VERNET "CALLS A TURN."
Leslie Warburton had replaced her mask, but the face she concealed was
engraven upon the memory of her _vis-a-vis_.
A pure pale face, with a firm chin; a rare red mouth, proud yet
sensitive; a pair of brown tender eyes, with a touch of sadness in their
depths; and a broad low brow, over which clustered thick waves of sunny
auburn. She is slender and graceful, carrying her head proudly, and with
inherent self-poise in gait and manner.
She glances about her once more, and then says, drawing still nearer the
disguised detective:
"I have been looking for you, Mr. Stanhope, and we have met at a
fortunate moment. Nearly all the guests have arrived, and everybody is
dancing; we may hope for a few undisturbed moments now. You--you have no
reason for thinking yourself watched, or your identity suspected, I
hope?"
"None whatever, madam. Have _you_ any fears of that sort?"
"No; none that are well grounded; I dislike secrecy, and the necessity
for it; I suppose I am nervous. Mr. Stanhope," with sudden appeal in her
voice, "how much do you know concerning me, and my present business with
you?"
"Very little. During my drive hither with Mr. Follingsbee, he told me
something like this: He esteemed you very highly; he had known you for
years; you desired the services of a detective; he had named me as
available, and been authorized by you to secure my services. He said
that he knew very little concerning the nature of your business with me,
but believed that all that you did would be done wisely, discreetly, and
from the best of motives. He pointed you out to me when we entered the
house. That is all, madam."
"Thank you. Mr. Follingsbee is, or was, the tried friend, as well as
legal adviser, of my adopted father, Thomas Uliman, and I know him to be
trustworthy. When he spoke of you, Mr. Stanhope, he knew that I desired,
not only a skillful detective, but a true-hearted man; one who would
hold a promise sacred, who would go no further than is required in the
matter in hand, and who would respect an unhappy woman's secret--should
it become known to him."
Her voice died in her throat, and Stanhope rustled his garments
uneasily. Then she rallied and went on bravely:
"Mr. Follingsbee assured me that you were all I could desire."
"Mr. Follingsbee does me an honor which I appreciate."
"And so, Mr. Stanhope, I am about to trust you. Let us sit here, where
we shall be unobserved, and tolerably secure from interruption."
She turns toward the divan behind the screen and seats herself thereon,
brushing aside her glittering drapery to afford the disguised detective
a place beside her.
He hesitates a moment, then takes the proffered seat and says, almost
brusquely:
"Madam, give me my instructions as rapidly as possible; the very walls
have eyes sometimes, and--I must be away from here before midnight."
"My instructions will be brief. I will state my case, and then answer
any questions you find it necessary to ask."
"I shall ask no needless questions, madam."
"Then listen." She nerves herself for a brave effort, and hurries on,
her voice somewhat agitated in spite of herself. "For three months past
I have been conscious that I am watched, followed, spied upon. I have
been much annoyed by this _espionage_. I never drive or walk alone,
without feeling that my shadow is not far away. I begin to fear to trust
my servants, and to realize that I have an enemy. Mr. Stanhope, I want
you to find out who my enemy is."
Behind his starry mask, her listener smiled at this woman-like statement
of the case. Then he said, tersely:
"You say that you are being spied upon. How do you know this?"
"At first by intuition, I think; a certain vague, uneasy consciousness
of a strange, inharmonious presence near me. Being thus put on my guard
and roused to watchfulness, I have contrived to see, on various
occasions, the same figure dogging my steps."
"Um! Did you know this figure?"
"No; it was strange to me, but always the same."
"Then your spy is a blunderer. Let us try and sift this matter: A lady
may be shadowed for numerous reasons; do you know why you are watched?"
"N--no," hesitatingly.
"So," thought the detective, "she is not quite frank, with me." Then
aloud: "Do you suspect any one?"
"No."
"Madam, I must ask some personal questions. Please answer them frankly
and truly, or not at all, and be sure that every question is necessary,
every answer important."
The lady bows her head, and he proceeds:
"First, then, have you a secret?"
She starts, turns her head away, and is silent.
The detective notes the movement, smiles again, and goes on:
"Let us advance a step; you _have_ a secret."
"Why--do you--say that?"
"Because you have yourself told me as much. We never feel that uneasy
sense of _espionage_, so well described by you, madam, until we have
something to conceal--the man who carries no purse, fears no robber. You
have a secret. This has made you watchful, and, being watchful, you
discover that you have--what? An enemy, or only a tormentor?"
"Both, perhaps," she says sadly.
"My task, then, is to find this enemy. Mrs. Warburton, I shall not touch
your secret; at the same time I warn you in this search it is likely to
discover itself to me without my seeking. Rest assured that I shall
respect it. First, then, you have a secret. Second, you have an enemy.
Mrs. Warburton, I should ask fewer questions if I could see your face."
Springing up suddenly, she tears off her mask, and standing before him
says with proud fierceness:
"And why may you not see my face! There is no shame for my mask to
conceal! I _have_ a secret, true; but it is not of _my_ making. It has
been forced upon me. I am not an _intriguante_: I am a persecuted woman.
I am not seeking it to conceal wrong doing, but to protect myself from
those that wrong me."
The words that begin so proudly, end in a sob, and, covering her face
with her white, jeweled hands, Leslie Warburton turns and rests her head
against the screen beside her.
Then impulsive, unconventional Dick Stanhope springs up, and, as if he
were administering comfort to a sorrowing child, takes the two hands
away from the tear-wet face, and holding them fast in his own, looks
straight down into the brown eyes as he says:
"Dear lady, trust me! Even as I believe you, believe _me_, when I say
that your confidence shall not be violated. Your secret shall be safe;
shall remain yours. Your enemy shall become mine. If you cannot trust
me, I cannot help you."
"Oh! I do trust you, Mr. Stanhope; I _must_. Ask of me nothing, for I
can tell you no more. To send for you was unwise, perhaps, but I have
been so tormented by this spy upon my movements ... and I cannot fight
in the dark. It was imprudent to bring you here to-night, but I dared
not meet you elsewhere."
There is a lull in the music and a hum of approaching voices. She
hastily resumes her mask, and Stanhope says:
"We had better separate now, madam. Trust your case to me. I
cannot remain here much longer, otherwise I might find a clue
to-night,--important business calls me. After to-night my time is all
yours, and be sure I shall find out your enemy."
People are flocking in from the dancing-room. With a gesture of
farewell, "Sunlight" flits out through the door just beside the screen,
and a moment later, the Goddess of Liberty is sailing through the long
drawing-rooms on the arm of a personage in the guise of Uncle Sam.
"What success, my friend?"
"It's all right," replies the Goddess of Liberty; "I have seen the
lady."
A moment more and her satin skirts trail across the toes of a tall
fellow in the dress of a British officer, who is leaning against a
vine-wreathed pillar, intently watching the crowd through his yellow
mask. At sight of the Goddess of Liberty, he starts forward and a sharp
exclamation crosses his lips.
"Shades of Moses," he mutters to himself, "I can't be mistaken; that
_is_ Dick Stanhope's Vienna costume! Is that Dick inside it? It is! it
must be! What is he doing? On a lay, or on a lark? Dick Stanhope is not
given to this sort of frolic; I must find out what it means!"
And Van Vernet leaves his post of observation and follows slowly,
keeping the unconscious Goddess of Liberty always in sight.
[Illustration: "Dear lady, trust me! Your secret shall be safe; your
enemy shall become mine!"--page 75.]
Passing through a net-work of vines, the British officer comes upon two
people in earnest conversation. The one wears a scarlet and black
domino, the other a coquettish Carmen costume.
"That black and red domino is my patron," mutters the officer as he
glides by unnoticed. "He does not see me and I do not wish to see _him_
just at present." A few steps farther and the British officer comes to a
sudden halt.
"By Heavens!" he ejaculates, half aloud; "what a chance I see before me!
It would be worth something to know what brought Dick Stanhope here
to-night; it would be worth yet more to _keep_ him here _until after
midnight_. If I had an accomplice to detain _him_ while I, myself,
appear at the Agency in time, then the C---- street Raid would move
without him, the lead would be given to _me_. It's worth trying for. It
_shall_ be done, and my patron in black and red shall help me."
He turns, and only looks back to mutter:
"Go on, Dick Stanhope; this night shall begin the trial that, when
ended, shall decide which of the two is the better man!"
And the British officer hurries straight on until he stands beside the
black and scarlet domino.