BELLE
It was a very crestfallen detective that presented himself at the
Fluette home early Friday morning. I had counted so much upon
unearthing the ruby myself, assured that through it I must certainly
succeed in drawing some betrayal from the murderer, that its loss
amounted to a thwarting of all my efforts. My feeling was that of one
who has striven and failed--failed through a solitary act of gross
carelessness.
But if I was dejected, I was no less determined. Only a little more
than two days had elapsed since Felix Page met his untimely death; the
body had not been interred yet; and I knew that I held in my hands the
ends of a net which enveloped all the actors. One of them was guilty.
My determination was to be no longer considerate through fear of
wounding the innocent. I meant to draw in the lines of the net until
everybody's position stood clear and unequivocal; but to that end I
must be fortified with one more fragment of information. And here it
was that I looked to Genevieve.
A neat-appearing maid admitted me, who seemed to be expecting my
arrival, for she conducted me at once up-stairs, above the second story
to the third, and to a room in the rear of the house. I wondered a bit
at this; but I was more surprised than ever when the open door
disclosed Miss Fluette instead of Genevieve. A good many startling
experiences were in store for me that morning.
The maid closed the door and left us immediately. I began muttering
some words expressive of my pleasure at seeing Miss Fluette able to be
up and about; but something in her manner checked the speech. She had
not even looked at me. In fact, I quite suddenly realized that she was
studiously keeping her eyes averted from mine.
And again, she presented the appearance of one who has recently
undergone a strenuous exertion. Her rich, red-gold hair was in
disorder; she was breathing deeply, and her cheeks were flushed, though
her movements were direct and full of purpose. Then, too, if a man may
hazard the guess, I would have said that the lacey, beribboned dressing
gown she wore hid her nightdress. The situation was most unusual.
When I entered the room she was standing on one side of the door,
precisely as if she had moved aside to make way for me, meaning to
depart as soon as I had entered. But she did not. Instead, the
instant I crossed the threshold, she advanced quickly to the door. She
turned the key, then withdrew it from the lock, and hastened to a chair
on the side of the room farthest away from me.
I could not repress a smile--despite my amazement at these
proceedings--when I realized that the chair was placed between us as an
object of defence. She stood, very erect, behind it, her hand tightly
holding the back. She was prepared with a weapon of offence, also.
For now her right hand appeared, for the first time, from a fold of her
gown; I was startled to see that it held a small, shining revolver.
For the first time, too, her hazel eyes met mine, and they burned with
a light which, considering the manner of my reception, I was not slow
in ascribing to a state of mind bordering upon irresponsibility.
"So I am a prisoner," I said.
"You are," she replied. She clipped the words in an uncompromising way
which promised that I was in for a bad quarter of an hour. Where in
the world was Genevieve? I wondered. But Miss Belle went on at once,
eying me steadily with a hard, stony look.
"I shall get to the point at once. It all depends upon you, whether or
not you leave this room alive. It will be for you to choose, and I
think you 'll choose the wiser course. I 'm in dead earnest."
She was, whatever her purpose; there was no gainsaying that. I was
profoundly curious to learn what that purpose was.
"May I sit down?" I asked, calmly.
She made an impatient gesture with the hand that clutched the
chair-back--the hand that held the door-key. But there were two keys
in her grasp, I observed. The flowing sleeve of her dressing-gown
disclosed a momentary glimpse of white, rounded arm.
"It's useless--useless for you to play for time. I want to know why
you have permitted Royal Maillot to be railroaded to _jail_"--she flung
the word at me--"and permitted a _snake_ like that creature, Burke, to
go scathless.
"But, no, I don't care for your motives. You know Royal to be
innocent. Between the two who were in that house Tuesday night--Royal,
open, frank, and manly; Alexander Burke, sly, secretive, and a coward
if ever there was one. What sort of intellect have you that it should
make such a choice between these two? Bah! You're either base--in
league with the criminals--or a fool."
She stopped for sheer lack of breath. She stood staring at me with all
the dignity of an outraged queen, and for once in my life I was so
astounded that I was at an utter loss for words. I sank into a nearby
chair--without her permission--and for the second or so of the pause,
my thoughts flew like lightning.
When Miss Fluette was carried from the Page library the previous day
her condition promised a long siege of illness; Dr. De Breen had
confirmed my own surmise with a declaration to that effect. Why, then,
was she not at this moment in bed, with Genevieve caring for her? I
had an engagement with Genevieve; she was expecting me at eight
o'clock. Miss Belle's appearance indicated that she had prepared for
this meeting with the utmost haste--she had probably risen and donned
dressing-gown and slippers after I rang the doorbell. What, then, had
she done with Genevieve?
I was not in the least frightened by her display of the pistol. To
tell the truth, it was only with much difficulty that I kept from
laughing. Still, I did so. The girl was plainly so overwrought that
she was fairly frantic, and it would require the utmost circumspection
on my part to keep her from precipitating matters before somebody came.
The women folks, I fancied, would then need the assistance of a man;
but for the present her condition demanded that I be at least
considerate.
So I concluded to humor her.
"What is it you wish me to do?" I inquired, not forgetting my dignity.
She waved the insignificant weapon toward a writing desk.
"There are pens and ink and paper," she said, her voice tremulous with
suppressed passion. "I want you to write down a plain, straightforward
declaration that Royal Maillot is innocent, and then follow it with the
reasons why you know him to be innocent--for you have those reasons.
Doubtless it will include an exposure of the guilty; very well, this is
the time for such a disclosure."
The amazing effrontery of the proposal made me gasp. Suppose I were to
tell her that I believed her father to be the guilty man? Heavens and
earth! Here was a pretty pass!
"Miss Fluette," I said at length, very gravely, "such a declaration
from me would have no more weight than the sheet of paper itself. The
matter is entirely out of my hands. Further than to procure the
evidence necessary to convict the guilty, I have no influence whatever."
"So!" Her lip curled and her eyes flashed. "You would weave a rope
about Royal's neck!"
"I would not," I emphatically disputed. "If Royal Maillot was
instrumental in Felix Page's death, he was so innocently. He don't
know now--"
She broke in, leaning with intense eagerness across the chair-back.
"Then _why_ is he in prison?" There was a note of triumph in her
voice, as if she had me cornered.
"Miss Fluette," I replied earnestly, "will you listen to me for a few
minutes? Believe me, there is no occasion for this desperate manner--"
"I _am_ desperate."
"Perhaps. I understand your feelings; you and Mr. Maillot have my
deepest sympa--"
She cut me short with a rap of the pistol upon the chair-back; I looked
to see the thing go off.
"We don't want sympathy," she said through her teeth. "We want
justice. And justice we 'll have. Go over there and write!"
She imperiously indicated the desk.
Was a man ever caught in such an absurd predicament! I was truly sober
now. I was resolved not to commit myself to anything that would only
make me ridiculous; but this passionate, high-strung girl had told only
the truth when she warned me that she was in dead earnest. My dilemma
was most perplexing--and irritating, too. Could she be made to
understand that if I exposed my hand now, before the issue was ripe,
that the disclosure might work irreparable injury? Would she
comprehend that such a course would immediately drive the guilty inside
their defences? Could she be made to see that it was better for her
lover to endure a temporary inconvenience, than to be left in a
position where he could never be freed from reproach? Perhaps so, but
only by showing her where her father stood. I scarcely need point how
impossible such a choice was. And in her present mood!
"Where is Miss Cooper?" I asked at last.
She abruptly clutched the hand that held the keys, so that they clicked
together.
"Never mind," she flared at me, with a stamp of her foot. "Obey me."
"And if I don't?"
And now she levelled the pistol at me. She threw back her head and her
lips curved.
"I 'll shoot," she announced, in a tense tone. "So help me, I 'll
shoot."
[Illustration: "I 'll shoot," she announced in a tense tone, "so help
me, I 'll shoot."]
For a moment we confronted each other, I utterly nonplussed, every line
of the girl's figure breathing relentless determination.
"Miss Fluette," I tried to reason with her, "you are beside yourself.
Pray don't do anything you 'll regret."
But she stopped me. Her voice was harsh and strained.
"Get up out of that chair. Do as I say."
Should I continue to humor her?--for further parleying was wholly out
of the question. And if I wrote anything at all, it would doubtless
have to pass her critical inspection--and also into her
possession--before she would yield an inch.
I had to decide quickly. I started to shake my head, and _bang!_--the
pistol blazed right into my face.
Heaven knows where the bullet went; I only know that it missed me.
Next instant I was too busy to think about how narrow had been my
escape. I sprang up agilely enough now, and was only just in time to
catch the drooping figure before it fell. As I passed a supporting arm
round her, her hair tumbled about her face and over her shoulders. Her
eyes were closed, her brow was gathered in a frown, her lips were
pinched and livid.
I acted rapidly. She had not fainted--was not wholly unconscious--for
she was still putting forth a feeble effort to help herself. I eased
her into the chair, behind which she had been standing and into which
she now sank limp and silent. Her chin fell forward upon her bosom,
and now and then her shoulders rose in a racking, gasping sob.
She let the still smoking pistol drop into my hand. Somewhere below I
could hear Genevieve calling wildly and some one pounding away upon a
door.
Next I got the keys from Miss Belle's yielding fingers, and soon had
the door to the room open. The cries and pounding had ceased, and I
surmised that the troop of maids and other servants chattering on the
lower stairs and in the second story hall had been attracted to their
source. Then a hope came to me that the shot had passed unnoticed.
Well, it transpired that Genevieve was locked in a room on the second
floor, much to the amazement of the servants, none of whom, I was
thankful to learn, had heard the shot. Genevieve had, though, or I was
very much mistaken in the cause of her vigorous effort to attract
attention and her present frenzied appeals for some one to break down
the door.
"Oh, please, please, don't wait for the key," she was importuning them.
"Break in the door--only hurry!"
"Everything's all right, Miss Cooper," I called. A little cry of
relief came from beyond the closed portal. "I have the key," I added.
The second key which Miss Fluette had held was the one, and I had the
bolt shot in a jiffy. Genevieve ran straight to me and threw herself
into my arms.
Whatever it was she meant to say in her first overjoyed transport,
remained unsaid; for I unceremoniously clapped a hand over her mouth,
picked her up and carried her bodily back into the room, and slammed
the door upon the gaping servants.
"They don't know," I said. "Go up-stairs to Belle; she has fainted.
The explosion was accidental, and no one was hurt." I was still
holding her close in my arms. "God bless you!" I whispered at her ear.
And then--
Well, even the exigencies of a memoir do not require that I should set
down what occurred then. Genevieve, her cheeks aflame, broke from my
embrace and ran out of the room. I heard her light steps upon the
stairs, and then the door to the room which had come near being the
scene of a tragedy, opened and closed.