Death of a Beauty Queen by E.R. Punshon Page B

didn’t want to have anything to do with Leslie Irwin?’
    â€˜Well, yes, it was.’
    â€˜Do you know anything about a Claude Maddox?’
    Sargent looked blank, and shook his head.
    â€˜No. Who is he?’ he asked.
    â€˜Apparently he was engaged to her – at least, that’s what he says.’
    â€˜Oh, that’s a lie,’ Sargent protested, looking very much disturbed. ‘I’m sure... I never heard... I mean, she would have told me... I should have heard.’
    â€˜Or Mr Beattie?’ Mitchell asked.
    â€˜Oh, I knew he was running after her,’ Sargent answered. ‘There were plenty like that. This Maddox was most likely another of them – lots of them, I know. She hardly knew them all herself.’
    â€˜She does seem to have been a busy young lady,’ Mitchell agreed.
    â€˜I don’t want you to misunderstand me,’ Sargent went on. ‘I just took a friendly interest in her, that’s all. I wanted to help her if I could. That’s why I hit on this idea of a Beauty Contest. I knew she would have a good chance of winning it. I thought it was a good publicity idea in itself, and if she won it she would have all the introductions she wanted. Of course, what she was after was to get out to Hollywood – that’s what she was really keen on. Look here, I don’t want any of this to get out. I suppose it needn’t, need it? You see, Mrs Sargent... I didn’t tell her about those dinners up West Carrie and I had together – no need to; there was nothing in them... Oh,’ he added, with a touch of bitterness, ‘Carrie knew how to take care of herself – just how to keep you at arm’s length.’ He paused, and seemed to ruminate in silence on past experiences that had not been altogether flattering to his self-esteem. ‘Well, now then, I don’t want anything said about it publicly, you understand? Not that it matters really, only it might lead to a little bit of bother at home – cost me a new diamond ring or a new fur coat to put it right,’ he explained, with a somewhat feeble grin.
    â€˜Nothing will be said that is not necessary, nothing will be kept back that is,’ Mitchell assured him gravely; and, after a few more questions, Sargent was allowed to go, though not before he had reiterated once again that his friendship with Miss Mears had been of the most ordinary and innocent type.
    â€˜Which I am inclined to think it was,’ Mitchell commented, after his departure, ‘but more thanks to her than to him, I daresay. I’m beginning to think Miss Mears was a rather remarkable young lady in her way. I wish I knew what was keeping Penfold – have to send an expedition to look for him soon. You had better bring in that doorkeeper you were telling me about, Owen. Wood’s his name, isn’t it? We had better hear what he has to say.’
    But Wood merely repeated the story already told – that a rough-looking man had asked for a Miss Quin, and while the list was being consulted for her name, which was not on it, had pushed by into the building.
    â€˜Any other night,’ declared Wood, ‘I’d have been after him like a shot, and had him out before he knew what was happening, but, to-night – well, a pantomime, that’s what it’s been; same as Mr Sargent said himself – a pantomime, he said, and so it was all the blessed evening, with all them blessed girls all rushing in and out same as they were, all mad together, and all their friends and relatives after ’em, brothers especial. If you ask me,’ said Mr Wood solemnly, ‘every girl what entered for the competition to-night had ten brothers at the least, and most of ’em a good many more. Brothers – why, they sprout brothers, they do.’
    â€˜Well, never mind that,’ said Mitchell. ‘Did you see this man, you speak of, again?’
    â€˜No,