"In my jewel case."
"Very well. Now," said Daphne, "Madge and I are going to fix this thing up. You are not to know anything about it. You can swear to that later on, if the question comes up. Is there any place in your studio where you keep money?"
"In the table drawer."
"Very well. To-night before you go to bed put that money there. Early to-morrow morning send a maid to the drawer. If, by any chance, it is not there, send for the police."
Poppy was sitting up in bed, her eyes narrowed.
"The door of that wing is always locked. Viv has one key; I have the other."
"Never mind about the keys," said Daphne, loftily. "Now lie back and take a nap. Madge and I are going to look at the new picture. And I'm taking Madge home to dinner. I want her to go with me to the Edgware Road meeting to-night."
We did not look at the picture very long. Daphne's lips were shut tight, and I was feeling very queer. I knew what Daphne meant to do—to have the exact amount of Poppy's tax stolen from the table, and reported to the police. And later on in the day to have it sent to the tax office in Poppy's name. Poppy could swear she had not done it and point to the robbery. But by that time it would be credited to her name, and Viv would be free.
"It's a knot," said Daphne, running her fingers through her hair. "It's past un-tying. We have to cut it."
I know it sounds silly now and father has advised me never to tell mother, but it seemed the only thing at the time. Here were Viv and Poppy at an impasse, as one may say, and things getting worse every day—Viv on a hunger strike, and Poppy's work waiting, and the vote, which was our natural solution, as far off as ever.