herself Miss Parsons had snatched a long hatpin from the other girl's
hat on the table, and stabbed Mary Gibson through the heart. She fell
without a cry.
This was the tragedy mirrored on my wall at the foot of my bed. I saw
the fall. I saw the murderess stoop; I saw her rise with something in
her hand--something that gleamed green and blue, like a wonderful
butterfly's wing. As I stumbled out of bed and groped for the
dressing-gown which Teano had unpacked, I saw the woman tiptoe towards
the door. Then a man's face came into the picture.
The murderess turned and saw the face also. But instead of trying to
escape, she did a wiser thing. Wide open she flung the door and
screamed at the top of her lungs, "Help! Murder! A burglar has killed
my friend!"
The big night watchman, who had paused on his round for a chat with
Nella, seized Morosini as the Italian sprang on the woman at the
threshold.
"Maurice!" shrieked Nella, betraying her secret, yet caring not at all.
Her one thought was of the man she loved. "He's innocent. He came to
see _me_, not to steal, or murder."
Morosini realised quickly how the case stood. He was lost if he could
not get free, he thought. And so it might have been, if that lighted
picture had not appeared on the wall at the crucial instant. I came
tottering around the corner in time to shout:
"Don't let that woman go: she committed the murder. I saw it. I've
enough evidence to convict her, and the jewel she did it for is in her
hand now."
Miss Parsons stared at me like a mad creature, flung from her the Eye
of Horus, and rushing back into the room of death, was out of the
window before we could reach her.
Never before had the Priscilla Alden been smirched by scandal. The
managers were in despair. But the suicide from a window on the
thirteenth floor, and the story of my vision in the room opposite,
combined with the romance of Nella and Morosini, attracted new clients
instead of driving away the old.
"Miss Parsons," identified in death, proved to be an ex-convict, who
had mysteriously disappeared from the ken of the police months before.
Thanks, however, to that page of _The World_, missing from Dr. Thorne's
office, her tragedy in an attempt to steal the Egyptian Eye of Horus
carried me one step further on my own quest.
EPISODE IV
THE DEATH TRYST
For me, one of the strangest things in a strange world is this: the
compelling influence exerted upon our lives by people apparently
irrelevant, yet without whom the pattern of our destiny would be
different.
Take the case of Anne Garth and her connection with Maida
Odell--through Maida Odell, with me. Of my adventures in America while
attempting to protect Maida, that in which Anne Garth played her part
was among the most curious.
It happened while Paul Teano, the private detective, and I were trying
our hardest to bring "Doctor Rameses" to book. We were morally certain
that he was the Egyptian who had, for a mysterious reason of his own,
persecuted the girl's family, and followed her (as its last surviving
member) from Europe to New York. Unfortunately, however, a moral
certainty and a certainty which can be proved are as far from one
another as the poles. We might believe if we liked that "Doctor
Rameses," controlling the Grey Sisterhood, intended evil to the girl
who had been induced to join it: but it was "up to us" to prove the
connection. So far as the police could learn, Doctor Rameses was as
philanthropic as wise. If, as we suggested, his was the spirit guiding
more than one criminal organisation in New York, he was the cleverest
man at proving an alibi ever known to the force. If we reported his
presence in a certain place at a certain time, he was invariably able
to show that he had been somewhere else, engaged in innocent if not
useful pursuits. As for Maida, her confidence in the veiled woman at
the head of the Sisterhood was apparently unbroken. Judging from the
little I could find out, she was irritatingly happy in her work among
rescued women and children, at the lonely old house on Long Island. No
doubt there were genuine cases cared for, which made it hard to prove
anything crooked, especially to a girl so high-minded.
She had promised to remain for a year, and I had met her too late to
change that determination. The rules of the House did not permit the
sisters (of whom there were only six) to receive the visits of men, and
though now and then I contrived to snatch a glimpse of Maida, seldom or
never since our real parting had I had word from her except by letter.
How could I be sure the letters were genuine?
While I was in the state of mind engendered by these difficulties,
Teano rushed in one morning to say that he was off to Sing Sing.
"There may be something for us," he said, and asked me to go with him.
It seemed that the Head Sister had departed at dawn in her automobile
from the Sisterhood House (Teano had someone always watching the place
night and day, in these times), and "putting two and two together" he
deduced that she might be en route for the prison. He had learned that
a notorious woman criminal was coming out that day, after serving a
heavy sentence. She had been a member of an international band of
thieves; and if the head of the Grey Sisterhood intended to meet her,
it could hardly be a case of "rescue."
"I know a 'con. man' whose time is up," Teano went on, "and I shall
make an excuse of meeting him if I see the lady's head turned my way.
The same excuse would do for you, my lord. 'Twon't matter putting the
woman on her guard, for if she's going to meet Diamond Doll, they'll
have met before we give 'em the chance to spot us and we'll know what
we want to know."
I was keen on the expedition, and offered my car for it. We overtook
the Head Sister, and our hearts bounded with hope: but, though we were
able to follow in her wake all the way, our hopes were dashed by
finding that she had come to "rescue" a person of a different class
from buxom "Diamond Doll." The latter was met at the moment of release
by a virtuous looking mother; and the tall grey form of the Head Sister
advanced toward a small, shabby young woman who might have been a
teacher in a Sunday-school.
The latter, unless she were a good actress, could hardly have feigned
the start of astonishment with which she received the veiled lady's
greeting. She had been glancing about as if she expected someone but
that one was not the head of the Grey Sisterhood. She listened with
reserve for a moment, then brightened visibly. She had rather a tragic
face, as if she were born for suffering, and could not escape.
Evidently, so far, she had not escaped; but she was young, not more
than twenty-eight. Her oval face was pale with prison paleness, and
there were shadows under the deep-set grey eyes which held no light of
hope.
Why should the Head Sister single this girl out? If her object were
charitable, there were other women being released who needed
encouragement; yet it was to this one alone that help was offered.
As the veiled lady explained herself with the dignity of manner which
had won Maida Odell's admiration, a young man joined the two, with an
apologetic air. He had to be introduced to the Head Sister, and as he
pulled off his cap I recognised a vague likeness between him and the
girl.
His decent, ready-made clothes were of the country, and proclaimed
themselves "Sunday best." His sunburnt complexion was of the country,
and his shy, yet frank manners were of the country too.
The new-comer was out of breath, and apparently had hurried to make up
time lost. He kissed the girl; and presently, without seeming to
notice us, the Head Sister walked away with the two. She was
favourably known to the prison authorities for her "kindness" in
finding work for discharged women prisoners, and for her offers of
shelter in the Sisterhood House till work could be found. If we had
attempted to give warning against her, we should have been laughed at
for our pains, and there was nothing we could do but play watchdog.
This we did, making ourselves inconspicuous, but not resorting to the
pretext Teano had suggested. We let the "con. man" go off to face the
world without a salutation, and devoted our attention to the friends of
the Head Sister. It was only the girl who went with her in the closed
automobile. The man bade them good-bye, but not with an air of sorrow.
He looked grave as he set off for Ossining station, but satisfied
rather than sad. Plainly it pleased him to think that the young woman
had a powerful protector.
"Well?" I asked, when Teano and I had let the strapping figure stride
out of sight: for the detective had been trying to unearth some memory
of the girl's features. "Have you got her dug up?"
"Yes, milord," said the Italian, grinning at my way of putting it.
"She'll be no use to the grey dame in any shady job. They say I have
'camera eyes.' When I see a face--or even a photograph--I don't
forget. Anne Garth is the girl's name. She was not bad at heart."
"She doesn't look it," I said. "She'd be beautiful if she were
fattened up and happy."
On our way back to Long Island Teano told me Anne Garth's story. She
was a country girl, ambitious to become a nurse. Somehow she had
worked her way up with credit in a New York hospital. There she had
fallen in love with one of the younger doctors; and when his engagement
to another woman was announced, she had waited for him outside the
hospital one day, and shot him. The wound was not serious, but Anne
Garth had spent two years in Sing Sing to pay for the luxury of
inflicting it.
"Doran the doctor's name was," Teano remembered. "Not much doubt he
flirted with the girl and made her believe he would marry her. She
might have got off with a lighter sentence, but she wouldn't show
regret. The jury thought her hard. She doesn't look hard to me,
though! I expect the fellow we saw was the brother--her only relative,
I recall the papers saying. Let me think! Didn't he have some job in
the mountains? Something queer--something not usual! I can't bring it
to mind. But it doesn't matter."
"I suppose not," I agreed. "Did Doran marry the other girl?"
Teano shook his head. "No," he said. "After what happened, she was
afraid to trust him, or else--but there's no use guessing!"
I agreed again. Neither was there much use in "guessing" the Head
Sister's object in taking Anne Garth into the Sisterhood House; but
there might be more use in trying to find out. During the weeks that
followed I did try, with Teano's help, but succeeded only in learning
that Miss Garth was employed as a nurse. She was seen in the garden by
Teano's watchers, wearing a nurse's dress, but she did not appear
outside the gates.
A month later, I happened to hear talk of a fancy dress ball in honour
of an Egyptian prince visiting America. He was a relative of the
ex-Khedive, and being a handsome man with romantic eyes, was being made
much of by more than one hostess. The ball was to be given by Mrs.
Gorst, a rich "climber," a lady who was, I heard from Teano, one of the
hypnotist Rameses' devoted patients. She lived in the fashionable new
Dominion Hotel, where the ball would take place. Her guests would
dance, newspapers announced, in the "magnificent Arabian room, so
congenial in its Eastern decorations to the taste of the principal
guest, Prince Murad Ali."
It occurred to me that Dr. Rameses was certain to be one of these
guests. I did not know Mrs. Gorst, but I knew some of her friends, and
to get an invitation was "easy as falling off a log." As it was only a
fancy dress affair, and no masks were to be worn, if Rameses were
present I ought to recognise him. I hoped to make sure whether he was
or was not the man with the scar, who had frightened Maida Odell at the
theatre on the night when I met, fell in love, and--lost her. Since
that night I had discovered Doctor Rameses' existence and had seen him
more than once, but without the clue of the scar it was impossible to
identify a man seen for a few seconds only. If Rameses' throat bore
the mark, there could no longer be room for doubt, and I determined to
lay hands on him if necessary.
How I was to manage this, I didn't see: but that was a detail. I
secured the card, and 'phoned to my old hotel in New York for a room.
If I had dined there, everything that followed would have been
different, but I went with the man who had got me invited (a friend of
Odell's) to dine at his club. There I stopped till it was time to go
back and rig myself up as a Knight Templar: and taking my key from one
of the clerks I was told that a young lady had called.
"A young lady?" I echoed. My thoughts created a white and gold vision
of Maida, but the clerk's next words broke it like a bubble.
"She was dressed as a nurse," he explained. "She wouldn't give her
name; said you'd not know it--but she mentioned that she'd called first
at your Long Island hotel. When she told them there that her errand
was urgent they consented to give this address."
"The errand was urgent!" I felt my blood leap. After all, the vision
might not have been so far-fetched. What if this woman were the nurse
from Sisterhood House--Anne Garth, whom I had seen come out of
prison--Anne Garth with a message for me from Maida?
"What did you tell her?" I asked.
"Well," the clerk hedged, "she seemed anxious to know where she could
find you--insisted it was a matter of life and death, so I suggested
you might be at Mrs. Gorst's ball for that Egyptian Prince."
My first impulse was of anger. The man was a fool, not to have known
that I must come back to dress! But in a flash I realised that if he
hadn't known, it was my fault. I had left no word when I went out at a
quarter to eight.
"I may see or hear from her later," I said, holding out a hand for my
key. With it, the clerk gave me an envelope--one of the hotel
envelopes, sealed and containing a thing which felt like a small
account book. It was addressed in pencil, evidently in haste. Inside
the flap I caught sight of something else hurriedly pencilled, luckily
discovering it as I tore the envelope, to extract a black-covered
note-book. "I was going to write a letter," I read, "but I fear I'm
watched. This is the best I can do, unless they let me in at the ball."
There was no signature, not even an initial.
I went up to my room, and opened the book under the light of a
reading-lamp. Its contents suggested a diary, with a number of
disjointed notes dashed down in pencil (the same handwriting as that
inside the envelope) with many blank spaces.
"I never hoped for anything like this," were the only words on the
first page, under the vague date, "Wednesday." On the next page was
jotted: "It's like heaven after hell, and _she_ is an angel. I never
saw anyone so beautiful or sweet. Would she be as kind if she _knew_?"
"This must mean Maida," my heart said. Certainly it could not refer to
the Head Sister! But, after all, how did I _know_ that the "woman
dressed like a nurse" was Anne Garth? So far, I merely surmised.
Eagerly I turned over the leaves. Often the writer spoke of herself,
or of things that had no special meaning for me. Then came a note
which held my eyes. "I've confessed to _her_ the truth. She says I
was more sinned against than sinning. Heaven bless her! She has
confided in me what is making her ill. The poor child suffers! I
never heard of one as sane as she, having illusions. I suppose they
_are_ illusions. She can have no enemies."
Again, on the next page: "She has told me her history. What a strange
one! She _has_ enemies. But none of them can have got in here? I'm
glad she has a love story. I pray it may have a happier end than mine."
A few blank leaves, and then: "There's a room with a locked door over
hers. Nobody sleeps in it. I wonder why they keep it locked? I
suppose it's a coincidence. If they wished her harm why should they
send for a nurse to take care of her, when she isn't ill, except for
dreams.... A beautiful thing she said last night. 'I should die of
horror if I didn't make _his_ face come between me and the wicked face.
His love saves me.' I envy her the _saving_ love! Through mine I was
lost. I wish I were allowed to sleep in her room. _She_ wouldn't ask,
because she thought it cowardly, but I did, and was refused. I'm
needed at night for the children's room."
Further on, after more blanks: "It's against the rules for men to come
here, but I saw a man going upstairs--or a ghost. They say there _are_
ghosts in this house. A woman told me that the room over my sweet
girl's is haunted. That's why it's locked. I wonder if the man-ghost
was going to it? I wish it hadn't been dark in the hall, so I could
have seen what he was like. He seemed a tall moving shadow."
Later: "I hope there's nothing wrong with _my_ head! I was going to
the room of our H.S. for orders. I thought the message was for me to
tap at her door at nine o'clock, but before I had time to knock she
came out and met me. She shut the door as she asked what I wanted--the
first time she's spoken sharply! But I caught one glimpse of the room
inside. Opposite the door, there's a picture of the desert by
moonlight, and the Sphinx. It's in a carved black frame, set in the
middle of a bookcase. The frame is part of the bookcase. But as I
looked into the room this time--I didn't mean to look or spy--the
picture of the Sphinx _wasn't there_. It seemed to have opened out
like a door of a cabinet, and behind it was a white space with names
and dates written in red. On top was a sign like an eye, and
underneath I thought I saw the words, 'I watch, I wait.' Then came the
dates. I can't be sure what they were, but I think the first was 1865.
There was a General and a Captain, and a Madeleine or Margaret, all of
the same name, which I _think_ was Annesley. Anyhow, there were three
dates and four names, and opposite the fourth name--that of my
beautiful girl--was a question mark. A black line had been drawn
through the other names as if they were done with, but there was no
line through hers.
"It's queer how quickly one sees things--all in a flash. I'd only time
to draw in my breath before the door of the room was closed, yet I kept
the impression, as one goes on seeing the sun with one's eyes shut.
Now, _could_ I have imagined the whole thing? I _did_ imagine things
at night in my cell, but I _knew_ they weren't there. They never
seemed as real as this."
These notes, hastily pencilled, covered several of the blue-lined
pages. There were more blanks; and then, in a shaky hand was written:
"I'm frightened. I caught H.S. dropping something from a tiny bottle
into the glass of milk on the tray I was getting ready to take
upstairs. I'd turned my back to fetch a bunch of violets H.S. had
brought in for me to put with the breakfast. I don't know if she knew
I caught her, but she said she put phosferine for a tonic into the milk
twice a week, and asked if I approved. Perhaps I oughtn't to say I
'_caught_' her. Perhaps it's all right. But if we had a cat in the
house I'd have tried to make it drink the milk. I tasted it, and there
was a faint bitter tang, yet phosferine would give that. I dared not
drink more, because if anything were wrong, and I were ill or died, I
couldn't protect _her_. But I poured out the milk and got fresh, in
another glass, when I was sure H.S. was back in her study with the door
shut. This can't go on. If anything is wrong, I mayn't be able to
save _her_. And the fear is getting on my nerves. Yet I can't bear to
give the poor child a warning. She has enough to worry about. All day
this horrid thought has been in my head. Was _I_ chosen because if
_she_ died, I could be blamed--a prison bird, with a black heart too
full of evil to be reclaimed by kindness? If my darling girl will give
me the name of the man who loves her and where he is, I'll make some
excuse to get a day off--perhaps to meet my brother Larry--and tell her
lover what has been going on."
This was the last entry in the book, and it gave me the certainty for
which I groped. The nurse must have come from the Sisterhood House and
from Maida; and--Maida cared for me more than I had made her confess.
I could hardly wait to get to the ball. My first object in going was
forgotten in anxiety to find Anne Garth, to hear all she'd meant to
tell me when she called, and missed me. It was still important--more
than ever important, perhaps--to identify Dr. Rameses as a conspirator
against Maida; but I could no longer concentrate my thoughts upon him.
My fear was that Anne Garth might not have been admitted, lacking the
card of invitation which every guest was asked to bring. But I judged
that she would not give up easily. If her costume (which she might
make pass as fancy dress) and her determination did not get her into
the ballroom, I believed that she would think of some other plan.
Though the Dominion Hotel is new, its Arabian room is famous. It might
be called "Aladdin's Cave," so gorgeous are its glimmering gold walls,
and the stage jewels which star the ceiling and the gilded carvings of
its boxes. Even its drapery is of gold tissue, embroidered with
jewelled peacock feathers: its polished floor gleams like gold,
reflecting thousands of golden lights, and its gold-framed
panel-mirrors repeat again and again a golden vision. I was an early
arrival, but there were many before me, because Prince Murad Ali had a
reputation for un-oriental promptness, and lovers of pageants wished to
see his entrance with his suite. If Doctor Rameses were present among
the gorgeous groups scattered like bouquets about the ballroom, my most
searching glances failed to pick him out. I had no intention of giving
up the quest, however; and wishing to be independent I tried to evade
my hostess's offer of pretty partners who "danced like angels."
Unfortunately, as I thought, fortunately as it turned out, the lady
conquered. I evaded a "Fox trot" on the plea that my wounded leg was
too stiff: but I could not refuse to sit out with a countrywoman of
mine, just over from England, who had "come to look on." We had known
each other slightly at home, and I was obliged to sit through a dance
telling Lady Mary Proudfit who people were.
"At least," I tried to console myself, "if Anne Garth or that brute
Rameses comes along, I can see them."
But the crowd increased, and with many dancers on the floor it was
difficult to distinguish faces. The Prince and his attendants arrived,
magnificent as figures incarnated from the "Arabian Nights"; and the
entrance of the principal guest was the signal for a charming surprise.
From hidden apertures in the carved ceiling, rose petals--pink and
white and golden yellow--began to flutter down, light as snowflakes.
The great room was perfumed with attar of roses, and silver ribbon
confetti, glittering like innumerable strands of spun glass, descended
on the laughing dancers. My companion and I were lassoed by the fairy
ropes, and looking up I was struck on the cheek with a rose thrown from
a box.
The flower was thrown, not accidentally dropped. It came from a
distance, aimed by a woman dressed as a nurse. She was sitting in a
chair drawn close to the front of her box--a box in the second tier,
close to the musicians' gallery--and was leaning on the ledge in order
to take good aim. Behind her stood a tall man in chain armour, his
visor so nearly covering his face as practically to mask it. He was
bending over the nurse, as if to see where her rose fell.
Before I could grasp the flower it had fallen to the ground, and I had
to stoop to pick it up. I was rude enough to have forgotten Lady
Mary's existence until--as I was unwinding the thread which bound a
thin bit of paper to the stem--she exclaimed, "A melodrama, Lord John!
The jealous husband's on your track. Be careful, or he'll see that
note--no, he's gone from behind her now. Perhaps he's coming down to
you."
"Forgive me, Lady Mary," I said, "but this is serious. Not a love
affair, I assure you, but it may be a vital matter. I must go to that
box. I----"
"Don't mind me!" She took the cue, and changed her teasing tone to
friendly common sense. "Here comes a man I know. He'll look after me.
Go along! Why, how odd! Your friend who threw the rose is pretending
to be asleep--or she's fainted!"
I glanced up from the note I had been reading while my companion
talked. The nurse still leant on the broad ledge with its golden
fringe, but she had laid her head on her arm. Her face I could not see.