raised, and lying in a series of concentric grooves he saw the pearls
which he intended to buy for Beverley. They were two hundred and fifty
in number, as he knew, and were graduated in size, the largest being as
big as a giant pea. All were exquisitely matched in shape and colour,
and the one fault--if fault existed--was a blue whiteness disliked by
some connoisseurs. Roger was aware, however, that Beverley loved
snow-white pearls.
"Any minute Simon Lecourt may be here," he said to Lovoresco. "When he's
looked at the things, I'll sign and hand you my cheque for two hundred
and sixty thousand dollars."
Lovoresco smiled under his dyed moustache, but the wonderful eyes, for
which men of his race are famous, lit angrily.
"You are ze most prudent of gentlemen!" he exclaimed. "Your great
Franco-American pearl expert, 'e 'as valued ze pearls one time already
at 'is own place, under your eye, Mistaire Sand. Now 'e 'as to come to
your 'ouse! Mazette! But you must tink me a smart one, saire, if I could
change false tings for real in ze last minute!"
"I think some other smart men might have changed them without you or me
being smart enough to know the difference," Roger explained. "I believe
in making a ship watertight before she goes to sea."
"You are right," Lovoresco said, shrugging his shoulders. "I am pleased
once more to meet ze expert."
"Mr. Simon Lecourt," announced the butler.
At a quarter to four--the cheque having been signed--Roger was shaking
hands with the jewel expert he had summoned, and bowing to Count
Lovoresco. The pearls were his, and he was impatient for Beverley. In
five or six minutes she ought to arrive.
Beverley stepped into the lift as Count Lovoresco and Simon Lecourt
stepped out. As they passed she heard Roger's name, and her heart
jumped. These were strangers to her, but they had perhaps been calling
on Roger. What if they were connected with the past terror which had
begun lately to seem as dim as a dreadful dream? What if they had been
telling Roger?
Such a thought would not have come, save for the scene she had gone
through. With her nerves keyed to breaking point she went up to her own
floor with somewhat the sensation she might have had in stepping from
the tumbril to the guillotine. It was all she could do not to scream at
Sister Lake in the hall; and when Roger appeared also it seemed to
Beverley that she would faint.
Roger did not share the nurse's interest in Clo's outing; but he wanted
Beverley.
"Good girl!" he exclaimed, trying to be gay. "You're back ahead of time.
Send one of the servants down with money for Miss Riley. Come into the
study; I've got something to show you. When you've seen it you'll know
why I asked you to be home by four."
"I'll be there in a minute!" Beverley answered. "Let me take off my hat
first. I've rather a headache!"
She turned toward her room, hoping that Roger would wait in the study,
thus giving her a chance to find what she had to find, and take it to
Clo in the waiting auto. But Roger, remorseful already for his disloyal
thought connecting her with O'Reilly, followed.
"If you'd a prophetic soul," he said, "your headache would go. Are you
good at guessing, Bev?"
The girl was at her wits' end. Already she had almost fibbed, in
explaining Clo's errand. If only, now, she could have five minutes'
grace!
"You ought to know I never guess anything right!" she laughed. "It's not
quite four. Show me the wonderful thing just as the clock strikes!"
Roger pulled out his watch. "All right, baby!" he teased her. "You've
got just three minutes and a half. Perhaps you think a woman needs that
time to take off her hat; I'll show you you're wrong!"
He neatly extracted a hat pin which Beverley had twisted into her veil.
Then off came the hat. Roger led his wife by the hand to the door of his
study. Beverley was in despair. Her one cause for thankfulness lay in
the fact that he had forgotten Clo. If he'd remembered to send down
money, the girl would have been bewildered, and perhaps have come in to
ask for instructions. There was room in Beverley's brain for no other
thought than "How am I to get that parcel and give it to Clo?"
"Shut your eyes," said Roger. "The clock's going to strike four now;
don't open your eyes till it stops."
Beverley obeyed, as in that mood she would have obeyed an order to stand
still and be shot through the heart. "One--two," slowly struck the
grandfather clock in the corner; and she felt something cool and heavy
dropped over her neck. "Three--four!" the clock finished. "Open your
eyes," Roger gave the signal.
"Oh!" cried Beverley, almost aghast. On her delicate gray dress the
double line of pearls glistened like huge drops of dew on a spider-web.
The rope hung down below her waist, and each pearl had a light in its
heart as if it held the ghost of a rainbow. "It can't be true! It's a
dream!" the girl stammered. She loved pearls, and knew that these were
marvels beyond common knowledge. But oh, if they could have come to her
at another time!
She managed, however, to put a world of emotion into one kiss and clasp
of her arms. Her silent anguish was disguised as awe. By this time she
had an inspiration. She felt like the Queen of New York, she said. She
must run to her room for a look in the glass, as there was only a weird
old convex mirror in the study. In just a minute--or maybe two
minutes--she would come back. She could have sobbed out "Thank God!"
when Roger, laughing at her vanity, let her go. This time he did not
follow. He stood examining the purple velvet case with the Queen's crown
and monogram. He had not told Beverley the price he had given for the
pearls. He wondered if she guessed that they had cost a fortune. Why
didn't she come back?
Beverley had not even thrown a glance at the mirror. In her own room she
tore open the drawer where her handkerchiefs were kept in rose-scented
sachet cases. The largest of these cases she snatched, throwing the
contents back into the drawer. With fingers that shook, she ripped the
top of the padded silk cushion, and extracted a long envelope sealed
with three gold seals. She would hardly have remembered the Queen's
pearls had the rope not caught in the key of the drawer as she turned
hastily to go. Before she could save it, the string broke, and pearls
big as peas began falling like hailstones.
With a cry, she caught the broken ends of the rope together, dragged it
over her head and bundled it into the drawer among scattered
handkerchiefs. She did not even stop to close the drawer. As for the
fallen pearls--a dozen at least--there was no time to think of them, or
of what Roger would say when he heard of the accident.
Crushing on her hat, which still lay on the bed where Roger had thrown
it, she ran from the room, stuffing the envelope into her handbag. Luck
favoured her. She got out of the flat and into the lift without being
seen.
When five minutes had passed and Beverley was still away, Roger decided
to join her. He opened the bedroom door, and looked in. Something rolled
away from Roger's foot on the threshold. He stooped and picked the thing
up: it was an enormous pearl.
A shock of fear thrilled through him. He thought that news of his
purchase might already have reached the underworld. In these few
minutes, while he calmly waited for Beverley, she might have been
murdered. Things like that did happen. He stepped on a second pearl, and
saw that others lay on the pale rose carpet. He stood staring. At the
foot of the bed a tall screen had been placed to keep the light from
Beverley's eyes in the morning. What if behind it he should find her
lying?
As he braced himself to go and look, Beverley herself came into the
room. It seemed that she shrank at sight of him.
"I thought you'd been kidnapped or killed!" he gasped. "What's
happened?"
"N-n-nothing," she stammered. "It was only--we forgot about Clo--I had
to take her that money. I----" She broke off, seeing the pearl in
Roger's hand. "Oh, wasn't it dreadful that the rope snapped?" she
hurried on. "I wanted to get back to you quickly. I knew the pearls were
safe here. I just shut the door, and ran down."
"So I see," Roger said drily. All the joy he had felt in his splendid
gift was gone.
"What are a few pearls more or less compared to Miss Riley's
convenience?"
"Oh, Roger!" Beverley burst into tears. "Don't look at me like that!
Don't speak to me like that! You think I don't value the pearls? I
do!--for themselves, and for your love! I acted on impulse----"
"Quite so. You've done that before. Don't apologize, my dear girl. It's
not worth it. I care less for the things than you do. Ring for your maid
and let her sweep them up. I dare say she'll find them all to-day or
to-morrow!"
"No," said Beverley, fighting back the hysterical sobs that choked her.
"No, I won't have anyone look for the pearls but myself. Unless you,
Roger, would show your forgiveness by helping me?"
"I have an appointment," he answered. "I'm late for it now. I shall have
to go at once."
It was not true. He had no appointment. But he felt that he must be
alone, and out of doors, in the fresh air.
Clo Riley, returning from her errand at the Hotel Westmorland, did not
see him as she tripped from car to door, but Roger on his way home saw
the girl hurry in as if each second were important. Hardly had she
vanished when a man strolled round the corner. He was walking slowly,
and looking up at the façade as if interested. Roger, at the farther end
of the block, recognized Justin O'Reilly.
VIII
BEVERLEY TALKS
Clo remembered Beverley's instructions, and went straight to her own
room, but the threat of the ferret-man rang in her ears. "Tell your lady
friend a life will pay for this. She's got till ten o'clock to-night,
and not a minute more."
It was now after five, and Sister Lake was firmly bent upon undressing
her charge. Clo had to let herself be tucked into bed. Meekly also she
received the order to lie quite still and rest till dinner time.
Rest! As though she could rest, not knowing what ought to be done next
to help the Angel! A passive plan occurred to Clo, which could do no
harm, and her quick wit suggested how best to carry it out.
"I'll be as good as gold," she promised, "if you'll forgive me, Sister,
and do me a favour. I feel sick because I spoilt your afternoon! You
stayed in, waiting for me to come back, instead of taking your walk.
Will you go out now, instead? I'll rest better if you will. Do, please!"
All Clo's Irish powers of persuasion were needed to coax Sister into
consenting. Eventually she relented. Clo could have sung for joy as
Sister Lake bade her "good-bye for an hour." As the door of the room
closed, the girl began counting the seconds which must pass before the
outer door shut.
"Sixty-two--sixty-three--she ought to be gone!" Clo was whispering, when
her heart sank. The room door opened. She feared that Sister Lake had
changed her mind; but it was the Angel who came in.
"I was racking my brain how to get rid of Sister when I saw her go out,"
Beverley said. "I'm sure you managed it. I've been desperate. You can't
think what things have happened! Tell me, did all go well?"
The blow must be struck. In a few words Clo described the scene at the
Westmorland; told how the ferret-man had kept her waiting; how he had
said that the envelope looked all right, but had insisted upon opening
it; how he had flown into a rage at finding only folded sheets of blank
paper.
"Blank paper!" Beverley gasped. "But that's impossible! I know what was
in the envelope. There were letters. The man must have tricked you."
Clo shook her head.
"I was watching him. He had no time, or chance, to play a trick. The
blank paper was there, and nothing else. It was writing paper, quite a
lot of sheets that seemed to have been taken from some train, 'Santa Fé
Limited,' or a name like that."
Beverley gave a cry, as if she had been struck over the heart.
"Let me think," she groaned. "How can that have been? Writing paper
taken from the train?"
Suddenly she turned, and came back to the bed, putting out her hands in
a groping way to Clo. The girl caught and held them tightly. They were
very cold.
"Angel! is there nothing I can do?" she whispered.
Beverley sank on the bed once more.
"My head feels as if I'd been given ether," she said. "I can't think
things out clearly. That isn't like me! A terrible day! One shock after
another. If I talk to you, will you swear by all that's sacred never to
give away one word?"
"I swear by my love for you. That's the most sacred thing I have, except
my locket with mother's picture," the girl answered.
"You see," Beverley went on, "I've no one else but you, Clo. If I told
my husband anything, I should have to tell all. I daren't do that. Not
because I couldn't trust him. But I've taken an oath ten times more
solemn than the one you took just now, to keep a secret that isn't only
mine. Another's life depends on the secret being kept. To save that life
I was forced to do what I hate to think of. And it's no concern of
yours, but it would be Roger's if he had the faintest inkling! Now, I'm
going to tell you one or two things, and you must use your brains to
explain the mystery. You're clever, and true as steel. You've proved
that! Suppose a case; suppose you'd undertaken a dangerous mission. You
have in your charge some documents which could make or break a man. You
know you'll be followed. You nearly miss your train, but you jump on
board at the last minute. You see a man--not the one you expect, but
another just as much to be feared--more, perhaps, because he's a great
deal cleverer, if not so violent. You think you're lost, but you find a
friend, a man who helps you. You give him the envelope that has the
papers in it--a sealed envelope. You've seen it, Clo! He keeps it
through the journey. At a stopping place on the way he offers to hand it
back to you, but you refuse. You feel that the thing is safer with him.
Later, in New York, he returns the envelope intact, the seals unbroken.
This friend who comes to the rescue is the soul of honour. Never since
that moment has the envelope been out of your own keeping. Yet it is
opened to-day for the first time, and the papers that were in it are
gone, changed for stationery of that train, the 'Santa Fé Limited.' How
can this have been done? Who did it?"
"The other man must have done it, the one who followed you on to the
train."
"But he was never near Rog ... never near the man who ... oh, I might as
well tell you right out that it was Roger who kept the envelope for me.
I'll tell you the name of the other man, too. It's sure to slip out! His
name is Justin O'Reilly."
"O'Reilly?" Clo echoed. "How dare the brute have a name like mine?"
"Why, so it is like," said Beverley. "But there's an 'O,' and he spells
it differently."
"Beast! He'd better, or I'd have to change," snapped Clo. "Well,
whatever his name is, I believe he must have stolen your papers. Can you
go back, and live over again every step of the way?"
Beverley shut her eyes, and began to think aloud. "The morning after we
started Roger mentioned meeting an acquaintance ... a man named
O'Reilly. He didn't dream the name meant anything to me. They exchanged
only a few words when Roger passed O'Reilly's table at breakfast time.
Nothing could have happened then, I know. Afterward, I never heard of
their meeting again through the whole journey. I should have heard, if
they had, I think. Roger was with me a good deal. At Chicago.--Let me
see!...
"I'm calling it back to my mind. Roger helped me out of the train.
O'Reilly was out already. He stood on the platform, looking for
someone--or so it seemed. We went quite close to him, but not close
enough for even the smartest pickpocket in America to steal the envelope
from Roger."
"Where was the envelope then?" the girl wanted to know.
"In an inside breast pocket of Roger's coat; not an overcoat. It was
September. The weather was hot."
"Wouldn't it be easy for any one looking for the envelope to see that
Mr. Sands had something thick and long in an inside breast pocket, and
suspect what it was?"
"Any one might suspect. No one could be sure. It would have shown more
plainly if Roger had worn his coat buttoned. He didn't, on purpose."
"Still, his coat not being buttoned would make it easier to steal the
envelope, if somebody very clever got a chance to try."
"Perhaps. But O'Reilly could never have done such a thing. It would take
a trained thief."
"Can people send off telegrams from those Limited trains?" Clo took up
her catechism again.
"Yes, of course they can."
"Would there have been time for this O'Reilly chap to wire Chicago,
after he followed you on board the train, and have a man meet him?"
"Yes, plenty of time."
"Well, what if he wired to some detective people, and told them to send
him the 'smartest pickpocket in America'?"
"But ... the police couldn't ... wouldn't ... do such a thing!"
"I don't mean the real police," Clo explained. "Haven't you often read
books about private detectives? I have. They might get reformed thieves
to work for them. Can you remember what O'Reilly did next, after you
both passed him on the platform?"
"No. I didn't look back."
"You don't know, then, whether the person he seemed to expect ever
turned up?"
Beverley shook her head. "Roger and I went straight ahead to a newsstand
where _I_ expected to meet a person. Two or three minutes after we
passed O'Reilly we were mixed up in a big crowd, almost fighting our way
through...."
"Oh, a big crowd!" Clo broke in. "A chance for that pickpocket. Suppose
he came the minute you had turned your backs on O'Reilly, and he sent
his trained thief after you, hot foot, to get that envelope?"
"Ah, but you've forgotten something!" cried Beverley. "A thief might get
the envelope: I'll admit that. But how could he have another one exactly
like it, with the same seals, the same monogram, to put into Roger's
pocket, when he took the original?"
"He could only have it if O'Reilly could have given it to him. Could he
have done that?"
Suddenly Beverley began to see. A vivid idea sprang into her head, and
was imaged in her eyes.
"You've thought of something!" Clo exclaimed. "You see how O'Reilly
might have got the seal with the monogram, and the gold wax, and an
envelope like the one you had?"
"Oh, yes. I do see!" Beverley groaned. "He could have brought the things
from--from.... But never mind. That part's nothing to you."
"I want only to know the part you want me to know," said Clo.
"It isn't a question of what I want. It's a question of my sacred oath,"
Beverley answered. "There was a house where I had been, to get the
envelope. O'Reilly was there, too. Someone ... no matter who! ... could
have given him all the things, so he could change envelopes if he got
the chance. Oh, child, I keep stumbling on to a path where I dare not
step."
"We'll go back to the train," said Clo. "If O'Reilly had the gold wax
and the seal, and the right kind of envelope, he could have made his
plan, and sent his telegram, and had everything ready for the right
minute ... in the Chicago station."
"Ye--es, he could. But it's almost impossible!"
"It's more possible than Mr. Sands' changing the envelopes, isn't it?"
"That is the one impossible thing. The worst remains. I have lost the
papers! Whether O'Reilly has them or someone else, I can't get them
back. Without them, I'm ruined!"
"You shan't be!" Clo cried, twining her thin arms round her idol's
waist. "You must be saved somehow. We've got till ten o'clock to think."
"If I were the only one, it wouldn't matter so much," Beverley said.
"But there's somebody who can be tortured as well as killed, if I have
no bribe to offer. Those papers gave me all the power I had."
"Wouldn't money...." Clo began, but Beverley cut her short.
"No money I could get would be of any use," she said. "A million might
be!"
"See O'Reilly and make him give up the papers!" cried Clo. "Oh, but is
he in New York?"
"He doesn't live in New York, but he's here now. I know, because that
man you saw, Peterson, told me. It was part of a threat he held over my
head that O'Reilly and some people connected with him should be in town
just now. I know the hotel he's staying in, the Dietz. But even if
O'Reilly would come, how could I see him without Roger knowing? It
wouldn't be possible!"
"I'll somehow make O'Reilly come," the girl promised. "I don't know how,
yet, but I know I will, if you can get Mr. Sands out of the house."
Beverley shuddered. "How horrid that sounds ... as if I were plotting
against him, the way women do who deceive their husbands."
"Well, anyhow, if O'Reilly took the papers, would he still have them, do
you think?" asked Clo, with the sudden eagerness of one who catches in
desperation at a new idea.
"It's just possible. I can see a reason why he might have been asked to
keep them," Beverley answered.
"If that's so, would he put them in a bank, or a safe somewhere, or
would he bring them to New York?"
"There might be a special motive for him to bring them to New York ... I
think there would be a motive."
"Well, it seems to me, the sort of man I imagined he is, would be too
smart to have such things on him if he came to your house, and didn't
mean to give 'em back to you. It would be tempting Providence, so to
speak!"
"If I were the kind of woman he thinks I am, he'd not expect me to stop
short of murder to get those papers," and Beverley laughed a bitter
little laugh.
"Good! If he comes to you and leaves the papers at his hotel, a certain
thing will happen, but it's safer for you not to know--till afterward."
IX
THE BLUFF THAT FAILED
"You must tell me!" Beverley insisted. "Tell me at once!"
"While Mr. O'Reilly is here with you, Miss Riley without the 'O', will
be at his hotel, in his room, helping herself to his--I mean
your--papers."
"My child, you're mad!" Beverley gasped.
"Not so mad as _he_'ll be when he finds out," crowed the girl. "Hurray!
The whole business is settling itself in my head. The one trouble is Mr.
Sands. The rest will be all right. Think what to do about him, Angel;
think hard!"
Beverley thought until her brain whirled.
"I might suggest Roger's dining at his club," she said. "But how I
should hate to do that! He's vexed already. He has a right to be! This
afternoon he gave me a wonderful present, a rope of pearls that belonged
to a Queen. It must have cost a quarter of a million! I hardly stopped
to thank him, I was in such frantic haste to get the envelope to you.
The rope caught in the key of a drawer; the string broke, and a lot of
pearls ran all over the carpet. I didn't wait to pick them up. I ran
down to you, and I was gone so long Roger went to my room to look for
me. I came back and found him picking up pearls. I felt my excuses did
more harm than good. Roger pretended that he had an engagement. I saw by
his face he wanted to walk off his anger in the fresh air. If he does
walk it off--if he comes back ready to make up, and I send him away
again, perhaps that will finish it! Things may never be the same between
us any more!"
"He was angry because you didn't seem to care enough for his present,"
said Clo. "But if you can get him out of the house for an hour or so,
and at the same time prove that you adore the pearls; how does that plan
strike you?"
"How could I do both?"
"Beg him to go fetch a pearl-stringer, and bring her back here himself,
to-night. Say you can't rest or sleep till the pearls are restrung."
"You forget it's Sunday, and----"
"I don't forget. But I know a pearl-stringer. She isn't just any old
pearl-stringer, who might thread on a wax bead here and there, and keep
a pearl or two up her sleeve. She's the best pearl-stringer in New York.
The big jewellers and lots of swell society women have her. It's queer
the way I came to know her, but it makes it good for us. We were
crossing a street, she and I. I didn't know the woman from Adam--Eve, I
mean. But it was slippery, and she missed her footing. I dragged her
back, just in time, and held her up. She's a little woman, no bigger
than me, or I couldn't have done it. But I got her on the sidewalk
again, and she was grateful. She's Irish, too, and she invited me to go
and see her the next Sunday. It's out at Yonkers, where she lives, in a
nice little house she's bought. I went there once. She said if she could
do some favour for me, she'd love to. But it's no favour I'll be asking,
except for her to come out on a Sunday evening. So the only thing is to
fetch her. Do you think Mr. Sands will go?"
"It depends upon how he feels when he comes in," said Beverley. "But
Sister Lake would never let you out again."