MARIAN
He need not have been so alarmed.
True, the blood seemed to leave Lillian’s face, and she gasped for
breath, but a moment later she appeared so calm that even the detective
was amazed.
His admiration increased, for he saw this woman was no pretty doll, to
faint at the first breath of adversity.
“Do you know this as a fact, Mr. Darrell?” she asked in steady tones.
“I do not, positively, and I think we ought to give Joe the benefit of
the doubt.”
“I shall do more than that. Until with his own lips he acknowledges such
a thing to me, I will believe him innocent—I will trust him as I have
always done, as the best and truest man on earth. And yet it cuts home
to even have such suspicions aroused—oh, if Marian were only here!”
“Your sister?”
“Yes, the sister I love so dearly, and who would be such a comfort to me.
She always believed in Joe. It would be a great shock to her.”
Eric was struck by a sudden thought.
They always came with a rush, and at times might fall under the name of
an inspiration.
“Have you your sister’s photograph handy, Mrs. Leslie? Your husband
spoke of her so much and said I must meet her some day. I am quite
interested, and would like to see her picture.”
“That is it on the mantel.”
She did not evidently suspect the awful thought that came into his brain.
He walked over and looked at the photograph. It attracted him very much.
The face was very like Lillian’s, only the hair and eyes were dark.
“I shall expect an invitation here when your sister comes on, Mrs.
Leslie. She is in Chicago now, I believe.”
“That is her home, but she is now traveling in California with a party of
friends.”
California!
The mention of that far-away State sent a cold chill down his back.
Was it not the grocery man who had said the beautiful Mrs. Lester’s
husband was in California?
Somehow he made the application, and the effect was a decided chill.
It was growing blacker for Joe.
“I shall take a run down and see if I can find Joe—he may be at my room
waiting for me—who knows? Can I trust you to keep this matter from him,
Mrs. Leslie—supposing this is all a mistake and that he is innocent,
would you ever want him to believe that you harbored such suspicions?”
“No, no, I would not,” she sobbed.
“Then do your part—you can act it I am sure. Appear natural—show no
unusual coldness or warmth of affection—try not to meet his eye or your
own may betray you. If he insists on finding out what ails you, retreat
in the usual plea of a headache.”
“I will not fail you, Mr. Darrell. You go about your work with the
prayers of a faithful wife following you.”
He believed it then—he would have staked his life on her truth—and yet in
the near future such terrible doubts were to arise.
“Surely that talisman ought to keep any man who is half a man, from
evil—a loving mother and a faithful wife are the lodestones that have
saved many a weak man from the pit of destruction. Good-night, Mrs.
Leslie. Remember, should the worst come, you can depend upon Eric
Darrell as your brother.”
He had said more than he intended to, but he was not cold-blooded like a
fish, and the evident distress of this angel on earth had wrought up all
his feelings.
Just then he felt as though he could have pommeled Joe Leslie with the
greatest of pleasure.
Any man was a brute who would give a woman like this sweet creature,
pain.
So Eric strode away angry with the wickedness of the world in general,
and this friend of his in particular.
If Joe Leslie turned out a rascal he could see no palliating circumstance
connected with the case, and according to his ideas the man ought to be
drawn and quartered.
Hardly knowing where he was going, Darrell brought up at the hall where
the _bal masque_ was in progress.
It was still early—not later than half past ten, and the affair had only
started.
Any one could get in on payment of the regular price, two dollars,
although none were allowed on the main floor but masks.
Darrell went in.
He had seen these things before, and hence had little interest in the
ball itself.
Most of the characters were old too, although here and there some genius
had devised something new, and worth looking at.
Eric had other ideas in view.
Monks, flower girls, Indians, Chinese, knights, fortune tellers, dames
and the endless chain of historical personages such an event gathers,
passed before him without exciting more than a slight smile or a single
glance of admiration.
He was looking for the couple upon whom he meant to bestow his interest.
Soon he sighted them.
From that time on Eric seldom took his eyes off the pair.
He imagined he detected certain little peculiarities in the man’s walk
that marked him as Joe Leslie.
As for the woman, Eric became quite interested trying to make her out—in
figure she certainly resembled Lillian, and this only added to his eager
pursuit.
Another point he noticed—her hair was dark.
Was she the one who had entered his mind?
He noticed that when they danced it was always together—other couples
might separate but the Spanish bull fighter and the Lady of Cards seemed
inseparable.
Probably they were greeted with more or less lively sallies in the
badinage that passed current among the dancers, but the size of the bull
fighter deterred any envious swains from attempting to relieve him of his
partner.
Darrell noted the envious actions of some of the male maskers who could
not find partners, and made up his mind there would be trouble yet unless
the couple withdrew early.
The detective had managed to get below by bribing a keeper.
He did not go out upon the floor, but remained under the gallery.
It was not very light here.
Now and then some promenading couple would pass by, chatting and
laughing, a red clad Mephistopheles fanning a pretty shepherdess, or a
portly friar joking with Queen Elizabeth.
One thing is always noticeable about these _bal masques_—the ladies never
assume a grotesque costume, always endeavoring to appear charming,
according to their own ideas, and leaving the funny part of the business
to the male sex.
The couple whom Darrell was anxious to watch had mingled with the crowd
dancing and for some little time he lost sight of them.
He began to grow a little anxious and was just thinking of changing his
quarters, when all of a sudden they appeared in view close by.
They were heading for the dark spot under the gallery where, only a few
persons had gathered.
The lady was holding both hands up to her head, as if to keep her, mask
from falling while her tall escort forced a passage.
Eric shrank back behind a pillar.
The two came within ten feet of where he stood, and there halted.
“Can you fix it?” he heard her ask.
“I will try, Marian,” was the reply.
That name—it confirmed the detective’s worst fears—he could believe
anything now. The Lady of Cards handed her mask to her companion, who
immediately endeavored to refasten the string that had broken loose.
Meanwhile she stood with her face bared, looking out upon the throng.
What a miserable thing it was that the light was so poor under the
gallery.
Darrell just then would have given a hundred dollars for one good square
look at her face.
Oh, for an electric torch to suddenly light up the scene and reveal those
features to his gaze.
He used his eyes to the utmost, but it was not at all satisfactory, for
her face was in the shadow; but he had an idea she was very like the
picture he had looked at recently—the photograph of Lillian’s sister.
Presently the bull fighter had succeeded in re-securing the string.
He tied the mask on for her.
His manner was very courtly and gentle, but one spectator did not enjoy
it at all.
This was Eric.
His thoughts would go, in spite of him, to that heavenly room where he
had left a sweet and faithful wife waiting for her Joe to return.
Somehow Eric felt savage to-night, and he wondered whether it would not
serve this man just right if he did get into trouble with some of the
envious young beaux who followed him about as though only waiting a good
chance to carry off his partner by force.
A traitor deserved such punishment.
“I’ll never believe in a man again,” said Eric to himself, filled with
shame and disgust for his sex; “by Jove! they’re all alike, a miserable
crowd of deceivers, every one.”
He forgot that he belonged to the same sex, and that his very indignation
proved his words exaggerated, since he could not share in such evil
plottings, and there must be others like him.
He wandered up and down.
Now and then he saw the couple, but much of the time they were lost to
his view.
Darrell remained near the exit.
It was nearly twelve o’clock, when the order to unmask would be given.
Some who did not care to remain and be recognized were already flitting.
He believed those whom he watched would do likewise, and it was his
desire to get outside at the same time to hear the directions given to
the driver if any were uttered.
Just at this moment, close by, he heard sounds of an uproar.
These things are generally prevented at public balls by the presence of
the police, but no officers were in sight now—perhaps they had gone into
the refreshment room.
Darrell instantly had a suspicion of the truth, and his eyes were
immediately directed toward the _melee_.
Just as he suspected, in the struggling crowd he saw the tall form of the
Spanish bull fighter—the man was dealing blows right and left and had
already sent several audacious assailants rolling in the dust of the hall
floor.