THE VIOLET EYES AGAIN
At four o’clock in the afternoon I had heard nothing further from
Bristol, but I did not doubt that he would advise me of his
arrangements in good time. I sought by hard work to forget for a time
the extraordinary business of the stolen slipper; but it persistently
intruded upon my mind. Particularly, my thoughts turned to the night of
Professor Deeping’s murder, and to the bewitchingly pretty woman who
had warned me of the impending tragedy. She had bound me to secrecy—a
secrecy which had proved irksome, for it had since appeared to me that
she must have been an accomplice of Hassan of Aleppo. At the time I had
been at a loss to define her peculiar accent, now it seemed evidently
enough to have been Oriental.
I threw down my pen in despair, for work was impossible, went
downstairs, and walked out under the arch into Fleet Street. Quite
mechanically I turned to the left, and, still engaged with idle
conjectures, strolled along westward.
Passing the entrance to one of the big hotels, I was abruptly recalled
to the realities—by a woman’s voice.
“Wait for me here,” came musically to my ears.
I stopped, and turned. A woman who had just quitted a taxi-cab was
entering the hotel. The day was hot and thunderously oppressive, and
this woman with the musical voice wore a delicate costume of flimsiest
white. A few steps upward she paused and glanced back. I had a view of
a Greek profile, and for one magnetic instant looked into eyes of the
deepest and most wonderful violet.
Then, shaking off inaction, I ran up the steps and overtook the lady in
white as a porter swung open the door to admit her. We entered
together.
“Madame,” I said in a low tone, “I must detain you for a moment. There
is something I have to ask.”
She turned, exhibiting the most perfect composure, lowered her lashes
and raised them again, the gaze of the violet eyes sweeping me from
head to foot with a sort of frigid scorn.
“I fear you have made a mistake, sir. We have never met before!”
Her voice betrayed no trace of any foreign accent!
“But,” I began—and paused.
I felt myself flush; for this encounter in the foyer of an hotel, with
many curious onlookers, was like to prove embarrassing if my beautiful
acquaintance persisted in her attitude. I fully realized what
construction would be put upon my presence there, and foresaw that
forcible and ignominious ejection must be my lot if I failed to
establish my right to address her.
She turned away, and crossed in the direction of the staircase. A
sunbeam sought out a lock of hair that strayed across her brow, and
kissed it to a sudden glow like that which lurks in the heart of a
blush rose.
That wonderful sheen, which I had never met with elsewhere in nature,
but which no artifice could lend, served to remove my last frail doubt
which had survived the evidence of the violet eyes. I had been deceived
by no strange resemblance; this was indeed the woman who had been the
harbinger of Professor Deeping’s death. In three strides I was beside
her again. Curious glances were set upon me, and I saw a servant
evidently contemplating approach; but I ignored all save my own fixed
purpose.
“You must listen to what I have to say!” I whispered. “If you decline,
I shall have no alternative but to call in the detective who holds a
warrant for your arrest!”
She stood quite still, watching me coolly. “I suppose you would wish to
avoid a scene?” I added.
“You have already made me the object of much undesirable attention,”
she replied scornfully. “I do not need your assurance that you would
disgrace me utterly! You are talking nonsense, as you must be
aware—unless you are insane. But if your object be to force your
acquaintance upon me, your methods are novel, and, under the
circumstances, effective. Come, sir, you may talk to me—for three
minutes!”
The musical voice had lost nothing of its imperiousness, but for one
instant the lips parted, affording a fleeting glimpse of pearl beyond
the coral.
Her sudden change of front was bewildering. Now, she entered the lift
and I followed her. As we ascended side by side I found it impossible
to believe that this dainty white figure was that of an associate of
the Hashishin, that of a creature of the terrible Hassan of Aleppo. Yet
that she was the same girl who, a few days after my return from the
East, had shown herself conversant with the plans of the murderous
fanatics was beyond doubt. Her accent on that occasion clearly had been
assumed, with what object I could not imagine. Then, as we quitted the
lift and entered a cosy lounge, my companion seated herself upon a
Chesterfield, signing to me to sit beside her.
As I did so she lay back smiling, and regarding me from beneath her
black lashes. Thus, half veiled, her great violet eyes were most
wonderful.
“Now, sir,” she said softly, “explain yourself.”
“Then you persist in pretending that we have not met before?”
“There is no occasion for pretence,” she replied lightly; and I found
myself comparing her voice with her figure, her figure with her face,
and vainly endeavouring to compute her age. Frankly, she was
bewildering—this lovely girl who seemed so wholly a woman of the world.
“This fencing is useless.”
“It is quite useless! Come, I know New York, London, and I know Paris,
Vienna, Budapest. Therefore I know mankind! You thought I was pretty, I
suppose? I may be; others have thought so. And you thought you would
like to make my acquaintance without troubling about the usual
formalities? You adopted a singularly brutal method of achieving your
object, but I love such insolence in a man. Therefore I forgave you.
What have you to say to me?”
I perceive that I had to deal with a bold adventuress, with a
consummate actress, who, finding herself in a dangerous situation, had
adopted this daring line of defence, and now by her personal charm
sought to lure me from my purpose.
But with the scimitar of Hassan of Aleppo stretched over me, with the
dangers of the night before me, I was in no mood for a veiled duel of
words, for an interchange of glances in thrust and parry, however
delightful such warfare might have been with so pretty an adversary.
For a long time I looked sternly into her eyes; but their violet
mystery defied, whilst her red-lipped smile taunted me.
“Unfortunately,” I said, with slow emphasis, “you are protected by my
promise, made on the occasion of our previous meeting. But murder has
been done, so that honour scarcely demands that I respect my promise
further—”
She raised her eyebrows slightly.
“Surely that depends upon the quality of the honour!” she said.
“I believe you to be a member of a murderous organization, and unless
you can convince me that I am wrong, I shall act accordingly.”
At that she leaned toward me, laying her hand on my arm.
“Please do not be so cruel,” she whispered, “as to drag me into a
matter with which truly I have no concern. Believe me, you are utterly
mistaken. Wait one moment, and I will prove it.”
She rose, and before I could make move to detain her, quitted the room;
but the door scarcely had closed ere I was afoot. The corridor beyond
was empty. I ran on. The lift had just descended. A dark man whom I
recognized stood near the closed gate.
“Quick!” I said, “I am Cavanagh of the Report! Did you see a lady enter
the lift?”
“I did, Mr. Cavanagh,” answered the hotel detective; for this was he.
In such a giant inn as this I knew full well that one could come and go
almost with impunity, though one had no right to the hospitality of the
establishment; and it was with a premonition respecting what his answer
would be, that I asked the man—
“Is she staying here?”
“She is not. I have never seen her before!”
The girl with the violet eyes had escaped, taking all her secrets with
her!