FALSE WITNESS
MARJORIE handed the menu back to the chef, gave him the completed
marketing list, added a few instructions, and made her way to the
boudoir. There was no buoyancy in her step, and she looked wretchedly
ill as she crossed the threshold into the sunlit room. If Mrs. Fordyce
had not been deeply immersed in her own condition, she could hardly
have failed to observe the deep circles under Marjorie’s eyes, and the
hectic flush in each white cheek. Her sleepless night had left its
telltale mark.
“How are you feeling, Mrs. Fordyce?” asked Marjorie, walking over to
the couch on which the older woman was lying propped up with pillows.
“Better, thank you; if this old heart of mine only stops palpitating
I will be up and about again in no time. Sit down by me, dear,” and
Marjorie took a chair by the couch.
“Don’t you think I had better call off the dinner tonight?” she said.
“No, indeed,” with emphasis. “These heart attacks are not serious.”
Marjorie, perceiving the blueness of her lips and her gray pallor,
thought differently, and her heart ached for her gentle benefactress.
She longed to take Mrs. Fordyce into her confidence, to tell her all
her doubts and fears; but how could she tell the story of the thefts
implicating Janet to the mother who adored her? “Janet has set her
heart on having this dinner, and I cannot disappoint the child,” went
on Mrs. Fordyce.
“But I don’t think Janet will enjoy entertaining while you are ill,”
said Marjorie.
“Tut! Just an indisposition; don’t alarm the child,” sharply.
“I wouldn’t think of doing it,” protested Marjorie. “I only feared the
sound of the guests’ voices might disturb you.”
“Not a bit of it; this house is soundproof,” smiled Mrs. Fordyce.
“There was a time when I reveled in dinners and dances; now I have to
take my fun by proxy--don’t begrudge me the crumbs.”
“Oh, Mrs. Fordyce!” Marjorie’s shocked voice brought another smile to
her companion’s lips.
“There, there, dearie,” she patted Marjorie’s hand affectionately.
“Don’t worry about a worn-out shell. Calderon has sent for a trained
nurse; not that I need one, but the idea seemed to give him some
comfort.”
“And of course you agreed.”
“Naturally; when you are married, my dear, you will soon discover that
matrimony is made up of mutual concessions; that is, if you wish to
stay married to the same man. Tell me, is there any truth in the report
of your engagement....” Marjorie’s fingers tightened on the hand she
was holding, then slowly loosened.... “to Captain Nichols?”
“Tom!” Her surprise was so pronounced that Mrs. Fordyce smiled to
herself. “Why, he’s just like an elder brother.”
“Ah, then you are heart-whole and fancy free?” But Marjorie treated
the sentence as a remark and not as a question, and Mrs. Fordyce
continued pleasantly. “Enough of intimate affairs today. Will you go
through the morning mail and use your judgment about the answers to the
invitations?”
Marjorie picked up the pile of letters on the table and rose.
“Are you----?” she stumbled in her speech, and Mrs. Fordyce eyed
her in some surprise. “Are you quite satisfied with me?” and under
her lingerie waist her heart pounded painfully as she awaited Mrs.
Fordyce’s answer which was somewhat long in coming.
“Absolutely satisfied,” acknowledged Mrs. Fordyce, and the smile
accompanying the words almost broke down Marjorie’s composure.
Stooping, she kissed her warmly, and when she looked up some of the
brightness had returned to her face. “I have absolute confidence in
you,” added Mrs. Fordyce quietly. “Run along now, dear, and come back
when you have finished answering the letters.”
Lighter at heart Marjorie hastened to the library, but on opening
the door, she discovered Mr. Calderon Fordyce busy at his desk, and
without disturbing him, she slipped back into the hall and sought the
drawing-room. Going over to the boule cabinet, which she on several
occasions had used in an emergency, she proceeded to open and sort Mrs.
Fordyce’s correspondence, frequently making entries and looking up
dates in an engagement book which she had brought with her. The last
letter was in a handwriting which she recognized, and wondering why
Mrs. Arnold should send a second invitation to the same person in the
same mail, she tore open the envelope.
DEAR MRS. FORDYCE, [she read],
I am just sending a formal invitation to your daughter to our dinner
dance at the Country Club, and I do hope that she can come. I will see
that Miss Fordyce is properly chaperoned. Miss Langdon’s presence will
not be necessary....
Marjorie dropped the letter and stared vacantly before her. Five days
previously Mrs. Arnold had gushingly invited her to the dinner dance,
telling her that a written invitation would be sent to her shortly, and
begging her not to forget the engagement. What did the sudden change of
front portend? “Miss Langdon”--heretofore Mrs. Arnold, a leader in the
young married set, had always addressed her as “Marjorie.”
Putting the letter back in its envelope, Marjorie commenced an answer
to a luncheon invitation, and completing it, hurriedly folded the
notepaper, only to discover that the back sheet was partially written
on. With an exclamation of annoyance, she caught it up and ran her
eyes over the clear back-hand, her mind subconsciously taking in the
meaning of the written words:
DEAR CAPTAIN NICHOLS:
I am sending this by special delivery, as I want you to get it without
fail [heavily underscored]. Perkins tells me he had to go out and gave
your violets to Annie, the chamber maid. Annie says she placed the
box in the dressing-room as it was cooler there and she thought the
flowers would keep better. She knows nothing more of the matter, did
not tell me of the flowers because she thought they would be found by
me or Marjorie Langdon....
A bad blot finished the sentence, and explained why the sheet had been
discarded.
Marjorie sat stunned, too confused, at first to puzzle out the
significance of the unfinished note, which was in Janet’s unmistakable
handwriting. Then she rose, stumbled over to the broad sofa, and
curling up in one corner, pillowed her head on her arms, and gave
herself up to elucidating the enigma;--but the more she thought the
more nonplussed she became.
Janet’s note indicated that Tom Nichols had sent her violets which
apparently she had never received; she hinted that Marjorie might have
found them--but the only violets which she, Marjorie had received
had come from Janet’s brother, Duncan, the afternoon of the British
Embassy dinner. Touched by the attention, and stirred by a deeper
emotion than she had ever felt before, she had carefully preserved
Duncan’s withered bouquet in her closet. Astounded by the discovery
of the emerald and diamond bracelet in her flower box; utterly unable
to explain how it got there, she had, in her desire to protect Janet
and silence any investigation which the loss of the bracelet might
start, returned it anonymously to Representative J. Calhoun-Cooper. In
the light of Janet’s note, had she inadvertently, not looking at the
contents of Small’s box, put away in her closet Janet’s violets, and
the maid, finding only Duncan’s withered bouquet in the dressing-room,
thrown it away? It seemed the only explanation. But Representative J.
Calhoun-Cooper’s remarks in the lift at the ball indicated that he was
aware the bracelet had come from her, Marjorie, and that _Tom knew
of its loss_. Could it be that Tom had discovered that Janet was a
kleptomaniac?
The mere idea brought Marjorie up all standing; only to sink back
again with a groan, appalled at the possibility. Honest Tom, with his
high standards of rectitude, in love with a girl whose perception of
the laws governing _meum_ and _tuum_ was so blunted, spelled tragedy.
Marjorie dismissed the thought with a shudder, and her mind reverted to
another puzzling phase of the situation: Calhoun-Cooper, by speech, and
Tom, by look, had implied she was responsible for the loss and return
of the bracelet. Who had....
“For once I’ve caught you napping!” teased a voice, and Marjorie jerked
herself erect, to find Chichester Barnard standing looking down at her.
The laughter in his eyes gave way to concern at sight of her face. “My
darling, what is it?” he questioned, alarmed.
“Nothing”--then seeing his disbelief, she added, “Nothing that would
interest you....”
“But everything that concerns you, interests me,” he protested. “What
is troubling you?”
“A matter of no moment,” speaking more briskly. “What brought you here
this morning?”
“To be quite frank I called to see Janet Fordyce,” he replied
brusquely, nettled by her manner.
“I prefer you when you are candid....”
“Are you trying to pick a quarrel with me?”
“Is that so difficult a thing to do?” insolently.
“If you mean I swallow every----” Barnard stopped, controlling his
aroused anger with difficulty. “Come, come,” he said more mildly. “It
is a waste of time for us to bandy words.” He held out his hands with
the charming smile which had won many a friend for him. “Let’s kiss
and--forget.”
Marjorie made no move to take his extended hand. “Who let you in?” she
asked.
“The footman.” Barnard paced rapidly up and down before the
chimney-piece, then seated himself by Marjorie’s side. “Don’t treat
me as an outsider,” he pleaded. “I have always your best interests at
heart; let me share your worries as well as your pleasures. I’ll do
anything in the world for you, Madge, anything”--and his voice shook
with the strength of his passion.
Marjorie hesitated; her distrust controlling her impulse to confide
her perplexities to the man who, only six short weeks before, had
absorbed her mind and, as she thought, her heart.
“You are very kind,” she began formally. The conventional words
somewhat chilled Barnard’s ardor, but his offended expression went
unnoticed as Marjorie again hesitated. “What did Mrs. Calhoun-Cooper
say to you about the loss of her necklace?” she asked finally.
Barnard smiled wryly. “It would be easier to tell you what she left
unsaid--she only exhausted her vocabulary as we reached her house, and
even then Pauline had to caution her to be quiet before the servants.”
“An impossible woman!”
“With a still more impossible family,” impatiently. “Did you notice
Joe’s manner to his mother when she called him into her box at the ball
last night?”
“No; but did you see who was with him?”
“Did I,” with eloquent emphasis. “Mrs. Calhoun-Cooper apparently took
stock of Kathryn Allen, to her disadvantage. She was not asked to enter
their box.”
“The Calhoun-Coopers have social aspirations, don’t forget that....”
“They won’t let us forget it,” shrugging his shoulders, “but I rather
like Representative J. Calhoun-Cooper.”
“I did, until last night”--the bitterness in her voice caught Barnard’s
attention, but before he could question her, she rose and stepping
over to the desk, picked up Janet’s unfinished letter to Tom Nichols
and deliberately tore it into tiny pieces. “If you will excuse me,
I’ll find out what is keeping Janet,” and gathering up Mrs. Fordyce’s
letters and engagement book she made for the door, where she paused.
“Have you any idea what steps Mrs. Calhoun-Cooper intends taking to
recover her pearl necklace?”
“Telegraphed for Pinkerton’s men I believe; Madge, don’t go....” but
she glided from the room before he could stop her, and with a muttered
exclamation he reseated himself. A few minutes later the footman
appeared in the doorway.
“Miss Langdon wishes me to tell you, sir, that Miss Janet is out
motoring with her brother,” he announced.
Barnard, who had started up at the servant’s entrance, coolly resumed
his seat. “I will wait until Miss Janet returns,” he said.
“Very good, sir,” and Henderson retired.
Barnard was about at the end of his patience when Janet entered the
room.
“I am sorry to be late,” she apologized hurriedly. “Duncan’s new
motor-car just came this morning, and he asked me to go for a run in
it. I expected to be back before you got here,” tossing off her furs
and coat as she spoke.
“Let me help you,” and with quick, deft fingers Barnard assisted her to
remove her heavy veil. “What a becoming hat!”
“Do you think so?” dimpling with pleasure. “Marjorie selected it; she
has awfully good taste. Has she been here?” in some anxiety.
“I came to see you, lady bird, and not to talk about another girl,”
Barnard glanced hastily about the room. “Come over and sit in that bow
window, and nobody will disturb us.”
“Very well,” and crossing the room, Janet settled herself in an
arm-chair. She was sick of fighting against the inevitable, and such
Chichester Barnard now appeared to her. Try as she did, she could not
avoid him. His omnipresence tormented her. She had gone out with Duncan
purposely, hoping to miss his visit. On learning that he was awaiting
her return, she had sent in hot haste for Marjorie only to be told
that her chaperon had stepped out on an errand for her mother. She had
stood outside the drawing-room portières for fully three minutes before
finding courage to enter. If only Barnard would not make love to her!
“Aren’t you a wee bit sleepy after last night?” she asked as he joined
her in the bow window.
“The prospect of seeing you this morning has kept me wide awake,”
tenderly. “You treated me shamefully at the ball, giving so many dances
to other men.”
“You deserted me at supper,” in quick defence. “We only stayed a
little longer after that; Marjorie developed one of her headaches--my
goodness”--catching sight of a limousine turning into the driveway
leading to their porte-cochère. “Who’s calling here at this hour?”
“I believe it’s the Calhoun-Coopers,” Barnard peered cautiously out of
the window. “It looks like their car. The theft of their pearls has
murdered sleep.” He stepped back and scanned Janet mockingly. “Will you
face the music?”
She put out her hand as if to ward off a blow, and rising hurriedly,
darted out into the hall and stopped the footman on his way to the
front door.
“Not at home, Henderson,” she directed. “And Mrs. Fordyce is not
feeling well enough to see anyone.”
“Very good, Miss Janet.”
Janet turned with lagging footsteps back to the drawing-room, one hand
pressed to her side to still the pounding of her heart. Barnard, a look
of deep concern on his handsome face, met her at the threshold.
“My precious darling!” he murmured, but with trembling hands she pushed
him violently from her as he attempted to kiss her.
“No, no!” she implored, and staggered over to the grand piano.
“How long must I serve!” demanded Barnard, his voice shaking with
emotion as he followed her. “Janet, will you never listen to the
dictates of your heart?”
“If I did----!” Janet’s agonized gaze left his face and traveled
downward to the keyboard of the piano. Suppose she told him too much?
She must keep a guard upon her tongue--
“Play for me, Chichester,” she pleaded.
Barnard, no mean musician, struck several chords and stopped. “I am
afraid the piano wants tuning.”
“Oh, the man must have left without finishing his work,” she exclaimed.
“Probably went to get his lunch; here are his tuning-fork and kit.”
Barnard picked up the instruments. “Only two or three notes are below
pitch, perhaps I can put them right.”
“Do try,” she begged, and Barnard obediently struck the tuning-fork.
Janet’s belief that her “not at home” message would send Mrs. J.
Calhoun-Cooper away, was not well founded. Henderson’s information
caused that determined matron to hesitate for a second only, then she
inquired for Mr. Calderon Fordyce.
“Ask him if he will see me for a few moments on a matter of
importance,” she added, detecting the footman’s embarrassment.
“Wouldn’t Miss Langdon do?” he ventured.
“Certainly not,” and somewhat overawed by her air of authority, he
showed her and Pauline into the reception-room and went to tell his
master of their presence.
“Asked for me personally, Henderson?” questioned Calderon Fordyce,
examining the visiting-cards attentively.
“Yes, sir; Mrs. Calhoun-Cooper declared Miss Langdon would not do; that
she had to see you on a matter of importance, sir.”
“Has Mr. Duncan returned?”
“No, sir.”
Fordyce cast a regretful look at the letter he was engaged in writing
when interrupted, and rose. “Did you show the ladies into the
drawing-room?”
“No, sir; they’re in the reception-room,” Henderson followed his master
out into the hall. “If you please, sir,” he began deferentially. “Don’t
take the ladies into the drawing-room, sir; Miss Janet is there with a
caller, and I don’t think she wishes to be disturbed, sir.”
“Very well,” and hastening his footsteps, Fordyce went directly to the
reception-room. Mrs. Calhoun-Cooper returned his greeting with such
impressiveness that his eyes twinkled. “Please pardon me for keeping
you waiting,” he began, after shaking hands with Pauline.
“We had not meant to disturb you,” chimed in Pauline, “but your footman
said Mrs. Fordyce was indisposed.”
“And our errand is really very important,” interrupted Mrs.
Calhoun-Cooper, “otherwise we would not have insisted on seeing you.”
Calderon Fordyce looked at his guests in some perplexity, but their
serious manner impressed him, and he said slowly, “In that case we had
better adjourn to my library; we can have no privacy in this room. Will
you come this way?”
It was the first time Mrs. J. Calhoun-Cooper had been in the library,
and she surveyed the handsomely furnished room with some envy. Calderon
Fordyce’s “Now, madame,” brought her back to her errand.
“Possibly Janet told you of the disappearance of my pearl necklace at
the ball last night?”
“My son spoke to me about it. Have you taken any steps to recover the
necklace?”
“My husband has placed the matter in the hands of detectives,” Mrs.
Calhoun-Cooper cleared her throat. “The necklace is really very
valuable, the pearls being graduated in size and of wonderful luster.
It took my husband years to collect them----” her voice gave out.
“I am deeply sorry for your loss,” said Fordyce gravely. “Have you no
clue by which the thief might be traced?”
“We have,” answered Pauline quickly. “And that brings us here.”
“I don’t take your meaning,” Calderon Fordyce’s heavy eyebrows met in
an unmistakable frown.
“We are convinced that mother’s necklace was stolen by Miss Marjorie
Langdon.”
Fordyce’s eyes opened wide. “Preposterous nonsense!” he jerked out with
more force than elegance.
“I am sorry to contradict you,” Pauline’s thin lips closed obstinately.
“There is no doubt but that she is guilty.”
“You are really in earnest?”
“Absolutely. We came here this morning to warn your wife, Mr. Fordyce,
and not being able to see her, decided that it was our duty to tell you
of Miss Langdon’s dishonesty.”
“Thank you,” dryly. Fordyce regarded his visitors in incredulous
silence for some seconds, then excusing himself, stepped past them
into the hall. Mrs. Calhoun-Cooper exchanged an uneasy glance with her
daughter, but had not opportunity to voice her thoughts, for Calderon
Fordyce re-entered the room almost immediately, followed by Marjorie,
whom he met returning from her shopping expedition.
“As your statements were not made in confidence, Mrs. Calhoun-Cooper,”
he said, “I must ask you to repeat them before Miss Langdon.”
Marjorie, having received no inkling as to why her presence was desired
in the library, gazed from one to the other in bewilderment and growing
dread.
Mrs. Calhoun-Cooper flushed and her eyes flashed angrily. “I shall have
no hesitancy in repeating my charges”--Marjorie’s start was not lost on
the others. “Miss Langdon, I demand that you instantly return my pearl
necklace which you stole from me last night at the ball.”
“You’re mad!” burst out Marjorie. “I haven’t your necklace.”
“Lies won’t do, my girl!” Mrs. Calhoun-Cooper’s native coarseness
was gaining the upper hand under the pressure of excitement and rage
which almost mastered her. “I felt you fumbling with the clasp of the
necklace.”
“Indeed? And why didn’t you speak of it at the time?”
“Because my attention was distracted, and when I turned back to speak
to you, you had vanished.”
“With the necklace,” added Pauline.
“Not so fast!” Marjorie’s indignation almost choked her utterance,
and she stopped to regain control of her voice. “The robbery took
place while I was still at the supper-table, ten stories beneath the
ballroom.”
“The necklace disappeared earlier in the evening,” explained Mrs.
Calhoun-Cooper, “for I missed it on my return to the ballroom
immediately after supper.”
“You have only your word to support such a statement,” retorted
Marjorie swiftly. “I deny your charge absolutely. Oh, Mr. Fordyce,”
turning appealingly to him, “do have faith in my word.”
“Of course I will,” his hearty assurance brought tears of relief to
Marjorie’s eyes. “Miss Marjorie, during the evening, did you see anyone
enter Mrs. Calhoun-Cooper’s box who might be the real thief?”
Marjorie’s eyes never wavered before her questioner’s gaze. “I am
afraid I can give you no information or clue which will help in tracing
the robber,” she said slowly.
“Too bad,” Fordyce shook his head. “I think, Mrs. Calhoun-Cooper,
you had better wait and see what the detectives can do to trace your
necklace.”
“Do you mean to say, Mr. Fordyce, that you do not believe me when I
state that Miss Langdon stole my necklace?”
“I do, madame; unless you can get someone to substantiate your
statement.”
“Ask her, she knows,” burst out Pauline, pointing to a shadowy figure
standing near the half-open door. With one accord they turned in that
direction, and faced by the four pairs of eyes, Janet came reluctantly
forward.
Marjorie turned sick as her thoughts raced to the delicate, kindly
mother upstairs and the upright, idolizing father--how would they bear
the disclosure of Janet’s kleptomania? The moment she dreaded had come
at last.
“Well, Janet,” her father’s curt voice cut the silence. “What do you
know of the disappearance of Mrs. Calhoun-Cooper’s pearl necklace?”
Janet’s eyes rested for a moment on Marjorie, then traveled back to her
father.
“I saw Marjorie steal the necklace,” she said quietly.
Marjorie’s low cry of horror was drowned in Mrs. Calhoun-Cooper’s
triumphant shout.
“There, what did I tell you?” she demanded.
“Be quiet!” Calderon Fordyce’s face had grown very grave. “Janet, are
you telling the absolute truth?” Never had he spoken in that tone
before to her, and Janet whitened.
“Yes, father.”
“How did Miss Marjorie steal the necklace?” The question cost him an
effort.
“Mrs. Calhoun-Cooper requested her to replace her scarf about her
shoulders,” Janet spoke more and more slowly and with growing
reluctance. “When Marjorie lowered her hand, I saw the end of the pearl
necklace hanging from it.”
“And you said nothing?”
“No, father.”
“Why?”
“I wasn’t absolutely certain--I’ve kept quiet since, because I could
not bear to betray Marjorie.”
Calderon Fordyce broke the tense silence.
“Miss Marjorie, can you deny my daughter’s statement?”
Marjorie was ghastly as she straightened up and faced her accusers;
Mrs. Calhoun-Cooper and Pauline openly triumphant, Calderon Fordyce,
stern, unbending; and Janet, pitying. Janet’s features were strangely
like and unlike Duncan’s, and the elusive likeness haunted Marjorie.
Twice she strove to speak.
“Oh, what’s the use?” she cried, and laughing hysterically, fled from
the room.