MACHIAVELLIAN
Within the span of an exceedingly bad quarter of an hour for Sally the
cat was completely out of the bag, the fat as irretrievably in the
fire; Sally was out of breath and in tears of penitence and despair;
Mrs. Gosnold was out of her chair, thoughtfully pacing to and fro, and
in full possession of all facts materially bearing upon the
translation of S. Manvers of the Hardware Notions into S. Manwaring of
the Golden Destiny.
No vital detail had escaped her penetrating probe; she proved herself
past mistress in the art of cross-examination, and found in Sally a
willing witness.
For the latter, however, it had seemed less giving of testimony than a
hysteric confessional. She had wrung her conscience dry, deriving from
the act a sort of awful joy mitigated by the one regret: that she had
not more to confess, that the mystery of her favouring must remain a
mystery which, with all the good-will in the world, no word of hers
could elucidate.
As for the secret history of last night's dark transactions, however,
that was not altogether hers to disclose. The interests and affairs of
others were involved, she dared not guess how disastrously; she was
only sensitive to the feeling that something black and foul and
hideous skulked behind that shut door. Heaven forfend that hers should
be the hand to open it and let ruin loose upon this pleasant world of
Gosnold House!
It seemed incumbent upon her to explain that Mrs. Standish had brought
to her room a jewel-case for Sally to hide or otherwise dispose of.
Beyond this she feared to go. She would not mention Lyttleton or Trego
or the yacht, or the window of the signals.
In the end, stopping tears and sobs as best she might, she waited
listlessly her sentence of expulsion. Now nothing mattered; if her
heart was lighter, her future was darker; and presently the nobody
that she was would return into that drab nowhere whence some ill wind
of chance had wafted her.
"Don't be a fool!" Mrs. Gosnold counselled her abruptly with unwonted
brusqueness. "Do you really think I'm capable of baiting a trap for
you with fair words and flattery for the sheer, inhuman pleasure of
seeing you suffer until I choose to set you adrift? See how you've
upset me already; metaphor is never safe in a woman's hands, but
I'm seldom as bad as all that!"
Sally sniffed abjectly. "I'm willing to do anything . . ."
"You've done enough. Be content. If it were not for you and what
you've been able to tell me, I'd . . . Well, no matter; I don't know
what I'd do. As it is . . . Look here!"
She paused in front of Sally, dropped one hand kindly on the girl's
shoulder, with the other lifted her chin, exploring her tear-wet eyes
with a gaze at once charitable and discriminating.
"I've taken a fancy to you, if you are a bit of an idiot. And I
believe implicitly every word you've uttered. Perhaps I oughtn't to,
and I probably wouldn't, if your account of yourself didn't chime so
exactly with what I know about my dutiful niece and nephew. But, you
see, I do know them, and very well--and that they're quite capable of
all you say, and more to boot. Adele Standish in especial I know far
too well to believe for an instant she'd burden herself with
benevolent intentions toward another woman without expecting to reap
some wildly inadequate reward. That's all that bothers me. I can't
understand what they wanted with you. But I'm not going to let my
mystification lose me the services of a promising amanuensis--not in
these days, when intelligence is scarce and far to seek."
"Do you mean I'm to stay?" Sally gasped incredulously.
"Most assuredly I mean you're to stay. Why not? You're modest and
well-mannered, and you've got too much sense to try again to pull wool
over my eyes, even if you're wicked enough to want to, which I don't
believe. No; as far as you're concerned, your position here is far
more firmly established now than an hour ago, when everything was
against my liking you--in spite of the fact that I did--especially
your loyalty to those hopeless ingrates!"
She fumed in silence for a moment. "I could have forgiven almost
anything--but this! The insolence of it! To dare picture me to you--or
anybody--as a silly old fool of a woman without the wit to protect
herself from being fleeced by a gang of adventurers. My friends!" she
broke off with a snort of superindignation. "My guests here a set of
rogues and vagabonds--and worse!"
She flopped into her chair with a helpless "Oh dear!" and began to
laugh.
"It's too ridiculous!" she exclaimed. "If it ever got out, I'd almost
be ashamed to show my face in public again. Promise you'll never
breathe a syllable--"
"Oh, I promise--I do promise!" Sally protested fervently. "But, Mrs.
Gosnold . . ."
"Well, what now?"
"I suppose," said Sally, "the only way to show my gratitude is by
serving you faithfully--"
"You might," the elder woman interposed in a quizzical turn, "spare
me, if you can, a little affection, since it seems I've lost that of
my sister's children, together with their respect."
"I don't think you'll ever complain for want of that," Sally told her
very seriously. "But can you afford to run the risk of the police
coming here to find Sarah Manvers, who disappeared last week after
breaking into a house--burglarising it--leaving her discarded clothing
behind her for one positive clue--"
"You must make your mind easy as to that; unless I'm vastly mistaken,
no police will ever look for you in Gosnold House; if any did, they
wouldn't be admitted; and if by any chance they did happen to get in,
they wouldn't find Sarah Manvers. Please understand, you're to remain
Sara Manwaring for some time to come--for good, if I think best. Don't
imagine I'm going to permit you to resume your right name and spoil
everything. I hope I make myself clear."
"Oh, yes, Mrs. Gosnold!"
"And--attend to me--you're not to give Adele--or Walter, either, when
he gets here, any reason to suspect you've confided in me. I wish
everything to go on precisely as it has been going--so far as they
can see. Avoid them as much as possible; when it isn't possible,
give them a dose of their own medicine if necessary--I mean, lie.
There's an explosion coming, but I don't wish it to happen until I'm
sure who and what are going to be blown sky-high, and I am quite
prepared to stand by and enjoy the fireworks. Meantime, don't let
anybody frighten you; no matter how serious matters may seem or be
represented to you, rely implicitly on me. And whatever is said to you
that seems of any consequence--or if you should see anything--find
some way to report quickly to me. Now what did you say you did with
that jewel-case Adele gave you?"
Sally repeated her account of its hiding-place.
"You didn't unwrap it, you say. Well and good!" Mrs. Gosnold nodded
intently. "Then don't; leave it as it is, and some time to-day, if I
can manage without being observed, I'll drop into your room and have a
look at the box myself. But you are on no consideration whatever to
touch it until I give you leave."
"I understand."
"If Adele and Walter want to know what you've done with it, tell them
the truth--you've done nothing. Say you've not yet found a good chance
to. Tell them where it is, but assure them it's perfectly safe there."
"Yes, Mrs. Gosnold."
Momentarily the older woman was lost in a reverie of semimalicious
cast, to judge by the smile that faintly shadowed the firm lines of
her handsome face.
"A surprise patty . . ." she observed obscurely.
Of a sudden, with a sort of snap, she roused herself back to more
immediate issues. "Oh, come! the morning almost gone already and
nothing accomplished! Off with you! But before you go, do, for
goodness' sake, attend to your eyes; if some one were to see you going
through the halls the way you are--it might be ruinous. Bathe them
with cold water in the bath-room there--and you'll find plenty of
powder and stuff on my dressing-table."
And while Sally hastened to profit by this advice, the other pursued:
"You should school yourself never to cry, my girl. You're too
sensitive and emotional by half. If you go on this way, at the least
excuse--great Heavens! what a moist married life you'll lead! Now let
me look at you. That's much better. You'll do very well--if only
you've wit enough not to worry--to trust me, whatever the emergency.
Now, please, get about my errands. And when you come back, tell Thomas
to let me know. If I need you during the day I'll send for you."
As it happened, she didn't send for Sally before nightfall; but
she kept her busy with commissions delivered by word of mouth--so
busy, perhaps considerately, that the girl found little time to waste
in futile fretting, but was ever conscious, when now and again her
thoughts did inevitably revert to the status of her personal affairs,
of contentment crooning in her heart like the soft refrain of some
sweet old song.
Her social education had made a gigantic forward stride with her
surprising discovery that confession is good for the soul, that
honesty in all things is not only expedient but wholesome. If material
advantage had accrued unto her through that act of desperate honesty,
if she basked all this day long in the assurance of immunity from the
consequences of her folly and imprudence, it was less with the
arrogance of Fortune's favourite daughter than with the humility of
one to whom life had measured out benefactions of which she was
consciously undeserving. The assertion that the world owed her a
living was forgotten, and if recalled, would have been revised to the
sense that she owed the world the duty of honourable and conscientious
living. If her temper was tolerably exalted, it was well chastened to
boot.
Thanks to the tardy advertisement of the fete, the avidity of a people
ever seeking some new thing, and the fame of Abigail Gosnold as an
entertainer of eccentric genius, that day could hardly be said
to wane; rather, it waxed to its close in an atmosphere of electric
excitement steadily cumulative. The colony droned like some huge
dynamo with the rumour of secret preparation against the night. Other
than servants scurrying to and fro on pressing but mysterious errands,
few folk were visible in the afternoon; the drives and beaches; the
lawns, terraces, courts, gardens, verandas and casinos were one and
all deserted.
At Gosnold House, below-stairs, in kitchens and servants' halls, and
all about the grounds as well, a multitude of work-people swarmed like
an invading army of ants. Astonishing feats of preparation were
consummated as if by legerdemain. And though the routine of the
household proceeded marvellously without apparent hitch or friction,
luncheon and dinner degenerated into affairs of emptiest formality. At
the latter, indeed, Mrs. Gosnold presided over an oddly balanced
board; three-fourths of those present were men--fully half the
feminine guests dining from trays in their rooms or else abstaining
altogether in order that not one precious moment might be lost to the
creation of their improvised disguises. And the talk at table was
singularly disconnected, with an average of interest uncommonly low.
People were obviously saving themselves up. There was no lingering
over tobacco; the last course served, the guests dispersed in
all haste compatible with decency.
It was at this meal that Sally got her first glimpse of Savage since
his arrival in the course of the afternoon. She had been far too busy
to keep watch and unable to invent any plausible excuse for inquiring
after him, but the thought of his return had never been far out of
mind. However busy, she had been unable to dismiss entirely the
consideration that Savage was bringing the first authentic news of
whatever activities the police might have inaugurated in connection
with the burglary and whatever their progress in pursuit of the clue
furnished by the garments discarded in the bath-room. And all the
reassurances of Mrs. Gosnold were impotent to counteract apprehensions
fostered by such reflections.
But there was the length and the width of the table between them. She
had to be content with all that Savage found chance to accord her--a
bow, a smile, and a glance down his nose significant of unspeakable
intelligence.
She thought he looked a bit pale and worried and betrayed more
nervousness than was natural in the man as she had come to know him.
Whether or not he had been accompanied by the threatened insurance
adjuster (or detective!) she was unable to surmise; notwithstanding
several strange faces in the number at table, she was inclined to
believe that a person of such character would have been lodged
somewhere in the village which served as the island's main port of
entry, rather than brought to Gosnold House--already crowded with
guests.
As soon as the company rose Savage manoeuvred to the side of the girl,
detaining her long enough to convey a surreptitious message under
cover of apparently care-free greetings.
"Must have a talk," he muttered out of the corner of his mouth.
"Something you ought to know immediately."
A pang of pure fear shot through her mind, but she retained sufficient
command of herself not to betray her emotion or even to seem anxious
to make the appointment.
"Oh, there's no chance for that now," she evaded as per instructions,
and with so successful a semblance of indifference that Savage was
openly and profoundly perplexed. "I've heaps of things yet to do for
Mrs. Gosnold--I'm really frightfully pushed for time even to dress."
"Yes--of course. But this talk has got to happen some time soon.
However, it ought to be easy enough under our masks. What costume will
you be wearing?"
"I don't know. Mrs. Gosnold promised to find something and send it to
my room. I presume she must have forgotten--but perhaps it's
there now."
"Well, keep an eye bright for me, then. I'll be Harlequin--an old
costume I happened by sheer luck to have left here some years ago.
Otherwise, I guess, I'd have to wrap up in a sheet and act like a dead
one."
She laughed mechanically, murmured "I must fly!" and forthwith dashed
up the great staircase and to her room.
Her costume had not yet been delivered; she had still to wait half an
hour by the clock; but there was plenty of detail wherewith to occupy
her time. On the other hand, the routine of one's toilet is a famous
incentive to thoughtfulness, and as she went automatically through the
motions of beautifying herself and dressing her hair, Sally's mind
took advantage of this, its first real freedom of the day, and focused
sharply on her own concerns.
It reminded her, among other things, of the fact that she had not seen
Lyttleton since an adventitious glimpse of him going in to breakfast
just as she was leaving the house to deliver the invitations.
She wondered idly about him, in an odd humour of tolerant superiority,
as one might contemplate the presumption of an ill-bred child. And she
wondered dumbly at herself, whom she found able to imagine without
flinching an encounter with him of the mildly flirtatious description
licensed by the masquerade. Would he know instinctively who she
was and avoid her? Or have the impudence to renew his advances? Or
would he fail to fathom her identity and so lay himself open to her
castigation?
She did not for an instant forget that she was endued, not only by
personal right as an injured woman herself at fault, but also by the
authority of Mrs. Gosnold, with letters of marque and reprisal.
That she would penetrate at sight his disguise, whatever its
character, she hadn't the faintest doubt.
But, then, woman's faith in her vaunted if vaguely comprehended
faculty of intuition is a beautiful thing and a joy to her forever.
And she wondered what Savage would have to say to her. But in this
phase her thoughts wore a complexion of far less self-assurance,
notwithstanding the moral support of her employer. What could have
happened in New York that he must seek an early meeting to discuss it
with her? What had been the outcome of that terribly incriminating
clue, her name on the garments composing that sloughed chrysalis of
yesterday? Was it possible that her comrades of the studio (Heavens!
how historically remote and almost unreal seemed that well-hated
chapter of existence) had become anxious enough to notify the police
of her long absence? In such cases, she believed, something called a
general alarm was issued--a description of the absentee was read
to every member of the metropolitan police force, that it might be on
the alert to apprehend or succour the lost, strayed or stolen. Could
that possibly have been done in the case of missing Sally Manvers?
And, if so, could the police detectives possibly have overlooked the
fact that the name of the wanting woman was identical with the name of
the woman wanted?
For all the strength of her tower of refuge Sally shivered.
And she realised with a twinge of sincere regret that she would never
dare return and share these happier fortunes with those two unhappy
partners of her days of suffering and privation.
She wasn't heartless; she had thought frequently of them before, but
always with the notion that she would some day, and by happy chance
some day not distant, reveal her transfigured self to them and, out of
the plenitude of her blessings, lend them a little, and much more than
a little, aid and comfort. Something of that sort, indeed, was the
least she could do; it was but justice; it was simply repayment of
acknowledged indebtedness. And now, it seemed, it might never be!
From this she passed into new wonder and bewilderment at the duplicity
of Savage and his sister, and the mystery of their motives and the
still deeper mystery of their actions, and the inscrutable
mystery of the boat that had landed on the beach of Gosnold House at
three o'clock in the morning.
All of which led her suddenly to make sure of the jewel-box.
It was no longer in its place of concealment.
Mrs. Gosnold, she assumed, must have removed it.
But for what purpose? To what end?
A knock on the door announced the arrival of her costume by the hands
of Mrs. Gosnold's personal maid.
"And Mrs. Gosnold says please will you come to her boudoir, miss,
directly you're dressed?"
"Tell her I'll be there in fifteen minutes."
Moderate disappointment waited upon recognition of the character of
her assigned disguise. She had had visions of something very splendid,
something almost barbaric in its richness--had nursed a day-dream of
herself flaunting radiantly through the chiaroscuro of the moonlight
fete like some great jewelled butterfly.
After that vision the modest garb of a Quaker maid seemed something of
a come-down, even though the costumer's conception of a Quakeress had
been considerably influenced by musical comedy standards.
But her disappointment was fugitive. After all, the dress was of
exquisite quality and finish, and it became her wondrous well.
She took from the room the memory of a very fetching figure in a gown
of dove-grey crepe-de-chine, the bosom crossed by glistening bands of
white, the skirt relieved by a little apron of lace and linen, white
bands at wrist and throat, a close-fitting cap of lace covering her
hair, her feet and ankles disclosed discreetly in stockings of
dove-grey silk and suede slippers of the same neutral shade set off by
silver buckles--the whole rendered the more tempting by an almost
jaunty cloak of grey satin lined with white.
With the addition of the mask (which she wore to pass through the
corridor in memory of Mrs. Gosnold's injunction) the effect was quite
positively fascinating.
And that mask proved to be far from superfluous, for when she followed
her knock into the boudoir of her mistress she was thunderstruck to
find nearly two dozen people, men and women, gathered together there,
sitting and standing about in a silence which seemed curiously
constrained, taken in connection with their festival attire. For they
were all in costume and, with the single exception of Mrs. Gosnold,
all masked.
This last was very brilliant in the billowy silken skirts, puffed
sleeves, tight bodice, and wide ruff of Queen Elizabeth, and carried
off well the character of that hot-tempered majesty, making no effort
to disguise the fact that she was deeply wounded and profoundly
agitated.
She sat regally enthroned upon a spindle-shank chair that matched her
escritoire, and betrayed her impatient humour by the quick tapping of
one exquisitely shod foot. And the others seemed to wait upon her
pleasure in a silence almost of subjugation--a nervous, unnatural,
ominous hush.
It was broken on Sally's entrance by the mistress of Gosnold House,
who nodded without a sign of recognition and said in a bleak manner
thus far in Sally's experience wholly foreign to the nature of the
speaker: "Come in, please, shut the door, and find some place to sit
down. Retain your mask. There are two guests wanting, and we must wait
for them."
There were no chairs vacant, and a majority of the men were already
standing, but another (by whose unquestionably authentic cowboy
costume Sally was sure she recognised Trego) rose and silently
surrendered to her his place.
She accepted it with a stifled murmur of thanks.
The slight stir occasioned by her addition to the company subsided,
and the sense of constraint became even more marked. Nobody appeared
to care to know his neighbour; there was no whispering, no murmuring,
even the indispensable fidgeting was accomplished in an apprehensive
and apologetic manner. A few men breathed audibly, a few fans
stirred imperceptibly an atmosphere supercharged with radiations from
so many human bodies added to the natural heat of a summer's evening;
there were no other sounds or movements of any consequence. Sally
became uncomfortably susceptible to the undercurrent of high nervous
tension, conscious of a slight dew on her hands and forehead, and
surprisingly conscious of the sonorous thumping of her heart.
Unaccountably, nobody else seemed to hear it.
Perhaps they were all listening to their own hearts. But why . . .?
She wasted a few moments vainly scrutinising the masks in her
immediate neighbourhood. Their eyes gleamed uncannily through the
slits in the black silk, and when she intercepted a direct glance, it
was hastily lowered or averted, as if there were something indecorous
in acknowledging her bewildered appeal.
Again, perhaps, they were as much puzzled by her incognito as she was
by theirs.
Those small shapes of black, silk-covered cardboard proved singularly
effective, even when they concealed no more than the nose and the
cheeks immediately beneath the eyes. She found it surprisingly
difficult to fix an identification, even when satisfied she could not
be in error; but she was measurably sure of Mrs. Artemas beneath
Diana's Grecian draperies, of Trego in his Western guise, of Mercedes
Pride in the conventional make-up of a witch. The rest at once
provoked and eluded conjecture; she fancied she knew Lyttleton in the
doublet and hose of Sir Francis Drake, but could not feel certain;
divested of his peculiarly well-tailored personality, he was
astonishingly like half a dozen other men among the guests.
Presently Mrs. Gosnold's maid, Marie, appeared in the doorway to the
bedroom, holding in her hand a number of envelopes, and at a nod from
her mistress began to thread the gathering, presenting one envelope to
each guest, together with a small pencil such as is commonly attached
to dance-programs.
The incident provided a grateful interruption to a situation that was
rapidly assuming in Sally's esteem the grotesqueness of a dream.
Remembering that this was Gosnold House, the focal point of America's
most self-sufficient summer colony, and that all these subdued and
inarticulate masqueraders were personages daily exploited by the press
as the brightest stars in the social firmament, the incongruity of
this dumb gathering seemed as glaring, as bizarre as anything her
fancy could conceive.
And when her envelope was handed her and she had lifted the flap and
withdrawn an oblong correspondence-card bearing the monogram A-G and
nothing else, the final effect of meaningless mystery seemed to
have been consummated.
But this, as it happened, was coincident with the arrival of the last
two guests--one of whom was a lithe and shapely Harlequin in
party-coloured tights, and the other a bewitchingly blond Columbine--
and then the purpose of the meeting was soon exposed.
With no more expression than she had employed in the case of Sally,
Mrs. Gosnold saluted the last comers with a request to enter and be
seated, then directed her maid to go out into the hall, close the
door, and stand guard to prevent eavesdropping. When the door was
closed she plunged directly into a prepared address.
"I owe every one an apology," she began with a fugitive, placating
smile, "for all this inconvenience and nonsense--as it must seem. But
I'm sure you will bear with me when you know the circumstances, which
are extraordinary, and my motive, quite a natural one.
"We are now," she pursued with a swift glance that embraced the room,
"just twenty-three, including myself; that is to say, everybody who
slept here last night, and one or two more. And your masks are a sure
screen for any betrayal of emotion when I tell you why I have asked
you to oblige me by meeting here. So please retain them whatever
happens."
She paused, made a little gesture of deprecation.
"I would rather almost anything than be obliged to say what I must.
"One of us," she announced deliberately, "is a thief. These rooms were
entered some time last night, while I was asleep, and all my personal
jewelry was stolen. Please no one interrupt. I will answer all the
natural questions before I finish.
"The robbery was not difficult to accomplish."
"The Island is well-policed, there has not been a burglary in its
history, and I am a careless old woman. When I take my things off at
night I leave them on my dressing-table. Marie, my maid, puts them
away in the morning. I have three large jewel-cases, none of which is
ever locked except when I travel. I have never had a safe. The
jewel-cases are stored away in unlocked dresser-drawers. My bedroom
and boudoir doors are never locked. And I am a sound sleeper. There
is--and was--nothing to prevent the thief from entering after I had
turned out my light and, employing ordinary discretion, helping him or
her self. Which is precisely what happened last night. Every piece of
jewelry was taken from my dressing-table, and the three jewel-cases
from their drawers."
"I discovered my loss promptly after waking up this morning. I said
nothing, but after setting in motion the machinery for
to-night's amusement, which I have long had in mind, devoted the day
to a quiet investigation, as a result of which I am convinced that the
house servants had no part in the robbery. In short, I am persuaded
that the thief is now in this room. I do not, however, wish to know
his or her identity. And I am especially anxious to avoid the scandal
which must follow if this affair leaks out."
"Finally, I feel so sure you all share my horror of publicity and my
aversion to knowing positively who committed this crime that I ask you
all silently to pledge yourselves to secrecy--and then to humour my
plan for regaining my jewels and covering up the affair completely. I
have thought it might be accomplished this way:"
"Marie has given you each a card, an envelope, and a pencil. The cards
and envelopes have no distinguishing marks. The pencils are all alike.
The authorship of anything you may care to communicate cannot possibly
be traced, if you will be careful not to write but to print."
"Please take the cards away with you to your rooms, and please each of
you remain there at least five minutes before coming out. Then take
the cards in the envelopes, sealed, down-stairs and deposit them in
the mail-box. It will not be unlocked until one o'clock. By that time
I shall expect the thief to have deposited my jewelry in some
hiding-place about the house or grounds--a dozen will suggest
themselves on a moment's thought--the spot to be indicated on the
card. By this method ample time is granted in which to make
restitution with complete immunity from recognition, the secret will
be kept, the scandal hushed up, and, best of all, I shall be able to
continue considering each and every one of you my very dear friend."
"But"--and her handsome old face darkened with the shadow of the
determination that rang in her tone--"if this scheme should fail, and
the thief refuse to make restitution, then, though it break my heart,
I shall feel without alternative other than to take certain
steps--steps which I cannot now contemplate without positive loathing,
so repugnant are they to me. . . ."
"Now I have finished," Mrs. Gosnold said quietly. "I am sorry to have
imposed in this way upon your patience, but it seemed, I think you'll
grant me, warranted and necessary. I thank you, and hope you'll
forgive me. And now will you please return to your rooms, without
asking me any questions, and do as I have begged? And I sincerely hope
that this wretched business may not interfere with your enjoyment
to-night. For my part, I am so confident of the success of this scheme
that I mean to consider that I have not been robbed--that everything
is as it has always been, and as it will be after the envelopes
are opened at one o'clock."
She ceased; there was the stir of a general rising and movement toward
the door, amid a hum of excited murmurings.