THE WOMAN IN THE THEATRE
Well, there we had to leave matters for the moment.
Ralston Murray loved us very much, but he didn't wish for our advice.
Indeed, he wished for nothing at all from any one--except to be let
alone.
He had said to Gaby Jennings that he would always want Rosemary back
whatever he heard about her past; but now, believing Gaby's story with
its additional proofs, at all events he had no more hope of getting her
back. In his eyes she was another man's wife. He did not expect to see
her again in this world.
Jim and I could do nothing with him: Jim was helpless because he also,
at heart, believed Gaby, and defended Rosemary only to please me; I had
ceased to be of use, because I could give no reason for my faith in her.
What good to say: "There must be some awful misunderstanding!" when
there were those cablegrams from Baltimore and Washington? Gaby would
not have shown copies of her own messages with the address of her
correspondent, if she hadn't been willing that Murray should make
inquiries as to the man's identity and bona fides.
We could not persuade him to wait, before keeping his promise to Mrs.
Jennings, until he had heard from America. He knew what he should hear,
he said. Besides, a promise was a promise. He didn't care whether Paul
had stolen his heirlooms or not, but there was no proof that he had, and
people must be presumed innocent until they were found to be guilty. Nor
did he care what Jennings' designs on him might be. It was too
far-fetched to suppose that the man had any designs; but no greater
kindness could now be done to him, Ralston, than to put him for ever out
of his misery.
This was mad talk; but in a way Ralston Murray went mad that day when he
lost Rosemary. No doctor, no alienist, would have pronounced him mad, of
course. Rather would I have seemed insane in my defence of Rosemary
Brandreth. But when the man's heart broke, something snapped in his
brain. All was darkness there. He had turned his back on hope, and could
not bear to hear the word.
We did persuade him, in justice to Rosemary, to let us cable a New York
detective agency whose head Jim had known well. This man was instructed
to learn whether Gaby's friend had told the truth about Captain
Brandreth and his wife: whether she had sailed for Europe on the
_Aquitania_, upon a certain date; and whether the pair had been living
together before Mrs. Brandreth left for Europe.
When news came confirming Gaby's story, and, a little later, mentioning
that Mrs. Brandreth had returned from abroad, Ralston said: "I knew it
would be so. There's nothing more to do." But I felt that there was a
great deal more to do; and I was bent on doing it. The next thing was to
induce Jim to let me do it.
To my first proposition he agreed willingly. Now that I had shot my
bolt, there was no longer any objection to employing detectives against
the Jenningses. Indeed, there was a strong incentive. If their guilt
could be proved, Ralston Murray would not be quite insane enough to keep
Paul on as his doctor.
We both liked the idea of putting my old friend Mr. Smith on to the
case, and applied to him upon our own responsibility, without a word to
Murray. But this was nothing compared with my second suggestion. I
wanted to rush over to America and see for myself whether Rosemary was
living in Washington as the wife of Guy Brandreth.
"What! You'd leave me here, and go across the Atlantic without me on a
wild-goose chase?" Jim shouted.
"Who said anything about my going without you?" I retorted. "Oh, darling
Man, _do_ take me!"
That settled it: and as soon as the thing was decided, we were both keen
to start. Our one cause for hesitation was fear for Ralston Murray's
safety, now that he had so recklessly flung himself into Paul Jennings'
hands. Still, in the circumstances, we could do little good if we stayed
at home. Ralston had shut himself up, refusing to see any one--including
ourselves. His mental state was bad enough to sap his newly restored
health, even if I did Doctor Paul Jennings a grave injustice; and Mr.
Smith could watch the Jenningses better than we could.
I did take the precaution to write Sir Beverley that his late patient
had fallen into the clutches of the Merriton doctor, and beg him to call
at the Manor some day, declining to take 'no' for an answer if he were
refused at the door: and then we sailed. It was on the _Aquitania_
again, and every moment brought back some recollection of Rosemary and
Ralston Murray.
We travelled straight to Washington after landing, and were met at the
station by the young detective Jim's friend had engaged. He had
collected the information we needed for the beginning of our campaign,
and had bought tickets for the first performance of a new play that
night.
"The Brandreths have a party going," he said, "and your places are next
to theirs. Yours are at the end of the row, so they'll have to pass you
going in, if you're early on the spot."
I liked that detective. He had "struck" a smart idea!
We had only just time to dress and dine at our hotel, and dash to the
theatre in a taxi, if we wished to arrive when the doors were opened.
It was lucky we did this, for the audience assembled promptly, in order
to hear some music written for the new play by a popular composer. We
had hardly looked through the programme after settling down in our
chairs when a familiar fragrance floated to me. It was what I had always
called "Rosemary's _leitmotif_," expressed in perfume. I turned my head,
and--there she was in great beauty coming along the aisle with three or
four men and as many pretty women.
I had got myself up that night expressly to attract
attention--Rosemary's attention. I was determined that she should not,
while laughing and talking with her friends, pass me by without
recognition. Consequently, I was dressed more suitably for a ball than a
play. I had on a gown of gold tissue, and my second best tiara, to say
nothing of a few more scattered diamonds and a double rope of pearls. It
was impossible for the most absent-minded eye to miss me, or my
black-browed, red-haired giant in evening dress--Jim. As I looked over
my shoulder at Rosemary, therefore, she looked at me. Our gaze
encountered, and--my jaw almost dropped. She showed not the slightest
sign of surprise; did not start, did not blush or turn pale. Her lovely
face expressed good-natured admiration, that was all.
She glanced at Jim, too--as all women do glance--with interest. But it
was purely impersonal interest, as if to say, "There's a _man_!"
Those black brows of his drew together in disapproval, because she had
no right to be so rosy and happy, so much more voluptuous in her beauty
than she had been when with Ralston Murray. Rosemary, however, seemed
quite unconscious of Jim's disgust. She had an air of conquering,
conscious charm, as if all the world must love and admire her--such an
air as she had never worn in our experience. Having looked us over with
calm admiration she marshalled her guests, and was especially charming
to one of the women, a dark, glowing creature almost as beautiful as
herself. Something within me whispered: "_That's_ the woman she was
jealous of! This party is meant to advertise that they're the best of
friends."
"Guy, you're to sit next Mrs. Dupont," she directed; and at the sound of
her voice my heart gave a little jump. There was a different quality
about this voice--a contralto quality. It was heavier, richer, less
flutelike than Rosemary's used to be.
Mrs. Dupont and Guy Brandreth passed us to reach their chairs. Guy was a
square-jawed, rather ugly, but extremely masculine young man of a type
intensely attractive to women.
"She wants to show everyone how she trusts him now!" I thought. "She's
giving him Mrs. Dupont practically to himself for the evening."
All the party pushed by, Rosemary and an elderly man, who, it appeared,
was Mr. Dupont, coming last. He sat between her and me, and they chatted
together before the music began; but now and then she looked past him at
me, without the slightest sign of embarrassment.
"Jim," I whispered, "_it isn't Rosemary_!"
"Well--I was wondering!" he answered. "But--it _must_ be."
"It simply _isn't_," I insisted. "To-morrow I'm going to call on Mrs.
Guy Brandreth."
"Supposing she won't see you?"
"She will," I said. "I shall ring her up early before she can possibly
be out, and make an appointment."
"If it is Rosemary, when she knows who you are she won't----" began Jim,
but I cut him short. I repeated again the same obstinate words: "It is
_not_ Rosemary."
* * * * *
I called up Mrs. Guy Brandreth at nine o'clock next morning, and heard
the rich contralto voice asking "_Who_ is it?"
"Lady Courtenaye at Willard's Hotel," I boldly answered. "I've come from
England on purpose to see you. I have very important things to say."
There was a slight pause; then the voice answered with a new vibration
in it: "When can you come? Or--no! When can you have me call on you?
That would be better."
"I can have you call as soon as you care to start," I replied. "The
sooner the better."
"I'm not dressed," said the quivering voice. "But I'll be with you at
ten o'clock."
I told Jim, and we arranged that he should be out of the way till
ten-thirty. Then he was to walk into our private sitting room, where I
would receive Mrs. Brandreth. I thought that by that time we should be
ready for him.