"I wish to heaven the scent of Pat's tobacco weren't so d—d strong on that handkerchief in the packet. It's the blackest bit of evidence against him!" Manners was saying to the detective, in Claremanagh's study, when a tap came at the door.
The two locked themselves in for their occasional seances in this room, and Jack himself answered the knock. He was about to scold Togo for disturbing him (a thing strictly forbidden to all except the Duchess) when the sight of Lyda's handwriting pencilled on an envelope caused him to bite back the words.
"Who brought this?" he asked.
"A boy, sir," replied the Japanese. "He is from some theatre. He said he went first to the Tarascon Hotel, but they told him you'd left word to have you called up here for anything important, so he came round."
"Is he waiting for an answer?"
"No, sir. He was in a hurry to get back. He said there was no answer."
Jack retired into the study with the letter and carefully, gently opened the envelope. Even though he was eager to know what Lyda had to say, he couldn't deal roughly with anything she had touched. This was not the only letter he had had from her, but it made his heart beat as if it were the first.
"My dear friend," she wrote with pencil, evidently in haste, "I have something very important to tell you. I cannot put it well in a letter. But it has to do with the Duchess, your cousin. She may be running into some danger. I should like to save her from that if I could! Come to the theatre and see me for a few minutes. I shall be free at six precisely, after rehearsing my new dance of the 'Swan and the Cygnet' with Mrs. Van Esten's little girl. Then I shall have a few minutes for you. Meanwhile, however, if you have time after getting this, try to make your cousin's maid tell if she knows where her mistress has gone. Yours ever—Lyda P."
This was all. But to Jack Manners it was sweet as the perfume of an Eastern garden by moonlight—her perfume! It was all he could do to wrench his mind from entranced thoughts of Lyda, to concentrate them upon Juliet. Poor Juliet! He understood now why he hadn't suffered at seeing her after her marriage, or cared a single rap! It was because he'd never been in love with her really, except as a dear, rather trying cousin, and because what he'd called "love" had worn off even before that, like thinly spread gilt on gingerbread! He had not known what love was till the night when Lyda Pavoya's eyes said to him with their first blinding look, "You aretheman; I amthewoman."
He believed in her utterly now, and if he had not, he would have wished to kill himself. To know her, a good and glorious woman, made the splendour of life.
"Why, Juliet has gone to the dress rehearsal of the roof-garden show," he remembered. That was the word she had left with Togo to give him and Sanders on opening the door for them. But—Lyda was at the rehearsal! And she hadn't seen Juliet. Before sending such a message to him she would have made certain that the Duchess hadn't arrived! He would have Simone down at once!
But Simone—the report came—was not in the house. She had gone out with Admiral Beatty, the Duchess's bull-dog. Neither Togo nor Huji could say when she was likely to return. But Togo made a suggestion. Nickson, the Duke's English valet, might know something of her movements.
"Nickson!" echoed Jack, surprised. "This is a new development, isn't it, Nick knowing anything about Simone? I had an idea there was no love lost there."
Togo ventured, on this encouragement, to smile dryly. At heart he had as little affection for Mademoiselle as Old Nick had. He would have liked to do her an ill turn in payment of many snubs, if it could be managed safely. "There is not much love, Captain," he said. "Perhaps that is why Mr. Nickson watches Mademoiselle when she takes the dog for a walk."
"Is he afraid she'll do Beatty harm?" asked Jack.
"I do not know, Captain. Mr. Nickson has not much talk. But perhaps he would answer some questions."
"Is he in the house?"
"Yes, Captain. I noticed he left soon after Mademoiselle, soon enough to see where she went—as he often does these days now His Grace is gone, and Mr. Nickson has not so much to keep him busy. But he is back."
"Ask him to come here," said Manners. He spoke gravely, and as the respectful Togo retired, threw Sanders a puzzled look. "Is there anything in this?" he asked.
"That's what I've been wondering myself," vouchsafed the detective.
"You knew Old Nick was dogging Simone's footsteps?"
"Yes, but I didn't know why. I've been trying to find out."
"How?"
"By having the said footsteps dogged on my own account."
"You've had Simone shadowed?"
"Certainly. But that doesn't necessarily imply suspicion. I'd be a poor sort of chap at my job if I didn't have every servant in the house shadowed."
"Great Scott! And without a word to me or my cousin!"
"I can't bother you two with every detail. Besides, she or you might have objected, and that would have made things awkward all around."
"H'm! I see. Well, where does Simone go?"
"She goes, quite naturally, to a French café where she can drink her native coffee and chat with compatriots in her native tongue."
"Nothing much in that, then, it would seem."
"No. Nothing much. Or—so it 'would seem', as you say."
"All the same you're putting two and two together?"
"That would be a mistake, from my point of view. The great thing is, to see whether two and two put themselves together."
"Shall I come in, sir?" asked the man known to the household as "Old Nick," when his tap on the door left ajar for him had not been answered.
"Yes, come in," said Jack.
"Old Nick" was in reality not old. He might have been anywhere between thirty and forty, and was the typical British soldier turned valet. There was, however, a glint in his eye at times when fixed on a person detested, which made his nickname not inappropriate.
"Togo thinks you may know when Simone is likely to return," Manners explained.
"She generally does about this time, sir. I'm expecting her any minute."
"Is it her movements or Beatty's that interest you?"
Nickson swallowed discreetly. "May I speak out, sir?"
"That's what we want you to do."
"Well, sir, I was with 'is Grice one wye or another all through the war, and there's nobody to me like 'im—never was nor never will be. So there itis! And when 'e just vanished as you might say without so much as tippin' the wink to me, I was dead sure 'e 'adn't gone of 'is own accord. So I sets my wits to work the best I could, and I listens to talk and I reads all that blinkin' newspaper rot. Thinks I, looks as if them beastly pearls has somethin' to say in the business. So I asks meself: 'Oo'swalked off with 'em, if any one, and is 'is Grice doin' a flit in the 'ope of trackin' the bloke down? If them pearls was everinthis 'ouse, they must 'ave gone out again.'Oocould' a' done the trick?' Well, I never trusted Mam'selle the wye 'er Grice did. She 'ad the run o' the plice. It was just on the cards she might o' laid 'er 'ands on the combination for openin' the safe. 'Well, I putsthatin my pipe an' smokes it. Strikes me she goes out a bit more reg'lar for 'er prominides with Beatty since that French Mounseer brought 'is packet o' pearls, than she used to do. So I 'as the curiosity to foller at a respectful distance one dye, an' sees m' lidy step into a French restorong. Not long after, comes along Mounseer of the pearls. I was sent to meet 'im at the dock, but missed 'im there, 'cause o' some mistike about 'is initials w'ere you wites for the Customs men. But I seed 'im 'ere at th' 'ouse later when I comes 'ome to report to 'is Grice. I recognized 'im alright. The question to my mind was w'ether 'e'd chose that restorong 'cause 'twas French or cause o' Mam'selle."
Jack's eyes flashed to Sanders, who smiled.
"You and I have been rivals in this game, Nickson," he remarked. "What conclusion did you come to about Mademoiselle?"
Nickson flushed. "Didn't know I was on your pitch, sir. But if yer asks me, in my opinion 'e comes for'er. Or else she comes for'im."
"A cat may look at a king!" said Sanders. "They're compatriots. Why shouldn't they meet?"
"On the other 'and, w'yshouldthey?" ventured Nickson. "Iwouldn't if I was 'im. And see 'ere, sir, beggin' your pardon, I know you're a detective, in a privit wye. I've told you all I done. But t'ain't all Iwantto do. I want to find 'is Grice. If you and the Captain make any frontal attack, so to speak, will you tike me along? I'd give my life for th' Dook. And I might come in 'andy, 'oo knows?"
"Who knows, indeed?" echoed Sanders. "But you shall have the chance of finding out when the time comes. And it may come soon—any day, any hour, even any minute. Now, if you think Mademoiselle's due back, I suggest that you leave us, as we've sent for her here. If there's anything in your suspicions, we don't want her to smell a rat."
"Right you are, sir, and thank you, sir!" said Nickson. "I'll be off and leave all clear."
"So, you actually suspect Simone?AndDefasquelle!" Jack turned on Sanders when they were alone.
"I can't go as far as that—yet. There's no evidence against them—not even circumstantial. There's no crime in a flirtation between a man and woman, both of theMidi, thrown together in a foreign land. I meant to spring this on you only when or if I had cause to be sure. Up to date, my indoors man at Rudin's—that's the French place in Twelfth Street where they meet—hasn't been able to overhear a word between the two, though he speaks French. He's acting as a waiter there now. He has instructions to ring me up if he gets onto anything queer. And I always leave word at home and the office where I'm going to be."
This conversation, following Lyda's letter, had keyed up Manners' nerves. He started as rather a sharp knock sounded on the door.
It was Simone. She was very neat andchic, and led Beatty, whose bored look suggested that he had been denied his proper share of exercise.
"Monsieur le Capitaine!" she purred; and bowed discreetly to the detective. "Togo says Monsieur has asked for me the moment I am home. I come. But the dog——"
"Never mind the dog!" Sanders caught the word from Jack. "We've some questions to ask you, Mademoiselle. Please stay where you are."
His tone was rough, and he had put on a professional, hectoring air. There had been no time to arrange a plan of action, but Manners guessed what was in Sanders' mind. He meant to try scaring Simone; and he wanted to do it off his own bat. Jack trusted him, and was willing to keep out of the business. Though the Frenchwoman's black eyes appealed to him—as her mistress's relative—against the rude stranger, he sat still and lit a cigarette.
"To begin with, where's the Duchess?"
"At a rehearsal, Monsieur, of an entertainment Madame van Esten has got up. Mademoiselle Pavoya will——"
"We don't want to hear about her. The Duchess isn't at the rehearsal."
"Then I do not know where she is. It is her affair, not mine." Simone looked the picture of injured innocence.
"Perhaps youdon'tknow," agreed Sanders. "But you see, you've made so many of her affairs your affairs, it's hard to tell where you draw the line."
The French maid turned pale in rather a repulsive way she had, beginning at the lips, which she bit to keep their colour. From her looks she might have been furious—or frightened.
"I do not understand you, Monsieur," she almost spat.
"That doesn't matter much. What does matter is, we understandyou."
Under her black-dotted veil Simone's olive sallowness greened. "Monsieur accuses me of—something?" Sanders grinned with the utmost cruelty. "Well, what do you think?"
"I think a person has perhaps told lies about me, Monsieur!"
"Ah!" the detective leapt in his chair as if he had caught her—as if she had given him a chance for which he'd waited. "Ah! What's the name of that person?"
The Frenchwoman began to feel sick. Her fears, though acute, had been vague. Suddenly they became definite. She floundered. So much depended on saying the right thing that she was terribly afraid of saying the wrong one. She glanced at Captain Manners again, but he had taken up a paper. To her horror it was theInner Circle, which Sanders had bought and brought in to discuss. Her knees turned to water. She could not help giving a faint gasp. Her eyes were fixed on the "Whisperer's" page, which was held up—as if purposely. Both men saw the stare: and into the minds of both sprang the same thought.
Jack had had it before. He had even hinted it to Juliet, who laughed it to scorn, and remarked that she knew Simone better than he could possibly know her. Sanders had had the thought, and mentioned it to Manners. But there was no proof; and the Frenchwoman's "shadower" had never seen her go to the office of theInner Circle. As for letters—Sanders had put Togo onto watching for them. Simone had sent out none at all from the house. Yet now that one bleak glare at the open paper, and both men were as sure as if the woman had confessed.
"You think your editor has been talking, eh?" the detective said. "That's as may be. Anyhow, weknow."
The telephone bell rang. Jack took up the receiver. "Yes, Mr. Sanders is here," he replied to some question. "He'll speak with you in a second. Hold the line."
Sanders bounded to the 'phone. "Yes—yes—good!" were the only words he said. But Jack knew he was speaking to his man at the café. Then he turned again to Simone. "Come here and call your friend Defasquelle," he sharply ordered. "Tell him he must turn up at his house at once or there'll be a disaster for you both."
Simone grasped the back of a chair, and clung to it. "I cannot, Monsieur," she gulped. "I know Monsieur Defasquelle only by seeing him here. I——"
"Don't waste words," Sanders cut her short. "It'll be the worse for you if you do. You've just been with him now, at Rudin's. Call him up at his hotel."
"If—if I will not?" she stammered.
"Do you want to go to prison while he's left free—tomarry his girl in Marseilles?"
That was a chance shot, but it found its billet.
"Hehasno girl in Marseilles!" Simone shrilled.
"Oh, yes, he has. I have hisdossierfrom the Paris police. If you get him here and make him tell the truth, I promise you that marriage won't take place."
"I will call him," said Simone, sickly pale. She flitted across the room to the telephone.
Sanders rubbed his hands, and nodded to Jack. But Jack was glancing at his wrist-watch.
"What am I to do?" he asked the detective in a low voice. "The time's almost here for me to keep my appointment with Mademoiselle Pavoya."
"Go to it!" said Sanders. "I'm equal to Simone and Defasquelle. Now I've got proof enough to bluff on—my waiter man 'phoned that the pair were talking about the pearls and apparently blackguarding each other! I'll strip them of their secrets like a tree of ripe fruit. But look here, I have a 'hunch' that there's more in thisInner Circlebusiness than meets the eye. Simone's been a catspaw. There may be wheels within wheels. When you go to meet Mademoiselle Pavoya take my tip and accept Old Nick's offer."
"What, have him with me?"
"Yes, wherever Pavoya sends you."
"She may not send me anywhere."
"I think she will send you somewhere. Meanwhile, I'll pump Simone and Defasquelle dry. When you get back I may have the pearls in pink cotton!"
Manners was torn. He wished to hear what Simone said over the telephone. He wished to stay and witness the scene through between her, Defasquelle, and Sanders. But most of all he wished not to be late for Lyda.Nothingwas worth that!
Jack arrived at the theatre just after Lyda had finished rehearsing a dance which she herself had arranged for the charity fête with Mrs. Van Esten's spoiled little girl.
Mademoiselle Pavoya was in her dressing room, he was told, and was expecting him. He went there quickly, afraid of being caught by someone he knew on the way, and forced to stop and talk nonsense, for the place was like a rabbit-warren—alive with pretty women and men who thought they were Society incarnate.
Lyda wore the swan costume she had worn the first night of their meeting—or one much like it; and the thought of that wonderful night thrilled him. How had he lived before that time? Yet he had gone out of her presence to doubt her truth, her honour! Never could he forgive himself for that, never could he worship her quite enough to make up for those hours of disloyalty.
She held out her hands to him, and he crushed first one then the other against his lips. "My Swan Goddess!" he exclaimed. "You're too marvellous like this. I can hardly believe you're flesh and blood—that I'm not dreaming you. I love you so much!"
She drew her hands away, and pushed him back when he would have taken her in his arms, wings and all.
"Perhaps youaredreaming me!" she smiled, "Dreaming the woman you think I am. And—you're not to dothat! My hands only!"
"Yet you said you cared! You said you'd never felt for any man as you felt when our eyes first met."
"Ah, I said that when you'd confessed doubting me, and begged forgiveness, and vowed that nothing on earth or in heaven—or the other place—could ever make you doubt again. I owed you some confession in return."
"Then itwastrue?"
"Yes, it was true——"
"And is still?"
"But—of course! I do not change. Yet we are to be friends and nothing more until all is made clear—until even your cousin believes in me and doesn't think you'd be better dead than loving Lyda Pavoya. If that day could ever come!"
"It will come—soon. Oh, Lyda, remember that first night—at your house. You let me hold you in my arms then."
"But that was as afriend. You understood, I know! I was so stirred, so hard pressed, I wanted protection from someone sincere. And you were the sincerest man I ever saw."
"Yes, I did understand. I do now. And—I won't bother you, Lyda—though it's hard work, this friendship business to a man who worships a beautiful woman as I worship you. But it's a bargain: friendship till—the day. May it be to-morrow!"
"Amen!" she echoed, with one of her fleeting smiles that came so seldom. "Now let us talk not of ourselves but of your cousin. We ought to have begun with her!"
"No!"
"Yes. Because there may be danger. I'll tell you quickly all I know. You have met a friend—an acquaintance—of mine, the Comtesse de Saintville?"
"Oh, yes—wife of a diplomat of sorts, isn't she? I've heard you were intimate."
"That isn't true; but she has Polish blood, and for that or some other reason she likes to come to my house. I have been able to do her a good turn now and then. I wouldn't tell this to any one except you,mon ami, but she's a great bridge player, and loses more money than she ought. Lately she got into a bad—what you call scrape. She asked me to lend her a thousand dollars (you see, she dared not let her husband know!) but I couldn't. It was when I was putting aside everysoufor Markoff. I could do nothing except promise to help later. I do not love Sonia de Saintville, yet I am sorry for her. I was afraid that in desperation she would do some stupid thing! The other day I had a windfall. A friend in Paris who'd borrowed fifty thousand francs sent it back to me. I'd never expected to see the money again! So I 'phoned Sonia that now I could let her have the thousand dollars. She answered that a thousand would no longer be of use. But two thousand would save her. From the way she spoke, I understood that things were very grave. I said she should have the two thousand. She came to my house and I gave it to her in notes. I hadn't seen her for days, and she was looking ill—changed. I spoke kindly to the poor thing, and she broke down. It is the confession she made which will interest you, my friend. You would never guess! She had got into the power of thatInner Circleband."
"They were blackmailing her?"
"Yes, in a queer way. Did you ever suspect that Mr. Lowndes—'Billy Lowndes' I hear him called—was for something in that paper?"
"Good lord, no!Billy Lowndes!—Not that I ever liked him. But I didn't think he was as big a rotter as that! He was in love with my cousin Juliet, hard hit, before she married. And by a sort of coincidence Lowndes' sister Emmy—Lady West (you may have met her war-working in Paris or London)—made rather an ass of herself over Claremanagh."
"Perhaps that partly explains—some things, if we can patch them together. Listen! It was at Mrs. Billy Lowndes', Sonia said, that she lost most of her money. There's a set there that plays very high. They make the Lowndes' flat a sort of private club. Sonia was dunned—and frightened of her husband. Billy Lowndes offered to lend her the whole lot. She thought, how good-natured! But soon she learned it was not goodness. He wanted something. The condition was that she should get the Duchess of Claremanagh to go and consult a palmist, crystal-gazer person, a Madame Veno. Did you ever hear of her?"
"No. Yes! By Jove, her name's on the building of theInner Circle! The plot thickens."
"But how?"
"Oh, Sanders and I have caught my cousin Juliet's maid. We're sure it's she who gave away things to the 'Whisperer.' Sanders is putting her through the 'third degree' now. I couldn't stop to hear it out. I was due here. Besides, it looks as if the woman—Simone—was mixed up in the disappearance of the pearls, with the chap who brought them from France—Defasquelle. Perhaps this Veno person is in the affair, too. And the whole business may be one—with ramifications."
"That is what I've wondered—since Sonia confessed to-day what they made her do. She was to go to the Duchess, and tell her that Madame Veno had seen Claremanagh in the crystal—that she could help her find him. Sonia suspected something queer. She was sure at once that Lowndes was on that horrid paper—perhaps editor—of that vile 'Whisperer'. And she'd heard the story about his being in love with your cousin when she was Miss Phayre. So she told him she couldn't do this commission. Then Lowndes lost all his good nature. He threatened that the 'Whisperer' of theInner Circlemight get some new material from him to whisper about: that there'd be paragraphs hinting of her debts and the ruin of her husband's career. That would have been the end of all things for Sonia! So she consented, after all. She called on the Duchess and told her that Madame Veno wanted to see her."
"When was that?"
"Three days ago."
"Juliet never breathed a word to Sanders or me. She left us in the dark."
"She would! Most women would. I should have let you know before, but Sonia told me only to-day. I wrote at once and asked you to come."
"Thank you, my White Swan. Many women in your place would have sat still and let poor Juliet go to the devil for treating you in the cattish way she has."
"I've no grudge against her! I should have done so in her place, if—if the man had been you, instead of Claremanagh."
"Darling! You expect to keep me at arms' length after that?"
"Yes—yes! Listen. The Duchess went to Madame Veno."
"How do you know?"
"The Veno woman herself was to inform Sonia if she didn't turn up. In that case Sonia was to urge the Duchess. She—Sonia, I mean—was forced to go to Veno's place as if to have her hand read, becausetheywouldn't risk anything in writing. Luckily she had to make only one visit, because the very first time she was told the Duchess had been there. She was to come again on the third day. That was all arranged, though Sonia imagined that the Duchess didn'tknowthis. She was to think the arrangement was made later. But the third day is to-day. Sonia thought the first call the Duchess made was late in the afternoon, and something was dropped about the 'same hour next time'. I believe she must be at Veno's at this moment. And if thoseInner Circlepeople are in the thing, and it's a plot of some sort——"
"I'll go there now!"
"What, to theInner Circleoffice?"
"Not first, anyhow. Maybe later. That depends! But now, to Madame Veno's."
"Oh, I'm worried!" Lyda put out her hands, and laid them on his khaki-clad arms. "They say theseInner Circlepeople may be a nest of crooks!"
"I don't doubt 'they' are right for once! But I'm not going alone."
"I thought your detective was busy with the maid and the pearl carrier."
"He is. But you know Old Nick? You must! You couldn't have known Pat without Old Nick."
"Good Old Nick! Of course I know him—since Paris, when Claremanagh was ill at my house."
"Well, Nick's going 'over the top' with me, as a volunteer. I don't know whether I shall find anything for him to do, but if so, he'll be ready!"
"Yes—yes! He'd do anything for Claremanagh."
"And even for Claremanagh's wife. Good-bye, my darling. Wish me luck."
"I do—I do."
"A kiss to speed the wish?"
"No. Only my hand. Wait!"
"How long—in God's name?"
"Till—the Duke's found—and the pearls."
"Tell her two gentlemen for a consultation," Jack Manners announced at Madame Veno's door, Nickson at his heels.
"Madame can see no more clients this afternoon, sir," replied the neat woman in black silk. "She closes for business at six, and——"
"It's not six yet," cut in Jack.
"No, sir, but she has a lady with her now. I have orders to receive no one else."
"Can't you forget those orders, and persuade her to make an exception for us?" As he spoke, Manners took from his pocket a cigarette-case and extracted from it a twenty-dollar bill.
It would have been simple—physically—to push past the spinster-like person in black, but Jack could more easily have got over a high stone wall. Luckily she liked the look of the bank-note.
"I might try, sir," she hesitated. "If trying's worth twenty dollars to you."
"It is," he replied, promptly.
The money changed hands.
The woman in black silk ceased to bar the entrance with her neat person.
Jack walked into the flat, Nickson after him.
Again there was hesitation. Evidently their guide was not sure where she ought to put them. Jack imagined that he could read her thoughts. She feared to lead the forbidden visitors into the ordinary waiting-room. Either there was someone there, or something that ought not to be seen; or the room was next the one where Madame Veno was with her "last client"—Juliet! In that case, words might be overheard through a wall or door.
As he and Nick were invited into a dining room, Manners counted three doors on the opposite side of the hall, all closed. Behind one of those he believed Juliet to be hidden at that moment, probably in process of being blackmailed. He made up his mind quickly as to a plan of action, already half-decided on between Nickson and himself.
"We're in no great hurry, so long as we see Madame sooner or later," he told the woman who had let them in. "We wouldn't think of having you interrupt her."
"Oh! I shouldn't dare dothat, sir!" she broke in, pocketing the twenty dollars. As she spoke, Jack caught a glance of awed respect which she cast across the corridor.
"The middle door," he said to himself.
"Of course not," he said, aloud. "We'll wait. How'll you know when the client goes?"
"I expect Madame will ring for me to open the front door, and let the lady out. That's what she usually does."
"Very well, when the lady's gone speak for us."
Perhaps the black-silk woman wondered why the nice young gentleman hadn't given her ten dollars to try, and a promise of ten more if she succeeded. But that was his affair. Personally, she didn't expect to succeed. She was not acquainted with Madame's private business, but there was certainly something of the first importance "on" this afternoon. No clients had been admitted since four o'clock except the beautiful blonde young lady who had announced herself the other day as the Duchess of Claremanagh or some name like that. Before she was due two gentlemen had come up and hadn't given their names. But Madame had expected them, and they were still with her when the Duchess arrived. The black-silk woman had seen those gentlemen before, though never together. She had not much curiosity about them, for she was not of a curious disposition. That, Madame said, was one reason why she had engaged her. She had been a stewardess on board ship, but had disliked the sea, especially during the war, when she had been torpedoed once. Madame had crossed with her on three occasions, and the last time had offered her this place. Some things she had seen had surprised and even shocked her a little, but she was well paid, and dry land was a good deal better than that nasty grey wet thing, the sea!
She felt that she had done right in putting these two new gentlemen into the dining room. If Madame firmly refused to see them, they might possibly be smuggled away without her knowing they had actually been let into the flat.
"That elderly party isn't going to stay on watch," Jack said to Nickson, when they had been shut into the commonplace little room where Madame Veno ate her meals. "There's no uneasy curiosity in that meek make-up."
"That's wot I was thinkin' myself, sir," agreed Old Nick.
"We're in luck so far," Jack went on. "It's time to begin reconnoitring." He went to the door. "If that decent body is in the hall, I shall ask her what time it is, and say my watch has gone slow—which is more than my heart has!"
Nickson grinned.
Jack peered out into the white-and-red corridor. Nobody was there. The red glass lamp suspended from the ceiling looked to him like a mass of clotted blood.
He took two steps across to the middle door, and listened. Then he returned hastily to Nick. "They're in there! I heard the Duchess's voice. Sounds as if she were angry or frightened, or both. And there are two or more men. You and I have got to open the door, locked or unlocked."
"That's it, sir!" said Nickson. "But it won't be locked. Why should it? They don't suspect nothin', and if there's two men, 'er Grice couldn't get past 'em. You let me make a dash and see wot 'appens, sir!"
"No," Jack decided, "the dash is my job. You stand by, and if there's any dashing from the wrong side of the door, you'll know how to stop it, male or female."
"Yes, sir!"
Manners went again to the middle door. As he moved, Nickson closed in behind him, a substantial bulk, and in his eyes the light which made "Old Nick" his right name. He stood in such a position that if any one rushed for the front door or even some back exit, escape could be made only over his body. He saw that Captain Manners took hold of the doorknob with his left hand. The right hand was in the outer pocket of his coat, and Nickson knew what else was there. A similar thing was in a similar pocket of his own coat. It had been given to him by the Captain, whom he now liked and respected next to the Duke.
Suddenly Manners turned the handle and flung the door wide open with such violence that it struck the wall. He strode into the room. Nickson blocked the doorway, but seeing with one glance that there was a door leading to another room, he took a step back to guard both.
It was a very green room—green as arsenic, he thought—lighted by one lamp, like a big emerald, on a centre table. Looking in from across the threshold, however, Nick could see four figures besides Manners'. There was the Duchess, tall and strangely white in a black dress and wide hat. There was another woman without a hat, also in black; a big, common hussy she looked to Nickson, with an eye like a fierce snake's. And there were two men.
About the pair an odd thing was that they had some thin black stuff tied over their faces. Captain Manners went for one man—the one who seemed to show fight, and when the other (who hadn't spied Nick yet) made for the door, Nick received him in open arms.
The big woman squealed, and the Duchess shrank back against the wall, then started forward again.
"Oh, Jack!" she cried, "they mustn't be killed! They know where Pat is. They say if they aren't back there soon, someone will put an end to him!"
Nick saw the woman, Madame Veno, he didn't doubt, spring for the electric-light button, but dragging his man with him, he was upon her like a tiger. One hand was enough for the man, who must have been a coward for he splashed about like a jelly with Nick's fist in his collar. The other hand seized Madame's arm as it was stretched out, and twisted it sharply. She gave a shriek, and sat down on the floor. Then Nick became conscious of a stealthy intelligence in the jelly. It was feeling toward his pocket,thepocket. But before the groping fingers reached their goal Nick had snatched out the Browning, and pressed the muzzle against a crape-covered forehead.
There wasn't much time for looking round just then, but Nickson had done observation work in the war. The sixth of a second showed him that Captain Manners had reached this identical stage in his programme: which meant that each had a man at his mercy.
"Take your mask off," ordered Jack.
"Same to you, my beauty," echoed Nick.
The two obeyed.
"Bill Lowndes!" cried Manners.
"Know this brute, sir?" enquired Nick.
"I do!" Juliet gasped. "Oh! you horrid wretch! And Bill Lowndes! I shouldn't have dreamed——"
"They're nightmares, both of 'em," broke in Jack. "Now, Juliet, don't be scared. That's all rot about Pat being done away with. Nick and I are going to save time by making these—theseskunks—tell us where he is. But we've a minute or so to spare. They've kept Pat safe, I bet, for the sake of the ransom they meant to get out of you. There's a third-degree stunt going on in your house. Sanders is grilling Defasquelle and Simone. It all comes back to this building that's like the web of a black spider—theInner Circle—and we'll repeat that third-degree stunt here. Who's this man you call a wretch?"
"His name's Piggott," Juliet panted. "He—was editor of a hateful paper in London—Modern Ways—almost as vile as theInner Circle. Emmy West introduced me to him. She said he wasn't bad really—if I'd meet him he'd put nice things in his paper instead of horrors—especially about Pat. I said 'Yes' for Pat's sake—Emmy insisted so. He came to Harridge's, where I was staying, but before he or I had time to speak, Pat was shown in. He gave one look, and begged me to go out—to leave this man to him. I had never seen Pat like that—and I went. I never even heard the wretch's voice or I'd have recognized it, I think. He came here and talked to me three days ago—with this mask on. Now Bill Lowndes comes with him. I don't know yet how or why he should be mixed up——"
"I do," said Jack. "It's because they're both concerned with theInner Circle, on the floor below. They've had Simone in their pay, selling them news, and as for the pearls——"
"Oh! if you'll let my husband go, I'll tell you everything!" wailed Madame Veno; stumbling up from the floor. "That's my husband, Sam Piggott. He's got nothing to do with theInner Circle, except a little interest he's bought, because the owner is my step-brother. I'm English, and Sam's Irish, and our being in this business is an accident. It was all the Duke's fault and Markoff's fault——"
"Shut your mouth," grunted the big man whom Old Nick held—a man few others could have held at all.
"Shut yours—that's more to the point!" said Nickson. Apparently he meant the pistol's point. And Piggott was silenced.
"Will you let him go if I tell you things?" repeated the woman, shuddering at Nick's gesture.
"That depends on how much you can tell," decided Jack, coolly.
"I can telleverything," she moaned.
"Begin by telling where the Duke is."
Both men started, but collapsed. Madame Veno choked and went on:
"He's in a room downstairs—in the basement. He's been there all the time. What happened was like this: The Duke came one night to the office—I mean of theInner Circle. He'd heard the editor would be there. I may as well tell you he'd got an anonymous letter to say so. It was found in his pocket. The Duchess's maid or Mademoiselle's French pal is sure to have sent it, wanting to get the Duke out of their way. And theydidget him out! It was the night of the first 'Whisper' about the pearls and Pavoya calling at the Phayre house. The Duke got into the place by a trick—sent word by an office boy that he had information to give. He was let into a room divided by a partition from the one where my step-brother was—the editor. You have to say what you've got to say by telephone there. You don't see any one. But the Duke guessed who was on the other side. He put the chair on the table, and climbed up, so he could get over the partition. He'd wrenched off the receiver from the 'phone, to hit my step-brother with. When he was going for him my husband heard the row, and ran in from another room. He didn't make any noise, but came up from behind and cracked the Duke over the back of the head with a big ruler. He had a right to do that, because the Duke horsewhipped him publicly in London for what he'd published inModern Ways, and spoiled England for us both. That's why we came to New York, and I took over the 'Madame Veno' business. I was 'Madame Ayesha' in Bond Street, and wore Egyptian dress. I told you it was an accident we were mixed up in this. It wasn't my husband's fault. Hehadto defend his brother-in-law against a cowardly attack like that!
"As for Mr. Lowndes, he hated the Duke for marrying Miss Phayre—just as Lady West (who used to send us lots of news about folks she didn't like in London and Paris) hated Miss Phayre for marrying the Duke. Mr. Lowndes is one of the 'Whisperer' lot. I mean he's one of several men who put together the 'Whisperer' stuff that comes out under one name. He was in the office that night, and so was Markoff the Russian! Your private detective was after Markoff——"
"More about him and the others by-and-by," Manners cut her short almost gently, "Nick, would you like the job of going down to look for the Duke?"
"I would that, sir!" Nickson answered. "I'll give this big chap a smash the way he did 'is Grice, and put him out o' count for while I'm way."
"No need for that. See if he's armed."
Nickson "went through" his prisoner's pockets. There was only a pocket-knife, for Piggott and Lowndes had expected to meet no one more formidable than the Duchess of Claremanagh.
Lowndes was also unarmed.
"That's all right," pronounced Jack. "I and a Browning can keep the pair and Madame, too, in order. No, on second thoughts take her down with you. She'll show you the way, won't you, Madame?"
"Needs must, when the Devil drives," she snapped.
"Thanks for the compliment," laughed Jack. "If any one knows the gentleman by sight, it must be you!"
"I shall go with them," Juliet said.
"Of course!" agreed Manners.
Madame Veno turned and glared at her. "You gave us away in spite of your promise. You deserve to see what youwillsee down there. A dead man—killed by your husband. You'll save your dear Duke only to have him sent to the chair."
Juliet gave her look for look. "I didn't give you away. I did not dream my cousin was coming here! And I'd know by your face, even if I didn't know Claremanagh, that he has killed no man. If there's a dead man where my husband is, someone else committed the murder."
"Hear, hear! your Grice!" shouted Nickson, before he could remember to be respectful.
Suddenly Juliet heard herself laughing. Then she began to sob: "Oh, Pat—Pat! Nick, take me to him!"
Nickson flung Piggott across the room, and grabbed Madame Veno by the arm.
The next thing the Duchess knew, the door had shut behind them. Jack was left alone with the two men. But Juliet had forgotten Jack.
Madame Veno—alias Mrs. Sam Piggott—had a key to the door of the janitor's flat. She, her husband, and their associates could come and go as they chose when the janitor was away or upstairs.
"You won't get anything out of your husband," she said to Juliet as the three went down, she leading with mingled defiance and reluctance. "He hasn't come back to his senses yet. It wasn't so much the blow—mind you, my husband was within his rights, defending his brother-in-law from assault!—it wasn't the blow so much as the fall. The Duke fell on the back of his head. It was concussion. We had a doctor in—a friend of ours we could trust. And we weren't going to let you know till we were sure he was out of danger—ready to be moved. If he has to stand his trial for killing Markoff, why——"
"How does a man with concussion of the brain commit murder?" Juliet's question stabbed like a stiletto. By this time they were at the door of the basement flat, and Madame Veno was fumbling with a bunch of keys, Nickson's eyes upon her hands.
"Naturally the killing was done before the concussion," Madame sneered. "The Duke hated Markoff because of Pavoya. Perhaps he had reason. But that won't help him with a jury!"
Juliet could have struck the woman and trampled her under foot. She turned upon her in the dimly lit passage so fiercely that the nervous fingers jumped and let fall the key. "You fool!" the Duchess said. "You told me I should see a dead man here. Yet according to your own story my husband was struck down the night after I saw him last. One doesn't keep a dead man in a flat for weeks!"
Madame Veno drew in a sharp breath, and mumbled something which Juliet could not hear. It was easy to deduce that the story of Markoff's death by Claremanagh's hand was an impromptu effort—an inspiration which didn't quite "come off!" The woman had suddenly caught at a desperate chance. The Duke, having lost all memory of events, could be made to believe what they chose about himself. And if the Duchess and her friends could be got to credit the tale, the Markoff affair would be simplified.
He had been known to Madame's husband and stepbrother for years, even before the war, when he had fedModern Waysin London and theInner Circlein New York with rich titbits of scandal concerning the Russian Court. He had told Piggott that Russia had a grievance against the Claremanagh family in connection with the Tsarina pearls; that this treasure ought to be returned to the Crown; and Piggott had suspected that Markoff was "out" to get it if he could. This visit of his to New York was for some reasonsub rosa. His passport was made out for a merchant of skins named Halbin; but he had called upon his two old acquaintances and offered for sale the most intimate personal secrets of Trotsky and Lenin. The brothers-in-law had guessed that he wanted the Tsarina pearls for himself, if they could be got, as he had once pretended to want them for the Russian Crown. So, when by amazing luck they found themselves in possession of the famous rope, their first thought was to bargain with Markoff-Halbin. He had risen to the bait, and had made an offer. It sounded satisfactory, but the money was not forthcoming. A "friend" was to produce it. Meanwhile, when it was learned through the "leak" at the Duchess's that Sanders sought Markoff, shelter was given him; also the "benefit of the doubt." But little doubt remained when he tried to steal the pearls! As for the consequences of this attempt, they were upon the man's own head! And at worst, the doctor would certify that death had not been the direct result of a blow, but of heart failure.
The end had come the day before the Duchess was invited to Madame Veno's; and had it not come, Madame de Saintville might have been left in peace till her help was wanted in some other direction. With Markoff dead, and his problematic "offer" wiped from the slate, the best remaining hope was the Duchess. Claremanagh would not be able to testify against the man who had struck him down—would not even know that Sam Pigott had revenged himself at last for the caning episode in London. He and the pearls could be handed over to the Duchess; price, a million dollars; and no one would ever know where and how he had spent those weeks missing from his calendar.
The scheme had been in fine working order up to the moment when that middle door had suddenly opened! Madame Veno thought bitterly of the mistake they had all made in sending for the Duchess. The thing might surely have been managed in another way! But it was useless to cry over spilt milk—a million dollars' worth of spilt milk! They must be grateful if the Enemy held his tongue, and they kept out of jail.
She laughed when the Duchess called aloud, "Pat! Where are you? It's Juliet, who loves you." She was so sure that the cry would be answered by silence, for there was a dead man in one room, an unconscious man in another. But there was no laugh left in her when Claremanagh's voice rang out, clear and sane, "Hullo, my darling! Here I am!"
He had been shamming, then! How much had he heard? How much could he tell?How much did he remember?
Juliet flew in the direction of the beloved voice. It was heaven to hear it after the hell she had suffered! There were two doors opposite each other. She tried the first. Locked! But the key was there. It turned, and she threw the door open only to slam it shut with a stifled gasp—for on the bed was a long shape covered with a sheet. It was the body of Markoff, of whom she had heard so much of late from Jack and Sanders, though till now—when he had ceased to live—she'd hardly believed in his existence.
Again Pat called. She realized that he was in the room opposite, and in less than a minute she was with him—in a grey room where a pale Pat lay in a squalid bed. He sat up, a strange, unkempt figure: the immaculate Claremanagh unshaven, his smooth hair rumpled; a torn shirt open at the throat, instead of those smart silk pyjamas in "Futurist" colours which she'd often smiled at and admired!
She rushed into his arms. He was strong enough to clasp her tight. "Oh, my Pat, my dearest one!" she sobbed. "I have you again! Say you're not going to die. Say you still love me!"
"I adore you. And I'm not going to die. Perhaps I came near it. I don't know. But this is new life. And, Juliet—I've got back the pearls far you!"
"Oh—the pearls! I'd forgotten them."
"I hadn't. You see, it meant a lot to me to prove to you that it wasn't I who walked off with them. Darling, I suppose you wouldn't be here now if you didn't know how I got to this place?"
"I know partly. I know you went at night to theInner Circleoffice to punish that Beast. And the horrible London man, Piggott—his brother-in-law—struck you from behind——"
"Was it like that? I wasn't sure what happened, and I don't know yet where I am. But since I woke up to things, I've lain still, and listened when they thought I was nothing but a log. I wasn't strong enough to do much. I had to lie low! But there was a row about the pearls. Markoff was here—hiding, I think. How these people got the pearls I haven't made out. They had them, though—and Markoff tried to steal them instead of buying as he'd promised. He fell in a fit or something, and died. I heard a doctor talking—a pal of the people here. The night Markoff died they were squabbling over the pearls, a woman and two men in the next room. I heard them say where they were kept—in the room where they'd put Markoff's body till they could get rid of it. They'd no idea I'd come alive. At last, to-day when they were all out, and the coast clear—it can't have been two hours ago—I struggled up and got the pearls—beneath a loose board in the floor under the carpet. They're inside this mattress now. I was planning how to make my 'getaway' when I heard your voice. Jove! This has been a bad dream. But thank God it's over for us both. You'll have to believe in me when I give you the pearls."
"Give me your love—your forgiveness," begged Juliet. "I want nothing else."
"You'll have to take the lot!" Pat almost laughed. "But as to forgiveness—why, darling one, there's nothing to forgive!"
Leon Defasquelle's look, when he saw Sanders instead of the Frenchwoman alone, was in itself a confession. He knew he was trapped. His dark, southern face faded to the yellow green of seasickness. Speechless, anxious-eyed as a kicked dog, he would have backed to the door, but Sanders was ready for that. He stepped between him and the hope of escape. "It's all up, my friend," the detective said, in his quiet voice. Then, remembering that Defasquelle had little English, he went on in half-forgotten school French, a little slang thrown in from novels he'd read.
"Yourchère amiehas split on you. No good getting out the pistol from your pocket. Nothing doing in that line!" (He showed his Browning.) "We can settle this business without blood if you've got common sense."
"That woman—that devil has told her side of the story!" Defasquelle raged, with a look that longed to kill. "Now you shall have mine. She was the temptress. She has ruined me."
"Liar!" shrilled Simone. "Coward and deceiver! You have afiancéein Marseilles. You let me think you'd marry me!"
"You threatened to betray! I had to defend myself. You made me a thief!"
"Ah, accuseme!"
"Because you are guilty!"
It was thus that Sanders heard the story, bit by bit. And patching together these torn rags of recrimination he got the pattern of the whole cloth.
Simone had scraped acquaintance with her countryman. He had complained of the Duke's carelessness and lack of consideration in refusing to break the seals of the packet. Then a dazzling idea had come to Simone. The packet, Defasquelle said, had been flung into a wall-safe. Simone knew all about that safe! She knew also where the Duchess (as careless in some ways as the Duke) kept the combination jotted down on a bit of paper. Defasquelle could not be suspected (she pointed out), as he had earnestly implored the Duke to open the package in his presence. Nor was there the least danger for herself. She was completely trusted. It would be tempting Providence not to seize such an opportunity of fortune! As for "stealing," that was not the word. These pearls didn't properly belong to the Claremanaghs. They should have been returned to the Russian Crown. Now, there was no Russian crown. The pearls belonged to no one—unless to those with pluck enough to take them.
According to Defasquelle, those were Simone's arguments. And he saw too late that she'd drawn him into the intrigue instead of managing it alone, drawn him in so as to hold him in her power—and get a husband at the sword's point! He, in his heart, had thought of the girl at Marseilles. The one objection to him there was his lack of money. The girl's father accused him of presenting his prospects in too rosy colours. If the pearls could be disposed of as Mademoiselle vowed they could even known as they were, over the world, the future would be ideal.
Simone had opened the safe with the aid of her mistress's memorandum, Defasquelle having gone away and come back again. To their surprise they had found, on the same shelf with the packet, a rope of great blue pearls. At first Defasquelle had taken them for the genuine ones, though the seals on the packet appeared intact. But Simone was an expert in pearls, like the Duchess. A simple test had shown that the rope was a copy. As for the clasp, neither thought of the difference in the watching eye; and it seemed to both that the "find" was almost a miracle in their favour.
The Duchess—argued Simone—was unlikely to suspect a substitution. She would not test the pearls, and might wear them for months or years without guessing that they weren't genuine. Meanwhile, Simone would leave her service, and never need to take a place again. She would go home to France and live on her share from the sale of the pearls.
The Duke being absent, and the Duchess, too, she and Defasquelle could work safely in the study. Simone had some red sealing wax; and the Duke's famous ring lay on the desk where he'd left it after displaying the design to Mayen's messenger. Simone had thought of everything—even to a pair of rubber gloves which she used when cleaning her mistress's gold toilet things. These gloves she had put on before touching the safe, the packet, or the seal ring. And having opened the packet she had made Defasquelle smoke one of the Duke's special brand of cigarettes to scent the handkerchief wrapped round the jewel case. If worst came to worst, and suspicion were excited, let it fall upon the Duke himself, and Lyda Pavoya.
Then, that very night, suspicionhadfallen!
The Duchess had discovered that the pearls were false. Simone had overheard snatches of talk between her and the Duke, and it had seemed well to mention Pavoya's visit in order that Lyda might be suspected from the beginning. Also, Simone had felt it safe to give the whole story to theInner Circle. The Duke and Duchess had quarrelled, so why not? She would get extra pay. And soon she would be leaving the Claremanaghs forever.
One of her first thoughts in connection with the pearls was to hint in the office at having secured a great treasure, to sell for a comparatively low price. If the invisible editor rose to the bait, as Simone hoped he might, she would be saved much trouble and danger: also she would have protection in case of trouble.
She had been right about the bait; but once she was in his power the man put on the screw, and too late Simone regretted applying to him. Defasquelle reproached her bitterly, and they quarrelled, yet he could not break free. Simone held him in chains, as both were held by theInner Circle. The fortune she had visioned dwindled to a few thousand dollars which were all theInner Circlemen would pay for "stolen property." This was maddening, because the fortune would go tothem. There was nothing to do, however, save consent.
It was by Defasquelle's suggestion, Simone vowed, that she'd sent an anonymous letter to the Duke, mentioning an hour when the illusive editor could be found, and at the same time warning the editor himself that violence might be expected. If the Duke were "smashed up" there would be just half the danger to face in future; and Defasquelle owed him a grudge for laughing at his first request which, if granted, would have saved him from temptation.
So there, in its patched design, the great pearl secret lay exposed! Fitted in with the forced confessions from the side of theInner Circle, and from what Claremanagh had overheard, it was complete.
What to do with the guilty ones was the next question.
Sanders being a private detective, not a member of the police, considered that his obligation was to his employers, not to the public. He was going to leave the decision to Captain Manners and the Duchess—who were paying for his services. If they and the Duke wanted to pack the lot to prison, at the price of a big scandal, well and good. If, on the contrary, the culprits were to be let off and silence kept, it was the same to him.
Later, when he learned by telephone from Manners what had happened in theInner Circlebuilding, he did not change his mind. He obeyed instructions and ordered the Duchess's car to go there at once. Fortunately night had fallen and the Duke, in any sort of toilet, could easily be smuggled home.
"Claremanagh has the pearls," 'phoned Jack. "And he'll soon be fit again—the two principal things. These blighters have got a dead man here—Markoff—but they've a doctor's certificate testifying that he died of heart failure. Arrangements have been made to bury him to-morrow. We think, on the whole, that the dead past had best buryitsdead, too! No great crime has actually been done, as it turns out. But the scandal would be great, for a number of innocent ones who don't deserve it. What?"
Sanders grinned quietly. He guessedwhichinnocent one was most in Manners' thoughts!
"Right!" he said. "Though it seems a pity that d—dInner Circleshould get off scot free."
"Oh, I forgot to tell you. It won't. Pat not only found the pearls, but overheard such a lot he's in a position to turn blackmailer. He's held up the rotters. They've had to sign a paper swearing to mend their ways. Lowndes is one of them; there's an Irishman—compatriot of Pat's—from a London rag, who slugged him. And theeditor—Gee! you'dneverguess whohe'sturned out to be."
"But I know!" said the detective.
"Well, anyhow, he's going to transform theInner Circleinto a sort ofInner Shrine, if he keeps his promise. Lord! Won't the next number be a sensation?"
"Yes—make up to the public a bit for losing the truth about the great pearl secret."
Jack laughed joyfully—his first happy laugh for weeks. And then, even from that unblest place, the flat of Madame Veno, he could not omit calling up Lyda, at her house.
She was at home, and answered: "Oh, I'm thankful to hear your voice. Is all well with the Duchess?"
"Yes, also with the Duke."
"He's found?"
"Yes.Andthe pearls. So all's well with everyone except me."
"Why not with you?"
"How can it be till you give me that promise?"
"But—since these things have happened, it's yours already. And—so am I. You aretheman. I amthewoman!"
"My goddess!" cried Jack through the uncongenial telephone. "I'm coming to you the instant I'm free. Juliet and Pat send you their love. You've got all mine already."
THE END
********
BOOKS BYC. N. & A. M. WILLIAMSON
A Soldier of the LegionEveryman's LandIt Happened in EgyptLady Betty Across the WaterLord Loveland Discovers AmericaMy Friend the ChauffeurPrincess VirginiaRosemary in Search of a FatherSecret HistorySet in SilverThe Car of DestinyThe ChaperonThe Golden SilenceThe Great Pearl SecretThe Guests of HerculesThe Heather MoonThe Lightning ConductorThe Lightning Conductor Discovers AmericaThe Lion's MouseThe Motor MaidThe Port of AdventureThe Princess PassesThe Second Latchkey