LEGERDEMAIN
With a mind half distracted, the battlefield of a dozen unhappy
emotions of which the most coherent were seething self-reproach and
frantic irritation with Trego (why must it have been he, of all men?)
Sally inconsiderately left the two to conclude their quarrel without
an audience--took to her heels incontinently and sped like a hunted
shadow across the open lawn. She flung through the side door and left
it wide, stumbled blindly up-stairs to her bedchamber door, and shut
this last behind her with no anticipation so fond as that of solitude
and freedom to cry her eyes out.
But she had no more than turned from the door toward her bed, in the
same movement shrugging off her black cloak and letting it fall
regardless to the floor, when she became aware that solitude was no
more in that room, that she shared it with an alien Presence--a shape
of misty pallor, filling the armchair, silhouetted vaguely against the
moonlight rectangle of the window.
And she faltered and stopped stock-still, with a strangled whimper,
due in part to sheer surprise, but mostly to semi-superstitious dread.
The Presence did not move; but she was frightfully aware of the fixed
regard of its coldly hostile eyes.
"Who are you?" she demanded in a choking whisper. "What are you doing
here? What do you want?"
"Where have you been?" the Presence retorted in a level voice
instantly identified as that of Mrs. Standish. "What have you been
doing"--a spectral arm gestured vaguely toward the terrace--"out
there?"
Sally took firm hold of herself and mustered all her wit against this
emergency.
"I went out," she said slowly, "because I couldn't sleep,
and--everything seemed so lovely. . . ."
"Dressed like that!"
Profound scorn informed this comment. The girl writhed, but held
herself well in hand.
"It was so late," she explained, "I didn't think it possible there'd
be anybody else about."
"Of course you didn't." The woman's tone was saturated with hateful
innuendo. "On the other hand, you soon discovered your mistake, didn't
you?"
Sally muttered a sullen "Yes . . ."
"You're wise not to lie I to me," her patroness remarked with just a
suspicion of satisfaction. "I knew, you see. I've been sitting here,
waiting, the better part of an hour, listening to you two bickering
behind the hedge. You little fool!"
Sally said nothing. Her mood was all obsessed now with the conviction
that this was the end to her life of a moth. An end to everything;
come morning and she must be cast forth in disgrace, to go back to . . .
She choked upon an importunate sob and dug nails into the palms of her
hands.
"Who was the man?" Mrs. Standish pursued inexorably.
Then she didn't know!
"Does it matter?" Sally fenced.
"Certainly. I insist upon knowing. Remember your position here--and
mine. I have assumed responsibility for you; but I cannot permit you
to make me answerable for the antics of a man-crazy woman. If you
can't behave yourself and refrain from annoying my aunt's guests, you
must go. I thought you understood that."
"Of course," the girl muttered. "You didn't think I expected anything
else, did you?"
"Who was the man you followed out there?"
The calculated offensiveness of this was balanced by its sudden
revelation to Sally's mind of the fact that Mrs. Standish didn't know
there had been two men. It was, however, true that the window did not
command a view of the approach to the side door.
"Are you going to tell me?"
"Please, Mrs. Standish, I'd rather not."
"Think again, my girl, and don't forget the circumstances under which
I was persuaded, against my better judgment, to introduce you here."
"What do you mean?"
"Have you forgotten you were caught in the act of burglarising my
house--that I first saw you wearing clothes stolen from me? You told a
story, but how do I know it was true? You may well have been an
accomplice of the ruffian who nearly killed my brother."
"That's hardly likely, is it?"
"How am I to judge? You may have quarrelled and turned on him in
revenge. Judged by your conduct here, I'm sure you're capable of
anything. Or you may have thought you saw a way to win greater profit
by aiding my brother."
"That's all nonsense," Sally retorted hotly, "and you know it."
If dismissal from Gosnold House were inevitable, then there was no
reason why she should not call her soul her own.
A pause was filled by the dramatic effect of Mrs. Standish nobly
holding her temper in leash.
"When are you going to answer my question?"
Sally was dumb.
"Was it--that man you went out there to meet--"
"I didn't go to meet anybody. It was an accident."
"So _you_ say. Was it some one of the guests here?"
Silence was all the answer.
"If you persist in your present attitude, remembering your dubious
history, I have every right to take it for granted you went to meet an
accomplice in crime--"
"Oh, rot!" Sally interjected impatiently.
And then, encouraged by consciousness of her audacity, she let her
temper run away with her for an instant.
"All that's no good," she declared forcibly, "and you know it. If you
mean to speak to Mrs. Gosnold about me in the morning, and have me
sent away merely because I've had an unpleasant experience and refuse
to discuss it with you--when it's none of your affair--why, I can't
stop you. But I'm not a child, to be bullied and browbeaten, and I'm
certainly not going to humour your curiosity about my private
business. And that's flat. Now run and tell, if you really must--but
you won't."
"Oh-indeed?" Mrs. Standish rose with vast dignity. "And why won't I,
if you please?"
"Because you won't dare risk that insurance money, for one thing--"
"So you think you can blackmail--"
"Call it anything you like," Sally flashed defiantly. "Only bear in
mind, I'm not going to submit tamely and be sent away in disgrace,
like a kitchen-maid. I'll go, right enough--you don't need to worry
about that--but I'll go on my own excuse. If you tell on me, I'll tell
on you, and I'll tell everything I know, too."
"And what, please," the woman purred dangerously, "do you think you
know--?"
"What about your signalling that yacht just now?"
It was shot at a venture; she had no real knowledge that the lighted
window had been that of Mrs. Standish's bedroom; but it was just
possible, and she chanced it, and it told, though she was not yet to
know that with any certainty.
"What are you talking about?" Mrs. Standish hesitated with a hand on
the door-knob.
"You know well enough. I saw what I saw. People don't do things like
that unless there's something secret about it, something they don't
want known."
"I think you must be out of your head," the woman responded with
crushing hauteur. "I haven't the slightest notion what you mean, and
you needn't trouble to enlighten me. I don't in the least care. But
you may sleep on this--that your insolence shall be properly rewarded
as soon as I can see my aunt in the morning. Good night."
With a defiant sniff that covered a spirit cringing in consternation,
Sally turned her back and threw herself angrily into a chair. But the
sound that she had expected of the door closing did not come, and
after a minute she looked round to find Mrs. Standish still at pause
upon the threshold.
"Oh," said Sally, with an impertinent assumption of remedying an
oversight, "good night, I'm sure!"
Instead of audible reply, the woman shut the door and turned back to
the middle of the room.
"I don't wish to be unjust," she said quietly.
"I am quick-tempered, just as you are, but I always try to be fair in
the end. Perhaps I was unpleasant and too exacting just now; but, you
must admit, I really know little or nothing about you, and have every
right to watch you closely."
She paused, as if expecting an answer; but before Sally could overcome
her astonishment she resumed in the same level, reasonable tone:
"I was greatly distressed when I came here and found you had gone out
at this hour of the night: certainly, you must allow, a queer
proceeding on the part of a young woman in your position. And
when you come back, after a long talk with a strange man in the
shelter of a hedge, and refuse to give an account of yourself, I
confess you exasperated me. At the same time, accidents do happen; and
it's true you have rights of privacy that even I must respect--to whom
you owe a great deal, you must admit. And now I think I've gone as far
toward making amends as even you could ask."
Astonishment and incredulity yielded to penitence. Sally sat up with a
little gesture of contrition and appeal--an outflung hand instantly
withdrawn; this was not a woman whose susceptibilities were to be
touched by such means; even now, beneath her ostensible generosity,
one divined a nature cold and little placable.
Then, with a remorseful cry, "Oh, I'm sorry!" the girl yielded to the
tension of overwrought nerves and broke down completely, crushed,
confounded, shaken by spasms of silent sobbing.
In the course of this she was conscious of the touch of a hand on her
shoulder; no more than that. And when she had spent herself in tears
and grew more calm, it was to find Mrs. Standish seated opposite her
and waiting patiently; at all events with a fair imitation of that
virtue.
"Please," Sally begged between gulps, "please forgive me. I'm so
excited and unstrung--"
"I quite understand. There--compose yourself."
"If you still wish me to--if you insist--of course I'll tell you--"
"No." It cost the other woman an effort of renunciation, but she was
steadfast to her secret purpose. "Forget that. It doesn't matter. I
had no right to ask, and really do not care to know. But if you're
quite able to pay attention, I'd like to consult with you--about what
got me out of bed and brought me here this morning."
"I don't understand."
"Of course you don't. But it has been on my nerves all evening, until
I felt as if I must talk to somebody--and you are the only one I can
trust."
Sally stared in a state of dumb bewilderment that eclipsed all she had
experienced before. Truly the world was topsyturvy this madcap night!
What under the moon now?
"You know how worried I've been about that affair in town. Men are so
inconsiderate; simply because he knew how things were going--and I
presumed they must have been going well--Walter left me without a word
till this evening. Then he telegraphed he'd be here to-morrow
afternoon and that everything was all right; but that he is bringing
with him one of the adjusters for the burglar-insurance people--a
detective, I presume, the man is, really--and I'll have to answer some
questions before we can collect the money to cover my loss."
"A detective!"
"Adjuster is a much more pleasant name. And I know it's merely a
matter of formality, and I oughtn't to be silly about it, but I can't
help it. I've been on edge ever since, fretting for fear something
would come out about that case that Walter did bring me from the safe,
you remember. If that were found--as it might be, if they ask me to
produce what jewelry I have with me--well, I simply can't think what
to do."
"Why not hide the case?"
"That's just it. But where? I can't imagine. Of course I can't very
well smuggle it out of the house myself. So I thought perhaps you . . .
At any rate, I've brought it to you."
"To me?"
"Don't be alarmed. Nobody will ever suspect you of any connection
whatever with the affair. It'll be perfectly safe here, in your
keeping, until you find a way to dispose of it. To-morrow night, for
instance, as soon as it's dark, you might take it down to the shore,
put a stone in it, and throw it out into the water. Or bury it in the
sand. Anything. Nobody will pay any attention if you excuse yourself
to go to your room or out to the terrace for half an hour. But
I--well, you must see. I've hidden the case under your pillow. You may
find some better place for it--but then you haven't a maid to
hoodwink. I declare it has nearly driven me mad, these last few days,
trying to keep the thing out of Ellen's sight. She's such a nosy,
prying creature."
Mrs. Standish rose. "You will do this for me, won't you? I was sure I
could depend on you. And--let us forget our little misunderstanding.
I've forgotten it already."
She had left the room before Sally could formulate reasonable
protest--reasonable, that is, remembering her burden of obligation to
this woman.
It was an hour later before she at length settled upon satisfactory
concealment for the incriminating jewel-case--in the recess behind a
bureau-drawer, where it fitted precisely in the wrappings she did not
trouble to remove.
In the grey twilight of the dawn at last, she flung herself upon the
bed--and fell instantly asleep.