BARBED SHAFTS
Louise Aubin stood behind her young mistress's dressing chair, brushing
the glorious tresses which her deft fingers would presently coil and
coax into the latest fashionable mode. There was to be a small dinner
party at the Manor House that evening. Mr. Vernon Mallory and his
daughter were coming, also Leslie Chermside and Travers Nugent, as well
as a few local people in whom we are not interested. It was the day
following that on which Aunt Sarah had raised hopes for her protegees,
which, so far as one of them was concerned, were so rudely dashed in the
card-room at the club.
The maid glanced furtively at the beautiful face in the mirror opposite,
and took note of the dreamy happiness in Violet Maynard's eyes. Violet
had been consistently kind to her, and Louise, selfish though she was to
the core, was not wholly ungrateful. She had deceived herself into the
belief that she was about to do her mistress a genuine service, but it
was characteristic of her that she rather enjoyed the prospect of
inflicting pain in the process.
"I should so like to consult you, mees, about an affair of my own," she
began hesitatingly. There was no need for the hesitation, mademoiselle
having been carefully coached for the part she was to play no later than
that afternoon, when she had paid another surreptitious visit to The
Hut. But a shy modesty was a weapon in her equipment for the fray.
Violet looked up quickly. The note of diffidence was unusual. "Of
course, Louise, you can ask me anything," she said, wondering why the
Abigail's gaze was so swiftly averted. "I should have thought, though,
that you are much more capable of managing your affairs than I am."
The Frenchwoman contrived to show deprecation in the twirl she gave to
the silver hair-brush. "In small things, mees, perhaps," she answered.
"But this is not small, the thing in which I beg you to advise. It is an
affair of the 'eart, and an affair of murderre--the murderre of the
gentleman who was killed on the marsh."
Violet with difficulty repressed a smile. The subject was a gruesome
one, but, serene in her own love idyll, she had really paid very little
attention to it. "You don't mean to tell me, Louise, that you killed
that unfortunate man because he did not appreciate your charms?"
Mademoiselle was on her dignity at once; moreover, having marked down
higher game, she could afford to be quite genuine in her repudiation of
any partiality for Mr. Levi Levison.
"Mees will pardon her devoted maid for saying that it is hardly a
subject for jest," came her prompt rebuke. "The shoe was what you call
on the other foot. Mr. Levison, he admire me greatly, but I not think
ver' moosh of 'im. All the same, he tells me things, and among others he
tell me who it was he going to meet on the marsh. I blame myself for not
having approach the police about it, and I desire to ask you, mees, if
it is now too late."
Violet grew suddenly grave. A responsibility was being thrust upon her
which she would have avoided if she could, but she felt it her duty to
accept. Louise was a stranger in a strange land, the laws of which she
could not be expected to understand, and who was there to advise her if
not her mistress? Violet had not much doubt as to what her advice would
be, for she knew that it was a serious matter to withhold information
that would tend to the conviction of a criminal. The maid would have to
be told to take the course she ought to have taken at first--to give the
police the name of the man Levison was to meet.
But Violet intuitively shrank from uttering the word which might be the
first step towards condemning a fellow-creature to ignominious death,
however well merited, and perhaps it was to gain time that she asked--
"How was it that you concealed this knowledge, Louise? Is the person
whom you have been shielding a friend of yours?"
"On the contrary, mees, I 'ave neverre speak to 'im," came the glib
reply. "I keep the secret because Mr. Travers Nugent, who I know to be
honourable gentleman and well acquainted with m'sieu your father,
because 'e guess I going to the police and persuade me to stop. 'E say
it silly to stir up the mud for no good."
Now Violet Maynard had never yielded to the spell of Travers Nugent's
social attractions. She had always been civil to him as one in whose
well-informed society easy-going Montague Maynard found pleasure, but in
her infrequent and superficial intercourse with the man-about-town she
had been conscious of a vague mistrust. Quite naturally, therefore, she
exclaimed--
"Mr. Nugent should not have interfered. It was very wrong of him, and
though I do not know much about such matters I imagine that he may have
made trouble for himself as well as for you. Who was this person whom
Mr. Nugent was at such pains to protect, Louise? He is fond of currying
favour with the natives of this place, I know, but I should hardly have
thought that his thirst for popularity would have led him to incur the
risk of personal unpleasantness."
Mademoiselle Louise stole one glance at the mildly indignant face in the
glass, then dropped her eyes demurely before firing the shot with which
she had been primed.
"It was not about what you call native of Ottermouth that he beg me to
be silent, mees," she replied, using the hair-brush assiduously. "It was
a visitor gentleman--very nice gentleman he seems and friendly with you,
mees, and with m'sieu your father. But that I cannot 'elp. It was Mr.
Chermside who arrange to meet Levison on the marsh at ten o'clock on the
night when some one kill him."
Mademoiselle gave quite half a dozen strokes with the brush before she
dared to look in the mirror again, and then she was impelled to do so by
the quivering of the shapely shoulders. Was her mistress sobbing in
silent anguish under the blow she had struck, or did the convulsion
betoken restrained merriment? The glance into the glass settled it. The
eyes of mistress and maid met, and Violet broke into a ripple of silvery
laughter.
"Why, you foolish little goose!" she cried, "there is no harm done after
all. You had better go to the police with your story as soon as you
like, or as soon as Mr. Nugent permits. Mr. Chermside would no more
dream of murdering anybody than would Mr. Nugent himself--not half so
much, indeed. It was nice of Mr. Nugent to want to save his friend
annoyance, but he might have had more faith in him. Once more, you are a
goose, Louise."
The Frenchwoman bore the rebuke in silence. She had fulfilled the
instructions so carefully instilled into her artful but shallow brain,
and all her efforts just now being devoted to pleasing her new _cher
ami_, as she considered the master of The Hut, she was content to leave
it at that. Nugent had not confided to her how he expected or wished
Miss Maynard to behave on hearing what he had instructed Louise to tell
her.
As soon as her toilet was complete Violet descended to the drawing-room,
where Aunt Sarah was talking to the Mallorys, who were the only guests
who had as yet arrived. In spite of having parted with Reggie Beauchamp
that morning Enid was in high spirits, and looked delightfully fresh in
her dinner dress of virginal white. She was merrily receiving somewhat
pessimistic congratulations on her engagement from Aunt Sarah, who was
laying it down that to marry a man liable to be drowned at any moment
was simply flying in the face of Providence.
Nugent and Chermside arrived together, and when Montague Maynard came
bursting in in the wake of the few remaining guests dinner was
announced, and they adjourned to the dining-room. To Violet the meal was
a tedious function that night. She was brimming over with mixed
excitement over the implied aspersion cast by Louise on her lover, and
she was longing to share the absurdity, as she considered it, with him.
She had much ado to restrain herself from mentioning it at the
dinner-table, but she realized that it was hardly a matter to be made
fun of before the servants. Moreover, she noticed that Leslie was
looking pale and preoccupied, and by no means in a mood to appreciate
the humour of a jest so grimly personal. She was afraid he was going to
be ill. On all accounts it would be wiser to postpone telling him till
they were alone.
As it happened, it was not to Leslie that she was destined to first moot
the subject of Louise's treacherous confidence. When the gentlemen
joined the ladies in the drawing-room after dinner the human pack
chanced to get so shuffled that Violet found herself for the moment
paired off with Travers Nugent, and unable to obtain speech with her
lover. It was not for her to know that Nugent had carefully arranged his
entry into the drawing-room with a view to securing a _tete-a-tete_ with
her. Eagerly awaiting Leslie's appearance, she had seated herself alone
near the door, and Nugent, coming in ahead of the rest of the men, at
once monopolized her.
"The Queen of the Manor is looking radiant," he said in his silky
accents, assuming the air of deference which carried him far with most
of his female acquaintances.
"I am not feeling very radiant, or even good-tempered--with you,"
replied Violet. Baulked of her wish to have it out with Leslie, she was
seized with a desire to rend in pieces, figuratively, of course, this
debonair gentleman who had busied himself to shield one who by no
possible chain of circumstances could need any shielding.
"Is it permitted to inquire, fair lady, what has caused me to fall under
the ban of your displeasure?" said Nugent smilingly. The smile was well
managed, seeing that he was at the same time assuring himself that
Leslie and Mr. Mallory, convoyed by their host, had passed on with the
other men to where Aunt Sarah was holding a miniature court at the far
end of the room. The smile deepened a little as he noticed that Mr.
Mallory palpably overcame an impulse to join them.
"Yes," said Violet in answer to his question. "If you had not inquired I
should have mentioned the matter myself. What is the meaning of this
preposterous story brought to me by my maid--that you prevented her from
going to the police about Mr. Chermside's appointment with that poor
man?"
The start which Nugent gave, if not natural, at any rate looked the
genuine thing. He bit his lips as though annoyed and disconcerted, and
an anxious expression crept into his eyes.
"So that stupid French girl has been frightening you," he said softly.
"My dear Miss Maynard, I would not have had this happen for worlds."
"That is not an answer to my question," Violet persisted hotly. "Why did
you pursue a course which may very likely get the girl into trouble? If
you did it to save Mr. Chermside from unpleasantness your motive was all
right, though I should have thought that a man of the world would have
known that your action was very likely to have the opposite effect. If
the police had been informed at once of this appointment on the marsh
they would have laughed at the idea of a gentleman in Mr. Chermside's
position having anything to do with the crime. But now, when they are
informed of it, they will probably attach an exaggerated importance to
the incident, and worry for explanations."
Travers Nugent sighed the sigh of the man who had been misunderstood. "I
am glad that you give me credit for having acted from loyalty to my
friend, even if you accuse me of folly," he replied.
"Why did you commit that folly?" demanded Violet, tapping her dainty
shoe in imperious insistence.
The answer came as though dragged out by force and in the face of better
judgment. "You leave me no option," said Nugent slowly, waving his soft
white hand in a deprecatory gesture. "I took the course I did--that of
persuading Louise Aubin not to rush off to the police--because--well,
because----" He stopped abruptly, and then added with a strained little
laugh, "I find this a difficult thing to say, Miss Maynard."
"I am waiting for you to say it," came Violet's inexorable rejoinder.
"Well, then, has it not occurred to you that if Chermside had wanted his
appointment with Levison to be known to the police he would himself have
informed them of it, whereas, though he was called as a witness at the
inquest, he preserved silence about it?"
Violet Maynard was a beautiful woman, and she had never looked more
beautiful than when she rose, majestic in her wrath, to champion the man
she loved.
"Mr. Nugent," she suppressed her voice with an effort, "that implies
doubt--almost accusation. I am ashamed of you. How dare you think such
an impossible thing--to say nothing of putting it into words, to me of
all people, who am his affianced wife!"
Nugent bowed as before an offended goddess, and a little flush came into
his face--an unusual phenomenon in one whose emotions were so well
controlled. "I somehow seem not to be able to express myself clearly
to-night," he murmured plaintively. "You must forgive me if I point out
that the suggestion--the perfectly horrible suggestion--came from you,
and not from me. I was not charging Chermside with murder. The bare idea
is ridiculous. I like the boy, and he brought me the best introductions
from India, though personally he has not been communicative about his
private affairs. I know this much, however--that he had business with
Levison, as he admitted at the inquest, which he does not want to be
noised abroad and mouthed over by the wiseacres of Ottermouth. I
surmise that he was to meet Levison on the marsh that night to discuss
that business, and I therefore deemed it advisable in his interest to
suppress all publicity about the intended meeting."
"You are inferring that the business, as you call it, was
discreditable?" said Violet, mystified, and only half mollified.
"Not in the very least," rejoined Nugent glibly. "I do not know what the
transaction was, but it is impossible to associate anything
discreditable with Chermside. If I might make a suggestion it would be
that you should yourself ask Chermside for enlightenment."
"Thank you, I shall certainly inform him of what has happened," said
Violet coldly. "But it must rest with him whether he offers an
explanation of his relations with Levison. I am content to trust the man
who is to be my husband. In the meanwhile, Mr. Nugent, it is but fair
that you should know that I have advised my maid to lose no further time
in communicating with the police. It will be the shortest and most
satisfactory way of getting this absurdity wiped out once for all."
Nugent bowed and stood looking after the graceful figure of the girl as
she sailed away from him across the room. His long moustache hid the
wicked curl at the corner of his mouth. "Ah, my lady," he murmured under
his breath, "you will find that it is one thing to tender advice and
quite another to get it acted on. The fair and flighty Louise is
receiving her orders from your humble servant at present, and they will
certainly not include an injunction to call at the police-station. But
that bogey has been effectually set up, I think."
Leslie Chermside had been covertly watching from afar Violet's animated
interview with Nugent, and seeing her coming towards him he hastened to
meet her. That evening he grudged every moment not spent in her society,
for on the morrow he would assuredly see her for the last time. Unless
some miracle intervened there would be nothing for it, if he was to
avoid arrest for murder and its consequent exposure, but to assent to
Nugent's plan for flight on the _Cobra_. He had postponed giving his
final decision, hoping against hope that something might turn up to save
him, and also because at the back of his mind there still lurked the
suspicion that Nugent's account of his danger might have been trumped up
for some cunning purpose. But now he was to receive confirmation of the
story of Louise Aubin's suspicions from a source there was no
gainsaying.
"Take me into the orangery; I want to speak to you," said Violet, laying
her hand on his sleeve.
The orangery at Ottermouth Manor was a huge glass structure in which
oranges may have been grown in Georgian days after the prevailing
fashion, but which in modern times sheltered a wealth of tropical
shrubs. In the great aisles of luxuriant foliage it was possible to lose
oneself, as Violet and Leslie, after passing through one of the long
windows, proceeded to do now. They halted at last under the spreading
fronds of a giant palm, from a branch of which depended one of the
electric lamps which the millionaire had installed in the old mansion.
"Leslie," said the girl, looking up into her lover's face, "I have done
a strange thing to-night, as proof of my trust in you. That French maid
of mine tells me that you had a rendezvous with the man who was murdered
the other day, and that it was at or near to the spot where the body was
found. I have been blaming her for withholding her knowledge from the
authorities, and have advised her to rectify the omission without delay.
You mustn't be angry with me if I have been unduly interfering, but I
knew that you could have nothing to fear really in the matter of
Levison's death, and that it would be better to scotch this ridiculous
suspicion before it grows unmanageable."
Chermside laughed, keeping the bitterness out of the sound of it as best
he could. To call it the irony of fate was beside the mark. It was
really almost supernatural, the way he was being tossed hither and
thither by the consequences of the crime he had abjured. Here was the
woman who was all in all to him calmly telling him that she had taken a
step which would snatch the last straw from his drowning hands. All hope
was gone. He must run for it now, if the traces of his disgraceful lapse
were to be covered.
"It is quite true," he said. "I had an appointment to meet Levison.
But," and he laughed again as he made the addition, "I really didn't
murder him, Violet."
The taper fingers, glittering with gems, closed on his arm. "Now don't
be silly," came the quick answer from sweetly protesting lips. "Every
one seems to be trying to be silly over this horrible affair--Louise,
Mr. Nugent, and now you yourself. I have just been calling Mr. Nugent
over the coals for his preposterous counsel to that misguided French
fool, and I told him what I now tell you--that my trust in your
incapacity for such a deed is invincible. I burn with indignation that
even a fool like Louise should have thought the contrary. That is why I
chanced the risk of offending you, dear, by forcing the issue."
"You have indeed forced the issue, but there is nothing in all the wide
world that you could do to offend me," said Leslie, and his
half-strangled sob carried conviction.
But Violet Maynard wanted more than conviction on a point on which she
was already convinced. She hungered for the confidence which she was too
proud to demand as her right. Yet her lover showed no sign of according
it. He just stood there staring at her, and looking half dazed in the
electric glow, but he had evidently no intention of explaining why he
was to have met Levison in the marsh, and why he had concealed the fact.
"Is that all you have to say to me?" asked Violet quietly.
And then, when her question evoked no reply, she turned and threaded her
way back amid the tangle of exotic luxuriance to the drawing-room,
leaving Leslie to follow like a man in a dream.