Sylvia, meanwhile, had heard Stanley Heath call Marcia and hailed her
aunt's departure from the kitchen as the opportunity for which she had
so anxiously been waiting.
No sooner was the elder woman upstairs and out of earshot than she
tiptoed from her room, the monogrammed handkerchief in her pocket.
She had pried out the brick and had the jewel-case in her hand, wrapped
and ready for its return when conversation overhead suddenly ceased and
she heard Marcia pass through the hall and start down stairs.
Sylvia gasped. She must not be found here. Yet what was she to do?
There was no chance now to put the package back and replace the brick
which fitted so tightly that its adjustment was a process requiring
patience, care, and time.
Flustered, frightened, she jammed the jewel-case into her dress and
frantically restoring the brick to the yawning hole in the hearth as
best she could, she fled up the back stairs at the same moment Marcia
descended the front ones.
Once in her room, she closed and locked the door and sank panting into a
chair to recover her breath.
Well, at least she had not been caught and in the meantime the jewels
were quite safe.
Mr. Heath was too ill to be up and about for several days and until he
was able to leave his room there was not the slightest danger their
absence would be discovered. Long before that time, Marcia would
doubtless go to walk or to the village for mail and leave her ample
opportunity to put the loot back where Mr. Heath had hidden it.
She took the case stealthily from her pocket.
Now that the gems were in her possession, it certainly could do no harm
for her to look at them--even try them on, as she had been tempted to
do when she first discovered them. Probably never again in all her life
would she hold in her hand so much wealth and beauty. No one, not Heath
himself, could begrudge her a peep at the trinkets.
Accordingly she unwound the handkerchief and opened the box.
There lay the glistening heap of treasure, resplendent in the sunshine,
a far more gorgeous spectacle than she had realized.
Going to the bureau, Sylvia took out the jewels, one by one.
She clasped the diamonds about her neck; fastened the emerald brooch in
place; put on the sapphire pendant; then added the rings and looked at
herself in the gold-framed mirror.
What she saw reflected dazzled her. Who would have believed jewels could
make such a difference in one's appearance? They set off her blonde
beauty so that she was suddenly transformed into a princess.
No wonder Stanley Heath had risked his life and his freedom for spoils
such as these!
If she could have only one of the jewels she would be satisfied--the
string of diamonds, the brooch, a ring--which would she choose?
Of course she never could own anything so gorgeous or so valuable.
Notwithstanding the certainty, however, it was fun to imagine she might.
Slowly, and with conscious coquetry, like a preening bird, she turned
her head this way and that, delighting in the creaminess of the neck the
gems encircled, and in the fairness of her golden curls.
She really ought to have jewels. She was born for them and could carry
them off. There were myriad women in the world on whom such adornment
would be wasted--good and worthy women, too. Fancy Maria Eldridge or
Susan Ann Bearse, for instance, arrayed in pomp like this! But Marcia
would be magnificent, with her rich complexion, her finely poised head,
her splendid shoulders, her lovely neck. Marcia dressed in all this
wealth would be well worth looking at.
Then a voice interrupted her reverie.
It was Stanley Heath calling.
She heard Marcia reply and come hurrying upstairs.
Guiltily Sylvia took off her sparkling regalia; tumbled it
unceremoniously into its case; and slipped it into the drawer underneath
a pile of nightdresses. Then she softly unlocked the door and sauntered
out.
It was none too soon, for Marcia was speaking to her.
"Sylvia?"
"Yes."
"How would you feel about going over to the village for the mail and
to do some errands? The tide is out and you could walk. Prince needs a
run."
"I'd love to go."
"That's fine. Here is a list of things we need at the store. Just be
sure not to dally too long and get marooned over in town."
"I'll watch out."
"You're sure you don't mind going?"
"No, indeed. I shall enjoy being out."
Then suddenly Sylvia had an inspiration which she instantly acted upon.
"Why don't you go?" she inquired. "You didn't sleep much last night, and
a walk might do you good."
"Oh, I couldn't," objected Marcia with haste. "I've a hundred and one
things to do."
"Tell me what they are and I'll do them for you."
"I couldn't. They are things I must do myself. Thanks just the same."
"Well, you know your own business best. Is this the list?"
"Yes. There are quite a few items, but they won't be heavy. Here is the
basket. Prince will carry it. That is his job and very proud he is of
doing it. Goodbye, dear."
"She's dreadfully anxious to get us out of the way, isn't she, Prince?"
commented young Sylvia as she and the setter started out over the sand.
"Now what do you suppose she has on her mind? She's up to something.
Marcia isn't a bit of an actress. She's too genuine."
Marcia, standing at the window watching the girl in her blue sweater
and matching beret swing along over the flats mirrored with tiny pools
of water, would have been astonished enough had she heard this astute
observation.
She did want Sylvia out of the way. The girl had read her correctly.
She must telephone the messages to the station-master at Sawyer Falls,
the adjoining town where the railroad ended and the nearest telegraph
station was.
She got the line and had no sooner dictated the telegrams than she heard
Heath's voice.
During the interval that had elapsed since she had left him, both of
them had experienced a reaction and each was eager to make amends.
Marcia regretted her flippancy. It had been childish of her to give way
to pique and punish Heath simply because it was proved he had a wife.
Why should he not be married? No doubt the absent Mrs. Stanley Heath was
a dashing, sophisticated beauty, too, who lived in luxury at the great
city hotel to which the first wire had been sent.
Heath had been quite frank about the message and its destination. On
thinking matters over, it occurred to Marcia he might have considered
this the easiest way to inform her of things he found it embarrassing to
put into words.
She had been made aware in delicate fashion that he was rich, married
and moved in a circle far removed from the humble one she herself
occupied.
No doubt he felt she should realize this.
It regulated their relationship and prevented any possible
misunderstandings.
And she?
Instead of appreciating his honesty, chivalry, gentlemanly conduct as
she should have done, and receiving it graciously, surprise had betrayed
her into displaying resentment.
She was heartily ashamed of herself. No matter how much it humbled her
pride, she must put things right. Fortunately it was not too late to do
so.
Therefore, a very different Marcia Howe responded to Stanley Heath's
summons.
She was now all gentleness, friendliness, and shyly penitent. If her
former coquetry had been bewitching, this new artless self of hers was a
hundredfold more alluring.
Stanley, again master of himself, welcomed her with amazement. Could man
ever fathom a woman's moods, he asked himself? Why this chastened and
distractingly adorable Marcia?
It was he who had been in the wrong and given way to temper, yet instead
of demanding the apology which trembled on his tongue, here she was
taking the blame and passing over his irritability with the charity of a
mother humoring a fretful child.
Well, if he could not fathom her, he at least was grateful for her
understanding.
Nevertheless he did mentally observe he had not dreamed her to be so
many-sided or credited her with a tithe the fascinations he had so
unexpectedly discovered her to possess.
"Here I am, Mr. Heath. What can I do for you?" was her greeting.
This time she did not hesitate, but went directly to the chair beside
his bed and sat down. He smiled and, meeting his eyes, she smiled back.
This was better. Heath sighed a sigh of relief.
"I've been thinking, since you went down stairs, about Currier. He ought
to arrive late tonight or early tomorrow morning. He will start the
moment he gets my wire. Although he will not know in which house I am
quartered, he will have the wit to inquire, for he has more than the
ordinary quota of brains. I don't know what I should do without him. He
has been with me for years and is an Admirable Crichton and a good man
Friday rolled into one. I shall have him leave the car in the village
and after he has delivered over the clothing he is to bring, he can take
the noon train back to New York, carrying the jewels with him."
"I see," nodded Marcia.
She did not see.
She did not understand any of the snarl of events in which so
unwittingly she found herself entangled.
Nevertheless she heartily welcomed the intelligence that the jewels with
their damning evidence, if evidence it was, were to be removed from the
house. The sooner they were out of the way the better. If they were not
damning evidence they at least were a great responsibility.
Suppose something were to happen to them? Suppose somebody suspected
they were in the house?
The thought had occurred to her more than once.
"So," continued Stanley Heath, "I think sometime today when you have a
good opportunity you'd better get the case and bring it up here. I shall
then have it here in my room and I can hand it over to Currier without
any trouble."
"I'll go and fetch it now. Sylvia has gone to the village and this is a
splendid chance," cried Marcia.
"Fine!"
"I'll be right back."
He heard her speed down the stairs and listened to her step in the room
below.
Then there was silence.
A few moments later she came racing back, white and breathless.
"They're gone!" she cried. "The place is empty! The jewels are not
there!"
Her terror and the fear lest her pallor foreshadowed collapse produced
in Heath that artificial calm one sometimes sees when a strong nature
reins itself in and calls upon its reserve control.
Marcia had fallen to her knees beside the bed and buried her face,
trembling with agitation.
The man thought only of how to quiet her. Reaching out, he touched her
hair.
"Hush, Marcia. The jewels will be found. Don't give way like this. I
cannot bear to see you. The whole lot of them are not worth your tears."
"But you left them in my care. It was I who suggested where to hide
them," she moaned.
"I know. And it was a splendid idea, too. Besides, we had no time to
hunt hiding-places. We were forced to act right away. I could not let
that sheriff of yours peel off my clothes and find the diamonds on me.
He isn't a man of sufficient imagination--or perhaps he is one of far
too much. I am not blaming you,--not in the least. We did the best we
could in the emergency. If things have gone wrong, it is no fault of
yours."
"But you trusted me. I ought to have watched. I should not have left the
kitchen day or night," declared Marcia, lifting her tear-stained face to
his.
"You have been there most of the time, haven't you?"
"I went to see them get the boat off yesterday."
"Still, someone was here. Sylvia was in the house."
"Yes, but she knew nothing about the jewels and therefore may not have
realized the importance of staying on deck. How could she, unless she
had been warned? All I asked her to do was to remain within call. She
may have gone upstairs, or into another room."
"When she comes back, you can ask her."
It was he who now soothed and cheered, his caressing hand moving from
her shoulder down her arm until her fingers lay in his.
Convulsively she caught and clung to them.
"Now we must pull ourselves together, dear," went on Stanley gently. "It
is important that we do not give ourselves away. Sylvia may know nothing
and if she does not, we must not let her suspect. The fewer people there
are mixed up in this dilemma the better."
"Yes."
She rose but he still held her hand, a common misery routing every
thought of conventionality.
The firmness and magnetism of his touch brought strength. It was a
new experience, for during her life with Jason, Marcia had been the
oak--the one who consoled, sustained. For a few delicious moments, she
let herself rest, weary and unresisting, within the shelter of Stanley
Heath's grasp. Then she drew away and, passing her hand across her
forehead as if awaking from a dream murmured:
"I'd better go down. Sylvia will be coming."
"Very well. Now keep a stiff upper lip. Remember, I depend on you to see
the apple-cart does not upset."
"I will--I'll do my best."
Even as she spoke the outer door opened, then closed with a bang.
"There's Sylvia now. I must go."
The girl came in, aglow from her walk.
"I'm awfully sorry I banged the door," she apologized. "A gust of wind
took it. I do hope I didn't wake up Mr. Heath. Here's the marketing. I
thought I should never get out of that store. Everybody in the whole
town was there for mail and I had to stop and tell each one all about
Mr. Heath and his shipwreck, his boat and his health. I must have
answered a million questions. People are dreadfully curious about him.
"And Marcia, what do you suppose? I had a letter from Hortie
Fuller--that fellow back home that I've told you about. He's sent me a
five-pound box of candy and he wants to come to Wilton and spend his
summer vacation."
The girl's eyes were shining and she breathed quickly.
"Of course I don't care a button for Hortie. Still, it would be rather
good fun to see him. He always dropped in every day when I was at home.
It seems ages since I've laid eyes on him. You know how it is--you get
used to a person who is always under foot. You have to think about him
if only to avoid stepping on him. And after all, Hortie isn't so bad.
Thinking him over from a distance, he really is rather nice. Come and
sample the candy. It's wonderful. He must have blown himself and sent to
Chicago for it, poor dear! I suppose Eben Snow read the address, because
he called out 'Guess you've got a beau out West, Miss Sylvia.' Everybody
heard him and I thought I should go through the floor. He looked the
letter all over, too. I'll let you see the letter, all except the part
which is too frightfully silly. You wouldn't care about that. I don't
myself."
Sylvia shrugged her shoulders.
Alas, this was no moment to talk with her, and artfully draw from her
the happenings of the previous day.
Inwardly distraught but outwardly calm, Marcia took the letter and tried
valiantly to focus her attention upon it.
To her surprise, it was a manly, intelligent letter, filled with town
gossip, to be sure, yet written in delightfully interesting fashion.
"Your Mr. Fuller sounds charming," she said as she gave it back.
"Oh, Hortie is all right--in some ways." Patronizingly slipping the
letter into her pocket, Sylvia shifted the subject. Nevertheless, a
betraying flush colored her cheeks. "Now we must start dinner, mustn't
we? See, it's noon already. I had no idea it was so late."
She tossed her hat into a chair.
"Don't you want to ask Mr. Heath which way he prefers his eggs--poached
or boiled? I suppose with a temperature, he isn't going to be allowed
anything but simple food. And Marcia, while you're there, do put a pair
of fresh pillow-slips on his pillows. The ones he has are frightfully
tumbled. I meant to do it this morning."
As the door closed behind the elder woman, artful young Sylvia smiled.
"There! That will keep her busy for a few moments at least. I know those
pillow-cases. They fit like a snake's skin and are terribly hard to get
off and on."
She crept into the hall and listened.
Yes, Marcia and Stanley Heath were talking. She could hear her aunt's
gentle insistence and the man's protests. That was all she wished to
know. The pillow-cases were in process of being taken off.
Up the stairs flew Sylvia, to return a second later, the jewel-case
swathed in its loose wrappings.
"If I can only scramble it in there before she comes," whispered she. "I
shall draw the first long breath I've taken since last night. I wouldn't
own those things if they were given me. They would worry me into my
grave."
An anxious interval elapsed before the brick was pried out and the
case slipped beneath it. Nevertheless the feat was accomplished and
triumphant, relieved, happy Sylvia set about preparing dinner.
She even ventured to hum softly that when Marcia returned she might find
her entirely serene.
"Mr. Heath, alas, will never know how becoming his jewelry was to me,"
she mused. "Had a Hollywood producer seen me, he would have snapped me
up for a movie star within ten minutes. I certainly looked the part."
What a long while Marcia was staying upstairs! Why, one could change a
dozen pillow-slips in this time.
"I guess they are tighter than I remembered them. I needn't have rushed
as I did," pouted Sylvia. "What can she be doing?"
When at last Marcia returned, something evidently was wrong.
"What's the matter?" demanded Sylvia. "Is Mr. Heath worse?"
"Worse? No indeed. What made you think so?"
"You look fussed."
"Do I? You'd be fussed had you wrestled with those pillow-slips as I
have," was the reply. "Either the pillows have swelled or the cases have
shrunk frightfully. Well, they are on now, anyway."
"Come and get dinner then. I'm starved. My walk has made me hungry as a
bear. You must go out this afternoon, Marcia. It is a glorious day and
you need to be pepped up. I know what staying in the house means. Didn't
I sit in this kitchen all yesterday afternoon until I got so dopey I
could scarcely keep my eyes open? Not that I wasn't glad to," she added
hastily. "I never mind staying in when there is a reason for doing it,
and of course I want to do my bit toward taking care of Mr. Heath.
Still, indoors isn't the same as outdoors. We all need exercise. I've
had my quota for the day. You must have yours."
To her surprise, Marcia demurred.
"Thank you, dear, but I think I won't go out today."
"Why not?"
"I don't feel like it. I'd rather sit here and read."
"Nonsense, Marcia! You're getting middle-aged and lazy. You'll lose your
nice slim, hipless figure if you don't watch out."
"I guess I shan't lose it today. Soon Mr. Heath will be gone and we can
both go."
"But I can play nurse for the afternoon."
"I'm too tired to go out."
"The air would rest you."
"Not today, dear," Marcia said with finality. "I have some mending to do
and lots of other little things that I have been saving up for a long
time. Since I prefer to stay, why don't you tramp up the shore and see
_My Unknown Lady_? She is beautiful and you haven't seen her yet."
"I'd love to--if I cannot coax you to go out."
"You can't. I'm adamant on not stirring out of this room."
"Well, if your mind is made up to that extent, I suppose there is no use
in my trying to change it. I would like to see the boat."
"I'm sure you would. Stay as long as you like. There will be nothing to
do here. Somebody ought to enjoy the sunshine and blue sky. Mr. Heath
will probably sleep and in the meantime I shall get my sewing done."
As Marcia spoke the words, her mind was busy.
So Sylvia had not stirred from the kitchen on the previous afternoon!
The theft of the jewels must, then, have taken place during the night.
Nevertheless, she was puzzled, for she had no memory of finding anything
awry when she came down at sunrise to lay the fire.
Moreover, she now recalled she had been in the kitchen several times
during the night, heating soup and getting water for Stanley Heath.
There had been nothing wrong then, at least she had noticed nothing.
When had the gems been taken, and who had taken them? No wonder she
craved solitude to ponder the conundrum! This, however, was not the
paramount reason she desired to be alone.
Despite the enigma of the jewels; despite the mystery surrounding
Stanley Heath, deep in her heart something that would not be stilled was
singing--singing!