Smallbone Deceased

VII

And so, after a thoroughly unsatisfactory and irritating morning, the various components of the firm departed for their lunches: Mr. Birley and Mr. Craine to their clubs, Bob Horniman and Eric Duxford to the dining-room of the Law Society. John Cove to the less exclusive canteen of the same. Henry Bohun to his home. Mr. Prince and Mr. Waugh to a subterranean and cavernous restaurant attached to the Law Courts. Miss Cornel and Miss Mildmay to an A.B.C., and Miss Bellbas and Mrs. Porter to a Lyons. Sergeant Cockerill and Charlie ate sandwiches in the basement and Miss Chittering, who was on duty at the partners’ telephone, stifled the pangs of hunger with a bag of macaroons.

Comparative silence descended on the offices of Horniman, Birley and Craine.

It was later that afternoon, in the secretaries’ room, that a scene took place which was not without importance in the scheme of things. And it is sobering to reflect that the fact that it took place, and the far-reaching results which sprang from it, were directly attributable to feminine vanity.

Miss Chittering decided that the small wooden mirror screwed to the back of the door, was badly placed to fulfil the functions for which it was designed.

“It’s absurd,” she said, “to put a mirror where no light falls on it at all.”

“I suppose it is,” said Miss Cornel. “It’s always been there, though,” she added, as if this was a conclusive argument in a legal office.

“Anyway,” said Anne, “it isn’t as if any of us were such ravishing beauties that we always wanted to be looking at our faces.”

The use of the first person plural did little to soften the aspersion. Miss Chittering flushed slightly and said: “If we’ve got a mirror we might as well put it somewhere where it’s going to be some use.”

“Why not put it up beside the window,” said Miss Bellbas, who usually dropped in about that time for her afternoon cup of tea.

“Well, it’s all the same to me,” said Miss Cornel. “Only someone will have to unscrew it first. If you’re so keen on the idea nip down and get hold of Sergeant Cockerill.”

“Why bother the sergeant,” said Miss Chittering. “It’s only two tiny little screws. Look, I’ve got a pair of nail scissors. I’ll use the tip of the—oh!”

“Bang goes one pair of nail scissors,” said Miss Cornel complacently. “You know, you might just as well fetch the sergeant.”

“Is there anything I can do?” said Bohun, poking his head giraffe-like over the partition.

“Cissie’s broken her scissors trying to undo those screws,” said Miss Mildmay. “The general idea is to move the looking-glass from behind the door to over there, beside the window.”

“The task,” said Bohun, “should not be beyond our combined resources. Has anyone got a large nail-file?”

“So long as you don’t break it,” said Miss Mildmay.

“I promise to temper vigour with discretion,” said Henry. Using the butt-end he soon had the screws undone. “Now, if I may use your scissors, for a moment, Miss Chittering.”

“Well, you can’t make them much worse.”

“Thank you.” Bohun soon had two small holes bored in the woodwork beside the window, and he was on the point of inserting the screws when one of the inner doors opened and Mr. Craine poked his head out. “Oh, Bohun. I rang on the office phone for you, but I thought you must be out. I just wanted to check that address.”

“So sorry,” said Bohun. He deposited everything into the hands of Miss Cornel and followed Mr. Craine into his office.

“Just like men,” said Miss Cornel. “Begin a job and leave it in the middle.” She steadied the glass against the wall with one hand, grasped the nail-file in the other, put the screws in her mouth, and hooked a deed box into position with one foot. Having made these necessary preparations, she climbed on to the deed box, spat out one screw into her hand, placed it in the hole Bohun had made, and proceeded to line it up with as much concentration as if it had been a putt on the eighteenth green.

At this exceedingly critical moment the bell just above her head rang loudly twice, with the natural result that she dropped everything.

“Heavens, that’s me,” said Miss Chittering.

“Thank goodness the glass hasn’t broken,” said Miss Bellbas.

“What are you up to now,” said Bohun, reappearing.

“Devil take those screws,” said Miss Cornel. She was grovelling on her knees behind the deed box. “I’ve got one of them. The other seems to have rolled…” She scanned the wainscoting for some yards and finally gave a cry of triumph. “Yes, there it is, it’s got under my desk.” She poked with the nail-file. “It’s no good. I can’t quite get at it. It’s lucky you’re back, Mr. Bohun. Could you just lift the corner of the desk—”

“I suppose, sometime, I shall be allowed to do some of my own…” began Bohun. The words died.

He found himself staring, and Miss Cornel, Miss Mildmay and Miss Bellbas stared with him.

There was a very uncomfortable silence, which Bohun broke by saying:

“If I lift a little higher, could one of you pull it out carefully.”