OLD NICK
"I wish to heaven the scent of Pat's tobacco weren't so d--d strong on
that handkerchief in the packet. It's the blackest bit of evidence
against him!" Manners was saying to the detective, in Claremanagh's
study, when a tap came at the door.
The two locked themselves in for their occasional seances in this room,
and Jack himself answered the knock. He was about to scold Togo for
disturbing him (a thing strictly forbidden to all except the Duchess)
when the sight of Lyda's handwriting pencilled on an envelope caused
him to bite back the words.
"Who brought this?" he asked.
"A boy, sir," replied the Japanese. "He is from some theatre. He said
he went first to the Tarascon Hotel, but they told him you'd left word
to have you called up here for anything important, so he came round."
"Is he waiting for an answer?"
"No, sir. He was in a hurry to get back. He said there was no answer."
Jack retired into the study with the letter and carefully, gently
opened the envelope. Even though he was eager to know what Lyda had to
say, he couldn't deal roughly with anything she had touched. This was
not the only letter he had had from her, but it made his heart beat as
if it were the first.
"My dear friend," she wrote with pencil, evidently in haste, "I have
something very important to tell you. I cannot put it well in a
letter. But it has to do with the Duchess, your cousin. She may be
running into some danger. I should like to save her from that if I
could! Come to the theatre and see me for a few minutes. I shall be
free at six precisely, after rehearsing my new dance of the 'Swan and
the Cygnet' with Mrs. Van Esten's little girl. Then I shall have a few
minutes for you. Meanwhile, however, if you have time after getting
this, try to make your cousin's maid tell if she knows where her
mistress has gone. Yours ever--Lyda P."
This was all. But to Jack Manners it was sweet as the perfume of an
Eastern garden by moonlight--her perfume! It was all he could do to
wrench his mind from entranced thoughts of Lyda, to concentrate them
upon Juliet. Poor Juliet! He understood now why he hadn't suffered at
seeing her after her marriage, or cared a single rap! It was because
he'd never been in love with her really, except as a dear, rather
trying cousin, and because what he'd called "love" had worn off even
before that, like thinly spread gilt on gingerbread! He had not known
what love was till the night when Lyda Pavoya's eyes said to him with
their first blinding look, "You are _the_ man; I am _the_ woman."
He believed in her utterly now, and if he had not, he would have wished
to kill himself. To know her, a good and glorious woman, made the
splendour of life.
"Why, Juliet has gone to the dress rehearsal of the roof-garden show,"
he remembered. That was the word she had left with Togo to give him
and Sanders on opening the door for them. But--Lyda was at the
rehearsal! And she hadn't seen Juliet. Before sending such a message
to him she would have made certain that the Duchess hadn't arrived! He
would have Simone down at once!
But Simone--the report came--was not in the house. She had gone out
with Admiral Beatty, the Duchess's bull-dog. Neither Togo nor Huji
could say when she was likely to return. But Togo made a suggestion.
Nickson, the Duke's English valet, might know something of her
movements.
"Nickson!" echoed Jack, surprised. "This is a new development, isn't
it, Nick knowing anything about Simone? I had an idea there was no
love lost there."
Togo ventured, on this encouragement, to smile dryly. At heart he had
as little affection for Mademoiselle as Old Nick had. He would have
liked to do her an ill turn in payment of many snubs, if it could be
managed safely. "There is not much love, Captain," he said. "Perhaps
that is why Mr. Nickson watches Mademoiselle when she takes the dog for
a walk."
"Is he afraid she'll do Beatty harm?" asked Jack.
"I do not know, Captain. Mr. Nickson has not much talk. But perhaps
he would answer some questions."
"Is he in the house?"
"Yes, Captain. I noticed he left soon after Mademoiselle, soon enough
to see where she went--as he often does these days now His Grace is
gone, and Mr. Nickson has not so much to keep him busy. But he is
back."
"Ask him to come here," said Manners. He spoke gravely, and as the
respectful Togo retired, threw Sanders a puzzled look. "Is there
anything in this?" he asked.
"That's what I've been wondering myself," vouchsafed the detective.
"You knew Old Nick was dogging Simone's footsteps?"
"Yes, but I didn't know why. I've been trying to find out."
"How?"
"By having the said footsteps dogged on my own account."
"You've had Simone shadowed?"
"Certainly. But that doesn't necessarily imply suspicion. I'd be a
poor sort of chap at my job if I didn't have every servant in the house
shadowed."
"Great Scott! And without a word to me or my cousin!"
"I can't bother you two with every detail. Besides, she or you might
have objected, and that would have made things awkward all around."
"H'm! I see. Well, where does Simone go?"
"She goes, quite naturally, to a French café where she can drink her
native coffee and chat with compatriots in her native tongue."
"Nothing much in that, then, it would seem."
"No. Nothing much. Or--so it 'would seem', as you say."
"All the same you're putting two and two together?"
"That would be a mistake, from my point of view. The great thing is,
to see whether two and two put themselves together."
"Shall I come in, sir?" asked the man known to the household as "Old
Nick," when his tap on the door left ajar for him had not been answered.
"Yes, come in," said Jack.
"Old Nick" was in reality not old. He might have been anywhere between
thirty and forty, and was the typical British soldier turned valet.
There was, however, a glint in his eye at times when fixed on a person
detested, which made his nickname not inappropriate.
"Togo thinks you may know when Simone is likely to return," Manners
explained.
"She generally does about this time, sir. I'm expecting her any
minute."
"Is it her movements or Beatty's that interest you?"
Nickson swallowed discreetly. "May I speak out, sir?"
"That's what we want you to do."
"Well, sir, I was with 'is Grice one wye or another all through the
war, and there's nobody to me like 'im--never was nor never will be.
So there it _is_! And when 'e just vanished as you might say without
so much as tippin' the wink to me, I was dead sure 'e 'adn't gone of
'is own accord. So I sets my wits to work the best I could, and I
listens to talk and I reads all that blinkin' newspaper rot. Thinks I,
looks as if them beastly pearls has somethin' to say in the business.
So I asks meself: '_Oo's_ walked off with 'em, if any one, and is 'is
Grice doin' a flit in the 'ope of trackin' the bloke down? If them
pearls was ever _in_ this 'ouse, they must 'ave gone out again. _'Oo_
could' a' done the trick?' Well, I never trusted Mam'selle the wye 'er
Grice did. She 'ad the run o' the plice. It was just on the cards she
might o' laid 'er 'ands on the combination for openin' the safe.
'Well, I puts _that_ in my pipe an' smokes it. Strikes me she goes out
a bit more reg'lar for 'er prominides with Beatty since that French
Mounseer brought 'is packet o' pearls, than she used to do. So I 'as
the curiosity to foller at a respectful distance one dye, an' sees m'
lidy step into a French restorong. Not long after, comes along
Mounseer of the pearls. I was sent to meet 'im at the dock, but missed
'im there, 'cause o' some mistike about 'is initials w'ere you wites
for the Customs men. But I seed 'im 'ere at th' 'ouse later when I
comes 'ome to report to 'is Grice. I recognized 'im alright. The
question to my mind was w'ether 'e'd chose that restorong 'cause 'twas
French or cause o' Mam'selle."
Jack's eyes flashed to Sanders, who smiled.
"You and I have been rivals in this game, Nickson," he remarked. "What
conclusion did you come to about Mademoiselle?"
Nickson flushed. "Didn't know I was on your pitch, sir. But if yer
asks me, in my opinion 'e comes for _'er_. Or else she comes for
_'im_."
"A cat may look at a king!" said Sanders. "They're compatriots. Why
shouldn't they meet?"
"On the other 'and, w'y _should_ they?" ventured Nickson. "_I_
wouldn't if I was 'im. And see 'ere, sir, beggin' your pardon, I know
you're a detective, in a privit wye. I've told you all I done. But
t'ain't all I _want_ to do. I want to find 'is Grice. If you and the
Captain make any frontal attack, so to speak, will you tike me along?
I'd give my life for th' Dook. And I might come in 'andy, 'oo knows?"
"Who knows, indeed?" echoed Sanders. "But you shall have the chance of
finding out when the time comes. And it may come soon--any day, any
hour, even any minute. Now, if you think Mademoiselle's due back, I
suggest that you leave us, as we've sent for her here. If there's
anything in your suspicions, we don't want her to smell a rat."
"Right you are, sir, and thank you, sir!" said Nickson. "I'll be off
and leave all clear."
"So, you actually suspect Simone? _And_ Defasquelle!" Jack turned on
Sanders when they were alone.
"I can't go as far as that--yet. There's no evidence against them--not
even circumstantial. There's no crime in a flirtation between a man
and woman, both of the _Midi_, thrown together in a foreign land. I
meant to spring this on you only when or if I had cause to be sure. Up
to date, my indoors man at Rudin's--that's the French place in Twelfth
Street where they meet--hasn't been able to overhear a word between the
two, though he speaks French. He's acting as a waiter there now. He
has instructions to ring me up if he gets onto anything queer. And I
always leave word at home and the office where I'm going to be."
This conversation, following Lyda's letter, had keyed up Manners'
nerves. He started as rather a sharp knock sounded on the door.
It was Simone. She was very neat and _chic_, and led Beatty, whose
bored look suggested that he had been denied his proper share of
exercise.
"_Monsieur le Capitaine_!" she purred; and bowed discreetly to the
detective. "Togo says Monsieur has asked for me the moment I am home.
I come. But the dog----"
"Never mind the dog!" Sanders caught the word from Jack. "We've some
questions to ask you, Mademoiselle. Please stay where you are."
His tone was rough, and he had put on a professional, hectoring air.
There had been no time to arrange a plan of action, but Manners guessed
what was in Sanders' mind. He meant to try scaring Simone; and he
wanted to do it off his own bat. Jack trusted him, and was willing to
keep out of the business. Though the Frenchwoman's black eyes appealed
to him--as her mistress's relative--against the rude stranger, he sat
still and lit a cigarette.