Free A Pigeon Among the Cats by Josephine Bell Page A

they recognised as criminal.
    â€œChildren like to follow the fashion,” at least six of the stouter matrons said mildly.
    â€œYou’d think the parents did too,” said another. “No control these days. I thank my stars mine are all grown-up and settled in good positions.”
    â€œLucky you! We wouldn’t have been able to come away if it wasn’t for the school cruise to Madeira.”
    â€œMixed?”
    â€œYou mean the schools? Well, yes. But then my three are all at the same comprehensive. Ever so good. We’re delighted with it, aren’t we, Arnold?”
    â€œIt’s all right. So far. The Head can’t possibly know them all — more than a thousand.”
    â€œDo they have this drug problem? What we’re talking about.”
    â€œAre we? How should I know?”
    It was noticeable, after dinner, that the coach party split into two main groups; those who really wanted to talk about Assisi, its buildings and pictures, and those who were concerned with Gwen and her new friend or old acquaintance or whatever he was, or else with the Banks’ problem. Of these there was the largest, speculative group, throwing out unsupported theory and melodrama and the smaller malicious, strict sectarian, puritan caucus that had been shocked straightaway at Genoa by Penny Banks’ appearance and had plotted ever since to get rid of her.
    And had now, perhaps, succeeded. They discussed all the disgraceful, sordid symptoms, finding them exhibited by this slatternly girl; they speculated over supplies, pushers, the smuggling trade with the Near and Middle East. By the end of the evening they were resigned to seeing an announcement before long in all the newspapers of the world telling of Penny Banks’ arrest.
    Before Gwen left her table companions after taking coffee with them in the bar lounge she said, “I was in the hall when the ambulance came for Penny Banks. I don’t suppose you were down then. It was just after we got the keys for our rooms.”
    â€œNo,” Rose said. “I wondered a little when she wasn’t at dinner. But she often misses meals, doesn’t she? An ambulance? Is she really ill, then?”
    â€œBillie said not to spread it. She’s going round the others later, she said, in their rooms.”
    Rose looked at her friends: they all exchanged glances and nodded.
    â€œI’ve been done for everything,” Myra said. “What is it, Gwen? Typhoid?”
    Mrs. Chilton, who had been immunised, much against her will, for everything including diphtheria and yellow fever, the year before, stared at them in some horror.
    â€œYou’re a cool lot, I must say,” she said at last.
    â€œNo,” Rose told her. “We were all advised to be done before we went abroad the first time, years and years ago. Never drink tap water on the continent. Beware of salads et cetera. You still haven’t told us what Penny’s trouble is.”
    â€œBillie asked me if I’d been inoculated. I said yes, was it one of those the Banks girl had got. She said it might be. They’d had an Italian doctor to her and he’d ordered her away.”
    â€œPoor girl!” said Flo. “Would that account for the carabinieri with Mr. Banks?”
    â€œThat or the pot,” Gwen said carelessly. Then, seeing the others’ faces she added, “Don’t tell me you didn’t realise she was hooked? Everyone on the coach seems to know.”
    â€œOr think they do,” Rose said.
    â€œWell, I’d say I knew,” Gwen answered stubbornly. “We’ve got another of these bloody early starts, haven’t we? Florence for lunch, Billie said.”
    She walked away from them, irritated by their mixture of strange innocence and superior sophistication. This really wasn’t the right tour for them. What would be, though? She turned aside on her way to the lifts, obeying a signal from a South London suburban