Mrs. Kildair took the note again and returning to the desk locked it in
the drawer.
"This, then, was my situation the night of the party. I had lost two
thirds of what I had. I was absolutely resolved to play everything I
possessed on one last gamble. I need not remind you of the financial
situation at that time. I knew Majendie and I knew Slade. Furthermore,
I knew Mrs. Bloodgood. The problem was this--if Majendie was to be
supported and the Atlantic Trust to be upheld, there would probably be
no panic. If Majendie failed, I knew there would be a tremendous break
in stocks--a killing for those who knew what was coming. That night
everything depended on my solving Majendie's fate. I did and I won. It
was a guess, but a guess such as you understand. I have known too many
men not to know how a true man acts under such circumstances. He came
from the meeting that had condemned him, and the first moment he greeted
Mrs. Bloodgood, I was sure that he was lost. Later, as he bowed
ironically to something I had said, I saw in the gaping of his pocket
something that gave me another clue--a slight thing, but which had a lot
to do with what followed--just an edge of a green folder."
"A folder?" said McKenna, perplexed.
"Yes, a folder that I thought might be a railroad time-table," she said,
nodding. "I knew, of course, of Mrs. Bloodgood's infatuation. I had
her confidence. I knew that she had started to procure a divorce. I
likewise knew how often she had begged Majendie to elope with her.
Furthermore, almost every one there that night was watching Majendie for
the same purpose--all who were speculating; Mr. and Mrs. Cheever,
Bloodgood, Garraboy, Maud Lille, Slade--who came in late, quite
unexpected--were there on the same errand."
"Yes, that I understood," said McKenna.
"Now, I come to the actual theft of the ring. The moment I found it had
been taken, I realized all the difficulties of my position, how
dangerous any inquiry would be to my reputation, which would necessarily
establish the fact of its being a gift of Slade's. I resolved on
desperate measures. That is why I came back, had the doors locked,
extinguished the lights, and announced that I would call in detectives
to have every one searched, unless the ring was restored during the
period in the dark, while I counted one hundred."
"Did you suspect who had taken it?" asked McKenna.
"There were several I could suspect--that was the trouble," she said.
"As you know, when I had counted sixty-one, there was a sound on the
table. Every one exclaimed! The ring had been restored! When the lights
were lit the table was bare. Evidently a second thief had taken what the
first had restored. That's what I thought--every one thought. I was
wrong. There were not two thieves, there was only one."
"The same person had put it down as a blind and taken it again," said
McKenna slowly, as she waited for his comment.
"No," she replied, smiling. "It was all cleverly planned, and only an
accident prevented its being successful. My ring was never on the
table."
"The ring that was thrown down, then," said McKenna, suddenly
enlightened, "was another ring--a blind--to cover what any one might
have seen? I see!"
"And also to make it appear that the ring was in the studio."
"Yes, I understand it now," said McKenna, nodding, with a sudden snap of
his fingers.
"I immediately went out, locking the door, and telephoned for my
detectives. To this point this was my only thought. When I had done
that, I began to think over what had happened. It seemed incredible to
me that any one should have dared take such a risk--particularly as a
search was inevitable. When I returned to the studio and awaited the
arrival of my detectives, this was my only thought. I studied each and
I became convinced that the ring would not be found on any one. If that
were true, where was it? In the studio, hidden somewhere--but even
there it would be sure to be found--so why should any one have even
risked that?" She stopped a moment and then said quietly, with again
that same far-seeing look beyond him: "McKenna, in my life I have seen
many strange scenes. I have known of many more. One such came back to
me and I guessed this much--that the real ring had not been heard. But
that was all. When the detectives arrived, I went quietly into the
hall, still trying to work it out. Quite by accident, I brushed against
one of the coats that was hanging over the railing and knocked it down.
Absolutely mechanically, without knowing why I did it, when I picked it
up I ran my hands in the pockets. In the second was the ring."
"And the coat, you say, was Beecher's?" said McKenna, amazed.
"Wait. I replaced it hurriedly, noticing how similar it was to another
that still lay on the rail. Then I opened the door and ushered the
detectives into the dining-room. I had the ring, but I did not know the
thief. Then all at once it came over me to what use I might put what
had occurred. I had the ring which had been offered me, but which I
could not accept openly. I could now use it to raise money for the
speculation I had resolved upon, without Slade's knowing of the
obligation. Second, I wanted to make sure that I had really seen a
time-table in the pocket of Majendie. I gave my order to that effect to
the detectives and started the search."
"Was it a time-table?"
"Nothing was found. Majendie, profiting either by the first period of
darkness, or the second, had thrown it away. I found it in the
waste-basket a little later. It was a time-table and his very action
made my guess a certainty."
"But the thief?"
"When the turn of Garraboy arrived," said Mrs. Kildair, "he left, as all
did, without returning to the studio. I was watching him particularly.
Five minutes after he left, he returned. He had taken Mr. Beecher's
coat by mistake."
An exclamation of annoyance escaped McKenna. He sprang up angrily.
"Mrs. Kildair," he said, not attempting to restrain his annoyance, "that
is the one thing Mr. Beecher neglected to tell me--see how we are
handicapped--"
"I'm not blaming you, McKenna," said Mrs. Kildair with a smile. "On the
contrary, you discovered entirely too much."
"It was cleverly worked out," said McKenna grimly, "and no risk. He had
his wits about him. Sounding another ring on the table to limit the
search to the studio was quick thinking. Planting it in Beecher's coat
was better. Even if he were caught with it on, he could pretend
amazement, a natural mistake. And if not, it was a clean getaway," he
added ruefully. "All the same, I wish I'd known that detail."
"For the rest you were right. Mapleson loaned me the money. He is an
old acquaintance, and I have once or twice," she said carelessly,
"rendered him important services. He did telephone me ten minutes
before you came. I staked everything I had in the market. I doubled my
losses. Is there any other point?"
"Your having the detectives stay was, of course, a blind?"
"Of course. I called Miss Charters and Garraboy on purpose. To this
day I wonder who he thinks got the ring from him."
"He suspects," said McKenna.
"Probably," she said carelessly. Then she turned on him. "Now,
McKenna, answer me a question."
"Which one?"
"It's a thing I want to know," she said, with a sudden shade of dread
creeping over her face. "It is one of those fatalities in life that are
so terrible. Majendie killed himself because he thought the detectives
on his track had a warrant for his arrest. Weren't they, in fact, your
men, simply placed there to record his movements for Slade?"
"Mrs. Slade," said McKenna, not noticing the slip, "you have just given
me a profound confidence. Would you trust in my power to keep it, if,
supposing I knew anything, I should tell you? Ask your husband himself
and tell me yourself. I am curious also."
Mrs. Kildair, who saw in the politic evasion a feminine answer, nodded
and drew back with a shudder.
At this moment Kiki entering announced that Mr. Beecher was below.
"Tell him the truth," said McKenna quickly. "That is, three quarters of
the truth. Leave it to me."
When Beecher entered, expectation and long-restrained curiosity on his
face, McKenna, with a look of crestfallen defeat which completely
deceived him, said immediately:
"Mr. Beecher, have you that envelope I gave you?"
"Am I to open it?" said Beecher eagerly, bringing it out.
"On the contrary," said McKenna, taking it quickly. He took it and
could not resist examining the edges to see if it had been tampered
with. "This is one of my failures, Mr. Beecher," he said, tearing it
into small pieces. "I've got too much vanity to let you see what an ass
I've been."
"What does this mean?" said Beecher, standing open-mouthed.
"It means, Teddy," said Mrs. Kildair severely, "that it is entirely your
fault."
"My fault!"
"Yes, your fault. You neglected to tell Mr. McKenna the one thing that
was important."
"What thing--what do you mean?"
"That Mr. Garraboy went off with your coat by mistake."
"Yes, Mr. Beecher," said McKenna, shaking his head, "by not telling me
that one detail, you've made a fool out of me."
"Then, Garraboy took it!" said Beecher, his face lighting up with a
smile of triumph.
"Garraboy took it, planted it in your pocket and then faked the ring at
the table. The ring was returned through a woman who guessed it and had
it restored. Her name is a secret, but you are at liberty to guess."
"Miss Lille," said Beecher to himself. This denouement, which coincided
so closely with his own divination, completely convinced him.
"If you've no further use for me," said McKenna, with the same hang-dog
look, "I'll be going. Another time I hope to serve you better."
"Thank you," said Mrs. Kildair, who contrived to add to the words a
little smile, comprehensible only to the detective.
"Permit me to give you my profound congratulations," said McKenna,
taking her hand with a bow that made Beecher open his eyes in wonder.
"I wish you every success."
"_Au revoir_, McKenna," said Mrs. Kildair, still smiling.
"Good-night, McKenna," said Beecher in turn.
"Oh, you," said the detective, going off grumbling; "I have a bone to
pick with you."
Beecher laughed guiltily when the door had closed.
"By Jove," he said, "McKenna certainly is in bad humor. I'm sorry. But
he was off on a tangent, wasn't he?"
*CHAPTER XXVI*
"Just one thing I would like to know," said Beecher when Mrs. Kildair,
following McKenna's lead, had left off with Garraboy's departure.
"What?" she said, noticing his sudden embarrassment.
He could not keep from his face a new consciousness, but he went on
lamely:
"Why did Miss Charters come back?"
She laughed at what his manner revealed, and said:
"So that's it! I told you she came when I telephoned her."
"Yes, but why did you do that?"
"Because I noticed her agitation and the way she watched one person in
particular."
"Mrs. Bloodgood?"
"Yes."
"What did she tell you?"
"She had seen Mrs. Bloodgood pick up the ring and try it on," said Mrs.
Kildair. "The circumstances did seem suspicious, for Mrs. Bloodgood
looked up in the mirror and saw her watching her. Miss Charters did not
know whether she had returned it, I suppose. That was all. It did look
bad--considering what happened afterward."
"That was it, then," said Beecher, satisfied. He raised his head and
saw Mrs. Kildair's eyes on him intently.
"Well?" he said with an innocent expression.
"How far has it gone?" said Mrs. Kildair.
"What?"
"Are you in love with Miss Charters?"
"I wonder," he said evasively.
"Are you serious?" she asked quickly.
"And if I said yes--"
"You are thinking of marriage?"
"And if I were?"
"You'd be a big fool," she said decisively.
He raised his eyebrows, astonished and wounded.
"You say this--the day before your own?"
"Come here," she said, taking him by the wrist and leading him to the
sofa. "Sit down there. Are you really seriously thinking of marriage?"
"Yes, I am."
She drew back in her chair, looking at him in doubt.
"Teddy," she said at last, "you are too worth while to be spoiled like
that. You have been too loyal a friend for me not to keep you from this
blunder."
"But, good heavens, am I not a responsible being?"
"Listen," she said, cutting him off. She glanced at the clock. "I
haven't much time, so don't interrupt me. I am very fond of you and
what I say is in kindness. Yes, I am going to marry, and yet I say to
you that you should not. I understand what it means. I have nothing to
learn. There are two kinds of marriages, Teddy. The marriage that
ninety-nine persons out of a hundred make--the marriage that is a
joining of forces to fight the battle of life--has a definite object.
The wife is the helpmate. The serious thing is to live, to pay the
bills and to save a little money. You have nothing to do with that kind
of marriage. The other kind of marriage is the marriage our sort makes,
most of the time--no responsibilities, no object, and no struggle. You
take a wife to help you enjoy yourself, and your enjoyment depends on
piling up new sensations--in never being bored. Happiness in such
conditions is a miracle. As a matter of fact, it is not a marriage at
all, it is simply a liaison."
"Even then?"
"Yes, certain liaisons have lasted and been happy," she admitted; "we
know that, but only on the same terms that will make permanent happiness
in such a marriage. You are not a worker--you are simply curious about
life, and curiosity is not a thing that is satisfied by one experience.
The marriage you would make now would simply be an experience in
curiosity, with inevitable results. To have any chance of success, do
you know what ought to be?"
"What?"
"There should be on each side an equal experience in curiosity. When
you have known two hundred women, you will find that there is always one
above the rest who is necessary to you. Miss Charters may be that one
now, but without the experience I speak of, you will never recognize it
until too late. Therefore," she said, standing up, "don't marry for ten
years. Not with such eyes and such lips," she said, passing her hand
over the flushed face of the young man. "I know what I'm speaking of.
Life's a very big world when you're alone, and a very small patch when
you're married. Wait. Think over what I've said, Teddy."
He did think over what she had told him as he walked out into the
street.
"She sees very clearly," he said solemnly, "and there's a great deal in
what she says--a great deal," he repeated firmly, and stopping at the
first hotel he telephoned Nan Charters.
The next morning he received another note from her.
Just to repeat, Teddy dear, that I think too much of you to hold you to
what happened yesterday. We must both think _seriously--very
seriously_.