Free The Young Clementina by D. E. Stevenson Page B

smile and passed on. I thought he looked worn and unhappy. I thought he had aged. His new book had just come out and was causing quite a stir among a certain set of critical people. Garth’s books were not for everybody: his first had been the account of a hunting expedition in Africa; his second, a novel. They were alike in being well and carefully written, thoughtful, cynical and amusing. I did not care for the novel, the characters were unpleasing—there was not a pleasant character in the book—but I could see that it was clever, I could see that it had something vital in it, something that promised better things to come.
    One day, Kitty took me to see Mr. Corrieston. I had heard so much about Mr. Corrieston by this time that I was sick of the man already, before I had seen him. I went to his office feeling sure that I should dislike him intensely and I found my foreboding correct. Mr. Corrieston was short and thick-set with sandy hair. I thought him like a fox—like a fat fox, if you can imagine such a loathsome animal. I had hoped that Mr. Corrieston would clear my mind for me, would make the whole thing plain and understandable, but he did no such thing. He talked a lot, and he answered my questions, but he never made anything clear. I see now, looking back, that he did not intend me to understand. He could have enlightened me if he had wanted, but he preferred to bewilder me with legal terms and vague contradictory allusions. He and Kitty understood each other perfectly. His manner to her was offensively familiar. He patted her arm with his pudgy hand and called her “my dear little lady.” He was the pawing type of man, a type I have always detested. Kitty seemed to like it; she smiled at him and laughed at his jokes which were not always in good taste.
    â€œOh, by the by,” he said, stretching out his hand for a file of papers, clipped together with a stud, “I’ve asked Frame to put his best man on to Mr. Wisdon—I told you I intended to have him shadowed, didn’t I ?”
    Kitty nodded.
    â€œYou are having Garth shadowed?” I exclaimed incredulously.
    â€œQuite a usual procedure, my dear lady,” Mr. Corrieston assured me. “Quite a usual procedure under the circumstances. If we could find the woman—there must be a woman, of course.”
    â€œBut why?” I inquired.
    â€œThere always is,” Mr. Corrieston replied airily. “The sudden determination of Mr. Wisdon to launch a petition for divorce points to a woman.”
    It appeared hazily, through the fog which was clouding my brain, that if this woman could be found and produced, the proceedings would fall through. I could not see why this should be the case, but it was no use asking Mr. Corrieston to explain. The more he explained things the more muddled I became. I thought at the time that he was a stupid man, a man incapable of putting things clearly; I learned afterward that he was diabolically clever.
    â€œThere is nothing to worry about,” Mr. Corrieston said to me, smiling his fat foxy smile. “We shall have to call you, of course, but it is a mere formality.”
    â€œCall me? Do you mean as a witness?” I asked, appalled at the idea.
    â€œYes, as a witness.”
    â€œBut why me? What do I know?”
    Mr. Corrieston laughed. “It is merely a formality, Miss Dean. You remember the night that Mrs. Wisdon spent with you? We shall want your evidence that she spent it in your flat. You remember the occasion.”
    â€œOf course I remember the occasion. She slept in my bed,” I said stupidly.
    â€œThat’s all we want,” said Mr. Corrieston, smiling more foxily than ever.
    â€œIt all hangs on you, Char,” Kitty put in eagerly.
    â€œNot at all,” Mr. Corrieston interrupted her. “Very little hangs on Miss Dean. We must not make Miss Dean nervous by telling her that she is an important witness when she is nothing of the kind.