Douglas Fairmile, coming down to breakfast next morning, found Nina
and Cynthia already at table.
“Good morning, Douglas,” Cynthia greeted him. “You don’t seem quite
your usual bright self to-day. A trifle heavy-eyed and even
duller-looking than usual. Did the thunder keep you awake?”
“Rather! My sensitive temperament, you know. High strung and all that.
The least thing puts me off my sleep.”
Cynthia looked him over with mock sympathy.
“Ah! Neurasthenic, no doubt. It’s hard lines on these healthy looking
people, Nina; their nerves are all fiddlestrings really, but they get
no sympathy because they look so frightfully robust. Observe, however,
the leaden eye, the trembling hand. He’ll be biting a bit out of his
tea-cup if we don’t manage to soothe him.”
“I’d just love to have you for a nurse if I went sick,” Douglas
affirmed. “And the toast, please, since you happen to be so handy to
it. Thanks. I suppose the storm passed quite unnoticed at your end of
the house?”
“No, indeed,” Nina said, nervously. “It gave me the fright of my life.
I had to creep away to Cynthia’s room for comfort. I hate thunder,
especially when it comes near.”
“It was near enough last night. One of the trees in the garden was
struck. You can see it from the door.”
“That must have been the peal that drove me out of my wits, then. I
knew it was close at hand.”
“Well, it’s cleared the air, that’s one good thing,” said Douglas,
glancing through the window at the big white clouds sailing in the
blue. “All the stuffiness has gone now. This is going to be a day for
careful enjoyment, too good to waste on mere reckless frivolity.”
He looked sternly at Cynthia.
“I do love Friocksheim,” said Nina, irrelevantly. “It’s a place where
one can do just as one likes and no one bothers about things.”
“What about borrowing the _Kestrel_ and going up the coast until the
afternoon?” suggested Cynthia. “Mrs. Brent would let us have it if we
asked her.”
Douglas glanced again through the window.
“Hullo! She’s gone!”
“What a nuisance!” Cynthia looked over the empty waters of the bay.
“Mrs. Brent said something last night about going off in the yacht,
but I didn’t think she meant it. She’s evidently taken the _Kestrel_
herself, though. That notion’s knocked on the head.”
The door opened to admit Freddie Stickney. Even as he came in, they
could see that he was preparing a sensation for them. His prying
little eyes ran over the group, estimating the character of his
audience.
“Heard the latest?” he demanded, importantly.
“Spare us the usual preliminaries, Freddie,” Douglas implored. “Don’t
drag out the agony. Flop right in at the deep end. If it’s an
earthquake in Frogsholme or any other little thing like that, why just
give us the simple tale in the fewest words.”
Freddie Stickney seemed to feel that his sensation was big enough to
let him follow Douglas’s advice. He came to the point without more
ado.
“The Talisman’s been stolen,” he announced, with a certain
undercurrent of malicious enjoyment in his voice. “That’s a nasty
knock for the Dangerfields.”
For a moment his three hearers failed to take in his news.
“The Talisman?” exclaimed Nina. “You don’t mean to say somebody’s
taken it?”
Freddie confirmed his statement with a smile.
“Are you sure about this, Freddie, or is it just some rot you’re
making up?” demanded Douglas.
“Quite sure about it. I’ve been to look at the cabinet where it’s
kept, to make certain; and it’s gone. No sign of it.”
Cynthia looked distressed.
“That’s bad business, isn’t it? Poor Mr. Dangerfield! The Talisman’s
the thing he values most in the world, I should think. He’ll be
fearfully cut up.”
“Oh, he’ll be all that,” agreed Freddie, unsympathetically. “But it’s
a beastly nuisance. Friocksheim will be swarming with police and
detectives—probably unofficial ’tecs as well. The Dangerfields will do
anything to get the thing back again, you can bet. It’ll be most
unpleasant for all of us. They’ll expect us to turn out our suit-cases
to see that none of us has taken it.”
“Well, what’s the harm in that?” inquired Cynthia. “They can do what
they like, so far as I’m concerned. The main thing is to get the thing
back again. I suppose they’ll get it back in a day or two?”
Douglas looked doubtful.
“Depends who’s taken it, Cynthia. There’s no saying. But perhaps it
hasn’t been stolen at all,” he ended, hopefully. “It may just have
been taken away to be cleaned or something like that.”
“Wrong, there,” said Freddie, with a self-satisfied air. “It’s been
stolen. I managed to worm that out of the butler.”
“Oh, did you?” Douglas’s expression showed what he thought of
Freddie’s methods.
“Yes. At least, I got enough from him to put two and two together.
There’s been a theft of some sort, whether it was burglary or stealing
from inside the house.”
“What a horrible business!” Nina was evidently upset by the affair.
“It’ll be a terrible shock for the Dangerfields, won’t it? I do hope
they get it back again almost at once. I wish it hadn’t happened. I do
wish it hadn’t happened!”
Freddie stared at her in a patronising way.
“I should worry over it. It’s really the Dangerfields’ own fault for
taking no precautions. Fancy leaving the thing standing about in that
open cabinet, ready for anyone to lift! One can’t have much sympathy
with them, after all.”
“I think I can spare a little,” Cynthia commented, icily.
Freddie had a further tit-bit which he had held in reserve.
“Oh, I don’t think so,” he said. “Why, they never took the trouble to
insure the thing. That’s inexcusable carelessness. Really, they seem
to deserve all they’ve got.”
Douglas leaned forward in surprise.
“Do you mean to say, Freddie, that the thing wasn’t insured?”
“So I believe,” asserted Freddie. “I got it out of the butler before
he realised what he was saying.”
Douglas passed this explanation without comment.
“Why, the thing’s impossible! The stones in the Talisman are worth
more than £50,000. Nobody would dream of keeping a thing like that
uninsured!”
“Well, you’ll find I’m right,” said Freddie, weightily. “And that’s
why we shall be flooded out with police and detectives. Obviously
they’ve simply got to get it back. Nobody cares to lose £50,000.”
Nina was plainly taken aback by the figure.
“I should think not. I’d no idea it was worth so much. What a loss for
poor Mr. Dangerfield.”
“Well, he’ll have to stand it, if the thing isn’t recovered,” said
Freddie, philosophically.
“It makes me frightfully nervous,” admitted Nina. “Just think,
Cynthia, that burglar may have been prowling about near us in the
night. It gives me the creeps!”
“Oh, that’s all over now,” Cynthia soothed her. “You’re too nervous,
Nina. If it has been a burglar, he’s not in the least likely to come
back again. You can sleep quite quietly so far as that goes.”
Freddie hastened to play the part of consoler.
“I don’t think you need worry. There’s nothing much else in the house.
The Dangerfields haven’t a big stock of jewellery. The Talisman was
about the only thing worth taking in the whole place.”
“Well, I’m ever so sorry about it,” Nina reaffirmed. “It makes
everything different to-day. Friocksheim won’t be the same, with this
hanging over it. How could one enjoy oneself when this has happened?”
“Oh, one does what one can,” Freddie reassured her. “Worrying won’t
help.”
“That’s right, Freddie,” commented Douglas, contemptuously. “Have your
principles, and act according! The stern, unbending Roman touch, eh?”
“Where’s Mrs. Caistor Scorton?” inquired Freddie.
He was evidently anxious to find a fresh auditor for this news.
“She was just finishing her breakfast when I came down,” volunteered
Nina. “I think she’s gone out.”
Freddie was plainly disappointed by this information.
“She must have been down a good deal earlier than usual,” he grumbled.
“Where’s Wraxall?”
“Not down yet,” said Douglas. “I expect the storm kept him awake like
the rest of us, and he’s been putting in some extra sleep. He’ll be
down later on.”
He glanced at the two girls, and all three rose.
“Well, ta-ta, Freddie. We’re leaving you in the best of company, so
you’ll excuse us if we go.”
Freddie’s expression showed that he saw the irony without appreciating
it.
“See you later,” he snapped, going on with his breakfast as the others
filed out of the room.
On that day Wraxall awoke later than usual and dressed with a certain
leisureliness. He had been about during the small hours of the
morning; and even after he went to bed, some time had elapsed before
he managed to fall asleep. On reaching the breakfast-room at last, he
was not altogether pleased to find Freddie Stickney the only other
occupant.
“Thunder keep you awake too?” demanded Freddie, as Wraxall took his
seat. “Cleared the air, anyway. That’s one blessing.”
“I sat up and watched the storm,” said the American, shortly.
“Frightful racket, wasn’t it?” Freddie inquired.
Wraxall nodded vaguely and attacked his breakfast.
“Heard the great news?” persisted Freddie, not to be baulked.
Wraxall, who preferred to breakfast peacefully, looked across the
table with an expression of the very faintest interest.
“News?” he asked. “No. I haven’t seen a paper yet. My doctor tells me
it’s better to read later on. He advises me to concentrate at
breakfast-time. I share his views. I believe he’s right.”
Freddie ignored the hint.
“Oh, it’s not in the papers. It’s a Friocksheim tit-bit, exclusive.
The Dangerfield Talisman’s been stolen!”
If he expected to read anything in the American’s face, he was
disappointed. Wraxall’s lean countenance betrayed no emotion of any
sort, not even surprise. He continued to masticate stolidly for a few
moments, as though excluding all extraneous ideas. Freddie felt that a
good item of news had been wasted.
“How do you know it’s been stolen?” inquired Wraxall, at length.
“Well, it’s gone, at any rate.”
Wraxall glanced across the table.
“That’s hardly the same thing, Mr. Stickney. If I drop a dollar in the
street without noticing it, the dollar’s gone; but it isn’t
necessarily stolen. When I send a clock to be cleaned, it’s gone too;
but the clock-maker isn’t a thief for all that. Let’s be accurate, if
_you_ please.”
This was hardly the reception Freddie had anticipated.
“Well, it’s gone, at any rate,” he repeated. “And if it’s gone,
somebody must have taken it. It didn’t walk off by itself. And if
anybody took it, that’s theft, isn’t it?”
Wraxall appeared to consider this proposition with some care before
replying.
“No,” he replied, after a pause. “No, I’d hardly care to go so far as
that. Hardly. Mr. Rollo Dangerfield may have taken it—that wouldn’t be
theft, since it belongs to him. Somebody may have borrowed
it—borrowing isn’t theft. No, it seems to me you’re rather apt to jump
to conclusions, Mr. Stickney. I can’t follow you to that length.”
Freddie Stickney flushed slightly. This confounded Yank was evidently
presuming to pull his leg. Freddie contented himself with a
reiteration of his former remark:
“Well, it’s gone, at any rate.”
As he said it, his eyes swept the American’s face, and for an instant
he seemed to catch a glimpse of something going on behind the mask.
Wraxall was evidently perturbed and his eyes showed that he was
thinking hard, though his face gave no clue to the subject which
occupied him.
Freddie relapsed for a time into sulky silence, and Wraxall was able
to continue his meal undisturbed. From time to time, Freddie’s beady
eyes ranged round to the American’s face; but its set expression
betrayed nothing to him. Freddie began to contrast the reception which
Wraxall had given to his news with the outburst of sympathy for the
Dangerfields which had come from Douglas and the girls.
“Something very fishy about this fellow,” he thought to himself. “One
would almost think it wasn’t news to him at all. And why is he so
anxious to make out that it isn’t a case of theft? That’s very rum.”
Freddie chewed the cud of this idea for a minute or two; but at last,
feeling the lack of conversation to be too great a strain, he tried
another opening.
“Very few at breakfast to-day.”
The American glanced round the empty table, but made no audible
comment.
“Three of the party went off first thing this morning,” Freddie
continued. “Mrs. Brent’s away in the _Kestrel_. Didn’t wait to say
good-bye to me.”
At last a gleam of interest crossed the American’s face.
“Mrs. Brent’s gone? Now, I’m sorry to hear that, Mr. Stickney. I shall
miss her. She’s a most understanding person. I’m sorry. But perhaps
she’s only gone for the day?”
Freddie Stickney had to admit ignorance.
“She didn’t leave any message about when she’d be back. And Eileen
Cressage went off by the first train. But she’ll be back to-night,
most likely. So will young Dangerfield. He’s gone, too.”
Wraxall nodded, but said nothing. Freddie was emboldened to proceed.
“Funny—their going just when the Talisman’s disappeared—isn’t it? The
Dangerfield Luck gone, and all of them clear out at once. Like rats
leaving a sinking ship, what? It seems rum, doesn’t it?”
The American’s brief spell of interest in Freddie’s conversation came
abruptly to an end. This time there was no doubt about it. Freddie’s
latest news item must have started a fresh train of thought in
Wraxall’s mind, and he was devoting his whole attention to following
it out. Freddie attempted to break in once or twice, but received no
encouragement beyond absent-minded nods which might have meant
anything; so at last he rose and left the room.