need: but semi-consciously I heard their greetings as I turned away.
The entrance to the boxes was outside the ballroom, and there might
have been some delay in identifying the one I wanted, but for the note
attached to the rose. Anne Garth bade me come quickly to Box 18, as
she feared she had been followed. "I have a letter for you from
_her_," was added as a further inducement.
On the door of each box was a number. I knew 18 was in the second
tier, and hurried up the narrow stairway which led to that row, almost
rudely pushing past a Harlequin and Columbine who were coming down.
Apart from them I had the stairs and corridor to myself. If the man in
chain armour had altogether deserted Box 18, he had made haste to
disappear--a fact so disquieting that I regretted not having smuggled
Teano into the hotel to help. Being alone, I had to obey orders and go
at once to the box, although I saw that keeping track of the man was
equally important.
I knocked, and when no answer followed, opened the door of Number 18.
The nurse sat in the same position which Lady Mary had remarked,
bending forward from her chair across to the broad ledge and leaning
her whole weight on it, her head on her arm.
"Miss Garth?" I said, knowing now for certain it was she, as in looking
up I had recognised the face seen outside Sing Sing prison. How she
had recognised me would have been a puzzle, had I not conceitedly
deduced that Maida had annexed a photograph given by me to Roger. But
it was not important to solve this puzzle. "Miss Garth?" I repeated,
raising my voice over the music.
No reply: and a prickling cold as the touch of icicles shivered through
my veins as I laid a hand on the grey-clad arm. It was responseless
like her lips, and sick at heart I raised the limp figure in the chair.
The head in its long veil and close-fitting bonnet lolled aside, and
there was no consciousness in the half-open eyes. The girl had fallen
into a dead faint, or--she had been murdered, I could guess by whom.
But selfishly, my first thought was not for her. It was for the
promised letter, and in her lap half concealed by the folds of her grey
cloak--I found it: a blank envelope, unsealed, but evidently containing
a sheet or two of paper.
"Thank God it's not been stolen!" I muttered, and pocketing the
envelope turned my thoughts to the thing which must next be done.
No wound was visible, not even a drop of blood to cover a pinprick: but
I could feel no beating of the heart; and the swift vanishing of the
man in chain armour was ominous. I realised that, if the girl had died
by violence, I might come under suspicion, unless I could quickly prove
innocence. Needing my liberty in order to protect Maida, I could run
no risk of losing it, and I realised that with Lady Mary Proudfit lay
my best hope. There wasn't a minute to waste; and without a glance at
the letter I was dying to read, I peered through the sparkling of
ribbon confetti and rose petals. What a mockery the brilliance was,
and the gay ragtime melody in the musicians' gallery next door! Yet
the bright veil had its uses. It was like a screen of shattered
crystal hiding the tragedy in Box 18.
Lady Mary, as I hoped, sat where I'd left her. I beckoned. Surprised,
but evidently pleased, she spoke to her companion, a British financier
on government business in New York. Instantly they began to thread
their way through the crowd, and less than five minutes brought them to
the box.
"This lady had important news for me," I explained, "news of a dear
friend she has been nursing. It was as important for others that the
news shouldn't reach my ears. I fear there's been foul play, and I
want a doctor. Everything must be done quietly--and the girl can't be
left alone. But the police must be called, if she turns out to be
dead, and----"
"Oh, I can bear witness that her head dropped suddenly on her arm,
while that man in chain armour bent over her--before you even left me.
He was in fearful haste to get away!" Lady Mary interrupted.
"Hello, what's this!" exclaimed the financial magnate, Sir Felix
Gottschild, stooping to drag from under a chair, pushed against the
wall, a peculiar bundle. "Here is chain armour--a whole suit, rolled
up and tucked under the chair! By Jove, it tells a tale--what? You'll
be all right, whatever happens, Lord John. We'll stop till you get
back."
I waited for no more, but went down to inform one of the men keeping
the ballroom door what had happened. The police and a doctor were
'phoned for, and arrived with almost magical promptness. The gold
tissue curtains were quietly drawn across Box 18 while two "plain
clothes" men took note of what Lady Mary Proudfit and I had to tell,
and the doctor probed the mystery of Anne Garth's condition. He was
soon able to pronounce her dead, but it was not till later that he
discovered the prick of a hypodermic syringe at the base of the brain.
The girl had been killed as sick dogs are suppressed with an injection
of strychnine. Pre-occupied as I was with my own affairs, I could not
help remarking the doctor's emotion. He was a young man, and at the
time I credited him with unusual sensitiveness and sympathy: but when I
learned that his name was Doran I was less sure that he deserved
credit. Poetic justice had gone out of its way to avenge Anne Garth by
ordering this coincidence.
I told what I knew of the girl, beginning with the day I saw her leave
Sing Sing prison with the directress of the Grey Sisterhood, and going
on to the episode of the note dropped, weighted with a rose. I had
reason to emphasise Anne Garth's connection with the Sisterhood, hoping
to fasten suspicion upon it, and secure aid more powerful than
mine--that of the police--for Maida. I described the tall Harlequin
who had passed me in the corridor as I hurried toward Box 18, and urged
my theory that the murderer of Anne Garth had worn this disguise under
his chain armour. With the help of a confederate (the Columbine)
waiting in an adjoining box, he could have made the change, and so
escaped without drawing attention. I did not hesitate to suggest,
also, that the man was Doctor Rameses, the hypnotist: but the police of
New York had come to consider me mad on the subject of Rameses and the
Grey Sisterhood. I was assured that enquiries would be made: and they
were made. It was ascertained that Doctor Rameses had accepted Mrs.
Gorst's invitation, but at the last moment had telegraphed that an
attack of "grippe" had laid him low. Another alibi as usual! It was
proved (to the satisfaction of the police) that he had not left his
house that night. The disjointed diary of Anne Garth contained no
names, and was not even an accusation, still less a proof of evil
intent on the part of any member of the Grey Sisterhood.
I heard early next day that the police had duly, if discreetly, visited
Pine Cliff, and learned that all was "above board." Anne Garth had
been impudent, and careless about her duties. She had been discharged
some days before the ball, her principal patient having gone away on a
visit, in order to "get rid of the nurse without a fuss." Some gossip
in the house must have turned the woman's thoughts to Lord John Hasle,
and she had seen a way of embarrassing the ladies of the Sisterhood.
As for the murder, a theory was suggested by a bundle of love letters
found among Anne Garth's effects, forgotten when she departed. From
these it appeared that she had been in the habit of meeting a man who
signed himself "Dick," whenever she was given a day off from her duties
at Sisterhood House. The last letters threatened reprisals if she
persisted in seeing a certain "Tom," otherwise unnamed.
As for the Harlequin and Columbine, they were as impossible to trace as
ghosts. No one could be discovered who had seen them enter the
ballroom or leave it. Had it not been for Lady Mary Proudfit's
testimony, I might have floundered into serious difficulties, in spite
of the chain armour. Thanks to her (and perhaps a little to my own
position) I was free to come and go; which was well, because Anne Garth
had left me a tryst to keep for the following night.
The one fact I hid was the existence of the letter found by me in the
dead girl's lap. It was typed, and unsigned: but Anne Garth's journal
proved to me, if not to the police, that she was loyal; and the note
tied to the rose promised a letter from Maida. "From _her_," the nurse
had written, expecting me to understand, and I had understood. I had
also believed, because I could see no reason why Anne Garth, risking
much to deliver the message, should deceive me. The man in chain
armour had had too great a need for haste to seek a letter, nor had he
reason to suspect the existence of one. His object, if I read it
right, was to prevent Anne Garth from telling her story.
The note so fortunately hidden under the nurse's cloak was not in
Maida's writing, but had been neatly typed. It was not the first time,
however, that I had received typed letters from her. Sometimes I had
doubted their genuineness, but one of them explained that she had
learned to use a typewriter, to help the Head Sister with charitable
correspondence. After that I had felt more at ease about those clearly
typed communications.
"My dear Friend," the letter began (Maida never gave me a warmer
title), "I've been ill with grippe, which is an epidemic here. Now I'm
better, but so weak that I long for tonic air, and it has been decided
to send me up to the Crescent Mountain Inn. I'm looking forward to the
change after my hard work and illness. But how glorious it would be if
you could come to see me! I hope to start the day after you receive
this. If I can get off then, I shall arrive at the Crescent Mountain
railway station in the train which reaches there at nine-fifteen. I
don't know what time the train that connects with it leaves New York,
but you can find out--if you care to! At the station a team of dogs
with a driver who serves the Inn (his name is Garth) meets the train if
ordered. As my departure is a little uncertain, because I'm not
strong, no telegram has been sent so far, and the team is free for
anyone who wishes to engage it. If you _should_ do so, and I should
happen to be in the train, I'm sure you wouldn't mind having me for an
extra passenger! I've spoken only to one person about my brilliant
idea of our meeting. Yours ever, M."
Nobody who reads this can wonder that I didn't show it to the police,
or that I was ready to believe the letter genuine. Despite the gloom
cast upon me by the death of Maida's messenger, despite my annoyance
with the police, I was selfishly happy. I saw that I was in great luck
to have got out of a tangle which might have enmeshed me in bonds of
red tape; and it goes without saying that I telegraphed the Crescent
Mountain Inn, ordering a room, and Larry Garth the dog-driver to meet
me with his team.
I remembered Teano's mentioning that Anne Garth's brother lived in the
mountains; and I 'phoned him to ask if the man were employed by the
Crescent Mountain Inn. The answer was, "Yes, he drives their
dog-team"; and I was the more firmly convinced that Maida and Anne
Garth had concocted the typewritten letter together.
In deducing this, I belittled the Enemy's intelligence. But one lives
and learns. Or, one dies and learns.
The Crescent Mountain Inn--as most people know--is one of the most
famous winter resorts in America. It is also an autumn and spring
resort for those who love winter sports, for snow falls early at that
great height, and rests late. Its comparative accessibility from New
York adds to the charm, and the sledge with a team of Alaskan dogs
(instead of an ordinary sleigh drawn by mere horses) was an inspiration
on the part of the landlord.
I told no one but Teano of my intention. He, oppressively prudent
where I was concerned, wished to accompany me "in case of queer
business," but I discouraged this idea without hurting his feelings.
If there were hope of an "accidental" meeting with Maida in the train,
I didn't want even a companion.
To my disappointment, I searched the train from end to end without
finding her. But enquiring of the conductor, I learned that the
morning train was preferred by ladies. Perhaps--I thought--she had
already got off, in which case Garth might bring a note to the Crescent
Mountain station. I hoped for Maida's sake it might be so, because if
she'd started early she would not have heard of her messenger's fate,
and I could break the news to her gently. As for the dead girl's
brother, it seemed improbable that he would be informed by telegram.
The pair were said by Teano to be alone in the world; and as Garth's
evidence wouldn't be needed--anyhow for days to come--in the affair of
Anne's murder, he would not be sent for post-haste.
Again I underrated the intelligence of the Enemy.
The train arrived on time at the little mountain station built for
clients of the famous Inn. As it was still early in the season (it is
only for Christmas that crowds begin going up), I wasn't surprised to
find myself alone on the platform. The mountain train (into which I'd
changed long ago from the train starting from New York) went no further
that night. Snow-covered shoulders and peaks glistened dimly in
half-veiled starlight, and I was glad to hear the jingle of bells. A
big sledge, capable of carrying several passengers and a little light
luggage, was in waiting with a fine team of impatient dogs: but the
driver who touched his fur cap with a mittened hand was not the
honest-faced country man who had met the released prisoner at Sing Sing.
"You're not Garth!" I exclaimed, when he asked if I were Lord John
Hasle, and had been answered affirmatively.
The dim yellow light from the little station building shone into his
face, and I thought it changed as if with chagrin. It was not as
pleasant a face as the one I remembered. In fact, it was not pleasant
at all. The eyes were brave enough, or anyhow bold; but the nose was
big and red as if the fellow warmed his chilled blood generously with
alcohol. He was older than Anne Garth's brother. The heavy features
framed in fur ear-laps might have belonged to a man of forty.
"Oh, yes, I'm Garth," he assured me, in a voice roughened by the same
agent which had empurpled his nose.
"You're not the Garth I've seen," I persisted.
"That may be," he admitted. "We're brothers. I'm a bit older than
Larry. He had to go to New York. Between the two of us, we do the
driving for the Crescent Inn."
This explanation was good enough, if Teano was wrong about the family.
"Have you a note for me?" I asked.
"No note," was the reply. "But you're expected at the Inn all right."
"They have other guests by this time, I suppose?"
"Yes, a few. The last that came's a young lady. I took her up from
the afternoon train."
This was what I had wanted to find out. My instinctive dislike of the
ugly-faced chap vanished. I felt almost fond of him.
"Let's get on," I said.
Another man had been looking after his dogs, a man also coated and
capped in fur--a big chap whose face I could not see, as he didn't
trouble to salute or look my way before climbing into his seat beside
the driver's place. The suitcase I'd brought from New York was
disposed of: I tucked myself into the strong-smelling rugs of rough
black fur, and the dogs flashed away like a lightning streak, their
forms racing with shadow ghosts on the blue whiteness of starlit snow.
Soon we came to a cross track, marked with a sign-post. A red lantern
on the top seemed to drip blood over the words "Crescent Mountain Inn.
Winter Sports."
To my surprise, though the dogs made as if to swerve leftward and dash
up this beaten white way, the driver swore, and with his long whip
forced them straight ahead.
"We take the short cut. 'Tisn't everyone who knows it," he deigned to
fling over his shoulder at me.
I made no comment, and we sped along, until abruptly the dogs balked as
at something unseen. With oaths and savage lashings they were goaded
on through deep, new-fallen snow. The leaders yelped but obeyed.
Then, suddenly, the driver flung reins and whip full in my face. The
unlooked-for blow dazed me for a second as it was meant to do: but, as
in one of those photographic dreams which come between sleeping and
waking, I saw the two fur-coated figures in the front seat spring from
the sledge into snow drifts. I tried to follow suit, too late, for
down slid the team over the brim of a chasm dark as a cauldron, and
dragged the sledge in their wake.
* * * * *
Teano, it seems, though too polite to say so, did not like my mountain
expedition. As he was not allowed to join me, he decided that the next
best thing was to watch my interests in New York. He and his wife
Jenny (who had an exaggerated sense of gratitude for me) discussed,
according to their habit, what they would have done and what they would
do were they in the "Enemy's" place.
"I'll tell you how _I'd_ have acted to begin with!" said Jenny, who
knew too well the ways of the underworld; "I'd have had a letter ready
to leave for Lord John on that poor dead girl's lap--a letter supposed
to be from Miss Odell. Typing's easier than forging! Then, if I
_found_ a letter there I'd take it away and leave mine. Supposing
_they_ did that? They could get Lord John to go alone to that mountain
place he told you about, and they could have him put out of the way, so
he'd never bother them again as he's always doing. They could bring
him to his death and make it seem an accident--they're so smart!
Suppose, for instance, they telegraphed that brother of Anne Garth's,
and told him his sister was murdered; why, he'd catch the morning train
for New York. The Inn folks would be in a fix, and grab anyone who
came along, and knew how to drive dogs."
Teano had reason to respect Jenny's suggestions, and he thought enough
of this one to meet a train connecting with that which left Crescent
Mountain station in the afternoon. My train had been gone only a short
time, but--it had gone irrevocably.
Jenny's forebodings were justified. Teano recognised Larry Garth and
accosted him, mentioning his own name and profession. Garth asked if
he had sent the telegram received that morning, and produced it from
his pocket. This told Teano, as the message was unsigned, that no
member of the police had wired. He explained to Garth the
circumstances of Anne's death, giving extra details which he had
ferreted out that day: the fact that the girl had asked to see young
Mr. Gorst (our hostess's son) privately, and begged to be allowed to
sit in a box, because she had a "very important appointment with Lord
John Hasle, and a letter to give him from a lady." It seemed certain,
therefore, that her desire to see me had been genuine. Teano told
Garth something of our suspicions, confessing however that nothing was
proved. Still, he impressed the young man so forcibly that Garth gave
up trying to see his sister's body, and instead was persuaded to return
at once to Crescent Mountain.
There was no other train that day; but Teano, believing that my life
might be at stake, drew some of his savings out of the bank and paid
for a special. It reached its destination not ten minutes after the
9.15, but had to stop at a distance, owing to the presence of the
latter on the track. By that time both train and station were
deserted, but Garth quickly discovered the fresh traces of his dogs and
sledge in the snow. He and Teano, armed with an electric torch,
started on the trail. Reaching the cross road, Garth pointed to the
tracks which led away instead of towards the hotel. In the dull red
light of the lantern above, the two men looked into each other's eyes;
and snow, falling anew, was like pink-edged feathers in the crimson
glow. If evil deeds were doing, this new snowfall would help the
doers, for soon their footsteps would be blotted out of sight, and all
hope of tracing them might be lost for ever.
For the moment the only tracks to be seen were those of the team and
the sledge-runners. Garth and Teano followed. Not far on a difference
in level in the white blanket of the earth indicated a seldom-used road
to a mountain farm. But the sledge had not taken that turn. It had
dashed straight on.
"Good heavens!" stammered Garth. "That way leads nowhere--except to a
precipice. They call it 'The Lovers' Leap'!"
The two hurried along, stumbling often, a strong cold wind blowing
particles of snow almost as hard as ice into their faces. The glass
bulb of the small electric lantern was misted over. Teano was obliged
constantly to wipe it clear. Suddenly Garth seized him by the arm.
"My God, stop!" he cried. "We're on the edge. The sledge has gone
over here. Two men have jumped clear--one each side the sleigh. Oh,
my poor dogs!"
It was of me Teano thought. Clearing his lantern he examined the holes
where the men had jumped, so near the verge of a great gulf that they
had had to throw themselves violently back in the snow to keep from
falling over. His trained eye detected delicate markings in the snow
which proved that both men had worn coats of stiff fur. Also their
boots had been large and heavy. Teano knew that I had had no fur coat
when I started, and that my boots had not been made for mountain wear.
"These two chaps were confederates," he announced confidently to Garth.
"They knew when to save themselves, and Lord John has gone down with
the sledge and the team."
Garth blurted out an oath, swearing vengeance for his dogs rather than
for me, but Teano's face of despair struck him with pity.
"There's hope yet," he said, "if your lord guessed at the end what was
up and had the wit to chuck himself out. Thirty feet down, just under
this point, there's a knob sticking up they call the Giant's Nose.
It's deep with snow now. It wouldn't hurt to fall on it--and there's a
tree stump he could catch hold of to save himself if he kept his
senses. But my poor dogs with the heavy sledge behind 'em wouldn't
have the devil's chance. A man wouldn't either, unless he jumped as
the sleigh went. Well, we shall see, when I've got the rope."
"What rope?" Teano managed to move his stiff lips.
"A rope we keep for the summer trippers," Garth explained. "More than
once some silly gabe has got too close and lost his head, lookin' over
the Lovers' Leap. It's a suicide place too--though we don't tell folks
that. If anyone's caught on the Giant's nose, we can fish him up. The
rope's in a hut near by, that's never locked."
Teano is a smaller man than Garth, and it was Teano who, with the rope
in a sailor knot under his arms, was let down by the big fellow, to
look for me. I had kept consciousness at first, and had saved myself
in the way suggested by the mountaineer: but by the time Teano came
prospecting, I had dropped into a pleasant sleep. An hour or two more
in my bed of snow, I should have been hidden for ever by a smooth white
winding-sheet, and so have kept my tryst with Death.
As it was, Death and I failed to meet. I lived not only to help avenge
Anne Garth, but to go on with my work for the girl I loved, and--living
or dead--shall love for ever. For a time after my adventure on
Crescent Mountain (where it's needless to say Maida had neither arrived
nor been expected) that vengeance and that work moved slowly. But so
also move the mills of the gods.
EPISODE V
THE BENEFIT OF THE DOUBT
I was bringing my journal up to date one day at my Long Island hotel,
when a page-boy brought me a card engraved with the very last name I
should ever have guessed: "Lady Allendale."
"Is the lady downstairs?" I asked, dazed.
"The lady is here!" answered a once familiar voice at the half-open
door of my sitting-room; and I jumped up to face a tall, slim figure in
widow's weeds. "I hope you don't mind my surprising you?" went on the
charming voice. "I wanted to see how you looked, when you saw my name."
"How do you do?" I greeted her, as we shook hands, and the page melted
away and was forgotten. I tried to sound sincerely welcoming, for here
she was, and I didn't want to hurt her feelings. But I wasn't as glad
as some men would have been to see a celebrated beauty and charmer.