CHAPTER V.
Box A-46.
On the morning after Mrs. Atterbury's dinner party, Betty awoke from a deep sleep of mental and physical exhaustion to find that a fresh snowstorm was raging. The fine, hard-driven flakes swirled past her windows like a heavy meshed veil, obscuring even the cedars just outside and piling in soft drifts between the iron bars of the balcony.
The terrified scream which had aroused her from her reverie at midnight still rang in her ears. She was sure that it had been the voice of Mrs. Dana, and she dared not allow her thoughts to dwell on what it might portend.
Her own position in the household, now clearly defined by her discovery that she was indeed under surveillance, left her no alternative but to disarm the suspicion directed against her at all costs. An instant off guard would be fatal and she summoned all her self-command to her aid.
Nevertheless, it was with a sinking heart that she dragged herself downstairs in response to the breakfast gong, dreading lest she come upon evidences of a second tragedy. The sedate, seemingly tranquil house had become for her an abode of horror, and with each reluctant step fear gripped her more tenaciously by the throat.
To her unspeakable relief, however, she heard Mrs. Dana's high, nasal tones issuing from the dining-room and entered to find the lady herself already seated opposite her hostess. She was attired in a teagown belonging to the latter, beneath which her ample figure sagged, and her face in the cold light was ghastly and drawn.
"Sit down, my dear." Mrs. Atterbury nodded her good-morning from behind the coffee urn. "You slept well?"
"Yes, thank you. My headache has quite disappeared," Betty murmured, adding deliberately: "It was kind of you to have Caroline at hand, but I did not need her services."
For a moment they looked squarely into each other's eyes; Mrs. Atterbury's were the first to fall.
"I kept Mrs. Dana with me as you see, because of the storm. Mr. Dana stayed over night, too, of course, but he left for his office half an hour ago. We played bridge until very late."
"I'm a wreck this morning," Mrs. Dana remarked fretfully, but there was a curious quiver in her voice. "Mortie says I am the original daylight saver; I only make use of the night hours."
"The moon was ever so bright when I went to bed," ventured Betty. "The storm must have come very quickly."
"Quickly enough to give me quite a house party," Mrs. Atterbury replied. "Madame Cimmino remained also, and Professor Stolz, but they have not risen yet. I hope you will have an opportunity to talk with the Professor, Betty, you would find him most interesting. He is an eminent scientist and justly celebrated in his own country."
Betty would have liked to ask what branch of science had claimed him, but she discreetly remained silent, with a mental reservation to find out for herself, if possible.
Madame Cimmino appeared shortly, looking more sallow and shrunken than ever, and while her hostess greeted her, Betty slipped away to the library to sort the morning's mail.
The room had not yet been put in order for the day, and the girl's attention was caught by a heap of torn papers, half charred, on the cold hearth. The writing upon the scraps seemed oddly familiar, and she stopped hastily and examined them. They were the letters she herself had painstakingly copied from the originals which Mrs. Atterbury had taken from the safe and given to her on the previous day. Like the rearrangement of the bookcases, the letters had been merely a subterfuge to keep her employed and under watchful eyes.
Nevertheless, she doggedly assailed her uncongenial task and was midway through the morning's mail, when a heavy foot sounded in the hall, and Professor Stolz stuck his shaggy head in the door.
"Pardon. I a book would wish to have and Mrs. Atterbury says it here is," he translated idiomatically from his native tongue. "I disturb you, no?"
"Not at all." Betty rose. "Perhaps I can help you, Professor. What sort of book are you looking for?"
"It is Egyptian—a history of the twelfth dynasty."
"Egyptian!"
The professor had been peering along the bookshelves, but at her exclamation he turned.
"Yes. Professor of Egyptology I have been for fifteen years already, in the University of Leipzig. The book you have perhaps seen, Fräulein. Very old and rare it is, with the cover much stained—"
"Is this it?" Betty held out a quaint, time-worn volume, which he seized with avidity.
"In here an inscription is, from the tomb of Ameni-emhat, at Beni-Hasan, for which long looking have I been." He turned the pages eagerly, then paused with a snort of satisfaction, and read in a mumbling undertone: "'Renpit XLIII Xer hen en Horu anx mest suten net xeper-ka-Ra anx Petta—'"
"Year forty-three, under the Majesty of Horus, living one of births, king of the North, Kheper-ka-Ra, living forever—" Betty translated softly, in utter self-forgetfulness.
"Himmel! What is this?" The professor stared at her over his huge-rimmed glasses. "You know Egyptian!"
Betty flushed.
"I—I knew a young man in my home town who had studied it abroad, and he taught me a little," she stammered hastily.
"A little? Donnerwetter! For my assistant I should like you, so fluently you translate!" His eyes shone with the fire of an enthusiast. "After my own heart you are, Fräulein, and to teach you more, proud I should be!"
"Thank you, Professor, but I—I have no time at present." Betty turned back to her desk with a determined air and after futile efforts to engage her further in conversation he departed, shaking his head in stupefaction.
For several days thereafter no untoward incident disturbed the surface monotony of the household routine, and only the unobtrusive but persistent surveillance to which she was subjected remained to keep the tragic mystery uppermost in Betty's thoughts.
Of her knowledge of the espionage she gave no sign, but went about her daily tasks with winning docility and an outward serenity of bearing which brought the hoped-for reward. After the third night, Caroline was no longer installed on guard outside her door, and before the week was out the girl felt that she had at last lulled all suspicion. Mrs. Atterbury had not suggested that she walk again in the grounds of the estate, however, and although the confinement was telling upon her, Betty feared to risk a direct refusal by seeking permission.
However, from the hour that Caroline's vigil ceased, Betty had pursued her secret exploration of the home. As on the first night after her arrival, and the second, when she made her gruesome discovery, she had continued her mysterious quest throughout the sleeping house and every spare moment during the day, when she could escape detection, found her delving in odd nooks and corners. She managed in time to visit each of the sleeping apartments and even penetrated to the attic, but her efforts continued to be fruitless. The object of her clandestine activities seemed still to elude her.
She attended to the correspondence each morning and completed the rearrangement of the books in the library. Miss Pope appeared on two subsequent occasions, but made no further effort to communicate by stealth with the girl even upon the day she delivered the finished gowns. Whatever her motive had been, her courage was not equal to a second attempt.
The Danas made no reappearance, nor did the pale, foppish youth, Jordan Ide, but Mme. Cimmino and the ubiquitous Wolvert were constant visitors and on more than one occasion Betty heard Dr. Bayard's measured tones issuing from the drawing-room. By tacit arrangement, she now retired to her own room immediately after dinner on such evenings as there were guests present and the silent hours of readjustment and utter mental relaxation gave her renewed strength to play her daily part.
By the end of the week a thaw set in which swept the cedars bare of frost and turned the unbroken expanse of white into a veritable sea of mud. Mrs. Atterbury herself had not left the house since she acquired her new companion, but early one morning she entered the library where Betty sat wearily anticipating her secretarial duties, with a proposal which made the girl's eyes dance.
"My dear, I wonder if you will undertake an errand for me? The walking is atrocious, I know, but you have been cooped up indoors quite long enough and the fresh air will do you good."
"Oh, I shall be glad to go!" Betty cried warmly, adding in haste, "Of course, I don't know my way about, but if you will direct me I am sure I shall not make any mistake."
"I don't think there is a likelihood of your getting lost," Mrs. Atterbury smiled. "But if you do, you can always reach a telephone, you know, and I will send the car to conduct you home. I want you to go to Madame Cimmino's and bring back a package which she will give you for me. She lives in the Lorilton Apartments on Falmouth Avenue; walk three blocks across town from the corner here, and take a southbound red 'bus. Tell the conductor your destination and he will see that you reach it safely."
"That seems quite clear, Mrs. Atterbury." Betty rose with alacrity. "Do you wish me to go at once?"
"If you will, please. The mail can wait until later, but this is rather important."
The air was as mild as on a spring day and Betty's heart leaped as she passed out of the gateway to the broad, untrammeled avenue. She glanced back sharply at the house, but no one was visible, and its windows stared blankly at her.
Rounding the corner, she set out across town at a brisk pace, her blood tingling in her veins and the soft wind bringing a flush to her pale cheeks. Her gaze was introspective rather than curious and she boarded the southbound omnibus almost mechanically, although she scrutinized her fellow passengers with grave intentness.
A ride of some twenty minutes brought her to the doors of the Lorilton, which proved to be a huge, ornately constructed apartment house in a somewhat less exclusive locality than the North Drive.
A gaudily upholstered elevator deposited Betty on the tenth floor and in response to her ring, the apartment door was opened by a smug-faced Japanese butler who ushered her silently into the drawing-room.
She took a swift mental inventory of her surroundings as she waited. The room presented an odd mixture of real artistic treasures, and the basest of imitations; rare tapestries hung upon the walls between wretched copies of masterpieces, a hideous terra cotta statuette overshadowing a Ming vase, and an exquisite Buhl cabinet was filled with the most trumpery of knickknacks.
Madame Cimmino made her appearance in a gorgeous but somewhat soiled kimona. Her sallow cheeks were highly rouged and the jeweled hoops which tugged at her ears seemed oddly garish in the light of day.
"The packet? Ah, yes, I have it," she murmured in response to Betty's request. "You came alone? You are learning, then, to find your way in this strange city; that is well."
She clapped her hands, and when the butler appeared, jabbered rapidly to him in his native tongue, while Betty sat with her face averted. The functionary disappeared, to return almost immediately bearing a small package which Madame Cimmino placed in the girl's hands.
"Be careful that you do not lose it, my dear," she warned her at the door, adding with a flash of her white teeth, "Some day when you have leisure, little mouse, you shall come and have tea with me, if Mrs. Atterbury permits. I like American young girls."
Betty thanked her and departed. She thrust the precious package in her muff without a second glance, and a peculiar, hard light glowered in her eyes until she reached once more the house in the cedars.
Mrs. Atterbury accepted the package without comment, and thereafter Betty roamed the grounds at will. Her position save for the morning's correspondence had become a sinecure, but she felt a presentiment of impending change, and awaited developments with keen expectancy.
They ensued more quickly than she had anticipated. She was summoned to Mrs. Atterbury's room late one afternoon, to find her employer critically examining a gown which had just arrived; an exquisite affair of filmy tulle and creamy lace.
Betty could not suppress a little cry of admiration, and Mrs. Atterbury smilingly held it out to her.
"I wish you to try this on, my dear. If it fits you, it is yours."
Wondering, Betty placed herself in Caroline's hands and when the change had been effected Mrs. Atterbury herself gasped. In the simple blouse and skirt Betty had been winsomely attractive in spite of the disfiguring birthmark, but the delicate beauty of the gown transformed her as if some fairy godmother had touched her with a magic wand.
"Really, you are quite wonderful!" There was amazement mingled with the unfeigned admiration in Mrs. Atterbury's tones. "I had no idea that you would develop such possibilities, Betty. I did well to select this model for you."
"It is really mine?" The girl turned her flushed face from the mirror. "I—I don't know how to thank you, Mrs. Atterbury, but when shall I have an occasion to wear it?"
"Tonight." The reply came with startling brevity and promptitude. "You are going to hear 'Aida'. Have you ever been to the opera?"
"Aida!" gasped Betty. There was a pause, and then she added with a change of tone, "No, I—I have never heard any opera except on a phonograph. It will be like a dream come true."
And as if in a dream she completed her toilet for the evening. She had schooled herself to accept without visible surprise anything which might eventuate, but to appear at the opera in company with Mrs. Atterbury and her probable guests, was a move she had not in her wildest fancy anticipated.
A fresh surprise awaited her when she descended to the dining-room. Only Mrs. Atterbury was present, and she was still attired in the somber gray gown she had worn throughout the day.
"Perhaps I should have waited to dress later, also," Betty murmured, glancing down at her own shimmering elegance. "I did not know we would have sufficient time after dinner."
"I am not going with you," Mrs. Atterbury replied to the implied question with calm directness. "I am sending you quite alone, Betty. The car will take you, and wait to bring you home when you have accomplished your errand."
"'My—errand?'" faltered Betty, off guard in her amazement.
"You will occupy Box A-48, in the grand tier," the older woman continued as if she had not heard the interjection. "In A-46, on your left, there will be seated a party of ladies and gentlemen. You will take no apparent notice of them—I can depend upon your breeding to prohibit your staring—but be sure to take a chair close to the rail which separates the two boxes and allow your arm to rest upon it. At some time during the singing of the opera, one of the gentlemen in the next box will place an envelope in your hand. Do not betray any surprise, whatever you do, but remain quietly for a few minutes longer, then slip away as unobtrusively as possible and descend immediately to the carriage entrance, where the car will be awaiting you. This is a confidential matter, but you are discreet and I am sure that I can trust you, my dear. It is really quite simple; do you think you will be able to carry it through successfully?"
"I—I think so," responded Betty, faintly. She was dazed, but a new light had broken over her consciousness and much that had puzzled her was made clear. She shrank from the task before her, yet no thought of a refusal entered her mind. She had voluntarily placed herself in this woman's hands, and whatever commands were given her, she was prepared to obey.
"You do not seem very confident." Mrs. Atterbury's level tone had become suddenly stern. "If you follow my directions carefully you can make no mistake. I do not find it convenient to go myself, but if you object—"
"Oh, it isn't that!" cried Betty in haste to cover her momentary hesitation. "I'm sure I shall not have any difficulty in merely accepting the envelope and bringing it to you, but I never went to the opera before or sat in a box, and I shall feel as if everyone were looking at me. I am afraid that I am a trifle self-conscious, after all, about the birthmark on my face."
The lines about Mrs. Atterbury's mouth relaxed, and she smiled tolerantly.
"So that is all! You need not think of it, my dear, for I assure you it is rather attractive than otherwise. It serves to render you distinctive, at all events, and that is what everyone is striving for, nowadays. The car will be brought around to the door for you at ten, when you will be in time for the last act. You will have only one thing to remember; be sure that you seat yourself on the extremeleftof the box, and that your hand is within reach."
"If you will describe the gentleman to me—" Betty began, but the other interrupted quickly.
"That is quite unnecessary, as you are to make no advances, nor indeed appear cognizant of his existence. Permit him to place the envelope in your hand, but do not even glance in his direction. That is quite clear?"
"Oh, yes!" laughed Betty ingenuously. "I should be an adept at that sort of thing; I have had practice enough at school, passing surreptitious notes."
Mrs. Atterbury permitted herself to laugh softly.
"Then I shall take your success for granted. Come to me before you start, my dear. I have some flowers for you to wear, and I am going to lend you a string of my pearls."
When Betty, wrapped in an ermine cloak the value of which she dared not attempt to compute, drew up before the opera house she was tingling with excitement, but her brain was clear, and her nerves steady. She had realized in a swift flash of comprehension that she was assuming the first of her real tasks. Whatever was written in the mysterious letter which was to be entrusted to her, and whoever the stranger might be from whose hand she would receive it, she was convinced it was for this and no other purpose that she had been engaged. The secretarial work, the companionship, were mere subterfuges to conceal her true mission, although she could not fathom its meaning.
The third act was drawing to a close as she entered her box and Aida's exquisite pleading cry: "Ah no! ti calma—ascoltami," thrilled her very soul. A daring idea came to her. She had been directed to return as soon as she received the letter, but why could she not delay its delivery until the very end of the opera? She longed to hear the final aria, and it would be a simple matter to keep out of arm's reach.
The box on her left was occupied, for although she did not glance toward it, a rustling and soft murmur reached her ears as if her entrance had occasioned comment, unobtrusive though it had been.
For a moment she hesitated, then obeying the swift impulse she dropped her cloak and seated herself in a chair well to the right, her face averted. Scarcely had she composed herself when the curtain fell.
Betty sat motionless in the sudden blaze of light, her eyes idly sweeping the glittering horseshoe which extended at her right, her heart beating wildly. She was conscious only of one pair of eyes upon her and she fought down an almost irresistible impulse to turn and meet them. Someone was staring at her from the box at her left, staring as if mutely compelling her gaze and she flushed darkly beneath the scar upon her cheek.
Whoever they were, it was evident that this man and his companions were well known, for from the fall of the curtain until its rise again, a constant stream of visitors eddied about their box and scraps of gay chatter and soft tinkling laughter came to her ears. One chance phrase, in a vivacious feminine voice made her breath catch in her throat:
"Oh, don't mind Toddie! He is fuming inwardly, although he won't tell why. Anyway, it's a positive comfort to know that there's something on his mind beside his hat. How were the ducks in North Carolina?"
Betty stirred uneasily in her chair. If "Toddie" were the man who had come to deliver the letter into her hands she could well understand the reason for his ill humor. What must he think of her presence yet deliberate evasion of him? Her determination did not falter, however. Come what might, she meant to drain to its dregs this cup of unalloyed happiness which so unexpectedly had been held to her lips.
Just as the lights were lowered, and the first soft strains of Amneris' lamentation swelled from the orchestra, she ventured a swift glance at the box on her left.
A portly, gray-haired dowager was directly beside Betty with two younger women on her left, and all three were glittering with jewels like miniature constellations. Behind them an obese elderly gentleman dropped his lowest chin upon his broad expanse of shirt bosom in well-calculated repose, a younger one bent forward to whisper into the ear of the girl in front of him, and a third, a round-faced man with a downy blond mustache turned squarely and met Betty's eyes, with exasperation glowering in his own.
She permitted her gaze to rest on him impersonally for a moment then slowly shifted it to the stage as the curtain rose.
The scene held her, and the beauty of the music so enthralled her senses that she forgot herself and the strange errand which had brought her there until a chair rasped against the box rail in unmistakable signal. With a start she threw off the spell which had entranced her, and just as the divine notes of Aida's "Vedi? di morte l'angelo—" rose winging through the vast house, she moved silently to the chair at her left and rested her arm upon the barrier.
There was a sound very like a sigh from the next box, and an envelope was thrust almost roughly beneath her fingers.
For a space of interminable minutes she sat as motionless as if carved from stone, save that the hand holding the letter was clenched to her breast, crushing the cluster of white roses which she wore, and feeling like a pulseless lump of ice. The perfume of the flowers, cloyingly sweet, all but suffocated her, and the band of pearls seemed to tighten about her throat.
The strains of "O Terra Adio" were dying away in haunting sadness as she rose, and snatching up the ermine cloak, slipped from the box and down the promenade like a wraith.