CHAPTER IX.
"A FALSE MOVE IN THE GAME."
Pretty, piquant Winnifred French was the staunch friend of LeslieWarburton.
When Winnie was the petted only daughter of "French, the rich merchant,"she and Leslie Uliman had been firm friends. When Leslie Uliman, theadopted daughter of the aristocratic Uliman's, gave her hand in marriageto Archibald Warburton, a wealthy invalid and a widower with one child,Winnie was her first bridesmaid.
Time had swept away the fortune of French, the merchant, and death hadrobbed Leslie of her adopted parents, and then Winnifred French gladlyaccepted the position of salaried companion to her dearest friend.
Not long after, Alan Warburton had returned from abroad, and then hadbegun a queer complication.
For some reason known only to himself, Alan Warburton had chosen todislike his beautiful sister-in-law, and he had conceived a violentadmiration for Winnie,--an admiration which might have been returned,perhaps, had Winnie been less loyal in her friendship for Leslie. But,perceiving Alan's dislike for her dearest friend, Winnie lost noopportunity for annoying him, and lavishing upon him her stingingsarcasms.
On her part, Leslie Warburton loved her companion with a strong sisterlyaffection. As for her feelings toward Alan Warburton, it would have beenimpossible to guess, from her manner, whether he was to her an object oflove, hatred, or simple indifference.
When Winnie and Alan turned their backs upon the scene in the anteroom,and entered the dancing hall, the girl was in a particularly perversemood.
"I shall not dance," she said petulantly. "It's too early and too warm,"and she entered a flowery alcove, and seated herself upon a couchoverhung with vines.
"May I sit down, Winnie?"
"No."
"Just for a moment's chat." And he seated himself as calmly as if he hadreceived a gracious permission.
"You are angry with me again, Winnie. Is my sister-in-law always to comebetween us?"
She turned and her blue eyes flashed upon him.
"Once and for all," she said sharply, "tell me why you hate Leslie so?"
"Tell _me_ why she has poisoned your mind against me?" he retorted.
"_She!_ Leslie Warburton! This goes beyond a joke, sir. Leslie Warburton_is_ what Leslie Uliman was, a _lady_, in thought, word, and deed. Oh, Ican read you, sir! Her crime, in your eyes, is that she has married yourbrother. Is she not a good and faithful wife; a tender, loving mother tolittle Daisy? You have hinted that she does not love her husband--bywhat right do you make the assertion? You believe that she has marriedfor money,--at least these are _fashionable_ sins! Humph! In allprobability I shall marry for money myself."
"Winnifred!"
"I _shall_; I am sure of it. It's an admirable feature of our bestsociety. If we are heiresses, we are surrounded with lovers who arefascinated by our bank account. If we are poor, we are all in search ofa bank account; and many of us have to do some sharp angling."
"My sister-in-law angled very successfully."
"So she did, if you _will_ put it so. And she did not land her lastchance; she might have married as wealthy a man as Mr. Warburton, or ashandsome a man as his _brother_. But then," with a provoking littlegesture of disdain, "Leslie and I never did admire handsome men."
There was just a shade of annoyance in the voice that answered her:
"Pray go on, Miss French; doubtless yourself and Mrs. Warburton haveother tastes in common."
"So we have," retorted the girl, rising and standing directly beforehim, "but I won't favor you with a list of them. You don't like Leslie,and I do; but let me tell you, Mr. Alan Warburton, if the day ever comeswhen you know Leslie Warburton _as I know her_, you will go down intothe dust, ashamed that you have so misjudged, so wronged, so slanderedone who is as high as the stars above you. And now I am going to jointhe dancers; you can come--or stay."
The last words were flung at him over her shoulder, and before he couldrise to follow, she had vanished in the throng that was surging to andfro without the alcove.
He starts forward as if about to pursue her, and then sinks back uponthe couch.
"I won't be a greater fool than nature made me," he mutters in scornfulself-contempt. "If I go, she'll flirt outrageously under my very nose;if I stay--she'll flirt all the same, of course. Ah! if a man would havea foretaste of purgatory let him live under the same roof with the womanhe loves and the woman he hates!"
A shadow comes between his vision and the gleam of light from without,and, lifting his eyes, he encounters two steady orbs gazing out frombehind a yellow mask.
"Ah!" He half rises again, then sinks back and motions the mask to theseat beside him.
"I recognize your costume," he says, as the British officer seatshimself. "How long since you came?"
"Only a few moments. I have been waiting for your interview with thelady to end."
"Ah!" with an air of abstraction; then, recalling himself: "Do you knowthe nature of the work required of you?"
Under his mask, Van Vernet's face flamed and he bit his lip withvexation. This man in black and scarlet, this aristocrat, addressed him,not as one man to another, but loftily as a king to a subject. But therewas no sign of annoyance in his voice as he replied:
"Um--I suppose so. Delicate bit of a shadowing, I was told; noparticulars given."
"There need be no particulars. I will point you out the person to beshadowed. I want you to see her, and be yourself unseen. You are simplyto discover,--find out where she goes, who she sees, what she does.Don't disturb yourself about motives; I only want the _facts_."
"Ah!" thought Van Vernet; "it's a _she_, then." Aloud, he said: "Youhave not given the lady's name?"
"You would find it out, of course?"
"Of course; necessarily."
"The lady is my--is Mrs. Warburton, the mistress of the house."
"Ah!" thought the detective; "the old Turk wants me to shadow his wife!"
By a very natural blunder he had fancied himself in communication withArchibald, instead of Alan, Warburton.
"Have you any suspicions? Can you give me any hint upon which to act?"he asked.
"I might say this much," ventured Alan, after a moment's hesitation:"The lady has made, I believe, a mercenary marriage and she is hidingsomething from her husband and friends."
"I see," said Vernet. And then, laughing inwardly, he thought: "A caseof jealousy!"
In a few words Alan Warburton described to Vernet the "Sunlight,"costume worn by Leslie, and then they separated, Vernet going, not insearch of "Sunlight," but of the Goddess of Liberty.
What he found was this:
In the almost deserted music room stood the Goddess of Liberty, gazingdown into the face of a woman in the robes of Sunlight, and both of themengaged in earnest conversation.
He watched them until he saw the Goddess lift the hand of Sunlight witha gesture of graceful reverence, bow over it, and turn away. Then hewent back to the place where he had left his patron. He found the objectof his quest still seated in the alcove, alone and absorbed in thought.
"I beg your pardon for intruding upon your solitude," began thedetective hastily, at the same time seating himself close beside Alan;"but there is a _lady_ here whose conduct is, to say the least,mysterious. As a detective, it becomes my duty to look after her alittle, to see that she does not leave this house _until I can followher_."
"Well?" with marked indifference in his tone.
"If she could be detained," went on Vernet, "by--say, by keeping someone constantly beside her, so that she cannot leave the house withoutbeing observed--"
Alan Warburton threw back his head.
"Pardon me," he said, "but I object to thus persecuting a lady, and aguest."
"But if I tell you that this _lady_ is a man in silken petticoats?"
"What!"
"And that he seems on very free and friendly terms with _your wife_."
"With my wi--"
Alan Warburton stopped short and looked sharply at the eyes gaz
ing outfrom behind the yellow mask.
Did this detective think himself conversing with Archibald? If so--well,what then? He shrank from anything like familiarity with this man beforehim. Why not leave the mistake as it stood? There could be no harm init, and he, Alan, would thus be free from future annoyance.
"I will not remove my mask," thought Alan. "He is not likely to seeArchibald, and no harm can come of it. In fact it will be better so. Itwould seem more natural for him to be investigating his wife's secretsthan for _me_."
So the mistake was not corrected--the mistake that was almostprovidential for Alan Warburton, but that proved a very false move inthe game that Van Vernet was about to play.
There was but one flaw in the plan of the proposed incognito.
Alan's voice was a peculiarly mellow tenor, and Van Vernet never forgota voice once heard.
"Did you say that this disguised person knows--Mrs. Warburton?"
"I did."
"Who is the fellow, and what disguise does he wear?"
"I am unable to give his name. He is costumed as the Goddess ofLiberty."
"Oh!"
Van Vernet had his own reasons for withholding Richard Stanhope's name.
"So!" he thought, while he waited for Alan's next words. "I'll spoilyour plans for this night, Dick Stanhope! I wonder how our Chief willlike to hear that 'Stanhope the reliable,' neglects his duty to gomasquerading in petticoats, the better to make love to another man'swife."
For Van Vernet, judging Stanhope as a man of the world judges men, hadleaped to the hasty, but natural, conclusion, that his masquerade in thegarb of the mother of his country, was in the character of a lover.
"Vernet," said Alan at last, "you are a clever fellow! Let me see; thereare half a dozen young men here who are ripe for novelty--set thewhisper afloat that behind that blue and white mask is concealed abeautiful and mysterious intruder, and they will hang like leeches abouther, hoping to discover her identity, or see her unmask."
"It's a capital plan!" cried Vernet, "and it can't be put into executiontoo soon."
Dangerous Ground; or, The Rival Detectives Page 10
