LAWRENCE IS MYSTERIOUS.
Despite his vast wealth and the manner in which he was courted and
flattered by society, Mr. Isaac Isidore had contrived to remain
single. He had only one passion, and that was the making of money by
ingenious schemes; in fact, had he not been a capitalist he would have
made a wonderfully good novelist, as Lawrence often said. Mystery and
intrigue were the very air he breathed, and for recreation he asked
for nothing better than a romance by Gaboriau or Du Boisgobey.
He was breakfasting rather later, but quite modestly, in his chambers
when Lawrence called on him the next morning. There were a good many
points in common between the two men despite their different
dispositions.
"Funny thing over those notes last night," said the man of money. "I
suppose that is what you came to talk to me about."
"What a luminous mind yours is," Lawrence replied. "That's just why I
did come. As you know, I am deeply interested in clearing up the
Corner House mystery. I've got nearer to it than anybody imagines. Do
you happen to have any idea who came with those particular notes last
night?"
"Not the ghost of one," Isidore admitted. "I can read men and minds,
but motives are sometimes beyond an amateur like me. Do you know?"
"Yes," said Lawrence, "I do."
"Which means that you are not going to tell me?"
"Not for the present, my boy. Without boasting, I do know, but I could
not prove it yet; at least, not to the legal mind. Have you got those
notes?"
Isidore intimated that they were in his safe. He took out the whole
roll, and asked Lawrence to sort out the particular ones for himself.
"I only want one," Lawrence explained, "and this one will do
admirably. I am going to take it away, if you don't mind. You will be
able to recognise it by this queer yellow stain. Why didn't you
decline to take them last night?"
"Why should I?" Isidore asked coolly. "They came to me through a third
party for value received, so that they are quite good. When these
notes are presented the bank is bound to cash them. I'd give sixpence
to know what is behind that queer, clever, ingenious brain of yours."
Lawrence laughed and departed with the assurance that Isidore should
know soon enough. He spent the rest of the morning at the club, and
after luncheon took his way gaily in the direction of Lytton Avenue.
The Countess was at home, and glad to see her visitor. The back
drawing-room was cool and secluded and opened on to the garden. Leona
Lalage lounged back in a deep chair and indicated the cigarettes on a
table.
"I have told Saunders not to admit any more visitors," she said.
"Positively I shall break down if I don't get a rest soon. Does Mamie
make too much noise for you! If so, call to Miss Lawrence."
Mamie and Hetty were playing together in the garden. The child was
shouting merrily. Fond of children, Lawrence disclaimed any feeling of
annoyance.
"Children and dogs never bore me," he said. "I wish I had a garden
like yours. Pleasant perfumes always stimulate the imagination. Did
you ever notice how the smell of certain flowers recalls vivid
recollections?"
A sudden pallor came over the listener's face, it was gone in an
instant, and a deep carmine flush succeeded it.
"Sometimes horrible recollections," she said in a low voice. "A
certain flower you love gets mixed up with a tragedy, and you never
care for it afterwards."
"Of course, I've noticed that," said Lawrence thoughtfully. "For
instance, I once was exceedingly fond of the smell of tuberose,
but----"
A little ornament fell from the table by Countess Lalage's side and a
cry escaped her. Lawrence looked up in mild surprise.
"Nothing the matter, I hope?" he asked.
"Oh, nothing," came the reply. "Only I was so silly as to place the
wrong end of my cigarette in my mouth and burnt my lips. What's
tuberose?"
Lawrence gave the necessary information. He was a little surprised to
hear that his hostess had never heard of the tuberose. Nor, fond of
flowers as she seemed, did she appear in the least interested.
"That child's noise makes my head ache," she said.
Lawrence stepped into the garden, Mamie welcomed him eagerly. No books
of hers were half so popular as the novelist's impromptu stories.
"Tell me a tale," she demanded, imperiously.
Lawrence complied with resignation. It was all about a beautiful bad
woman who guarded a precious treasure locked away in a box covered
with paintings of exquisite flowers. Mamie clapped her hands with
delight.
"Like mother's Antoinette cabinet in the drawing-room," she said.
"That's it," Lawrence said gravely, but with a glance at Hetty that
caused her to flush a little. "And the key is like this one. We'll
give it to Hetty, and some time when the wicked woman is out of the
way she may get the tiny little phial that is in the cabinet so that
we can do all kinds of wonderful things with it."
"Perhaps we could get it now." Hetty smiled.
Mamie clapped her hands again. A significant look passed between the
two conspirators. A small key changed hands. Before the story proper
was finished Countess Lalage came down the steps into the garden.
Admiration was necessary to her, and the idea of a man's preferring
Mamie's conversation to hers was absurd.
"How you spoil that child," she said. "Hetty, take her away."
But Lawrence would not hear of anything of the kind. He would like to
have his tea out in the garden if Hetty would fetch it for him. Hetty
came back presently, and handed the tea to her uncle. He hardly dared
to look at her, but a smile on her lips told him she had succeeded. As
he left the house presently Hetty followed him out. She nodded
significantly.
"What does it all mean?" she asked.
"That you shall know all in good time," Lawrence replied. "It's a
pleasure to have you to do anything for one, Hetty. How quickly you
took in my parable. It was rather paltry to talk over a child's head
like that, but if ever there was a case when the end justifies the
means this is one. Of course, you got it?"
"Of course I did. A tiny glass bottle with a tiny glass stopper."
She took it from her pocket and held it out. There were a few drops of
amber-hued liquid inside. Hetty would have removed the stopper, but
Lawrence grabbed it.
"Don't touch it," he exclaimed, "keep as far from it as possible.
There is real danger here if you only knew it. And whatever you do,
don't you go near a soul in the house till you have washed your hands
with Sanitas or some pungent disinfectant of that kind. You must be
very careful about this."
Hetty promised, wondering.
"Where did you get that key from?" she asked.
"Well, I borrowed the original and had a copy made," Lawrence
confessed. "You see I was bound to have a copy, as I am going to
return the little bottle as soon as I have more or less verified its
history. Now I want you to get away after dinner and come as far as my
chambers to meet Bruce."
Hetty promised, and went her way homeward. She was sorely puzzled, but
on the whole she felt wonderfully bright and happy. The mystery was
still as dark as ever, but she had faith in Lawrence. But there was
much to be done before one good man's name was cleared.