Part 49: Penelope snatched her wig off…

Penelope snatched the brown thatch off and stood expectantly.

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While Penelope leaned over the desk, her two hands on it, smiling wistfully, Mr Styles shook his head and mollified: “No, I’m afraid I don’t. Sounds like good old religious Penelope to me! Olive was a cheerful, flirtatious sort of girl. Why, her laugh—“

“But I can laugh!” The dreadful croak that Penelope uttered was like the wail of an evil vulture perched on a rotting carcass. Mr Styles shuddered. Under the edge of the desk his fingers inched towards the buzzer by which he summoned his secretary.

They took an elbow each and guided Penelope to the door. Penelope threw them off and urged: “Look—this wig—it’s a wig. See, I am Olive!”

She snatched the brown thatch off and stood expectantly, a look of fright on her face.
Her ghastly appearance startled Mr Styles, but he shook his head and sighed. “You poor devil! Yes, it’s a wig, all right. But I wouldn’t say that hair was much like Olive’s!” He motioned towards a mirror in the room's corner.

Penelope wavered to it. And she saw that, day by slow day, her hair had turned from Olive’s thin silky blackness to a straggle of damp grey locks writhing over a yellow skull.
She begged pitifully: “Oh, can’t you see I am Olive? I stole one hundred and eighty-seven thousand pounds from you. Punish me! I will do anything to prove… Why, I’ve been at your house. Your wife’s name is Evelyn. My salary here was—.“

“My dear woman, don’t you suppose that Olive might have told you these interesting facts? They are no secret. I’m afraid the worry of this has—pardon me if I’m frank—but I’m afraid it’s turned your head a little, Penelope.”
 
To be continued… 
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Like to know more about Alf, Bert and the rest of the gang? You can read their chaotic history in What on Earth.
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