Free The Mystery at Underwood House (An Angela Marchmont Mystery) by Clara Benson

suit and a beard.’
    ‘ He was tall, I tell you. And his suit wasn’t grey, it was dark blue. And it was a moustache, not a beard,’ said the boy stubbornly.
    ‘ And he had a scar on his cheek,’ chimed in a middle-aged man, who appeared to be the faded woman’s husband.
    ‘ What do you mean, he had a scar on ’is cheek?’ demanded his wife. ‘How do you know? You were looking in the other direction, like always. You never see what’s right in front of your nose, do you? And look at all them other men chasing ’im. Why didn’t you help? You could have been a hero for once, ’stead of standing there like a rabbit.’
    ‘ How am I supposed to chase him if I never saw him?’ said the man, looking mutinous.
    ‘ You said he had a scar so you must’ve seen him.’
    ‘ According to you, I was looking the other way. You can’t ’ave it both ways, can you?’
    ‘ He never had no scar that I saw, miss,’ said the boy quietly, so as not to get drawn into the dispute.
    ‘ I wouldn’t know, myself,’ said the fat woman. ‘Beard, moustache, blue suit, green suit—he could have had all or none of them for all I know. Like I said, I never saw nothing.’
    The theatre doors had by now opened but many of those in the crowd were showing a marked reluctance to enter given the free entertainment on offer right before their eyes. Why, this was much better than a play! Meanwhile Angela, feeling increasingly foolish and embarrassed at the undisguised stares and frank curiosity of the assembled multitude, pretended to be examining the grazes on her hands as she tried to decide what to do next. ‘Shall I go to the police straight away?’ she said to herself. ‘Really, I suppose I ought to stay here until some of these people return from the chase. I don’t imagine for a second they’ll catch him, though.’
    Just then a great cheer went up and, to Angela’s surprise, the crowd parted to reveal a small group of people, led by a flushed and panting young man, who approached her and shyly but proudly presented her with none other than her own bag, seemingly undamaged.
    ‘ Did you catch him, then?’ demanded the fat woman.
    The youth shook his head.
    ‘ Headed into Covent Garden, didn’t he? Disappeared down an alley and we lost him. But we found this on the ground. I guess it must be yours—either that or we’ve pinched some other lady’s bag by mistake.’
    There was a ripple of laughter at this pleasantry. Angela smiled, glanced into the bag and saw that nothing seemed to be missing.
    ‘ Begging your pardon, miss, but it was left open so I had a quick look inside to see if anything might have been taken. I don’t think he got your purse at any rate.’
    Angela was suitably effusive and generous in her gratitude and the young man departed, beaming and blushing furiously as he was patted on the shoulder from all sides. The crowd gave a collective sigh of satisfaction at a good afternoon’s fun happily resolved, and gradually melted into the theatre. The motor-van driver shook his head in admonishment and went on his way, leaving only the small boy, who hung about hopefully, unwilling to leave in case some other exciting misadventure should befall the smart lady.
    ‘ Are you going to the police, miss?’ he asked.
    ‘ No,’ replied Angela. ‘I’ve got my bag back and there’s no real harm done other than one or two bruises. No, I shan’t be bothering them today, I think.’
    The boy’s face was the picture of disappointment.
    ‘ But what about the robber?’ he said. ‘He’ll get clean away. Why, he might be murdering an old lady in her bed with an axe this minute!’
    Angela could not help laughing at this bloodthirsty vision.
    ‘ I do hope not,’ she said. ‘Very well, I’ll tell you what I will do. I have an acquaintance who is a very high-up policeman, and when I see him I shall report the matter to him and ask him to investigate. Will that do?’
    ‘ I’ll say,’ said the boy, nodding