CHAPTER XIXFALSE WITNESS
Marjoriehanded the menu back to the chef, gave him the completed marketing list, added a few instructions, and made her way to the boudoir. There was no buoyancy in her step, and she looked wretchedly ill as she crossed the threshold into the sunlit room. If Mrs. Fordyce had not been deeply immersed in her own condition, she could hardly have failed to observe the deep circles under Marjorie’s eyes, and the hectic flush in each white cheek. Her sleepless night had left its telltale mark.
“How are you feeling, Mrs. Fordyce?” asked Marjorie, walking over to the couch on which the older woman was lying propped up with pillows.
“Better, thank you; if this old heart of mine only stops palpitating I will be up and about again in no time. Sit down by me, dear,” and Marjorie took a chair by the couch.
“Don’t you think I had better call off the dinner tonight?” she said.
“No, indeed,” with emphasis. “These heart attacks are not serious.” Marjorie, perceiving the blueness of her lips and her gray pallor, thoughtdifferently, and her heart ached for her gentle benefactress. She longed to take Mrs. Fordyce into her confidence, to tell her all her doubts and fears; but how could she tell the story of the thefts implicating Janet to the mother who adored her? “Janet has set her heart on having this dinner, and I cannot disappoint the child,” went on Mrs. Fordyce.
“But I don’t think Janet will enjoy entertaining while you are ill,” said Marjorie.
“Tut! Just an indisposition; don’t alarm the child,” sharply.
“I wouldn’t think of doing it,” protested Marjorie. “I only feared the sound of the guests’ voices might disturb you.”
“Not a bit of it; this house is soundproof,” smiled Mrs. Fordyce. “There was a time when I reveled in dinners and dances; now I have to take my fun by proxy—don’t begrudge me the crumbs.”
“Oh, Mrs. Fordyce!” Marjorie’s shocked voice brought another smile to her companion’s lips.
“There, there, dearie,” she patted Marjorie’s hand affectionately. “Don’t worry about a worn-out shell. Calderon has sent for a trained nurse; not that I need one, but the idea seemed to give him some comfort.”
“And of course you agreed.”
“Naturally; when you are married, my dear, you will soon discover that matrimony is made up of mutual concessions; that is, if you wish to stay married to the same man. Tell me, is there any truth in the report of your engagement....” Marjorie’sfingers tightened on the hand she was holding, then slowly loosened.... “to Captain Nichols?”
“Tom!” Her surprise was so pronounced that Mrs. Fordyce smiled to herself. “Why, he’s just like an elder brother.”
“Ah, then you are heart-whole and fancy free?” But Marjorie treated the sentence as a remark and not as a question, and Mrs. Fordyce continued pleasantly. “Enough of intimate affairs today. Will you go through the morning mail and use your judgment about the answers to the invitations?”
Marjorie picked up the pile of letters on the table and rose.
“Are you——?” she stumbled in her speech, and Mrs. Fordyce eyed her in some surprise. “Are you quite satisfied with me?” and under her lingerie waist her heart pounded painfully as she awaited Mrs. Fordyce’s answer which was somewhat long in coming.
“Absolutely satisfied,” acknowledged Mrs. Fordyce, and the smile accompanying the words almost broke down Marjorie’s composure. Stooping, she kissed her warmly, and when she looked up some of the brightness had returned to her face. “I have absolute confidence in you,” added Mrs. Fordyce quietly. “Run along now, dear, and come back when you have finished answering the letters.”
Lighter at heart Marjorie hastened to the library, but on opening the door, she discovered Mr. Calderon Fordyce busy at his desk, and without disturbing him, she slipped back into the hall and soughtthe drawing-room. Going over to the boule cabinet, which she on several occasions had used in an emergency, she proceeded to open and sort Mrs. Fordyce’s correspondence, frequently making entries and looking up dates in an engagement book which she had brought with her. The last letter was in a handwriting which she recognized, and wondering why Mrs. Arnold should send a second invitation to the same person in the same mail, she tore open the envelope.
Dear Mrs. Fordyce, [she read],I am just sending a formal invitation to your daughter to our dinner dance at the Country Club, and I do hope that she can come. I will see that Miss Fordyce is properly chaperoned. Miss Langdon’s presence will not be necessary....
Dear Mrs. Fordyce, [she read],
I am just sending a formal invitation to your daughter to our dinner dance at the Country Club, and I do hope that she can come. I will see that Miss Fordyce is properly chaperoned. Miss Langdon’s presence will not be necessary....
Marjorie dropped the letter and stared vacantly before her. Five days previously Mrs. Arnold had gushingly invited her to the dinner dance, telling her that a written invitation would be sent to her shortly, and begging her not to forget the engagement. What did the sudden change of front portend? “Miss Langdon”—heretofore Mrs. Arnold, a leader in the young married set, had always addressed her as “Marjorie.”
Putting the letter back in its envelope, Marjorie commenced an answer to a luncheon invitation, and completing it, hurriedly folded the notepaper, only to discover that the back sheet was partially written on. With an exclamation of annoyance, she caughtit up and ran her eyes over the clear back-hand, her mind subconsciously taking in the meaning of the written words:
Dear Captain Nichols:I am sending this by special delivery, as I want you to get it without fail [heavily underscored]. Perkins tells me he had to go out and gave your violets to Annie, the chamber maid. Annie says she placed the box in the dressing-room as it was cooler there and she thought the flowers would keep better. She knows nothing more of the matter, did not tell me of the flowers because she thought they would be found by me or Marjorie Langdon....
Dear Captain Nichols:
I am sending this by special delivery, as I want you to get it without fail [heavily underscored]. Perkins tells me he had to go out and gave your violets to Annie, the chamber maid. Annie says she placed the box in the dressing-room as it was cooler there and she thought the flowers would keep better. She knows nothing more of the matter, did not tell me of the flowers because she thought they would be found by me or Marjorie Langdon....
A bad blot finished the sentence, and explained why the sheet had been discarded.
Marjorie sat stunned, too confused, at first to puzzle out the significance of the unfinished note, which was in Janet’s unmistakable handwriting. Then she rose, stumbled over to the broad sofa, and curling up in one corner, pillowed her head on her arms, and gave herself up to elucidating the enigma;—but the more she thought the more nonplussed she became.
Janet’s note indicated that Tom Nichols had sent her violets which apparently she had never received; she hinted that Marjorie might have found them—but the only violets which she, Marjorie had received had come from Janet’s brother, Duncan, the afternoon of the British Embassy dinner. Touched by the attention, and stirred by a deeper emotion than she had ever felt before, she had carefully preservedDuncan’s withered bouquet in her closet. Astounded by the discovery of the emerald and diamond bracelet in her flower box; utterly unable to explain how it got there, she had, in her desire to protect Janet and silence any investigation which the loss of the bracelet might start, returned it anonymously to Representative J. Calhoun-Cooper. In the light of Janet’s note, had she inadvertently, not looking at the contents of Small’s box, put away in her closet Janet’s violets, and the maid, finding only Duncan’s withered bouquet in the dressing-room, thrown it away? It seemed the only explanation. But Representative J. Calhoun-Cooper’s remarks in the lift at the ball indicated that he was aware the bracelet had come from her, Marjorie, and thatTom knew of its loss. Could it be that Tom had discovered that Janet was a kleptomaniac?
The mere idea brought Marjorie up all standing; only to sink back again with a groan, appalled at the possibility. Honest Tom, with his high standards of rectitude, in love with a girl whose perception of the laws governingmeumandtuumwas so blunted, spelled tragedy. Marjorie dismissed the thought with a shudder, and her mind reverted to another puzzling phase of the situation: Calhoun-Cooper, by speech, and Tom, by look, had implied she was responsible for the loss and return of the bracelet. Who had....
“For once I’ve caught you napping!” teased a voice, and Marjorie jerked herself erect, to find Chichester Barnard standing looking down at her.
The laughter in his eyes gave way to concern at sight of her face. “My darling, what is it?” he questioned, alarmed.
“Nothing”—then seeing his disbelief, she added, “Nothing that would interest you....”
“But everything that concerns you, interests me,” he protested. “What is troubling you?”
“A matter of no moment,” speaking more briskly. “What brought you here this morning?”
“To be quite frank I called to see Janet Fordyce,” he replied brusquely, nettled by her manner.
“I prefer you when you are candid....”
“Are you trying to pick a quarrel with me?”
“Is that so difficult a thing to do?” insolently.
“If you mean I swallow every——” Barnard stopped, controlling his aroused anger with difficulty. “Come, come,” he said more mildly. “It is a waste of time for us to bandy words.” He held out his hands with the charming smile which had won many a friend for him. “Let’s kiss and—forget.”
Marjorie made no move to take his extended hand. “Who let you in?” she asked.
“The footman.” Barnard paced rapidly up and down before the chimney-piece, then seated himself by Marjorie’s side. “Don’t treat me as an outsider,” he pleaded. “I have always your best interests at heart; let me share your worries as well as your pleasures. I’ll do anything in the world for you, Madge, anything”—and his voice shook with the strength of his passion.
Marjorie hesitated; her distrust controlling herimpulse to confide her perplexities to the man who, only six short weeks before, had absorbed her mind and, as she thought, her heart.
“You are very kind,” she began formally. The conventional words somewhat chilled Barnard’s ardor, but his offended expression went unnoticed as Marjorie again hesitated. “What did Mrs. Calhoun-Cooper say to you about the loss of her necklace?” she asked finally.
Barnard smiled wryly. “It would be easier to tell you what she left unsaid—she only exhausted her vocabulary as we reached her house, and even then Pauline had to caution her to be quiet before the servants.”
“An impossible woman!”
“With a still more impossible family,” impatiently. “Did you notice Joe’s manner to his mother when she called him into her box at the ball last night?”
“No; but did you see who was with him?”
“Did I,” with eloquent emphasis. “Mrs. Calhoun-Cooper apparently took stock of Kathryn Allen, to her disadvantage. She was not asked to enter their box.”
“The Calhoun-Coopers have social aspirations, don’t forget that....”
“They won’t let us forget it,” shrugging his shoulders, “but I rather like Representative J. Calhoun-Cooper.”
“I did, until last night”—the bitterness in her voice caught Barnard’s attention, but before he couldquestion her, she rose and stepping over to the desk, picked up Janet’s unfinished letter to Tom Nichols and deliberately tore it into tiny pieces. “If you will excuse me, I’ll find out what is keeping Janet,” and gathering up Mrs. Fordyce’s letters and engagement book she made for the door, where she paused. “Have you any idea what steps Mrs. Calhoun-Cooper intends taking to recover her pearl necklace?”
“Telegraphed for Pinkerton’s men I believe; Madge, don’t go....” but she glided from the room before he could stop her, and with a muttered exclamation he reseated himself. A few minutes later the footman appeared in the doorway.
“Miss Langdon wishes me to tell you, sir, that Miss Janet is out motoring with her brother,” he announced.
Barnard, who had started up at the servant’s entrance, coolly resumed his seat. “I will wait until Miss Janet returns,” he said.
“Very good, sir,” and Henderson retired.
Barnard was about at the end of his patience when Janet entered the room.
“I am sorry to be late,” she apologized hurriedly. “Duncan’s new motor-car just came this morning, and he asked me to go for a run in it. I expected to be back before you got here,” tossing off her furs and coat as she spoke.
“Let me help you,” and with quick, deft fingers Barnard assisted her to remove her heavy veil. “What a becoming hat!”
“Do you think so?” dimpling with pleasure. “Marjorie selected it; she has awfully good taste. Has she been here?” in some anxiety.
“I came to see you, lady bird, and not to talk about another girl,” Barnard glanced hastily about the room. “Come over and sit in that bow window, and nobody will disturb us.”
“Very well,” and crossing the room, Janet settled herself in an arm-chair. She was sick of fighting against the inevitable, and such Chichester Barnard now appeared to her. Try as she did, she could not avoid him. His omnipresence tormented her. She had gone out with Duncan purposely, hoping to miss his visit. On learning that he was awaiting her return, she had sent in hot haste for Marjorie only to be told that her chaperon had stepped out on an errand for her mother. She had stood outside the drawing-room portières for fully three minutes before finding courage to enter. If only Barnard would not make love to her!
“Aren’t you a wee bit sleepy after last night?” she asked as he joined her in the bow window.
“The prospect of seeing you this morning has kept me wide awake,” tenderly. “You treated me shamefully at the ball, giving so many dances to other men.”
“You deserted me at supper,” in quick defence. “We only stayed a little longer after that; Marjorie developed one of her headaches—my goodness”—catching sight of a limousine turning into the driveway leading to their porte-cochère. “Who’s calling here at this hour?”
“I believe it’s the Calhoun-Coopers,” Barnard peered cautiously out of the window. “It looks like their car. The theft of their pearls has murdered sleep.” He stepped back and scanned Janet mockingly. “Will you face the music?”
She put out her hand as if to ward off a blow, and rising hurriedly, darted out into the hall and stopped the footman on his way to the front door.
“Not at home, Henderson,” she directed. “And Mrs. Fordyce is not feeling well enough to see anyone.”
“Very good, Miss Janet.”
Janet turned with lagging footsteps back to the drawing-room, one hand pressed to her side to still the pounding of her heart. Barnard, a look of deep concern on his handsome face, met her at the threshold.
“My precious darling!” he murmured, but with trembling hands she pushed him violently from her as he attempted to kiss her.
“No, no!” she implored, and staggered over to the grand piano.
“How long must I serve!” demanded Barnard, his voice shaking with emotion as he followed her. “Janet, will you never listen to the dictates of your heart?”
“If I did——!” Janet’s agonized gaze left his face and traveled downward to the keyboard of the piano. Suppose she told him too much? She must keep a guard upon her tongue—
“Play for me, Chichester,” she pleaded.
Barnard, no mean musician, struck several chords and stopped. “I am afraid the piano wants tuning.”
“Oh, the man must have left without finishing his work,” she exclaimed.
“Probably went to get his lunch; here are his tuning-fork and kit.” Barnard picked up the instruments. “Only two or three notes are below pitch, perhaps I can put them right.”
“Do try,” she begged, and Barnard obediently struck the tuning-fork.
Janet’s belief that her “not at home” message would send Mrs. J. Calhoun-Cooper away, was not well founded. Henderson’s information caused that determined matron to hesitate for a second only, then she inquired for Mr. Calderon Fordyce.
“Ask him if he will see me for a few moments on a matter of importance,” she added, detecting the footman’s embarrassment.
“Wouldn’t Miss Langdon do?” he ventured.
“Certainly not,” and somewhat overawed by her air of authority, he showed her and Pauline into the reception-room and went to tell his master of their presence.
“Asked for me personally, Henderson?” questioned Calderon Fordyce, examining the visiting-cards attentively.
“Yes, sir; Mrs. Calhoun-Cooper declared Miss Langdon would not do; that she had to see you on a matter of importance, sir.”
“Has Mr. Duncan returned?”
“No, sir.”
Fordyce cast a regretful look at the letter he was engaged in writing when interrupted, and rose. “Did you show the ladies into the drawing-room?”
“No, sir; they’re in the reception-room,” Henderson followed his master out into the hall. “If you please, sir,” he began deferentially. “Don’t take the ladies into the drawing-room, sir; Miss Janet is there with a caller, and I don’t think she wishes to be disturbed, sir.”
“Very well,” and hastening his footsteps, Fordyce went directly to the reception-room. Mrs. Calhoun-Cooper returned his greeting with such impressiveness that his eyes twinkled. “Please pardon me for keeping you waiting,” he began, after shaking hands with Pauline.
“We had not meant to disturb you,” chimed in Pauline, “but your footman said Mrs. Fordyce was indisposed.”
“And our errand is really very important,” interrupted Mrs. Calhoun-Cooper, “otherwise we would not have insisted on seeing you.”
Calderon Fordyce looked at his guests in some perplexity, but their serious manner impressed him, and he said slowly, “In that case we had better adjourn to my library; we can have no privacy in this room. Will you come this way?”
It was the first time Mrs. J. Calhoun-Cooper had been in the library, and she surveyed the handsomely furnished room with some envy. Calderon Fordyce’s “Now, madame,” brought her back to her errand.
“Possibly Janet told you of the disappearance of my pearl necklace at the ball last night?”
“My son spoke to me about it. Have you taken any steps to recover the necklace?”
“My husband has placed the matter in the hands of detectives,” Mrs. Calhoun-Cooper cleared her throat. “The necklace is really very valuable, the pearls being graduated in size and of wonderful luster. It took my husband years to collect them——” her voice gave out.
“I am deeply sorry for your loss,” said Fordyce gravely. “Have you no clue by which the thief might be traced?”
“We have,” answered Pauline quickly. “And that brings us here.”
“I don’t take your meaning,” Calderon Fordyce’s heavy eyebrows met in an unmistakable frown.
“We are convinced that mother’s necklace was stolen by Miss Marjorie Langdon.”
Fordyce’s eyes opened wide. “Preposterous nonsense!” he jerked out with more force than elegance.
“I am sorry to contradict you,” Pauline’s thin lips closed obstinately. “There is no doubt but that she is guilty.”
“You are really in earnest?”
“Absolutely. We came here this morning to warn your wife, Mr. Fordyce, and not being able to see her, decided that it was our duty to tell you of Miss Langdon’s dishonesty.”
“Thank you,” dryly. Fordyce regarded his visitors in incredulous silence for some seconds, thenexcusing himself, stepped past them into the hall. Mrs. Calhoun-Cooper exchanged an uneasy glance with her daughter, but had not opportunity to voice her thoughts, for Calderon Fordyce re-entered the room almost immediately, followed by Marjorie, whom he met returning from her shopping expedition.
“As your statements were not made in confidence, Mrs. Calhoun-Cooper,” he said, “I must ask you to repeat them before Miss Langdon.”
Marjorie, having received no inkling as to why her presence was desired in the library, gazed from one to the other in bewilderment and growing dread.
Mrs. Calhoun-Cooper flushed and her eyes flashed angrily. “I shall have no hesitancy in repeating my charges”—Marjorie’s start was not lost on the others. “Miss Langdon, I demand that you instantly return my pearl necklace which you stole from me last night at the ball.”
“You’re mad!” burst out Marjorie. “I haven’t your necklace.”
“Lies won’t do, my girl!” Mrs. Calhoun-Cooper’s native coarseness was gaining the upper hand under the pressure of excitement and rage which almost mastered her. “I felt you fumbling with the clasp of the necklace.”
“Indeed? And why didn’t you speak of it at the time?”
“Because my attention was distracted, and when I turned back to speak to you, you had vanished.”
“With the necklace,” added Pauline.
“Not so fast!” Marjorie’s indignation almost choked her utterance, and she stopped to regain control of her voice. “The robbery took place while I was still at the supper-table, ten stories beneath the ballroom.”
“The necklace disappeared earlier in the evening,” explained Mrs. Calhoun-Cooper, “for I missed it on my return to the ballroom immediately after supper.”
“You have only your word to support such a statement,” retorted Marjorie swiftly. “I deny your charge absolutely. Oh, Mr. Fordyce,” turning appealingly to him, “do have faith in my word.”
“Of course I will,” his hearty assurance brought tears of relief to Marjorie’s eyes. “Miss Marjorie, during the evening, did you see anyone enter Mrs. Calhoun-Cooper’s box who might be the real thief?”
Marjorie’s eyes never wavered before her questioner’s gaze. “I am afraid I can give you no information or clue which will help in tracing the robber,” she said slowly.
“Too bad,” Fordyce shook his head. “I think, Mrs. Calhoun-Cooper, you had better wait and see what the detectives can do to trace your necklace.”
“Do you mean to say, Mr. Fordyce, that you do not believe me when I state that Miss Langdon stole my necklace?”
“I do, madame; unless you can get someone to substantiate your statement.”
“Ask her, she knows,” burst out Pauline, pointingto a shadowy figure standing near the half-open door. With one accord they turned in that direction, and faced by the four pairs of eyes, Janet came reluctantly forward.
Marjorie turned sick as her thoughts raced to the delicate, kindly mother upstairs and the upright, idolizing father—how would they bear the disclosure of Janet’s kleptomania? The moment she dreaded had come at last.
“Well, Janet,” her father’s curt voice cut the silence. “What do you know of the disappearance of Mrs. Calhoun-Cooper’s pearl necklace?”
Janet’s eyes rested for a moment on Marjorie, then traveled back to her father.
“I saw Marjorie steal the necklace,” she said quietly.
Marjorie’s low cry of horror was drowned in Mrs. Calhoun-Cooper’s triumphant shout.
“There, what did I tell you?” she demanded.
“Be quiet!” Calderon Fordyce’s face had grown very grave. “Janet, are you telling the absolute truth?” Never had he spoken in that tone before to her, and Janet whitened.
“Yes, father.”
“How did Miss Marjorie steal the necklace?” The question cost him an effort.
“Mrs. Calhoun-Cooper requested her to replace her scarf about her shoulders,” Janet spoke more and more slowly and with growing reluctance. “When Marjorie lowered her hand, I saw the end of the pearl necklace hanging from it.”
“And you said nothing?”
“No, father.”
“Why?”
“I wasn’t absolutely certain—I’ve kept quiet since, because I could not bear to betray Marjorie.”
Calderon Fordyce broke the tense silence.
“Miss Marjorie, can you deny my daughter’s statement?”
Marjorie was ghastly as she straightened up and faced her accusers; Mrs. Calhoun-Cooper and Pauline openly triumphant, Calderon Fordyce, stern, unbending; and Janet, pitying. Janet’s features were strangely like and unlike Duncan’s, and the elusive likeness haunted Marjorie.
Twice she strove to speak.
“Oh, what’s the use?” she cried, and laughing hysterically, fled from the room.