Dago about him, perhaps; both
were well built, a bit above the average height.
When they had left Mrs. Van Dyke's room, instead of


Sweeter Than Honey 59
going down by the staircase, they'd run up to the fourth
floor and waited with the guests from the party there for
the lift. Some of those people might be able to help him if
he could get hold of them, but it was extraordinary how
unobservant the average individual was.
Did they know they were being followed? Hardly looked
like it. They would naturally be in a hurry to get away,
yet they'd taken a more or less direct route to Bond Street.
... Where Peggy worked at the beauty shop.
Peggy and Anne and old Chiltern, the bee-keeper? Ab-
solutely no connection between them and the murder at
the "Magnificent"—and yet he had a peculiar hunch that
there might be some connection; that peculiar instinct that
forces a good bridge player to make a psychic bid. Was it
chance that had crashed him right outside Anne's shop
door, and induced her to take him in and bind up his
wrist? He'd brought off so many lucky coups on his Chicago
newspaper from similar chances that he had been forced to
believe that they were the workings of destiny. Call it by
any name you like, but there remained the fact that Peggy
and Anne and the Savile Row Twins had all been in the
hotel that afternoon between four and six o'clock. Peggy
knew that Mrs. Van Dyke was going to the charity ball
that evening. She knew when she'd finished her treatment
that Mrs. Van Dyke was going to have an afternoon sleep
—she had only to wait a few moments and see the maid
leave the room. . . . And Anne . . . Subconsciously he was
trying to leave Anne out of it—because he loved her.
He turned over on his side and went to sleep.


"Mr. Van Dyke would like to see you in his room,
sir, as soon as possible," the valet said.
Tony had just finished breakfast, coffee and toast; he'd
been looking through the morning newspaper. The
murder was the front-page news—nothing to compare with
the story he'd made up, though. Putting on a dressing-gown
and pushing his feet into a pair of slippers, he ran down
to the third floor. In the sitting-room he found the police
inspector, the valet, and Sophie. She was sitting in an arm-
chair, her hands lying on her lap, head bowed on her
chest. She looked crushed and lifeless. Van Dyke was
standing at the far end of the room, in the shadows, nerv-
ously biting on the stump of a cigar. His collar was
unfastened and the tie hanging outside his waistcoat.
Obviously he hadn't been to bed all night. Tony thought:
"Poor devil! He must have cared for her more than he
knew." And then he thought of Anne—and he wondered,
did you love from inspiration or just from habit.
The inspector said: "Now, Howard, I've a couple more
questions I want to ask you."
Tony glanced at Van Dyke, but the heavily ringed,
sunken eyes gave no response; they were lifeless. "Fire!"
Tony said.
"You came over here on the same ship as Mr. Van Dyke
60


Sweeter Than Honey 61
and his wife? Did you play cards at all during the voyage?"
Tony shook, his head. "You watched Mr. Van Dyke play-
ing, perhaps. Did you notice anyone playing at the same
table with him?"
"Can't say I did."
"Now, when you had that accident to your car in Brook
Street yesterday, you told me you were in a hurry because
you were going to meet a girl. I'd like the lady's name and
where you were meeting her."
Tony grinned. He had to think quickly. "I suppose if
I were a gentleman I would refuse to tell you. She said
her name was Fanny Roberts. I was meeting her at the
Corner House in Coventry Street. That's where I picked
her up the night before last."
The inspector glanced at his note-book, sucked his pencil
reflectively. Tony wished it would kill him.
"Where did you go when you left Brook Street?"
"I went on to Fleet Street to see if I could pick up any
dirt—that's copy, you know—for my Chicago newspaper.
Had a drink or two, wrote out my story, and 'phoned it
over."
"Didn't meet the girl, then?"
"With me, business comes before pleasure." He glanced
again at Van Dyke, who said slowly:
"Howard's on the staff of my newspaper, Inspector. If
you could give him any information—"
"There's a department at the Yard where he can get
that." The inspector told the valet and Sophie they could
go. "And I shan't want you again, Howard."
But Van Dyke asked him to wait. As soon as the in-
spector had gone, he said: "Got anything, Tony?"
"Nothing more than a hunch for the moment, Chief."


6i Sweeter Than Honey
"Keep going then. The police know nothing, and they
can't do any guessing. I am relying on you. Get the man
who killed my wife, and you can have anything you want.
You've got to get him—do you understand?"
"I'll get him." Tony dashed for the door. Van Dyke's
toneless voice and expressionless face, with the death-like
eyes that looked at him without seeing him, had got on
Tony's nerves. In spite of, or perhaps because of his small
stature, Van Dyke always impressed him as being Napo-
leonic. He had withered in the night. His nose was no
longer dominating; the stubborn shoulders drooped. With
his fingers on the handle of the door, Tony stopped; he
couldn't leave him standing over there in the corner of
the cold, unsympathetic hotel sitting-room. The windows
were shut; the atmosphere smelt stale and exhausted; the
flowers on the table were drooping. . . . They had taken
the body away to the mortuary. Van Dyke was alone. No
beggar in the whole city so poor, or so mean as he.
Here was a storyl A man who had given his life to
making money and getting power; who would have lost
both unmoved and with a smile started to fight back again.
But the loss of something he had never valued, of the one
person in the world with whom he had never bargained,
had toppled him off his pedestal and crushed him. Again
Tony thought he must have loved her without realizing it,
only conscious of the lives of those he dominated. And
there he stood, huddled up in the corner, waiting for the
word that not one of all his acquaintances could say. Tony
tried to think of a word, but he knew there was none that
would reach him.
There was a knock on the door. Tony opened it and
took a heap of cables and telegrams from the page-boy. He


Sweeter Than Honey 63
threw them on the table. Here were words from all over
the world. They would continue to come throughout the
day, but Van Dyke would not read them, or reading, would
know they were messages sent to a news king and not to
a man.
"What are you waiting for? Why don't you get out?"
Van Dyke said.
"Listen, Chief; did you tell the police about those two
guys with whom you played poker in your saloon coming
over?"
"Yes, but you can cut them out. This isn't their sort
of racket."
"I know that, but they may be the intelligence depart-
ment of the gang who did this job. And I would like to go
round to that beauty shop in Bond Street and get Mrs.
Van Dyke's account and settle it."
Van Dyke slowly turned his head and looked at him.
"Don't ask me what you can do; just get on with it. And
if you've got to pay to make anyone talk, don't worry about
the price."
When Tony was dressed he went round to the garage,
told the manager to scrap his car; he would hire a Bentley
in its place. Then he strolled down Bond Street, rubbering
outside the shops that caught his fancy until he came to
the Maison de Beaute. He climbed a heavily carpeted stair-
case to the first floor. Reception room. Luxurious furni-
ture, faint, exotic perfumes. He asked a girl with ash-
blonde hair, pale face, and pale hands, for the cashier's
office, wondering if anything so vulgar existed.
"If it is about an account, the secretary's office is on the
second floor. Take the lift, please. Mrs. Fordyce's room."
The secretary was a middle-aged woman with white hair,


64 Sweeter Than Honey
a silky voice, and a schoolgirl complexion. The Maison de
Beaute knew its business.
"But this is really very embarrassing," Mrs. Fordyce
said. "Under such tragic circumstances, I mean. We
shouldn't have dreamed of sending in the account."
"I guessed that," Tony smiled. "You see, Mr. Van Dyke
will leave London directly everything is settled. Personal
accounts like yours might easily be overlooked."
Looking a little shocked, Mrs. Fordyce ordered the ac-
count to be made out. That such a thing should happen
in London at one of the fashionable hotels was incredible,
she said. "Miss Peggy was so overwhelmed when she arrived
this morning that we had to send her home again. As
perhaps you know, she had been attending Mrs. Van
Dyke."
"Really," Tony replied. "Yes, I suppose it would be a
shock; she must have been with Mrs. Van Dyke just before
she was murdered."
"Peggy was one of our cleverest manipulators; very
highly strung, though. She was succeeding so well with
Mrs. Van Dyke. . . . Really, it is too shattering."
A beautiful brunette, hiding behind a pair of horn-
rimmed glasses, brought the account. Fifty guineas. Tony
wondered if he ought to apologize for paying it in bank-
notes. "In the States," he said, "everyone is so busy shatter-
ing everyone else, that no one has time to enjoy the luxury
of being shattered. Perhaps you would post the receipt
direct to Mr. Van Dyke." He borrowed an envelope, took
a five-pound note from his pocket, made a note of the
number. "Would you give this to Miss Peggy? It may help
to recompense her for the shock she received."
"Really, there is no need." Mrs. Fordyce had a beautiful
/


Sweeter Than Honey 65
smile, a smile that made you believe in perpetual youth
and life everlasting. “Too kind. If you have an opportu-
nity, will you convey to Mr. Van Dyke our heartfelt sym-
pathy and the horror we all feel at this dastardly crime.”
Tony made his way slowly towards Brook Street. It
was rather early to call on Anne, but love made him im-
patient. There was no doubt that he was desperately and
hopelessly in love. He had never imagined he would ever
feel that way about a woman. Desperate—but not hopeless,
because she was going to love him, if she didn't love him
already. And why should not she? People talked about
making love! You couldn't make it, or only the syn-
thetic variety! Love came to you ready-made. He was be-
ginning to feel intoxicated. If he didn't get hold of him-
self in a few minutes, he would be drunk and reeling. He
stopped to look up at the sky: blue—and a blue sky in
London was unlike a blue sky anywhere else. And Bond
Street, a mean, narrow little thoroughfare, blocked with
ungainly buses and expensive cars, was unlike any other
fashionable street in the world.
Here, life almost stood still, caught its breath and stared
at itself, amazed and unashamed. It dawdled, recklessly,
indifferent to time. Tony saw Bond Street as an extension
of Aladdin's Cave; rubbed an imaginary lamp, and in
imagination helped himself to its treasures. He walked
into a florist's shop, then remembered that Anne's gar-
den was already crammed with spring flowers. But here
were red June roses, forced to bloom before their time.
He ordered them to be sent by messenger to Anne.
Outside “Jane Estelle's,” the lamp standard still adver-
tised his crash; he pushed open the door and went in
quickly, trying to look as if he believed Charnaux made


66 Sweeter Than Honey
belts for men. Anne was packing a box that suggested a
trousseau. He saw Jane herself in the background. He
said: "Hello, Anne."
She looked up, gave a quick smile, and then answered
coldly: "Good morning."
That was a good sign; glad to see him, pretending she
didn't care. Jane came out of the background, like a steam-
roller coming into action. Anne said: "This is Mr. Tony
Howard—he writes for the newspapers."
"On the other side. I'd like to write a story round you,
madam, and your delightful shop. We've nothing like this
in the States—so intimate and friendly. I'd like to get a
picture of it, and of you, of course."
That was an idea, Tony decided—the shop Mrs. Van
Dyke had patronized just before her death. The beauty
parlour, too, photographs of Peggy and Anne. On second
thoughts he decided to leave Anne out of it. She had
turned her back on him and was packing the trousseau
again. Jane was looking at him, not unkindly, and
laughing.
"I'm afraid I'm not a celebrity. I'm not Charnaux, you
see"
"Oh yes, you are," Tony interrupted. "If you weren't
a celebrity, I'd make you one. Celebrities on this side
don't realize their importance. Now, take that cat that
sits in the window of the poulterer's shop in Bond Street;
everyone knows it, but no one has thought of featuring it.
I got its picture the day after I arrived here. Ten days
later it was in the Chicago Herald, with its real life story.
Believe me, if that cat could read, it would be tickled to
death."


Sweeter Than Honey 67
"I am sure," Jane said; "but we are busy at the moment.
What can I do for you?"
Tony glanced at Anne, but she refused to look up.
"I'm representing Mr. Van Dyke. Of course, you've read
all about the dreadful tragedy. She was a client of yours;
if you'll let me have her account I'd like to settle it."
Jane said there was no need to worry about a trifle like
that at such a moment, but she asked Anne to make it
out. A modest twenty-five guineas. When Anne gave him
the receipt, he glanced at his watch and said: "You haven't
forgotten our luncheon appointment? I'll be back at one
o'clock."
"It will have to be a quick one; I promised father to be
home early. He has friends coming to tea."
He told her he would get her down in plenty of time.
He dashed out just as the page-boy from the florist's
arrived with his roses. He hurried to Piccadilly, had a
luncheon basket packed at Robert Jackson's, and at five
minutes to one he was waiting outside "Jane's" with his
hired Bentley. He gave Anne ten minutes, then got out
of the car, found the shop door locked, rattled until she
opened it, walked straight in.
"Closed rather early, didn't you? Don't you want to
come?"
She looked at him thoughtfully. When she was serious,
her beauty, he thought, was enhanced. He felt she was
trying to read his thoughts, to discover him. He felt guilty.
His subconscious mind had connected her with the mur-
der at the "Magnificent." No evidence; just a thin chain
of events. When he let his conscious mind have free play,
he only knew he loved her, and nothing else mattered.


68 Sweeter Than Honey
But could he play lover and crime detector at the same
time?
He dismissed the question. He didn't want to think at
that moment, he only wanted to feel, and he was feeling
rapturously happy and carefree. He was in England, and
he was in love, and it was spring.
Anne said: "Why did you send me those flowers? What
do you really want?"
As she spoke, he saw two small boxes on the counter,
similar to the one she'd taken down to Lavender Cottage
the previous evening.
Automatically he read the label attached to one of the
boxes: "Queen bee. Great care." Tony did not know much
about bees, but he had an idea that a hive only needed
one queen, and that a bee-master of Chiltern's experience
ought to be able to breed his own queens.
"Is your wrist all right this morning?"
"Sorry," Tony said quickly; "I didn't answer your first
question, did I? But you know what I want. I don't think
my wrist is too good; started bleeding when I had my
bath this morning, and as I was rather rushed I just tied
it up with a handkerchief. I'd be fearfully grateful if
you could fix it again for me. . . . Do you mind?"
Without a word she got a strip of linen, dabbed a little
iodine on the wound, then neatly bandaged it.
"I'm thinking you've missed your vocation."
"You mean nursing? No thanks! I hate blood and
bugs. . . . I'm quite a good saleswoman really."
She was putting on her hat in front of a mirror. Watch-
ing her, he wondered if she knew what she was doing,
what her actions conveyed to him. She was doing much
more than fixing her hat and her hair. She was fixing her


Sweeter Than Honey 69
attitude towards life and preparing for her reactions to
life. But she was unconscious of it, and it was all done
in a few seconds.
Anne threw her coat over her arm, picked up the
roses. "I'm ready."
"I'm sorry."
"Changed your mind?"
"No, but it's rather fun sitting here watching you fid-
dling around. Like other folk, I've spent hours watching
a cat washing itself, a bird preening its feathers, a horse
rolling on its back, legs in air, or a sentimental spaniel
stretched in soulful contemplation, but you've just taught
me that a woman can do all those things a darn sight
better."
"You'd better ask Peggy to take you into her beauty
shop, and show you some of her clients, lying on their
backs and kicking their legs in the air, or stretched in soul-
ful contemplation. Hallo, new carl Of course, I didn't
realize you were Mr. Van Dyke's secretary. I suppose you
can afford to crash a car a day."
"I'm not, and I can't. I'm just a common news-monger.
I can make a lot of money when there's a good political,
economical, or moral racket on. Never kept what I made.
Nothing worth while keeping it for. But now I've met
you, I'm going to work like hell and collect the dough."
"Where are we lunching?"
"I've got a new job," Tony went on. "If I make good,
we can get married right away. I want to tell you all about
it, but I can't yet."
"I wish you'd watch the traffic signals instead of
talking."
"I've got to talk or I shall get reckless. I love youl Of


•jo Sweeter Than Honey
course, I don't expect you to be batty about me yet, but
you needn't be quite so insensitive."
She held the roses to her face. "I'm not insensitive,
though I haven't thanked you for these yet. But the only
sensation I have at the moment is hunger. Overslept this
morning; started off without breakfast."
"That's too bad. After I left you last night, I went out
to supper—tried to get tight—couldn't—lay awake, think-
ing of the murder. Tough on the old manl He was fond of
her. Must have given you a shock, too, Anne."
"Didn't really know her. These terribly rich people
never seem human to me."
"Don't you want money?" She shook her head. "The
things money can buy? Clothes and jewels?"
"Jewels bore me!" she cried. "Perhaps because father
brought me up to despise women who plastered them-
selves with rings and necklaces and tiaras. I've got a pas-
sion for ear-rings, though. Tell me where we are going
and when I can eat."
Tony put his foot on the accelerator. "There's a
luncheon basket on the seat behind. Do you think you
can find me a real English field? You know, full of but-
tercups and daisies, a few trees in the background for
preference, and a pond or river in the foreground with
reeds, and dab-chicks splashing around. No swans. Don't
like their necks!"
Anne laughed. "You know exactly what you want, don't
you?"
"Hadn't an idea until the murder at the 'Magnificent,'
and my meeting with you."
He looked at her. She smiled. "I can't see the con-
nection."


Sweeter Than Honey 71
He believed her. For once he had made a bad psychic
bid for a clue. Always in the past, inspiration had put
him on the track of a good story or the solution of a crime;
he had grown to believe his hunches were infallible. He
took a deep breath of relief, and slowing down, glanced
over his shoulder, saw the luncheon basket on the seat-
ought to have put it on the floor. The ice was beginning
to melt and make a pool of water. As he lifted Anne's
coat out of the way, he remembered the two queen bee
boxes. They had left them behind in the shop.
Tony decided to say nothing about it—anyway, not
until they had lunched.


8
Anne lay on her back on the grass, a cigarette between
her lips. Tony cleared up the debris and repacked the
luncheon basket. Twice Anne had lazily told him that it
was her job and she would do it later on. "I'm feeling too
good to move yet. What made you think of a picnic,
Tony?"
"Oh, I thought you looked like a picnic," he said care-
lessly. He stood on the edge of the bank, threw a handful
of crumbs to the dab-chicks, who scattered with a noisy
splashing of water. Facing him on the opposite bank was
a notice: "Private. Trespassers will be Prosecuted." If
the keeper came along, Tony decided he would chuck
him in the backwater. Anne had found the field he had
imagined: cool green grass almost hidden by little yellow
cups, behind it a belt of trees that might have been the
outriders to a dark forest, and in the still waters there was
actually a clump of bulrushes.
"I'm glad I'm English," Tony said.
"You're not. An Englishman couldn't have thought of
that lunch. And the coffee was an inspiration!"
Tony didn't reply. Through a clump of willow-trees in
a tangle of undergrowth he saw the waters of the main
stream glittering in the sunshine. A punt drifted past,
poled by a girl in blue shorts and an orange jumper; a
78


Sweeter Than Honey 73
spaniel dog was sitting in the bows; a gramophone was
playing a waltz. Slowly the punt disappeared, and with it
the music. Hedges cut green fields into a crazy pattern
until they were lost in a pale mist, which merged into the
blue sky, against which a church tower stood out in bold
relief. Once in a life-time this happened to a man; to look
at the earth and find it a mirror reflecting himself. To
know that he belonged to the soil and the things that grew
out of it. Part of the universe, an atom that belonged to
the ever-changing, but everlasting mass.
And someone had murdered an old woman for the sake
of a handful of stones, and he was concentrating all his
energies on finding the criminal, to send him to the gal-
lows, and be rewarded with a handful of gold. The long
narrow path, he supposed, by which men found their
way to heaven.
He sat down on the grass at Anne's feet. They had got
off the beaten track for a moment and discovered a tem-
porary earthly paradise, considering the lilies of the field,
and giving crime and corsets a rest. Tony laughed. He had
failed to get tight last night, but he was drunk all right
now; gloriously drunk, so that he was ready to dance,
or sing, or chuck the water-bailiff into the river when he
came along. Anne had dropped her cigarette. Her arms
were stretched out, her eyes were closed. "Are you asleep?"
he asked.
"Yes. Don't wake me up until it's time to go. I've got
to be back in time to entertain the vicar to tea."
Tony tried to imagine a vicar sitting in a field of but-
tercups and daisies. It was the right place for a vicar to
sit and preach the Word.
"Is he a good vicar?"


74 Sweeter Than Honey
"I think so. Father has persuaded him to keep bees."
Tony thought of the two boxes in the corset shop.
Anne's bag was lying on the grass. He could easily open
it, take the keys of the shop, and set his mind at rest. He
said: "Would you like him to marry us?"
Slowly she sat upright. "Now you're going to spoil
everything."
She watched his fingers knotting a chain of daisies and
buttercups together. "What are you trying to do?"
"In the best books for the young, children are always
pictured doing this. They make a crown and give it to the
loveliest girl." He put it on her head. "That's fine!"
He was kneeling in front of her. He took her hands and
drew her closer. Their eyes met. Anne tried to look away,
found she couldn't. She felt startled—more surprised than
afraid. She had experienced a similar emotion the first time
she heard a Beethoven sonata, recognizing beauty and un-
able to understand its significance.
She said: "Tony, let me go now."
He held her in his arms and kissed her mouth. "You
understand?"
He saw the pupils of her eyes contract, then slowly
dilate, become iridescent, until like a fading rainbow the
colours dissolved into a mist.
Tony gave a triumphant laugh: "I knew it was all right.
We won't keep the vicar waiting long."
They drove to Lavender Cottage without speaking. As
they turned into the drive, Anne pulled the crown of
flowers from her head. "Do you know what I've done?
Left my hat in that field."
"I'll buy you another. I'll buy you everything you want,
or nearly everything. Of course, there must always be


Sweeter Than Honey 75
something you haven't got, or I should never be able
to give you a surprise."
"You've given me all I want for the moment, in sur-
prises, I mean."
"We'll start on Monday. You'd better spend tomorrow
making out a list of what you want."
Anne smiled. He was only talking, she knew. She was
also sure that nothing that had happened had any signif-
icance. It wasn't real; but it was fun to pretend and believe
dreams could come true. "You don't know half as much
about women as you think you do," she said. "I don't
suppose there's a man ever been born who could give a
woman everything she wanted."
"You're telling me!"
"I never understand just what that means."
"It means that I know better than you. So I'll tell you
what every woman wants. To be loved, that's all."
"How did you discover that?"
"Because I've never met a woman who has been loved—
always something missing. Women are so damn' practical;
never satisfied unless they've got their man nailed down
on to the counter. And you can't do that, for the man's
yet to be born who can be a successful husband, father,
merchant and lover all at the same time. Get me?"
"And you think you can be?"
"No, I'll be content just to be a lover—as soon as I've
got the dough." He stopped the car at the front door.
They saw Chiltern at the south end of the garden, bend-
ing over one of the hives; a man was with him. Anne
said it didn't look like the vicar. Probably a man called
Caroli, one of her father's clients.
They walked across the lawn. Chiltern saw them com-


j 6 Sweeter Than Honey
ing and waved them away. Tony watched him manipulat-
ing one of the hives; he wasn't wearing a veil or gloves,
but the man with him was fully protected. Tony lit a
cigarette. "Does your father do this for fun or for money?"
"He's a professional bee-master, of course! Thought
you realized that. I believe he started keeping bees as a
hobby, when he bought this place, just after I was born.
He was fairly well off; mother was terribly extravagant.
He adored her and just gave her anything in the world
she wanted. I think she nearly ruined him. Don't know
why I'm telling you this."
"Because I love you. Go on."
"That's all." She was digging a hole in the turf with
the heel of her shoe. "Mother died when I was about five
years old, so I don't remember her very well. It must
have broken father up completely. I often want to talk
to him about her, but he just can't. I'll show you her
picture one day; it's in his bedroom. She was lovely,
with a fascinating suggestion of wickedness in her beauty.
Father adored her."
"As I adore you."
"You can't," she said breathlessly; "you don't know
me.
"Darling, I knew you the moment you started binding
up my wrist. And I'm going to tell your father in the
proper old-fashioned way. But there's something I've got
to tell you first, but it will have to be a secret."
"Trying to make me curious." She turned her head;
saw her father and Caroli coming towards them. She
clutched Tony's arm: "Oh, my God! Do you know what
we've done?" she cried. "We've left those queen bees
behind in the shop."


Sweeter Than Honey 77
"Bad luck! But they'll be all right there until Monday,
won't they?"
"They may be, I don't know. Father may be waiting
for them. It's really your fault, Tony," she cried; "I've
never done such a thing before."
"Isn't there someone to whom you could 'phone?" Tony
suggested, "and ask her to pop them in the post—Jane, for
examplel They'd arrive first thing Monday morning."
"You can imagine her doing a thing like that, can't
you? If she thought I'd left bees in the shop, she'd have
a fit. Expect to find one in every belt and bust-bodice she
picked up. Anyway, father can't bear them being sent by
post."
"You're very late, dear," Chiltern said. He embraced
his daughter, nodded to Tony and introduced Caroli.
"The vicar hasn't turned up yet, so it doesn't matter.
Those infernal Dutchmen have been swarming again."
"Bad tempered brutes, too! Give me Italians every
time," Caroli said, pulling off his gloves and taking off his
veil. He was a short, wiry man, with slanting eyes, thick
lips and dark complexion. Tony asked him if he kept
bees.
Caroli shrugged his shoulders. "Oh, I've got one hive,
but I'm only an amateur. Take lessons from Chiltern.
Hope you're going to let me watch you hive the vicar's
bees tonight, John."
Chiltern pushed the hair from his forehead. "Better not,
if you don't mind. Bees are extraordinarily sensitive;
don't like a crowd. You've brought those queens along
safely? Where did you put them, darling?"
Anne told him she had forgotten them. "Can't think


78 Sweeter Than Honey
how I could have been so silly, Dad. It's always a rush
getting off on Saturday, and then Tony came in ..."
Chiltern didn't speak, showing no sign of annoyance.
Tony noticed they seemed to be walking a little more
quickly.
"Does it matter very much, Father?" Anne asked.
"They've plenty of food in the boxes; they won't starve
or anything."
"Oh no, they won't starve," Chiltern said quietly. "I'm
thinking of the vicar. I must have one of those queens
tonight." He turned to Caroli. "You see, I've taken a fine
swarm; it is waiting in the skep and the hive's in position
in the vicar's garden ready to receive them. They must
go in tonight."
"It's really my fault," Tony said. "If Anne will give
me the keys of the shop I'll run back in the car and bring
the bees down. Won't take me a couple of hours."
They were standing outside the house. Caroli strolled
over to Tony's car and began to examine it. Cars were
more in his line, Tony thought. He didn't look the sort
of cove who would be interested in bees.
Anne said: "That'll be all right, Father, I'll go with
Tony."
Caroli said: "You've got a nice little bus, Mr. Howard.
What will she do?"
"Oh, I don't know, I haven't let her out yet."
The vicar appeared round the bend of the drive; Chil-
tern went to meet him. Tony took Anne's hand. "Hop
in the car. We'll be back in no time."
"I think you'd better wait until Chiltern's decided
what he wants to do," Caroli said.


Sweeter Than Honey 79
Tony wondered what the devil it had got to do with
him.
The vicar, the Reverend James Tweedy, was a pleasant,
moon-faced man, with shapeless, baggy trousers, a round-
brimmed hat on the back of his head. He apologized to
Anne for being late; he'd had a christening—quite un-
expected.
"Hope the baby wasn't," Caroli grinned.
Tweedy smiled benignly: "On the contrary. But I've
just heard that the young family I was expecting is queen-
less, so the happy event I was looking forward to must be
postponed."
"That's all right," Tony said. "Anne and I are just
going up to fetch her now."
Jumping into the car, he started the engine. He heard
Chiltern tell Anne she had better stay and give the vicar
tea. "If you don't mind me as a passenger, Mr. Howard?"
"Rather notl But why worry? I can do the job by my-
self all right."
But Chiltern took the keys of the shop from Anne and
got into the car. Tony didn't speak until they were on the
main road. "Sorry to have been the cause of so much
trouble, but you really could have trusted me to get those
boxes by myself."
Chiltern leant forward, clasping his knees with his
hands. Without looking at him, Tony was conscious of
the leonine head, the broad shoulders. He was conscious
of strength of mind as well as of body. "You're probably
thinking I'm a fussy old man," Chiltern said slowly, "but
for me there are only two things in the world that mat-
ter—my apiary, and my daughter."


80 Sweeter Than Honey
"And you wouldn't trust a stranger with either?" Chil-
tern did not reply. "As you've probably guessed, I'm in
love with Anne." Tony tried to see the expression on
Chiltern's face, but his head was bent. It seemed a long
time before he replied. Tony opened the throttle,
watched the speedometer register sixty.
"You must be much younger than you look! You've only
known her about twenty-four hours."
"About that," Tony replied quickly, "by the clock.
I suppose you think it's sudden. So it is. But love is like
light; you can't clock either. Anyway, the moment I saw
her, I sort of recognized her, and in less than five minutes
I knew she was the woman I wanted for keeps. Any
objection?"
Chiltern was still hugging his knees. He was like a
hedgehog; he had rolled himself up. You couldn't touch
him, couldn't see him. "Anne is barely twenty-one. She's
all I have in the world, and I don't know you."
Tony laughed. "Oh, that's all right. You'll get to know
me quick enough. I'll tell you all about myself. I can earn
big money, and Anne wants me. Isn't that enough?"
"I'm afraid not. Anne's had no experience of life."
Tony grunted. All fathers said that, and some of them
really believed it.
"I'd be glad if you'd leave her alone for the present,
Howard."
Tony did not reply until they had reached London and
were running down Park Lane. Chiltern's attitude puzzled
him. He had rushed things with the old man so that
Chiltern shouldn't suspect he had any ulterior motive in
running after Anne. And now Tony was beginning to
suspect himself. Running with the hare and hunting with


Sweeter Than Honey 81
the hounds. But he couldn't help himself. Yet the thread
of evidence connecting Anne and Peggy with the gang
was the slenderest possible, woven, perhaps, entirely by
his imagination. Or was he beginning to think that way
because he loved Anne, and was afraid of implicating
her?
If he were on the scent, and something stronger than
reason told him he was, he had only to hold on to that
slender thread and it would connect up with the chain of
evidence he wanted. He knew the game so well, its in-
numerable ramifications, how clever crooks insinuated
their way into Society, had agents everywhere, and the
intelligence department, who made use of innocent peo-
ple who often remained quite unaware of the purposes
for which they were being used. Tony looked up at the
"Magnificent" as he drove past, drew Chiltern's attention
to the hotel.
"That's where Mrs. Van Dyke was murdered. Those
were her rooms on the third floor."
"Dreadful affair," Chiltern grunted. "But crimes and
criminals don't interest me. I suppose you newspaper men
welcome them. Make good copy, eh! It's a mad world."
"A good reporter will make copy out of anything. Now,
I could write a story round your apiary, with some pic-
tures of the hives, the cottage, and you, which would make
quite a splash in the Sunday newspaper."
Chiltern stretched out his long legs and smiled. "If you
knew something about the habits of bees, and that's not
learnt in five minutes. You'll be safer writing up crim-
inals and film stars."
They stopped outside Jane's shop. Chiltern thanked
Tony for the lift. "But I'm driving you back," Tony said.


82 Sweeter Than Honey
Chiltern seemed to hesitate and glanced at his watch.
"Very good of you, of course. I intended to get a train."
"Couldn't keep the vicar waiting that long."
Chiltern was in the shop only a few seconds; he put
the two little boxes on the floor in the back of the car,
then took his seat beside Tony again. "There's no need
for you to rush," he said. "I shall be in plenty of time now
to hive the new colony."
"I should like to watch the operation," Tony said, "if
you don't object to an audience."
"I don't, but I can't answer for the bees." And then he
added: "You must stay and have supper with us, of course.
But please remember what I said about Anne."
"Unless she changes her mind about me, I shan't change
mine about her. We're in love, and that's all there is
to it."


Caroli was standing in the drive outside the front door
when they reached Lavender Cottage. "That's pretty good
work," he cried. "Didn't expect you for another half
hour. That must be a fast little car of yours, Mr. Howard,
and I'd say you knew how to drive her."
"The roads happened to be clear."
Chiltern led the way to the hall. Tony reminded him
that he had left the queen bees in the car. "Oh, they'll
be all right there," Chiltern replied, "until I take them
over to the work-room. I want a drink before I start
working. You rather put the wind up me coming back,
Howard. I haven't been in a car for years. You'll have a
cocktail, of course? Anne's rather good at White Ladies."
"Speciality de la maison," Anne laughed. "Will you try
one, Vicar? We must all drink to your entry into the bee
world!"
"A very small one, then," Tweedy beamed. "I haven't
composed my sermon for tomorrow yet, so I must be care-
ful not to get muzzy."
Chiltern was standing with his back to the fireplace
watching Anne mixing the cocktails. Every now and then
Anne would look up and smile at him. Tony felt that
there was a deep sense of understanding and a warm sym-
pathy between them. He remembered Chiltern's remark


84 Sweeter Than Honey
in the car, that his daughter and his bees were the only
two things in his life. He dropped into a chair with his
back to the window. The vicar was facing him, balancing
himself on a dumpty at the foot of the staircase; Caroli
had disappeared; the Alsatian dog was stretched full
length at Anne's feet. Suddenly from some distant part of
the garden a nightingale burst into song. Anne, in the
act of shaking the cocktails, paused to listen; the vicar
quoted the opening line of Shelley's Ode, then stopped.
Tony felt vaguely disturbed; he felt like an outsider, as
if he didn't belong there. He had butted his way into this
peaceful English home, with the fixed idea he was on the
track of a gang of crooks.
Again he looked at Chiltern. Now that leonine head
was held erect; the mysterious and rather tragic eyes were
shining. He seemed to be aware of nothing but the excit-
ing love-song the bird poured into the evening air—like
wine being poured into a silver goblet. Tony smiled. He
was thinking of the way he wrote for the Sunday news-
papers. He wished Anne would fill the glasses, and that
Chiltern would go out and get on with the business of
hiving the bees. He wanted to find out if there really was
a queen bee in each of those little travelling boxes, and
if so why Chiltern wanted two queens.
"That ought to suggest a good text for your sermon
tomorrow, Mr. Tweedy," Tony blurted out. "I guess
Solomon must have listened to a nightingale before he
wrote the 'Song of Songs'."
The vicar pressed the points of his chubby fingers to-
gether. "I've decided to use the parable of the strong man
who slays a lion and returns to find the belly filled with
honey. It seems appropriate under the circumstances."


Sweeter Than Honey 85
"Jolly good!" Anne laughed. "Afraid I don't often come
to church, but I'll be there tomorrow." She filled the
glasses and handed them round. "Well, here's luck and
may your"—she caught her father's eye and they both
smiled—"may your hives always be full of honey, Vicar."
Tweedy sipped his cocktail, nodded approvingly, then
drained the glass. "Delicious, and I am sure quite
innocuous!"
"Have another?"
He shook his head, asked if it wasn't time they started
operations. Chiltern said he would like to walk over to
the vicarage and make sure that everything was ready, and
that the frames were in their proper position. "I was busy
this afternoon. William attended to them. He's fairly re-
liable now, but a little absent-minded sometimes." He
turned to Tony as he went out. "I'll let you know when
I'm ready; back in about ten minutes, Vicar."
Tony suggested they might as well all go over together,
but the vicar didn't take the hint. He had left his seat on
the dumpty and settled himself on the Chesterfield. Anne
refilled his glass. He took it without a word—absent-
minded, like William, Tony thought. He began to discuss
the theme of his sermon. Anne looked at Tony, and
switched on the radio. Dance music; it was Henry Hall's
band. Tony pulled the rug out of the way, and put his
arm round Anne. "The last time I danced the tango," he
said, "I was in Cuba."
"Giving me a lesson, I suppose?"
"You're teaching me, darling." He held her closer,
kissed her neck. She said, "Tonyl" under her breath.
"It's all right, sweetheart," he said, "we're alone. Don't
you know that if you're in love, you are always alone?


86 Sweeter Than Honey
Tweedy is probably whirling round the room with a
couple of queen bees."
When the music stopped, Anne asked to be excused.
It was Martha's evening out, and she had to get supper
ready.
"Charming girl," Tweedy said. "I've known her since
she was so high." He made a vague pass with his hand a
few feet above the floor. "You're a lucky young man."
Tony smiled. "I apologize. I misjudged you."
"Meaning?"
"I didn't think you'd notice."
"Nothing much escapes me. But the moment I saw you
together, I knew you were lovers. I like it. Nowadays,
young people talk a lot about love, but they treat senti-
ment and romance contemptuously."
"Eye-wash! To me this is an age of high romance."
"Perhaps you're right. We old people are prejudiced
and too much afraid. We were brought up to look at life
through a glass darkly. Chiltern's taking a long time. Do
you think we might stroll over and see what's happening?
The vicarage is only just across the road."
As they went out, Tony looked into the car. The two
little boxes had gone. "Perhaps Chiltern's in his work-
shop. If you wait here a moment, I'll go and see. He said
something about fixing the frames."
Tony ran across the drive, through the door that led to
the back premises. He walked quietly along the path until
he came to the window in the workshop. He peered
through; couldn't see anything very distinctly, the room
looked empty. He tried the door, found it open, and went
in. On the bench there was a large basket, which Tony
guessed was the skep containing the vicar's bees; against


Sweeter Than Honey 87
the wall was a partially constructed packing-case, which
Tony didn't remember seeing the previous day. He
couldn't see the queen-bee boxes he had brought from
the shop anywhere. Let into the wall between two shelves
was a cupboard, very cleverly made; it might have escaped
him if he hadn't seen two small key-holes at the top and
bottom shining in the light. He was about to switch on
the light and examine it more closely, when he heard
footsteps coming. He took a cigarette from his case and
was lighting it, when Chiltern appeared at the door with
Tweedy.
"Sorry to have kept you waiting," he said quietly, "but
I found the hive wasn't perfectly level, so I had to change
its position."
From a long drawer at the bottom of the bench he took
out a sheet and a calico quilt, which he asked the vicar
to carry. Carefully picking up the skep, he told Tony and
Tweedy to go ahead. They followed him through the
back entrance, which led across the paddock straight into
the road. The vicar's garden faced them. Tony asked if
the smoke of his cigarette would annoy the bees.
"When a colony arrives in a travelling box, we gener-
ally smoke them out, but that's not necessary now."
When they reached the hive, he placed a wide board
on the ground, resting the top on the alighting board of
the hive. Over this he spread the white sheet, told Tony
and the vicar to stand a few yards away. The roof of the
hive had been taken off; Tony tried to look in, but
Chiltern waved him back. "You must stand behind me,
and please keep perfectly still."
Picking up the skep, he opened it and slowly shook it
to and fro until the bees began to fall out. As they reached


Sweeter Than Honey 89
"What's that? Oh, burglars, they don't worry me.
Nothing worth burglaring here; but it's a bad district for
tramps. You find that, don't you, Vicar? I'm afraid you
encourage them. Anne tells me you never turn anyone
away; anyone can have a crust of bread and a drink for
the asking."
Tweedy looked up at the pale sky, through which one
star was already shining. "Well, it's my job," he said
apologetically.
"Damn' few professional Christians do their job,"
Chiltern growled. "Sorry, Vicar, but, as you know, I
haven't much use for the Church Militant. Do you mind
taking Howard into the house and telling Anne we're
ready for supper, while I shut up the workshop?"
They found supper ready, waiting in the hall; the silver
and glass and lighted candles were reflected on the pol-
ished surface of the gate-legged table. Anne shouted down
from a room in the gallery above that she would be with
them in a minute.
"Wonderful man, Chilternl He's had a lot of trouble,
but he is one of the happiest men I've ever met."
"He's got a hobby, that's why. And I'd be happy with
a place like this." Tony glanced up the staircase, wondered
what Anne was doing. "By the way," he said, "I wonder
what Chiltern did with those two queen bees we brought
down. I didn't see him put them in the hive, did you?"
"Very immoral if he did," the vicar laughed. "One
queen's enough in a hive, my boy. Now let me see, she
can lay about two thousand eggs a day. I expect he popped
her in all right. Chiltern knows his business, believe me."
"Then what did he do with the other queen?" Tony


90 Sweeter Than Honey
asked. "I guess if she starts laying two thousand eggs a
day in one of those little boxes, there'll be troublel"
Anne came running downstairs. "Father won't leave
any queen in any little box, don't you worry. One was for
the vicar's hive; the other goes into the hive from which
the swarm came."
"I see," Tony replied. "But that still leaves a queen
bee unaccounted for; the original one before the hive
swarmed."
Anne told him not to be tiresome as Chiltern's bulky
form loomed in the hall entrance. "You want to know
what happened to the original queen," he said quietly.
"Death happened. She had stopped being prolific, so the
workers killed her. The law of the hive is that when a
bee is no longer useful, it must die."
He took his place at the head of the table. "Will you
say grace, Vicar?"


IO
After supper Tony and Tweedy were left alone in the
hall. Chiltern had followed Anne into the kitchen where
she was washing up and putting the things away. Tony
asked what had happened to Caroli.
"Oh, I think he wanted to get back to London early."
Curious, Tony thought, that a man should keep bees
in London. "I thought he lived down here," he said
carelessly.
"Oh no, he's in some sort of business. Export trade, I
think. He's a pretty frequent visitor here—once I thought
Anne was the attraction, but he's not the right type of
man for her."
"I should say not." Tony flicked the ash off his cigarette,
glanced at the door leading to the kitchen, wondered
what kept them so long. It rather looked as if Chiltern
was helping Anne, in order to keep him out of her way.
Anne returned, eventually, with coffee. Chiltern produced
a bottle of old Cognac, suggested that Tony might like
a liqueur before he started to drive back; asked whether
he was taking the Maidenhead or Taplow road.
Sounded like a hint, Tony thought. Anne advised him to
stick to the road he knew. When he left, she followed him
to the front door. He glanced over his shoulder, fearing
the vicar was following them.
91


92 Sweeter Than Honey
"Hop into the car and come a little way with me,"
Tony said quickly; "anyway, as far as the entrance gate."
She hesitated. He opened the door and bundled her in.
Now it was dark, the rising moon was silvering the
branches of the trees and the young leaves. They did not
speak until he stopped the car under the shadows of the
apple-trees. He shut off the engine, switched out the lights,
then took her hand, turned it over and pressed his lips
to the palm. The velvet-like skin, the faint perfume, like
the smell of clover, reacted quickly on him. He had been
feeling anxious and suspicious, thinking more of Chiltern
and his anxiety about the queen bees—which Tony was
certain he had never used—and of Anne's connection with
the whole affair, more than of Anne herself.
Now she alone existed, his conscious mind was swept
clear of every other thought and feeling. Nothing else
mattered but the fact that he had fallen in love. He did
not want anything else to matter. "Dear heart, isn't this
marvellous?" he said. "I'm so happy—and that's a bum
word to express what I feel. I suppose I've been happy
all day, but the last few hours I've rammed my feelings
down into some secret place inside me. You know, I ex-
pect we've all got those secret places, sort of spiritual safes,
where we lock up all our deepest feelings and longings.
Do you know, I believe the majority of people keep them
locked up so long that they die without ever having used
them, just as the majority of poor muts lock up gold for
fear of losing it. . . . Am I talking a lot of nonsense,
sweetheart? It may seem that way to you, but I've never
made love before—don't know how to."
"Tony, are you sure you really love me? . . . Really—
really, I mean."


Sweeter Than Honey 93
He took both her hands now, holding her away from
him and looking at her. Quite pale she looked in the
shadows. Her eyes very large and dark, her lips the colour
of apples when they were ripe in autumn. Yet she looked
ethereal—if he hadn't already taken her hands he wouldn't
have been able to touch her. "I suppose you've got to say
that," he laughed. "I suppose your mother said it, and
your grandmother—it's a sort of cliche that's handed down.
Am I sure? So sure that I'd take you off now—only I want
you to be just as sure, so that you can't keep away from
me.
A breeze blew a few late blossoms from the trees. They
fell like large snowflakes, and were caught in her hair.
"I think I love you, Tony. No man has ever made me
feel . . . Oh, darling, it's so hard to express."
"Because you're shy. Because you don't know yourself.
But I know you. Out with it. There's nothing we can't say
to each other now. If there is, then we're not lovers."
"But what's the good?" she cried, trying to drag her
hands away. "Father tried to make me promise tonight
that I'd never see you again."
He dropped her hands. "He did—did he? And what
did you say?"
"I said I couldn't promise until I'd seen you again."
"Good girl!" he shouted. He caught her in his arms.
"No one living has got the right to ask you to promise a
thing like that. What's the idea? What's wrong with me?
Does he want you to marry a big business, or big finance,
or an estate with a coronet on its owner's pants? I'm all
right, darling. I took my degree at Harvard; I knocked
out our amateur heavy-weight; and I can make money


94 Sweeter Than Honey
as easily as his darned bees make honey. When I'm
through with my present job, we'll want for nothing."
"It isn't that," she said. "I don't think he dislikes you.
Perhaps he doesn't trust me—doesn't realize I'm grown
up. And you see, ever since mother died I have been all
the world to him. He's so dreadfully lonely, I don't know
what he'd do without me."
"That means nothing. It's just talk. Old people get that
way. Look upon their children as bits of furniture, pos-
sessions they'd die rather than give up—but they aren't
conscious of them half the time. You've got to choose
between him and me, and it's going to be me. What does
the Bible say about it? I've forgotten, but I know it says
the right thing. Sooner or later you've got to mate and
have a home of your own, just as his darned queen bees
have got to have hives of their own. You tell him that,
and I'll see you tomorrow."
Anne jumped out of the car, ran ahead and opened the
gates, waited until the car was out of sight, then closed
them and walked slowly back to the house—but the night
was warm and heavy, and perfumed. The nightingale
was singing again. Her heart felt as if it would burst with
happiness. She was in love. It had happened at last—and
nothing else mattered. Through one of the wide open
windows she saw her father—a dark shadow. He was sit-
ting at the bureau telephoning. She wondered what he
would say when she told him she was going to marry
Tony. She was quite sure he loved her too much to stand
in her way, when he knew she was really in earnest. She
went quietly into the hall. She heard him say:
"Yes, yes, a good honey-flow has just commenced. I ought
to be able to send a consignment to New York late in


Sweeter Than Honey 95
June, but I think we ought to wait until the lavender
honey is ready; and in future I think we'd better confine
ourselves to the home market. . . . Yes, Caroli was here
today. I told him my reasons and I think he agreed. I am
an old man and I want to take things easy. . . . Anyway,
that's definite—I can do with no more queen bees at pres-
ent. All right, I'll attend the meeting."
He dropped the microphone quickly on to its receiver,
then lay back in the chair, looking straight in front of
him. For a moment Anne was afraid to speak; he looked
strange and tired. She knelt by his side and put her arm
around him. "What's that nonsense about being an old
man, Daddy? You'll never grow old—you've never really
grown up, you know."
"Perhaps that's true," he said slowly, "and that's why
I've never realized you were growing up. But I am an old
man, though I've only just discovered that rather devastat-
ing fact. When one grows old, one becomes selfish. That's
why I don't want to lose you, Anne. Do you realize you're
the only thing I really care for?"
"Oh, I like that!" she laughed. "What about your old
bees? Without them you'd be lost."
"You don't think I really care for them?" he cried pas-
sionately. "They're just an excuse for keeping up this
garden, and growing lovely flowers—and they help to pay
the rent. I hate the beastly insects—they're robbers and
murderers. They steal the nectar of life, store it in their
hives, and die without enjoying it."
She looked at him astonished. "Rather human, aren't
they? I didn't know you felt like that about them. What's
happened . . . tell me?"
He took her face between his hands and looked into


96 Sweeter Than Honey
her eyes. "You think you're in love with that young man,
Tony Howard." She nodded. "I want you to give him up.
He's only amusing himself with you—he'll break your
heart."
Anne laughed. "That sounds delightfully old fashioned.
If he does, I can't help it; I must take my chance."
Chiltern got up, closed the windows, drew the blinds.
"Listen, Anne. I'm not thinking of myself now, but of
you. I know enough about men to be a good judge of
character. I am certain Tony doesn't love you. Wait a
moment," he said, when she tried to speak. "If he does,
let him prove his love. Tell him to go back to the States
and get on with his work there. If he still loves you, and
you want him after a year or two has passed, let him
come back, and I won't stand in your way."
"That means waiting."
"Your love ought to hold out that long," he said harshly.
He took her in his arms and held her tightly. "Trust me.
You must trust me, Anne. I'm doing this for your sake."
"I'll tell you what he says, Daddy, and if he agrees I'll
wait."
"He'll have to agree ... if he refuses, you'll know he
doesn't love you."


II
Jane blew into the shop on Monday morning at half
past eleven. Anne saw at a glance she was in one of her
moods. She asked for the stock list, grumbled at Anne
because she hadn't warned her how low it was getting.
She got on to the telephone, spent ten minutes giving
orders. She always got hysterical on the telephone, and
shouted in a high-pitched voice, stunning and confusing
the listener at the other end.
"It's extraordinary what fools people are on the tele-
phone," she said when she had finished. "The clearer you
speak, the less they seem to be able to understand what
you say. Now listen, dear. A wretched model girl, who
was going to Chester for the demonstration we're giving
there, has been taken ill, and it's terribly important that
we should send someone who's got the right kind of figure,
so I want you to go instead. It's race week, you know. Not
only the country, but everyone from all over the place will
be there. I think there's a train about three o'clock . . .
you'd better look it up. I've asked Phillipson to send along
Margot with some of the latest models. She'll help you
pack."
"I don't see how I can get off today," Anne protested.
Jane said she wouldn't want any clothes. She could take
some underthings from the shop, and buy a toothbrush
97


98 Sweeter Than Honey
when she arrived. "I don't know what they'll send from
stock, but be sure and take a large variety of corsets as
well as belts; and as for undies, use your own discretion;
you know what country folk are like underneath."
As soon as Margot arrived, Jane rushed out again.
Anne found her train left at a quarter past three. . . .
Meant rushing, and Margot was a plump, lazy girl who
didn't know how to hurry. She had to take charge of the
shop while Anne was away . . . wanted to have every-
thing explained to her. "I mean, I don't know any of
your clients, and you know what some of these old trout
are like. . . . Expect you to know them by their birth-
marks!"
At half past one Peggy came in. Anne sent Margot out
to buy her a couple of sandwiches and a bun. She told
Peggy what had happened. "Lucky, aren't you?" Peggy
said. "Chester race week . . . sure to be dances. No end
of fun."
"Yes, lots of fun dancing in a brassiere and a pair of
knickers. 'Oh, you won't want any clothes,' Jane said. I've
only demonstrated once before, and I just loathe paddling
about half naked while a lot of cow-like women stare at
me as if I were something out of the Zoo. Anyway, I par-
ticularly didn't want to leave London today." She shut
the suitcase she was packing, and sat on it. "I've been
expecting Tony to ring me up all the morning, and he
hasn't. I want you to help me, Peggy. Father's turned
awkward . . . says I'm not to see him again; anyway,
not for two years."
"How utterly futile! Darling, you don't mean to say
you and Tony have fallen for each other? I'm thrilled to


Sweeter Than Honey 99
death. Quickl Tell me about it before that Margot kid
comes back with your bun."
Anne told her—begged her not to say a word to any-
one. "I simply don't know what to do . . . wouldn't hurt
father for the world. It's the first time I've really been
in love, of course. It's been awfully sudden, but I know
it's the real thing. One does know, doesn't one, Peggy?"
"Of course one does, ducky," Peggy cried. "I knew
something had happened directly I came in, 'cos you
looked different ... all glowing and blooming. You've
got to take your life in your own hands. Now tell me what
I can do."
Anne said she wanted her to ring up Tony at the "Mag-
nificent"—sure to find him there in the evening—and tell
him that she had been sent to Chester and wouldn't be
back for two or three days. "Better not tell him about
father . . . just say I want to see him directly I return."
"You leave it to me. I'll have him so worked up that
by the time you get back he'll have a grip in one hand
and the wedding licence in the other."
Margot returned with a ham-sandwich and a bag of
buns. "Hope I shan't be expected to lunch in while I'm
here," she grumbled. "If I don't get proper meals, I sim-
ply fade away."
Peggy waited to see Anne off to the station in a taxi . . .
she said she would post her a few cards from the beauty
shop. Anne was sure to meet a lot of faces that wanted
lifting, and tummies that wanted reducing. Before going
back to Bond Street, Peggy stepped into a telephone-box
and rang up the "Magnificent." Tony was not in. She
got on to the hall-porter, learnt he had gone out early
with Mr. Van Dyke (she remembered it was the day fixed


ioo Sweeter Than Honey
for the inquest) and left a message asking Tony to ring
her up at Bond Street directly he came in.
Monday was generally a busy day at the beauty shop:
women who had let themselves go over the week-end com-
ing in for repairs—how she hated them. Women who were
too lazy, or too stupid, to take proper care of themselves.
Self-indulgent women who expected you to clear up the
mess that sleepless nights, cigarettes, cocktails, and five
meals a day had made of their faces and figures; and old
women, falling to pieces like deserted houses, who insisted
on being held together, imagining that a mud-pack, fol-
lowed by a coating of enamel and a slap of paint, would
hide senile decay. She didn't get away until half past six,
and Tony hadn't 'phoned.
She took a taxi to her flat. The telephone bell was
ringing as she opened the front door. She picked up the
microphone and waited. A woman's voice asked her if
she was Bayswater 1010 . . . told her to hold the line.
Tony was put through. He said he had only just got in
and found her message. Guessed it was too late to find
her at Bond Street.
"I was kept at the inquest until four o'clock," he said.
"And then, when I rang up Jane's, some female told me
Anne had left London . . . been sent to Chester. Where's
Chester, and what the devil's she doing there?"
"You wouldn't understand if I told you. She's supposed
to be showing the local Dianas and their grandmothers
how to become Venus de Milos! But I think that's all
eye-wash. She left a message, but I can't explain over the
'phone."
"When can I see you?" He spoke abruptly, in an agi-
tated voice.


Sweeter Than Honey 101
Peggy let a few seconds pass before replying. "Some-
time tomorrow, perhaps."
"Can't wait. Come round now and dine with me in
the grill room here."
"Sorry, I'm engaged for dinner. Might meet you after-
wards, though. . . . What about the Blue Kitten Club
just off Bruton Street? We'd find a quiet corner there
where we could talk. Say ten-thirty, and don't keep me
waiting."
"Couldn't you make it earlier?"
She replaced the microphone. Taking off her dress, she
slipped on a wrap, went into the kitchen, boiled an egg
and made tea. She ate the egg with a slice of bread-and-
butter, standing at the dresser, then took her tea into the
sitting-room. She put the dictaphone on to the table,
slipped in a cylinder, lit a cigarette, and after a few min-
utes' reflection, began to dictate:
"Slimming exercises. Number three. I must again re-
mind you that the benefit of these exercises will be in-
creased sixty per cent by strict attention to the prescribed
diet. The following exercise, though intricate at first, is
really quite simple. It should be done two hours before
your evening meal, taking not more than fifteen minutes
over it, and afterwards resting in a dark room for three-
quarters of an hour. Lie face downwards on the floor, or
any other perfectly flat and hard surface. . . ."
Peggy dictated very slowly, switching off every now and
then to consult some notes by her side. When the clock
on the mantelshelf chimed eight, she dashed into the
bathroom and put on a bath. It was nearly nine o'clock
before she was dressed. Telephoning for a taxi, she told
the man to drive her to Jermyn Street. There she got


102 Sweeter Than Honey
out, walked about a hundred yards, turned to the right
into a narrow courtyard, rang the bell of a small door with
a brass plate on it: "The Blue Kitten Club."
Peggy kept Tony waiting a quarter of an hour. He
expected to wait . . . guessed she was that sort of girl.
"I don't know whether I was right in putting on glad-
rags," he said, when she appeared, "but the 'Blue Kitten'
sounded rather like a rough house."
"If they hear you say that, they won't let you in. Guests
are fifteen shillings. Do you mind?"
"Seems cheap to me," he said, when they went in. "But
where are the members?"
"Oh, they'll start rolling in about midnight. That's why
I suggested our meeting here—we shall have time for a
quiet talk."
The maitre d'hotel found them a table in a comfortable
corner, with sofa seats, at the opposite end of the room to
the band. The dancing-floor was of glass, slightly raised
above the level of the supper tables. Deep green lights
illuminated the floor from below, giving it the appear-
ance of a lake of still water. The decors were blue and
silver, the ceiling glowed with lamps hidden in the sup-
porting pillars. Peggy asked Tony what he would eat. All
she wanted was a glass of wine, and perhaps she could
play with a Homard Americaine. "But don't let that stop
you if you're hungry. I daren't eat ... if I lose my figure
I lose my job."
Tony admitted he was hungry. He had dined with
Van Dyke, who had kept him busy talking. "And anyway,
you don't feel like enjoying food when your host has
just lost his wife."


Sweeter Than Honey 103
"Must have been pretty ghastly for him," Peggy said.
"I felt so upset about it that I couldn't go down to the
shop on Saturday morning. What's he going to do?"
Tony waited until the wine was poured out. He had
ordered champagne. "He's going on to Malaya ... he prac-
tically owns one of the islands there . . . says he's going
to sell up everything, then return to Chicago, work like
hell and make a few more millions."
"Wonder if he'll marry again," Peggy said thought-
fully.
The band began to play a slow foxtrot. No one got up
to dance. "Let's talk of something else," Tony said. "I'm
just dying to know—"
"Of course, but I can't help wondering what it would
be like to have a few millions." She took up her glass, held
it out for a moment, then slowly emptied it. "A few mil-
lions! I don't suppose Van Dyke's worrying about the
jewels that were stolen. And yet, I bet he'll get them back
just because they mean nothing to him."
"He'll never see them again—and I guess he doesn't
want to." He put his hand on her arm, pulled her round
so she was facing him. "You're not really a bit interested
in Van Dyke, or his jewels. You're just trying to get me
all worked up about Anne. What's the great idea? Why
has she run away to Chester? You've got to tell me the
truth, Kid, because I've got to find out what's up, and
I'm going to, if I pull Jane's shop down, or let loose every
bee from Chiltern's hives! Give me a break, and no
fooling."
She began to eat the Homard Americaine the waiter had
brought. "Why should I fool you?" she asked, with her
mouth full.


104 Sweeter Than Honey
"Why does a cat play with a mouse? I don't know; but
she does until you give her a kick in the pants!"
"You do make me laughl Well, I'm Anne's best friend,
and I want to help her. Do you really love her, or are you
just having a bit of fun?"
"You can cut that out. I'm going to marry her."
Peggy said: "The champagne's getting a bit too cold in
that bucket." Tony filled her glass. "Wishing you luck,"
she said.
He filled both their glasses again, ordered another bot-
tle. Peggy lit a cigarette and leant back with a sigh of
satisfaction. "Anne loves you, and I don't blame her. I
could almost feel the same way about you myself, Tony."
"Oh yes! I'm listening."
"Jane sent her off at a moment's notice to give a demon-
stration of belts, brassieres, and the et ceteras, at Chester.
But I think it was Chiltern who put her up to it. You've
met him, haven't you?"
Tony nodded. "A crank, but a clever crank . . . one of
the old school. But why should he want Anne sent to
Chester with a lot of brassieres? He hasn't an idea above
bees—and they'd hardly go well together!"
Peggy beckoned to the waiter, said she would like some
strawberries and cream—Fraises du Bois. "They send them
over from Paris by aeroplane, you know."
Tony grinned. "So I guess, by the price! Go ahead,
though . . . but you're not drinking." Again he filled up
her glass.
"Are you pretending that you don't know that old
Chiltern never lets a man within a mile of Lavender Cot-
tage? Not what I call a man, anyway. He adores Anne


Sweeter Than Honey 105
and he's as jealous as a bag full of monkeys. You tell him
you want to marry her, and see what happens."
"I have told him. He didn't go up in the air, or any-
thing. Sort of implied I wasn't good enough, and he was
keeping her in cold storage for the present. That's natural
enough. Dare say I'd feel the same way about her if I
were in his position."
Peggy didn't speak until she had emptied her plate.
"You don't know what you've missed, Tony. I'd better
call you Tony, hadn't I? Well, Anne didn't know she was
being rushed out of London until about eleven o'clock
today. She asked me to give you her love, and to tell you,
if she didn't see you again, you weren't to think it was
because she didn't care." She wiped her mouth, then took
out her lipstick and made up her lips. "I wonder if you
know how much she cares."
Tony carefully cut and lit one of Van Dyke's cigars. "I
don't know much about women . . ."
"Well, you're the first man I've met that knows that
much! I'll tell you this: Anne's crazy about you, but she
has been brought up to look upon her father as a little
tin god, and if she's left to choose between him and you,
it will be him every time." Peggy glanced at him. "That's
a lot of money you're smoking!"
Through the smoke and the mist he looked very attrac-
tive. The room had become very misty. Peggy picked up
her glass—put it down again. She would have to be careful.
She felt as if she were floating—the glass floor really was a
pool of deep water that covered the whole room, and
everything was floating in it: chairs, tables, the slender
pillars that supported the ceiling, and even the band on
its raised platform.


106 Sweeter Than Honey
"You'll have to be very clever if you're going to see
Anne again," she said slowly.
"That means she hasn't gone to Chester at all. You're
not telling me all you know."
"I've told you everything I know. I think she's gone to
Chester all right, but she won't stop there long. I'm warn-
ing you—because I'm Anne's friend, I like to see her
happy. Anne hasn't knocked about like I have. She's under
Chiltern's thumb, and though she loves him she's afraid
of him. I feel frightened of him sometimes."
"Why?"
Peggy hesitated. "Oh, I don't know. He doesn't seem
quite human. Haven't you noticed it? I think losing his
wife sent him off the deep end, and he's never come back.
I always feel if you got in his way he'd just crush you."
Tony laughed, poured out some more wine. Peggy was
beginning to talk, pronouncing her words very carefully.
He began to feel certain he was on the right scent, that
his hunch had not been a false one. She was connected
with the theft of the Van Dyke jewels and the murder
at the "Magnificent". Working with the gang to whom
Chiltern belonged. In that case it was impossible to elim-
inate Anne. Jane might be linked up with the business,
too. He knocked the ash off his cigar and passing the
glowing end beneath his nose, looked at the top of Peggy's
head, wondered why gentlemen preferred blondes, and
wished he hadn't made that remark about a cat playing
with a mouse.... She was probably playing with him—and
he wouldn't get a chance of giving her a kick in the pants!
"What's the joke?" she asked.
"Was I laughing? I was thinking that if I ran up to
Chester and carried Anne off, it would simplify things."


Sweeter Than Honey 107
"Don't believe you'd have the courage," she said care-
lessly. "You Americans talk big, but when it comes to
doing anything definite"
"What's her address?" Tony interrupted.
Peggy said she didn't know where Anne was staying,
but he would find her at "Estelle's" in York Street. "But
if you're serious, you'll have to look lively. Jane has got
representatives in Berlin, Paris, Vienna, and all over the
place, and when Anne leaves Chester, as likely as not
they'll pack her off to one of those places."
"And do you think Anne would go?"
Peggy smothered a yawn, as if she were beginning to
lose interest. She crooked a finger at a couple of men who
had just come in. "She'd have to go," she said impatiently.
"She can't afford to lose her job. And you can imagine the
rollicking time she'd have, stuck down at Lavender Cot-
tage with her father, with nothing to do all day but
watch those blasted bees filling their hives with honeyl"
"I see," Tony said. "Well, thanks for the tip, Peggy.
I'll probably run up and see Anne, and talk things over."
"Shouldn't do too much talking if I were you."
He wondered if that was a hint—or a threat. He won-
dered if the gang responsible for the murder of Mrs. Van
Dyke suspected him, and was using her to find out what
he was doing. He emptied the second bottle of cham-
pagne into their glasses. "You see, I love Anne too much
to force her to do anything she might regret afterwards."
"That doesn't sound like being in love to mel"
"I'm out of a job. I've made money easily, and a lot
of it, but I've always spent it."
She looked straight at him, their eyes met, and for an
instant he wondered if his suspicions had been wrong. Her


108 Sweeter Than Honey
eyes were frank, but a little tired, as if they had seen too
much and were disillusioned. "That wouldn't worry me
if I had a man like Van Dyke behind me."
"But he isn't behind me now. I am just helping him as
a friend through this crisis. He'll be pushing off to Malaya
soon, and then I shall be on the dole—only they won't give
it to me over here."
"Then you'd better ask for the bill," she laughed. "If
you don't mind, I'm going home early . . . can't afford to
turn up at my job looking like a wet week-end! What about
finishing this tango, though?"
When they got on the floor Peggy said she was afraid
she was just a little bit muzzy, but she always danced better
when she was tight. Tony assured her she was perfectly
sober. He had an idea she might be acting with the object
of putting him off his guard, hoping that he would give
himself away. He began to enjoy the feeling of uncertainty;
at least, he was on the verge of discovering something, or
being found out himself. The club was beginning to fill
up. Through the music came sound of voices and laughter.
The glass floor reflected moving shapes. "I like dancing
with you," Peggy said. "Englishmen can't dance for toffee."
"Or for love?"
"There are two kinds of partners: one who holds you as
if you were a fiver he had just picked up and was afraid of
losing, and the other as if you were a contagious disease
he was afraid of catching!"
They finished the tango, then danced a waltz and a fox-
trot. Tony suggested a final drink before they left. Driving
back to her flat, Peggy lay back in the taxi with her head
close to Tony's shoulder, her feet on the opposite seat. She
looked attractive. She knew it, and was trying to attract


Sweeter Than Honey 109
him. "Thanks for a lovely evening," she said sleepily.
"You can't imagine what a boring life mine is. ... I meet
such dull people."
"That's because you move in high circles."
"Yes. Miss Otis regrets . . ." she laughed. "Do you know,
I'm beginning to envy Anne." When the taxi stopped at
Prince's Mansions, she asked him to come up and have a
drink. "Anyway, see me to my front door. It's an electric
lift and I'm certain to press the wrong button and find
myself in the basement, or through the roof."
When they reached her flat, she was a long time finding
her latch-key, and fumbled with the lock. "You're putting
it in upside-down," Tony said.
"That's the way it goes, silly. Haven't you noticed Chubb
locks always turn awkward after about one o'clock? You
try it."
Tony opened the door. Peggy fumbled with the light
switch. When she had found it, she said: "Go right in;
help yourself to a cigarette. Excuse me—for a minute!"
She disappeared into the bathroom as Tony closed the
hall door. He saw some letters, which had been pushed back
when he opened it, lying on the floor. He picked them up.
He was dropping them on the small table, when one, cy-
lindrical in shape and sealed at either end, attracted his
attention. The address was written in block-capitals. He
twisted it between his fingers—it might be a jar of face
cream, or a box of powder, or it might be a dictaphone
record. He heard Peggy opening the bathroom door. Slip-
ping the package into his pocket, he went into the sitting-
room. When Peggy joined him he was standing at the
window, smoking a cigarette.
"I can only offer you beer," she said. "Help yourself, and


no Sweeter Than Honey
take a pew. You don't mind if I start tidying up? I went
out in rather a hurry."
He glanced at the dictaphone on the small table in the
middle of the room. "Been working, I see."
"Yes. Beauty culture by correspondence! I dictate the
stuff and then it's Reneoed off at the office, and it's sent to
a lot of poor mutts all over the world, who write in with
nice little fat cheques for our preparations." She picked up
a sheet of paper. "If you take Anne back to America with
you, you might send for me and give me a job on one of
Van Dyke's papers. Listen to this: 'The latest novelty is
the Creme-Diane, which can be used like ordinary soap; it
is prepared by a patent method of our own. It thoroughly
cleanses the clogged pores of the skin and builds up the
tissues, giving you that much-desired school-girl com-
plexion; and it can be used not only on the face, but on
the whole body, which it leaves with a delicate and fra-
grant perfume.'"
"And they fall for that!" Tony said.
"Women will fall for anything if it's offered in the right
way."
She covered up the machine and put it away. Tony
emptied his glass, crossed the room slowly, picked up his
hat and stick. "I think I'll run down and see old Chiltern
again."
"I shouldn't do that," she said quickly.
"Why not?"
"It won't do you any good—only make him keener to
get rid of you." She was shaking the pillows on her bed.
"He can't do that," Tony laughed. "Does he really think
I'm so dangerous?"
As Peggy went into the kitchen, she let her hand rest on


Sweeter Than Honey i11
his shoulder for a moment. "I thought I'd told you how
dangerous you were—to women."
"I guess you are right. That's really the reason why I
left the States." He watched her put on a kettle of water
to boil. "Going to make yourself tea now?"
"Hot bottle—couldn't sleep without my piggy!"
Tony had opened the front door; he partially closed it
again. "You are a funny little thing," he said. "Don't you
get lonely living by yourself?"
"Do you?"
"A man's different."
"That sounds a bit B.C.!" she said, "but it's B. true. I've
got a cat, though; doesn't quite belong here, because he
visits all the tenants on the fifth floor in turn. He's orange,
with lovely green eyes. Needless to say, he is—or was—a
torn."
"Haven't you any relatives?"
"Are you trying to make copy out of me, Tony? If so,
you'd better wait outside until I'm in bed, then we'll
switch on the dictaphone, and you shall have the story of
a ruined life. Mother ran away when I was ten years old.
Don't blame her, because father was one of those who
meant well." Her face hardened as she said deliberately:
"He died five years ago."
As she came out of the kitchen, she gave Tony a friendly
bang with the hot-water bottle. "Hurry up and go, or we
shall be starting a scandal. This isn't what you call a rough
house, you know. . . . Hie, what did you do that for?" she
cried, as he put his arm round her and kissed her.
"Haven't the faintest idea, except that I suddenly wanted
to."
She held open the door as he went out. "Give Anne my


ii2 Sweeter Than Honey
love, and if you do run away with her, take her to America
and make a lot of money—and be good to her. She's a
lovely kid."
The door shut abruptly on him. He walked back to the
"Magnificent". There were stars in the sky, and on the
seats against the park railings old women with grey hair
weeping across their foreheads, and old men with haggard
faces, slept wrapped up in newspapers. Luxurious cars with
headlights that cut the darkness like swords rushed at
racing speed down the highway. In Park Lane, monstrous
hotels stood like lighthouses, throwing countless pale rays
through the forest-like foliage of Hyde Park.
In his room in the hotel Tony carefully undid the pack-
age he had taken from Peggy's flat. From a neatly con-
structed carton he drew out a wax-coated dictaphone
cylinder.


12
Before Tony had finished dressing next morning, he
received a message that Van Dyke wanted to see him. He
found him walking up and down the room, dictating
letters, alert and abrupt as ever. When he had finished, he
dismissed the secretary, asked Tony if he had anything to
report.
"Nothing yet, Chief, but I'm still working on the hunch
I told you about. And I think I've struck something."
"More than Scotland Yard has donel I've been on to the
inspector this morning—nothing doing—and got sore be-
cause I was hustling."
"The guys there got to work on a system that rules out
initiative."
"What are you working on?" Van Dyke asked impa-
tiently.
"I think I have tracked the man who's holding the
jewels; they call him the receiver over here. If I'm right,
it won't be long before I get the man who killed your
wife."
"You think!"
"I shall be sure within a couple of hours. Shall I find
you here, say, about mid-day?"
Van Dyke said he was leaving for Amsterdam at half
past twelve. "I wanted you to fly over with me. As you
"3


114 Sweeter Than Honey
know, the insurance company broadcasted a reward of a
thousand pounds for the recovery of the jewels. Their
agent has just heard from a man in Amsterdam who says
he may be able to help them. An informer who is in touch
with a receiver, I suppose."
"That looks as if they've got the jewels out of the country
already."
Van Dyke was walking up and down the room again,
hands in pockets, head on chest. "I told you, I'm not
worrying about those damned trinkets."
"If we find them, we find the killer. What was the name
of the Dutch informant?"
"Christianna Serbermann."
"Didn't mention his profession—or whether he grew
bulbs or kept bees?" Van Dyke stopped in his walk and
looked at Tony. "I was thinking of a parable in the Bible,"
Tony smiled; "but forget it. Maybe Serbermann has a
partner over here. He's got an Italian name and he speaks
with a German accent. Look here, Chief, you won't be
leaving the hotel until half past eleven; 'phone up my
apartment when you're ready."
Tony hurried downstairs, sent a messenger in a taxi to
the Dictaphone offices with instructions to hire or buy a
transcribing machine. Forty minutes later the machine was
in his room. Adjusting the earphones, he slipped in the
cylinder he had taken from Peggy's flat, and switched on.
A man's voice—slow, deliberate. Oxford accent. Might
have belonged to one of the B.B.C. young men:
"Your information is wrong. The danger is T. H. Use
A. as a bait to get rid of him. Go cautiously, but work A.
for all you are worth. The old man has turned obstinate


Sweeter Than Honey 115
and is sitting tight. Got the wind up. Keep away from the
cottage, and keep T. guessing. 'Phone Club any fresh de-
velopment if necessary."
Tony got out his typewriter, turned the cylinder round
and switched on the motor again, typing the message.
When he had finished, he ran the message through three
times, memorizing the voice so that he would recognize
it if he heard it again. Putting the cylinder back into the
carton, he returned it to the envelope, which he carefully
sealed again. Then, lighting a cigarette, he rang up the
Maison de Beaute and asked for Peggy. When she came
to the 'phone, he said he had forgotten Anne's address in
Chester; he had definitely decided to run up and see her.
"Good for you—and I hope it will be good for herl
Shouldn't let the old man know, or there'll be trouble;
and if you do persuade her to elope with you, take my
tip and keep out of the way until John has had time to
get used to the idea. Cheerio, and good luck! By the way,
when do you start?"
"Oh, after lunch I expect."
"Well, let me know how you get on, and if there's a
wedding, invite me. I'd love to sign the register. I won't
give you away."
Tony said he was sure of that. Lighting a cigarette, he
read his typescript; he found it difficult to concentrate.
He was torn between the thrill of finding proof that his
hunch had been right and he was on the track of the gang
who had robbed and murdered Van Dyke's wife, and the
shock of discovering that Anne was one of the crooks.
A marvellous bit of luck—though he flattered himself
he had the true journalist's instinct for discovering crime.


n6 Sweeter Than Honey
Still, it was pure luck that had always led him to be on
the spot at the critical moment. And this, when he had
run to earth the murderer, would be the biggest scoop of
his life. His reputation would be made, and Van Dyke
would give him anything he wanted. But he would have
to sacrifice Anne. He inhaled the smoke from his ciga-
rette, looked through the window on to the park. Nurses
wheeling perambulators, mothers walking with their chil-
dren, dogs racing over the grass, the trees shaking pink
blossoms—the breeze brought him a faint perfume. Hell!
he loved Anne, and he could swear that she loved him.
If she didn't, she was a fine actress. He could respect her
for that. Life had taught him to admire anyone who had
intelligence and did his job well.
He looked at the typescript again, wondering what in-
formation Peggy had given that was wrong. The gang
wasn't worrying about Van Dyke or Scotland Yard; he was
the only danger. Obviously the old man in the message
referred to John Chiltern, the receiver, and if he was sit-
ting tight, that meant the jewels were still hidden at Lav-
ender Cottage. Then the informer in Amsterdam was only
a blind to get Van Dyke out of the country and put the
police on a false trail. Tony glanced at the clock. In half
an hour Van Dyke would be leaving for Croydon. No ob-
ject in stopping him, for of course Serbermann was work-
ing with the gang. Tony began to realize that he was up
against a very big thing, a vast crime organization with
agents all over the world. He made a list of those he knew
were working for it, and a supplementary list of those he
suspected. He hesitated before writing Anne's name down;
impossible to rule her out, though; she had to go on the
first list. Caroli was certainly working with Chiltern; and


Sweeter Than Honey 117
he had to put the vicar's name down on the suspected list,
also Madame Estelle, alias Jane.
The telephone bell rang. Van Dyke warned him he
would be leaving for Croydon in twenty minutes. Tony
packed a suitcase, rang for the valet, told him to have
the dictaphone sent back, and his trunk packed and stored
in the luggage room. He was leaving with Mr. Van Dyke,
uncertain when he would return. When he went down,
he found Van Dyke standing on the balcony, his hands
clasped behind his back. He did not hear Tony come into
the room. Silhouetted against the trees and sky he looked
like a colossal bronze statue. A lonely, tragic figure, brood-
ing on the loss of his wife, determined on revenge. Strange
that this man, whose only ambition had been to accumu-
late vast sums of money, and to obtain the power money
gave, ruthless in business, using men and women as
stepping-stones and kicking them away as he climbed,
should have cherished somewhere in his heart so great a
love for his wife. A fat, commonplace little woman, who
had neither beauty nor wit. Tony thought of Anne, and
felt his resolve weakening. If Anne were implicated, Van
Dyke would show no mercy; he wouldn't be satisfied until
he had run the whole gang to earth and seen what he and
the world called justice administered. And yet Van Dyke
and men of his type were only super gangsters who were
clever enough to keep just within the law.
And then Van Dyke turned and looked at him, and
Tony felt the old thrill of the hunter—the crime detector,
the story-getter; remembered that a good journalist would
see his mother hanged if it meant a splash on the front
page.


118 Sweeter Than Honey
"Are you coming with me?" Van Dyke asked.
"No. Maybe I'll join you later, but I'm going north
first. I've just got a red-hot clue. I think I could lay my
hands on the jewels tonight, but if I did the odds are all
against our finding the murderer. And that's all you want."
"That's all I want. But if you know who stole them,
you know who killed my wife. Don't think I'm not trust-
ing you, Tony, but wouldn't it be wise to let Scotland
Yard in on your information?"
"My only chance is to keep the police out of it. This
is a one man job. I'll get the men you want—there are
two of them. And when I do, you'll give me a break, won't
you?"
Van Dyke nodded. "You can have anything you want.
Get on with it. Any use my seeing this guy in Amster-
dam?"
"Yes. I'll swear he hasn't got the jewels, but I think
he is working with the gang. Get him to talk. Find out
if he has any hobbies—bee-keeping, for example."
"What the hell—?"
"Where are you staying?"
Van Dyke told him at the Amstell Hotel. Tony could
telephone him there in the morning if he had any infor-
mation. He might remain several days in Holland, because
he intended selling his property in Malaya; the Dutch
Government was the likeliest purchaser. He wrote out a
cheque for five hundred pounds, which he gave to Tony,
saying he didn't want him to be short of cash in an emer-
gency.
Tony drove down to Croydon with him and waited
until the aeroplane left; took the bus back to Regent


Sweeter Than Honey 119
Street and lunched at one of the smaller Soho restaurants.
At three o'clock he picked up his car, fetched his suitcase
from the hotel, drove to Peggy's flat, and dropped the
cylinder through her letter-box. Then he motored down
the Bayswater Road and slowly made his way to Cookham.


x3
Tony left his car in the garage of the "King's Arms",
an old-fashioned inn close to the river. He waited in the
garden until the bar opened; it was deserted save for a
young couple having tea. The girl was pretty; obviously
stage or films. The youth bore the hall-mark of Oxford or
Cambridge—very much in love. He watched them envi-
ously; they looked sublimely happy, unconscious of any
existence but their own. He wondered if he would ever
reach that stage with Anne, or would there always be at
the back of his mind the thought of the murder at the
"Magnificent"? He walked across the lawn, through a
path bordered by flowering shrubs, and leaning against
a wooden fence lit a cigarette and looked at the river. He
was just beginning to realize he was up against a pretty
tough problem. He hadn't absolute proof that Anne knew
her father was a receiver of stolen goods, or that she was
helping him, but it looked fairly obvious. Even if she were
absolutely innocent, it wouldn't help much, for when he
had got Mrs. Van Dyke's murderer, her father would stand
in the dock with the rest of the gang, and even if he man-
aged to clear Anne, it would be an end to their romance.
Her love would turn to hate—unless he married her right
away. The majority of women, especially English women,
took their marriage vows seriously, and once a lover was


122 Sweeter Than Honey
"They must be very old!"
The proprietor of the "King's Arms" grinned. "I must
say I like a bit of petticoat about the place myself, or I
should if they wore them."
Tony asked him if he knew a resident by the name of
Caroli, interested in bee-keeping.
"No one by that name in Cookham; but we've got a
famous old fellow, Mr. Chiltern—an apiarist he calls him-
self. That's his place just opposite. If you're interested in
bees, you ought to go and call on him. They do say in
summer his garden is a fair treat. Everything grown for
the bees, you understand. And he makes money out of
them, too. I've heard that some of his honey made from
lavender flowers goes right out to America."
"Like sending coals to Newcastle. I suppose it's just a
hobby, bee-keeping. Can't be much profit in it." Tony
ordered another half-tankard of ale; asked the innkeeper
to join him.
"You'd be surprised at the money there is in a hobby
like that." The innkeeper drained his pot at a draught
and wiped his mouth. "When Mr. Chiltern started, he had
no more than the cottage and a bit of land round it, hard-
pressed to make both ends meet, and now he's not what
you'd call a rich man, but he's making more than he
wants. Always ready to give a bit to the church or the
cricket club, though he seldom shows his face outside his
own grounds."
"Very interesting," Tony said. "And you've never heard
of Mr. Caroli?" Tony described him.
The innkeeper shook his head. "We've got no foreigners
here. Maybe he lives in Maidenhead; you'll find all sorts
and kinds there."


Sweeter Than Honey 123
At half past six Tony walked across to Lavender Cot-
tage, pushed open the iron gates—wouldn't have felt sur-
prised had they been locked—and made his way up the
drive; stopped a moment in the orchard. The trees with
their cool, green foliage thrust out their patient branches,
waiting for the fruit to form. Tony was again conscious
of being cut off from the world. There was a sense of se-
clusion, an atmosphere of mystery. He wondered how
much of this feeling was due to imagination, or if being
in love had made him sensitive to his surroundings. He
liked to flatter himself that he was hard-boiled and not
easily influenced. Being in love had changed him; changed
his outlook on life and his conceptions of its values.
He walked on slowly, wondering if he had been wise to
come. Chiltern already suspected him, and it was too late
to persuade him that his only interest was Anne; yet the
dictaphone instructions were that Anne was to be used as
a bait to get rid of him. If he could persuade the gang that
he was eager to take the bait, regardless of the conse-
quences, it would allay their suspicions and give him a
free hand. If Chiltern was sitting tight, that meant the
jewels were still in his possession, probably hidden in the
house, or the workshop—or even in one of the bee-hives.
Tony stopped again as he took the last turn in the drive
that brought him within a hundred yards of the cottage.
He looked across the rose garden, the lawn and the lav-
ender field. No one visible. The rows of hives looked like
miniature Swiss chalets, bathed in the evening sunlight.
He counted them—thirty, and there were others hidden
behind a clump of fir trees.
Not an easy job to find out in which hive the jewels
were hidden until they could be safely sent out of the


124 Sweeter Than Honey
country. A sticky business getting rid of thirty lively
swarms—and then you might draw a blank. But Tony's
imagination had caught fire; in every hive he saw a po-
tential Aladdin's cave. Smash-and-grab raids had been com-
mon enough in London the last few years, and as far as
he could remember, none of the jewels stolen had been
recovered by Scotland Yard. It looked as though all these
raids were the work of an international gang, and here
was the clearing-house, and John Chiltern was the brains
that directed operations.
He approached the cottage, noticed that though the
bedroom windows were open those on the ground floor
were closed. Walking quietly along the path, he looked
through the sitting-room window; Chiltern was standing
at the bureau telephoning, Caroli just behind him, sit-
ting on the arm of a chair. Their backs were towards him.
Tony listened. He could just hear Chiltern's voice;
couldn't distinguish words. Assuring himself there was
no one else in the room, he drew closer. As he did so, Ca-
roli stood up, snatched the receiver from Chiltern and
began to speak into the mouthpiece. Chiltern turned, but
as Tony ducked, he heard Caroli saying in a rasping voice,
"I agree . . . safer to wait." He heard his own name and
the word "voyage". He dropped on the ground, crouch-
ing under the window-sill. The sun had dropped behind
the cottage, but everything in the garden stood clearly
silhouetted against the sky, throwing long shadows across
the grass. Tony knew that Chiltern was standing close to
the window and looking through it. Tony strained his
ears. Caroli had lowered his voice, but he was still talking
rapidly. Now Chiltern was drumming with his fingers on
the glass. Tony held his breath. The faintest sound, or


Sweeter Than Honey 125
slightest movement, would betray him. He wasn't sure
whether the projecting window-ledge entirely hid him or
not. He was wondering what he would do if he were dis-
covered. Have to run for it, hand his information on to
Scotland Yard; and that would mean Anne's arrest. Im-
possible, then, to keep her out of it.
The drumming on the window stopped, Tony was con-
scious that Chiltern had moved away. He waited for a
couple of minutes, then cautiously crawled away from the
window and stood up flat against the wall. He could see
the top of the room, empty. He advanced a little, but the
sound of voices stopped him. They had left the house.
He heard their feet crunching the gravel in the drive.
He turned to meet them, but as he reached the end of the
path he saw them disappear through the shrubbery that
led to the workshop. Stopping to light a cigarette, he
waited until he heard the door snap that led to the back
premises, then he ran up the steps and rang the front
door bell. If Martha was really deaf she wouldn't hear it.
Evidently she was; and opening the door Tony went in.
He noticed a soft, black hat and a heavy gold-mounted
lacquer cane lying on a chair in the hall, obviously belong-
ing to Caroli. The air in the living-room was heavy with
cigar smoke—all the windows closed. Tony pushed open
the green baize door that led to the kitchen, heard Martha
moving about. He ran quickly upstairs, opened the first
door on the right, and found himself in Anne's bedroom.
The dressing-table was on the left of the window. He
remembered, when he had driven away after his first visit,
seeing her standing there. On the other side of the window
was a small bureau; on it a bowl of flowers and a photo-
graph of a woman in evening dress. She was fair; large


126 Sweeter Than Honey
eyes, set wide apart; a provocative mouth. Around her
throat a necklace—dark-coloured stones that might have
been rubies; the same stones in her long ear-rings. There
were no pictures on the walls, an easy-chair by the fire-
place, and on the mantel-shelf a pair of Queen Anne can-
dlesticks and a cigarette box. He made a quick exami-
nation of the room, opened a cupboard built in the wall
—a fitted wardrobe; dresses hanging in one partition, a
chest of drawers in the other. After a moment's hesitation
he pulled open the drawers, glanced at the contents. He
felt rather a swine, but he wanted to make sure there was
nothing that could possibly incriminate her if later on
someone else happened to search her room. He hated
touching Anne's things, was conscious of an unsuspected
strain of sentiment in his nature.
There was a faint smell of jasmine flowers over every-
thing. He sat down in front of the dressing-table, a period
piece; Queen Anne writing-table. The drawers contained
stockings, gloves, manicure set, jars of cream, boxes of
powder, make-up. He almost overlooked a small, shallow
drawer in the centre. It contained a tray full of ear-rings;
there were long coral ear-rings and old paste set in silver,
pendants of beaten gold, pearls, amethysts and turquoise,
all the settings being specimens of perfect craftsmanship.
Tony slowly closed the drawer; there was neither lock
nor key to it. Were they heirlooms, he wondered, or were
some of those stones the results of raids on jewellers' shops,
hotels, and private houses? No, old Chiltern would be too
cunning to take the smallest risk. Tony had to convince
himself that they were heirlooms belonging to her mother,
otherwise he couldn't leave them there, ultimately to be
discovered and traced to their original owners. He opened


Sweeter Than Honey 127
the drawer again, held one o£ the ear-rings up to the light.
The stones might be counterfeits; it required an expert
to distinguish real from artificial jewellery today.
Closing the drawer, he crossed the room and peered
cautiously over the gallery. Martha had brought a decanter
and glasses from the kitchen. He watched her open one of
the windows, then like a shadow silently disappear through
the green baize door.
Tony closed the door of Anne's room, began to descend
the staircase, stopped half-way down. He had been taking
unnecessary risks and wasting time. Subconsciously he had
wanted to convince himself that Anne had no idea her
father was a receiver; that though she was an accomplice
she was absolutely innocent. If he had been able to ransack
the whole house, it wouldn't have helped him any fur-
ther. Yet, strange though it seemed and utterly unreason-
able, he had known, with a lightning-like flash of intuition
as he had watched the old deaf and dumb servant move
silently below, that Anne could not have lived in this se-
cluded cottage alone with her father, in an atmosphere
heavy with mystery, without being aware of what was hap-
pening.
He couldn't blame her. She had been brought up in
an atmosphere of crime. She hardly realized what she was
doing ... or was she just a marvellous actress? And could
any girl who was not hard-boiled and utterly callous have
accepted the murder of Mrs. Van Dyke without showing
the least trace of fear or emotion?
He gripped the banister rails tightly. He loved her, and
he made up his mind to save her, and the certainty of her
guilt wasn't going to make him change his mind. Sup-
posing she loved him—and he couldn't even be sure of


128 Sweeter Than Honey
that now—it wouldn't help him very much. She would
never give her father away, or the gang with whom he
worked. He would despise her if she did. And he, for his
part, couldn't let Van Dyke down. He was up against a
problem that only an American film producer could solve.
He started as he heard himself laugh, and, in answer to his
laugh, Caroli's voice as he appeared through the open
door of the living-room.
"Hallo, Mr. Howard! Are you looking for someone?"
Tony came down the remaining stairs. "Yes, I arrived
a few moments ago; rang; getting no answer, came in;
then I remembered that the servant was deaf and I was
just running upstairs to see if I could find anyone about.
Have you seen Chiltern?"
"I left him in the workshop, but he'll be here directly.
Have a glass of sherry?" He filled two glasses, gave one to
Tony. "Here's luck. If you're looking for Anne, I am
afraid you'll be disappointed. She 'phoned Chiltern this
morning she was going up North somewhere, demonstrat-
ing belts and corsets. Girls do queer things for a living
nowadays."
"I suppose Anne does it because she likes it," Tony
said. "I expect she'd find it a bit dull if she had to live
down here with nothing to do. I suppose in your country
it's not considered the correct thing for girls to go out
and earn their own living."
"My country?"
"You're an Italian, aren't you? I guessed so from your
name."
Caroli took a cigar from his waistcoat pocket and lit it.
"My grandfather was Italian. He settled in England when


Sweeter Than Honey 129
he was a young man. I'm a British subject all right, and
proud of my country."
Chiltern came into the room. "The best country in the
world," he said. "Hallo, Howard, nice of you to look us
up again so soon. Staying down here? I didn't see your car
outside."
Tony explained that he had left it at the "King's Arms";
he'd stopped there to have a drink.
"You've friends in Cookham?" Caroli asked.
Tony shook his head. "Oh no. I just ran down for a
breath of fresh air."
"You'd better stop and have something to eat," Chil-
tern said. He sat down at the bureau and started making
entries in a book.
Tony hesitated. They suspected him, of course, but
they couldn't be quite sure what his motive was—whether
he was still just a journalist after a good story, and really
in love with Anne, or whether he was all out to find the
Van Dyke jewels and the murderer at the Magnificent
Hotel. In either case he would be dangerous, and it oc-
curred to him for the first time that he might be in dan-
ger. Probably they already knew that Van Dyke was on
his way to Holland and that he had left the Magnificent
Hotel. If they thought he had gone with Van Dyke, his
visit to the cottage would be a surprise.
Tony said: "Thanks. If it's not putting you out, I'd like
to stop. I wanted to have a chat with you."
"Yes?" Chiltern didn't look up. "About my apiary?"
"Good lord, nol I'm afraid I'm not interested in bees."
"That's a pity; insects have a lot to teach human beings.
I should advise you to read Maeterlinck's Life of a Bee,
young man."


130 Sweeter Than Honey
"Afraid I have always been too busy hunting up stories
to read them. But I was thinking I could write a good
yarn around you, Mr. Chiltern."
"The Life of an Apiarist—you'd have Maeterlinck
beaten to a frazzle," Caroli chuckled. "Well, I must be
getting along. I hope you'll find it's a false alarm, Chil-
tern, about the chalk brood. Your Dutch bees seem to give
you more trouble than all the others put together. Take
my advice and get rid of them."
Without looking up, Chiltern said, "I'm too old a hand
to take anyone's advice. Anyway, I'm not worrying. If it
were a case of foul brood, that might be the end of my
apiary."
Caroli winked at Tony as he went out. "Oh yes? I bet
if you found yourself in hell you'd discover a way of keep-
ing bees. So long, Howard."
The green baize door swung open. Martha glided into
the room and began to lay the table for dinner. She took
no notice of Tony, and he had the impression that she was
quite unconscious of anyone's presence. She moved silently
to and fro, making no sound as she laid knives and forks,
glasses, and plates on the table. Tony watched her, fasci-
nated. She didn't seem to belong to the world, perhaps
because her infliction had cut her off from intercourse with
her fellow creatures. Studying her grey-lined face, he real-
ized that once she must have been quite beautiful. He
wondered if she knew Chiltern's secret; because she could
neither hear nor speak, her other senses would be excep-
tionally acute.
He lit a cigarette and watched Chiltern making entries
in his book, a large leather-covered volume. Chiltern might
have forgotten his existence, and Tony began to feel curi-


Sweeter Than Honey 131
ously detached and unreal, as if some unseen and unknown
force was robbing him of his personality. He found him-
self listening intently—and there was no sound anywhere,
not even the ticking of a clock. An atmosphere of unreality
spread like a fog around him. He was afraid to speak or
move; the cigarette was burning itself away between his
fingers. But it wasn't fear which held him in a grip. Some-
thing intangible, a kind of paralysis—he remembered hear-
ing Chiltern say it was a complaint from which bees suf-
fered. He tried to smile, wondering if the old man had
infected him, and he saw Martha looking at him. Their
eyes met for an instant only, but he would always remem-
ber the impression he received of utter loneliness. He was
also aware that the glance she gave him was not acciden-
tal; she was asking him a question, or sending him a mes-
sage. Because everything was so abnormal, he interpreted
it as a warning.
With an effort he put the cigarette between his lips and
inhaled the smoke; he closed his eyes and imagined himself
back in Chicago, being taken for a ride with a gangster's
gun in the small of his back; too frightened then to be
paralysed.
He started as the silence was suddenly broken by Chil-
tern's voice, quiet, toneless: "Perhaps you'd like to wash
your hands. You know your way about the house, don't
you?"
Tony wondered if that was a warning. "Afraid I don't."
"The third door on the left at the top of the staircase."
When he found himself in a modern white-tiled bath-
room, Tony recovered his self-possession. He put his head
in a basin of cold water, rubbed his face and neck with a
rough towel, and wondered what had happened to him to


132 Sweeter Than Honey
make him lose his nerve. He leaned out of the window
before going downstairs. The earth was dark, the sky still
light, but one bright star sparkled like a solitary jewel in
a vast expanse of cotton-wool.
"Gosh," he thought, "why have I never noticed the
beauty that is lying everywhere about the world before?"
Love had opened his eyes, changed his purpose in life.
Chance had given him the^opportunity of bringing off the
biggest scoop of his life. He could put his hand on the
jewels. They were lying hidden in one of those pretty little
chalets!
He was alone in the cottage with Chiltern. He could
hold him up when they sat down to dinner, and force him
to give up the names and whereabouts of the whole gang.
But because he loved Anne, he hadn't the nerve. He hated
himself for hesitating—he almost hated her because she
had come between him and his job.
That damned star in the sky, like one of those beastly
jewels for which men and women sold their souls, was
making him sentimental. He wasn't hunting a murderer
in order to protect society but because, if he got his man,
Van Dyke would pay him handsomely. And as for justice
. . . were not the governments of the world preparing to
legalize another massacre, with the sole object that the
country who killed the largest number of people would be
able to steal a few more thousand acres of land and a few
more tons of gold? As Tony turned from the window the
light was switched on and Chiltern came into the room.
"Do you like doing things in the dark?"
"Didn't realize how quickly the light was going. As a
matter of fact I was just looking out of the window, think-
ing how lovely your garden looked in the twilight. We've


Sweeter Than Honey 133
nothing like this on the other side. There's something in
what artists call atmosphere, isn't there?"
Chiltern grunted as he began to wash his hands. "I'm
afraid you didn't find a clean towel; Anne always attends
to those things." Flicking the bath towel off the rail, he
rubbed his hands in it—strong, well-made hands, might
have belonged to a prize-fighter, or a sculptor. "And what
sort of atmosphere do you find here?" he asked, looking at
Tony.
"Difficult to describe." They went downstairs. The table
was lit by candlelight. Dinner was served.
"Atmosphere is an illusive thing, isn't it?" Tony went
on. "Not only houses, but pictures, towns, peoples, as well
as individuals, have it."
"A few. The result of age, perhaps; continual contact
with certain events. You haven't answered my question,
though."
"Well, the atmosphere here strikes me as being one of
peace and contentment at the moment."
"That's what I've always aimed at. Surprised it should
appeal to you, though."
"Why?"
"Because you come from a restless and discontented
country."
"Restless, perhaps; not discontented."
"People whose only object is the making of money are
always discontented." Chiltern filled Tony's glass. "I hope
you like Rhein wine."
"I like all the gpod things of life, only the trouble is
one can't get them without money."
"And the people who make money lose the power of
appreciating good things. They have no sense of values."


134 Sweeter Than Honey
"Excuse me for being personal, but you seem to have
a pretty good sense of what makes life worth while, and
I wouldn't call you a poor man, Chiltern."
Chiltern looked at him and smiled; then he held up his
glass to the light. "Poverty is a matter of degree. ... I was
rich until I lost my wife. After that I found it very difficult
to carry on. I wanted money, thinking it would help me to
forget. I tried to run away from sorrow—something one
cannot do. Like a hero in an old-fashioned melodrama, I
tried to lose myself in wine, women, and gambling. Anne
saved me. That sounds melodramatic to you, I dare say,
but life is full of drama—for animals and insects, as well
as for men."
"Your bees, for example?"
"I rediscovered the woman I loved in Anne. I bought
this cottage and an acre of land, and settled down. You
see what I've made of it. I've also made Anne. I've tried
to make her strong, independent, and intelligent, so that
when I am gone she will know how to cope with life—
what to put into it and what to take out of it. But I'm
boring you; I didn't mean to talk like this."
Martha cleared the table, brought in coffee and liqueurs.
The candlelight was reflected in the polished mahogany.
"Go right on," Tony said. "I'm fearfully interested."
Chiltern gave him a cigar, waited until he'd lit it, then
said, "Why?"
"Because I love Anne."
"Is that the only reason?"
Tony looked at the glowing end of his cigar. It wasn't
easy to lie to Chiltern—yet wasn't the old man lying to
him? He wasn't sure. He could not be sure of anything
at the moment. His surroundings had cast a spell on him.


Sweeter Than Honey 135
Atmosphere, he had called it, without fully appreciating
the significance of the word. He wasn't quite sure if his
love for Anne had not become the motive power which
was driving him to discover the gang who had murdered
Mrs. Van Dyke. His friendship with Van Dyke hardly
counted. In the beginning it had just been the kudos and
the price the millionaire put on the murderer's head.
Instead of answering Chiltern's question, Tony said:
"Just what have you got against me?"
"Nothing in particular. A great deal in general; you're
too young to know your own mind about women. Being
a newspaper man, you have an elastic conscience and very
little respect for human nature. But I like you." He smiled
apologetically. "I like you enough to warn you not to
come down here again, or attempt to see Anne." He
pushed his chair back from the table and got up. "That
warning is for your own good, not for Anne's. There are
things connected with her life which I cannot tell you."
Tony got up, walked the length of the room and back,
stopped in front of Chiltern. The leonine head was held
erect, the broad shoulders slightly hunched. His eyes, clear
and steady, looked directly at Tony. There was nothing
mysterious or secretive about him now. He was the type
of man Tony would have instinctively chosen as a com-
panion if he had found himself in a tight corner.
But his reaction brought a feeling of irritation, because
Chiltern baffled him. "Nothing you can tell me about
Anne will stop my loving her," he said.
Chiltern smiled tolerantly. "Won't you finish your
liqueur?"
Tony slowly emptied his glass, wished Chiltern good
night.


136 Sweeter Than Honey
"I'll let you out by the side entrance behind the work-
shop. It's a long walk down the drive and then back to the
village," Chiltern said.
Tony followed him past the workshop and through the
courtyard. In the darkness, his figure seemed to grow in
stature. He walked very slowly, and his footsteps made no
sound on the tiled paving. He drew the bolts back from
the door, unlocked and opened it, then he held out his
hand: "Good-bye."
Tony hesitated. He felt scared again; of what he did
not know. Chiltern wasn't going to get rid of him like that.
He had an idea he was allowing himself to be bluffed—a
psychological bluff—and he didn't know how to call it.
"Look here, Chiltern, just now you warned me, but I've
got something to tell you"
"You can't tell me anything I don't know."
Tony felt as if an icy drop of water was running down
his spine. The road was in darkness; at the far end a soli-
tary lamp spilt a pale pool of light. "You want me to go,"
he said. "Very well, I will; but Anne is going with me.
You can't stop her. If you love her you won't try to—and
if you're wise you'll clear out yourself."
That was a foolish thing to say, he thought, as he walked
up the road. He walked very quickly, straining his ears to
hear the door close and the bolts drawn. He heard no
sound. Chiltern was watching him; perhaps he was follow-
ing him. He restrained a childish impulse to run. He had
given himself away; given the whole show away and played
right into the hands of the gang. He couldn't even be sure
of Anne now. He stopped when he reached the lamp-post,
turned to look back. He could see nothing but the black
shadows thrown by the trees on the other side of the road.


Sweeter Than Honey 137
Chiltern was probably in the house, getting on to his con-
federates on the 'phone.
He ran out until he reached the "King's Arms", relieved
when he heard voices and music of a gramophone from
the bar. Going into the yard, he got out his car, drove it
from the garage, and as soon as he was clear of the village
turned right, taking the road to Taplow. He did this
subconsciously, only realizing his surroundings when he
reached the foot of the hill, shut in on either side by a
forest of trees. As he began to climb, the headlights of a
car following picked him out. Dazzled by the reflection on
his windscreen, he slowed down; the driver behind low-
ered his lights, and a minute later focused them again di-
rectly on his car. Again he slowed down, and drew to the
edge of the road.
There was a sharp report, as if a tyre had burst. He felt
a tingling sensation in his right ear, as though a pin had
pierced it, and at the same moment the glass in his wind-
screen was shattered. A large limousine car roared past him
up the hill. Seizing the hand-brake, Tony stopped his car,
fell forward over the steering-wheel, and slipped off his
seat on to the floor. He waited, holding his breath, until
he was sure the limousine had turned the corner; then he
got out, wiped the blood from his ear—the merest trickle.
The bullet must have just snicked it and grazed the side of
his head. He sat down on the running-board and lit a ciga-
rette.
A narrow escape. He felt shaken by it, though it wasn't
the first time he had been shot at; but the unexpectedness
of this attack made him think.
Chiltern had warned him. Tony tried to remember the
cars he had seen waiting outside the "King's Arms", but


138 Sweeter Than Honey
he had been in too much of a hurry to notice them closely.
Chiltern could easily have 'phoned to the inn and told
Caroli to follow Tony and put him out. Obviously Caroli
was one of the men in the car. Tony remembered scraps
of the conversation he had overheard; the reference to a
"voyage", and Caroli saying it would be safer to wait.
Tony's determination not to give up Anne had made Chil-
tern decide to send him on the voyage immediately. It
seemed quite clear now that Anne knew her father's real
profession.
He had to face facts. He threw his half-smoked cigarette
away and lit another. He remembered that when he first
joined the staff of the Chicago Herald Van Dyke warned
him to steer clear of women. Whether they were for you or
against you, he said, they were equally dangerous. Tony
got off the running-board and examined the car. The near-
side wheels were in the ditch. There was a hole in the
window in the back of the car, and the windscreen was
shattered.
Tony started the engine, reversed out of the ditch, and
drove slowly up the hill. ,On the cross-roads at Taplow,
Tony found an A.A. scout. He pulled up and asked him
if he had noticed a large limousine car come down the hill
a few minutes ago. The man said he remembered sig-
nalling one on to the main road for London, but he hadn't
noticed the number.
The hands of the clock on the dashboard pointed to
eleven. Tony opened the throttle and drove at a steady
thirty miles an hour; had a clear run until he came to
Hammersmith; got to the Hotel Magnificent just before
midnight. He stopped at the restaurant entrance, walked
through it to the lounge, and ran up the main staircase to


Sweeter Than Honey 139
his room, fetched his suitcase, and went out the same way.
He didn't want anyone to recognize him, for if Caroli
rang up and was told Tony had not returned to the hotel,
he would believe his shot had taken effect; Chiltern would
be notified, and while they were waiting for the newspaper
report, he could get to Chester and find Anne. They would
know that anyone driving along the Taplow road at night
wouldn't see anything unusual in a stationary car parked
under the trees.
Outside London he stopped at a road-house, and while
his petrol tank was being filled he drank a strong cup of
coffee and studied the route to Chester; nearly two hun-
dred miles. With luck, and if the Bentley behaved, he
ought to get there soon after six o'clock. He drove right
through the night without a stop, ignoring built-up areas,
only slowing down for the big cities. When the pallid
hands of dawn swept the stars from the sky he drew up
beside a brook, ducked his head under water, then
stretched himself on the grass and smoked a cigarette. A
lark awoke and, spiralling into the sky, began to sing.
Tony watched it; a brown speck, almost invisible. Noth-
ing stirred. There was no other sound except the bird's
song and the chattering water of the stream. He wanted
to go to sleep; already he was on the border-line of sleep,
dreaming. He wondered whether the bird sang because it
had fed, because it had loved, or because it was happy.
Lark pie was a favourite dish with gourmets—eating hap-
piness because it eluded them. He pulled himself together
and sat up.
At nine o'clock Anne would be showing women how to
defy nature with belts and brassieres. He wondered if it
were worth while trying to save her, and if he succeeded


140 Sweeter Than Honey
wouldn't he find he had eaten happiness and there was
nothing left but hunger for another adventure?
He climbed back into the car and drove on. At six
o'clock he saw the tower of the cathedral rising out of a
smoky blue mist. Chester was only half awake as he felt
his way through narrow streets where women were shak-
ing out mats and polishing door-knockers. He passed rows
of small, ugly, respectable houses. When he reached the
main street he asked to be directed to the best hotel. An
unready porter looked shocked when he said he wanted a
bath and the barber's shop. To save argument, he took a
bedroom with a private bathroom. He breakfasted in a
gloomy dining-room in which the atmosphere of dinner
still hung heavily; got shaved by a slow and talkative bar-
ber on the other side of the road, who directed him to
"Estelle's" in York Street.
It was nine o'clock. The town was awake now, but still
yawning, as it started to go to work. Tony listened to the
cathedral clock chiming the quarter- and half-hours. He
began to nod, afraid if he went to sleep he might miss
Anne, but he hadn't an idea when she would appear. If
she was only giving the demonstrations he might have to
wait until the afternoon. He got out of the car and began
to walk up and down, looking in the shop windows. A
middle-aged woman was dressing "Estelle's" window; she
glanced at him reproachfully as she displayed the fantastic
garments designed to reduce, and seduce, the wives and
daughters of deans, chapters, and bishops. At ten o'clock
Tony saw Anne coming down the street. She glanced casu-
ally at the broken windscreen of the Bentley, and would
have passed without seeing him if he had not stopped her.
"Tony! What are you doing here?"


Sweeter Than Honey 141
"I came to see the cathedral, of coursel"
She stared at him, laughing. "Don't be absurd. Nothing
wrong, is there?" He shook his head. "Why didn't you let
me know you were coming?"
"Didn't know myself until last night."
"Something must have happened, then."
"Something is going to happen."
"Tell me quickly, Tony. I'm late and there has been
nothing but rows since I arrived."
"There won't be any more rows. You are coming away
with me." Estelle's assistant was watching them through
the window. "How soon can you get away?"
"We finish tonight; the show's been an awful failure.
The female appendages of church dignitaries don't want
reducing, they need expanding. Why they sent for me,
God only knows."
"I can guess. Got any clothes with you?"
"Only what you can see, plus a belt and a pyjama suit.
By the way, it's my twenty-first birthday today, and I don't
feel a bit different!"
Tony grinned cheerfully. "What do you know about
that? It's going to make all the difference. Now listen. Di-
rectly you're free I'm driving you back to London"
"Can't get away until tomorrow. I've got to help clear
up, and take Jane's models back."
"You've finished with Jane. You've finished with every-
thing. You're going to marry me."
"Tony! Are you serious?"
"Look at that windscreen. That'll tell you how serious
I am."
"But I don't understand."


142 Sweeter Than Honey
"No time to explain. How long does it take to get a
special licence?"
"Haven't an idea. But how marvellous! You really love
me that way?"
"It happens to be the only way. I once swore that I'd
never marry the woman T really loved, just to show the
world that one can be decent from choice and not from
necessity."
"Darling, I don't know what you're talking about, and
I don't care. If you love me, that is all that matters, be-
cause I happen to love you more than anything in the
world."
He put his arms around her. Estelle's window suddenly
became violently agitated. "That's good enough if you're
sure. But you'll have to give up everything, and start a
new life in a new world."
"Any old life in any old world, if you're in it. But at
the moment we're in a cathedral town, and if you are seen
hugging me they'll refuse to give you a licence. Darling,
I must fly. Meet me for lunch and we can settle everything
then."
"It's got to be settled now. Here, jump in the car, listen
to me, and don't ask questions. I'm going straight back to
London"
"But you've only just arrived and you look half dead"
"But for a bit of luck I should be quite dead."
He took her hands and pulled her round so that he
could see straight into her eyes. But that didn't help him.
When he looked into her eyes, he was conscious of noth-
ing but his desire for her, and all that desire meant. He
loved her. He would have loved her even if she had been


Sweeter Than Honey 143
Mrs. Van Dyke's murderer. He was not shocked at realiz-
ing this. On the contrary, he was glad. He glanced up at
the cathedral; its shadow thrown across the street, hiding
the sun. The shadow of the Cross—emblem of Christ's love
for those who had murdered Him, and for the two thieves
they had crucified on either side of Him. Queer, what bad
memories Christians had.
"Listen, Anne. I'm dashing to London to get that li-
cence. I shall take a room at the Berkeley Hotel; wire me
there the time your train arrives, and I'll meet you. We
ought to be able to get away the following day."
"But I must go home first"
"That's just what you can't do. You mustn't tell a soul
we are getting married. Above all, your father mustn't
know."
"But he can't stop me now I'm of age—"
"He can stop me, thought"
"I don't believe anyone could stop you doing anything
on which you'd set your heart. But you must be reason-
able, Tony; I simply must get some clothes. I don't think
I'm fussy, but you can't expect a female to get married
without a stitch!"
"I'll buy you all you want in Amsterdam—or Berlin, or
wherever we go."
"It all sounds frightfully thrilling! But why this frantic
haste?"
"I told you not to ask questions. Wait till we're married,
then I'll tell you everything. Meanwhile, promise me you'll
be deaf and dumb. You've got to trust me blindly—as I'm
trusting you."
Anne did not reply at once. She turned her head away


144 Sweeter Than Honey
and stared across the pavement at the window. The woman
was still watching them. "You are asking rather a lot of
me, aren't you, Tony?"
"Not if you love me. It's fifty-fifty for the rest of our
lives—or it's good-bye now!"
She looked at him. The expression on his face startled
her. At the same time she felt as if a wall, behind which she
had hidden all her life, was crumbling. She drew closer to
Tony, took his hand, holding it tightly.
"Good-bye now!" she echoed. "You are very sure of
yourself, Tony."
"And I'm going to make sure of you. I can only do that
by marrying you before anyone has time to stop us. We're
wasting precious time. Run away and get on with your
job. Don't forget to wire arrival of your train. I'll find a
room for you. With any luck, I'll have the licence in my
pocket tomorrow night."
He kissed her, opened the door of the car, and pushed
her on to the pavement. She hesitated a moment. As Tony
pushed the engine into gear she leant through the win-
dow. "I am sure of myself, Tony. But it all seems so mys-
terious. I don't know whether I'm thrilled or frightened."
"Shouldn't worry. Just remember to keep your mouth
shut. You've all the thrills you'll ever want coming to
youl"
There was a roar from the exhaust, and the Bentley
disappeared in a cloud of vapour and dust. Anne dashed
into the shop. Every vein in her body was alive, every
nerve was tingling; her heart felt as if it was beating in
her throat. It wasn't the moment to think or be reason-
able; she would have liked to give herself up to the joy of
being utterly unreasonable. But the shadow of the cathe-


Sweeter Than Honey 145
dral followed her into the shop, and with it came fear,
asking mean and fearful questions. Was it right or wise to
give up a good job and a good home for a man she had
only met a few days ago, and about whom she knew noth-
ing? Was she right to dash off without a word to her fa-
ther—he relied on her for so much, and he loved her. And
what was love? Was it something born of habit? Was it
just a physical necessity—a sexual impulse shared with ani-
mals? It must be something more than that. Animals didn't
know anything about romance or sentiment; they had no
urge to create anything greater than themselves. Was she
certain what exactly her urge was, and where it would
lead her? She knew she wanted romance and adventure;
instinct told her Tony could give her both. When he held
her in his arms, she felt that she belonged to him—was part
of him. . . .
"Miss Chiltern. When you've finished posing in front
of that mirror, perhaps you'll put on the Berlei ordered
for Mrs. White-Smythe. She has an appointment at ten-
thirty. And please wear an undergarment; semi-nudity is
not popular in Chester."
Anne laughed. She could afford to laugh now. She
could afford to tell Mrs. White-Smythe that she was a
silly old woman who was trying to put forty inches of self-
indulgence into twenty-eight inches of corset.
"Right-o," she said. "Ask Diana to find me a pair of
Chilprufe panties."


Sweeter Than Honey 147
ing his car in the Berkeley Square garage, he walked to the
solicitors' offices in Jermyn Street. He had met the senior
partner, Fairband, with Van Dyke; a young man with
modern ideas and up-to-date methods.
Fairband saw him directly he arrived; a busy man, or
he would have kept Tony waiting. Perhaps he knew that
the old-fashioned bluff would not deceive an American.
"Mr. Van Dyke said that if you came to us for help or
advice we were to do our best for you, but he didn't
imagine you were going to get married, did he?" Fairband
asked.
"Newspaper proprietors haven't any imagination; they
pay us for that. You know the old gag: they keep their
fingers on the pulse of the public—we supply the dope."
"But we understood that you were engaged in tracing
the murderer of Mrs. Van Dykel"
Tony smiled: "We are!" He had as much right to the
royal editorial "we" as a lawyer. "That's why we are get-
ting married. But for God's sake don't breathe a word
about it, even inside your office. Last night, I had a bullet
through the windscreen of my car."
Fairband raised his eyebrows. "That sounds serious.
The murderer can't be far away. Have you informed Scot-
land Yard?"
"I've the greatest respect for the boys in blue, except
when they're disguised in boiled shirts or plus-fours. But
I'm only ringing up Whitehall 1212 as a last resource.
Anyway, my wedding comes before my funeral; then, if I
am bumped off, I may leave someone to carry on the good
work. Have you fixed everything up for the good deed to
be done tomorrow?"
"The day after, if you're lucky. Here are the birth cer-


148 Sweeter Than Honey
tificate and the necessary documents for your signature.
You'll have to do the rest yourself. If there is any hitch,
let us know. I hope you'll be very happy."
"I guess I shall be too busy to know for the first few
weeks. She's a swell kid!"
Fairband smiled. He, himself, was married. "I have come
to the conclusion that happiness is always retrospective,"
he said.
"Yes, it's only the dead who realize what a lot of fun
there was in being alive."
Tony hurried across to the garage, took his suitcase
across to the Berkeley Hotel, and engaged a room. The
"Berkeley" was the last place they would be likely to look
for him. Caroli would have discovered by now that the
shot he had fired had not taken effect. Tony decided that
the Van Dyke jewels were still in Chiltern's possession—
not likely to keep them much longer, though. He wondered
if queen bees were sent to America; a large number of
those little boxes would have to be sent, even if it was
possible. A bit risky. The simplest way of passing them on
would be by hiding them in the sections! He had no proof;
just guess-work and intuition. Like making a psychic bid
at bridge. That is where he had an advantage over Scotland
Yard.
As soon as he had unpacked his suitcase he got on the
telephone and ordered two suits of pyjamas, pants and
vests, and half a dozen shirts to be sent to the hotel. He
could manage with two suits of clothes, but like all Ameri-
cans he was fussy about clean underthings. He was taking
no chances; if he went out, he might run into one of the
gang—they would be searching for him already.
After an early breakfast in bed the following morning,


Sweeter Than Honey 149
he took a taxi and drove to Doctors' Commons. Though
the solicitors had paved the way for him he was kept wait-
ing a long time, and came to the conclusion that if you
wanted to get married in a hurry you were under sus-
picion, but a payment of twenty-five pounds—in bank notes
—eased the conscience of the Church.
On his way back to the hotel with the marriage licence
in his pocket, he remembered the wedding ring. It was
a bit late for an engagement ring; anyway, he had never
liked jewellery, and since the murder of Van Dyke's wife
he had loathed the sight of precious stones. At a shop in
Bond Street he bought a platinum ring, the narrowest he
could find.
He found a telegram waiting for him at the hotel saying:
Anne will arrive at Euston at 4.30.
Tony wondered as he walked up and down the long
platform whether there was anything in the world more
depressing than an English railway station—or uglier.
Somehow or other Continental and American stations
managed to cultivate an exciting atmosphere inviting you
to travel, encouraging the spirit of adventure: in London
the great termini were dull, drab, and draughty; the
refreshment-rooms were forbidding, and the maidens and
matrons who served whiskey, beer, ham sandwiches, and
boiled tea all suffered from an inferiority complex and
treated unfortunate passengers as if they were criminals or
lunatics.
It had begun to rain, and water dripped from a hole in
the roof on to the steel rails. A local train drew into an
adjoining platform; slowly the doors swung open; slowly


150 Sweeter Than Honey
people got out and walked in single file, like mourners fol-
lowing a corpse, to the exit. Tony wondered where they
came from and where they were going. Perhaps it was the
station that robbed them of all individuality; their faces
were vacant, their movements seemed purposeless. He
glanced at the clock: the express was five minutes late. He
was beginning to feel nervy—without any reason, he as-
sured himself. He had a ridiculous feeling that perhaps
he was being shadowed. Unless Anne had written to her
father none of the gang could possibly have found out what
had happened to him or what he was doing. He considered
the possibility of her not being on the train; he had staked
everything on the assumption that she loved him, but now
he reminded himself that he knew nothing about the
workings of a woman's mind. He had a vague idea that a
woman was ruled by her heart, but he began to wonder
whether her heart really started functioning until she had
definitely given herself to the man who had chosen her.
Then the train came in. He waited until he saw Anne
get out of the third-class compartment; she was carrying a
small dressing-case. "The train's late. I was getting the
wind up," he said. "Is that your only luggage?"
"Yes, I warned you!"
"Don't worry, we will have time to get your trousseau
before the shops close tonight."
"I think I would rather do my shopping alone," she
said. "I shan't want much. I can pick up things as we go
along. I don't suppose we shall be away for more than a
few weeks, shall we?"
"It depends." He helped her into a taxi and told the
driver to drive to Brown's Hotel in Dover Street.
"Is that where you are staying?"


Sweeter Than Honey 151
"No, I am at the Berkeley. I know you are not fussy,
but there are reasons why I thought it was better we should
not put up at the same pub."
"Nice of you, Tony."
"It wasn't niceness, it was ... I will explain later on.
You know, I am simply longing for you, don't know how to
wait." He had not meant to say that, but he carried on:
"You feel the same, don't you, Anne?"
She did not reply at once. He had not looked at her yet;
he hadn't touched her. It was curious. They were behaving
almost as if they were strangers; probably only talking
because they were afraid of the silence.
Anne said: "Darling, I don't know what I feel. After
you left yesterday I hadn't time to think. We had an awful
rush doing accounts, getting things settled, packing up.
The old trout who runs the show at Chester expected me
to be a maid of all work. The moment I arrived she took
against me, God knows why."
"Probably the Bishop could explain. Did you supply his
wife with a two-way-stretch abdominal?"
"This morning, when I awoke," Anne went on, "I was
terribly excited. It seemed too marvellous to be going to
run away with you, and get married and rush off I don't
know where, on a wedding tour. Do you know, Tony, I
have always dreamed of doing something like that, some-
thing really mad and adventurous and romantic"
"You are lucky to find your dream coming true," Tony
laughed. "Most people get their romance vicariously from
theatres, films, and novels. They haven't the courage to go
out and look for romance and take it with both hands
when they find it; afraid of getting burnt."
"But when I found myself in the train," she went on,


152 Sweeter Than Honey
"I suddenly crumpled up inside. Do you know the
feeling?"
He shook his head. "I should say it was peculiar to
women."
"Don't be an ass, Tony. I am really scared."
"So am I."
She gave him a quick glance. "You! Can't imagine any-
one frightening you. Of what are you scared?"
He put his arm around her, pressed his face against hers.
"That's better. We have been sitting like a couple of mutts,
throwing words at one another. I am scared of you, Anne—
or for you. But it will be all right once we are on the boat.
Don't let's talk—at any rate not about anything except our-
selves and how happy we are and how we are going to
enjoy living—until we are in Amsterdam. I believe it is
quite a nice old place, a sort of mercantile Venice; quiet
canals with pleasant houses leaning over them and trees
throwing their shadows across the paved streets, and of
course millions of tulips—or if they are over, there will be
roses."
The taxi stopped at Brown's Hotel; Tony told the
driver to wait, and followed Anne into the hall. "Go up
and have a look at your room and at yourself, then come
down and we will rape Bond Street."
When she came down he suggested they should drive
to Harrods. "Since we have only got about an hour it
wastes a lot of time dashing in and out of the smaller shops.
I have got an idea a woman can get pretty nearly every-
thing she wants at Harrods."
She took his hand. "You are rather adorable, Tony. I
had better warn you that all I have got at present is a pair


Sweeter Than Honey 15 3
of pyjamas and a toothbrush. Oh yes, and I sneaked a belt
from the shop before I left."
"A belt and a toothbrush are all right by me," he
grinned, "but we will have to show ourselves in public
sometimes, so you can just run amuck and buy up the
whole shop if you like." He took her face between his
hands and kissed her. "I love you. Feel all right now? I
feel as if I could knock the world over."
They ran into the shop hand in hand, fell breathlessly
into the lift, fell out still holding hands, the lift girl's
voice following them: "Lingerie, hosiery . . ."
"We have got out too soon," Anne said; "hats and gowns
on the next floor. I must have a coat and skirt in which to
travel, and a beret, something I can pull on and off easily.
Darling, excuse me mentioning it, but I haven't got any
money."
"Forget it. Money is not going to matter, or anyway, not
for the next few weeks. And that reminds me, I have not
got any either. We will give them your name and Brown's
Hotel-C.O.D."
An elegantly dressed female with a middle-aged face and
virginal figure swept graciously towards them. "Can I
help you?"
"No, thanks," Tony replied, "I guess we are just going
to help ourselves."
The shop-walker smiled understandingly and drifted
away, wondering why life was always like that; the nice
people passed you by, young people whom it would have
been thrilling to help, while the old and stuffy always
pounced on you, sucked your brains, ignored your advice,
and went their own way looking like bags of merchandise.
"Well, if we stand here much longer they will take us


154 Sweeter Than Honey
for a couple of crooks. . . ." He stopped abruptly and
glanced at her.
Anne's cheeks were flushed. That was with excitement.
She was smiling. "I rather feel like one. Tony, we oughtn't
to be doing this, or rather I shouldn't be doing it. It is all
right isn't it? I mean"
"Idiot, of course it's all rightl Lead us into temptation
but deliver us from evil. Now shall we start from the hats
and work downwards or commence with the stockings and
work"
"You can buy me stockings if you like; that's something
I have always longed to be fussy about, but a stocking has
only got to look at my leg to ladder, so I warn you I am
liable to go off the deep end and buy them by the dozen."
"Make it a gross and be done with itl"
He had never really spent money before, except on his
job when it wasn't his own money. It wasn't his own money
now, but Van Dyke had practically given him a blank
cheque and he was doing this more or less on Van Dyke's
behalf, and it was too late to stop. He had boasted that he
despised money, but he was beginning to find there was a
terrific kick in being able to spend it on something that
really interested him. He leant against the counter and
watched Anne and a patient assistant discussing gauges
and prices of those quite useless but quite fascinating bits
of silk. She ordered a dozen pairs and gave Tony a quick
glance: "Is that all right?"
"Make it two dozen."
"Lucky devils!" the assistant thought as she made out
the bill. They were lovers; if the girl was just engaged to
be married she would have come alone and put on a lot
of side.


Sweeter Than Honey 155
"Fifteen guineas, to be sent to Brown's Hotel, C.O.D.;
certainly, madam." She had stayed at Brown's Hotel once,
dreaming a real lover had come into her life, but that
had been C.O.D. too.
"Now, madam, the next thing, please," Tony said as
they walked away.
"You can go upstairs and tell them to get a few coats
and skirts ready for me to try on."
"Right you are. You are cheating me of a lot of fun. I
shall never get the chance again, but I warn you if you
go in for plus-fours and woolly vests I will divorce you on
sight."
"I should have thought you would have guessed that
I have lived in red flannel ever since I was fourteen."
Counters were being cleared and dust sheets spread be-
fore they left the shop. Fashionable figures—in wax and
wood—had been stripped of their clothes and stood shame-
lessly naked with fixed smiles on their vacant, painted
faces, making them look horribly indecent.
"So life-like," Tony said. "I think it would be a good
idea if engaged couples were shut up for the night in a
big store a few days before their marriage."
They dined together in the Berkeley grill on a lobster,
a chicken en casserole, and a souffle, washed down by a
bottle of young Rhein wine.
"The first proper meal I have had for a week," Anne
said. "Oh, Tony, it is divine being spoiled."
"I know." He leant across the table and took her hands.
"You don't mind? I mean, I know this sort of thing is
not done in England, but I have a theory that if two
people are utterly unconscious of their surroundings, their
surroundings are unconscious of them. I have a theory


156 Sweeter Than Honey
that two people who really do love one another live in a
sort of cloud which vulgar eyes can't penetrate. If you are
not afraid of being seen no one ever sees you; if you are
not afraid of anyone knowing what you do, no one ever
seems to know."
Anne said: "I don't think I shall ever be afraid of any-
thing or anyone again. I used to be self-conscious and
scared of people. ... I am costing an awful lot of money,
Tony!"
"It's no use trying to crash me to earth like that. I am
going to remain in the clouds until—"
"Until we settle down and get used to one another. Oh,
Tony, will that happen? Shall we get used to one another,
I mean?"
He looked at her thoughtfully; he looked at her for a
long time until she withdrew her hands and asked what
he was thinking.
"I was wondering if you know me," he said slowly. "I
was wondering if you know all I want. Of course, I don't
really know you, but I know perhaps more than you think,
and that's where danger may lie ahead of us. But we
are not going to talk about that now. I warn you, though,
I am being damnably selfish. I want you, I want to be
happy with you, for you are the only woman in the world
who can give me all I want and to whom I can give."
He laughed. He lit a cigarette and blew little spirals
of smoke into the air. "That's love, that is—like a Shell
advertisement. Putting spirit in and burning it up but
never letting the tank go dry. I think the whole fun in
loving is not receiving or taking, but in giving. That's the
supreme thrill, going on giving to someone who wants
what you've got. I have been wondering ever since Van


Sweeter Than Honey 157
Dyke's wife was killed what held them together, how he
could go on loving that fat old woman. She didn't want
his brains, they belonged to his job; she didn't want his
body. But he got a kick out of just giving her material
things: those awful dresses she wore and those stupendous
jewels. He had nothing else to give, poor devil, and now
she has gone he is desolate. All his wealth is no damned
good to him."
"Light me a cigarette, will you, Tony? Couldn't you
persuade him to pass some of his wealth on to us?"
"That's what I expect to do, but I can't unless you
help me."
"My dear boy, what do you expect me to do? Vamp the
old man?"
Was she acting? he wondered. She must know or suspect
her father's real profession even if—as he had forced himself
to believe—she didn't know that he was connected with
the Van Dyke murder. "You can try if you like," he said
shortly, "but Van Dyke is a very decent fellow in spite of
his wealth. I hope you will like him and be nice to him if
you meet him."
He looked around the grill-room. It was nearly empty.
"I expect you are ready for bed, aren't you?" Tony said. "I
will walk across with you. Have a final drink before you
go?"
She shook her head. "I am tired, but I don't suppose I
shall sleep a wink. By the way, Tony, you haven't told me
what the arrangements are: what time we start and where
from and all about it."
"Via the Hook of Holland to Amsterdam. Night jour-
ney; leave Liverpool Street about 7.30 p.m."
She didn't speak for a minute or two; waited as if ex-


158 Sweeter Than Honey
pecting him to say something more. Crumpling her ciga-
rette up on the ashtray she asked for another. "I shall have
the whole day to myself, then. Would you mind if I ran
down and saw father? I won't tell him I am running away
with you if you would really rather I didn't, though I
would like to, Tony. You see, we have been everything to
one another. We are such utter friends—don't laugh—we
have absolutely no secrets from one another."
"Haven't you?" he asked quickly.
"I am certain we haven't; he has been more like a friend
than a father."
"Splendid."
"Tony, you haven't taken against him?"
"Good lord, no; but I am rather afraid he may take
against me. Quite naturally he is jealous. Fathers can be
very like lovers, you know.... No, I am afraid you mustn't
see him or communicate with him."
"But, Tony, it doesn't seem fair," she cried impatiently.
"Why shouldn't I? He loves me enough to understand. I
know I can make him understand. If he is jealous it is only
of my happiness."
Tony shrugged his shoulders. "I am looking after that
in the future. You have got to trust me absolutely, and for
the next few days you have got to obey me absolutely. Don't
think that I am going to become the conventional mar-
ried man expecting love, honour, and obedience when
you don't feel like it, but just at the moment we are both
in rather a tight corner and you have got to stick to me
and do what you are told."
"Leave father in ignorance where I am? Cut out my few
friends?"
"Yes."


Sweeter Than Honey 159
She flicked the ash off her cigarette. "I think I will have
that drink; a Cointreau."
She waited until the waiter brought it. "You are asking
rather a lot, aren't you?"
"Very little really, and I am prepared to give. Shall we
call it fifty-fifty? Anne, look at me. I love you. I have no
other thought in the world but you—or at least all the
other thoughts evolve round and are centred in you. Say
it is O.K."
She emptied her glass. "O.K." A shiver ran through her
body. "It has got rather cold down here, hasn't it? I am
ready to go. Shall I see you in the morning or am I to
remain a prisoner in the hotel till it is time to catch the
train?"
He leant across the table again, and took her hands.
"You are cold! Aren't I a damned fool, darling—or
are you just being awkward? We are being married to-
morrow. I've got the special licence in my pocket."
She smiled then. "Well, you didn't mention it, so I
thought perhaps you had changed your mind."
"You are a little liar; you knew I hadn't. And I even
remembered the ring. That was clever of me, wasn't it?"
He pulled it out of his pocket. "It is a rotten little ring,
and the odds are it won't fit. What about trying it on now."
"Isn't that supposed to be unlucky?"
"We are going to make our own luck. Give me your
fingers." He put it on. It only just fitted. "That's all right,
it won't come off too easily. I hope you didn't expect one
of those Barnum and Bailey affairs!"
"The sort of things cooks and charwomen wear," she
laughed. "I should have hated it."
She was slipping it off her finger when he stopped her.


160 Sweeter Than Honey
"Don't do that," he said quickly. "Keep it on; I am being
superstitious now, or sentimental perhaps. This is our
marriage; the show tomorrow means nothing, just eyewash.
By the way, it's at St. Luke's Church, twelve o'clock. I will
call for you at eleven-thirty. I warned them they would
have to find witnesses. You don't mind it being rather
a scramble."
She was looking at the ring on her finger. "It is funny
what a lot a little thing like this means to a woman. I
couldn't explain if you asked me."
"Belisha beacon—cross the road on the studs."
"I suppose that's it," she smiled. "Gives one a sense of
security. I usually dream of a church packed with people
and an altar blazing with lights and a booming organ and
rows of bridesmaids, flowers, a white veil, and all that."
"And father handing you over like a lump of cheese."
"You might have put it more tactfully than that. Any-
way, it is going to be much more fun. All right, Tony, I
will keep the ring on and I will go to sleep and dream that
I am married"
"And wake up wondering where the devil the bride-
groom is. Better wake up good and early or you will find
me sitting at the foot of your bed."
He walked across with her to Brown's Hotel, said good
night to her in the lounge, and left her abruptly.
As she went up in the lift she wondered why he hadn't
kissed her. Rather glad he hadn't, though she couldn't
have explained her feelings. She undressed and bathed,
got into her pyjamas, sat down at the bureau, and began to
write a letter.


!5-
Tony awoke very early and was about to get up, when
he changed his mind and, lighting a cigarette, lay on his
back and allowed consciousness to return slowly. Most of
his life as a newspaper man had been lived at high pres-
sure; he had slept where and when he could and awakened
to fling himself into a cold bath or the best substitute,
ready for the job on hand, or to go out and find a "story"
if there was a slump in front-page news.
Coming to slowly was a newly discovered luxury—giving
what psychologists call the "unconscious" a chance. Dan-
gerous too because that is where a man might accidentally
stumble across his real self, drifting slowly to the sub-
conscious. That was rather like delving into a bran pie,
hoping to pick on a prize and finding you always pulled out
silly little bits of nonsense. Rather demoralizing to realize
what a lot of rubbish man has stuffed into his mind; dirt
too—you don't know it's there until you let go, take your
hand off the wheel and then, by God, up it comes like some
foul discharge from a factory.
A bit of nonsense made Tony think of Peggy. He sighed,
inhaled the tobacco from his cigarette. Rather a nice kid,
brains behind those queer sea-green eyes. That ash-blonde
hair and provocative smile might have got her a job in
Hollywood. You wondered if she was a real ash-blonde.. . .
161


162 Sweeter Than Honey
He remembered that evening at her flat he had very nearly
fallen for her in spite of his love for Anne. Well, he would
never find out her real colouring now, and he didn't want
to. What he did want to know was whether she was work-
ing with Anne or whether Anne was just a dupe.
He chucked his cigarette away, suddenly wide awake.
It was his wedding day. He sat upright and ran his fingers
through his hair. A month ago the idea of marriage had
never entered his head except as something to be avoided;
at odd moments he had dreamed of love, but love and
marriage had never seemed compatible to him. That was
the result of living in the States, a companionship marriage
followed by a friendly divorce.
He pulled himself together again; he wasn't really fully
awake, or perhaps subconsciously he was trying to remain
in that delightful comatose state when nothing seemed
quite real and nothing really mattered, but he listened to
the sounds rising from the street: footsteps hurrying along
the pavement, voices male and female, a motor-horn, shut-
ters of a shop being opened—it made a broken rhythm like
syncopated music. And the pale grey light drifting through
the open window—London was the only city in the world
where light really did drift; in the early morning it came
so slowly, almost imperceptibly, as if unwilling to disturb
the human herd, penned like millions of cattle in a ranch.
Light plays such exciting tricks in London: it would creep
into your room like an old grey-bearded man trembling,
or it would come in a white cloud, like a frightened bride
—were brides ever frightened, though, or was it just make-
believe to excite the really timid bridegroom? And some-
times light became inky black, as if some god of mythology
squatted black-bottomed on the roofs of the city; or it


Sweeter Than Honey 163
would roll in waves of pure pale gold through the streets,
throw haloes even on the heads of frightened stockbrokers.
Tony got out of bed and leaned out of the window; a
little way down the street a van was unloading flowers, and
a florist carrying them into her shop—roses, masses of them,
looking untidy and red as if they had been tumbled straight
out of their bed into a shower-bath.
As soon as Tony was dressed and had swallowed a cup
of coffee he walked down to the florist's and bought a bunch
of roses before they had been wired and dressed; then he
went over to Brown's Hotel, took the lift to the fourth
floor, and knocked at the door of Anne's room. No reply:
still sleeping. The fact that it was her wedding day didn't
worry her. Perhaps that was a good sign. Then he thought
a little grimly that a good crook has an easier conscience
than a good citizen. But he didn't want to think of crooks
or jewels or murders or news stories today. He wanted to
feel like a bridegroom even if he didn't look like one. He
wanted to be just a lover and nothing but a lover; to be-
come part of the rhythm of life. A chambermaid, passing
him, said:
"Excuse me, sir, but I think the young lady is out."
"Oh!" he said, and opening the door went in quickly.
Then, as he looked round the room, he held his breath.
She had gone. The bed-clothes had been thrown right back
but the pillows had been left undisturbed and on one he
saw the impression of her head. Evidently she was a good
sleeper, got into bed, and didn't move until she awoke in
the morning. She had dressed in a hurry: there were traces
of powder on the looking-glass, and she had dropped a
bath-towel just outside the bathroom door. He looked into
the bath-room; a faint perfume still hung on the moist air.


164 Sweeter Than Honey
He remembered it, had often tried to describe it to him-
self; the nearest he had got was honey and flesh. The in-
stincts of the hard-boiled American newspaper man were
at work.
He was turning away, when he saw a handkerchief lying
on the floor. Picking it up he held it beneath his nose; the
same indescribable slightly intoxicating perfume. He sat
down on the edge of the bed just as he remembered warn-
ing her he would do. Hell, why had she run away? Had
something he'd said the previous night frightened her?
Or perhaps she had gone to warn her father or to tell
Peggy. For a few minutes he sat considering the situation,
the handkerchief crushed in his hand. He had been a fool,
and falling in love had knocked him off his balance. Di-
rectly he had found her at Chester he ought to have told
her everything. He hadn't trusted her, afraid of losing her,
and he had expected her to trust him. He glanced at his
watch; if she had just gone out to do some shopping she
would have left a message at the bureau. If she'd left no
message the sooner he got out of London the better. He
could catch the midday 'plane from Croydon to Amster-
dam. And he would have to tell Van Dyke how things
stood and what he had discovered, though that amounted
to very little when proof was required. He was just leaving
the room, when the door opened and Anne came in.
"Darling," she cried, "what on earth are you doing
here?"
Instead of being grateful that she hadn't run away he
felt angry with her; he knew it was unreasonable, but it
was the way one always reacted.
"Oh, I thought I would look in and see how you were
getting along," he replied carelessly. He noticed she had


Sweeter Than Honey 165
not got her dressing-case. "What on earth are you up to?"
Anne did not reply, dropped her gloves on the table,
then saw the roses he had left lying on the bed. "How per-
fectly lovely! Are these for the frightened bride to carry?"
"If you don't object to the colour—I suppose they ought
to have been white."
She sat on the edge of the bed holding them against her
face. "I don't like white flowers; I hate white anyway. Long
ago I'd decided if I was ever properly married I'd choose
purple and scarlet or gold or something perfectly out-
rageous. Don't you think people are awfully funny? I
mean for the three most important events in our lives—
when we are born we are covered in white, when we are
married we are dressed up in white, and when we die the
mourners are draped in black. I think those three vital
moments should be heralded with a blaze of colour."
Tony leant against the wall watching her; she didn't
look at him. He hated himself for feeling suspicious, but
he could not help it. He saw that she was talking because
she was afraid of being questioned. He did not want to
question her, but he had to know where she had been and
why she had got up at such an unearthly hour.
"Anne," he said, "look at me."
She raised her eyes and looked at him, smiling. There
was an expression on her face he had never seen before—
as if she were trying to hide from him, to keep him at a
distance.
"You didn't expect to find me here, did you?" he said.
"Of course not."
"When I came in and found the room empty and your
dressing-case gone I thought you had run away."


166 Sweeter Than Honey
She stared at him blankly. "Oh! Disappointed I
haven't?"
"It rather looks as if you meant to, doesn't it—packing
up and going off with your dressing-case?"
"I suppose it did," she said. She crossed the room and
stood in front of him. "But, Tony, you didn't really think
that, did you?"
"What else could I think?"
He knew he was making a fool of himself; he was sulking
and disappointed and still suspicious. He knew if he wasn't
careful they would quarrel. A row with Anne was unthink-
able. On their wedding day too! "I am sorry," he said.
"Can't you realize I got rather a shock when I came in and
found an empty room. If you weren't running away what
did you take that dressing-case for?"
She turned away and went over to the dressing-table and
sat down in front of the looking-glass.
"Tony, we'd better be frank with one another. How do
you expect me to behave when I am your wife? I mean,
will you expect me never to go out without telling you
where I am going? Do you want me to express all my
thoughts and all my feelings? Am I never to have any
secrets from you? Am I not to have a life of my own?" She
was getting him into a corner, making him feel rather
small.
"That depends," he said.
"Of course, it depends on how much we love one an-
other."
He crossed the room and stood with his back to her,
facing the bathroom. She had cornered him and he felt
resentful; of course she was right. For a moment he was
tempted to have it out there and then, to tell her that he


Sweeter Than Honey 167
was trying to track down the man who had murdered Mrs.
Van Dyke; but her father was implicated, and she too. He
had always gone blindly, bull-headed, to his objective; now
he wasn't sure of himself—because he wasn't sure of her.
He was sure it would not make any difference to his love
whatever she had done, but if he spoke now she might
really run away and he couldn't stop her. And yet he felt
it was rather mean, rather caddish, to wait until she had
given herself to him.
"People who love shouldn't have secrets from one an-
other," he said.
"That's where I think you are wrong," she replied
quietly; "love itself is a secret, told in part but never quite
known. A mystery that is shared but never solved. I once
read somewhere that love is a voyage of adventure—a
quest that is never satisfied. You've got to go on and on,
knowing something better still lies beyond. . . . Talking a
lot, aren't I? But it's your fault!"
He turned quickly and knelt beside her. "Go on talking.
And you're right. I've been behaving like an ass—there's
a reason, which I'll tell you later on."
She shook her head. "Can't flatter myself you're jealous
—no one to be jealous of."
"But I am. Just beginning to realize it in all sorts of
queer ways . . . not of people, but of things. Forgive
me—"
"For what?"
"For imagining you'd run away!"
"If you were serious I'm damned if I'm going to forgive
you as easily as all that. And I'm hungry; haven't had any
breakfast yet. How long have I got before we start for the
church?"


168 Sweeter Than Honey
"About an hour and a half; you've tons of time. I'll
leave you in the restaurant and come back at eleven-thirty.
I expect you'd like to be alone."
"Idiot! That's the last thing I want to be. But you can
go out and buy me a suitcase; that's something we forgot
yesterday, and I borrowed my dressing-case from the shop,
so I took it back this morning—with some bits and pieces
I'd borrowed too. Sudden spasm of honesty, darling. By
the way, shan't I want a passport?"
He stared at her blankly. "My God, that's done it."
Anne put her arm round his neck. "It's all right. I
remembered it just as I was going to sleep last night; Jane
got me one last year, when I had to go over to Paris with
her. Luckily, I left it in the bureau at the shop. Hope you
are satisfied now you know why I got up at sparrow-
twitter!"
Tony said: "I shall spend the rest of the morning kick-
ing myself. And there's something else I have forgotten."
He took out his pocket-book and gave her four five-pound
notes.
She hesitated. "I don't want all that, Tony—never had
so much money in all my life before."
He pushed them into her hand. "Very awkward if you
really did want to run away from me and hadn't any ready!
And one thing more before it's too late, sweetheart: you
know there's not much security in the life I'm offering
you? Tonight we sleep at the Ritz—tomorrow maybe coffee
and a hard-boiled egg and a seat on the Embankment,
wrapped up in a copy of the Morning Post."
Anne said: "Too late to scare me now, Tony, but if you
can afford it get me one of those expanding suitcases."
He left her in the restaurant and took a taxi to Drew's,


Sweeter Than Honey 169
chose the lightest and most expensive case he could find,
left it himself at the hotel, then took a taxi on to St. James's
Park. It was rather absurd, this driving about when he was
longing to stretch his legs and walk, when he would have
enjoyed mixing with the crowds of youths and girls who
were rushing in and out of tube stations, filling the gaily
painted buses, and marching along the pavements to work.
He wanted to rub shoulders with them, to make contact.
Knowing there was a price on his head made him feel cut
off from the rest of humanity and desperately lonely; that
was how kings and presidents probably felt.
He walked through the Park to the bridge that spans
the lake. Rather awkward for Anne if he was bumped off
before they were married. Temporarily he wanted to for-
get the murder, Caroli, the Savile Row Twins, and old
Chiltern, and to dissociate Anne from his job entirely.
Mad of him to imagine he could do it for a moment. When
he held her in his arms that night, when he looked into
her eyes, he would be more of a detective than a lover . . .
or even while he loved her he would be trying to solve the
mystery of Lavender Cottage and the murder at the "Mag-
nificent." The idea was revolting; he would have to find
out first of all how deeply she was involved—if she was
involved at all—even at the risk of losing her.
When she knew that nothing she had done mattered,
that his only idea was to save her, she would understand.
People passed and repassed him on the bridge, no one
stopping now to feed the ducks and gulls which were
preening their feathers on the banks while others stood
on their heads in the water wagging their tails while they
gobbled breakfast from the mud below. What would his
reactions be, he wondered, if he discovered that Anne was


170 Sweeter Than Honey
a crook, and that she knew who had killed Mrs. Van Dyke.
In the States he had lived so much in the underworld,
got so accustomed to crooks and murder gangs, that it had
all become part of the day's work; he even had friends in
some of the notorious gangs. But England was different;
he had even begun to think and feel differently himself.
Here in the heart of the city there was an atmosphere of
peace and security—and decency. Through the still vivid
green of the trees he looked at Buckingham Palace, won-
dered what it felt like to be a king and if a queen could
be really happy in such perfect security, cut off from all
the temptations that hourly impinged on their subjects.
What were they doing in the Palace at the present
moment? Not getting up to welcome a new day fraught
with danger and excitement and expectation; incarcerated
in a private Ritz, taken out at stated intervals to perform
a duty, and then brought back; only sometimes perhaps
looking at life through the windows of their prison as
ordinary mortals look through the windows of a telescope
at the stars, trying to imagine what is happening among
those lovely blazing constellations.
Tony pulled himself together and laughed; far better
to be sharing a crust with a crook on a wooden seat in an
open square, and an old newspaper to keep the cold away.
Glancing round to make sure he wasn't being shadowed,
he walked back to Piccadilly, bought a buttonhole at Solo-
man's, then called for Anne. She was wearing one of the
new frocks they had bought together and carrying the
roses.
"The things arrived just in time," she said. "Of course,
everyone at the hotel knows now what we are up to.
Rather fun, isn't it?"


Sweeter Than Honey 171
Tony tried to look non-committal as he told the taxi-
driver St. Luke's Church. There was only one hitch in the
ceremony: when the clergyman asked for the ring and
Anne held out her hand, he looked rather puzzled and
said she would have to take it off so that Tony could put
it on again when he promised to make her his lawful
wedded wife.
"You know, darling, you actually blushed," he told her
afterwards, "but the joke was against the Padre, because
he was wrong!"
At Anne's suggestion they lunched at the Ivy Restaurant.
She had been there once or twice with Jane and Peggy.
It was the sort of place where you could sit as long as
you liked over your coffee and cigarettes; the manager
found them a sofa table in a quiet corner. He realized at
once that they had just been married; he also saw that
they were lovers. "Let me order for you," he suggested.
"I think I know what Madam likes, and you"
"Bollinger 1926," Tony said.
It was nearly four o'clock before they left. The man-
ager gave Anne a box of chocolates. "For the journey,"
he said. "My best wishes . . . you are going to be so happy."


i6-
Directly they went on board the ship at Harwich, Tony
took Anne to the cabin he had engaged for her, gave the
stewardess a generous tip and told the woman to look
after her, then went up on deck, watched the other pas-
sengers arriving until the ship cast off and slowly began
to feel her way downstream. Tony walked up and down
waiting until the ship was well into the estuary. He felt
curiously impatient, anxious to get away from the town.
Black chimneys pointing derisively at the stars, grey roofs
of countless low-lying buildings which you could imagine
might easily stretch into infinity; here and there lights
winked, emphasizing the surrounding gloom. In the west
the sky glowed, but with a red resentful light. Though a
strong breeze blew it was impregnated with the smell of
docks and wharves—a sickly mixture of tallow and fish and
rotting timber.
Eventually the ship came to life. He heard the throb
of her engines, felt the pulsation of her screw. Now the
wind brought the brave tang of salt water.
He made his way below, knocked at the door of Anne's
cabin, and went in. Then he hesitated. The only light
came from a shaded reading-lamp by the bed. The port-
hole was open—he made a mental note that he must close
it before leaving her, because there would be a sea run-
172


Sweeter Than Honey 173
ning in the North Sea. Her coat and skirt were swinging
from a hook on the wall; on the back of a chair he noticed
her stockings and a flimsy undergarment; on the table a
cut-glass bottle, powder-box, brush and comb. He won-
dered why he was noticing these trifles and why they
assumed an importance they didn't really possess. He had
a childish desire to touch them, to pick them up and
examine them.
He heard Anne say: "What a long time you've been,
darling! I was very nearly asleep."
Then he looked at her. He could only see the outline
of her body beneath the clothes, her hair on the pillow
and the tip of her nose. "Everything all right?"
"Perfectly," she said sleepily. "Didn't expect a cabin all
to myself."
"Well, you said you weren't a good sailor, and we shall
probably have rather a rough crossing. There is a bell
by the side if you want a stewardess."
She shook her head, pushed back the clothes, and he
saw all her face and her neck and bare shoulders. "I shall
go to sleep at once and not wake up till we reach the
other side."
Why, he wondered, were they being so utterly banal
and trivial, using conversation as a screen so that they
could hide from one another? He even wondered if this
was the inevitable effect of getting married. He knew that
the fantastic and to him meaningless ceremony at St.
Luke's had depressed them both, which even wine and
the cheery surroundings of the Ivy Restaurant failed to
dissipate.
"This is really rather comic," he blurted out. "I mean


174 Sweeter Than Honey
we are behaving like a couple of strangers. Anne—listen,
darling, I adore you."
"I know," she said breathlessly, sinking imperceptibly
beneath the bed-clothes; "but we can't do anything about
it, Tony, so say good night quickly and go. Do you feel
that? The ship's rolling already."
"She's scarcely moving." He balanced himself on the
edge of the bed, lifted her in his arms, and kissed her
mouth. "All right, I'm going, but it's hell leaving you."
"Rather fun really," she said, burying her face in the
pillow; "like—like saving up for a treat—if you know what
I mean."
Tony opened the door. "That's all very well, but I
believe I've been saving up for you all my life. Don't for-
get you will be called tomorrow morning at six-thirty,
train leaves for Amsterdam at eight."
"Darling, how horribly grim! . . . But I do think you've
been clever."
The light went out. Tony closed the door behind him
and went up on deck again. They were at sea now, stars
swimming overhead and waves breaking against the bows
of the ship.


n
The Amstell Hotel overlooked one of the principal
canals; a terrace right along the water's edge shaded by
lovely trees.
Anne and Tony were leaning out of a window on the
fourth floor looking over the city, which lay flat and very
still beneath a flat blue sky where the sun was suspended
like a dazzling ball of fire. From the heart of the town to
the Zuyder Zee the canal stretched in all directions like
blue arteries as far as the eye could follow, and every-
where trees made a green tracery of veins. Now and then
a barge or steamboat chugged cheerfully east or west; the
quiet waters bubbled and spurted, then quickly subsided
into immobility.
"This is better than Rome, Venice, Paris—any of those
places one always connects with honeymooning. I feel as
if I'd stepped right into a canvas by one of the old Dutch
masters."
"Can't step into a canvas." Tony grinned.
"Oh, I know I'm being banal, but I don't care. Don't
be superior, Tony. Don't you find it exciting?"
He put his arm around her and drew her close. "I am
excited, but not by Amsterdam."
"I am. It's different—and that's always exciting. And
because it's so flat and so still with that vast uninterrupted
175


176 Sweeter Than Honey
expanse of space above it, it makes you feel you could just
go on and on into infinity."
"That's what we are going to do. It's quite a practical
proposition really. You may change our shape, but that
won't matter if we still exist—always making different
shapes, gradually making the ultimate final form we call
eternity."
There was silence for a little while, then Anne said:
"Tony, I'm going to be terribly happy." But as she spoke
she shivered and drew back from the window.
"Funny way of showing it." He laughed. "What is the
matter, are you cold?"
"Haven't you ever been consciously happy? It happens
so rarely, that sudden, almost divine knowledge of being
alive and happy, but one immediately reacts to a kind of
panic that it won't last, that something is waiting for you
round the corner ready to jump out and frighten it away."
He took her hands and held them against his face. "I
shouldn't have thought you had ever been really un-
happy."
"I don't suppose I have. I was just being silly. But can't
you realize that I feel as if I was standing on my head at
the present moment? You've turned the world upside
down for me, darling. I'm feeling a bit giddy. But I
don't care, I'm not afraid—and you can do what you like
with me."
"That's fine."
"I feel fearfully grand," Anne said, "in this marvellous
suite of rooms. You said something about being broke a
few days ago—sure you aren't a millionaire in disguise?"
"I'm afraid, dear, I'm just gambling on my boy friend
making me a millionaire; not that I'd be as rich as old


Siveeter Than Honey 177
Van Dyke for anything, but I'd just like a few thousands
occasionally to play with."
Anne began to unpack her suitcase; Tony strolled into
the dressing-room. "If you don't mind," he shouted, "I will
get him on the 'phone. He's staying here, you know, and
I've got to see him. I will get that over and then we shall
be free."
"All right, Tony. I will unpack for you. I don't in the
least realize I'm married; perhaps that will help. Then I
think I'll have a hot bath in that palatial bathroom and lie
down till you are ready for me. How long will you be?"
He did not reply. He was asking the telephone operator
for Van Dyke's room. He was put through at once. "Hullo,
Van Dyke, is that you? Tony speaking—hold the line a
moment." He shut the dressing-room door.
Anne finished unpacking, laying her clothes out on the
bed. She could hear Tony and Van Dyke talking; now and
then she heard what they said—her own name and some-
thing about Caroli. She was tempted to listen. She went to
the dressing-room door, then thought: "Nothing like sus-
picion to frighten happiness away." She walked into the
bathroom and began to undress. She was just getting into
the bath when she heard Tony cross the room. "I shan't be
long," he said.
"Don't hurry," she called out.
Tony found Van Dyke dictating to a shorthand typist
in his private sitting-room; he was chewing an unlit cigar.
When Van Dyke chewed his cigar, that was a bad sign.
He dismissed the typist and looked at Tony through half-
closed eyes. "What the devil have you been up to?" he
said slowly. "Getting married; or is that just eyewash?"
Tony sat on the arm of one of the chairs, took a ciga-


178 Sweeter Than Honey
rette from his case, and lit it. "I'm married all right, Chief.
And my wife's upstairs now having a bath."
"What's the great idea?"
Tony felt suddenly a little sick. Van Dyke wouldn't un-
derstand. He wouldn't understand if he told him the whole
truth.
"About getting married, you mean? Well, I just hap-
pened to meet the right woman"
"You didn't come out here just to tell me that and show
her to me."
"Well, Chief, that's what I have done."
Van Dyke rolled the cigar between his lips. "Chucking
up your job? Somehow I never thought you'd let me down,
Tony—certainly not for a woman. You see, you are the one
guy on my staff I always trusted." He got up slowly and,
hands in pockets, began to walk up and down the room,
still twisting and rolling the half-chewed cigar between his
lips. "You didn't drink—more than you had to; you didn't
fornicate; you didn't cook your accounts. . . . Has she got
money, this blue-eyed baby of yours?"
"Not a bean."
Van Dyke flung his cigar across the room and planted
himself in front of Tony. "Do you expect to get your trav-
elling expenses out of me?"
"That depends what happens in the next twenty-four
hours; I've got enough to go on with at the moment,
thanks. Now, don't start getting sore with me, Chief. I
love Anne—that's her name—more than my job or any-
thing else in the world, but that's not why I married her in
a hurry. I did that because I think it will be a short cut to
getting the information you want. Thirty-six hours ago the


Sweeter Than Honey 179
gang put a bullet through the windscreen of my car; it just
snicked my ear."
Van Dyke pulled a chair close up to Tony and sat down
again. "Good! Why didn't you get them?"
"They thought they'd got me; by this time they'll know
that they didn't."
"Where does this girl Anne come into it?" Van Dyke
asked.
Tony asked for a cigar; he bit off the end, lit it care-
fully before replying. Once Van Dyke had been obsessed
with the idea of wealth for the sake of the power it would
give him; power not only over his own nation but all
other nations. The loss of his wife had changed him; he
was obsessed now solely by the desire for revenge. It was
a miracle which Tony found hard to believe—that Van
Dyke could be diverted from his goal by love. That is
where his opportunity lay, in making Van Dyke's obsession
serve his own ends.
"Anne is the daughter of a man who I believe acts as
receiver to the gang. If it was only the jewels you wanted
back I could have got them for you, but the men who did
the murder would have got away. I suppose the man Ser-
bermann here hasn't been any good?"
Van Dyke shook his head. "Tried to sidetrack me; he
says if I make it worth his while he can get hold of the
jewels for me. I'm playing up to him in case it may lead
to a clue. But it sounds as if you were going to run them
to earth, Tony. By God, if you do I've told you you can
have anything you want." He pulled his chair still closer
to Tony. "So your wife is one of the gang, that's why you
married her—good work, my boy."


180 Sweeter Than Honey
Tony looked at the glowing end of his cigar, then into
Van Dyke's eyes. "Get this: I married her because I love
her. And this: she's probably working for the gang but
she may be doing it quite innocently."
Van Dyke flicked the ash off his cigar. "Oh yes."
"Whether she's innocent or whether she's guilty I'm
going to save her, and you've got to give me your word to
help me or else there is nothing more doing."
Van Dyke got up, walked to the windows, stood there
looking out for a few moments, then closed them. "Where
is she?"
"We've got a suite on the fourth floor."
"And she knows the names of the murderers and where
to find them?"
"Can't be certain of that, but she could get them for
me.
"When are you going to find out?"
"Tonight," Tony said quietly.
Van Dyke turned quickly. Tony was afraid to look at
him now.
"You haven't. . ." Van Dyke said, then checked himself.
"She's in love with you, eh? Enough to double-cross her
own father?"
"We might get him out of it," Tony said slowly. "We
will prove he knew nothing about the murder."
"And do you think you can keep Scotland Yard out of
it too?"
"We can let the Yard arrest the murderers. That'll sat-
isfy them."
Van Dyke looked at his watch. "I have an appointment
at one o'clock. I am selling my estates in the East Indies,
negotiating with the Dutch Government."


Sweeter Than Honey 181
Tony got up. "Wait until I have something more to
report, Chief," he said, trying to speak lightly. "I might
like to buy them myself."
Van Dyke smiled and laid his hand on Tony's shoulder.
"Well, I said you could have anything you wanted. I'll be
seeing you in the morning, ten o'clock, say. By the way,
does your wife know that I'm here? Did you mention my
name to her?"
Tony nodded: "Yes."
"She didn't show surprise or fear or anything?"
"Nothing at all."
"I think I'd like to meet her. What about having a
bit of dinner together tonight in the restaurant at nine
o'clock?"
Tony opened the sitting-room door: "Well, it's really
our wedding night—if you don't mind us leaving early,
we'd probably like to go on somewhere and dance."
Van Dyke nodded. "Say eight-thirty, then; that will give
you plenty of time. Good luck, Tony."


i8
Anne and Tony lunched in the garden of an inn a few
miles outside the town; they saw countless Friesian cattle
grazing on the land that had once been sea and now lay
below its level; in the afternoon they drifted through the
smaller canals, resting beneath the trees in Gentleman's
Row, where eighteenth-century houses stared at their re-
flections in the green water. They looked in at the Rijks
Museum, ignoring the famous pictures the guide would
have shown them, and making discoveries of their own.
When Tony left Anne to dress for dinner, she said:
"Everything's all right now, Tony, isn't it? We've found
one another again."
"That sounds as if I'd lost you. I hadn't; never shall."
She nodded. "I'm beginning to feel that. But it's all
been rather devastating—the jump from Chester to St.
Luke's Church, from the church on to the ship, and then
here alone in a new world. You see, with the exception of
a few business trips, my whole world has been Estelle's
and Lavender Cottage."
"Belts and bees! You've finished with both. You've fin-
ished with your past life."
"Haven't had a past life," she laughed. "My life's been
like a couple of gramophone records, one record for the
morning, another record for the evening, both played
182


Sweeter Than Honey 183
over and over again. Tony, catch hold of me and tell me
we are going to be happy."
"We are happy," he said. "We shall have misunder-
standings and rows and fears; sometimes, I suppose we
shall hide from one another, just as sometimes one hides
from life—if only for the fun of facing it again and finding
how fine it is."
She held his face between her hands. "Thanks. It's
strange to think that in future I shall only have you,
Tony."
He looked at her thoughtfully. "Hope I'll satisfy you.
I think I shall. Kick me when I'm too selfish; men are,
you know, but you won't mind that when we have chil-
dren. Shouldn't be surprised if I was jealous of them. You
won't mind waiting a bit?"
"I'd like to—though not too long."
"That's all right," Tony said. "I have a theory one
should make love before one makes life. We'd better get
dressed, darling; Van Dyke is cursed by punctuality. By
the way, you never saw him when you were at the 'Mag-
nificent' did you?" She shook her head. "Don't know any-
thing about him?"
"Only what you've told me about him. I shall feel rather
windy—he means a lot to you, doesn't he?"
"Well, our future is in his hands."
He dawdled over his dressing so as to give Anne plenty
of time. He was feeling rather windy himself, wondered
if he was getting his loyalties mixed up. Running with the
hare and hunting with the hounds—sometimes inevitable
in his job. Still, he'd been honest with Van Dyke, kept
nothing from him; and yet compared to Anne he hardly
counted at all.


184 Sweeter Than Honey
When he was dressed he sat on the bed and lit a ciga-
rette; glanced at his watch—twenty past eight. "Nearly
ready?" he shouted.
"Almost," she replied. "You can come in."
He let a couple of minutes pass. Dinner would take them
the best part of two hours, then he would take Anne on to
one of the cafes in the town; there would be a noisy band
and a cabaret. They would drink a lot of wine and they
would dance together . . . that inescapable tune from Top
Hat began to run through his head:
Heaven, I'm in heaven,
And my heart beats so that I can hardly speak,
For I seem to find the happiness I seek,
When we're out together dancing cheek to cheek.
Tripe, he thought, getting up and crushing his cigarette
into an ashtray, but all the same that was just how they
would be feeling about midnight and they'd walk back to
the hotel beneath the great expanse of blue sky and they'd
look at the stars and then at each other; and the children
they had talked about would be born—in their hearts.
And then, lying side by side, he would have to tell her
that he knew her father was a crook and she'd been help-
ing him. He would have to ask her the names of the gang
and of the men who had murdered Mrs. Van Dyke. A
sudden chill went through him. He couldn't do it. He
must have been mad to have dreamed of doing it. He
cursed his profession. It was true, a journalist would make
copy out of his dying mother.
"Hurry up, Tony, I'm waiting."
He opened the door and went into the bedroom. She


Sweeter Than Honey 185
was standing at the foot of the bed waiting for him. She
looked very small. Perhaps that was because the bed was
very big; and the room was big and everything in it—the
Dutch were like the Germans, they liked size and soli-
darity.
Tony said, "You look wonderful."
"You still like my dress, now you see it on me?"
He remembered then that they had chosen it together
at Debenham's. But to a man a dress in the hand is only a
dress; when it is worn it becomes part of the woman or it
has no meaning. "It wasn't your dress I was looking at; it
was you," he said. "You are very lovely, Anne."
"I'm not really. Every woman has her moments. This is
one of mine; I'm glad because I wanted to do you credit
tonight. It's just on the half-hour; we'd better go down."
He said: "Don't move. Just stand quite still. I want to
take a mental photograph of you that I can keep always."
"Darling! That sounds as if you expected me to die—
or as if I was dead already. I've been feeling rather like a
ghost in this vast room; switch on the lights, even if it does
destroy the illusion, and give me my cape."
"I've no illusions about you," Tony laughed. "Your
beauty's no illusion, and almost the moment we first met
I realized you were a dangerous woman!"
"Good; every woman likes to feel she's dangerous—that's
the wrong way of the cape, darling."
"Both sides look the same to me. What's the good of it,
anyway?"
She shook her head. "One just puts it on for the fun of
taking it off, I suppose."
Tony opened the door and switched out the lights. She
put her hand on his arm. "We will be able to get away


186 Sweeter Than Honey
together after dinner, shan't we, Tony, somewhere where
we can be alone? Do you know what I'd like to do—I'd like
us to go to that quiet little canal in Gentleman's Row and
sit on a wooden seat beneath the trees. There was some-
thing so warm and friendly about the old houses there.
We could talk to one another."
Tony partially closed the door. "That sounds as if you
had something to tell me; have you?"
She looked up at him, smiling, and he looked into her
eyes; it was like looking into pools of clear forest water.
"I have everything to tell you, Tony—and perhaps when
I begin it will dissolve into nothing. In a way I've been
awfully lonely all my life, no one to talk to about things
that really mattered—to me. At home there was nothing
but hives and swarms, queen rearing and honey flow; at
the shop, clothes and corsets and gossip."
"Forget it," Tony said roughly. "That's all over now.
It's been rather the same with me—smearing the front page
with the filth of the underworld, nosing out the latest po-
litical racket, starring gangsters and murderers. Queer,
isn't it, in order to make big money you must make dirt?
I've got quite a bit sticking to me, but once I'm through
with his job for Van Dyke I'm through for good."
Going down in the lift, Anne said, "You haven't ad-
mired my ear-rings, Tony." She turned her head, making
them swing to and fro, long pendants of rubies in an old-
fashioned silver setting.
"Well, I saw you first and my eyes couldn't take in de-
tails! They're wonderful—where did you get them?"
"Heirlooms; they belonged to mother. I wore them
at my first dance, and father let me keep them."
Tony gave a sigh of relief as he crossed the lounge,


Sweeter Than Honey 187
though, of course, old Chiltern would never be such a fool
as to give his daughter any of the "swag". But those ear-
rings were the first things Van Dyke would see.
They found Van Dyke waiting in the lounge; he glanced
at his watch as he saw them coming, but when he looked
at Anne he slipped it back into His waistcoat pocket with-
out saying a word.
"Glad to meet you, Mrs. Howard; you've stolen the
Herald's best reporter, but even if I wanted him now, he
wouldn't be much good."
"The Chief is trying to flatter you," Tony laughed as he
saw the colour rise to Anne's face.
"I only flatter dull women and ugly women," Van Dyke
grunted. "I hope you will be able to eat what I've ordered
—I remember when I was in love I never ate anything, so
I've given you a light meal: souffle d'homard, poussin en
casserole and a bombe surprise. You will have to split a
bottle of Bollinger between you; the States ruined my
stomach with wood alcohol, so now I can drink nothing
but whisky."
Their table was beside a wide open window; the canal
reflected the lights on its banks, and when the breeze
stirred the trees, it looked as though fire-flies were dancing
a pavane. Van Dyke was silent while the first course was
served and the wine poured. Tony wondered whether he
was being tactful or if it was a mood; for he could sit
sometimes with his guests right through an evening and
never speak, and always his silence was like a weight
crushing thought; his eyes seemed to be fixed on the lights
and the almost purple sky through which the stars were
just beginning to shine; but every now and then he
glanced at Anne. Tony knew that he was interested; her


188 Sweeter Than Honey
beauty moved him and he had always boasted that beauty
was an abstraction that had nothing to do with the reality
of life.
Suddenly he raised his glass. "Here's wishing you luck.
You'll need it."
Tony glanced at Anne. First he saw ear-rings swinging
to and fro, the colour of wine and blood. He wondered
what Van Dyke was thinking; then their eyes met and
Anne held up her hand to him. "Thanks, Mr. Van Dyke,"
she said. "Lucky or unlucky, we are going to be happy
and that's all that matters, isn't it?"
"You've got to make happiness just as you've got to
make money or build a house. There's a design for both,
but even when your plans are made and perfected, it's
damned hard work."
A waiter refilled Anne's glass; she held it up to the light,
watching the bubbles break. "I don't know," she said
softly. "I think happiness comes so easily, that's why we
nearly all miss it. Happiness comes from inside one"
"Bottled sunshine," Tony smiled.
"Yes, but everyone's afraid to take out the cork; they
think they can't afford to be happy, and so they go on
waiting until they die."
"There may be something in that," Van Dyke said. "I
used to think I was happiest when I was working at top
pressure, getting the last ounce out of myself, but I'm not
so sure now. I may have missed the boat. When one's
always looking ahead one never gets to a resting place.
And when I lost my wife the other day I knew I'd come
to the end; don't want to go on."
"Oh, but you will," Anne said.
Van Dyke leant across the table, looking at her with


Sweeter Than Honey 189
half-closed eyes. Tony watched them, fascinated. He was
trying to think of something to say, something to change
the conversation, but he couldn't. Presently Van Dyke
pulled a cigar from his case, bit off the end, and lit it.
"No, I can never go on. I will tell you something that
I never dreamed I would be able to tell any living soul. I
didn't marry my wife because I loved her, I married her
because she was kind and solid. A good woman. I knew
she'd take care of me and make a comfortable home. And
now she's gone . . . well, it's too late to take the cork out
of the bottle of sunshine that was there." He blew a thick
cloud of smoke across the table. "You met her, didn't you,
Mrs. Howard?"
"Once or twice. I was fitting her"
"I know," Van Dyke interrupted. "Would you say she
was a happy woman?"
Anne nodded. "She seemed very contented."
"Contented! I'm glad to hear that, though it's a word
I don't know." He pushed his chair back. "Well, you two
had better be getting along and amuse yourselves. Didn't
mean to depress you by talking about myself."
"I've enjoyed it," Anne said, getting up. "I hope I'll
meet you again."
"You will," Van Dyke replied. "I guess I shall see a lot
of you while you're here."
As they crossed the lounge, Van Dyke pulled Tony aside.
"I suppose you know what you are doing?"
"Yes, that's all right," Tony said quickly. "You needn't
worry, Chief. I won't fail you."
"I wasn't thinking of myself, but of Anne. You may be
making a mistake, Tony. I'll be seeing you early in the
morning then—with the news"]"


190 Sweeter Than Honey
"That'll be O.K., Chief." Tony hurried after Anne.
The porter swung the revolving doors for them: "Taxi?"
Tony shook his head. Taking Anne's hand, he led her
down a flight of dark stone steps on the terrace. Save for
three fat men, with bald heads bent together as they sat
with mugs of beer around a table discussing in noisy
whispers some business project, the place was deserted.
A barge was silhouetted against the bank, swinging a red
lamp from her mast; a boat floated idly at the bottom of
the steps that led to the water; in the bows a youth was
sleeping, only a pair of blue-trousered legs visible.
Anne dropped into a deck-chair beneath the wall fes-
tooned with mauve and white wistaria. "I like your boss,
Tony; not so terrifying as I imagined."
"You vamped him quite successfully!"
"You are a beastl I didn't try, anyway. Bring up that
other chair and sit down."
"Can't see you when I'm sitting down. And I want to
look at you, Anne."
"You've got all your life in which to do that. I wonder
what will happen when I begin to fade and grow old.
You won't want me then—as you do now."
"For God's sake don't put such grim ideas into my head
on our wedding night!"
She laughed and stretched out her arms. Her cape fell
back. Tony felt a sudden reaction. He thought, "Van
Dyke go to the devil!" He would wash his hands of the
whole business. He'd take Anne back to the States; he
could always earn a living there.
"Sorry," Anne said, "I'm really so terribly happy at this
moment I don't want to think of anything but that we
love one another. ... I suppose it's my rotten old job,


Sweeter Than Honey 191
darling, always having to cope with middle-aged spreads
and women who won't grow old. I've always seen the
funny side of it till now. Tony, why can't human beings
grow old gracefully? Animals do, and houses and trees.
Everything we're looking at now is old, isn't it—the city
and the canals. And, darling, the moon, look at it, just
coming up behind that forest of masts; the moon is abso-
lutely hoary with age. Yet it's all warm and lovely, and
to me it's just packed with romance."
Tony picked up a stone, threw it into the water, waited
for the splash, and watched the circles it made until they
died away. "Let's go and dance."
"Anything you like—but let's have a cigarette first and
wait until there are two moons, one in the sky and one in
the water."
He knelt on the gravel beside her, buried his face in
her lap . . . honey and flesh. "Listen, Anne. I adore you.
I want you to remember that—whatever happens."
She rested her hands on his head, bent over him ten-
derly. Just at that moment he was more her child than her
lover. He needed comfort and consolation; always he had
been so sure of himself, so self-confident, that now his
half-expressed fear of the unknown, his weakness, deep-
ened her love for him. "I know," she said gently. . . .
"I don't know what to think will happen to us; all sorts
of things, I expect. Unexpected things; queer discoveries-
some of them devastating, some of them thrilling. But
I'm not afraid, Tony. If you are patient I know I can
cope with anything. Don't let's get serious, not tonight.
One always seems to be living in the past or in the future.
Let's enjoy this moment, Tony—I am enjoying it, but I
want it prolonged."


192 Sweeter Than Honey
He raised his head. "Into infinity?"
"Don't want miracles—or only the miracle that's hap-
pening now. Loving and being loved. You and I the only
people in the world."
"That's how it's going to be," he said unsteadily.
She slipped deeper into the chair, her head thrown back
so that he only saw the long line of her throat, her chin
and her ear-rings swinging.
"This morning when you were with Van Dyke," Anne
went on, "I went out for a few minutes; just wandered till
I came to a long, straight canal. I saw a great ship floating
on it; it really looked as if it was floating on the banks,
and it was so high that it towered above all the houses and
spires in the city. There was a band playing on board, and
I could see people standing on the decks waving. Some-
one told me she was going to the East."
"That's where I'm thinking of taking you."
"Don't think, Tony. Let's go by the next boat! I don't
ever want to go back to London, not even to Lavender
Cottage."
He put his arms around her, holding her tightly. "Why
not?"
"You ought to know—or doesn't a man understand that
when he comes galloping down, seizes the woman he
wants, and carries her off, that she can never go back?
Something's happened to her—like pulling a plant up by
the roots. Poor Tony, my roots have got to grow into you
now."
Again he felt her hands, her fingers, moving through his
hair. "You would be afraid—to go back?"
"Yes, in a way," she said lightly.
She'd been conscious of his arms round her, of his


Sweeter Than Honey 193
kisses on her body, warm, passionate, and tender; they
ceased and she felt a sudden chill. A breath of cold air
from the canal; a cloud covering the moon.
He put her hands away and stood up. "I know why you
are afraid, Anne."
"Clever if you do, because I don't really know myself.
Now, because I've begun a new life, I want a new world.
Oh, don't you understand, darling, the truth is I'm so
terribly in love with you I just want you all to myself?
You said you felt the same—you do, don't you?"
When he didn't reply she sat upright; she could only
see his profile clear-cut in the moonlight. He looked very
hard and thin and cold. "Tony! What's the matter?"
The three old men had just risen from their table;
Tony watched them cover their bald heads with large
black hats and move away toward the winding staircase.
They looked sinister; they might have been watching and
listening. Or that man in the boat, pretending to be
asleep, might easily be one of the gang's agents.
"We can't talk here," he said.
"Then don't let's talk. Let's take that boat and drift
away in the moonlight—through the canals. Wouldn't it
be fun, Tony, to get right outside the city into the country
we saw from the train; among the meadows and the little
farmhouses in their gardens? There were lots of inns sim-
ply smothered in flowers—we might spend the night in one
of those instead of this great gaudy hotel. Oh, come on,
Tony, it will be marvellous, I know it will."
She jumped up, put her hands on his shoulders and
pulled him round, but when she saw his face she caught
her breath. "Darling, something has happenedl What
have I done?"


Sweeter Than Honey 195
But her expression had suddenly become blank; her eyes
were dead and her face colourless—only her parted lips
looked almost scarlet in the white light. He felt baffled,
waited for her to speak, unable to stir, unable to take his
eyes off her. Anyway, the next moves should come from
her.
Yet this wasn't a game, he reminded himself. He wasn't
a newspaper man now getting a story, nor an amateur
detective holding up a crook. He was Anne's lover. He
was her husband.
He began to realize how much he loved her. He had told
her "more than anything on earth." He had used super-
latives, but he hadn't really known that she represented
the ideal for which he'd always been subconsciously search-
ing. She represented x, in mathematical equation, the un-
known quantity necessary to make his life complete. The
moon had risen high in the sky now and was flooding the
whole canal; the trees on the bank stood out individually,
holding up their green arms like banners; and beyond
the banks the houses clustered in shining groups and the
church spires shone like fiery needles. Everything was
strangely still; traffic in the street there must have been,
but he couldn't hear a sound. •
He began to feel disturbed. He wished he'd never
spoken. He wanted to go back and begin all over again
from the moment when they'd left the ship and break-
fasted together on the train watching the quiet flat country
unfold itself in the cool dawn.
He tried to speak, but there was nothing more he could
say yet. He said her name: "Anne."
She moved, held the smoking cigarette out at arm's
length, and the little red cape dropped from her shoulders.


Sweeter Than Honey 197
windows of the hotel. "Aren't you funny, Tony? I suppose
all Americans are like that. You wanted a story—and you
wanted the reward Van Dyke offered—and you thought I
could give you both and the easiest way was to marry me.
. . . My God, how easy I made it for you! Perhaps I ought
to be flattered that you thought I was so innocent." She
turned away, then stopped and said over her shoulder:
"Sorry to spoil your game, but I'm telling you nothing.
Good night."
She had reached the steps before he tried to stop her;
she looked back and Tony stopped, staring at her help-
lessly. She had changed. Having once realized she was
beautiful, he had rather taken her beauty for granted,
just accepted it as he accepted everything else that had
come his way. Knowing from the first that he loved her
and that one day they would be joined together, he had
purposely looked at her as one sometimes for fun looks
at a scene through the wrong end of opera glasses. But
he hadn't always tried to see her as if from a great distance
just for fun, but from an instinctive feeling that her beauty
and his longing to possess her quickly, at all costs, might
ruin their future happiness. He had seen her as men saw
Helen of Troy—a woman for whom they would make war.
Gone now was the warm loveliness of youth! her beauty
was the cold beauty of a stone or bronze figure.
"Don't follow me, Tony," she said. "Hadn't you better
see Van Dyke and warn him that your plan has failed?
And then you'd save a lot of time and trouble by ringing
up Scotland Yard—Whitehall 1212, in case you don't
know."
Lifting her skirt, she walked slowly up the steps. He
heard the tap-tap of her high-heeled shoes; watched the


198 Sweeter Than Honey
red shoes as she climbed from the encircling shadows into
the moonlight again. She paused a moment at the top of
the steps, then walked quickly into the hotel. Tony
watched the revolving door swinging round and round
after she had disappeared. He waited until it stopped re-
volving. He walked down to the water's edge and thrust-
ing his hands into his trouser pockets stared at the canal.
Queer shadows moved to and fro shaped like fish, chang-
ing into faces of men and women he had known, resolv-
ing into leaves and twigs.
He had been right. Of course, he had never really
doubted, he had just tried to make himself believe she was
an innocent dupe. He wondered what would have hap-
pened if he had waited. He would have got the truth out
of her quite easily then, and she wouldn't have resented
it or hated him. Once a woman has given herself to a man,
she gives her soul as well as her body; she becomes wax
for him to mould just as he pleases. He had seen that hap-
pen in the underworld; it probably applied to all women.
Perhaps Anne was different. He wanted her to be differ-
ent. He lit a cigarette, inhaled its smoke, then threw it
away. Suddenly he felt glad that she refused to tell him
anything, that she had turned to stone. She had told him
he'd better ring up Whitehall 1212. Of course, she knew
he wouldn't do that. He wondered what she expected him
to do—more important still, what she was going to do.
He could not wait until the morning to find out. Even at
this moment she might be telephoning to her father,
putting him on his guard, arranging a get-away.
He walked back to the hotel. Going up in the lift he
tried to remember just what he'd said to her; he must have
blundered, couldn't have made it very clear that his only


Sweeter Than Honey 199
idea was to save her—and her father too. He went quickly
to their bedroom door, waited till the sound of the
descending lift had ceased. Once he could persuade her
that she mattered more to him than all Van Dyke's money,
more than the promise he had made him, more even than
his honour, she would trust him. As he turned the handle
of the door he remembered the proverb about love and
honour. Well, he'd a code all his own and he didn't give
a damn for any other.
The door was locked; he listened, but he couldn't hear
any sound. He went to the door that led to his dressing-
room; that was locked too and he remembered turning
the key himself. Luckily there was an entrance to the bath-
room in the corridor; a servant had used it when she
brought fresh towels, and it was open. He went in quietly;
the communicating door to the bedroom was ajar, a pale
shaft of light came through. He went into the bedroom;
for a moment he thought she had gone, then he saw the
outline of her body beneath the bedclothes and the crown
of her brown head just visible on the pillow. He went to
the foot of the bed.
"Sorry, Anne, but I don't think you quite understood
what I was trying to say just now. Anne, we've got to come
to an understanding."
She sat upright, shook the hair back from her forehead.
"It's quite useless, Tony. Nothing you can say will alter
things. We've both made a mistake."
"I haven't made a mistake, Anne. I married you with
my eyes open. The only thing I want is you. Listen—"
"It will be a waste of time. And the mistake I made was
in thinking I loved you; if I did, I suppose . . . nothing


200 Sweeter Than Honey
would make any difference; but I don't love you. So do
you mind going—and getting on with your job?"
He forced himself to smile then. "That's what I am
doing. You are my job."
She shrugged her shoulders. "Thanks for being so frank,
even though it's a little beastly. I suppose all American
journalists have a distorted idea of what's decent and what's
indecent. Do you mind going? You don't want to force
me to ring for the porter, do you, and make a scene?"
"Hell, you are my wife, aren't you?"
She smiled then and her smile froze him. He was dumb
with a dreadful fear that she'd spoken the truth when
she said she didn't love him. He didn't want to look at her,
but he couldn't look away; they were so close together he
could have touched her by leaning over the foot of the
bed. He thought if he could touch her she would under-
stand and believe. Their minds were moving in different
directions, moving away from each other. But contact,
though it were only of the flesh, might bring them to-
gether again.
Tony said: "You don't believe what I said? You won't
believe I love you?"
She leant towards him, her hands clasped together, her
eyes blazing with anger. "Lovel What's the use of talk-
ing? We speak a different language. We live in different
worlds. In your own language, Tony, get this: I never
want to see you again. And this: I'd rather be tied to one
of the crooks you spend your life hunting down than to
you! I suppose we can have our marriage dissolved or
annulled. Now go—because I can't stand any more."
She had come to life at last. She was human again. And
something came to life in Tony, something of whose exist-


202 Sweeter Than Honey
little while ago they had just for a few minutes known
complete and utter happiness when all his boyish dreams
of love—romantic, passionate, and pure—were about to be
realized. Well, he had dashed to the ground the precious
goblet from which they were going to drink. He laughed
because he could still think romantically. He was probably
feeling a little sorry for himself . . . yes, and despising
Anne.
What did it matter, he again asked himself savagely,
what she was or what he was? The past didn't matter, had
ceased to exist; only the present moment counted, for out
of that would the future be born.
"I asked what are you going to do tomorrow."
He was still shouting, but the drumming in his ears
stopped as he heard her voice faintly as if coming from a
long distance. "I'm going back to London."
He knew it was madness to look at her again, but he
couldn't resist the temptation. She hadn't moved, she was
sitting upright just as he had left her, her arms close to
her sides. The lamp shining above her head surrounded
her with a pale curtain of light. Her eyes were closed. She
looked very small and very unreal, sitting upright and mo-
tionless in the huge bed; her half-naked body had the
quality of old marble. Tony couldn't speak. He felt like a
blind man who had suddenly been allowed to see the love-
liness of the world in one swift, all-embracing glance.
Quietly he closed the door, switched on the light in his
room, undressed, and got into bed.


2O4. Sweeter Than Honey
clerk to book him two seats on the morning 'plane for
Croydon—he waited until this was done. The clerk told
him the 'plane left at one o'clock but advised him to be on
the ground in plenty of time. It was about twenty minutes'
drive from the hotel in a taxi.
Tony smoked a cigarette, leaning over the terrace. The
sun was well into the sky now, spires, ships' funnels, count-
less masts, glittering bravely. A brown-sailed barge, piled
high with coloured casks, moved imperceptibly on the
faintly ruffled waters; sparrows were fluttering and chirp-
ing in the trees. The clatter of hurrying footsteps echoed
from the pavements, and the steel rails of the tram-lines
cried shrilly as they carried load after load of men and girls
to the city. Tony found himself wondering why, in order
to live, men had to ignore life; only the artist and the peas-
ant had any share in the rhythm of life. A clock chimed
eight. Tony had been trying to find a way to make Anne
trust him again; it should have been easy enough to a man
who had spent his life getting into tight corners and fight-
ing his way out again.
He tried to remember, as he went back to the hotel and
made his way to Anne's room, exactly what had happened
the previous evening; the exact moment, and what he had
said at that moment, that had changed them from lovers
into enemies. It was his fault; he had blundered, taken for
granted she'd tell him everything. Dealing with crime all
his life had made him insensitive. He knocked at her door
and went in. She was having her breakfast. She looked up
in the act of buttering a piece of toast.
“Go right ahead,” Tony said; “don’t take any notice of
me. I thought you'd like to know you can leave by aero-


Sweeter Than Honey 205
plane at one o'clock. I have booked you a place—if you
still mean to go.”
“I do,” she said quietly.
“Hope you won't mind my coming with you.”
“I'd rather you didn't,” she replied. “Thanks for find-
ing out about the 'plane, though; flying back hadn't
occurred to me.”
Tony was standing at the dressing-table; he could just
see her reflection in the mirror. She was wearing a man-
darin dressing-jacket; he wondered where she got it; they
hadn't bought it at Harrods. He watched her pour out
some coffee, and as she raised the cup to her lips she looked
at him. For a second their eyes met in the mirror. He
turned quickly, but her voice stopped him.
“Tell me, Tony, are you really a detective and not a
journalist at all?”
“What's the use of your asking me questions since you
refuse to believe anything I tell you? Anyway, I'm not a
detective—I shouldn't have married if I had been, darling
. . . Sorry—about the darling, I mean, it just slipped out.”
Anne shrugged her shoulders. “L’habitude—as the
French say. Well, if you're not a detective why are you
following me back to London? Going to hand me over to
the police on suspicion?”
“Annel Can't you stop this play-acting? Let's be honest
with each other.”
“Honour among thieves and all that,” she said lightly.
“You won't get any more out of me by shadowing me,
Tony. You know I can't have any of the swag on me—
unless you think those ear-rings are part of the Van Dyke
jewels. They are on the dressing-table; better have a look
at them.”


206 Sweeter Than Honey
He was standing at the foot of the bed again, facing her,
just as he had stood a few hours ago, but now he had emo-
tions and feelings under control. He could look at her
dispassionately and coldly. He said: "You've got to stop
fooling and be serious, Anne. If you don't consider your-
self and are determined just to look upon our marriage as
a wash-out you've got to consider your father. I said I was
willing to believe that you were an innocent accomplice,
ignorant of the real traffic that was going on in these harm-
less-looking queen-bee boxes, but your father's a profes-
sional receiver. How he got into this jam I don't know,
but it doesn't matter now. He's in it, up to the neck, and
if he wanted to get out the gang wouldn't let him."
"You've missed a wonderful story, haven't you? Ameri-
can journalist weds gangster's daughter, and on their bridal
night forces her to confess who murdered millionaire Van
Dyke's wife!" When Tony didn't speak she went on: "Pity
you've failed. You didn't try hard enough last night."
Tony smiled. "Yes, a very good story—but I don't write
fiction." He watched her take a cigarette from the box on
the bed table, light it, and inhale the smoke. "Do you
know why I turned up at sparrow-twitter that morning at
Chester? You remember the broken wind-screen of the car;
driving back from your father's house at Cookham I was
followed by someone who took a pot-shot at me. Caroli, I
expect. That showed me the gang knew I was becoming
dangerous. So I had to get you out of the way where you
would be safe."
The cigarette dropped from Anne's fingers on to the
tray. She picked it up quickly and put it between her lips.
It was a long time before she spoke. "You ought to have
told me all this at the time," she said unsteadily. "Aren't


Sweeter Than Honey 207
you rather jumping at conclusions? Just because someone
tried to bump you off on the road between Maidenhead
and London you immediately imagine it must be my
father or one of his friends—and that they're connected
with the gang you are after."
"They are."
Anne's face had grown pale; the cigarette dangled limply
from her lips. Slowly she pushed the tray away to the foot
of the bed. "I think you're mad, Tony," she said huskily,
"but if you really believe that, will you come straight back
with me to Lavender Cottage and tell father? Accuse him
in front of me. If you really love me you can't refuse to do
that. You must." When he hesitated she said: "Or do you
think I'm setting a trap for you?"
He leant across the foot of the bed. "Look at me, Anne.
I trust you—and now I do believe you're absolutely inno-
cent of what's been happening and what you've been
doing. But if we go to Cookham together we are putting
ourselves in grave danger—and it may make it impossible
to save your father."
"Don't worry about that," she said sharply; "you won't
get anything against him . . . but, if you do, then I'm in
the racket too. I shan't care what happens, and I'll hate
you all my life. I'll be waiting downstairs for you at twelve
o'clock."
Without another word he left the room. Directly the
door closed Anne buried her face in the pillows and wept.


20-
Van Dyke insisted on driving them down to the airport
in his car. He had accepted Tony's failure to get any in-
formation out of Anne quite calmly; indeed, he was rather
amused, and for the first time since his wife's death Tony
heard him laugh. "The mistake you made, Tony, was fall-
ing in love—enough to marry the girl. Or did you think
marriage would be a short cut to finding the murderers?"
Tony nodded. "I told you that it seemed the only chance
to save Anne."
"Looks as if she didn't want to be saved," Van Dyke sug-
gested. "Looks as if she was being loyal to the gang and to
her father. Blood is thicker than water—and you're water!
A father means something, a husband means nothing, until
a woman's lived with him for a year or two. It's only then
she discovers whether she loves him or not. Take my
advice, leave Anne here; I'll look after her. You get back
to England and tackle old Chiltern alone."
"What's the good of that?" Tony asked. "Directly we
reach London I'm wiring in Anne's name to Peggy—that's
the beauty-shop girl—to meet her this evening at Lavender
Cottage. I'll get the truth out of Chiltern and the where-
abouts of the men we want. When Peggy knows I've got
her nailed down, she'll talk all right."
Van Dyke looked thoughtfully at Tony. "Some time or
208


Sweeter Than Honey 209
other in his life the smartest guy goes off the rails. It's this
falling in love that's done it. Has it occurred to you that in
going back with Anne you're walking straight into a trap?"
Tony said, "I've come to the conclusion she knows noth-
ing about the business. I've been thinking it over and I'm
certain if she was guilty she wouldn't have behaved the
way she did last night. For she knew I was enough in love
with her to do almost anything she asked."
"Even to double-crossing me?"
"She'd think that ... I might have had to let her think
it. Hell, you've got to trust me, Chief."
Van Dyke bit the end off a cigar and lit it. "You can't
trust a married man, Tony; that's why I never had a
married man on my staff at Chicago."
"That's all right," Tony said. "Guess I'm not married—
yet. That scrap of paper they handed me at the church
means nothing."
Driving down to the airport, Tony talked about any-
thing and everything that came into his head. Van Dyke
sat beside Anne, rolling a cigar between his lips, now and
then drawing attention to places of interest they passed.
"Don't know how long one could live in this country
without going mad," he said, "but for the time being I find
cows, bicycles, and canals extraordinarily soothing."
Just before they reached the aerodrome Anne turned to
him and said: "Do you believe what Tony has told you?"
"Last thing he said was that he was sure that you knew
nothing."
Anne threw a swift glance at Tony. "I asked what you
thought, Mr. Van Dyke."
Van Dyke didn't reply until the car was driving through
the airport gates. "I'm an American and I own newspapers;


zio Sweeter Than Honey
I pay others to think for me. I'm paying Tony to think for
me now, and if he finds the men who murdered my wife
he'll be able to quit work and never have to ask what his
bank balance is. You're a smart girl, Anne, and I like you.
If you're as smart as you look you'll hold on to Tony . . .
help him all you can."
They had three-quarters of an hour before the 'plane
left; Van Dyke didn't wait to see them off. He told Tony
to 'phone him in the morning. "If I don't hear from you
by midday I'll ask Scotland Yard to look you up."
"I suppose that was a threat," Anne said, as they made
their way up to the terrace of the restaurant overlooking
the aerodrome, where Tony suggested they should have a
drink and something to eat before starting. He ordered
beer and bread-and-cheese.
"Will that be all right for you?"
"Very nice. You haven't answered my question."
Tony thought a few moments before replying. A 'plane
was coming in, making lovely circles above the ground.
"That's just come from Batavia," the waiter told them.
They watched it make a perfect landing. Tony said: "What
Van Dyke meant was that he is losing faith in me. He
thinks I'm putting you before my job."
She gave him a quick glance. "I shouldn't let that worry
you, Tony. If you put me before your job we shouldn't be
sitting here now waiting to go back to London."
"Where should we be?"
She shrugged her shoulders. "Does it matter?"
Tony did not reply. Another aeroplane was landing. He
watched it taxi along the ground with the steadiness and
precision of a motor-car, stop where the attendants were
waiting to help the passengers alight. "That," the waiter


Sweeter Than Honey z 11
said, "came from Croydon." He wished the man would go
away instead of hovering about their table. He wanted to
talk to Anne. They would only be able to shout at one
another once they were in the air, and he felt that now
there was a chance of getting into harmony again. Last
night he had seen her love turn into hatred. And she had
not been acting. Though she was cold and aloof now he
felt she was reasonable, and he might be able to persuade
her to believe in his sincerity. He told the waiter to bring
them coffee. He drew his chair closer to Anne; they had the
terrace almost to themselves, but now he saw two men com-
ing up the steps, passengers from the English 'plane.
"Anne, I want you to listen to me for a moment. I'm
sorry about last night. I blundered, behaved like a tactless
fool. We've got to understand each other before we meet
your father this evening. I am not going to ask you to be-
lieve anything I can't prove, but you must believe that
everything I'm doing now is for your sake. It isn't as easy
as my just choosing between you and Van Dyke."
He waited a moment ... he heard the scrunch of the
gravel beneath the feet of the two men who had just
arrived. They were passing behind his table. Out of the
corner of his eye he saw them seat themselves beneath the
verandah just outside the restaurant. "Believe this, Anne:
If I could choose I should choose you. Not easy to be dis-
loyal to the man I've served all my life, but if it meant
helping you and keeping your love, I'd do it. So you've
got to trust me."
When she did not reply he looked at her; she was lean-
ing forward, her elbows on the table, her face between her
hands. Tears were running down her cheeks.


212 Sweeter Than Honey
The waiter appeared with her coffee. "Will you smoke
a cigar, sir?"
Tony took one, changed his position as the waiter held a
light for him, trying to shield Anne.
There was still a quarter of an hour, the waiter said.
"All right, I shan't want anything more."
He watched the man walk away, stop at the table on the
verandah, and write down the orders the new arrivals gave.
Tony looked at them carelessly while he was trying to find
a reason for Anne's tears. Subconsciously—the journalist
instinct at work—he noticed that one man was heavily
built, wearing a rough tweed suit, a germanic type of face;
the other obviously British—Bond Street—clear-cut fea-
tures, but the face and neck were covered with small red
spots. His hands were covered by pigskin gloves. Tony
glanced at Anne again; she had dried her eyes. Holding
up the mirror in her bag she powdered her face and made
up her lips.
"Sorry to be so silly—but it all seems rather hopeless,
doesn't it? I wish you'd let me go back alone; you can carry
on with Van Dyke. I'm not afraid."
Her saying that made him wonder if she wasn't afraid.
He was, for against his will doubt and suspicion again
started buzzing through his brain.
Anne said: "Those two men on the verandah are watch-
ing us ... I suppose they think we are lovers quarrelling."
"Shouldn't worry about them," Tony said. "Have a
cigarette before we start." He handed her his case.
"They're nasty bits of work, anyway. One looks as if he
had just recovered from a bad attack of smallpox."
As Tony held a light for her she turned her head.


Sweeter Than Honey 213
"Those aren't smallpox marks," she said carelessly, "they're
bee stings."
"Sure?" he asked. He looked at the man again; he had
just begun to eat and he was still wearing his gloves.
Anne said: "Shall we go, Tony?"
"All right." He rose, then sat down again. "Half a
moment. I'd like to take a snapshot of the aerodrome. Per-
haps one day we'll look at it and have a good laugh."
Stooping down he opened his suitcase, pulled out his
camera, took a quick shot, then put it on the table. "Do
you mind if I take one of you?"
She looked at him blankly. "Aren't you being rather . . .
Evidence, I suppose!"
He moved the beer-glasses out of the way as he picked
up the camera.
"Souvenir," he laughed. "Do you mind turning your
head to the right? . . . Thanks!"
Putting the camera back, he picked up the suitcases and
ran down the steps, leaving Anne to follow.


21
Directly the 'plane landed at Croydon, Tony telephoned
to the garage where he had left his car and asked them
to have it ready for him in half an hour's time. Then he
rang up the beauty shop in Bond Street, saying he wanted
to speak to Miss Peggy.
"Sorry, it's quite impossible," a brusque voice answered
him; "she's busy—quite impossible to get hold of her for
twenty minutes. I'll take a message if you like."
"Tell her that Miss Anne Chiltern wants to see her at
Lavender Cottage this evening. Say the matter is urgent
and ask her to come as quickly as possible."
He rejoined Anne . . . they took the airport coach to
the Haymarket, then taxied to the garage. "I thought the
best thing was to go down by road," he said; "we ought
to get there by four or five o'clock."
She asked him if he had telephoned to her father telling
him to expect them. He shook his head. "Afraid you'd be
putting him on his guard, I suppose," she said. "Well, he'll
get a shock when he knows we're married."
Tony took the direct road to Maidenhead; the traffic was
heavy and it was six o'clock before they reached Cookham.
In the west a blanket of cloud hid the sun, the air was hot
and still. "Storm coming up, I think," Tony said, as he
turned out of the road into the drive.
ai4


Sweeter Than Honey z 15
Anne turned her head and looked back as they passed
the gates. "I wonder who left them open—they're always
kept closed, you know."
"Yes, I remember. . . . Why?"
"Sometimes people used to come in and picnic in the
orchard and once some stray cattle got in and upset one of
the hives." She laid her hand on Tony's arm. "Do you
mind slowing down . . . stopping a moment?"
He slipped out of gear, trod on the brake, then switched
off the engine. They sat for a little while without speak-
ing . . . not a word had passed between them on the run
down. Tony looked up at a patch of blue sky visible
through the trees. "I suppose the apples will be ripening
soon. . . . You've lived here all your life, haven't you,
Anne? I suppose you'd hate to give it up."
She began to pull off her gloves. "What are we going to
say to father?"
"That's up to you. Better tell him we're married. And
then I'll tell him why I married you."
She was nervously clasping and unclasping her hands.
"He might kill you, Tony," she said, in a low voice.
"Not if he knows you love me!"
"If he thinks you married me because you suspected him
of being connected with the gang who robbed and killed
Mrs. Van Dyke—believing that I would give him away"
"Well, you haven't," he said quietly.
"Because there's nothing to give away," she cried, in a
frightened voice. "I've told you he's as innocent as I am.
I suppose you don't really believe that even now!"
"Yes, I believe you're innocent, Anne, but it wouldn't
make any difference if you weren't. I'd love you just the
same . . . and never rest till I'd saved you." He tried to


216 Sweeter Than Honey
take her hands, but she drew them away. "Listen, Anne,
and use your intelligence. Can't you understand I wouldn't
have rushed you into this marriage and taken you out of
England if I hadn't loved you and felt it was the only way
of protecting you?"
"No, I can't believe it. It's all too fantastic. Can't you
realize now you are here how fantastic it is? I've lived here
all my life with father; I know him as I know myself—
everyone in the village knows him—and you, straight from
a country of gangsters and crooks and murderers, come
dashing down from Van Dyke's hotel, and just because I
worked there you get this mad idea into your head. . . .
I wish I'd never met you. I hate you. Drive on; let's get
this farce over. And when you realize what a fool you've
made of yourself, then you can go."
Slowly and methodically he switched on the engine, got
into gear, and started the car. "I think I understand how
you feel, Anne," he said quietly. "If I'm wrong there's
nothing to be afraid of."
"I'm not afraid," she burst out passionately. "I'm
ashamed, that's all; utterly ashamed to look father in the
face and tell him."
"I'll do the talking if you like," Tony said.
"No, thanks; that would make it worse."
The car rounded the bend in the drive, and as Tony saw
Lavender Cottage he put his foot on the accelerator. "We
are just in time before the storm breaks," he said quickly;
"look at the sky!"
He had seen something which had given him a sudden
fear they might be too late; something that suggested Chil-
tern had, perhaps, bolted. For the cottage had the appear-
ance of being shut up and deserted. It may have been


Sweeter Than Honey 217
imagination in the fast-disappearing daylight and quickly
gathering clouds.
As he stopped the car at the front door, heavy drops of
rain began to fall. Tony jumped out, ran up the steps
ahead of Anne, turned the handle of the door, and to his
relief found it was not locked. Anne brushed past him and
walked quickly into the living-room. Again Tony had an
impression of a house that has been suddenly deserted.
He couldn't see anything clearly in the semi-darkness.
Automatically he switched on the light. A crash of thunder
held them both motionless for a few moments; when the
noise died away the silence was pregnant.
Tony said: "Perhaps he's out in the garden." It was
uncanny how absolutely still everything was. Inanimate
objects, he reminded himself, couldn't move or speak; but
the furniture, the pictures, even the atmosphere in the
room seemed fixed.
He was relieved when Anne said, in her normal voice:
"If he'd been in the garden we should have seen him."
She went to the foot of the staircase and called: "Father
. .. Father!" She went up a few steps, hesitated, and looked
at Tony over her shoulder. "Do you mind waiting there?
He may be lying down—he does sometimes in the after-
noon after he's had a hard day's work."
As she spoke a door on the landing above opened.
"Hullo!" she said. Her hand gripped the banister-rail as
she saw Martha at the head of the staircase.
The old woman was looking at her with frightened eyes.
Her face was white, her black dress hung limply from her
bent shoulders. Tony and Anne both waited for her to
move, to make some sign; but, immovable, she just kept
her frightened eyes fixed on Anne.


218 Sweeter Than Honey
"Martha! ... Is anything wrong? Where's father?"
Anne's voice was breathless, scarcely audible, forming the
words with her lips. Still Martha made no sign. Her fea-
tures were drawn and fixed by fear, and her eyes were like
those of a terrified animal which finds itself cornered and
doesn't know how to escape.
Anne ran quickly to the top of the stairs, tried to push
Martha aside, but the old servant put her arms around her
and held her. She was trying to tell Anne something—Tony
saw her mouth form words. What she was trying to tell
Anne he did not know. But he knew she was trying to hide
something.
Anne began to struggle with her, but Martha's long,
sinewy arms gripped her tightly and would not let go.
They swayed dangerously to and fro on the top of the stair-
case. Tony watched them, fascinated with a sense of his
own impotence. He was powerless. If he spoke, Anne
would not listen and the old servant could not hear. The
only sound was a threatening of the storm outside. He
found himself listening to it as something utterly remote,
something that emphasized the deathly silence inside the
cottage.
He tried to concentrate his mind on what had happened
—on what was hidden on the landing, on something that
might be hidden in the darkened corridors or rooms be-
hind the struggling women.
In a flash of lightning he saw Martha slip, clutch the
banister-rail to save herself from falling. Anne flung her
off and, turning down the corridor to the right, disap-
peared.
Tony leapt up the staircase, lifted Martha to her feet.
"What's happened . . . where's your master?"


220 Sweeter Than Honey
red marks—just similar to those he had noticed on the face
of the man at the Amsterdam aerodrome.
He waited a little while, but Anne was quite uncon-
scious of his presence. He left the room and went down-
stairs—Martha had disappeared. He stood for a little while
on the top of the front-door steps watching the rain driv-
ing through the garden, listening to the sound it made in
the trees. At intervals thunder rolled like heavy traffic
moving slowly along a stone-paved road; clouds parted to
throw little spears of lightning to the earth. He was grate-
ful to the storm; it held his emotions in suspense and
made action impossible.
Chiltern was dead. Killed accidentally while taking a
swarm or manipulating his hives. Stung to death—killed
by his best friends. A pretty grim way of going, under the
circumstances.
Grim in more ways than one, for he had taken with him
the key which Tony had hoped would unlock the mys-
tery of Mrs. Van Dyke's murder.
Tony went back to the house and made his way to the
kitchen. Martha was sitting upright in an armchair, her
hands folded across her breast. She slowly turned her head
as she saw Tony, her mouth opened as if she were going
to speak, and again there issued from her throat that inar-
ticulate animal-like cry. Tony took a pencil from his
pocket, hunted for a piece of paper, wrote a question on
the back of a tradesman's bill and gave it to her. She read
what he had written, pulled her chair up to the table, and,
taking his pencil, slowly and laboriously began to write.
Now and then she raised her head and looked at him
with wild eyes in which fear and suspicion were mingled.


222 Sweeter Than Honey
back to Chiltern's room. Anne was still kneeling by the
bedside. She got up as Tony entered, drew the purple cov-
ering over her father's face, and stood at the foot of the
bed as if trying to hide him.
"You know . . . how it happened?" she said, in a calm,
remote voice.
"We don't know yet. I asked Martha to tell me all she
knew, and this is her answer." He gave her the slip of
paper. "Tweedy found him this morning in the workshop.
I'll send for him, and I'd like to telephone later on for the
doctor who saw him. Can you give me his name?"
Anne was staring at the bit of paper trying to read it,
but he knew that it conveyed nothing to her. "George
Roper. Cookham 024."
"I'll ring him up at once. . . . Will you come down to
the hall and wait there?""
"If I hadn't gone away ... it wouldn't have happened,"
she said.
"It was an accident, Anne. I don't think your being here
would have prevented it. Won't you come down?"
"Presently," she said. "I'd like to wait here till the
doctor comes."
As soon as Tony had telephoned he walked across to the
workshop. The rain had stopped; overhead the clouds were
parting, showing a streak of blue sky. There was a delicious
smell of damp earth and grass and flowers in the air. There
was a pleasant sound of water running through the gutters
and dripping through the trees. Sparrows were chirping
and fluttering their wings, and in the shrubbery a thrush
began to sing.
These things Chiltern had loved—the rain and the sun,
and the flowers and the birds. Or had it been just a pose,


Sweeter Than Honey 223
part of the game he played? He might never know, be
unable to discover the old fellow's real profession, whether
bee-keeping was his main interest in life and receiving
stolen goods just a hobby. Tony had met men on the other
side who had taken up crime as one takes up a hobby—as
an outlet.
Anyway, he was dead, and being dead Tony realized
that, whether he was a crook or an apiarist, he had been
an artist at his job.
When he reached the workshop he found the door
locked. He looked through the window . . . too dark to
see clearly, but he heard the faint humming of insects
and a few bees were climbing up the streaming glass. He
made his way back to the garden and walked through the
lavender field to the first row of hives. Everything was
very still . . . only a few insects on the wing.
Then he noticed that there was a gap in the third row
of hives in a patch of clover about fifty yards distant. One
of the hives had been upset and was lying face downwards
on the ground. He listened, tapped it with his foot, but
there was no sound and no sign of any bee. Stooping down,
he found that the clover all around had been trodden
down. He tried to follow the footmarks, but the heavy rain
had almost obliterated them and revived the flowers that
had been trampled on. He went back to the fallen hive, lit
a cigarette, then carefully lifted it and set it upright again,
being careful to put the supporting legs in the exact posi-
tion they had occupied. A few bees came buzzing round his
head. Puffing vigorously with his cigarette, he removed the
roof and outer casing and looked inside. It was empty—the
sections and frames had been taken away. On the floor a
few half-dead insects were crawling about the brood-cham-


224 Sweeter Than Honey
ber. Replacing the outer parts of the hive, he carefully
wiped it all over with his handkerchief. If the police took
it into their heads to examine it, he did not want them to
know that he had been there first.
On his way back to the house he met Tweedy coming up
the drive.
"Very relieved to get your telephone message," the Vicar
panted. "We've been trying all day to get into communi-
cation with some friend or relative of poor Chiltern. Anne
couldn't be found at the shop, and no one knew where
she was. Caroli, the only regular visitor, is away and his
servant didn't know his address. It's a terrible tragedy.
I've been racking my brains and can't find a solution to it.
Such a careful man and a past master in the art of bee-
keeping. I'm taking for granted you know what happened
and how we found him."
Tony nodded. "Martha wrote down a fairly coherent
account. I don't know if there's anything more you can
tell me."
"I'm afraid not," Tweedy said. He paused a moment
outside the front door, took off his hat, and wiped the
perspiration from his forehead. "I'm rather out of breath
—I ran most of the way. According to the doctor, Chiltern
had been dead for some hours when I found him. His face
and neck were a mass of stings. Something unusual must
have occurred to make the bees attack him in that fash-
ion—very likely they were the Dutch strain; I remember
him telling me they were a bad-tempered strain."
"I notice you have got a few stings," Tony said.
"Oh, that's nothing; I got off very lightly. When I forced
the door and got into the workshop most of the bees were
either inside the skep or clinging to it. Chiltern was lying


Sweeter Than Honey 225
on the floor behind the table. It looks to me as if he had
just taken a swarm, and for some reason or other carried
it in the skep to his workshop, meaning to hive the bees
late in the evening. Somehow or other he managed to upset
the skep and the swarm came pouring out. He had locked
himself in—afraid of someone disturbing him, I suppose.
The attack must have been so sudden that he could not
escape, or fumbling with the key it fell out of the lock.
When I burst open the door I saw it lying on the floor
when I picked Chiltern up."
"Where's the key now?" Tony asked. "When I went
round I found the door still locked."
"Yes, I screwed on the lock again. If you hadn't 'phoned
I was coming over this evening to get the skep out. An
examination of the room might tell us something."
Tony said: "We'd better go into the house. I've sent for
the doctor—you see, I brought Anne with me. The reason
she couldn't be found is that I married her the day before
yesterday."
Tweedy turned quickly at the top of the steps: "Really!
Well, I congratulate you, Mr. Howard. You are a very
lucky fellow. And Anne . . . I'm glad she has someone to
see her through this trouble. As you know, she adored her
father, and he—I really think he worshipped her." Glanc-
ing through the open door he lowered his voice. "Was it
a secret marriage, or did Chiltern know? Forgive my ask-
ing, but"
"That's all right," Tony replied; "we kept it a secret
from everyone. I suppose the news is bound to leak out
now, but I'd rather it didn't—anyway, not for a few days."
Tweedy assured him he would not say a word. "I sup-


226 Sweeter Than Honey
pose you will be going back to town. You couldn't very
well stay here together without people talking."
"That won't worry either of us. Who's to know, any-
way?"
"Well, there's the old servant, Martha," Tweedy said.
"She's bound to find out. I wouldn't rely too much on her
being deaf and dumb. I've an idea she can always make
herself understood when she wants, and her eyes are a
very good substitute for her ears."
"She is a bit grim!" Tony laughed, as he rang the bell.
"I should think any secret would be safe with her."
Martha brought in tea, cleared a table, and laid the
tray on it. She went to the foot of the staircase, glanced
up, then looked at Tony. He shook his head. "I'll tell Miss
Chiltern."
Tweedy waited until Martha had disappeared behind the
green baize door that led to the kitchen, then he offered
to go up to Chiltern's room. "Am I right in supposing she
is with him? I might be able to offer her some consola-
tion. I don't know whether you are a religious man, How-
ard, but at moments like these, if one loses faith in a
Supreme Being, the sense of desolation can be terrible."
Tony hesitated. He heard the sound of a car coming up
the drive. "I don't know how Anne feels about religion,
that's a topic we've never discussed. But go right up and
do your best. And make her come down and have a cup
of tea. Tell her the doctor's here and he wants to see her.
The best way to help her is to make her realize there's lots
of work waiting to be done which she alone can do."
As Tweedy went upstairs, Dr. Roper came into the hall.
He was a man of about thirty-five, alert and vigorous—the
antithesis of Tweedy. Tony liked him on sight; he intro-


228 Sweeter Than Honey
want to know," he said, "that he died quickly, without
suffering. Will you have a talk with her? I'll take Tweedy
out in the garden. Try and get her to have some tea, and
give her something to occupy her mind. There will be
plenty to do for the next few days. And I think the best
way to help her is to be brutal, and make her take all the
responsibility herself."
"Quite," Roper said. "Action and activity of the mind
are the only antidotes to pain."
Anne's face was bloodless, her eyes clouded and life-
less, but outwardly she was calm and her voice normal
when she spoke to Roper. Tony slipped his arm through
Tweedy's and took him out; they walked across the drive,
through a door that led to the back premises, and found
themselves outside the workshop.
"How is she?" Tony asked.
The Vicar looked up at the sky; the clouds had drifted
away, only the horizon was ringed with steel. "She listened
patiently to what I had to say, but I couldn't get her to
speak, except every now and then to say 'Why?'. That's
a question none of us can answer—why one should be
taken and the other left."
"To me it's just luck," Tony replied. "I've seen a whole
mob of men chasing one man, trying to shoot him down;
he gets away, and a lot of others who aren't in the racket
at all get plugged. It always seems to me as if the gods use
men as chips in some fantastic game they play, and some-
times they get mad and start bluffing one another—then
one of our little wars start."
"Why must youth always be cynical?" the Vicar said,
buttoning his waistcoat across his little fat stomach. "God,
who made the world and its countless lovely forms of life,


Sweeter Than Honey 229
left nothing to chance. If ever a doubt enters my mind, I
remember the two sparrows, and that not one even shall
fall to the ground without the Father."
Tony smiled. "The Almighty will find Himself up
against a pretty tough proposition when Judgment Day
comes. Say, Vicar, what about going across to your place
and getting the key of the workshop?" He glanced at his
watch. "If you wouldn't mind lending a hand, we might
get those bees back in the hive tonight—there's one on the
other side of the lavender field I found a little while ago,
empty. I happened to notice it, because it was knocked over;
it must have been the one from which the swarm came."
Tweedy said he would certainly give Tony the key; he
seemed a little doubtful at first about interfering with the
bees that had caused Chiltern's death—explained that he
was quite an amateur. "Curiously enough," he said as
they walked up the vicarage drive, "Chiltern had prom-
ised to come over this very evening and show me how to
take the honey—you remember that he made me a pres-
ent of a hive; you were here and watched him put the
swarm in."
Tony said he would wait in the garden while the Vicar
got the key. "Better bring your veil and gloves. If we blow
a few puffs of smoke into the skep, that will keep them
quiet and we can transfer them into the hive without any
danger."
Tweedy was away for about five minutes; he changed
his clerical coat for a closely fitting jacket tightly buttoned
at the neck. He found Tony in the garden, standing be-
side the beehive.
"I suppose you've had a look inside and seen that every-
thing is O.K.," Tony said. "The bees must have been


230 Sweeter Than Honey
pretty busy to fill the sections so quickly. What are you
going to do with the honey?"
Tweedy said he would keep some of it for the house,
but he had hoped to be able to make a little money out
of selling the surplus. "As a matter of fact, Chiltern was
going to take it off me and let me have another hive in
exchange. He was a very generous man, you know, and
he will be missed round about here. Though he didn't
make friends with anyone, he gave freely to all our local
charities and organizations."
"Made himself popular and kept out of the limelight."
The Vicar looked sharply at Tony. "I don't think he
cared twopence for popularity. They say it was his wife's
death that turned him into a recluse; even when his daugh-
ter grew up he never asked anyone to the house and re-
fused all invitations. I don't know how you managed to
get on the right side of him and see enough of Anne to
win her heart, Howard."
Tony did not reply. When they reached the workshop
he suggested the Vicar should lend him his veil while he
lit a few straw cases and drove any stray bees back into the
skep. "I don't know whether it makes them drunk or good-
tempered, but it keeps them quiet. If we get them safely
to the hive I'll leave you to shake them out, Vicar. I re-
member Chiltern showing you how to do it."
Tweedy let Tony carry the skep across the garden; he
seemed nervous, and rather afraid that they were taking
too much upon themselves. They found a flat piece of
wood, and Tweedy produced a large white handkerchief
which he spread across it. He warned Tony to stand aside
while he shook out the skep. Tony sat on an upturned


Sweeter Than Honey 231
log and, lighting a cigarette, watched and waited until he
was quite sure all the bees had crawled into the hive.
"I suppose there is some honey left in the hive," Tweedy
said. "If not, they will want feeding in the morning, or
they will be off again."
Tony said he would see to that; he was examining the
empty skep.
"We'd better put that back in the workshop," Tweedy
said. "Is there anything more I can do?"
"Not at the moment, I think." Tony ran up the steps
and opened the front door. The lights were still burning
in the hall. He listened. There was not a sound to be
heard. The absolute stillness made him feel uneasy; it was
something to which he had never been accustomed.
"I might be glad of your help in the morning. You see,
I know nothing about Chiltern's affairs. I don't suppose
Anne knows much, either. I'll 'phone you in the morning."
He waited until the shrubbery hid Tweedy from sight.
Going into the cottage, he shut the front door; after a
moment's hesitation he locked it. Anne was not in the
hall; he went up to Chiltern's room. The candles were
still burning, the flames leaping and dancing in the breeze
that came through the wide open window. The purple
covering on the bed had been turned back, and lying be-
tween the great, pale hands was a bunch of roses. Anne
must have gone into the garden and picked them directly
the doctor left. Tony walked to the side of the bed and
looked at the dead man. The swelling from the stings had
gone down; his features were recognizable now. The noble
forehead, the determined nose, and the kindly mouth . . .
almost it seemed as if he were smiling. Tony was too ac-


232 Sweeter Than Honey
customed to death to feel fear, or horror, or even resent-
ment—but there is some instinct in the living that makes
them subconsciously recoil from the dead, for to this com-
plexion they themselves must come.
Tony bent lower over the bed. A few days ago he had
had a chance of discovering the secret of Chiltern's life,
but there was something about the man that had baffled
him, or perhaps it was love for Anne that had made him
afraid to challenge him. Now it was the secret of his death
that had to be solved.
The doctor's certificate saved the necessity for an in-
quest, but the certificate only said how he died—not why!
It was inconceivable that a man of Chiltern's experience
could have successfully taken a swarm, carried it to his
workshop, locked himself in, and then upset it; even sup-
posing anything so improbable could have happened, he
could have got out before the bees attacked him. Yet what
object could anyone have had in wishing to get rid of
Chiltern? Was it possible he could have grown tired of
the game? Perhaps the murder at the "Magnificent" had
frightened him, he had quarrelled with the gang, refused
to give up the jewels, and, finding an opportunity, they
had contrived this subtle revenge.
It had happened some time the previous evening. Ca-
roli was the one man who knew Chiltern's movements and
habits; a constant visitor at the cottage, he could have
waited for this opportunity. With Chiltern out of the way
the gang could safely search for the hidden jewels and, if
they found them, smuggle them out of the country.
Tony drew back from the bed and stood at the window,
let the wind play on his face. He was being affected by the
atmosphere of death. His journalistic instincts were at


Sweeter Than Honey 233
work concocting a good "story"; he knew how any dra-
matic happening served as a jumping-off ground for a tale
that was mostly imagination, until you hardly knew your-
self how much was truth and how much invention.
He was inventing now—but he had not invented the
meeting of those two men at the Amsterdam airport! And
it was a strange coincidence that the face of one was dis-
coloured and swollen by bee-stings. And they landed at
the airport by the 'plane that had left Croydon at midday
that morning—some eighteen hours after Chiltern's death.
Was it murder? The perfect murder? Tony bent over
the dead man again. Directly Martha told Anne her fa-
ther was dead, he had jumped to the conclusion that he
had been murdered; one of those irrepressible hunches,
for there was hardly a scrap of evidence available, and not
much chance of finding any. The key of the workshop had
been found inside the room. Tweedy, by forcing his way
in and repairing the lock, had made it useless to look for
finger-prints. Unless the gang knew exactly where the
jewels were hidden they would have ransacked the house
as well as the grounds, and Martha would have seen them.
They would have been careful to have moved anything
incriminating that might have been in Chiltern's pos-
session.
And there were no signs that anything had been dis-
turbed. The beehive he had found lying on its side might
have been upset by Chiltern himself when he saw the in-
sects swarming—or the wind could have blown it over,
or the dog could have knocked it down. Until that moment
he had forgotten all about Anne's Alsatian! Rather strange
that he had not dashed out to meet Anne directly she
arrived.


234 Sweeter Than Honey
On his way downstairs he stopped outside the door of
Anne's room and listened; though he could hear no move-
ment he knew she was there. For the time being he had
ceased to exist for her.
When she recovered from the shock he would have to
tell her his suspicions, and then what love she had for him
might turn to hate. His body broke into a sweat as he
realized the problem facing him, from which there did not
now seem any chance of escape. Either he had to accept
the doctor's certificate of death, destroy any traces he could
find of Chiltern's complicity in the Magnificent Hotel
crime, tell Van Dyke that he had been on a false clue, and
wash his hands of the whole business—or get to work with-
out another moment's delay to prove that Chiltern had
been murdered in order to get the jewels out of his pos-
session, and to prevent him double-crossing the gang.
If he took the first and easiest course, it would mean
the end of his career; Van Dyke would see he never got
another job, and he couldn't ask Anne to wait while he
began at the bottom of the ladder again. On the other
hand, if he went to Anne now, told her that actually her
father had been murdered and that to find the criminals
he would have to prove he was an accomplice in the Van
Dyke crime, she would hate him for the rest of her life.
He heard the grandfather clock strike the hour—eight.
It reminded him that Peggy ought to have arrived in an-
swer to his telephone call. In the hall he found Martha
laying the table. He said, forming each word with his lips,
that he wanted to ask her a few questions. Giving her a
pencil he told her to sit at the bureau.
"When did you last see Mr. Chiltern alive—the exact
time?"


Sweeter Than Honey 235
"At about half past six, when he had his last meal," she
wrote. "He always had a high tea at that hour when Miss
Anne was away."
"Had anyone visited him during the afternoon?" She
shook her head. "Or during the evening?"
"Mr. Caroli looked in after tea. They went out into the
garden later on, and I never saw him again until I found
him lying on his face in the workshop."
"Where is Miss Anne's dog?" Tony asked.
Martha hesitated before writing down the answer. "He
was missing when I came down yesterday morning. He
sleeps in the out-house when Miss Anne is away. I didn't
think anything of it because he often went off early in the
morning, hunting around, sometimes not coming back
till the evening."
"He was a good house dog, wasn't he?"
The old woman raised her head and looked thought-
fully at Tony, as if she were trying to read what was pass-
ing through his mind. He wondered if she guessed his sus-
picions. She nodded and got up as if to imply she did not
want to answer any more questions. She indicated that
supper was ready, and glanced at the staircase.
"Yes, tell Miss Anne," Tony said; "try and persuade her
to come down and eat something."
He waited until she disappeared up the staircase; sitting
down at the bureau he picked up the telephone directory
and looked for Caroli's number. The bell rang a long time
before anyone answered. He asked if Mr. Caroli was at
home.
"No, he's away, but I expect him back shortly; like to
leave a message?" The voice was that of a young and un-
educated girl.
v


236 Sweeter Than Honey
"Can you give me his address? It's important," Tony
said.
"Sorry, I don't know where he is. He often goes away
for the week-end, you know."
"When he comes back tell him to ring up Mr. Chil-
tern."
"All right, I'll tell him."
That did not sound as if she had heard of Chiltern's
death, and the news of the tragedy ought to have been all
round the village by now. Tony replaced the receiver,
waited for a few moments, then asked for Peggy's private
number at her flat: no reply.
It looked as though both Caroli and Peggy had bolted,
disappeared with the rest of the gang, and the odds were
they had taken the jewels with them.
There was a box of cigars on the bureau; Tony took
one out and lit it. If he had not fallen so desperately in
love with Anne, Chiltern would still be alive, and the jewels
safe in his possession—and the men who killed Mrs. Van
Dyke waiting to get possession of them. The only clue he'd
got now was the photograph he had taken at the Amster-
dam airport, and he couldn't be sure of that until it was
developed.
He lay back in the chair and inhaled the smoke of his
cigar. He ought to have got some consolation from the
conviction that Anne was entirely innocent, though the
circumstantial evidence against her was so strong he would
never be able to prove her innocence to the police.
Or wasn't she? That lingering doubt was due to her
ready acceptance of his proposal to run away with her.
And it was Peggy who had put the idea into his head and
she had been acting under instructions sent to her through


Sweeter Than Honey 23 7
the dictaphone: "The danger is Tony Howard. Use Anne
as a bait to get rid of him."
Getting up, Tony flung his cigar through the open win-
dow as with a sudden revulsion of feeling he realized how
easily he had been trapped. He remembered Van Dyke's
warning about women—although a millionaire was the
one type of man who would never have the chance of
knowing anything about any woman at all—and he remem-
bered, too, that only a few hours ago Van Dyke said he
believed Tony would never let him down, certainly not
for a woman. If he did not come to a quick decision he
would let down both Van Dyke and Anne, the only two
people that really mattered in his life.
He turned quickly as he heard Anne coming down the
stairs; she dropped into a chair at the table. Waiting until
Martha had gone into the kitchen, he poured out a glass
of wine and told her to drink it.
"I'm all right now," she said. She put the glass to her
lips, then held it out, slowly twisting it round. "I shall
never forget, Tony, that if I hadn't been selfish and run
away with you this wouldn't have happened."
"You've got to stop thinking that way. The doctor must
have told you—nothing could have saved him."
"It wouldn't have happened if I'd been here," she re-
peated.
Martha brought in supper: an omelette, salad, and po-
tatoes. She helped Anne and stood beside her chair waiting
for her to eat.
"All right," Anne said. "I'll look after myself, don't
wait." She swallowed a mouthful, drank a little more wine,
then asked Tony what he was going to do.
"Well, I want to relieve you of all the worry and re-


238 Sweeter Than Honey
sponsibility I can. You can leave me to make all the neces-
sary arrangements, Anne. But there are quite a lot of
things you can do, and the sooner you start the better. I
expect you'd like to go through your father's papers your-
self and put things in order. Do you know who his lawyer
was?"
She shook her head: "I don't think he had one . . . we'd
no need of one. But I remember he always expressed a
wish to be cremated."
Tony said quickly: "Yes, that's the best way."
She looked up. "Why do you say that?"
"Only because I agree."
She looked at the clock. "There's something you might
do for me now, Tony; ring up Peggy, tell her what's hap-
pened, and ask her to come down at once."
"I have just been trying to get her on the 'phone, but
there was no reply. And I telephoned the shop from Croy-
don directly we arrived, and the secretary told me that she
was busy, so I left a message telling her to come and see
you here tonight. I said it was very important."
"What made you do that?" Anne asked quickly.
"I told you—she could prove—the statements I made
were correct."
Anne looked at him across the table; she did not speak,
just held his eyes with her own. They were as dark as the
sky before the storm, almost colourless. He could feel her
contempt, like cold wind.
Martha came into the room, cleared the dishes away, pat
some fruit and a large jug of coffee on the table. When she
had gone Anne pushed back her chair and half rose, then
sat down again.
She said in a calm, detached voice: "Now mv father is
dead do you still suspect him, Tony?" He did not reply.


240 Sweeter Than Honey
He shook his head. "I'm not going. I'm staying right
here. I love you, Anne."
She pushed her chair away and stood up.
"Sit down," he said. "Now you've got to listen to me.
I love you—don't make me say it again! I'd put my love
for you before my duty to Van Dyke and the promises I
made him. I'd put it before anything else in the world if
it would help you, but it won't. Your father knew nothing
about the murder of Mrs. Van Dyke, and was probably as
shocked as I was when he heard about it, but he'd been
working with the gang who killed her. As I've figured out,
he'd been the receiver of stolen goods for some years. They
were sent to him in those queen-bee boxes which you,
quite innocently, often brought down to him. And you
also, quite innocently, were the means of giving informa-
tion which helped the gang to find likely victims, know
where they were staying, and to learn their movements."
"You must be mad! Anyway, I don't want to hear an-
other word."
"You've got to hear me. You've got to help me. For
your father's sake you've got to do as I tell you. And for
your own sake, and for the sake of our love."
Anne laughed then, threw her half-smoked cigarette
away, and lit another. "I've never really loved anyone but
my father. I don't know you. I don't know why I married
you—I think I must have been mad—but I understand
why you married me, and I hate you. . . . Oh, if you knew
how I hated you!"
She went over to the bureau and picked up the tele-
phone. Before she could speak Tony snatched it from her.
"What are you going to do?"


Sweeter Than Honey 241
"I'm going to ring up Mr. Tweedy, ask him to come
over here, tell him what you've said, and if he can't per-
suade you to go I'll send for the police."
Tony stepped back, keeping the receiver in his hand.
"You don't want me to snap the wire and break the con-
nection. You'll stay where you are, Anne, and listen
to me."
She dropped into the chair, closed her eyes, and sat
absolutely still.
"Whether my suspicions are right or wrong, no one must
know them. Only Van Dyke and the gang know what I've
been doing—that's why I nearly got bumped off the last
time I came down here. Scotland Yard doesn't know, so
far; they've never suspected your father of being a re-
ceiver. What clues they are following with regard to the
Magnificent Hotel affair, I haven't an idea. Van Dyke has
trusted me. If I fail him now, he will go to the police, and
they'll be after me at once; I'd have to tell them all I
know."
He waited, but Anne neither spoke nor moved. Tony
replaced the telephone on the bureau. "Now will you be-
lieve that from the moment I met you, when you bandaged
up my wrist in the shop, and I fell in love with you and
first suspected you, my main object has been to shield
you?"
Slowly she opened her eyes and looked at him. "Even
if I believe that, even if I believe that you had reasons for
your suspicions, you are wrong about my father; you must
leave him out of it."
"That's impossible," he said.
"Why?" she cried with sudden passion. "Because you are
afraid you wouldn't get the reward Van Dyke has offered!


Sweeter Than Honey 243
note by day, so had the fallen branch of a tree when you
snapped it underfoot, or the barking of a dog.
He couldn't see Anne anywhere. He quickened his pace.
He remembered they had left the gates open when they
drove through, and even if they had been bolted and
locked, anyone who wanted to get into the grounds could
have found a way, in spite of the high surrounding wall.
Telephoning Peggy had been a fatal mistake. It was cer-
tain that she had passed on the information that he and
Anne were at Lavender Cottage. They might leave Anne
alone, but he was a marked man all right. They wouldn't
make any mistake about getting him this time—and they
would act quickly.
He didn't feel afraid, but excited and keyed up. Always
in Chicago he had taken his life in his hands, until danger
seemed to be his natural element. England, and falling in
love, had drugged him; he had been half asleep, half-
witted. He smiled as he dodged through the trees, peering
right and left, now and then stopping to listen. For he
realized he was glad of everything that had happened, glad
he had a tough problem to solve, exhilarated by the mys-
tery that surrounded the girl he loved and the old man
sleeping so peacefully in his bedroom. Subconsciously, per-
haps, he was glad things had not been made too easy for
him. He was happy when he was fighting.
Suddenly he emerged through the trees on to the lower
part of the drive. He stopped again, standing on the edge
of the grass and listening. The muffled roar of falling water
was now like the whirl of machinery in the Herald office
when a special edition had gone to press. He remembered
the thrill of that sound when the front-page story was his;
he heard the laughter and oaths and yells as the warm,
damp sheets were shot into the waiting cars and distributed


244 Sweeter Than Honey
all over the city—gigantic frauds and wholesale murder,
political ramps and love filched of its last concealing rag.
What strange enchantment there was in discovering crime
for those who hadn't the courage to satisfy their criminal
instincts!
Tony saw something moving where the drive turned
sharply to the left through the apple orchard. He walked
quickly along the grass verge. Now the figure disappeared;
it might have been a man or a woman. In the orchard the
trees were densely planted, overhead their branches al-
most touched. He moved cautiously and slowly. It was only
a little while ago they had sat in the car beneath these trees
and the wind had blown the apple blossom in their faces.
Suddenly he found himself face to face with Anne. She
was leaning against one of the trees, her arms hanging by
her side; the moonlight fell on her upturned face, giving
it the cold, bloodless beauty of death. She spoke without
looking at him.
"I told you I wanted to be alone. Are you shadowing
me because you still suspect me?"
"No, because I'm afraid for you."
"You needn't be. I'm quite safe."
She turned away, climbed the fence into the drive; to-
gether they walked back to the house. Tony locked and
bolted the front door. Anne said as she crossed the hall:
"I expect Martha has got the little room on the left of the
bathroom ready for you."
At the foot of the stairs she stopped. "What's happened
to Thorbic, the Alsatian? Have you seen him anywhere?"
He told her what Martha had said. She did not reply;
he watched her go slowly upstairs. He said: "Good night,
Anne."
He waited until he heard her door close and the key


Sweeter Than Honey 249
"Promise to let me go again. I've only got about an hour.
Give me your word you won't try to detain me."
He promised. He listened at the foot of the stairs. Even
if Anne was not asleep, she had not heard anything. He
let Peggy into the hall, bolting the door after her. She took
off her cloak, threw her hat after it on to a chair, and sat
on the chesterfield. "Give me a drink—strong whisky-and-
soda. And a cigarette."
He held out his case. "Light one for me," she said.
He didn't move; they looked at one another. He saw
that something had happened to her since they last met;
her eyes had lost their colour, her mouth its impudent chal-
lenge. He took a cigarette from the case, lit and gave it to
her, and mixed a whisky-and-soda. "Lots of whisky," she
said. "I'm about done."
"How did you get here?"
She emptied the glass before replying. "Took the train
to Cookham, hired a punt, and have been hanging about
for hours. How is Anne? How did she take the news of
her father's death?"
"Very well, under the circumstances. But she believes
his death was accidental."
"Who says it wasn't?"
"I say so. There are more ways of killing a man than
shooting or stabbing . . . and you know who put Chiltern
out of the way."
She did not reply. Turning her head, she glanced at the
landing on the top of the staircase. She held out her glass
and asked for another drink. Tony gave it her; if she got
tight she would be more likely to talk.
"I know nothing," she said presently in a thin voice. "I
read of Chiltern's death in an evening paper when I went


250 Sweeter Than Honey
out for lunch at midday. I got your message later—meant
to come down directly I left the shop, but I was pre-
vented."
"Who prevented you? Caroli?"
"I don't know him."
"Oh yes, you do; you've met him here. You've been
working with him, and the rest of the gang, for years."
She nicked the ash off her cigarette as she replied in a
level voice: "I came to see Anne. I've a message for her.
If you love her you won't try to stop me seeing her. It may
be a matter of life or death."
"For you?"
Peggy shrugged her shoulders. "Very likely, if I was
found here. But I wasn't thinking of myself. I was think-
ing of you."
"Isn't that too kind!" Tony pulled up a chair and sat
down facing her. "Get this, Peggy—you never fooled me,
not from the beginning. I like you and I might have fallen
for you if it hadn't been for Anne, and the fact that I was
getting wise to the Magnificent Hotel murder."
She half closed her eyes as she inhaled the smoke from
her cigarette. She looked at him curiously, without flinch-
ing. "I might have fallen for you—if you hadn't been a bum
American journalist."
"That's all right," he smiled, "don't get sore. We haven't
any time to waste. Have another drink?"
"I'd like one—but I've got to take that blasted punt
down the river, and it's half full of water from the storm."
"If you were out in that storm you must be wet
through."
She shook her head. "Only my feet and legs; I tied up


Sweeter Than Honey 251
under a tree. Gosh! The lightning scared me. One always
reads about people getting struck under trees."
He looked at her feet. "Better take those shoes off."
"Never get them on again if I dol"
"And your stockings—I'll dry them by the kitchen stove."
He took off her shoes.
Peggy smiled, and still watching him she pulled up her
frock, unfastened the suspenders, and slowly rolled down
her stockings. "Hold on a moment, though," she said.
"This isn't a trick to keep me here?"
"I gave you my word you should go when you wanted
to—you may have to go sooner than that."
"Treat those stockings gently, boy," she said, as he took
them from her; "they may be the last pair of eighty gauge
I'll ever wear!"
When Tony came back she had put her feet up on the
chesterfield and was lying down with her head buried in
the cushions. She said: "Think I'll change my mind and
have another drink. I know you won't give up Anne unless
I tell you everything, so I may as well talk. You really love
her, don't you, Tony? And when I say love I mean—hell,
what does anyone mean when they talk about love?"
Tony had refilled Peggy's glass and mixed a drink for
himself; he remained standing by the table. "I married
Anne," he said, "and I'm standing by her."
"That means nothing. Do you love her enough to leave
her? If you don't you'll get bumped off anyway, and then
she'll have to share my job; expect you know what that
is by now. If you don't, I'll tell you later. It's not so bad
as it sounds—excitement, adventure, plenty of money and
clothes and parties, with all the men you want—though you
are the first with whom I'd be found dead at a cat race."


252 Sweeter Than Honey
"I know all that."
She turned half round and looked at him, frowning.
The colour had returned to her face now and to her eyes
also. In the candlelight they reminded Tony of cat's eyes.
She said: "Come over here and sit beside me; you don't
want to risk waking Anne. . . . Now, wouldn't it save time
to tell me what you know, Tony?"
He rose, pulled the curtains back from the window, and
looked out. The garden was still bathed in moonlight,
the trees and flowers erect and motionless—like an army
standing at attention waiting for orders. Putting up the
window he bolted it, then came back and sat on the edge
of the chesterfield; her feet were pressed against a purple
cushion close beside him, beautifully shaped, without
a blemish.
"Got a mirror in your bag, Peggy?" he asked.
"Yes, what's the idea?"
"Thought I'd just like to see how bum I do look."
"Because I asked you to tell me what you know? If you
are afraid, tell me what Anne knows; a lot depends on
that."
"Tell me first of all why you really came here."
"To save your blinking life—not because I fell for you,
though if it gives you any kick I'll own that I did—but
because Anne's batty about you, and she's the only friend
I've had worth having. It's the only bit of decency I've ever
had in my life—since father got seven years for forgery.
Now, then, do you still feel dumb?"
It was curious how those feet lying on the cushion at-
tracted him. If character was written in hands and feet
Peggy's ought to have been calloused, distorted, ugly. And
why, he wondered, should he even be conscious of them


Sweeter Than Honey 253
at this critical moment, when Anne's future life was at
stake and his own threatened?
He glanced uneasily round the room. Always he had
been conscious of a strange influence in the cottage; he
had felt it the first day he had driven through the gates,
as if he were driving out of the real world into a world of
make-believe. And now, at this moment, when he sat be-
side Peggy fencing with words, life seemed held in suspen-
sion. Nothing moved. He listened for the ticking of the
clock; presently he heard it—and the hands were going
roundl But clocks were only a mechanical contrivance and
had nothing to do with time.
He heard himself say: "I'll tell you what I know; I know
that you supply information for a gang of crooks, two of
whom robbed Mrs. Van Dyke of her jewels and killed her.
I know that Chiltern acted as receiver in this gang. I know
that they made use of Anne to bring jewels—probably
after they had been broken up—down here. They were
hidden here until they could be sent abroad and sold. And
Chiltern died last night because the gang was afraid he was
going to double-cross them; that's why they wanted to get
me out of the way—that was part of your job. You per-
suaded Anne to run off with me just as you advised me to
take her."
Peggy sat up, opened her bag, and ran a comb through
her hair. "I do look lousy, don't I?" She made up her face.
"Nothing much escapes you, Tony, and I expect you have
discovered that a girl is defenceless without a face. Do you
mind switching on the light? Can't see what I'm doing."
Tony shook his head. "I prefer candlelight. There's noth-
ing wrong with your face. If you've got to get away while
it's dark, we haven't long. How much do you want?"


Sweeter Than Honey 255
didn't know. That surprises you—but you've got to believe
me. You've got to believe me,” she repeated.
If she was acting she was doing it brilliantly; it was al-
most worth while playing up to her. “Go on,” he said.
“Not until I can see that you believe I'm speaking the
truth. Wake up, Tony; use your wits! Why do you think
I risked my life in coming here?”
“Orders, from headquarters.”
“The only orders from headquarters now are to get rid
of you. Listen: tomorrow morning you will get a wire
from Van Dyke asking you to return to Holland.”
“And you advise me to go, of course?”
“You must. Anne can join you afterwards—I'll arrange
that.”
“Where are the Van Dyke jewels?”
“I don't know. They were sent here, of course. Some
Anne brought down in those queen-bee boxes—but she
didn't know what she was doing—she knew nothing. Others
came in the same way through the post. For years Chiltern
acted as receiver for every big raid that has taken place on
this side. I don't know where he hid the jewels, though
I've got my suspicions, but eventually they were taken to
the Continent or America. What you said about Chiltern
double-crossing is probably true—expect he got scared by
the Van Dyke murder. How he originally got into the
racket I don't know, because he's different from the others.
You said that he was—killed. It wasn't an accident as they
reported in the papers?”
Tony said: “An accident that was arranged! I call it
murder.”
Peggy leant towards him. “Tony, you must get out of
this! They'll get you if you don't! Do you think another


Sweeter Than Honey 257
structions in the form of an advertisement to the Ladies'
Realm—I expect you know it—published in France, Eng-
land, and America; special information appeared in code
in the personal column of the Morning Post. You know
the sort of thing: Babs—meet me at nine, under the clock,
Charing Cross station—John. I inserted these under differ-
ent names."
"And you mean to say you never met a single member of
the gang?"
"Except Chiltern and Caroli and a man called Oakes—
and I was never sure of Caroli. The job was forced on me.
I hadn't much chance of refusing. My father had just got
penal servitude—for forgery. We'd lived a quiet sort of
life at a little house at Pinner; until then I'd no idea he
wasn't straight. I was left penniless. The few people we
used to know cut me out, of course. I got a letter from a
man in London who said he was a friend of my father's,
asked me to meet him at a place in Jermyn Street called
the New Bridge Club. I went there, found a tall, well-bred,
middle-aged man—his name was Paul Oakes."
"What was he like?"
"Dark hair, grey at the temples, hooked nose, spoke with
a clipped accent. He was very kind, gave me money, said
he'd try and find me a job; a little later he sent me an in-
troduction from his wife to the head of the beauty shop
in Bond Street, where I am still working; she was a client
there at the time, but after about a year she disappeared. Of
course I had to change my name, and I hadn't been there
long when Oakes took me out to supper at a night-club
and then I got wise to the real job he wanted me for. I was
as innocent as a new-born hedgehog and didn't tumble to
what he was after, and why he wanted to know all about


258 Sweeter Than Honey
the rich clients who came to the beauty shop, until I was
too deeply involved to draw back. Anyway, I couldn't
have refused for he'd have found a way of letting my em-
ployer know I was a convict's daughter. I have never seen
Oakes since that day."
"What about the bridge club?" Tony asked.
"It doesn't exist any longer."
"Are the beauty-shop people in this racket?"
"Good lord, nol"
"What about Estelle's, and the woman Jane?"
Peggy shook her head. "There was a time when I sus-
pected everyone, because I was scared to death. I guess
I'm the only woman working for the gang, and they've
agents everywhere. When I'm taken out to dinner or go
to a night-club I can never be sure that the man I'm danc-
ing with isn't one of them. Now will you believe that, if
you stop here, you're for it?"
Tony got up, walked the length of the hall and back,
searched the sideboard till he found a box of cigars, lit
one. "If the gang has got away with the jewels, and there
doesn't seem any chance of the mystery of Mrs. Van Dyke's
murder being solved, why should anyone worry about me?
If they know I've married Anne they'll conclude I'm not
likely to incriminate her."
Peggy left the chesterfield and stood beside him. "They'll
leave nothing to chance. Anyway, I've warned you that
they mean to get you." When he did not reply she went
on: "Don't be such a damned fool! After all I've told you
you must believe me. My life's in your hands now."
"And Anne?"
"She'll be all right. When the funeral's over she can
stay in my flat until she's able to join you on the other


Sweeter Than Honey 259
side of the Atlantic. Give me another cigarette. It's about
time I was going, isn't it?"
He glanced at the clock. "If you want to get away before
it's light. How are you going to get to London, though?"
"There's a train from Maidenhead at about six o'clock."
Tony went to the window and looked out. The moon
had disappeared; the stars shone with a pale light; a cloud
of mist covered the garden. He said: "It will be light in
about half an hour. We've been talking for a devil of a
time, haven't we? I'll walk with you across the garden and
see you into your—punt!"
He took her hand, turned it over, looked at the palm.
"Still suspicious?" she said. "Trying to find my true
character?"
He shook his head. "No, I always thought you were all
right. I'm grateful to you, Peggy. If my luck holds, I hope
you'll share it."
"Does that mean you are not going to do as I've asked
you?"
"I'm not running away."
"You can commit suicide if you like, but you are not
going to risk Anne's life. Oh, they may not kill her, but
they'll get her just as they got me."
"There's something you've forgotten, Peggy: who told
you I shall be bumped off if I don't run away?"
"Does that matter?"
"It might help if I knew; also who's going to do the
job.... Not the old servant, by any chance? Subconsciously
I've always suspected her.. .. Do you know anything about
her, Peggy? Does she belong to the gang?"
"I don't know. They're too damned clever to let any
one of us know any of the others who work for them.


z6o Siveeter Than Honey
Everyone I meet I suspect. Do you mind getting my shoes
and stockings?"
"Who told you that I was to be bumped off?"
She turned her back, poured some more whisky into her
glass. "My father," she said under her breath. "He came
out of prison about three months ago, tried to get work
and keep out of the way, but they found him of course. . . .
He couldn't refuse—you know enough about the game to
realize that."
"You mean—he's been given the job to get me?"
She emptied her glass before replying. "Don't know. But
he told me about the cable you'd get tomorrow, and that
he'd got to come down here to make sure you cleared out."
She turned suddenly and flung her arms around Tony.
"You will go, swear you'll go! God knows why I've been
mad enough to tell you all this. It will be the end of every-
thing if they find out, if you give me away."
Tony went into the kitchen, brought back her shoes and
stockings. He watched her put them on. Once she looked
up at him and smiled through her tears. "You're the only
man I've ever trusted—the only man I've ever cared a
hang for."
"I like you, too," he said.
She pulled on her hat. Tony put her cloak around her
shoulders, blew out the candles. The hall was in darkness;
he listened a moment. There was no sound but the tick-
ing of the grandfather clock. He felt for Peggy's hand in
the darkness. "Come along, we'd better go."
Peggy had left the punt in a backwater which partially
surrounded the east side of the garden. It was hidden in
a mass of reeds. Tony asked her what she was going to do
when she got back to the boathouse; it wasn't likely she


Sweeter Than Honey 261
would find anybody there. She said she had paid for the
punt in advance. "I told them I might be back any old
time and I'd tie up to the landing-stage."
Tony watched her get in and cast off; she stuck the pole
into the mud, then stood motionless, looking past Tony at
the garden and the cottage, ghostly in the mist.
"It's funny," she said in a low voice, "but looking back
I seem to have spent the happiest days of my life here.
There weren't many of them. And funnier still, the place
always gave me a feeling of safety. Do you think Anne will
be able to keep it?"
"Do you think she'd live here after what's happened?
The sky is changing colour; it will be daylight soon. You'd
better hurry."
"Can't give you a lift?" she said, smiling cheerfully.
She had changed again; she was the gay, insolent, debo-
nair girl who had blown into Jane's just after Anne had
bound up his wrist.
"I'll motor back to London tomorrow morning and fly
over to Amsterdam," Tony replied.
She turned her eyes from the garden and looked at him.
"That's a lie!"
"Yes," he said, "but you don't know it. I'm not running
away, Peggy. You wouldn't, would you—if you were in my
place?"
She leant on the pole until the punt was clear of the
bank, then she stuck it in the mud again. "I ran away from
you once, but you didn't know it... . I'd like to know what
you'll say when you meet my old man!"
"I shan't meet him."
"Very sure of yourself, aren't you?"


262 Sweeter Than Honey
"Whom can you be sure of except yourself? I'm not even
sure of Anne now."
She threw her cloak on the cushions at the end of the
punt, rolled up the sleeves of her frock, pulled up the
pole, and turned the punt towards the main stream. "And
you won't forget what I said?"
"I'll remember. Where can I find you if I want you?"
"Same old address—or the morguel Sorry—it's 'the
mortuary' over here; sounds so dull, thoughl"
He waited until the punt had disappeared through the
trees. He waited until he could no longer hear the splash
of the pole in the water. He began to walk back to the cot-
tage through the long wet grass; but just before he reached
the path his attention was attracted by the stump of a tree
that even in the dim light he could see was charred and
black, and on the ground around it there were blackened
embers, as if a bonfire had lately been lit there.


23'
There must have been a fairly large bonfire, judging by
the blackened tree-stump and scorched grass; the rain had
put it out, for there was a large amount of partially burnt
wood, and Tony discovered some twisted wire lying among
the ashes.
Stooping down he examined the ground; the strips of
charred wood were thin, and one piece that had entirely
escaped the flames was sticky with wax. Crawling through
the grass outside the circle of the fire he saw a drunken bee,
dead bodies of others.
Every minute now the sky was growing lighter; the stars
had disappeared. Rising, he walked quickly to the lavender
field; it was the honey from these hives that Chiltern ex-
ported. Slowly and deliberately, remembering Chiltern's
instructions, he lifted the roof of the first hive and found
as he had expected that the section rack was empty. The
shallow frame below it appeared to be missing too. He
replaced the roof quickly. Now he had proof that the hives
had been robbed, the sections taken away, broken up and
burnt. It was in these sections, or in the shallow frames,
that Chiltern had hidden the jewels.
As soon as he reached the lawn in the centre of the
garden Tony turned and looked back. Altogether there
were fifty hives, each hive containing twenty or more sec-
X63


264 Sweeter Than Honey
tions. That meant over a thousand pounds of honey. The
men who had rifled the hives would have to know some-
thing about the manipulation of bees, and work at high
speed, if they hoped to empty every hive. Three or four
men at least must have been employed. They would have
been safe from observation, and if they'd done the job at
night they would have needed no more light than that
which the moon gave. The heavy rain had washed away
any clues they might have left—footmarks on the grass,
finger-prints on the hives. That did not worry him though,
because finger-prints meant calling in Scotland Yard, and
he didn't want to do that until he had enough evidence
to have the leading members of the gang arrested.
He went back to the house, locking and bolting the front
door behind him, made himself a cup of tea in the kitchen,
and drank it there. Reaction came suddenly and swiftly
as he realized how he had let the gang slip through his
fingers, and the "story" he had missed. Here, as he had
suspected, were Van Dyke's jewels lying in those hives,
protected by the bees, which covered them with their
honey and sealed them up with their wax. And now the
jewels were gone. And less than eighteen hours ago he'd
been sitting only a few yards away from two of the gang
who were taking them away to dispose of in Berlin—or
Odessa or Shanghai. He'd lost the chance of a lifetime
through falling in love—or falling in love with the wrong
woman!
He thought, "If it had been Peggy!" He remembered
how she looked at him when she was taking off her stock-
ings. He heard her say again: "You're the only man I've
ever cared a hang for." Together, Peggy and he would
have recovered the jewels and mopped up the whole gang;
for when a woman loves she will sell her own body and


Sweeter Than Honey 265
soul, as well as her friends, for the man she has picked.
In the hall the hands of the grandfather clock pointed
to four. From the garden he heard the twittering of birds.
He went up the stairs, stopped outside Anne's room. Some-
thing moved, like the creaking of a bed. He turned the
handle, but the door was locked. He knocked, and Anne
opened it; she looked like a boy in her blue pyjamas, her
hair brushed straight back from her forehead, her features
set and expressionless. She said, "What do you want?"
He shut the door and leaning against it told her to get
back to bed. "Haven't you slept?"
"Oh yes, a little. It isn't time to get up, is it?"
"Only just four o'clock."
"Haven't you been to bed, then? A little while ago I
thought I heard voices. I went out on to the landing, but
the hall was in darkness."
"Peggy's been here." He waited, but Anne did not
speak. "She came to see you."
"And you sent her away? Were you afraid"
"She's only just gone. Perhaps I was afraid, Anne, but
I'm not any longer. I was afraid of losing you, but I've
got to take that chance."
She looked at him thoughtfully before speaking. "I'm
sorry, Tony, but nothing seems quite real yet. I've been
trying hard to think, to be reasonable, but it isn't any
good. It seems to me that the only thing to be done now
is for you to go your way and me to go mine. I mean, you
must do what you think right and I won't interfere. We
don't really belong to one another, so you've nothing to
lose. I've lost everything I ever cared for. Everything,"
she repeated. "Even myself. I'm ready to believe anything
you like—if I can just be left alone."
"I think I know how you feel," he said, "but you can't


266 Sweeter Than Honey
be left alone. If I don't take charge of things now someone
else will. And I'm going to. If you don't feel capable of
listening I'll wait until later on. I may have to go away at
once, and I must settle things before I go."
She took a quick breath, and colour came into her high
cheek-bones. She began to smooth out the fringe of the
sheet. "And you won't come back . . . you'll leave things as
they were before I met you?"
"I'm afraid I don't mean that. A little while ago I said
that you came first. I've decided it's my job that comes
first. You're part of that job, but until it's done I've got
to think of you impersonally. Do you mind if I sit down
—and smoke?"
"Of course not—there's a chair by the dressing-table."
He commenced by telling her of his conversation with
Peggy, everything they'd said.
Anne sat upright in the bed, her fingers moving rest-
lessly about the sheet, her eyes half closed. She did not
seem to be listening, or, listening, unable to understand.
"You mustn't be angry with Peggy, or feel she has de-
ceived you," Tony said. "She's had a pretty tough time all
her life."
Anne said: "Hope you feel the same about father."
"I do. If it's possible I'll keep them both out of this.
Now listen carefully to what I'm going to say. I can't leave
you here alone with Martha." She tried to interrupt, but
he stopped her. "I'm going to ask Tweedy to put you up
until after the funeral."
"If father was murdered there will be an inquest."
"There needn't be an inquest. You've got your doctor's
certificate giving the cause of his death. If the gang think
I've run away they'll leave you alone. When I get the


Sweeter Than Honey 269
returned to the house, threw himself into an armchair,
and put on a pipe. Twice his pipe went out and he found
himself nodding. He was trying to concentrate on the book-
shelf; someone had taken all the books out and replaced
them in a hurry. Not a good hiding-place for jewels unless
some of the books were dummies.
He had taken it for granted that the gang had found
the Van Dyke jewels and that they were in the possession of
those two men he had seen at the Amsterdam airport; but
Anne's question, though probably only prompted in de-
fence of her father, gave him the idea that perhaps they
had failed. The wrenched lock in the bureau, and the
bookcase, were evidence that they had not found all they
wanted. Tony began to nod, tried to keep awake, but
everything was getting blurred. He was conscious of a
curious phenomenon as if his mind was taking possession
of him, for his thoughts were going back instead of for-
ward; one moment he was at the aerodrome, the next sit-
ting on Anne's bed at the hotel, and then tearing through
the night in his car to Chester. His pipe slipped from his
mouth on to the floor.
He awoke with a start. The telephone was ringing. He
jumped to the bureau to pick up the receiver, then stopped
and looked at the clock: half past seven. Crossing the hall
he pushed open the green baize door. Movements in the
kitchen told him that Martha was there. He let the bell go
on ringing for half a minute, then let the door swing
to. The old woman was deaf, all right. He took up the
receiver. A telephonist at the exchange asked his number:
"Can you take a telegram for Tony Howard?"
"Right, go ahead."
The message Peggy had warned him he would receive!


Sweeter Than Honey 271
Going upstairs he washed and shaved, repacked his suit-
case, and taking it out dropped it in the car. He was grate-
ful for the substantial breakfast Martha had provided: a
large dish of fried eggs and bacon, coffee, brown bread, and
jam. Just as he had finished he saw Martha carrying a tray
upstairs. He touched her arm. "I'm going out in the
garden for a stroll. If Miss Anne wants me tell her I shall
be back in a few minutes."
She nodded as if she understood. He hurried across to
the Vicar's house. Tweedy had just come down; asked
Tony to share his breakfast. "Oh, well, if you've had yours
you must smoke a cigar while you watch me eat—they're
Jamacias; Roberts, the wine merchant, sends me a box
occasionally; they're not bad. How is Anne bearing up?"
"Considering everything, she is marvellous; all the same,
I'm rather worried about her. Don't like the idea of leav-
ing her alone with only that old woman to look after her."
"Quite impossible," Tweedy said quickly. "But surely
you're not running away yet?"
"I have to—I'll explain later. Apparently Anne has no
relations, and the few friends she has live in London."
Tweedy nodded. "I know. I was thinking last night how
lucky she found you—just in the nick of time, too." Tweedy
paused to give himself another helping of grilled kidneys.
"But tell me, if it's not being impertinent, why you have
to leave her at such a time."
Tony smoked his cigar in silence for a few moments;
the Vicar continued cheerfully to eat his breakfast. "Look
here, Tweedy," he said at last, "as a comparative stranger
I'm going to ask a favour of you—several favours, in fact."
"My boy, no man is a stranger to a clergyman, if he
knows his jobl Ask me anything—I can't do the impossible,


276 Sweeter Than Honey
Taking an envelope from the bureau, he wrote down
his address in Amsterdam; told Anne to give it to Martha,
with instructions that all letters were to be forwarded
there and that if anyone made inquiries she was to tell
them where he had gone.
Anne watched him cross the hall, then got up and fol-
lowed him out into the drive. As he was getting into the
car she laid her hand on his arm; he turned quickly, took
her hands, but she drew them away. "I was thinking," she
said, "that if you suspect foul play it might be unwise to
—to have him cremated."
"That's all right," he replied. "You've got Roper's cer-
tificate; another may be necessary, but he'll arrange that.
Remember, you suspect nothing and know nothing—and
you mustn't say anything, not even to Tweedy. Don't be
surprised when you see me at the vicarage; Tweedy is
hiding me." And then he added, while she looked at him
with sombre eyes: "I'll keep out of your way, Anne."
He drove quickly down the drive, stopped outside the
gates, and closed them. The road was deserted. A stone
wall surrounded Lavender Cottage on the left, and a high
fence the vicarage on the right; there was nowhere anyone
could conceal himself. He took his car into Tweedy's ga-
rage at the back of the house; there was just room for it
beside the baby Austin. He found Tweedy in his study
at his desk; when he did not look up Tony said: "Sorry to
interrupt, Vicar—are you preparing the Sunday sermon?"
"As a matter of fact that's just what I was doing, or
rather I was bringing up to date one of the old ones I
preached years ago. I expect my time will be pretty well
occupied during the next few days. People have short
memories. I think I've found one with a suitable text.


Sweeter Than Honey 277
'For I will give you a mouth and wisdom which all your
adversaries shall not be able to gainsay.'"
"Hope it will apply to mel" Tony grinned. For some
unaccountable reason he suddenly felt cheerful. It was a
good omen. Always in the past when he stood alone, when
danger threatened, he'd felt happy and curiously carefree.
"What did the grocer tell you?"
"Oh yes, I was forgetting." Tweedy picked up a piece
of paper. "A well-known firm in London, Fortham and
Mason, of Piccadilly, 'phoned Williamson, asked him if he
could provide them with some of the famous honey from
Lavender Cottage. He realized that was impossible, but
thought mine would serve their purpose, and he got an
order for all I could spare. Williamson is sending a man
up this evening to collect the honey. You think I'm doing
right in selling it?"
"Absolutely," Tony replied. "By the way, I've lost all
count of time; what is the date?"
"The twenty-fourth." Tweedy glanced at his watch.
"I've got a vestry meeting at eleven. If Anne arrives be-
fore I'm back my housekeeper will look after her. I've
given the servants instructions, but as a matter of pre-
caution I'm doing the week-end shopping myself while
I'm in the village."
"You can do something for me; get a roll of films de-
veloped and printed. I must have them by this evening—
I'll pay double the ordinary price. Ask them to send the
prints here—to you—directly they are ready."
As soon as Tweedy had gone Tony went back to the
garage, made some adjustments to the engine and cleaned
it, filled up with oil and petrol. He worked leisurely, stop-
ping now and again for a smoke. When he had finished


Sweeter Than Honey 279
were hidden in the remaining sections of Tweedy's hive
it certainly looked as if Anne's father had meant to double-
cross the gang. Tony was tempted to go back to Lavender
Cottage and look at old Chiltern lying peacefully in his
room. Though the dead couldn't speak, he had known the
police in Chicago to get evidence from a corpse that had
sent an innocent man to the chair! The police could not
do that over here, and no one would ever know why Chil-
tern had transferred those jewels from his own hives and
planted them in the sections of the hives he had given to
Tweedy.
And Tony began to laugh again. There was one man
who knew—that smart newspaper guy, Tony Howard!
Whatever he said would go, since only Caroli and his
confederates could refute his evidence, and they wouldn't
be believed.
Chiltern had been put away by the gang because, when
he heard of the “Magnificent” murder, he refused to hand
over the jewels, intending to return them to Van Dyke.
If the gang prevented him from doing this he had threat-
ened to give the names of the murderers to Scotland Yard!
That sounded feasible enough, and Tony could make all
his past actions fit into it quite nicely. He would get all
the credit for discovering how the jewels were sent to
Lavender Cottage, and he could swear he knew where
they had been hidden. He had tackled Chiltern and ex-
tracted a confession from him. Knowing the gang sus-
pected Chiltern, he had run off with his daughter, hoping
this would put them off the scent, and flown straight over
to Holland to inform Van Dyke. And Van Dyke would
co-operate with anything that Tony said if he could be
revenged for his wife's death.


Sweeter Than Honey 281
what was the source? And these investments he has made
on behalf of his daughter, where did they come from?"
"I should not worry about that," Tony said. "I shouldn't
ask any—unnecessary questions."
Tweedy leant back in his chair and glanced at Tony.
"You asked me to trust you, but I know you are keeping
something from me; I wish you wouldn't." When Tony
did not speak he went on: "I've arranged for the cremation
to take place on Monday; Anne wants the ashes brought
back and buried in the churchyard here."
"Fine," Tony said. "Sorry, Vicar, but you know what
I mean! When do you expect Williamson's man?"
"Any moment now. If your photographs are ready they
are sending them along by him. Anne's lying down in her
room upstairs; they've just taken tea up—perhaps you'd
like to join her?" Tweedy got up as someone knocked at
the front door. "I expect that's Williamson's man—you'd
like to keep out of the way, of course."
Tony nodded. "When you take him into the garden I
want to use your telephone. And I shall be leaving early
tomorrow morning."
Tony waited until he saw the Vicar crossing the lawn
with the man, then he went into the hall. He saw his
packet of films lying on the table.
He opened it quickly. The only exposure was the one
he had made at the airport. He had got an excellent pic-
ture of both men; they had been sitting in the sunlight,
and every detail came out clearly. The blotches on the
face of the man who had been stung made a curious pattern.
A long time Tony looked at the photograph, and his
imagination saw the man wearing a bowler hat and a


Sweeter Than Honey 285
"Very well. Anything else?"
"Don't go to the cottage more often than is necessary
. . . Everything is going to come out all right, Anne. Be-
lieve that—and believe I love you."
She did not reply at once. "Hullo," he cried.
"I'm trying to believe, Tony. For the moment I can't
feel anything. Forgive me, if I seem ungrateful, but"
"That's all right," he said, "I understand." He rang off.
He could do nothing more now until after the cremation,
and he could not safely go to Scotland Yard until Chil-
tern's body had been disposed of. He had called it murder,
and to him it was as clear a case of murder as if they had
pushed the old man over a precipice into the sea or locked
him up in a gas-filled room. But for Anne's sake the fewer
inquiries that were made into Chiltern's life or death, the
better. And the thought of being revenged would never
enter her mind.
He lunched late, and afterwards sat in the lounge and
looked through the illustrated magazines—wondered if the
public really enjoyed looking at corpse-like photographs
of social celebrities advertising tailors, brewers, and for-
eign resorts, and pictures of stage and film stars advertising
their bodies. At six o'clock Van Dyke hurled himself into
the hotel. He gripped Tony's hand and told him he was
a swell guy.
"I knew you would deliver the goods—but when you
turned up at Amsterdam with that girl I thought you were
going to let me down . . . she must be a swell kid, too!"
Tony glanced around the restaurant, filled with the best
type of English people, sipping Imperial tea from china
cups. "We'd better go upstairs; we can talk there."
Van Dyke wanted the whole story; he wanted it in vivid
headlines like front-page news. Revenge within his grasp


25
Tony waited outside the chapel of the crematorium
until Anne arrived. When she saw him, she said: "Thank
you for coming. You'll sit with me, won't you?"
The only other mourners were Martha and Peggy.
Brave of Peggy to come, Tony thought. Tweedy took the
service, mercifully short. Only when the panels opened,
and the coffin slid out of sight and the muffled roar of the
furnaces echoed through the gloom like the faint note of
an organ, did Anne break down. She recovered herself
quickly, and when they left she was calm and self-possessed.
She took Tony's hand while they were looking at the
wreaths; perhaps she noticed the bunch of red roses he
had sent. There was a large wreath of orchids; the card
attached had no name, only "With deep sympathy" writ-
ten on it. Anne glanced interrogatively at Tony.
He said: "Van Dyke, I expect."
She took Tony's hand again, holding it tightly; she kept
it while they drove back to the West End with Peggy and
Tweedy.
"I'll get out here," Peggy said, when the car turned into
Oxford Street.
Tweedy got out too, saying he would walk down Bond
Street and see Peggy safely to her shop; she gave Tony a
887


288 Sweeter Than Honey
grim little smile, as much as to say: "The first time I've
been seen taking a clergyman to the beauty parlour!"
Tony asked Anne if she was in a hurry to go home, if
she had made any plans.
"I feel rather afraid of going back now. Cowardly of
me, so I must, and it's impossible to make plans. Mr.
Tweedy told me yesterday that father left everything to
me—the cottage and furniture. He used all the money he
made to invest for me, and the securities are all in my
name. I am telling you this, Tony," she said quickly, "so
that you shan't feel responsible for me in any way."
"That's all right," he said. "You needn't think about
me as someone who is responsible if you don't want to.
You can forget I'm your husband, but I'd like you to re-
member that I love you and—well, you know what that
means."
Nothing more was said until they reached the hotel.
Tony asked her if she would stay to lunch. "You must eat,
and I'll find a corner of the restaurant where we will be
quite alone. Meanwhile, you had better go up to my room
and rest."
When they reached his room he suggested she should
lie down. "I expect you were up early this morning, and
there's a couple of hours before the restaurant opens. If
you don't mind, I'll just throw a few things into my bag,
then I'll leave you alone."
She was taking off her hat before the mirror. He saw her
reflection in the glass. Though her eyes were heavy and her
face pale, he was conscious once again of what he had once
called the exciting quality of her beauty. And again he
felt she was one of those rare women designed for adven-


Sweeter Than Honey 289
ture, romance—to live dangerously, even as he had lived
dangerously.
It wasn't easy to be cold, practical—and kind. The temp-
tation to take her in his arms, make her conscious of life
and love, was overwhelming. But the dead man stood be-
tween them. Only a handful of dust now. Suddenly he
became aware that Anne was watching him in the mirror.
She said: "You've been very patient, Tony."
"Afraid I haven't, and I'm not feeling patient now—
that's because I've got to leave you for a few hours. And
I may be leaving London tomorrow."
"Where are you going?"
"I'm going round to Scotland Yard now. When I'm
through I'll come straight back here."
"And then?"
"Well, it depends on what the Yard says—and does. I'd
like to go to Paris and help round up the gang. The only
man I want, though, is the one who killed Mrs. Van Dyke."
"You're sure of getting him?"
"I wouldn't say that, but I'm willing to bet on it. Of
course, at the beginning I had to do a bit of thinking."
He glanced at his watch. "I guess I ought to rush. You'll
be all right here—see you later."
He went out quickly. Before leaving the hotel he
'phoned the Yard, was told to ask for Inspector Wrench
directly he arrived.
When he reached the Yard he was only kept waiting a
couple of minutes before being shown into Wrench's office.
He was glad to find that Wrench was not the detective he
had met at the Hotel Magnificent—a very different type of
man: keen, cold grey eyes under a low forehead, a mouth


290 Sweeter Than Honey
firm but sensitive, and a pugnacious jaw. Though his phy-
sique was small it was all bone and muscle.
"Mr. Tony Howard," he said, giving Tony a quick
glance and then looking down. "You came over from the
States on the same ship as Van Dyke, a reporter on one
of his newspapers. You were staying in the 'Magnificent'
on the day of the murder. Being a newspaper man you
were interested. Am I right in suggesting that you have
been doing a little amateur detective work yourself?"
"Well, in Chicago they'd call me a professional crime
detector, Inspector. In this case I knew there was a good
story, and I wanted to help Van Dyke if I could."
"And you think you've discovered something that may
lead to the identification of the criminals?"
"You know there were two of them, then!" Tony said.
The inspector raised his eyes. "More than two, Mr.
Howard. The robbery and murder were the work of an
international gang of crooks."
"Sure," Tony said. "Well, Inspector, this ought to
interest the Yard." He put a newspaper parcel on the table.
"Before showing you the contents, I'd like to know that
the Yard don't object to my butting in."
"Always grateful for any help the public can give us,"
the inspector replied shortly.
"Well, if you can act quickly, I guess you will be able
to round up that gang within forty-eight hours."
Pulling off the newspaper wrappings, Tony took out
the section of honey. "A bit messy, I'm afraid. I'd like you
to try it, Inspector—you've got a pocket-knife, I expect. I
should cut round the edge, if I were you." v
"Just what is the idea, Mr. Howard?" the inspector
asked, as he opened his knife. He thrust the blade into the


Sweeter Than Honey 291
centre of the section and cut out a fairly large portion.
"Looks very good honey to me."
Tony suggested he should try again, working round the
edge of the section.
"Hullo! What's this?" the inspector said, leaning for-
ward in his chair. He extracted a blood-red stone, wiped
it with his handkerchief, held it up to the light. Again
he flashed a glance at Tony. "You've discovered a very re-
markable beehive."
Taking the note-case from his pocket, Tony showed
Wrench the other two rubies. The inspector consulted a
paper by his side. "Among the jewels stolen from Mrs.
Van Dyke there was a ruby necklace, a pair of ruby ear-
rings, and a ring set with one large diamond and four
rubies. Where did you get this section of honey?"
Tony glanced at his wrist-watch. "I'll have to be brief
because there is no time to give you details how and when
my suspicions were first aroused. I think you will agree,
Inspector, that the hive from which this section came con-
tains most, if not all, the other Van Dyke jewels. In a short
time those other sections will be on their way to Paris,
where they will be delivered to the gang who stole them."
He told him of his first meeting with John Chiltern,
his suspicions, confirmed by the attempt to bump him off
when he was driving back from Cookham to London, his
marriage to Anne and the events which led up to Chiltern's
death, his discovery of the rifled hives, and the way the
sections had been destroyed. He left Peggy out of the story.
With luck, he might keep her out of it altogether—better
for Anne if he did. When he had finished, Wrench said:
"You've no reason for suspecting Tweedy?"
"Innocent as a babe unborn."


26-
The inspector's moment was prolonged. To Tony, wait-
ing in the small office, it seemed prolonged into infinity.
He heard Big Ben strike one o'clock; at half past he
opened the door and looked up and down the stone passage;
at the far end on the right he saw a policeman on duty at
the swinging doors, through which he remembered pass-
ing. He rather felt as if he were in prison himself. He went
back, lit his last cigarette, and walked up and down im-
patiently.
When Wrench eventually returned to his office, he sat
down at his desk and began to write.
"Excuse my mentioning it," Tony said, "but I'm still
here."
"I was sure you would be," Wrench replied grimly.
"Excuse me one moment more."
Tony took up his hat. "I'm afraid I can't, I've got a
dinner appointment at eight o'clock!"
Wrench leant back in his chair. "Sorry, but I've had a
consultation with the Chief. I expect you would like to
hear what measures we are taking. You are entitled to
know. The sections of honey have only just reached Fort-
num and Mason, and they are not dispatching them to
Paris until tomorrow morning. We have been in com-
munication with the Paris Surety and one of our men is
295


Sweeter Than Honey 303
muffled roar of traffic, blurred hoot of motor-horns, echo
of countless feet, and faint murmur of voices. From a
restaurant, music drifted on the warm air.
"I suppose at this moment," Tony said, "we are living
as romantically as any two people could live. It's like a
fantasy, a dream. ... If only we could realize it!"
"I think I'm beginning to realize it," Anne said. "Give
me time, Tony."
"As long as you like. Now that I feel we are lovers
again, I can wait."
He ordered tea, then went into his own room to unpack.
Anne followed him. "I suppose you are not aware that I
haven't as much as a toothbrush with me? How long are
we likely to be here?"
"You make a habit of travelling light, don't you?" Tony
said. "Can't be sure whether we shall stay for a couple of
days or a couple of weeks. Anyway, there isn't much object
in rushing back to London. You'd be happy here, wouldn't
you?"
Anne answered by saying she would wander out and do
a little shopping. He advised her to take a taxi to one of
the big stores. She told him she knew her way about; she
had been to Paris twice already with Jane. "I know where
I can get most of the things I want at the trade discount."
He gave her two thousand francs. "If that isn't enough
we can pay on delivery."
Bending down, she kissed the top of his head, and went
out quickly. When he had finished unpacking, Tony
'phoned down to the telephonist and told her he was ex-
pecting a message from the Surety, warned her to put him
through immediately, and to see that he was not inter-
rupted. Then he lit a cigarette and sat down to wait.


304 Sweeter Than Honey
At seven o'clock he began to get anxious. And Anne had
not returned. He rang up the Surete; they had nothing to
report. He went downstairs; perhaps Anne was sitting in
the lounge. But he could not see her anywhere. He sat
down near the entrance, ordered a cocktail, and sent a mes-
sage to the telephonist saying where he was to be found.
He was not used to inaction; he began to imagine all the
things that could have happened to make the police plans
go wrong, conjured up accidents to Anne. He was so near
to success and happiness, that the thought of failure was
impossible. But as the minutes dragged by his anxiety in-
creased. Pernouds' had closed now! Something had hap-
pened to rouse the gang's suspicions; the Yard or the
Surete had bungled. He called a waiter and ordered
another cocktail.
He kept his eyes on the doors, every time they revolved
hoping to see Anne appear. Subconsciously, he wondered
why rich people were nearly all ugly or gross; only their
satellites—servants and demimondaines—were pleasant to
look at. Just as Tony opened his note-case to pay for his
drinks he heard a voice that seemed familiar. He glanced
round quickly. Two men crossing the lounge had stopped
for a moment as if in the middle of an argument; the one
facing him, whose voice he had heard, was short and wiry,
dark-complexioned, with thick lips. He was wearing tinted
glasses, a soft hat pulled low over his forehead.
Quickly Tony turned his back, but he could still see
him in the mirror on the wall. Caroli! The man with him
looked about fifty, conventionally dressed in a blue suit
and wearing a light grey hat. They moved towards the lift.
Waiting until they had got into it, Tony followed and ran
quickly up the staircase. The lift did not stop until it


306 Sweeter Than Honey
He turned his head towards the telephone. "Keep still,"
Tony warned him. "The police will be here in a minute,
so don't waste time bluffing."
The man looked at Tony contemptuously. "I'm afraid
you've made a serious mistake—as far as I'm concerned.
My name is Colonel Richard Stephens—Randolph Club,
London. Mr. Vibart is a business acquaintance. Can you
explain this tomfoolery, Vibart?"
Tony was trying to remember what Peggy had told him
about the only member of the gang she had met; the chief
... a tall, well-bred, middle-aged man . . . dark hair, grey
at temples, hooked nose, spoke with a clipped accent . . .
name, Oakes.
Suddenly he saw the flash of a steel blade in Caroli's
hand as he leapt forward. The Italian had been watching
him as a cat watches a mouse, and as quick as a cat he had
seen his opportunity. But Tony was as quick. He ducked
and threw up his left arm; he felt the knife go deep into
his shoulder. Catching Caroli off his balance he struck
him full on the jaw with his gun, then leapt back as he saw
Stephens drop his hands.
"Stop where you are, Oakes! Now turn round and stand
with your back to me, over there by the window—and keep
those hands up I"
For an instant Stephens hesitated; his hand had gone to
his hip pocket—but he was too late. Caroli's action had
been as unexpected by him as by Tony. Turning, he
walked to the window. Picking up Caroli's knife, Tony
told him to get up. "Stand two paces from Oakes—or
Stephens, as he prefers to call himself—but face me."
Slowly Caroli rose, walked unsteadily to the window,
and looked at Tony with dazed and bloodshot eyes. Pull-


Sweeter Than Honey 307
ing a chair round with his foot, Tony sat down. "I'm afraid
you won't get that honey which you were so keen on; the
police will be sampling it tonight. They are on their way
here to fetch you and the 'colonel.' You'll both be able to
spend the rest of the evening with your friends. But before
they arrive there is something I'd like you to tell me,
Caroli. Scotland Yard will be able to give me the informa-
tion I want, when they get the finger-prints of the two
boys I've labelled the 'Savile Row Twins.' I was in the
lounge of the 'Magnificent' when the murder was com-
mitted and saw them coming out, but I don't know which
of them actually killed Mrs. Van Dyke. And I want to be
the first with the news. Which was the killer?"
Oakes said: "Don't talk, Caroli."
"And I'd rather you didn't, eitherl I'm waiting, Caroli."
Caroli shook his head. Tony took his cigarette-case out
of his pocket, opened it, shut it again, and laid it on the
table by his side. "Could you oblige me with a cigarette,
Caroli? I didn't ask you, Colonel"—as Oakes made a move-
ment. "You can smoke one yourself, if you like, Caroli."
The Italian lowered his hands. "One hand will be
enough," Tony said. "Chuck it over." He caught the ciga-
rette, glanced at it before lighting it. "Got a lighter, I sup-
pose? One hand again, please. Now, as you were! Annoying
of you to smoke Turkish tobacco; I prefer Virginia. Feel
more like telling me who killed Mrs. Van Dyke? Well,
shall I tell you who killed Chiltern? The man who dropped
a half-smoked cigarette on the floor of his workshop when
he pushed over the skep of bees and locked Chiltern in the
room to be stung to death! Very neat, Caroli—and it
worked even better than you expected. But still, it was
murder."


Sweeter Than Honey 309
matter, now, whether it was murder or manslaughter!" He
picked up the knife from the table. "If that had got me
where you meant it to, Caroli, I should be dead. . . . The
police may want to know what your motive was in attempt-
ing to murder me. That sounds like the lift. I expect they
are coming. If you don't speak now, Caroli, you are for it."
Footsteps sounded in the corridor outside. Tony put his
hand on the door. "Wait!" Caroli cried. "I'll tell you who
killed Mrs. Van Dyke, and how Chiltern died, if you'll
swear you won't give me away—and put that knife in your
pocket."
Tony nodded, closed the knife, and slipped it into his
pocket. "Go ahead."
Caroli moistened his lips: "There were two of us at
Lavender Cottage the night Chiltern—died. We'd been
sent to get the jewels from him, we knew they were hidden
in the hives, but the stuff was always kept until it was safe
to break it up and . . . get rid of it. Chiltern had been
holding on to the Van Dyke jewels—got the wind up be-
cause the old lady was murdered, I suppose. We tried to
persuade him. But he refused to listen. One of the hives
had swarmed that afternoon, and while we were talking
he took the swarm. We followed him into the workshop.
He may have guessed we had orders to get the jewels or
bump him off: perhaps he thought we wouldn't dare and
that the bees would be some sort of protection . . . they
might have been, but as he was putting the skep on the
bench one of us tripped him up, he fell with the skep on
to the floor, and I got the key and locked him in. Through
the window we saw him trying to get on to his feet, but he
fell back . . . struggled a bit as if he was choking. There
was a skylight in the roof of the workshop. I climbed up,


310 Sweeter Than Honey
opened it, and threw in the key where it would fall close
to the door. Then we waited until it was dark, rifled the
hives, and found nothing. Later on"
"That'll do," Tony interrupted. "I know who helped
you kill Chiltern—I've got his picture. He was badly stung.
I got his picture with 'Spry' Walton at Amsterdam. Now,
then, who killed Mrs. Van Dyke?"
"Keep your mouth shut, you dirty little rat!" Oakes
shouted.
Caroli put a cigarette between his lips and, with un-
steady hands, lit it. "Not 'Spry' Walton; the other one
who was with me at Cookham, Phil Carver. He and Paul
Debord stole the jewels, and it was Phil who struck the old
lady."
"You'll pay for this," Oakes said.
Again Tony heard the rattle of the lift. Footsteps
sounded along the corridor. He unlocked the door, and
three officers stepped quickly into the room.
They wasted no time in preliminaries, slipped the hand-
cuffs on the two men first, searched them afterwards.
"You can identify both these men, monsieur?"
Tony nodded. "The man who calls himself Colonel
Richard Stephens passed under the name of Oakes in Lon-
don some time ago; Caroli, here, I only know as one of
the receivers."
The officer ordered his two men to take Oakes and
Caroli away. "Use the service lift and staff entrance." He
turned to Tony: "You'll come back with us, monsieur?
You may be able to identify some of the other crooks"
"You've got them, then!" Tony cried.
"The jewels were taken from Pernouds' to a house in
the Rue Napoleon. When we raided it we found five men


Sweeter Than Honey 311
there. They had already broken up the honey-combs, so
we got them—what do you say?—red-handed. Took them
by surprise; not a shot was fired. With the information we
go from that house we hope to make other arrests."
"That's fine," Tony said. "I'll follow in a few minutes—
I'd like to explain to my wife what's happened. I expect
she's waiting for me to take her out to dinner."
Tony wondered why the officer smiled. "But there is no
hurry," the Frenchman said; "tomorrow morning will do.
You mustn't disappoint your wife."
Tony walked with him to the lift, then he went to,
Anne's room. To his relief he found her there.
"Darling, what's happened?" she cried. "I heard a com-
motion outside just now, and I saw the police. Are you all
right?"
"Of course," he laughed, "everything's fine. I mean,"
he added apologetically, "having got the gang. And I think
I've squared things, so you have nothing more to worry
about." He dropped into a chair. Suddenly he felt rather
weak. Reaction—though after bringing off a coup he gener-
ally reacted in the opposite way. "Could you find me a ciga-
rette?" She held out her case. "Light it for me, darling."
She looked at him through the flame of the lighter,
noticed the way his left arm was pressed to his side and
how he kept his hand in his pocket. As she gave him the
cigarette she put her hand on his shoulder, gave a sharp
cry as she withdrew it and saw that her fingers were stained
with blood. "You're hurt!"
"It's nothing," he said, "just a flesh wound; someone
jabbed me with a knife."
Taking his right arm she led him into the bathroom,
helped him out of his coat and shirt, and bathed the


312 Sweeter Than Honey
wound. Then she telephoned for some lint, a bandage, and
a bottle of iodine. When they arrived she dressed and
bandaged his shoulder.
"This is the second time you've cleaned me up," he
smiled.
"It's got to be the last time, Tony."
"Don't say that; I like it."
"Does it hurt?"
"Like hell!" He took her hand. "Not really, Anne. I
wish it did."
"Why do you say that?" she asked.
He got up. He heard Paris calling; distance blended the
noise from streets and cafes with the rhythm of life. From
the window he saw the stars hanging in clusters; below,
the boulevards were traced in coloured lights.
Paris! What was the secret of her magic? Was it imagina-
tion, or was it memory that made her still young and
beautiful, the city of light and laughter and love?
"What are you thinking, Tony?"
"I was thinking I ought not to have brought you here."
"I'll go, if you don't want me."
"It's because I want you so much."
He felt her fingers caressing his hand; presently she said:
"I'm feeling very hungry, Tony."
He put his arm around her. "Thank God for that! Shall
we go out? It might spoil the illusion the night has con-
jured up. Shall we have dinner sent up here? I'll tell the
waiter to lay the table on the balcony—heaven overhead
and the earth at our feet."
They lingered over their coffee when dinner had been
cleared away. "It is strange how deceptive time can be
sometimes," Anne said. "I know it's only about twelve


Sweeter Than Honey 313
hours ago I was standing in that little chapel with you,
but there is a gap between then and now that years could
fill I It is as if I'd crossed a bridge that's been cut away. I
can't go back."
"Do you want to?" he asked.
"I'm not sure," she said. "It's rather terrifying; nothing
seems real at the moment—except you, Tony."
"Well, keep feeling that way when you wake up in the
morning. Guess you're pretty tired, sweetheart. Go to bed,
and don't dream about bridges!"
As he was leaving her she said: "What about your arm,
Tony? Come back in a few minutes and I'll dress it again."
"I'm afraid it's quite all right." He hesitated before
closing the door. "Found what you wanted at the shops?
Nothing I can do for you?"
She stopped in the act of slipping off her frock. "Yes . ..
come back, anyway, Tony I"


28
Tony awoke, sat up, saw daylight coming through the
curtains. Slowly he recalled the events of the past twenty-
four hours. He stretched luxuriously as he realized that he
had come to the end of another chapter in his life, and a
new clean page was waiting to be filled.
"The moving finger writes, and having writ..."
He turned and saw Anne's head on the pillow beside his.
Lying down again he put his arm around her. She awoke,
but she didn't move or speak for a little while.
"Is that really you, Tony?"
"I'm not quite sure. I can't recognize myself."
She laughed as she turned round. "Something's hap-
pened to me—I don't know where I am."
"Pity about that. I'll tell you later on. Meanwhile,
couldn't you just stay put for a few minutes?"
Her lips brushed his cheek. "I think I could stay put
like this for the rest of my life."
When the clock struck half past nine Tony raised a lazy
arm and rang the bell for breakfast to be sent up.
While Anne was in the bathroom he got Van Dyke on
the telephone and told him what had happened. Then he
rang up Scotland Yard; Wrench had already received the
news from the Surete. "Did they tell you they had got Phil
Carver?"
Si4


Sweeter Than Honey 315
"Who is he?" Wrench asked.
"He's the guy who murdered Mrs. Van Dyke. I've got
a description of him and I can identify him now. But the
Surete don't know this. It's the plum I'm keeping for your
C.I.D., Wrench."
"That's good," Wrench replied, and there was some-
thing approaching a note of enthusiasm in his voice. "You
are certain there can be no mistake? You are prepared to
swear"
"On the oath of an amateur," Tony interrupted. "Well,
see you later, Inspector."
Before he could ring off Wrench said he would expect
him at the Yard that afternoon. "Sorry, Howard, but as
you've butted in on this case you must take the conse-
quences. You are a vital witness. I'm afraid we must insist."
"Hell!" Tony said, and replaced the receiver.
He did not break the news to Anne until they had fin-
ished breakfast and were enjoying a cigarette.
"Sorry, sweetheart," he said, "but we would have to go
back in a few weeks, anyway. Your affairs must be settled
up. Tweedy can't do anything without you, and the sooner
I see Van Dyke the better. Our future depends on him.
Do you think you could cut civilization and settle down
in Java? Sunshine, flowers, a simple people not obsessed by
the lust for gold and bloody wars."
She looked at him thoughtfully for a little while. "I let
you down once, Tony, because I wanted to be certain.
Yes, I'd go anywhere with you. Anywhere—I mean just
that."
On their way to Le Bourget they stopped at the Surete.
Tony learnt that five men had been arrested in the raid
on the house in the Rue Napoleon; with Oakes and Caroli,


316 Sweeter Than Honey
that brought the number of the gang to seven, and the
Surety had heard from Berlin two more had been arrested
there—Phil Carver and Walton.
Four hours later Tony reported at Scotland Yard. He
was told that Inspector Wrench was engaged, but that the
Commissioner himself would see him.
He was conducted to the third floor, and after negotiat-
ing a labyrinth of corridors was shown into a room marked
"Private." A tall, lean man rose from his desk as Tony
entered, and held out his hand.
"Mr. Howard? Sit down. Will you smoke?" He took a
cedar-wood box from the desk and held it out to Tony.
"Very good of you to have flown back from Paris so
promptly."
He opened the cover of a file by his side, told Tony it
contained a record of the lives for the past five years of
nine criminals, members of a dangerous gang, yet so subtle
and elusive that the police of five countries had never been
able to convict any but three of its least important
members.
"The gang was extremely well organized, their leader
obviously a man of intelligence and cunning, but the
police of two continents have never been able to trace him.
The Surete tells me that you ran him to earth—Colonel
Richard Stephens, alias Oakes. We're not sure yet of his
real nationality, but presumably it is British. Will you
tell me how you managed to identify him?"
"It was a bit of luck, my finding him at the Ritz, where
I was staying with my wife."
The Commissioner smiled. "Newspaper men are notori-
ously modest!"
"First time I've heard anyone say that," Tony grinned.


Sweeter Than Honey 317
He had to think quickly. But for Peggy, he would never
have known of Oakes's existence or been able to recognize
him. It wasn't for Anne's sake alone that he meant to keep
Peggy out of this; some sneaking sentimental regard for
her—for all women who had been given a dirty deal by
men. While he hesitated,, he saw, flashed on a mental
screen, a picture of old Chiltern sitting at his table in the
hall of Lavender Cottage. He smelt a whiff of lavender, he
saw flickering candlelight.
"The well-known apiarist, John Chiltern, who died
from a bee-sting in his throat, suspected of being receiver
of the Van Dyke jewels, gave me the information one
evening, accidentally, I'm sure, that convinced me that
Oakes was the brains of the business. When I found him
in Caroli's room at the Ritz I recognized him."
The Commissioner fingered the papers by his side.
"And Phil Carver? The Surete" say that you identified him
as the murderer of Mrs. Van Dyke. I'm afraid I must
ask—"
"Why I didn't give a description of a man to the police
earlier? Hadn't sufficient evidence. There were two of
them—I could never have identified Carver as the one who
had bumped off the poor old lady, without the help of a
crook I happened to meet. I was able to do him a good
turn and in exchange I got the information I wanted.
Can't tell you any more, I'm afraid, Chief: I guess you
know the old gag that there is honour among thieves—and
even among journalists. Anyway, your finger-print experts
will be able to prove whether my information is right or
not."
The Commissioner stood up. "Quite," he said. "I take
it that now your activities will cease?"


318 Sweeter Than Honey
"Oh yes, I'm through. Of course you know why I
butted in on this? First of all because I wanted a good
story, and afterwards to help Van Dyke. I was the first
crime detector on the Chicago newspapers, and he had the
idea that I could solve any mystery."
The Commissioner took Tony's hand. "Obviously he was
right. We are in your debt, Mr. Howard, and I hope later
on I may be instrumental in showing our gratitude in some
practical form."
Tony shook his head. "Forget it. When Phil Carver goes
to the chair—sorry, to the scaffold—Van Dyke is presenting
me with an island in the East Indies where I shall take my
wife."
The Commissioner followed him to the door. "Ah, yes,
the apiarist's daughter."
Tony turned and faced him. "Yes, I married her when I
suspected her father's real profession, because I knew she
was innocent of what the old man was playing at, and I
wanted to get her away before the crash came."
"Quite!" The Commissioner looked at him thought-
fully. "If necessary, you can prove her innocence?"
"Just as I can prove, if necessary, Carver's guilt and
Oakes's connection with the gang! Should I have married
her otherwise? But if the police do feel under any sort of
obligation to me, Chief, they might let her down easily, if
she's called to give evidence."
"I think you can set your mind at rest on that point."
Tony and Anne dined with Van Dyke in the restaurant
of his hotel that night; no reference was made to the
rounding-up of the gang in Paris, until they were sitting
in his private room overlooking the Park. Then Van Dyke
said he was staying in London until the trial was over and