The Four Faces: A Mystery

by William Le Queux

  CHAPTER XI

  CONCERNS MRS. STAPLETON

  Ten days had passed since the events I have set down in the previouschapter, and still no clue of any kind had been obtained to the robbersat Holt, or the perpetrators of the outrage at the house in GraftonStreet. Nor, indeed, had any light been thrown upon the mystery of theforged telegram, while the incident of the discovery of the charred bodyof a murdered woman among the _debris_ of the house in MaresfieldGardens destroyed by fire on Christmas Eve had, to all intents, beenentirely forgotten.

  In the firelight in a small room leading out of the large library,Dulcie and I sat and talked. Perched on the broad arm of a giant paddedchair, swinging her small, grey-spatted feet to and fro, she glanced atme moodily, replying in monosyllables to most of my remarks. Presently Irose with a gesture of annoyance, and began to pace the floor.

  It was not a comfortable atmosphere by any means--metaphorically. Inpoint of fact, Dulcie and I quarrelled.

  We had quarrelled during our afternoon walk over the hard-frozen snow toa neighbouring hamlet to take a deserving widow a can of soup, and old"Captain" Barnacle in Wheatsheaf Lane a promising Christmas pudding.

  The cause of our quarrel was a curious one. Though Aunt Hannah appearedto have overcome her belief concerning the telegram she had felt socertain I had sent, I felt that she was now prejudiced against me--why,heaven only knew. Her manner towards me, as well as her expression, andthe way she spoke to me, all betrayed this. Women dislike being provedto be in the wrong even more than men do, and the conclusion I had cometo was that Aunt Hannah would never forgive my having, in a sense, madeher eat her words and look ridiculous. It was on the subject of AuntHannah, then, that Dulcie and I had begun our quarrel, for Dulcie hadstood up for her when I condemned her--that I condemned her ratherbitterly, I admit. From that we had presently come to talk of Mrs.Stapleton, for whom Dulcie had suddenly developed a most extraordinaryinfatuation.

  On the morning that Dick, on his way to the station, had passed Mrs.Stapleton in her car, Mrs. Stapleton had called at Holt and asked to seeDulcie. At that moment Dulcie was in the train with Aunt Hannah, on herway to London in response to the telegram. The widow had then asked tosee Aunt Hannah Challoner, and then Sir Roland.

  Upon hearing that all three were absent from home, she had asked if shemight come into the house to write a note to Dulcie, and the maid whohad opened the door to her--the butler and footman having, as we know,gone into Newbury--had politely but firmly refused to admit her,declaring that she had orders to admit nobody whomsoever.

  This refusal had apparently annoyed Mrs. Stapleton a good deal, and onthe same evening she had called again, and again asked to see Dulcie,who by that time had returned. It was while she was alone with Dulciein her boudoir that Sir Roland and Dick and I had returned to Holt, andthat the stranger--whom we now knew to have been Lord Logan's son--hadbeen discovered in the hiding-hole. Mrs. Stapleton had remained withDulcie over an hour, and during that hour it was that she had apparentlycast the spell of her personality over Dulcie. It was on the subject ofthis infatuation of Dulcie's that Dulcie and I had ended by quarrellingrather seriously.

  "I won't hear a word said against her," Dulcie suddenly declaredimpetuously, kicking her heel viciously against the chair. "I think sheis the most fascinating woman I have ever met, and the more you abuseher the more I shall stand up for her--so there."

  "Abuse her!" I answered irritably. "When did I abuse her? Repeat oneword of abuse that I have uttered against her. You know quite well thatI haven't said a syllable that you can twist into abuse. All I have saidis that I mistrust her, and that I think it a pity you should for everbe metaphorically sitting on her skirts, as you have been during thepast few days."

  "And you don't call that abuse?" Dulcie retorted. "Then tell me what youdo call it."

  "I myself like Mrs. Stapleton up to a point," I answered, evading thequestion. "She is capital company and all that, but--"

  "But what?" Dulcie asked quickly, as I hesitated.

  "But who is she? And where does she come from? How is it that nobodyabout here, and apparently nobody in town either, knows anything at allabout her? Such an attractive-looking woman, young, apparently well off,and a widow--surely somebody ought to know something or other about herif she is quite--well, quite all right. It's most singular that sheshouldn't have any friends at all among our rather large circle ofacquaintance."

  "I shall tell her just what you have said about her," Dulcie exclaimedquite hotly. "I never thought you were that kind, Michael--never. Youpride yourself upon being broadminded--you have often told me so--andyet because Tom, Dick and Harry don't know all about poor Mrs.Stapleton--who her husband was, who her parents were, and where shecomes from--you immediately become suspicious, and begin to wonder allsorts of horrid things about her."

  "My dear Dulcie," I said, becoming suddenly quite calm, so anxious was Ito soothe her at any cost, for I hated our falling out like this, "youput words into my mouth I never spoke, and thoughts into my mind whichnever occurred to me. I have said only one thing, and I shall say itagain. I mistrust Mrs. Stapleton, and I advise you to be on your guardagainst her."

  The door opened at that moment, and Charles, entering, announced:

  "Mrs. Stapleton."

  "Oh, Connie, how glad I am you've come!" Dulcie burst out, jumping offthe arm of the big chair impetuously, and hurrying forward to meet thewidow, who at once embraced her affectionately. "We were just thisinstant talking about you. Isn't that strange?"

  "And I hope not saying nasty things, as I have reason to believe some ofmy 'friends' do," Mrs. Stapleton answered, with a charming smile,casting a careless glance at me. "But, of course, I couldn't imagine youor Mr. Berrington saying anything unpleasant about anybody," she addedquickly; "you are both much--much too nice."

  This was heaping coals of fire upon me, and I believe I winced asDulcie's eyes met mine for a brief instant and I noticed the look ofscorn that was in them. She did not, however, repeat to Mrs. Stapletonwhat I had just said about her, as she had threatened to do. Instead,she slipped her arm affectionately through the young widow's, led herover to the big arm-chair, made her sit down in it, and once moreperched herself upon its arm.

  "Ring for tea, Mike, like a dear," she said to me. Her tone hadcompletely changed. Once more she had become her own, delightful self.This sudden _volte-face_ did not, I must admit, in the least surpriseme, for I knew what a child of moods she was, how impulsive andimpetuous, and I think I loved her the more because she was like that.

  We now formed, indeed, quite a merry trio. By the time tea was finishedConnie Stapleton's magnetic personality must, I think, have begun toaffect me to some extent, for I found myself wondering whether, afterall, I had not been mistaken in the opinion I had formed that she was awoman one would be well-advised not to trust too implicitly--become toointimate with.

  "And your jewels, dear!" she suddenly asked, as though the recollectionof the robbery had but at that instant occurred to her. "Have yourecovered any of them? Have the police found any clue?"

  "Yes," Dulcie answered at once, "the police have a clue, though, as yet,none of the stolen things have been recovered."

  "Indeed?" I exclaimed. "Why, Dulcie, you never told me. What is it? Whatis the clue?"

  "I forgot to tell you; at least, I should have told you, but you've beenso snappy all the afternoon that I thought there was no need," Dulcieanswered equivocally. "Well, the clue is merely this. WhenChurchill--that's the head gardener, you know," she said to Mrs.Stapleton--"was sweeping away the snow in the drive at the back of thehouse, that narrow drive which leads down to the lane that joins themain road to Newbury, just by Stag's Leap, he saw something shining onthe ground. He picked it up and found it was a buckle, set in diamonds,as he thought, so when he brought it to me of course he was tremendouslyexcited--he made sure it was one of the stolen bits of jewellery. As amatter of fact, it was one of a set of very old paste buckles whichbelonged to my mother, and those b
uckles were among the stolen things."

  "When did he find it?" Mrs. Stapleton asked, interested.

  "Why, only a few hours ago--it was just after lunch when he came to me,and he had then only just found it. You see, the ground has been coveredwith snow ever since the day of the robbery; that was the last daywe hunted."

  "Did the gardener say anything else? Has he any theory to account forthe buckle being there?"

  Again it was Mrs. Stapleton who put the question.

  "None, Connie," Dulcie answered. "At least, yes," she corrected, "he hasa sort of theory, but I don't think much of it. That narrow drive israrely used, you know; the gate into the lane is nearly alwayslocked--it was unlocked and the gate set open the day the hounds methere in order to save people coming from the direction of Stag's Leapthe trouble of going round by the lodge. I don't think, all the same,that many people came in that way."

  "I don't see much 'theory' in that," I observed drily. Somehow I couldnot shake off the feeling of irritability that my quarrel with Dulcieduring the afternoon had created.

  "Naturally, because I haven't yet come to the theory part," Dulcieanswered sharply, noticing the tone in which I spoke. "I am coming to itnow. Churchill says he happened to come along that drive between abouteleven o'clock and half-past on the morning of the meet--that would bejust about the time when everybody was at the breakfast--and hedistinctly remembers seeing a car drawn up close to the shrubbery. Therewas nobody in it, he says, but as far as he can recollect it was drawnup at the exact spot where he found the buckle this afternoon. Ofcourse, there was no snow on the ground then."

  "Has he any idea what the car was like?"

  As Connie Stapleton made this inquiry I happened to glance at her. Icould only see her profile, but there was, I thought, something unusualin her expression, something I did not seem to recollect having everseen in it before. It was not exactly a look of anxiety; rather it was alook of extreme interest, of singular curiosity.

  "Churchill is most mysterious and secretive on that point," Dulcieanswered. "I asked him to tell me what the car was like, if he had anyidea whose it was. He said it was a grey car, but he wouldn't tell memore than that. He said he believed he had 'hit the line,' and wouldsoon be on a 'hot scent.' Try as I would, I couldn't get him to sayanother word. He asked if he might have this afternoon off, and gave meto understand he wanted to go into Newbury. I believe he is going to tryto do a little detective work," she ended, with a laugh; "but, as I say,I don't put much faith in any theory Churchill may have formed."

  "Well, my dear Dulcie, if you succeed in recovering your jewellery youknow I shall be the first to congratulate you," Mrs. Stapleton said,taking Dulcie's hand and patting it affectionately. "It is too dreadfulto think all those lovely things should have been stolen from you,things of such exceptional value to you because of their longassociation with your family. Oh, how stupid of me," she suddenly said,interrupting herself, "I have forgotten to tell you what I have come tosee you for. I have some friends from town dining with me to-night--someof them are going to stay the night at 'The Rook,' the others willreturn to town in their cars--and I want you and Mr. Berrington to joinus. It's quite an informal little dinner party, so I hope you willforgive my asking you in this offhanded way and at such short notice.The fact is, two people telegraphed at lunch time that they wouldn't beable to come, so I thought that if I motored over here I might be ableto persuade you to come instead. Will you come, dear? And you, Mr.Berrington? Do say 'yes.' Don't disappoint me when I have come all thisway out to try to persuade you--if I were not really anxious that youshould join us I should have telephoned or telegraphed!"

  "Of course--why, I shall love to come!" Dulcie exclaimed, without amoment's hesitation. "And, Mike will come--I know he will."

  "You mean he won't be able to let you be away from him so long," ConnieStapleton said mischievously, and there was something very peculiar inher laugh. It flashed across me at that moment that for an instant ortwo she looked a singularly wicked woman.

  Dulcie smiled self-consciously, but said nothing. I knew that she ratherdisliked any joking allusion being made to our engagement.

  "May I use your telephone, darling Dulcie?" Connie Stapleton askedsuddenly. "I want to tell the hotel people that we shall be the originalnumber. I told them after lunch that we might be two short."

  Dulcie had a telephone extension in the little room which adjoined herboudoir, and some moments later Mrs. Stapleton was talking rapidly intothe transmitter in her smooth, soft voice. She spoke in a tongue thatneither of us understood, and when, after she had conversed for overfive minutes, she hung up the receiver, Dulcie called out to her gaily:

  "Why, Connie, what language was that?"

  'Polish,' she answered. "Didn't you recognize it? Of course, you knowthat I am Russian."

  "Russian! Why, no, I hadn't the least idea. I always thought you werenot English, although you speak English perfectly. I remember wondering,the first time I met you, to what nationality you belonged, and I cameto the conclusion that possibly you were Austrian."

  "No, Russian," Mrs. Stapleton repeated. "I have a Polish maid who speakshardly any English, and I was talking to her. And now, my dear, I reallymust be going. What is the exact time?"

  It was five minutes past six. Dulcie pressed the electric button.

  "Mrs. Stapleton's car at once," she said, when the footman entered.

  A few minutes later Mrs. Stapleton's long grey Rolls-Royce was glidingnoiselessly down the avenue, over the snow, its tail lights fastdisappearing into the darkness.