Evening star., 1935-04-28
MARGERY ALLINGHAM
AH itself, doesn't Il? Henry"
~ Mr.. Henry Bromrigg


~ Mr.. Henry Brownrigg
signed his name on the
back of the little blue bill with a flourish.
Then he set the scrap of paper carefully in
the exact center of the imperfectly secured
developing bath. and, leaving the offending
utensil on the kitchen table for his wife to find,
he stalked back to the shop. feeling that he
had administered the rebuke surely and. at
the same time. gracefully.
In fifteen years Mr.. Brownrigg felt that he
had mastered the art of teaching his wife her
Job. Not that he taught her. That. Mr. Brown
rigg felt. with woman of Miles staggering
obtuseness was past praying for. But after
long practice. he could deliver the snub or
administer the punishing word in way which
would penetrate her placid dullness
Within half an hour after she had returned
from shopping and before lunch was Get upon
the table, he knew the bath would be back in
the dark room, bright and pristine az when it
was new. and nothing more would be said
about It. Milhe would be little more inef-
fectually anxious to please at lunch, perhaps,
but that was all.
Mr.. Brownrigg passed behind the counter
and f1icked speck of dust off the dummy
cartons of face cream. It was twelve twenty
five. In four minutes Phyllis Bell would leave
her Office further down High Street, and in
seven and half minutes she would come in
through that narrow. sunlit doorway to the
cool. drug scented shop
On that patch of floor where the sunlight
lay blue and yellow, since it had found its
way in through the enormous glass vases IN
the window which were the emblem of his
trade. she would stand and look at him, her
blue eyes limpid and her small mouth pursed
and adorable.
The chemist took up one of the ebony
backed hand mirrors exposed on the counter
for sale and glanced at himself in it. He was
not altogether progressing person. Never
a tall man, at forty-two, his wide, stocky
figure showed definite tendency to become
fieshy, but there was strength and virility in
his thick shoulders. while his clean-shaven
face and broad neck were thick and bull-like
and his bps were full.
Phyllis liked his eyes. They held her, she
said. and most Of the other young women who
bought their cosmetics at the corner shop
and chatted with Mr.. Brownrigg across the
counter might have been inclined to agree
with her. Over dark. round, hot eyes had Mr..
Brownrigg; not at all the sort of eyes for a
little plump, middle e-aged chemist with a
placid wife like Millie.
But Mr.. BFownrigg did not contemplate his
own eyes. He smoothed his hair, wiped his
lips. and then. realizing that Phyllis was
almost due, he disappeared behind the dis
pensing desk. It was just as well, he always
thought, not to appear too eager.
He was watching the door, though, when
she came in. He saw the flicker of her green
skirt as she hesitated on the step and saw her
half-eager. half-apprehensive expression as she
glanced toward the counter.
He was glad she had not come in when a
customer was there. Phyllis was different
from any of the Others whose little histories
stretched back through the past fourteen
years. When Phyllis was in the shop, Mr.
Bsownrigg found he was liable to make mis-
takes. liable to drop things and fluff the
change.
He came out from his obscurity eager in
spite of himself, and drew the golden-haired
girl sharply towards him over that part of the