FURTHER DEVELOPMENTS
UNDER the full glare of the electric lights which he had turned on,
Palmer tramped uneasily up and down his living room while he waited
for Hayden to return from the bedroom where the three men had taken
Peter Burnham twenty minutes before. Maynard, more self-controlled, sat
before the chess board and, utterly lost to his companion’s continued
restlessness, he moved the chessmen about intent only on solving some
abstruse problem. The minutes dragged along before Palmer’s impatience
was finally rewarded by the entrance of the physician.
“Burnham has regained consciousness and is resting more easily,” he
announced, as the two men came toward him. “If he continues to improve
I see no reason why he should not return home a little later; if
not----”
“He can have my bedroom,” interrupted Palmer. “But some one will have
to tell Mrs. Burnham;” Palmer did not look happy at the thought.
“Guess it’s up to you, Maynard, to break the news; you are their house
guest.”
Hayden walked over to the wall and stared at the bullet then, without
speaking to his companions, he paced off the distance to the window
facing the balcony which still remained open, and reaching there he
turned and studied the room.
“The bullet must have come from this direction,” he said. “Burnham was
sitting directly in the line of fire. Did you see any one lurking on
the balcony, Palmer, when you looked out?”
“No, and yet some one must have been hiding there.” Palmer stepped over
to the window. “It’s a dark night”--pointing to the overcast sky and
foggy atmosphere, “and the light in this room made the balcony darker
by contrast. I don’t see how any one could have gotten on the balcony
from the hall in the brief time which elapsed between my turning my
back to the window and the firing of the shot; it was like that----” A
snap of his fingers illustrated his meaning.
Maynard moved nearer. “An agile man could do it,” he spoke with
conviction. “I found the balcony window in the hall standing wide open.”
Palmer walked down the room to the desk telephone. “Then I think we had
better call in the police,” he said. “Captain La Montagne can explain
his presence in the corridor to them.”
“He did, to you,” retorted Maynard warmly. “He stated he was looking
for Mrs. Van Ness’ apartment. La Montagne is absolutely straight; I
have known him for years, he would not stoop to assassination.”
“But Burnham’s words implied----” objected Palmer.
“Don’t place too much reliance in Burnham’s statement,” interrupted
Hayden. “He made it when half delirious; better wait until he is in a
condition to explain more fully the grounds for the animosity which,
judging from his remark, exists between him and La Montagne.”
“A wise suggestion,” declared Maynard heartily. “Doctor, you have
sense; now, Palmer, put down the telephone and let us investigate this
matter ourselves without calling in the police, at any rate not now,”
he added, seeing Palmer still kept hold of the telephone. “Suppose I go
up to Mrs. Van Ness’ apartment and see if La Montagne is there, then
I’ll come back and report what I learn.”
Palmer set the telephone back on the desk. “I’ll go with you,” he
announced. “Siki’s here, Hayden; if you need aid in looking after
Burnham just ring for him, or send him up for us. Come on, Maynard,”
and he started for the door, Maynard keeping step with him. They found
the corridor deserted as they walked down its length toward the
staircase.
“Mrs. Van Ness’ apartment is on the next floor,” remarked Palmer. “No
need of taking the elevator,” and in silence the two men mounted the
stairs.
On reaching the top Maynard, who was slightly in advance of his
companion, found the corridor blocked by several suit cases and a
trunk. A man, standing by the freight elevator shaft, left off ringing
the bell and hurried toward Maynard.
“Beg pardon,” he exclaimed, hauling the trunk to one side to permit
Maynard and Palmer passing along. “I thought the elevator would be here
now. Evening, Mr. Palmer,” and he touched his cap on recognizing the
architect.
“Oh, Sam!” Palmer nodded affably to the taxi-driver. “Who’s moving out
to-night?”
“The party in ‘41,’ sir; and he’s agoin’ to miss his train if he don’t
look sharp;” Sam pushed back his cap to mop the damp red hair which
tumbled down on his forehead. “He was to send the janitor up on the
freighter for his things, but I bet he’s asittin’ in my car awonderin’
where I’m at; these here foreigners are mighty queer actin’ sometimes.”
Palmer laughed. “I’m glad ‘41’ is leaving; I shan’t be annoyed by his
noisy parties over my head. Here’s the elevator now, Sam, good-night,”
and not waiting for Sam’s response Palmer hastened after Maynard who
had strolled down one of the wings of the building opening front the
main corridor.
“Which way?” he inquired, turning about as Palmer reached him.
“That further door, there,” and striding forward Palmer laid an
impatient finger on the bell. There was a slight delay, then the door
was opened by an old colored Mammy, her black face in striking contrast
to her snow white apron, cuffs, and collar.
“Can we see Mrs. Van Ness?” asked Palmer. “Say Mr. Maynard and Mr.
Palmer.” As Mammy opened the door still further he entered the small
anteroom just as Marian Van Ness appeared in the doorway of her parlor.
There was a slight pause of uncertainty in her manner, at least one of
the men judged so, before she advanced to greet them.
“Come in,” she said and led the way into the parlor. Evelyn, sitting
with René La Montagne on the sofa, looked up with some alarm at Palmer,
but a glimpse of Maynard just behind him brought a quick smile of
pleasure in its train.
La Montagne, springing to his feet, hailed Maynard with a joyous
exclamation.
“Ah, _mon ami_, well met!” He shook Maynard’s hand with effusion. “How
is it with you?”
“Well, René.” Maynard’s eyes twinkled as he caught Evelyn’s embarrassed
greeting of Palmer and the older man’s scowl as he acknowledged with
scant courtesy Marian’s introduction to the French officer. Palmer
had not anticipated seeing Evelyn, but with the assurance which
characterized all his actions, he promptly took the seat by her side
left vacant by La Montagne and addressed her in so low a tone that the
others were left to chatter together.
For the first five minutes La Montagne bore the brunt of making
conversation and Maynard improved the opportunity to silently observe
the attractive room in which they sat, but even as he studied the few
good paintings and pictures on the walls his eyes turned back with
ever quickening interest to Marian who, in her simple evening gown,
engrossed his attention. Her charm, however, did not lie in the perfect
fit of her gown, her dark eyes and their long lashes, or the soft
pink of her cheeks which deepened and paled as she talked, but in an
indefinite something called, for want of a better name, personality.
“We were just discussing you, Mr. Maynard,” she said, catching his eye
as he again looked at her. “I have persuaded Evelyn and Captain La
Montagne to take part in a Red Cross benefit tableau and play to be
given Saturday at the Belasco, and Evelyn wondered if you would aid us
with suggestions.”
“I shall be delighted to,” was Maynard’s quick response. “What are the
tableaux to be?”
“Patriotic scenes and representations of our heroic Allies,” explained
Marian hurriedly; she had been quick to perceive La Montagne’s restless
glances at Evelyn and his evident anger at the prolonged tête-à-tête
which Palmer was having with her. She raised her voice as she turned
her chair slightly nearer the sofa, “I already have your costume
ordered, Evelyn; your tableau will not require much rehearsing.”
“I’ll ask Mother if I may take part,” replied Evelyn, glad of an
opportunity to make the conversation general. She recalled her
confidences of the morning to La Montagne regarding Palmer, and to
flaunt an apparent flirtation in the face of her French lover was
repugnant to her frank and loyal nature. “All fashionable Washington is
taking part in the benefit, Mr. Maynard; won’t you help us?”
“I certainly will.” Maynard smiled at the enthusiasm with which she put
the question. “Why not give me a part?”
“You!” Evelyn’s eyes opened wide. “My goodness, we would be afraid to
act with you--the girls would all be stricken dumb.”
“Let me have the mute’s part,” laughed Maynard. “Really, I am not so
terrifying, am I?” appealing directly to Marian.
“Not so very,” she responded a trifle absently. “The play is trite,
some society hodge-podge and not--not,” she stumbled in her speech and
continued quickly, “not worthy your histrionic talent, Mr. Maynard,
but there is a tableau which, if you would undertake, would be a great
drawing card.”
“Put me down for it,” declared Maynard. “And let me know the hours
of rehearsal. How about you, Palmer; are you doing your bit in the
benefit?”
“I’m helping with the stage effects.” Palmer shrugged his shoulders
indifferently. “Not much work there, for the local theaters have loaned
all necessary scenery.”
“What part have you planned for me, Madame Van Ness?” asked La Montagne
while his eyes eagerly sought Evelyn, who answered his question with a
saucy smile.
“I hear you are to sing the ‘_Marseillaise_,’” she said. “Now, don’t
refuse.”
“Refuse? I?” La Montagne would have risen and gone to her, but the
pressure of Maynard’s foot on his under the table recalled the
excitable Frenchman to the fact that he and Evelyn were not alone. “I
will do anything,” he announced. “I but await orders.”
“That is what we all do these days,” broke in Maynard. He glanced at
Palmer and at La Montagne; would Palmer make the first move to go, or
was he waiting for him to do so? Evelyn’s presence complicated the
situation; he did not wish to tell her that her step-father had been
shot and narrowly escaped death; nor did he wish La Montagne to leave
before he could question him as to his presence in the corridor outside
Palmer’s open hall door just after the attempted assassination. He,
himself, could not go without offering to see Evelyn home, and courtesy
demanded that he wait for her to make the first move to leave. For all
his self-control Maynard was conscious of a desire to throttle Palmer
who, having captured the conversational ball, was keeping it rolling
by talking every instant. Maynard wondered if Palmer had forgotten the
errand which had brought them there in his absorption in Evelyn and his
endeavor to monopolize her.
Maynard rested his elbow on a mahogany table by which he sat, but his
elbow slipped on the polished surface and a shower of papers, dislodged
by his sudden movement, slid to the floor. With a quick word of apology
he stooped to pick them up, La Montagne lending his assistance.
“It is really my fault,” exclaimed Evelyn who had turned to see what
the commotion was about. “I had no business to leave your papers
there, Marian.”
“My papers!” echoed Marian. “What papers do you refer to, Evelyn?”
“Why those Captain La Montagne asked me to return to you.” Evelyn bit
her lip; she had spoken hastily, forgetting that she had decided to
tell no one of meeting La Montagne in Potomac Park that morning. Palmer
would be very likely to tell her mother or worse, her step-father.
Again Evelyn bit her lip in vexation.
“They are the papers I carried home for you and carelessly left them in
my tunic, Madame,” explained La Montagne. “I, fearing I might not meet
you so immediately, asked Miss Preston that she take them in charge.
I trust my walk-away with the papers did not distress you, Madame Van
Ness?”
Marian’s smile was very charming. “You have not inconvenienced me,”
she said. “The papers were unimportant. Must you be going?” she added
swiftly, seeing Palmer rise. The architect, surprised by the question,
stared at her in some confusion; he had simply risen because he was too
nervous to sit still longer. Maynard, mistaking Palmer’s confusion for
hesitancy, rose also.
“We must be off,” he said. “Just dropped in for a friendly chat. Can’t
I see you home, Evelyn?”
“Thanks, Mr. Maynard, but I am spending the night with Marian. Are you
going also?” as La Montagne seeing the two men remained standing, rose
to his feet. Before the Frenchman could answer her question, Maynard
spoke for him.
“We are going to carry off René,” he laughed. “Don’t begrudge us the
privilege of a talk about France, Evelyn; I have messages for La
Montagne, Mrs. Van Ness.” His direct gaze held hers. “I hope very
soon to be a neighbor of yours as Palmer tells me there is a vacant
apartment in the building. Will you let me come and see you again?”
Marian held out her hand; it remained but a second in his strong
clasp, then was withdrawn. “I shall always be happy to see you and Mr.
Palmer,” she announced, and the inclusion of Palmer’s name robbed the
message of any special cordiality to Maynard alone.
Palmer’s reply was mingled with his good-byes to Evelyn; he
was determined to have the last word with her, but La Montagne
out-maneuvered him and, just as the other men stepped into the
corridor, he whisked back into the apartment, to return a second later
to the corridor smiling happily.
“Pardon!” he exclaimed blandly. “Shall we take the elevator or walk?”
“Walk,” jerked out Palmer, his temper getting the upper hand, and La
Montagne’s eyebrows rose as he glanced significantly at Maynard. He
said nothing more, however, and accompanied his companions in silence
to the next floor where Palmer halted.
“Will you please explain,” he began, “why you stopped at the door of my
apartment earlier this evening?”
“To inquire the direction of Madame Van Ness’ apartment.” La Montagne
glanced at him in mild surprise. “I told you so when you questioned me
before.”
“So you did; but you did not tell me why you walked into my apartment
and out on the balcony,” retorted Palmer.
“But I did no such action,” La Montagne looked in bewilderment at
Maynard standing silently by them.
“Tell us, La Montagne,” began Maynard hurriedly, and thereby checking
Palmer’s next question, “did you find the front door of the apartment
ajar?”
“Do you mean opened?” Maynard nodded. “But yes, and hearing voices
inside I thought to inquire my way.”
“Inquire your way,” repeated Palmer mechanically. “I have seen you
often this autumn going upstairs in this building.”
“True, to visit my friend, Major Jean,” calmly. “He left to-day.” La
Montague looked more closely at Maynard and Palmer and their serious
manner surprised him. “I fear I unintentionally intruded by stopping
at your door,” he said haughtily, as he straightened himself. “I would
not have risked disturbing you, but that I saw a man leave your door a
second before.”
“A man!” Palmer came closer. “Did you see who he was?”
“I called to him to wait,” went on La Montagne, not answering the
question directly. “But he did not evidently hear my hail or my
question regarding Madame Van Ness’ apartment, for he did not stop.”
Maynard, listening with eager attention, looked his disappointment.
“Have you no idea who the man was?” he demanded. “It’s important, René;
can you not describe the man?”
“Only that he wore the costume of a chauffeur,” responded the French
officer. “I took him to be a taxi-driver.”