_The Fourth Pew._
For a long moment Betty stood transfixed with the electric torch rigid
in her hand and her eyes held by the insolent challenging ones so near
hers. Then with an almost physical effort she wrenched her gaze away
just as his cynical voice, drawling no longer, but keen with malign
exultation, cut the silence like a knife thrust.
"So, Little Mouse! You venture forth from your hiding place at night
when all are sleeping, to nibble at forbidden dainties, eh?"
He sprang from his chair with the agility of a cat and seized her wrist
in a viselike grip which forced her tortured fingers to relax their
hold and the torch clattered to the hearth. His hot breath, laden with
the fumes of wine, played upon her neck, and she felt, rather than
realized, the menace in his low, breathed words.
"I thought there was a traitor in camp! Who sent you here to spy upon
us, girl? In whose pay are you? Quick, or I'll--"
"I don't know what you mean!" Betty whimpered into the darkness. "Let
me go, you are hurting me, Mr. Wolvert! I--I--could not sleep, I came
down for a book I left unfinished and you frightened me!"
"That doesn't go; it's too thin!" he growled harshly. "Young ladies
don't prowl about at night with electric torches for any innocent
purpose. What's the lay?"
"I don't understand!" Betty reeled against him, then shrank away. "I--I
feel faint--"
His grip insensibly relaxed and the girl, seizing her opportunity,
tore herself from his grasp and vanished into the black void of the
hall. She could hear the crash of the massive chair behind her as he
overturned it in his stumbling pursuit and a rumble of oaths followed
her up the stair. Miraculously she cleared every obstacle and her alert
brain out-paced her flying feet. One desperate move was left her to
turn certain exposure into possible victory. Its failure could not
increase the peril of her present position and success would serve to
entrench her more firmly in the confidence of the woman who would be
her judge.
She groped her way noiselessly to her own door, found the switch in the
wall and flooded the room with light. A pink boudoir candle stood upon
her dressing-table and seizing it she thrust it into the live coals in
the grate until it was partly consumed. Then shielding its flickering
flame, she went straight to her employer's door and knocked boldly.
A murmur responded, a light flared up within and Mrs. Atterbury stood
on the threshold. In her white robe with her long, dusky hair in two
heavy plaits upon her shoulders and her waxen expressionless face, she
might have been an effigy taken from some ancient place of worship; all
but her eyes which gleamed like banked fires suddenly revealed.
"What is it?" she asked calmly. "You are not well, my dear?"
"Oh, it isn't that. I am quite well, but I thought you would wish to
know that your safe is open downstairs," Betty whispered.
"My safe!" Mrs. Atterbury fell back a step and her pale face grayed.
"Yes, the one in the library. I suppose it is all right, as Mr. Wolvert
is there, but I felt that I could not sleep without telling you."
"And what were you doing in the library at this hour?" The woman's
scrutiny fairly burned into Betty's brain, but her wide ingenuous eyes
did not flinch nor her voice falter.
"I was restless and wakeful and I remembered a book I had left there,
so I lighted my candle and went down. Everything was dark, but when I
opened the library door I saw a man with an electric torch in his hand.
He sprang forward and seized me and I thought it must be a burglar,
until he spoke and I recognized Mr. Wolvert's voice. The safe was open
and papers all scattered about, and somehow his manner frightened me.
I--I thought I had better come straight to you."
"An electric torch?" Mrs. Atterbury repeated and paused, her lips
pursed thoughtfully. Betty waited in an agony of suspense. Would the
slender thread of her fabrication bear the weight of this woman's
keen analysis or would it snap beneath her swift inexorable judgment?
Freedom, perhaps life itself, hung upon the issue.
"You did the proper thing, my dear, and I am very glad that I can
rely on you to let me know at once if anything seems wrong in the
household." Mrs. Atterbury's smile announced the verdict. "But in this
instance, everything is quite all right. Mr. Wolvert was going over
some private accounts for me at my request, and doubtless you startled
him by your sudden appearance as much as his presence surprised you."
"I am sorry I disturbed you--" Betty began in well-simulated
contrition, but the other stopped her with a gesture.
"You did not, but in any case it would have been your duty, my dear.
However, I do not approve of your going about the house so late at
night, for Welch has an inordinate apprehension of burglars and is
likely to blaze away promiscuously with his revolver if he hears any
untoward sound. Be careful in future. And now good night, Betty, and
thank you."
The reaction from the strain through which she had passed was so great
that the girl all but collapsed when her own door had been closed once
more behind her. She had forestalled Wolvert's betrayal, but would
her version of the evening's encounter prevail against his narration,
bearing as it must the stamp of truth?
Then another contingency presented itself to her mind. What if
Wolvert's visit to the library had been, like her own, a surreptitious
one? She remembered his significant phrase of the afternoon: "You
have too much common sense to work for a mere pittance when you might
share." She had fancied then that he was but voicing his own inmost
thought, the aftermath of his open rebellion which Mrs. Atterbury had
so imperiously quelled on the previous night. Had he turned traitor
to the mysterious compact that bound him and all of their circle in a
sinister secret alliance? Had she, by this betrayal, made of him an
implacable enemy? Even if she had succeeded in lulling her employer's
possible suspicion, her presence in the library had disclosed her true
position in the household to Wolvert and she realized that a powerful
weapon lay within his reach if it were to be war to the knife between
them.
To her amazement, the matter was not again referred to in the days that
immediately ensued and if Wolvert had gone to Mrs. Atterbury with his
tale, or learned of the girl's disclosure, he gave no sign. While he
did not openly avoid her, he made no effort to arrange a tête-à-tête,
only his gaze burning with a strange intensity of questioning, filled
her with troubled unrest.
Madame Cimmino treated the girl with frigid indifference, but
unconsciously played into her hands by constant demands upon Wolvert's
time and attention.
Mrs. Atterbury's manner did not betray an iota of change and the days
followed one another in an unbroken routine until the following Sunday,
when there occurred an event which plunged Betty deeper than ever into
the toils of difficulty and danger.
The breakfast gong, sounding a full hour earlier than usual, aroused
the girl from slumber and she descended to find Mrs. Atterbury already
at the table, the coffee urn bubbling at her elbow.
"My dear, I am going to send you to church this morning," she began,
nodding as Betty lifted inquiring eyes to hers. "It is another letter
which I wish you to obtain from one of our outstanding members, and he
has arranged to meet you there. You may object to making use of a house
of worship for a mundane transaction, even though the cause be a worthy
one, but the better the day, the better the deed, you know."
"I have no scruples." Betty smiled slightly. "It will be interesting to
see what the churches here are like; I have not attended service since
coming East."
"St. Jude's is one of the most prominent in the city. The minister is
noted and the congregation representative of the best society. I am not
a church-goer myself, as you have seen, but laziness, not prejudice,
is responsible for my dereliction. You won't be bored, I promise you,
and the incidental errand will not be complicated by any such annoying
misunderstanding as on the last occasion. You will enter by the door
leading to the center aisle and tell the usher that you wish to be
placed in the fourth pew from the back of the church on the right as
you face the altar. Be careful of this, as the location is of the
utmost importance. Seat yourself at the end of the pew next the aisle
and pay no attention to anyone. When an envelope is presented to you,
no matter in what manner or from what quarter, accept it without a word
and at the conclusion of the service bring it home to me."
"I shall remember, the fourth pew from the back," Betty repeated. "The
service commences at eleven, does it not?"
"Yes. The car will be here for you at a quarter before the hour, but it
will be necessary for you to return without it. However, I will direct
you explicitly and you will be in no danger of losing your way a second
time. Come to me when you are ready."
Betty's pulse quickened in spite of her inward reluctance to perform
the task before her. That it had been given her, proved to her own
satisfaction that her daring move on the night of her discovery had
really achieved the result she had hoped for, and that she was more
firmly established than ever in her employer's confidence.
Attired in the gray suit and silvery furs, she presented herself for
Mrs. Atterbury's final instructions, and the latter regarded with
approval her dainty appearance and unveiled face.
"You have determined like a sensible girl to overcome that absurd
self-consciousness about your birthmark? That is well." She placed an
ivory-bound prayer book in the girl's hands. "This adds the finishing
touch to your costume, my dear. You look quite like a modern Puritan.
Now as to the directions for finding your way home. St. Jude's is on
the corner of Carlton Avenue and Brinsley Square. Walk five blocks
north and two east and you will come to the terminus of the Highmount
trolley line. Take a green car and ride to Wellesley Place. There you
can connect with a red bus which will drop you three blocks from the
corner here, at the same spot you alighted when returning from Madame
Cimmino's apartment. Do you think you will be able to remember?"
"I think so," Betty replied slowly. "About the letter, Mrs. Atterbury;
it makes no difference who offers it to me in this instance, I am to
accept it without question?"
"Certainly. There will be no difficulty about that. There is the car,
now. Remember, Betty, the fourth pew."
The girl nodded reassuringly and started upon her way. To her relief,
there had been no sign of either of the house guests that morning and
it was with freer breath that she found herself departing even for an
hour from their vicinity. The gloom and apprehension which enveloped
her and insensibly sapped her nerves in the environment of mystery
and repression within the house, lifted as soon as she was beyond the
gates, although a little frown gathered upon her brow.
Beneath the lamp-post stood the same idly-lounging figure she had
seen on the day of her unexpected encounter with Herbert Ross, and he
peered keenly into the limousine as it whirled by, making no attempt to
cloak his eager interest. Whatever the motive of his protracted vigil,
his presence alone indicated that it had not yet borne result, yet it
served as a goad to her own secret intent.
A short, shrill whistle sounded upon the air as the car rounded the
corner, but Betty was only subconsciously aware of it, so preoccupied
was she with her own thoughts. Since the night of her encounter with
Wolvert in the library and Mrs. Atterbury's adroitly conveyed command
that she indulge in no future nocturnal wanderings, she had not
ventured to leave her room in the small hours, but now the realization
came to her that if she were not to be forestalled she must risk all.
The car took its place in the decorous line and Betty alighted before
the doors of the imposing edifice, mingling with the brilliant
stream which eddied about the vestibule. The measured chant of the
processional welled forth when the inner door was opened and the
girl waited until the others had preceded her to their places before
venturing into the nave.
A tall, tow-haired usher, very young and very self-important, bowed
stiffly and turned to conduct her down the aisle, when she touched his
arm and whispered:
"The fourth pew on the right, please, if it is vacant. I have a
particular reason for wishing to occupy that seat."
Betty fancied that his expression changed; it was patent, at any rate,
that he regarded her curiously, although he responded with ready
courtesy:
"Certainly, madam. The rear pews are all reserved for strangers."
She slipped into the pew designated and knelt for a moment in silent
prayer before taking her seat. Her mind was filled with unrest but the
quiet and solemn peace which pervaded the atmosphere was like balm
upon her troubled spirit and insensibly she relaxed beneath its gentle
influence.
The vaulted arches high above, shadowy and vague in the half-light,
rang with the clear, swelling notes of the white-robed choir which
she could glimpse above the sea of heads before her; and when their
echo had died away, the sonorous well-rounded tones from the pulpit
fell with soothing monotony upon her ear, lulling her to a temporary
forgetfulness of her errand.
Not for long, however. A late comer, a woman, was ushered into the
pew beside her and Betty's drugged senses awoke to instant alertness.
She had been given no hint as to what manner of person would keep the
strange appointment with her and no one could so unobtrusively pass an
envelope to her as an occupant of the same pew.
She darted a furtive glance at her unknown companion, but could form no
conclusion. The woman was of middle-age, neatly but plainly dressed in
contrast with the brilliant assemblage about her, and her comely serene
face bore no indication of one engaged upon a secret mission.
The seat behind Betty was occupied by a governess and three restive
children; that before her contained two elderly ladies, an anæmic youth
and a bent old man, his white head nodding above a gold-topped cane.
Surely none of these could have entered the church with an ulterior
motive.
Betty had been placed so that the left side of her face was turned to
the aisle and the birthmark prominently visible. She realized that this
must have been planned to proclaim her identity, but the woman seated
beside her politely ignored her existence and as the lengthy sermon
drew to a close, the girl was forced to conclude that the unknown
associate in the transaction would approach her on the way out.
A hymn, a prayer, and then from the pulpit the familiar: "Let your
light so shine before men--" proclaimed the collection. The opening
notes of the offertory sounded from the choir and Betty abstracted some
money from her purse and idly watched the approach of the smug-faced
rotund little man who minced down the aisle, pausing at each pew to
extend apologetically his felt-lined silver salver.
She heard the rustle of banknotes and clink of coins as he drew nearer,
and when he had reached the pew immediately in front of her, Betty saw
that the salver was heaped high with offerings.
The bearer paused over long and she glanced up to find that his small
pouched eyes were fixed as though fascinated upon her face. A swift
forewarning of the truth darted across her mind, even before she
observed that with surprising dexterity he had whipped from his pocket
of his frock coat an envelope which he laid upon the pile of currency.
Two short strides brought him to her side and he thrust the salver
nervously before her. She had no need to glance again into his face
to confirm her thought for upon the envelope had been scrawled an
odd, fantastic mark, meaningless to others but of unmistakable
significance to her. It was the outline of an irregular formless blotch
with five curving tentacles reaching out from it; a crudely sketched
representation of the scar upon her cheek!
With a hot flush mounting to her brow, Betty dropped her offering upon
the salver and deftly palmed the envelope, not daring to raise her
eyes. The woman beside her was intently fumbling in her purse and the
swift furtive movement of the girl had been unobserved.
The bearer of the salver emitted a gasping breath that was almost a
snort, and as the stranger's bank-note was added to the rest he bowed
and passed on with obvious relief to the next pew.
Wedging the envelope between the pages of her prayer book, Betty
watched as the smug-faced man joined his colleague who had passed down
the opposite row and marched beside him with grave dignity back to the
altar rail. The solemnity, the calm spiritual peace had vanished for
the girl and the warm, incense-laden air stifled her as the recessional
died away in the dim recesses of the vestry, and she knelt mechanically
for the final prayer.
The slow, crowded egress from the edifice tortured her beyond measure
and when at length she stood in the dazzling sunshine on the steps she
drew a deep breath of profound relief.
It was a blustery day and the treacherous March wind caught her roughly
in its grasp, but she faced it boldly as though welcoming the physical
exertion.
Amazement at the daring manner in which the missive had been placed in
her hands had momentarily numbed her faculties. Its donor was the last
person from whom she would have expected to receive it. His strutting
importance, his bland, patronizing air of conscious dignity and social
eminence accorded ill with her preconceived idea of the type of person
she would meet.
His predecessors passed in quick, mental review before her; the
weak-chinned, downy-mustached scion of society in the opera box, the
timorous, fragile, exquisite lady with the orchids, and now this
rotund, pragmatical pillar of the church! What mysterious bond held
these three, widely diversified as they were, in a common fellowship
with Mrs. Atterbury and her coterie?
So absorbed was she in her reflections that Betty gave only a passing
glance at a man who had elbowed his way through the throng at the
church steps and in apparent inadvertence followed her as she walked
north from Brinsley square and turned eastward in her footsteps. She
was vaguely aware that someone boarded the Highmount car when she
did, alighting behind her at Wellesley Place. Ignorant of the city
as she had claimed to be, she could not fail in the realization that
the directions given her to follow were curiously roundabout ones and
had taken her several unnecessary miles out of her way. Why had Mrs.
Atterbury chosen this route for her?
Her mind was filled with this new problem and she did not observe her
pursuer enter a taxicab as she boarded a red bus. It was only when she
noted that the smaller vehicle deliberately stalked the larger, halting
when the bus stopped and following it doggedly through the mazes of
Sunday traffic, that her interest was aroused, and as one after another
of the passengers descended until she was left in sole possession of
the conveyance and still the taxi cab clung tenaciously behind, a
suspicion came to her that she might be the subject of espionage.
A memory came to her of the circuitous route followed by the limousine
in bringing her home from the Café de Luxe. Could the motive have been
to elude pursuit? Had the same purpose prevailed in Mrs. Atterbury's
mind when she issued these devious directions for her messenger's
return?
Betty alighted at her corner and walked swiftly off toward the North
Drive without a backward glance, but her acute ear told her that the
taxicab had turned and was trailing slowly in her wake.
Deliberately she slackened her pace and the machine stopped, hastening
on she heard it start again. The first cross street was but a few yards
away, and on a sudden inspiration Betty started to run, turning the
corner sharply, and darting into a narrow tradesman's alley between two
houses. There she crouched motionless while the taxicab veered around
the corner, stopped with a harsh grating of brakes and then chugged
uncertainly on and out of sight.
Betty's face was scarlet, and her eyes ablaze, but her heart was turned
to lead within her breast, for her pursuer had leaned for an instant
from the cab window and she had recognized the face of Herbert Ross.