nor unbelief in the pale face which she screened with two trembling
hands. The story I had told--hastily yet circumstantially--had
prepared her for the end. But the keen anguish in the girl's voice
snapped the last strand of Odell's patience. He threw the iron door of
the safe wide open, and in two bounds was at Grace's side. I saw her
hold out both arms to him. I saw him snatch her up against his breast;
and then I turned to Marian Tostini, who had not moved from her place
beside the big carved chair. She was staring straight at me, her dark
eyes wide and unwinking as the eyes of a person hypnotised. The hand
in the torn glove had dropped from her lips again and clasped the
carving. She seemed to lean upon the chair, as if for support. Her
fingers clutched the wood. The grey suede glove was slit now all
across its back, but the snake-eye of the emerald had ceased to shoot
out its green glint. The stone hung from its setting like the hinged
lid of a box, showing a very small gold-lined aperture.
"There need be--no stain on the name of--Callender--if you are as
clever in hiding the secret as you've been--in finding it out," she
said, with a catch in her breath between words.
"What have you done?" I asked.
"You know--don't you--you who know everything? The ring was my Italian
mother's--and her mother's before her. Who can tell how long it has
been in our family? It was empty when it came to me, but----"
"But you put into it some of the same poison Antonio Tostini made up
for Perry and Ned Callender-Graham?"
"Do you think you can force me to accuse the Tostinis? You shall not
drag a word from me. When Paolo hears I am dead he will die also,
before you can find him. Antonio you cannot touch. He is in Italy.
Thank Heaven their father is dead! And now I think--I had better go
home or--or to my doctor's. Grace and Roger Odell--wouldn't like me to
die here. It might--start scandal. I am feeling--a little faint."
"Aunt Marian!" Grace sobbed. But Odell held the girl in his arms and
would not let her go.
"Take Miss Callender away, Odell--quickly," I advised. "I'll attend
to--Mrs. Tostini."
Like one who walks in a dream I shut the safe on my way to the desk,
and telephoned downstairs for a taxi. "One of the ladies who called
has been taken ill, I must drive her to a doctor's," I explained.
"You think of everything," Marian Tostini said. She laughed softly.
"My heart has always been weak."
"Taxi is here, sir," a voice called up through the 'phone.
"Very well. We'll be down at once. Tell Mr. Felborn his office is
free. Now, Miss Callender--I mean Mrs. Tostini, let me help you."
"I'm afraid I must say 'Yes,'" she smiled. "My heart--beats so slowly.
Tell me, Lord John, as we go--how did you find out--the secret? It
seemed so--well hid!"
"I guessed part, and bluffed the rest. I had to," I confessed, half
guiltily. The woman could make no ill use of such a confession now.
"I found the flat--and the lock--and two sheets of blotting paper. I
made out the anonymous letters, and one to your husband. I showed the
snapshot I got of you on shipboard to the house-agent. But he couldn't
be sure--said Mrs. Paulling wore a veil when he saw her. The name
'Paulling' was a clue too--enough like Paolo to be suggestive. Some
criminals love to twist their own names about. And Paolo Tostini is a
criminal. He has brought you to this----"
"If there is guilt, I am the guilty one," she said calmly. "So sorry.
I have to lean on you a little. Ah! it's good to be downstairs--and in
the air. My doctor's name is Ryland. His address is The Montague,
East 44th Street. It's so near--we can get there, I think, in time.
You'll tell him--nothing?"
"I'll tell him nothing," I echoed.
As I put her into the taxi I noticed that she had snapped the emerald
back in its setting, and the green snake-eye glinted up harmlessly once
more from the limp hand in the torn glove.
EPISODE II
THE GREY SISTERHOOD
LORD JOHN'S FIRST ADVENTURE IN LOVE
When applause forced the curtain up again and again on the last scene
of our play--Carr Price's and mine--I wasn't looking at the stage, but
at a girl in the opposite box. The box was Roger Odell's, and I was
sure that the girl must be his adopted sister Madeleine. But because
of the insult she had suffered through my brother, I might not visit
the box uninvited.
If Grace had been with her husband and sister-in-law there might have
been hope. But the wedding had been private, because of Miss Marian
Callender's death, and it was not to be supposed that the bride would
show herself at the theatre, even as a proof of gratitude to me. I was
in Governor Estabrook's box, with him and Carr Price, and the girl
whose engagement to Price depended, perhaps, on the success of this
night; but I thanked my lucky stars--that I was invited by Grace to
dine after the theatre, _en famille_.
"Surely I shall meet _Her_," I tried to persuade myself. "She's here
with Roger, to show that she bears no grudge against my family. She
can't stop away from supper when I'm to be the only guest."
This hopeful thought repeated itself in my head whenever I was thwarted
by finding my eyes avoided by the girl--the wonderful girl who, with
her lily face, and parted blonde hair rippling gold-and-silver lights
was like a shining saint. She was so like a saint that I would have
staked my life on her being one, which made me more furious than ever
with Haslemere. I felt if she would give me one of her white roses
lying on the red velvet of the box-rail, it would be worth more to me
than the Victoria Cross I was wearing for the first time that night.
"Author! Author!" everybody shouted, as the curtain went down for the
tenth time. I heard the call in a half-dream, for at that instant
Madeleine Odell dropped the opera-glasses through which she had been
taking a look at the audience. They fell on the boxrail among the
roses, and pushed off one white beauty, which landed on the stage close
to the footlights; but I had no time to yearn for that rose just then.
I had thought only for the girl, who shrank back in her chair as if to
hide herself. Startled, Roger bent down with a solicitous question.
Thus he screened his sister from me, as a black cloud may screen the
moon; and my impulse was to search the house for the cause of her alarm.
The audience as a whole had not yet risen, therefore the few on their
feet were conspicuous, and I picked out the man who had seemingly
annoyed Miss Odell. Just a glimpse I had of his face before he turned,
to push past the people in his row of orchestra chairs. It was a
strange face.
"That man has some connection with the mystery of Madeleine Odell's
life!" was my thought. I knew I had to follow the fellow, and there
wasn't a second to lose, because, though he was perhaps twice my age, I
had to get about with a crutch and he had the full use of his long,
active legs. Before I'd stopped to define my impulse I was on my feet,
stammering excuses to Governor Estabrook and his daughter.
"You mustn't leave now. We're wanted on the stage!" Carr Price caught
my arm; but a muttered, "For God's sake, don't stop me," told him that
here was some matter of life or death for me, and he stood back. After
that, I must have made the cripple's record; and I reached the street
in time to see the quarry step into a private car. I knew him by the
back of his head, prominent behind the ears and thatched with sleek
pepper-and-salt hair; but as he bent forward to shut the door, he
stared for half a second straight into my eyes. His were black and
long--Egyptian eyes, and the whole personality of the man suggested
Egypt; not the Arabianised Egypt of to-day, but rather the Egypt which
left its tall, broad-shouldered types sculptured on walls of tombs. He
made me think of a magnificent mummy "come alive," and dressed in
modern evening clothes.
After the meeting of our eyes the man turned to his chauffeur for some
word, and the theatre lights seemed to point a pale finger at a scar on
the brown throat. The length of that thin throat was another Egyptian
characteristic, and though the collar was higher than fashion decreed,
it wasn't high enough to cover the mark when his neck stretched
forward. It was the queerest scar I ever saw, the exact size and shape
of a human eye. And on the white neck of Miss Odell I had noticed a
black opal with a crystal centre, representing the eye of the Egyptian
god Horus. This fetish was the only jewel she wore; and if I hadn't
already been sure of some association between her and the man now
escaping, that eye would have convinced me.
Roger Odell had forced on me the gift of an automobile, and Price and I
had motored Governor Estabrook and his daughter to the theatre; but as
it was waiting in the procession which had just begun to move, my only
hope of following the man was to hail a passing taxi. I was about to
try my luck, when a hand jerked me back.
"Good heavens, Lord John, are you going to leave us in the lurch? The
audience are yelling their heads off!" panted Julius Felborn.
I would have thrown him off, but the second's delay was a second too
much. The dark car was spinning away with its secret--which might be a
double secret, for I caught a glimpse of a grey-clad woman. Somebody
grabbed the taxi I'd hoped to hail, and it was too late to do anything
except note the licence number. Since my war-experience and wounds,
I've lost--temporarily, the doctors say--my memory for figures. It is
one form which nerve-shock takes; and fearing to forget, I made a note
with a pocket pencil, on my shirt cuff.
"A man like that is no needle in a haystack," I consoled myself. "I
can't fail to lay my hand on him if he's wanted." Then, making the
best of the business, I allowed Felborn to work his will. He dragged
me back into the theatre, and on to the stage, where I bowed and
smirked at the side of Price. Queer, how indifferent the vision of a
girl made me to this vision of success! But I'd never fallen in love
at first sight before, or, indeed, fallen in love at all in a way worth
the name.
The vision was still there when I looked up, though it would soon be
gone, for Roger had put on his sister's cloak, and both were standing.
The girl shrank into the background; but as I raised my eyes perhaps
the S.O.S. call my heart sent out compelled some faint answer. Miss
Odell leaned forward and it seemed that she threw me a glance with
something faintly resembling interest in it. Perhaps it was only
curiosity; or maybe she was looking for a rosebud she had lost. I
couldn't let the flower perish, or be collected by some Philistine; so
I bent and picked it up. I trusted that she would not be angry, but
when I raised my head the vision and the vision's brother had both
disappeared.
This was the happiest night of Carr Price's life, because Governor
Estabrook had journeyed from his own state with his daughter to see the
play. If he could, he would have kept me to supper in order that I
might talk to the Governor while he talked to the fascinating Nora; but
I had yet to learn whether there was a chance of its being the happiest
night of my life, and I flashed off in my new car at the earliest
moment, to find out. Down plumped my heart, however, when only Grace
and Roger appeared to welcome me.
As soon as I dared, I invented an excuse to ask for the absent one; or
rather, I blurted out what was in my mind. "I hoped," I stammered, "to
see Miss Odell again--if only for a few minutes. I felt sure it was
she at the theatre. And I wanted to beg--that she'd let me try to
atone--to compel Haslemere to atone."
"Oh, she's sorry not to meet you," Roger broke in, "But she's not
strong. And she--er--was rather upset in the theatre. She doesn't go
out often; and she never takes late supper. She's probably in bed by
this time----"
"Oh, Roger, do let me tell him the truth!" exclaimed Grace. "Think how
he helped us in our trouble? What if he could help Maida? You must
admit he has a mind for mysteries, and if he could put an end to the
persecution which has spoiled her life, Maida wouldn't join the
Sisterhood."
"She's going to join a Sisterhood?" I broke out, feeling as if a hand
had squeezed my heart like a bath sponge.
"Yes," said Grace, glancing at Roger. "You see, Rod, it slipped out!"
"I suppose there's no harm done," he answered. "Only, it's for Maida
to talk of her affairs. Lord John's a stranger to her."
"But," I said on a strong impulse, "I've taken the liberty of falling
in love with Miss Odell, without being introduced, and in spite of the
fact that she has a right to despise my family. This is the most
serious thing that's ever happened to me. And if she goes into a
Sisterhood the world won't be worth living in. Give me a chance to
meet her--to offer myself----"
"Great Scott!" cried Roger. "And the British are called a slow race!"
"Offer myself as her knight," I finished. "Do you think I'd ask
anything in return? Why, after what Haslemere did----"
"Oh, but who knows what might happen some day?" suggested Grace. "Rod,
I _shall_ make Maida come down."
Without waiting to argue, she ran out of the room. She was gone some
time, and the secret being out, Roger talked with comparative freedom
of his adopted sister's intentions. The Sisterhood she meant to join
was not a religious order, but a club of women banded together for good
work. At one time the Grey Sisters, as they called themselves, had
been a thriving organisation for the rescue of unfortunate girls, the
reformation of criminals, and the saving of neglected children; but the
Head Sister--there was no "Mother Superior"--had died without a will, a
promised fortune had gone back to her family, and had not a lady of
wealth and force of character volunteered for the empty place, the
Sisterhood might have had to disband. The new Head Sister had
persuaded Madeleine Odell to join the depleted ranks. They had met in
charity work, which was Maida's one pleasure, and the mystery
surrounding the woman had fired the interest of the girl whose youth
was wrecked by mystery. The New York home of the Sisterhood had been
given up, owing to lack of money, but the new Head Sister, whose life
and fortune seemed dedicated to good works, had taken and restored an
old place on Long Island. More recruits were expected, and various
charities were on the programme.
"It's a gloomy den," said Roger, "and stood empty for years because of
some ghost story. But this friend of Maida's has a mind above ghosts.
They're going to teach women thieves to make jam, and child pickpockets
to be angels! No arguments of mine have had the slightest effect on
Maida since she met this foreign woman.
"The child has vowed herself to live with the Sisterhood--I believe it
consists at present of no more than five or six women--for a year.
After that she can be free if she chooses. But I know her so well that
my fear is, she _won't_ choose. I'm afraid after all she's suffered
she won't care to come back to the world. And the sword hanging over
our heads is the knowledge that Maida's pledged herself to go whenever
the summons comes."
If Roger's talk had been on any subject less engrossing, I should not
have heard a word. As it was, I drank in every one. Yet the soul
seemed to have walked out of my body and followed Grace upstairs. It
was as if I could see her pleading with my white-rose vision of the
theatre; but I was far enough from picturing the scene as it really
was. Afterward, when I heard Maida Odell's story, I knew what strange
surroundings she had given herself in the rich commonplaceness of that
old home which had been hers since childhood.
"The shrine" adjoined her bedroom, I know now, and for some girls would
have been a boudoir. But the objects it contained put it out of the
"boudoir" category. There were two life-size portraits, facing each
other on the undecorated walls, on either side the only door; there was
also a portrait of Roger's father; and opposite the door stood on end a
magnificent painted mummy-case such as a museum would give a small
fortune to possess. Even without its contents the case would have been
of value; but behind a thick pane of glass showed the face of a
perfectly preserved mummy, a middle-aged man no doubt of high birth,
and of a dynasty when Greek influence had scarcely begun to degrade the
methods of embalming. When I saw these treasures of Madeleine's and
learned what they meant in her life, I said that no frame could have
been more inappropriate for such a girl than such a "shrine."
Grace told me afterwards that she induced Maida to put on her dress
again and come downstairs, only by assuring her that "Poor Lord John
was dreadfully hurt." That plea touched the soft heart; and my fifteen
minutes of suspense ended with a vision of the White Rose Girl coming
down the Odells' rather spectacular stairway, with Grace's arm girdling
her waist.
We were introduced, and Maida gave me a kind, sweet smile which was the
most beautiful present I ever had. How it made me burn to know what
her smile of love might be!
Supper was announced; indeed, it had been waiting, and we went into the
oak-panelled dining-room where the girl was more than ever like a white
flower seen in rosy dusk. At the table I could hardly take my eyes off
her face. She was more lovely and lovable than I had thought in the
theatre. Each minute that passed, while I talked of indifferent
things, I spent in mentally "working up" to the Great Request--that she
would show her forgiveness by accepting my help. At last, after butler
and footman had been sent out, and words came to my lips--some sort of
inspiration they seemed--a servant returned with a letter.
"For Miss Odell, by district messenger," he announced, offering the
envelope on a silver tray.
"Is there an answer?" Maida asked, her face flushing.
The footman replied that the messenger had gone; and with fingers that
trembled, Maida opened the envelope. Quite a common envelope it was,
such as one might buy at a cheap stationer's; and the handwriting,
which was in pencil, looked hurried. "I have to go to-morrow morning,"
the girl said simply. She spoke to Roger, but for an instant her eyes
turned to me.
"Oh, darling," cried Grace, springing up as Maida rose, "it's not
fair--such short notice! Send word that you can't."
"The only thing I _can't_ do, dear, is to break my promise," the girl
cut in. "I must go, and she asks me to travel alone to Salthaven.
That's the nearest station for the Sisterhood House. She gives me the
time of the train I'm to take--seven o'clock. After all, why isn't one
day the same as another? Only, it's hard to say good-bye."
To leave my love thus, and without even the chance to win her, which
instinct whispered I might have had, seemed unbearable. But there was
no other course. She gave me her hand. "Could it be that she was
sorry?" I dared ask myself. But before I had time to realise how
irrevocable it all was, I stood outside Odell's closed door. I stared
at the barrier for a minute before getting into my car, and tried to
make the oak panels transparent. "I won't let her go out of my life
like this," I said. "I'll fight."
Before I'd reached my hotel I had thought out the first move in a plan
of action. But maybe there is another thing I ought to mention, before
I speak of that plan. Roger gave me, when I left him, an interesting
description of an electrical contrivance by which he protected the
chief treasure of his sister's shrine from burglars. He insisted on
giving me the secret in writing, also, because he would have to go away
shortly, and wanted someone to know what to do "in case anything went
wrong." The servants, though trustworthy, were aware only that such a
protection existed and was dangerous to meddlers.
Consulting with West, the chauffeur, I learned that to reach Salthaven,
Long Island (the nearest village to Pine Cliff), passengers must change
at Jamaica. I told him to get to that junction in the morning without
fail, before the seven o'clock train was due, and we arranged to start
even earlier than necessary, to allow for delay. In the hotel office I
asked to be waked at five, in the unlikely event that I should
oversleep, and was going to the lift when the clerk at the information
desk called after me, "I believe, Lord John, a big box arrived for you.
It was before I came on duty, but you'll find it in your suite."
Nothing seemed less important in that mood of mine, than the arrival of
a box. I had ordered nothing, expected nothing, wanted nothing--except
a thing it seemed unlikely I could ever have; so when I found no box in
my bedroom or small sitting-room, I supposed that it--whatever it might
be--would be sent next morning. Then I forgot the matter.
I wished to sleep, for I needed clearness of brain for my task. But
sleep wouldn't come. After I had courted it in the dark for a few
minutes, I switched on the electric light over my bed, smoked a
cigarette or two; and when my nerves were calmer, began studying
Roger's electrical invention as described in two documents, a sketch of
Miss Odell's famous mummy-case, with the wiring attached, and a
separate paper of directions how to set and detach the mechanism.
Suddenly, in the midst, a wave of sleep poured over me, sweeping me to
dreamland. I have a vague recollection of slipping one paper under the
pillow, and I must have dropped off with the other in my hand. I was
seeing Maida again, asking her permission to keep the white rose, and
receiving it, when some sound brought me back to realities. I sat up
in bed and looked around the room, my impression being that someone had
been there. Nothing was disarranged, however. All seemed as I had
left it--except--yes, there was one change! My eyes fastened upon the
shirt cuff on which I had written the licence number of the automobile.
I had flung the shirt over a low screen, and had forgotten, in the rush
of crowding thoughts, to copy the number in my journal. There hung the
shirt as I had left it, but the number, which I had written clearly and
distinctly, had become a black blur on the glazed linen.
I sprang out of bed, and switched on more lights. Surely I had not
smudged the number by any clumsy accident. The noise I had heard--that
sound like the "click" of a lock? One swift look at the shirt cuff
came near to convincing me that a bit of rubber eraser had been used,
and then I remembered Roger's documents. The one I had slipped under
my pillow was gone. Fortunately it was useless to the uninitiated
without the other!
I got to the door almost as quickly as if I'd never been wounded, but
found the key still turned in the lock. To have slipped out and locked
the door on the _inside_, meant a clever thief, a skilled _rat
d'hotel_, provided with a special instrument; but that the trick could
be done I knew from hearsay. I threw open the door and looked into the
dimly lit corridor. No one was visible, except the flitting figure of
a very small child, in a sort of red-riding-hood, cloak, with a hood.
The little creature seemed startled at the noise I made, and ran to a
door which it had nearly reached. Someone must have been waiting for
its return, for it was let in and the door closed.
"If anyone's been in my rooms, he's probably there still," I said, and
began to search in the obvious way--looking under the bed. What I
found sent me to the door again; for a curious, collapsible box, just
big enough to hold a small child, turned the innocent, flitting figure
I'd seen into something sinister. Quicker than light, thoughts shot
through my head; the arrival of a "big box," my failure to find it in
my room, the click of the lock, some knowledge of me by the man with
the scar, and a fear of my vaunted "detective skill." Slipping on a
dressing-gown as I went, I stalked down the corridor to the door which
opened to admit the child; and the knob was in my grasp when a voice
spoke sharply at my back. "Haven't you mistaken the room, sir?" the
night watchman warned me.
I had met the man before, when coming in late, and he knew my number.
He was a big Irishman, twice my size. I foresaw trouble, but went to
meet it. "I've reason to believe a thief's been in my rooms, and taken
refuge here," I explained. "I want this door opened." With that I
rattled the knob and knocked threateningly. Almost at once the door
was unlocked, and the sweet face of a young woman in a neat, plain
dressing-gown peeped out. "Oh, what's the matter?" she faltered. "Is
it fire? We have a child here."