CHAPTER XI.
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.