THE HEARING EAR
JANET, coming swiftly along the hall toward her mother’s bedroom, met a
white-capped nurse advancing toward her.
“How is mother?” she demanded.
“Resting more easily now, Miss Fordyce; the medicine gave her almost
immediate relief.”
“Thank heaven!” Janet moved forward a few steps intending to enter her
mother’s bedroom, but the nurse detained her.
“I beg your pardon; your brother and Dr. Potter are with Mrs. Fordyce
just now. Seeing so many together might overexcite her. Could you not
come in a little later?”
“I suppose so,” but Janet looked troubled. “You are sure she is better,
nurse?”
“Yes, indeed,” with a reassuring smile.
“Then please ask my brother and Dr. Potter to stop in the Chinese room
when they leave mother. I would like to talk to them privately before
our guests arrive for dinner.”
“I will tell them,” promised the nurse, and turned to go.
“Just a moment,” Janet gazed perplexedly at the pretty woman standing
just under the hall light. “Haven’t I seen you before?”
“I don’t think so, Miss Fordyce,” Kathryn Allen’s smile was most
engaging. “I am sure I should not have forgotten.” And the subtle
admiration of Janet’s good looks and pretty gown conveyed by her
intonation, caused the young girl to flush warmly. “Do not distress
yourself on your mother’s account; Dr. Potter and Dr. McLane both
declare her attack comes from overexertion. Rest and absolute quiet are
all that she needs to effect a complete recovery.”
“Oh, thank you, nurse,” and Janet, much relieved, ran down the
staircase.
A disagreeable smile spoiled Kathryn Allen’s good looks as she watched
Janet disappear from view; then with an impatient sigh, she continued
her interrupted trip down the hall toward the bedroom which had been
assigned to her. As she reached the elevator shaft the door opened and
a man stepped out into the hall.
“You, Joe!” Though startled out of her usual calm, Kathryn was careful
to keep her voice lowered. “What are you doing here? How dare you take
such a risk?”
“The risk is small,” he answered cautiously. “I pushed the wrong button
and never discovered my mistake until the lift stopped at this floor,”
a satisfied smile completed the short explanation. “I had to see you,
Kathryn. Why did you come here?”
“I gave up my other case yesterday, as you know,” tartly. “I can’t
afford to be idle. At the hospital I found Dr. McLane’s call for a
nurse to take a light case, and came here. Money is money, dear boy.”
She did not think it necessary to add that she had considered the
opportunity of becoming an inmate of the Fordyce household a God-given
chance.
“You should have consulted me first,” fumed Joe, displeased at the
lightness of her manner. “I only found out by chance from McLane that
you were here. Have you seen the evening paper?”
The urgency of his tone impressed her. From above came the sound of
advancing footsteps.
“Quick, this way,” she muttered, and pulled him into the deep shadows
afforded by a bow window and its curtains.
Downstairs in the Chinese room Janet waited for her brother and Paul
Potter with ever growing impatience. The thick soft carpet deadened
the sound of her restless trampling back and forth. She could not keep
still. She fingered the rich oriental hangings, scanned the valuable
jade and carved ivory ornaments in the glass cabinets; then turned her
attention to the collection of Chinese armor occupying its allotted
space, and traced with curious fingers the beautiful handiwork on
the scabbards and daggers and carefully inspected the naked blades
themselves. The atmosphere of the room was heavy with the incense of
the East. Mrs. Fordyce had selected the room as her own private sanctum
in preference to the larger library, and spent all her evenings there
in the absence of Janet and Duncan. Her fondness for things oriental
had been indulged by her husband, who had spent a small fortune
collecting costly furniture, curios, paintings, and silks from China to
gratify her whim.
Tired of contemplating the armor Janet stepped over to the inlaid
teakwood desk, and seating herself before it, idly opened one of the
numerous magazines which her mother had left there. Suddenly her
attention was arrested by a photograph of Tom Nichols, and she turned
eagerly to the printed page, to find that the article was descriptive
of Fort Myer and other army posts. She took a second look at Tom’s
picture. It was a good likeness. Janet’s eyes grew very tender, and
impulsively she stooped and kissed the picture. She jerked herself
erect as the hall door opened, and a hot blush dyed her cheeks, but
the question on her lips remained unspoken. Marjorie Langdon was
confronting her.
Shutting the door softly behind her, Marjorie advanced into the room
and quietly seated herself opposite Janet. The contrast between the
two girls was noticeable in the extreme. Janet made a dainty picture
of fresh young beauty in her perfectly fitting, expensive low-neck
evening dress, while Marjorie, her white crêpe de chine waist and
walking skirt covered by a heavy driving coat and minus her hat, looked
spent and weary. She had aged in the last few tortured hours, and the
hands she rested on the flat-top desk were trembling from fatigue and
nervousness.
“You?” Janet’s agitation was perceptible in her voice and manner.
“What--what do you want? What are you doing here?”
“I came, Janet, hoping that you had thought better of your
extraordinary behavior to me this morning,” answered Marjorie looking
quietly at her, but Janet did not flinch before her direct gaze.
“Don’t make things harder for me, Marjorie,” she said sadly. “I was--we
all were--very fond of you; why did you abuse our trust? Mother would
gladly have helped you out of any pressing money difficulties.”
Marjorie’s incredulous stare deepened suddenly into horror.
“Janet! Janet!” she gasped. “Does your moral obliquity blind you to all
sense of honor?”
Janet stiffened and her manner hardened. “You forget yourself.”
Marjorie’s hardly tried self-control snapped, and leaning back in her
chair she gave way to wild laughter which ended in sobs. Janet regarded
her in increasing alarm.
“Go! Go at once!” she ordered.
The sharp command restored Marjorie to some semblance of composure.
“No, I shall not go,” she said more quietly. “You are right, Janet, I
have forgotten myself--to an absurd extent; but I’ll do so no longer.
Your father shall learn the truth tonight.”
“He will turn you out of the house as a common adventuress.”
Marjorie leaned across the desk and contemplated Janet in silence.
“Janet,” she began at length. “I have never shown you anything but
kindness; I have tried in every way to see that you had a good time
and were enjoying yourself. In Heaven’s name, what has aroused your
animosity? Why should you hound me in this manner?”
“I’m not hounding you,” protested Janet, tears springing to her eyes.
“I have tried very hard to blind myself to your--your----”
“My what?” a dangerous light in her eyes.
But Janet dodged the question. “You must go,” she said, her words
tumbling over each other in her haste. “My guests will arrive here in
a few minutes. Pauline must not find you here--there will be another
scene----” Janet fairly wrung her hands--“People will talk so.”
“Quite right, they will,” but the significant emphasis passed
completely over Janet’s head. “I have no objection to confronting
Pauline again, and particularly do I wish to see Tom Nichols.”
“Ah, indeed; and what do you wish to see him about?”
“I desire his advice,” calmly. “I started to go to Fort Myer this
afternoon and got as far as the Aqueduct Bridge in Georgetown when I
recollected he was to dine here----”
“And so decided to come here yourself,” Janet laughed recklessly. “Your
motives are not so pure as you would lead me to suppose.”
“Stop!” Marjorie’s imperious tone made even the jealous girl pause. “I
think you have taken leave of your senses.”
“You are welcome to your opinion,” retorted Janet defiantly. “But I
insist on your leaving this house. Do you wish to be turned out again?”
“I have never been turned out.” Marjorie was struggling to keep her
temper within bounds. “I left this house of my own accord this morning.
My clothes are still here, and here I shall remain until I am dismissed
by your mother.”
Janet’s eyes were dark with passion. “You dare to stay on as my
chaperon?”
“Yes. Your behavior to me tonight has made me reconsider my quixotic
effort to shield you; from now on I shall strive to clear myself of
your lying testimony against me.”
“You leave me but one alternative....”
“And that is----?” as Janet paused.
“To have the servants put you out of the house.”
“Janet!” Marjorie gazed at the young girl in stupefaction, and the
latter’s eyes wavered and fell as she caught the keen reproach and
pain which Marjorie’s face betrayed. For a second she battled with her
better self.
“I will give you just three minutes to leave this room and house of
your own accord,” she said clearly. “At the end of that time I shall
ring for the servants.” And she picked up the hammer belonging to the
beautiful Chinese gong which her mother used to summon her maid.
In the stillness the ticking of the dock on the desk was plainly
audible. Slowly, very slowly Marjorie rose and walked with deliberation
over to the door opening on the private staircase which led to Mrs.
Fordyce’s suite of rooms on the floor above. Janet followed her
movements with distended eyes; then the chamois-covered hammer in her
hand rose and fell, stroke on stroke, until the room vibrated with the
mellow tones of the Chinese gong.
Out in the wide hall a man, partly concealed by the heavy portières,
jumped nervously back from the keyhole of the door as the sound of the
gong reached him, and turning, scuddled down the hall just as Dr. Paul
Potter came down the broad winding staircase. The latter paused as the
clear bell-like vibrations of the gong drifted to his ears, bringing
with them a note of urgency and appeal which he was quick to answer.
Locating the sound, he made for the Chinese room and rapped sharply
on the panels of the closed door. He waited an appreciable instant,
then, receiving no response, turned the knob and walked into the room.
As he crossed the threshold his foot struck a small object and sent
it spinning ahead of him. His eyes followed the bright silver, and
he was about to advance and pick up the pencil when, looking up, he
spied Janet sitting in front of the desk. Her attitude arrested his
attention. Crossing the intervening space at a bound, he felt her
pulse and heart; then stepped back, and his keen gaze swept the room.
Convinced that they were alone, he again bent over her and laid his
hand lightly on her bare neck.
“Feeling better?” he inquired some moments later.
“Yes,” Janet shivered and pulled her scarf up about her shoulders. “The
incense here always makes me feel deadly faint. I don’t see how mother
stands it.”
“It is trying; suppose I open the window,” moving toward it.
“Please don’t,” she shivered again. “I am quite cold enough already.
I would like a glass of water,” pointing to a carafe and tumblers
standing on a small table near the window. Potter quickly got it for
her and watched the warm color return gradually into her pale cheeks.
“That tastes so good. You kept me waiting an awfully long time, Doctor.”
“I am sorry; your father and I were reminiscing. I thought Duncan was
here with you.”
“Duncan here?” He wondered at the alarm in her tone. “No, he hasn’t
been near me. How is mother?”
“Very much improved.”
“I am so glad,” in a relieved voice. “I felt such a pig to have the
dinner tonight, but mother positively refused to let me call it off.
Father said it was better to humor her.”
“He’s quite right; your mother must not be excited by discussions or
dissensions.”
“We never have them,” she laughed saucily. “We are a united family
ruled by mother.”
“I have a great regard for Mrs. Fordyce,” replied Potter gravely, not
liking her flippant tone.
“Have you just come from her room?”
“No, your father and I were talking in the boudoir.”
“Did you see----” a knock on the hall door interrupted her. “Come in.”
“Miss Swann is in the drawing-room, Miss Janet,” announced the footman.
“Gracious! I must run,” Janet gathered up her scarf, fan, and
handkerchief. “If you see Duncan, Doctor, please ask him to hurry,” and
she departed.
As the door closed behind her Potter walked over and picked up the
silver pencil. He was still examining it when Duncan entered the room.
“Where’s Janet?” he demanded.
“Gone into the drawing-room,” Potter slipped the silver pencil inside
his white waistcoat pocket. “Whom do the initials ‘J. C. C.’ stand for?”
“‘J. C. C.’,” echoed Duncan reflectively. “Let me see. Oh, I guess J.
Calhoun-Cooper.”
“A friend of yours?”
“An acquaintance,” shortly. “His sister was at Madame Yvonett’s this
afternoon.”
“Oh!” Potter’s fingers sought the lobe of his right ear. “I believe you
said they were dining here tonight.”
“Yes. I asked Janet to recall their invitations, but she refused to do
so.”
“Quite right; unless you wish to declare war on them.”
“I’m willing to do it,” Duncan scowled savagely. “The way Pauline dared
to address Madame Yvonett made my blood boil. Janet promised to see
that I did not sit next to her. Joe, Pauline’s brother, made a mistake
in the dinner hour and arrived here some time ago; he sent word to me
by Henderson not to hurry, he’d wait in the billiard-room. The poor
fool must be tired of knocking the balls about by himself.”
Potter looked irresolutely at Duncan, but before he could make up his
mind to a definite course, the telephone bell in the library across the
hall rang insistently, and with a hasty word of excuse Duncan dashed to
answer it. Picking up the evening paper from the chair where Janet had
dropped it, Potter read it hurriedly while awaiting Duncan’s return.
“Come on in the drawing-room, Paul,” called the latter from the doorway
a few minutes later. “Janet has sent a hurry call for us,” and as he
joined him the physician saw the butler’s broad back disappearing in
the distance.
“Any news from Madame Yvonett?” he asked, as they started for the
ballroom.
“Miss Graves has just telephoned no word has been received from
Marjorie,” Duncan looked as anxious as he felt. “I wish to heaven she
was here.”
“So do I; not only on your account, Duncan, but to settle one point
once for all,” the physician paused doubtfully.
“What are you driving at?” growled Duncan.
“Your father has just told me that he has purchased the famous
Maharajah ruby, and now has it in his possession....”
“Yes, he bought it to give to mother on their wedding anniversary
tomorrow; goodness knows why she hates ostentatious display in jewels
as in everything else.”
“Has your father spoken of his intention to buy the ruby?”
“No.”
“Um!” A dry smile twisted Potter’s lips. “The jeweler who conducted the
sale must have talked. The evening paper gives a full account of your
father’s valuable purchase, and a description of the ruby. Now, if only
Miss Langdon were here we would soon find out how disinterested are her
thieving propensities.”
“I have a great mind to punch your head!” said Duncan furiously.
“Heaven only knows where the poor girl is tonight; and you stand there
and dare insinuate---- Oh, come into the drawing-room and meet----” his
voice died in his throat.
Standing receiving the guests, looking extremely beautiful in her
low-cut evening dress, was Marjorie Langdon.