THE THIRD RINGER OF THE BELL
Simone had been in the act of coming downstairs, dressed for a walk
with her mistress's English bulldog, Admiral Beatty, when a vision
flashed through the hall: a reedlike figure in black with a glint of
red hair through a patterned veil.
Simone stopped short, petrified, pulling so suddenly at the dog's leash
that the reticent bull gave a grunt.
It took a great deal to petrify Simone. She had been through an
earthquake in Italy. She had escaped from a burning hotel in her first
year of service in New York. There had been further sensations also,
and her nerves were accustomed to shocks. But to see Lyda Pavoya, the
dancer, dart unannounced through the hall, when the Duke was alone in
the house, went beyond everything.
She was certain, despite the veil, that the woman was Pavoya. No other
creature on earth had a figure like that, or held her head so like a
light flower on a stem. The Duchess was tall and slim and graceful,
with a slender, long throat; but she had the slightness of a normal,
charmingly formed young girl. The Polish dancer was almost a thing
supernatural, a streak of living flame made woman.
Simone's dark skin was thick, but her head was not. Her brain worked
fast. Like a general at manoeuvres, it reviewed the situation at a
glance. The Duke was at home because of a "_cold!_" He had known for
days that the Duchess would be out for luncheon, and that she was safe
not to return home _en surprise_. He must have invited Pavoya to come
in his wife's absence. And more than this, it struck Simone that the
visit of to-day could not be the first. Togo, the Japanese (of whom
she was jealous because of her mistress's fancy for his services),
seemed to be acquainted with the dancer. He let her pass without a
word. No doubt she had been to the house before, when the Duchess and
Simone were out of the way. Either the Duke or Pavoya--or both--had
bribed Togo, who was playing a mean, double game between his master and
mistress! The Frenchwoman resolved that she would not, after all, take
Beatty for a walk. Bending down, she unfastened the leash from his
expensive collar, on which was engraved: "Miss America from her British
Ally. P.C. to J.P."
Feeling himself free the dog instantly turned and spraddled back to the
Adored One's boudoir, where he was privileged to wallow among all the
prettiest cushions. Such wallowing he much preferred to a promenade
with Simone or any one else save his worshipped Duchess.
As Simone rose from her stooping posture, she saw that Togo had ushered
a man into the house. A second glance enabled her to recognize this
man, and she was more amused than surprised to see that it was Captain
Manners. Juliet had not asked her maid to deliver the secret letter,
because it would be simpler for the man who opened the door to do so,
and as the confidential mission was given to another, the Duchess had
prudently refrained for mentioning it to Simone. The latter imagined
her mistress must mentally have mislaid the fact that she herself had
seen in the papers: Captain Manners' return on the _Britannia_, from
France.
In any case, here he was, and all that was cynical in Simone laughed at
the _contretemps_. He was certain to have asked for the Duke, as the
Duchess was out. Would Togo, who had just let in Pavoya, venture to
interrupt a _tête-à-tête_, by announcing that Her Grace's cousin had
arrived? It occurred to Simone that the Japanese had not dared to turn
away so important a person, but that, having let him in, he would find
some way of excusing the Duke.
The situation was too dramatic to waste. The Frenchwoman pictured His
Grace's expression, faced by his wife's cousin and loyal friend. She
had wanted her mistress to marry Claremanagh, because it was
distinguished to be the maid of a Duchess, but she had liked Manners
and received many a tip from him in days gone by. For that reason, and
for others even more important, she must help Manners catch his cousin
Juliet's husband and Lyda Pavoya together.
Thinking quickly, she tripped down the broad marble staircase which led
to the great hall--a staircase that she was the one servant permitted
to use. She had not passed the midway landing, however, when a second
Japanese--a youth under the command of Togo--went hurrying toward the
front door.
The electric bell was not audible to any one in the hall, but Simone
guessed that a third caller had rung. In Togo's absence with Captain
Manners, it was the duty of Huji to answer the door. The maid flew
down the remaining steps, and was in time to hear the Japanese in
embarrassed conversation with the latest arrival. This person was
speaking broken English, and Huji, not as fluent in that tongue as
Togo, could not understand.
"A Frenchman!" decided Simone. "_Mon Dieu_, it will be the messenger
with the pearls!"
She stepped forward with a smile. "_Monsieur_," she said, "_Je suis
Française, la femme de chambre de la Duchesse. Si je puis être
utile----_"
The newcomer turned at the words, and beamed at sight of a compatriot.
He was youngish, between thirty and forty, Simone thought. He was
good-looking, too; richly dark, as if he might be a child of the south,
like herself. His eyes were handsome, and his small features well cut;
so were his clothes. He had a neat, close-clipped moustache, and red
lips which made his teeth look white as he gave smile for smile, though
in reality they were slightly yellowed by constant cigarette smoking.
Simone approved of him. He had the air of being a gentleman, and she
was glad that fate had made them meet.
Naturally she knew of the Tsarina pearls, and that they were expected,
after tiresome delays; for Juliet was both trustful and careless where
Simone was concerned. But, save for this little comedy, she would not
have met the messenger. Vaguely the maid understood that he was
private secretary to some French financier in whose "care" the pearls
had been left; and a secretary was far above a _femme de chambre_ in
the social scale. It was a pleasant accident which enabled her to earn
his gratitude, and Simone had a sudden vision of being invited out to
dine, or go to the theatre, as a reward. Who knew how it might end if
she played just the right cards?
For a moment the two tossed "politenesses" to each other in their own
beautiful language, the Nicoise striving to speak like a Parisienne.
But there was no time to waste before the return of Togo, and after a
few flowery sentences Simone came to business. "Monsieur has arrived
on the _Britannia_, is it not?" she fluted.
This told, as she intended, that the "mission" was no secret from her;
and the way was cleared for the messenger. He showed her a
visiting-card, with which he had vainly tried to impress Huji. "Leon
Defasquelle" was the name Simone read, and its owner volubly explained
that he was awaited with impatience by the Duke of Claremanagh. "This
Oriental," he went on, with a glance at the attentive yellow face,
"informs me, if I understand aright, that I cannot see the Duke."
"Monsieur may have understood Huji. But it is Huji who does not
understand the situation," smiled Simone. "His Grace the Duke is
confined to the house with a cold. Otherwise he would doubtless have
met Monsieur at the ship. As it was, he sent his own man. Was not
Monsieur received by an Irishman named Nickson?"
Monsieur Defasquelle shook his head sadly. There must have been a
mistake. He had hoped to find someone who would see him through the
formalities of landing, but no one had appeared. Possibly this was due
to the fact that his luggage had been placed under the Letter F instead
of D, and so the Duke's man had missed him. Fortunately, through the
influence of Mr. Henry Phayre (still engaged in the noble work of
reconstructing devastated France), and that of the well-known New York
banking house of Phayre, there had been no difficulty with the Customs.
His--Defasquelle's--mission had for obvious reasons been kept secret on
shipboard, but the object he brought had been declared, and instead of
being delayed at the dock, he had been aided by the authorities. It
seemed strange now to meet obstacles at the journey's end!
"Be seated, Monsieur, for a moment," his countrywoman cooed. "I will
go myself and tell His Grace that you have arrived. I am a privileged
person in this house!"
Huji had understood not a word of the conversation in French, but
seeing Simone start in the direction of the Duke's "study," he put
himself in the woman's way. "Togo say Duke no see any peoples," he
warned her in his best English.
"I will take the responsibility on myself," she said. "I knew the Duke
long before Togo saw either of Their Graces."
With a slight push she passed the boy, and in her haste almost skated
along the polished floor to the door next that of the Persian room.
There she tapped sharply, without a second's hesitation, and waiting
for an answer she could hear her heart knock in her breast.
For a long moment that felt longer there was no other sound. The
silence behind the door seemed abnormal to her high-keyed nerves. But
suddenly, as she was about to rap again, the door was flung open. The
Duke stood on the threshold, his charming brown face less charming than
usual, because of a slight frown. At sight of Simone he showed
surprise, his scowl having been prepared for Togo.
"What is it? Has your mistress come home?" he asked. The frown had
faded; the voice was kind. But this change did not deceive Simone.
She was sure that the Duke was in what he himself would call a "blue
funk," and the fear she imagined brought back the last picture her mind
had made of him. Quickly she saw the way to kill two birds with one
stone.
"_Monsieur le Duc_," she said in French. "The messenger has arrived
from the _Britannia_, and is being detained in the hall by the
Japanese. He is very vexed and surprised. I took it on myself to tell
Your Grace, as I think this is a man who would go away in anger; and
that would be a pity."
Claremanagh flushed. Simone read his confusion. Pavoya was not to be
seen, but she was in the room, hidden somewhere; there was no doubt of
that; either behind the big Spanish screen, or in the window recess
covered by velvet curtains. If Simone had not learned to control her
features she would have laughed. She knew that the wretched young man
must be thinking, "What shall I do? If I go outside this room to meet
Defasquelle, someone may walk in and find Pavoya. Perhaps it may be a
plot of my wife's, who has come back and seen Pavoya! Yet if I receive
Defasquelle here, Pavoya will have to remain hidden, since there will
be no chance for her to escape."
It was a case of the frying pan and the fire, and to know which was
which seemed a "toss up". However, the Duke made the best of things as
they were, and decided quickly. "Of course I'll see this gentleman,"
he said in rather a loud tone. "Have him sent here at once."
"_Bien, Monsieur le Duc!_" agreed Simone; then added instantly, "And
the Capitaine Manners? Is he to be kept waiting?"
"Good Lord!" exploded Claremanagh. "Is he here, too?"
"He has been here some time," the maid had begun to explain when Togo
appeared, his eye bright with rage. This woman had upset his careful
arrangements! He knew that she had done it to make mischief. But now
there was no circumventing her. He had heard the whole story from
Huji, and an elaborate plan to keep Captain Manners contented in the
Persian room was a burst bubble. Meekly Togo took orders from the Duke
to bring both visitors to him, Captain Manners first, because he was a
relative, and not more than five minutes later, Monsieur Defasquelle.
"Does His Grace wish me to make his excuses to the messenger?" asked
Simone, as Togo trotted off to the Persian room.
"Yes, go," said the Duke, no doubt anxious for an instant with the
hidden one; and the maid hurried back to Defasquelle. In order to
ingratiate herself, rather than exonerate her mistress's husband, she
threw all her charm into the explanation. In five minutes--no
more!--His Grace would receive Monsieur. Meanwhile, was there any
information, any aid, she could give--she who had known New York for
years? By the time Togo appeared to conduct the messenger, Defasquelle
and Simone had discovered that they were both of the south; he, no
farther from Nice than Marseilles. It was when the very invitation she
had wished for hovered on the Frenchman's lips that the Japanese
intervened, and Simone hated Togo more violently than before.