Chapter VAfter Freddie Stickney had closed the door behind him, Wraxall frankly abandoned any pretence of being interested in his food. He pushed back his chair slightly and seemed to concentrate his whole mind for a time upon some intricate problem.“I’d better see the old man as soon as I can,” he said, half aloud, at one point in his train of thought. “The first thing to do is to see how the land lies. It’s a tight position.”But a final solution of his problem evidently evaded him; and when he got up and went in search of his host, it was clear that he still remained in doubt about something.“I’ll get it over, at least,” he said to himself.In spite of his age, Rollo Dangerfield was an early riser, compared with some of his guests. He had breakfasted an hour before, and Wraxall found him in the morning-room, engrossed in a newspaper. As his guest came in, Rollo put the sheet aside and looked up.“Terrible storm last night, Mr. Wraxall. I hope it didn’t keep you awake through half the night.”“I like storms,” the American assured him. “I sat up a good part of the night to watch that one. It would have been a pity to miss it. I enjoyed it—immensely. The effects were very fine at times, Mr. Dangerfield, very fine indeed. A magnificent spectacle.”Rollo Dangerfield seemed relieved that his guest had suffered no inconvenience.“I wish everybody could say the same,” he said. “Poor Mrs. Brent didn’t share your enthusiasm, I’m afraid. She’s peculiarly sensitive to electrical conditions—always has been so. Her nerves seem to go all to pieces in a storm, and I think that one last night affected her badly. She went off in theKestrelthis morning before any of us were up, and I expect she’ll stay away until she gets back to normal again.”The American paused a moment or two before replying.“I’m sorry to hear that. She didn’t strike me as a nervous type. I should have said she was very well balanced, if you’d asked my opinion.”“Each of us has his own special weakness,” said the old man, phlegmatically. “Some people can’t stand cats, for some reason. I dislike house-spiders intensely myself, though I can’t give you any grounds for my aversion. In Mrs. Brent’s case, it seems to be thunder and lightning. A storm shakes her completely.”Wraxall let the subject drop. Old Dangerfield puzzled him at this moment. Of course the English had the knack of concealing their feelings; but he had expected something different in Rollo this morning, if the story about the Talisman were true. He resolved on a direct attack.“I met young Stickney at breakfast. He said something about the Talisman.”Old Dangerfield let his newspaper slip from his hand as though he were tired of holding it.“Freddie? Oh, Freddie can be trusted to know all about everything. He’s often right, too, quite often. Yes, the Talisman’s gone.”The old man’s voice was completely indifferent; he might have been discussing some matter of no especial concern, for all the interest that showed in his tone. The American was taken aback. These English, he reflected, don’t give much away. Here was a man who had lost overnight the thing that he evidently valued as the first among his possessions; and yet he showed less emotion than he might have done if a cat had gone astray. Wraxall’s opinion of Rollo Dangerfield went up considerably. There was a dignity behind this indifference which impressed him deeply. No fuss, no excitement to be seen. The thing was gone; but the old man could hold himself in. His guests wouldn’t be disturbed by him. Everything would go on as usual at Friocksheim. Rollo Dangerfield evidently carried the courtesy of a host to the extreme.“That’s a big loss,” said Wraxall, slowly. “But I expect you’re counting on getting it back. It would be difficult to dispose of. It would certainly be hard to sell. Still . . . aren’t you sorry you didn’t close with my offer last night?”Rollo Dangerfield turned an inscrutable face to his guest.“Sorry I didn’t sell the Talisman while I had it? No, it never was for sale. The matter didn’t arise.”The American persisted.“I suppose the police have some clue?”The old man shrugged his shoulders slightly.“The police have nothing to do with it. How could they have a clue?”Wraxall was frankly astonished.“You haven’t called them in? Why, I should have thought the very first thing to do would be to get them to work while the scent was fresh?”A faint shade of irritation showed in Rollo Dangerfield’s eyes, the first sign of emotion the American had seen. But when he spoke, his voice was as indifferent as before.“Why should we call in the police? The Talisman will find its way home without their help. Would you bring the police among your guests, stir up trouble, make everyone uncomfortable with suspicions and cross-questioning? No, Mr. Wraxall, we shan’t need the police at Friocksheim. I told you so, before the Talisman disappeared, and you obviously didn’t believe me. But you see now that you were mistaken; I meant what I said.”The American was shrewd enough to see what had given offence. Old Dangerfield resented the slight on his veracity much more than the loss of the Talisman. He made amends frankly.“Quite right, Mr. Dangerfield. Honestly, I thought you were just leading us on, that night. I took it that you were pulling my leg. It seemed to me that perhaps it was one of your English jokes, just put out to see if the stranger would swallow it. We often do that ourselves, over there. But I see you mean it, right enough, now.”Rollo Dangerfield reassured him with a faint smile.“I see your point of view. I ought to have thought of it in that light.”Wraxall considered for a moment or two before speaking again.“I think I see what’s in your mind,” he said, going back to the earlier subject. “You’ve reason to suspect somebody in particular—one of the maids, perhaps—and you don’t want a fuss?”“I don’t suspect any of the maids—or any of the servants,” Rollo Dangerfield replied instantly. “That’s quite out of the question. I can tell you why. We have a number of old habits at Friocksheim, and fortunately one of them has enabled us to clear our servants of any suspicion in this affair.”He took out his case and lit a cigar before continuing.“The servants’ quarters are all in the west wing of the house, and there is only one door communicating between their section and the other part of the building. That door has a special lock, of which only the butler has a key, and it is his duty at half-past eleven every night to see that that door is secured. After that, no servant can get into this part of the house without his knowledge.”“And the butler himself?” demanded the American.“The butler’s great-grandfather was born on the estate and for four generations we have known absolutely everything about the family. This man has been in our service since he was a boy, and a more absolutely honest man you couldn’t find anywhere. You may put him completely out of your calculations, Mr. Wraxall. I say that definitely, because the man can’t speak for himself. Not a trace of suspicion could attach to him. Now are you satisfied?”Wraxall nodded his acquiescence. Then he asked a further question.“How did you hear that the Talisman had gone?”“The butler told me this morning. His first business is to go round the house after he has unlocked the communicating door. When he went into the Corinthian’s Room he noticed that the Talisman case was open, and the jewel was gone. He came at once and told me.”“And you suspect nobody, then?”Rollo Dangerfield raised himself slightly in his chair and looked round directly at Wraxall’s face. For the first time, the American saw a keenness in the old man’s blue eyes, though their expression was inscrutable.“No, I suspect nobody. I have no evidence, and I do not wish to collect any. The Talisman will be back in its place within a week; and that is the only important thing in the case. For all I know, the whole affair may be a practical joke. Some of these young folks may have taken it into their heads to test the Dangerfield legend.”His eyes scanned the American’s features; but Wraxall betrayed nothing under the scrutiny. Rollo Dangerfield pulled at his cigar before continuing.“I can imagine one of these youngsters playing a practical joke like that. Take away the Talisman and see what old Dangerfield will say! It’s quite possible that somebody”—he glanced again at the American—“may even now be wishing he had left the thing alone and may be looking for a chance to replace it under the bell. It’s an awkward thing to have in one’s possession—even innocently. Well, they can easily put it back again, if they wish to do so. Nobody’s watching the Corinthian’s Room.”A faintly sardonic expression crossed his face.“Don’t distress yourself unduly about the Talisman, Mr. Wraxall. It will come home quite safely in the end; you may take my word for that.”With a gesture as though asking permission, he picked up his newspaper again. Wraxall accepted the tacit dismissal and wandered out into the sunlit gardens. The interview had given him a good deal to think about, apparently. He avoided the other guests and spent a considerable time in going over old Dangerfield’s words, so far as he could remember them.“I wonder,” he said to himself at last. “I wonder if the old man suspects anything. One or two of these remarks might have been directed to my address, though he was clever enough to give them an inoffensive turn. If he really suspects me, it looks like being a pretty kettle of fish. It certainly looks like that.”He thought it tactful to absent himself for the rest of the day, taking his car and visiting some of the local antiquities which he wished to see. It was dinner-time before he met his fellow-guests once more.Eileen Cressage had returned, and Westenhanger came into the room immediately after her. As they sat down, Freddie Stickney’s eyes travelled round the table, obviously counting the number, and a certain disappointment appeared in his face when he found only twelve persons present. Eric Dangerfield and Mrs. Brent were still away.“You and Mr. Westenhanger came up by the same train, didn’t you, Miss Cressage?” asked Mrs. Dangerfield.Westenhanger caught the question which Eileen had missed.“Yes. I happened to run across Miss Cressage just as she was coming out of Starbeck, the jewellers. We had just time to get to the station.”Freddie Stickney’s sharp ears caught the careless remark.“Starbeck’s?” he said, lifting his voice to make it carry down the table. “That’s a convenient firm. They’ll give you a reasonable advance on any little bit of jewellery you don’t happen to need for a time. Sort of superior brand of West End Uncle, aren’t they? I’ve dealt with them once or twice myself and always found them generous.”Freddie was quite shameless in money matters. But his deliberately pitched sentences reached Eileen Cressage’s ears; and Freddie, keenly on the look-out, noticed that the girl flushed uncomfortably.“That shot went home,” he reflected, complacently. “One can always get the information one wants if one goes about it tactfully. She’s been doing a bit of quiet pawning this afternoon. That’s interesting. I wonder what she put away in store. She never wore any jewellery here.”He ruminated on this problem for a time, keeping his sharp eyes on the girl’s face; but nothing further of interest fell into his net during the meal.As they passed into the drawing-room after dinner, Mrs. Caistor Scorton picked up a telegram addressed to her which was lying in the hall. At the sight of it, Morchard’s face lighted up with interest and he examined her closely while she read it. He edged himself up to Eileen and put a question in a low voice:“The Scorton’s got her telegram about your cheque. Is it all right?”“Quite all right, thank you,” said the girl, coldly.She moved away from him immediately, and as she sat down, Conway Westenhanger came up.“Have a game at bridge, Miss Cressage? They’re making up a table and I’ve reserved a place for you.”“No, thanks. I’d rather not play.”Mrs. Caistor Scorton passed close to them and Eileen made a gesture to catch her attention.“You found my cheque all right, Mrs. Scorton?”Westenhanger, to his surprise, detected more than a tinge of irony in the question. Mrs. Caistor Scorton seemed taken aback for a moment; but she recovered herself almost at once:“Oh, quite all right, quite all right,” she confirmed shortly, and passed on to the bridge-table.Eileen Cressage knitted her brows slightly as she looked after her. At any rate, she had got out of that difficulty. Morchard had been quite right. The woman had obviously sent the cheque off to her bank and asked them to wire if it had been met. That apparently inevitable scandal had passed over safely. She glanced across at Morchard and an angrier flash came into her eyes. She knew what sort of a person he was, too.Freddie Stickney drifted over and sat down between her and Westenhanger.“Heard the news, you two? The Talisman’s out of print, it seems. No copies available for the public. Somebody’s taken a fancy to it and simply lifted it. That’s a fine end to all the Dangerfield talk, isn’t it?”With a certain ill-suppressed maliciousness, he gave them all the information he had collected during the day.“Just as well you were away last night, Westenhanger,” he wound up. “You’re clear of suspicion. But all the rest of us are in it up to the neck. Servants exonerated without a stain on their character. Strong suspicion attaches to every guest. That’s how the land lies.”“Oh, indeed, Freddie,” said Westenhanger. “Then, if we must suspect somebody, we may as well begin with yourself. What about it? Anything you say will be used against you at the trial, without regard for age or sex. Where’s my notebook?”“It’s all very well for you,” protested Freddie. “You’re out of it all. But what about the rest of us? It’s a nasty idea to feel that the person sitting next to you in this room may be a thief.”Westenhanger looked him up and down for a moment before replying.“If I were you, Freddie, I don’t think I’d begin flinging words like ‘thief’ about quite so early in the day. These things are apt to be resented by some people. Isn’t there any other possible explanation?”Freddie pondered for a while in silence, then he made a half-hearted suggestion:“It might be a practical joke.”Westenhanger considered the idea and rejected it almost immediately.“I shouldn’t like to have the taste of the man who played a joke of that sort. Who’s your humorist? Douglas is the funny man of the company, but Douglas wouldn’t play a trick of that sort on anyone. That’s certain. Morchard hasn’t that kind of mind. The American has a sense of humour, but not that sort, I’m sure. You don’t attribute it to one of the girls, do you? No? Well, then, that leaves us with . . . let’s see . . . with Mr. Frederick Stickney as the only possible culprit. I don’t think much of your taste in humour, Freddie, and that’s a fact.”“All the same,” said Eileen Cressage, “I’d prefer it to be a case of practical joking rather than the other thing. Perhaps it will all come right and we shall find the Talisman back again in a few days, just as Mr. Dangerfield said.”Freddie had recovered from Westenhanger’s attack.“Well, I’m going to find out who did it,” he declared. “As things stand, we’re all under a cloud. I’m going to get the whole lot into the billiard room later on, if I can, away from the Dangerfields; and I shall put it to them straight that each person ought to account for his doings during the night. Nobody could object to that.”He glanced at the girl for support and was surprised to see her flush and turn away as though to conceal her face.“I don’t think you’ll be altogether popular if you start that kind of thing, Mr. Stickney,” she said.Freddie’s bright little eyes fastened themselves on her face; and his well-trained mind automatically set to work to draw inferences from what he saw. As his friend had said, Freddie’s inferences always tended to discredit somebody or something. He had sense enough, however, to leave his conclusions unspoken.“It’s a silly idea, Freddie,” said Westenhanger, abruptly.He also had noticed the girl’s flush; but the only inference he had cared to draw was that Freddie was making her uncomfortable.“I can’t agree with you.” Freddie was emboldened by the girl’s embarrassment. “I think everyone would be only too glad to exonerate themselves from suspicion. We oughtn’t to be left under a cloud if we can clear ourselves straight off. Decidedly not. I shall insist on it; and I’ll point out what it will look like if anyone refuses.”He got up and walked away from them without waiting for a reply.Westenhanger looked across at Eileen and was puzzled by the distress which he still found in her face.“That little beast will make trouble unless he gets his way. Miss Cressage, I think I’ll have to attend his proposed inquest myself. It seems to be the occasion where an impartial and disinterested person might be useful.”Eileen glanced at his face for a moment. He was relieved to find that she met his eye squarely and showed no signs of flinching.“I think that would be a good plan, Mr. Westenhanger.”“Well, I suppose we shall have to go through with it if he gets his way. And he’s pretty sure to arrange it, you know. That suggestion that it will look black if anyone refuses is pretty sure to rake in most of them, and the rest can’t stand out after that, even if they wished to.”
After Freddie Stickney had closed the door behind him, Wraxall frankly abandoned any pretence of being interested in his food. He pushed back his chair slightly and seemed to concentrate his whole mind for a time upon some intricate problem.
“I’d better see the old man as soon as I can,” he said, half aloud, at one point in his train of thought. “The first thing to do is to see how the land lies. It’s a tight position.”
But a final solution of his problem evidently evaded him; and when he got up and went in search of his host, it was clear that he still remained in doubt about something.
“I’ll get it over, at least,” he said to himself.
In spite of his age, Rollo Dangerfield was an early riser, compared with some of his guests. He had breakfasted an hour before, and Wraxall found him in the morning-room, engrossed in a newspaper. As his guest came in, Rollo put the sheet aside and looked up.
“Terrible storm last night, Mr. Wraxall. I hope it didn’t keep you awake through half the night.”
“I like storms,” the American assured him. “I sat up a good part of the night to watch that one. It would have been a pity to miss it. I enjoyed it—immensely. The effects were very fine at times, Mr. Dangerfield, very fine indeed. A magnificent spectacle.”
Rollo Dangerfield seemed relieved that his guest had suffered no inconvenience.
“I wish everybody could say the same,” he said. “Poor Mrs. Brent didn’t share your enthusiasm, I’m afraid. She’s peculiarly sensitive to electrical conditions—always has been so. Her nerves seem to go all to pieces in a storm, and I think that one last night affected her badly. She went off in theKestrelthis morning before any of us were up, and I expect she’ll stay away until she gets back to normal again.”
The American paused a moment or two before replying.
“I’m sorry to hear that. She didn’t strike me as a nervous type. I should have said she was very well balanced, if you’d asked my opinion.”
“Each of us has his own special weakness,” said the old man, phlegmatically. “Some people can’t stand cats, for some reason. I dislike house-spiders intensely myself, though I can’t give you any grounds for my aversion. In Mrs. Brent’s case, it seems to be thunder and lightning. A storm shakes her completely.”
Wraxall let the subject drop. Old Dangerfield puzzled him at this moment. Of course the English had the knack of concealing their feelings; but he had expected something different in Rollo this morning, if the story about the Talisman were true. He resolved on a direct attack.
“I met young Stickney at breakfast. He said something about the Talisman.”
Old Dangerfield let his newspaper slip from his hand as though he were tired of holding it.
“Freddie? Oh, Freddie can be trusted to know all about everything. He’s often right, too, quite often. Yes, the Talisman’s gone.”
The old man’s voice was completely indifferent; he might have been discussing some matter of no especial concern, for all the interest that showed in his tone. The American was taken aback. These English, he reflected, don’t give much away. Here was a man who had lost overnight the thing that he evidently valued as the first among his possessions; and yet he showed less emotion than he might have done if a cat had gone astray. Wraxall’s opinion of Rollo Dangerfield went up considerably. There was a dignity behind this indifference which impressed him deeply. No fuss, no excitement to be seen. The thing was gone; but the old man could hold himself in. His guests wouldn’t be disturbed by him. Everything would go on as usual at Friocksheim. Rollo Dangerfield evidently carried the courtesy of a host to the extreme.
“That’s a big loss,” said Wraxall, slowly. “But I expect you’re counting on getting it back. It would be difficult to dispose of. It would certainly be hard to sell. Still . . . aren’t you sorry you didn’t close with my offer last night?”
Rollo Dangerfield turned an inscrutable face to his guest.
“Sorry I didn’t sell the Talisman while I had it? No, it never was for sale. The matter didn’t arise.”
The American persisted.
“I suppose the police have some clue?”
The old man shrugged his shoulders slightly.
“The police have nothing to do with it. How could they have a clue?”
Wraxall was frankly astonished.
“You haven’t called them in? Why, I should have thought the very first thing to do would be to get them to work while the scent was fresh?”
A faint shade of irritation showed in Rollo Dangerfield’s eyes, the first sign of emotion the American had seen. But when he spoke, his voice was as indifferent as before.
“Why should we call in the police? The Talisman will find its way home without their help. Would you bring the police among your guests, stir up trouble, make everyone uncomfortable with suspicions and cross-questioning? No, Mr. Wraxall, we shan’t need the police at Friocksheim. I told you so, before the Talisman disappeared, and you obviously didn’t believe me. But you see now that you were mistaken; I meant what I said.”
The American was shrewd enough to see what had given offence. Old Dangerfield resented the slight on his veracity much more than the loss of the Talisman. He made amends frankly.
“Quite right, Mr. Dangerfield. Honestly, I thought you were just leading us on, that night. I took it that you were pulling my leg. It seemed to me that perhaps it was one of your English jokes, just put out to see if the stranger would swallow it. We often do that ourselves, over there. But I see you mean it, right enough, now.”
Rollo Dangerfield reassured him with a faint smile.
“I see your point of view. I ought to have thought of it in that light.”
Wraxall considered for a moment or two before speaking again.
“I think I see what’s in your mind,” he said, going back to the earlier subject. “You’ve reason to suspect somebody in particular—one of the maids, perhaps—and you don’t want a fuss?”
“I don’t suspect any of the maids—or any of the servants,” Rollo Dangerfield replied instantly. “That’s quite out of the question. I can tell you why. We have a number of old habits at Friocksheim, and fortunately one of them has enabled us to clear our servants of any suspicion in this affair.”
He took out his case and lit a cigar before continuing.
“The servants’ quarters are all in the west wing of the house, and there is only one door communicating between their section and the other part of the building. That door has a special lock, of which only the butler has a key, and it is his duty at half-past eleven every night to see that that door is secured. After that, no servant can get into this part of the house without his knowledge.”
“And the butler himself?” demanded the American.
“The butler’s great-grandfather was born on the estate and for four generations we have known absolutely everything about the family. This man has been in our service since he was a boy, and a more absolutely honest man you couldn’t find anywhere. You may put him completely out of your calculations, Mr. Wraxall. I say that definitely, because the man can’t speak for himself. Not a trace of suspicion could attach to him. Now are you satisfied?”
Wraxall nodded his acquiescence. Then he asked a further question.
“How did you hear that the Talisman had gone?”
“The butler told me this morning. His first business is to go round the house after he has unlocked the communicating door. When he went into the Corinthian’s Room he noticed that the Talisman case was open, and the jewel was gone. He came at once and told me.”
“And you suspect nobody, then?”
Rollo Dangerfield raised himself slightly in his chair and looked round directly at Wraxall’s face. For the first time, the American saw a keenness in the old man’s blue eyes, though their expression was inscrutable.
“No, I suspect nobody. I have no evidence, and I do not wish to collect any. The Talisman will be back in its place within a week; and that is the only important thing in the case. For all I know, the whole affair may be a practical joke. Some of these young folks may have taken it into their heads to test the Dangerfield legend.”
His eyes scanned the American’s features; but Wraxall betrayed nothing under the scrutiny. Rollo Dangerfield pulled at his cigar before continuing.
“I can imagine one of these youngsters playing a practical joke like that. Take away the Talisman and see what old Dangerfield will say! It’s quite possible that somebody”—he glanced again at the American—“may even now be wishing he had left the thing alone and may be looking for a chance to replace it under the bell. It’s an awkward thing to have in one’s possession—even innocently. Well, they can easily put it back again, if they wish to do so. Nobody’s watching the Corinthian’s Room.”
A faintly sardonic expression crossed his face.
“Don’t distress yourself unduly about the Talisman, Mr. Wraxall. It will come home quite safely in the end; you may take my word for that.”
With a gesture as though asking permission, he picked up his newspaper again. Wraxall accepted the tacit dismissal and wandered out into the sunlit gardens. The interview had given him a good deal to think about, apparently. He avoided the other guests and spent a considerable time in going over old Dangerfield’s words, so far as he could remember them.
“I wonder,” he said to himself at last. “I wonder if the old man suspects anything. One or two of these remarks might have been directed to my address, though he was clever enough to give them an inoffensive turn. If he really suspects me, it looks like being a pretty kettle of fish. It certainly looks like that.”
He thought it tactful to absent himself for the rest of the day, taking his car and visiting some of the local antiquities which he wished to see. It was dinner-time before he met his fellow-guests once more.
Eileen Cressage had returned, and Westenhanger came into the room immediately after her. As they sat down, Freddie Stickney’s eyes travelled round the table, obviously counting the number, and a certain disappointment appeared in his face when he found only twelve persons present. Eric Dangerfield and Mrs. Brent were still away.
“You and Mr. Westenhanger came up by the same train, didn’t you, Miss Cressage?” asked Mrs. Dangerfield.
Westenhanger caught the question which Eileen had missed.
“Yes. I happened to run across Miss Cressage just as she was coming out of Starbeck, the jewellers. We had just time to get to the station.”
Freddie Stickney’s sharp ears caught the careless remark.
“Starbeck’s?” he said, lifting his voice to make it carry down the table. “That’s a convenient firm. They’ll give you a reasonable advance on any little bit of jewellery you don’t happen to need for a time. Sort of superior brand of West End Uncle, aren’t they? I’ve dealt with them once or twice myself and always found them generous.”
Freddie was quite shameless in money matters. But his deliberately pitched sentences reached Eileen Cressage’s ears; and Freddie, keenly on the look-out, noticed that the girl flushed uncomfortably.
“That shot went home,” he reflected, complacently. “One can always get the information one wants if one goes about it tactfully. She’s been doing a bit of quiet pawning this afternoon. That’s interesting. I wonder what she put away in store. She never wore any jewellery here.”
He ruminated on this problem for a time, keeping his sharp eyes on the girl’s face; but nothing further of interest fell into his net during the meal.
As they passed into the drawing-room after dinner, Mrs. Caistor Scorton picked up a telegram addressed to her which was lying in the hall. At the sight of it, Morchard’s face lighted up with interest and he examined her closely while she read it. He edged himself up to Eileen and put a question in a low voice:
“The Scorton’s got her telegram about your cheque. Is it all right?”
“Quite all right, thank you,” said the girl, coldly.
She moved away from him immediately, and as she sat down, Conway Westenhanger came up.
“Have a game at bridge, Miss Cressage? They’re making up a table and I’ve reserved a place for you.”
“No, thanks. I’d rather not play.”
Mrs. Caistor Scorton passed close to them and Eileen made a gesture to catch her attention.
“You found my cheque all right, Mrs. Scorton?”
Westenhanger, to his surprise, detected more than a tinge of irony in the question. Mrs. Caistor Scorton seemed taken aback for a moment; but she recovered herself almost at once:
“Oh, quite all right, quite all right,” she confirmed shortly, and passed on to the bridge-table.
Eileen Cressage knitted her brows slightly as she looked after her. At any rate, she had got out of that difficulty. Morchard had been quite right. The woman had obviously sent the cheque off to her bank and asked them to wire if it had been met. That apparently inevitable scandal had passed over safely. She glanced across at Morchard and an angrier flash came into her eyes. She knew what sort of a person he was, too.
Freddie Stickney drifted over and sat down between her and Westenhanger.
“Heard the news, you two? The Talisman’s out of print, it seems. No copies available for the public. Somebody’s taken a fancy to it and simply lifted it. That’s a fine end to all the Dangerfield talk, isn’t it?”
With a certain ill-suppressed maliciousness, he gave them all the information he had collected during the day.
“Just as well you were away last night, Westenhanger,” he wound up. “You’re clear of suspicion. But all the rest of us are in it up to the neck. Servants exonerated without a stain on their character. Strong suspicion attaches to every guest. That’s how the land lies.”
“Oh, indeed, Freddie,” said Westenhanger. “Then, if we must suspect somebody, we may as well begin with yourself. What about it? Anything you say will be used against you at the trial, without regard for age or sex. Where’s my notebook?”
“It’s all very well for you,” protested Freddie. “You’re out of it all. But what about the rest of us? It’s a nasty idea to feel that the person sitting next to you in this room may be a thief.”
Westenhanger looked him up and down for a moment before replying.
“If I were you, Freddie, I don’t think I’d begin flinging words like ‘thief’ about quite so early in the day. These things are apt to be resented by some people. Isn’t there any other possible explanation?”
Freddie pondered for a while in silence, then he made a half-hearted suggestion:
“It might be a practical joke.”
Westenhanger considered the idea and rejected it almost immediately.
“I shouldn’t like to have the taste of the man who played a joke of that sort. Who’s your humorist? Douglas is the funny man of the company, but Douglas wouldn’t play a trick of that sort on anyone. That’s certain. Morchard hasn’t that kind of mind. The American has a sense of humour, but not that sort, I’m sure. You don’t attribute it to one of the girls, do you? No? Well, then, that leaves us with . . . let’s see . . . with Mr. Frederick Stickney as the only possible culprit. I don’t think much of your taste in humour, Freddie, and that’s a fact.”
“All the same,” said Eileen Cressage, “I’d prefer it to be a case of practical joking rather than the other thing. Perhaps it will all come right and we shall find the Talisman back again in a few days, just as Mr. Dangerfield said.”
Freddie had recovered from Westenhanger’s attack.
“Well, I’m going to find out who did it,” he declared. “As things stand, we’re all under a cloud. I’m going to get the whole lot into the billiard room later on, if I can, away from the Dangerfields; and I shall put it to them straight that each person ought to account for his doings during the night. Nobody could object to that.”
He glanced at the girl for support and was surprised to see her flush and turn away as though to conceal her face.
“I don’t think you’ll be altogether popular if you start that kind of thing, Mr. Stickney,” she said.
Freddie’s bright little eyes fastened themselves on her face; and his well-trained mind automatically set to work to draw inferences from what he saw. As his friend had said, Freddie’s inferences always tended to discredit somebody or something. He had sense enough, however, to leave his conclusions unspoken.
“It’s a silly idea, Freddie,” said Westenhanger, abruptly.
He also had noticed the girl’s flush; but the only inference he had cared to draw was that Freddie was making her uncomfortable.
“I can’t agree with you.” Freddie was emboldened by the girl’s embarrassment. “I think everyone would be only too glad to exonerate themselves from suspicion. We oughtn’t to be left under a cloud if we can clear ourselves straight off. Decidedly not. I shall insist on it; and I’ll point out what it will look like if anyone refuses.”
He got up and walked away from them without waiting for a reply.
Westenhanger looked across at Eileen and was puzzled by the distress which he still found in her face.
“That little beast will make trouble unless he gets his way. Miss Cressage, I think I’ll have to attend his proposed inquest myself. It seems to be the occasion where an impartial and disinterested person might be useful.”
Eileen glanced at his face for a moment. He was relieved to find that she met his eye squarely and showed no signs of flinching.
“I think that would be a good plan, Mr. Westenhanger.”
“Well, I suppose we shall have to go through with it if he gets his way. And he’s pretty sure to arrange it, you know. That suggestion that it will look black if anyone refuses is pretty sure to rake in most of them, and the rest can’t stand out after that, even if they wished to.”