CHAPTER VIIIFURTHER DEVELOPMENTS
UNDER the full glare of the electric lights which he had turned on, Palmer tramped uneasily up and down his living room while he waited for Hayden to return from the bedroom where the three men had taken Peter Burnham twenty minutes before. Maynard, more self-controlled, sat before the chess board and, utterly lost to his companion’s continued restlessness, he moved the chessmen about intent only on solving some abstruse problem. The minutes dragged along before Palmer’s impatience was finally rewarded by the entrance of the physician.
“Burnham has regained consciousness and is resting more easily,” he announced, as the two men came toward him. “If he continues to improve I see no reason why he should not return home a little later; if not——”
“He can have my bedroom,” interrupted Palmer. “But some one will have to tell Mrs. Burnham;” Palmer did not look happy at the thought. “Guessit’s up to you, Maynard, to break the news; you are their house guest.”
Hayden walked over to the wall and stared at the bullet then, without speaking to his companions, he paced off the distance to the window facing the balcony which still remained open, and reaching there he turned and studied the room.
“The bullet must have come from this direction,” he said. “Burnham was sitting directly in the line of fire. Did you see any one lurking on the balcony, Palmer, when you looked out?”
“No, and yet some one must have been hiding there.” Palmer stepped over to the window. “It’s a dark night”—pointing to the overcast sky and foggy atmosphere, “and the light in this room made the balcony darker by contrast. I don’t see how any one could have gotten on the balcony from the hall in the brief time which elapsed between my turning my back to the window and the firing of the shot; it was like that——” A snap of his fingers illustrated his meaning.
Maynard moved nearer. “An agile man could do it,” he spoke with conviction. “I found the balcony window in the hall standing wide open.”
Palmer walked down the room to the desk telephone. “Then I think we had better call in the police,” he said. “Captain La Montagne can explain his presence in the corridor to them.”
“He did, to you,” retorted Maynard warmly. “He stated he was looking for Mrs. Van Ness’ apartment. La Montagne is absolutely straight; I have known him for years, he would not stoop to assassination.”
“But Burnham’s words implied——” objected Palmer.
“Don’t place too much reliance in Burnham’s statement,” interrupted Hayden. “He made it when half delirious; better wait until he is in a condition to explain more fully the grounds for the animosity which, judging from his remark, exists between him and La Montagne.”
“A wise suggestion,” declared Maynard heartily. “Doctor, you have sense; now, Palmer, put down the telephone and let us investigate this matter ourselves without calling in the police, at any rate not now,” he added, seeing Palmer still kept hold of the telephone. “Suppose I go up to Mrs. Van Ness’ apartment and see if La Montagne is there, then I’ll come back and report what I learn.”
Palmer set the telephone back on the desk. “I’ll go with you,” he announced. “Siki’s here, Hayden; if you need aid in looking after Burnham just ring for him, or send him up for us. Come on, Maynard,” and he started for the door, Maynard keeping step with him. They found the corridordeserted as they walked down its length toward the staircase.
“Mrs. Van Ness’ apartment is on the next floor,” remarked Palmer. “No need of taking the elevator,” and in silence the two men mounted the stairs.
On reaching the top Maynard, who was slightly in advance of his companion, found the corridor blocked by several suit cases and a trunk. A man, standing by the freight elevator shaft, left off ringing the bell and hurried toward Maynard.
“Beg pardon,” he exclaimed, hauling the trunk to one side to permit Maynard and Palmer passing along. “I thought the elevator would be here now. Evening, Mr. Palmer,” and he touched his cap on recognizing the architect.
“Oh, Sam!” Palmer nodded affably to the taxi-driver. “Who’s moving out to-night?”
“The party in ‘41,’ sir; and he’s agoin’ to miss his train if he don’t look sharp;” Sam pushed back his cap to mop the damp red hair which tumbled down on his forehead. “He was to send the janitor up on the freighter for his things, but I bet he’s asittin’ in my car awonderin’ where I’m at; these here foreigners are mighty queer actin’ sometimes.”
Palmer laughed. “I’m glad ‘41’ is leaving; I shan’t be annoyed by his noisy parties over my head. Here’s the elevator now, Sam, good-night,” and not waiting for Sam’s response Palmerhastened after Maynard who had strolled down one of the wings of the building opening front the main corridor.
“Which way?” he inquired, turning about as Palmer reached him.
“That further door, there,” and striding forward Palmer laid an impatient finger on the bell. There was a slight delay, then the door was opened by an old colored Mammy, her black face in striking contrast to her snow white apron, cuffs, and collar.
“Can we see Mrs. Van Ness?” asked Palmer. “Say Mr. Maynard and Mr. Palmer.” As Mammy opened the door still further he entered the small anteroom just as Marian Van Ness appeared in the doorway of her parlor. There was a slight pause of uncertainty in her manner, at least one of the men judged so, before she advanced to greet them.
“Come in,” she said and led the way into the parlor. Evelyn, sitting with René La Montagne on the sofa, looked up with some alarm at Palmer, but a glimpse of Maynard just behind him brought a quick smile of pleasure in its train.
La Montagne, springing to his feet, hailed Maynard with a joyous exclamation.
“Ah,mon ami, well met!” He shook Maynard’s hand with effusion. “How is it with you?”
“Well, René.” Maynard’s eyes twinkled as he caught Evelyn’s embarrassed greeting of Palmerand the older man’s scowl as he acknowledged with scant courtesy Marian’s introduction to the French officer. Palmer had not anticipated seeing Evelyn, but with the assurance which characterized all his actions, he promptly took the seat by her side left vacant by La Montagne and addressed her in so low a tone that the others were left to chatter together.
For the first five minutes La Montagne bore the brunt of making conversation and Maynard improved the opportunity to silently observe the attractive room in which they sat, but even as he studied the few good paintings and pictures on the walls his eyes turned back with ever quickening interest to Marian who, in her simple evening gown, engrossed his attention. Her charm, however, did not lie in the perfect fit of her gown, her dark eyes and their long lashes, or the soft pink of her cheeks which deepened and paled as she talked, but in an indefinite something called, for want of a better name, personality.
“We were just discussing you, Mr. Maynard,” she said, catching his eye as he again looked at her. “I have persuaded Evelyn and Captain La Montagne to take part in a Red Cross benefit tableau and play to be given Saturday at the Belasco, and Evelyn wondered if you would aid us with suggestions.”
“I shall be delighted to,” was Maynard’s quick response. “What are the tableaux to be?”
“Patriotic scenes and representations of our heroic Allies,” explained Marian hurriedly; she had been quick to perceive La Montagne’s restless glances at Evelyn and his evident anger at the prolonged tête-à-tête which Palmer was having with her. She raised her voice as she turned her chair slightly nearer the sofa, “I already have your costume ordered, Evelyn; your tableau will not require much rehearsing.”
“I’ll ask Mother if I may take part,” replied Evelyn, glad of an opportunity to make the conversation general. She recalled her confidences of the morning to La Montagne regarding Palmer, and to flaunt an apparent flirtation in the face of her French lover was repugnant to her frank and loyal nature. “All fashionable Washington is taking part in the benefit, Mr. Maynard; won’t you help us?”
“I certainly will.” Maynard smiled at the enthusiasm with which she put the question. “Why not give me a part?”
“You!” Evelyn’s eyes opened wide. “My goodness, we would be afraid to act with you—the girls would all be stricken dumb.”
“Let me have the mute’s part,” laughed Maynard.“Really, I am not so terrifying, am I?” appealing directly to Marian.
“Not so very,” she responded a trifle absently. “The play is trite, some society hodge-podge and not—not,” she stumbled in her speech and continued quickly, “not worthy your histrionic talent, Mr. Maynard, but there is a tableau which, if you would undertake, would be a great drawing card.”
“Put me down for it,” declared Maynard. “And let me know the hours of rehearsal. How about you, Palmer; are you doing your bit in the benefit?”
“I’m helping with the stage effects.” Palmer shrugged his shoulders indifferently. “Not much work there, for the local theaters have loaned all necessary scenery.”
“What part have you planned for me, Madame Van Ness?” asked La Montagne while his eyes eagerly sought Evelyn, who answered his question with a saucy smile.
“I hear you are to sing the ‘Marseillaise,’” she said. “Now, don’t refuse.”
“Refuse? I?” La Montagne would have risen and gone to her, but the pressure of Maynard’s foot on his under the table recalled the excitable Frenchman to the fact that he and Evelyn were not alone. “I will do anything,” he announced. “I but await orders.”
“That is what we all do these days,” broke inMaynard. He glanced at Palmer and at La Montagne; would Palmer make the first move to go, or was he waiting for him to do so? Evelyn’s presence complicated the situation; he did not wish to tell her that her step-father had been shot and narrowly escaped death; nor did he wish La Montagne to leave before he could question him as to his presence in the corridor outside Palmer’s open hall door just after the attempted assassination. He, himself, could not go without offering to see Evelyn home, and courtesy demanded that he wait for her to make the first move to leave. For all his self-control Maynard was conscious of a desire to throttle Palmer who, having captured the conversational ball, was keeping it rolling by talking every instant. Maynard wondered if Palmer had forgotten the errand which had brought them there in his absorption in Evelyn and his endeavor to monopolize her.
Maynard rested his elbow on a mahogany table by which he sat, but his elbow slipped on the polished surface and a shower of papers, dislodged by his sudden movement, slid to the floor. With a quick word of apology he stooped to pick them up, La Montagne lending his assistance.
“It is really my fault,” exclaimed Evelyn who had turned to see what the commotion was about.“I had no business to leave your papers there, Marian.”
“My papers!” echoed Marian. “What papers do you refer to, Evelyn?”
“Why those Captain La Montagne asked me to return to you.” Evelyn bit her lip; she had spoken hastily, forgetting that she had decided to tell no one of meeting La Montagne in Potomac Park that morning. Palmer would be very likely to tell her mother or worse, her step-father. Again Evelyn bit her lip in vexation.
“They are the papers I carried home for you and carelessly left them in my tunic, Madame,” explained La Montagne. “I, fearing I might not meet you so immediately, asked Miss Preston that she take them in charge. I trust my walk-away with the papers did not distress you, Madame Van Ness?”
Marian’s smile was very charming. “You have not inconvenienced me,” she said. “The papers were unimportant. Must you be going?” she added swiftly, seeing Palmer rise. The architect, surprised by the question, stared at her in some confusion; he had simply risen because he was too nervous to sit still longer. Maynard, mistaking Palmer’s confusion for hesitancy, rose also.
“We must be off,” he said. “Just dropped infor a friendly chat. Can’t I see you home, Evelyn?”
“Thanks, Mr. Maynard, but I am spending the night with Marian. Are you going also?” as La Montagne seeing the two men remained standing, rose to his feet. Before the Frenchman could answer her question, Maynard spoke for him.
“We are going to carry off René,” he laughed. “Don’t begrudge us the privilege of a talk about France, Evelyn; I have messages for La Montagne, Mrs. Van Ness.” His direct gaze held hers. “I hope very soon to be a neighbor of yours as Palmer tells me there is a vacant apartment in the building. Will you let me come and see you again?”
Marian held out her hand; it remained but a second in his strong clasp, then was withdrawn. “I shall always be happy to see you and Mr. Palmer,” she announced, and the inclusion of Palmer’s name robbed the message of any special cordiality to Maynard alone.
Palmer’s reply was mingled with his good-byes to Evelyn; he was determined to have the last word with her, but La Montagne out-maneuvered him and, just as the other men stepped into the corridor, he whisked back into the apartment, to return a second later to the corridor smiling happily.
“Pardon!” he exclaimed blandly. “Shall we take the elevator or walk?”
“Walk,” jerked out Palmer, his temper getting the upper hand, and La Montagne’s eyebrows rose as he glanced significantly at Maynard. He said nothing more, however, and accompanied his companions in silence to the next floor where Palmer halted.
“Will you please explain,” he began, “why you stopped at the door of my apartment earlier this evening?”
“To inquire the direction of Madame Van Ness’ apartment.” La Montagne glanced at him in mild surprise. “I told you so when you questioned me before.”
“So you did; but you did not tell me why you walked into my apartment and out on the balcony,” retorted Palmer.
“But I did no such action,” La Montagne looked in bewilderment at Maynard standing silently by them.
“Tell us, La Montagne,” began Maynard hurriedly, and thereby checking Palmer’s next question, “did you find the front door of the apartment ajar?”
“Do you mean opened?” Maynard nodded. “But yes, and hearing voices inside I thought to inquire my way.”
“Inquire your way,” repeated Palmer mechanically.“I have seen you often this autumn going upstairs in this building.”
“True, to visit my friend, Major Jean,” calmly. “He left to-day.” La Montague looked more closely at Maynard and Palmer and their serious manner surprised him. “I fear I unintentionally intruded by stopping at your door,” he said haughtily, as he straightened himself. “I would not have risked disturbing you, but that I saw a man leave your door a second before.”
“A man!” Palmer came closer. “Did you see who he was?”
“I called to him to wait,” went on La Montagne, not answering the question directly. “But he did not evidently hear my hail or my question regarding Madame Van Ness’ apartment, for he did not stop.”
Maynard, listening with eager attention, looked his disappointment.
“Have you no idea who the man was?” he demanded. “It’s important, René; can you not describe the man?”
“Only that he wore the costume of a chauffeur,” responded the French officer. “I took him to be a taxi-driver.”