BEHIND THE BOOKSHELF
"Captain Manners, this is Monsieur Defasquelle, private secretary to
Monsieur Mayen, of whom you have heard me speak," Claremanagh
introduced the two men, as the messenger came in. He shook
Defasquelle's hand and gave him one of the delightful smiles which
helped to make him popular with all types and classes.
Jack tried not to hear what Juliet's husband and the Frenchman said to
each other. Not that there was any special reason why he shouldn't
hear, for he'd heard Pat groan over the pawned pearls till he was sick
of the subject; and he had been drawn into the business of trying to
get them for Juliet after Claremanagh left France. But his part in the
affair was ended, and he felt that Pat would rather be alone with
Defasquelle; that he had been asked to make a third on the scene
entirely through politeness. Besides, he was grimly conscious that the
three men were not the only persons present. He was as sure as Simone
had been that Lyda Pavoya listened from behind the Spanish screen, or
the half-drawn green velvet curtains. He was angry for Juliet's sake
that the woman should be in the house, and disgusted that she should be
hidden. Never had he come so near disliking Pat, even on the day when
Juliet broke the news of her engagement. But to his own annoyance, he
could not dislike him whole-heartedly. He even found himself
sneakingly half-sorry for the fellow. Wondering why this should be, he
was roused from his thoughts by the raised voice of Defasquelle.
"But I must beg, _Monsieur le Duc_, that you open the box in my
presence and verify the contents!" he exclaimed.
"I see how you feel, but I can't do that, and it's not necessary,"
returned Pat.
Jack Manners had seated himself on the club-fender that guarded the
fine fireplace. He had taken an illustrated paper to occupy eyes and
hands, but glanced up and saw on the table between Claremanagh and
Defasquelle a box neatly packed in some waterproof-looking material,
sealed with five fat crimson seals.
"It would spoil all the fun if I broke those seals," Pat went on, in a
more human tone. "My wife must be the first to open the thing, and see
the pearls. I'm extremely sorry she's out. But it can't be helped.
If you care to wait----"
"When will Madame the Duchess return?" Defasquelle enquired.
"That's more than I know. Not till late, I'm afraid."
"I have made an engagement in a half hour from now," regretted the
Frenchman, taking out his watch. "It is an appointment that cannot be
put off, as the person is not free to change from one time to another.
Monsieur, I urge you to open the box. It is only fair to the Purser of
the _Britannia_, who kept it in his safe. It is only fair to me----"
Claremanagh laughed. "Oh, don't bother about that side of it! Those
seals alone are a proof that the packet hasn't been tampered with since
it left Mayen's hands. You're his secretary, Monsieur Defasquelle, and
he trusts you completely, or he wouldn't have chosen you, above any one
else, as his messenger. But I don't suppose he would take that seal
ring I gave him off his finger to lend it even to you. He volunteered
the promise to me that it should never leave his hand. In fact, when I
pledged the pearls to him for two hundred thousand francs, it was he
who suggested fastening them up in a box sealed with my own particular,
private seal."
"You are right so far, _Monsieur le Duc_," admitted Defasquelle. "My
employer has been true to his agreement. For one thing, the ring you
had made for him with the facsimile of your seal happens to be rather
small. I do not think he could remove it from his finger if he wished
without having it sawed off by a jeweller."
"Very well, then!" said Pat. "There you are!"
"But _I_ am not there," argued the Frenchman, unfamiliar with English
idioms. "Seals can be taken off and fastened on again, I have heard,
without the change leaving a trace. I am certain these are intact.
But, putting aside myself and the Pursuer, Monsieur would not----"
"Rot, my dear fellow!" cut in the Duke. "I trust Mayen as I trust
myself. Of course, I know--we all three know--the pearls are inside
that box. _You_ say you can't wait for my wife to come home. _I_ say
the seals shan't be broken by any hand but hers. Let's be sensible!
Manners, come here, won't you, and reassure Monsier Defasquelle by
examining these seals!" He snatched the box up from the table, and
held it out to Jack. "You've got sharp eyes. I leave it to you.
Can't you swear that those five red blobs have never been tampered
with, even by the smartest expert alive?"
Reluctantly Jack came forward, and accepting the box, closely examined
the seals. "I think I'd be prepared to swear that," he said. "All the
same, Monsieur Defasquelle is right, in my opinion. You owe it to
him--to everyone concerned, including the company who've insured the
pearls--to open the box before you let it go out of your sight."
"You're no true friend of Juliet's, to give me such advice," Pat
taunted him. "And I won't take it. That's flat. While as for the
seals, look there!" As he retrieved the package, he nodded at a ring
on the least finger of his right hand.
Both men's eyes went to it; Defasquelle's to note, perhaps, how
precisely the raised design of the wax resembled the sunken design on
the gold. But there was a different thought in Jack Manners' mind. He
remembered what Juliet had written him about this ring. What had
happened between her and Pat? was the question that flashed through his
head. A few hours ago she had sealed her "secret letter" with her
husband's ring, after some dispute concerning it. And now, here it was
on Pat's finger again!
Claremanagh, unconscious of Jack's disparaging reflections, began to
regain something like his old gaiety of manner. "Are you satisfied,
Monsieur?" he asked. Then, seeing that Defasquelle screwed up his
brilliant eyes in a near-sighted way, the Duke flung the box on the
table, and pulled off the ring.
"Have a good look at it," he said, almost forcing it into the
Frenchman's hand. "There's a safe in the wall of this room, made by my
dead father-in-law, to keep such things as he didn't care to send to
the bank. My wife and I are the only people alive who have keys to it,
or know the combination. Besides, my own man is the one servant
allowed in this room. So you see, Jack, I don't need to keep the box
'in sight' after Monsieur Defasquelle goes."
As he spoke, he walked toward an alcove at the left of the fireplace.
It was fitted with bookshelves; and as Manners' eyes followed
Claremanagh he remembered the secret of Silas Phayre's safe. Part of
the top shelf had to be pulled out from the wall (after touching a
spring) and then pushed up. Thus a small steel door was revealed, and
could be unlocked only after a certain combination of letters had been
made. Jack had not thought of the safe in years, or glanced in its
direction on entering the room; but now, to his surprise, he saw that
the bookshelf had already been pushed up, and the safe-door not only
revealed, but opened.
Claremanagh's back was turned to him, and he could not see by a change
of face whether Pat was vexed at his own forgetfulness, or indifferent.
But Jack remembered the hidden fourth person in the room, and instinct
told him that the safe had not been opened in readiness for the pearls.
There had been some other motive. Claremanagh and the Polish woman had
been interrupted in their tête-à-tête, and it would be characteristic
of Pat if an unexpected rap on the door had caught him unawares. Could
he have been in the act of giving Pavoya a jewel from the safe when he
had been forced to answer a knock?
Luckily, no such suspicion could be in the Frenchman's head, for he had
not seen Pavoya slip into the house. Jack glanced at him, and saw that
he had laid the Duke's seal ring on the table beside the sealed packet.
He was looking at the safe, but showed no surprise at finding it open.
For him, it had been prepared to receive the pearls.
"_There's_ a good little hidie-hole!" said Pat. "Now I'll sign the
receipt, Monsieur, and you may go to your engagement with a light
heart." He went back to the table, took the box, and tossed it into
the aperture in the wall. Then he closed the steel door, did something
to it which the eyes of neither man could follow, and pulled down the
concealing bookshelf.
A moment later he was scrawling "Claremanagh" on the paper which
Defasquelle rather sulkily put into his hand.