sharply. His left ankle, Cherry noted, as he caught his breath in pain. The Shah drew his coat around him and clumsily climbed into the car, slamming the door after him. Instantly the chauffeur started off, and the car streaked down the short driveway. The gate guard barely had time to open the A
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entrance gate. The black car drove through and disappeared on the other side of the wall. They could tell from the motor’s noise that the car was speeding along the road.
“Poor Lady Liddy must be dreadfully sick,” said the librarian, “if they’re obliged to rush her to a doctor at that speed.” She shook her head in sympathy.
“Turned his ankle. Well,” John Carewe said dryly, “now the doctor will have to have a look at both of them.” They all went back into the mansion. Cherry whispered to Martha that she would be wise to leave now, too. Martha whispered back that it was only eleven fi fteen, they had forty-fi ve more minutes left, and still a great deal to see. Mr. Carewe did not seem to expect them to leave, so she and Cherry started back upstairs.
They climbed slowly, resting every few steps.
“Isn’t the Shah fantastic?” Martha Logan said with a smile. “I’d hardly believe he’s real, if I hadn’t seen him on television.”
“That beard!” Cherry said. “But what’s on my mind is—what caused his wife to collapse. I couldn’t say so, but I wonder if she was faking.”
“Faking? Whatever for?”
“I can’t imagine. Unless she was bored here and wanted to leave. Of course,” Cherry said uncertainly,
“I don’t know how she feels —”
“Well—” Martha Logan started up the staircase again.
“Out with the notebook. Back to work.” At a landing she paused. “Oh, look at these miniatures! We overlooked them before.” She and Cherry 98 CHERRY
AMES,
COMPANION
NURSE
studied the unbelievably detailed little portraits for several minutes, and made notes.
As they continued up to the second fl oor, the guard Munro came rushing down the stairs past them, crying out:
“Mr. Carewe! The Gainsborough in the Blue Room is gone—cut out of its frame! Mr. Carewe, sir! Four major paintings have been stolen from the second fl oor!”
Cherry and Martha stood aside as the white-faced guard ran past them. They stared at each other. Martha Logan said:
“This is terrible. I hope they don’t suspect us. We’d better go right back to the library and tell Mr. Carewe we’re willing to be searched.”
“That bulky topcoat the Shah wore slung over his shoulders—” Cherry said. “He was alone on the second fl oor while we all were taking care of his wife—”
“Yes, I’m afraid the Shah had time to steal the paintings,” Martha Logan said. ‘‘He must have carried a sharp knife and worked fast—”
“—and probably his topcoat has a false lining, so he was able to smuggle the paintings out of here,” Cherry said. “Well, his wife was faking.”
“At the speed their car was traveling,” Martha Logan said, “they must be miles from here.”
“What time is it?” Cherry glanced at her wristwatch.
“Eleven thirty. Fifteen minutes since they left.” When they reached the offi ce, Mr. Carewe was talking on the telephone to the police. He looked stunned; A
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his veined hand holding the telephone shook, though his voice was calm.
“—two Romneys, a Reynolds, and the Gainsborough. That connoisseur took our very fi nest paintings! Pardon? . . . Of course I am certain it was Shah Liddy! Hasn’t all England been fl ooded with newspaper photographs of the Shah? Eh? . . .” John Carewe listened to the police at the other end. “No, I had not met the Shah before today. . . . Very well, I shall not expect you to send out a nationwide alarm until you check. . . . Yes. I understand. . . . As I said, a rented car, a black Bentley. Its license number? . . .My guard at the gate and my other guests’ driver believe its license number
FANTASTIC
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97
entrance gate. The black car drove through and disappeared on the other side of the wall. They could tell from the motor’s noise that the car was speeding along the road.
“Poor Lady Liddy must be dreadfully sick,” said the librarian, “if they’re obliged to rush her to a doctor at that speed.” She shook her head in sympathy.
“Turned his ankle. Well,” John Carewe said dryly, “now the doctor will have to have a look at both of them.” They all went back into the mansion. Cherry whispered to Martha that she would be wise to leave now, too. Martha whispered back that it was only eleven fi fteen, they had forty-fi ve more minutes left, and still a great deal to see. Mr. Carewe did not seem to expect them to leave, so she and Cherry started back upstairs.
They climbed slowly, resting every few steps.
“Isn’t the Shah fantastic?” Martha Logan said with a smile. “I’d hardly believe he’s real, if I hadn’t seen him on television.”
“That beard!” Cherry said. “But what’s on my mind is—what caused his wife to collapse. I couldn’t say so, but I wonder if she was faking.”
“Faking? Whatever for?”
“I can’t imagine. Unless she was bored here and wanted to leave. Of course,” Cherry said uncertainly,
“I don’t know how she feels —”
“Well—” Martha Logan started up the staircase again.
“Out with the notebook. Back to work.” At a landing she paused. “Oh, look at these miniatures! We overlooked them before.” She and Cherry 98 CHERRY
AMES,
COMPANION
NURSE
studied the unbelievably detailed little portraits for several minutes, and made notes.
As they continued up to the second fl oor, the guard Munro came rushing down the stairs past them, crying out:
“Mr. Carewe! The Gainsborough in the Blue Room is gone—cut out of its frame! Mr. Carewe, sir! Four major paintings have been stolen from the second fl oor!”
Cherry and Martha stood aside as the white-faced guard ran past them. They stared at each other. Martha Logan said:
“This is terrible. I hope they don’t suspect us. We’d better go right back to the library and tell Mr. Carewe we’re willing to be searched.”
“That bulky topcoat the Shah wore slung over his shoulders—” Cherry said. “He was alone on the second fl oor while we all were taking care of his wife—”
“Yes, I’m afraid the Shah had time to steal the paintings,” Martha Logan said. ‘‘He must have carried a sharp knife and worked fast—”
“—and probably his topcoat has a false lining, so he was able to smuggle the paintings out of here,” Cherry said. “Well, his wife was faking.”
“At the speed their car was traveling,” Martha Logan said, “they must be miles from here.”
“What time is it?” Cherry glanced at her wristwatch.
“Eleven thirty. Fifteen minutes since they left.” When they reached the offi ce, Mr. Carewe was talking on the telephone to the police. He looked stunned; A
FANTASTIC
VISITOR
99
his veined hand holding the telephone shook, though his voice was calm.
“—two Romneys, a Reynolds, and the Gainsborough. That connoisseur took our very fi nest paintings! Pardon? . . . Of course I am certain it was Shah Liddy! Hasn’t all England been fl ooded with newspaper photographs of the Shah? Eh? . . .” John Carewe listened to the police at the other end. “No, I had not met the Shah before today. . . . Very well, I shall not expect you to send out a nationwide alarm until you check. . . . Yes. I understand. . . . As I said, a rented car, a black Bentley. Its license number? . . .My guard at the gate and my other guests’ driver believe its license number
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