CHAPTER XVIII
CONTAINS ANOTHER SURPRISE
Lights were in most of the windows, as though a party were in progress.
Preston rang the bell. It was answered at once by a maid who hadanswered it in the morning, and before Preston had time to speak themaid asked us if we would come in. This time she showed us into a room agood deal larger than the one in which I had been interviewed byGastrell in the morning. Very beautifully furnished, on all sides whatis termed the "feminine touch" was noticeable, and among a number offramed photographs on one of the tables I recognized portraits ofwell-known Society people, several with autograph signatures, and one ortwo with affectionate inscriptions. I wondered to whom they had beenpresented, and to whom the affectionate inscriptions were addressed.
We waited a few minutes, wondering what would happen next, and who wouldcome in to see us, for the maid had not even asked our names, though Isaw that she had recognized me. For a moment it occurred to me that weought to have changed into evening clothes, and I was about to tellPreston so when the door opened and Jasmine Gastrell entered,accompanied, to my amazement, by Dulcie Challoner.
I think even Preston was taken aback--and it took a great deal toastonish Preston. Osborne, I could see, was dumbfounded. JasmineGastrell was the first to speak, and she addressed me without lookingeither at Osborne or Preston.
"Good evening, Mr. Berrington," she said, with one of those wonderfulsmiles of hers which seemed entirely to transform her expression; "thisis an unexpected pleasure."
How strangely different she now looked from the way she had looked at mein Cumberland Place when, disguised as Sir Aubrey Belston, I hadpretended to read her past life! She turned to Jack, and, raising hereye-brows as though she had only that instant recognized him, "Why," sheexclaimed, "it's Mr. Osborne! I had no idea we were to have the pleasureof seeing you here to-night--had you, Dulcie?"
Dulcie, who was standing by quite unconcernedly, turned at once to mewithout answering Mrs. Gastrell's question.
"Dear old Mike," she said, "how delightful of you to have come. I dohope you have entirely recovered. You looked so ill when you saw me offat Paddington this morning that I felt anxious about you all the wayhome. What was the matter with you? Have you any idea?"
I was so staggered, first at finding her at this house again, and thenat her addressing me in the calm way she did, that for some moments Icould not answer. Jack and Preston, now in conversation with JasmineGastrell, did not notice my hesitation. At last, collecting my scatteredthoughts, I answered:
"I am quite well, Dulcie. There was nothing really much amiss with methis morning--I thought you knew that."
I stopped abruptly. What else could I say?
Under the circumstances I could not well speak about the telegram, andsay why we had arrived in this way at such an unusual hour.
"I suppose you have come about Dick," she went on suddenly. "He isasleep now--he was so tired, poor little chap."
"Dulcie," I burst out impetuously under my breath, casting a hurriedglance at the other three, who, still in conversation, did not appear tonotice us. "Dulcie, what is the meaning of all this? Why are you here?Why is Dick here? I want to see you--I must see you alone as soon aspossible--there is so much I want to say to you, want to ask you; such alot has happened during the past day or two that I can't understand, andthat I want to have explained. Tell me, my darling," I went onhurriedly, "when and where can we can meet--alone?"
She gave a delightful little laugh, and tapped me playfully with herfan--she and Jasmine were in evening dress. Then, looking roguishly upinto my eyes, she went on:
"So far as Dick is concerned, everything is easily explained. When I gothome this morning I felt very unwell. I found father terribly anxious atmy absence, and Aunt Hannah in what I call one of her fits of tantrums.I went to lie down, and, while I was asleep, father came and looked atme. For some reason he got it into his head that I looked very ill, andjust then Connie arrived in her car--she went to Holt direct fromLondon, as she wanted to explain to father the reason she didn't take mehome last night, and at the same time make her apologies for the anxietyshe knew she must unintentionally have caused him; father, you know,likes Connie very much. After seeing me in bed he had jumped to theconclusion that I was really very ill and ought to see a doctor atonce. Connie said that as she was going straight to Newbury she would,if he liked, send Doctor Claughton out to Holt. Then father saidsomething about letting Dick know I was ill, and Connie volunteered tosend a telegram to Eton, signed with father's name, and father said hewished she would. And that is the explanation of the whole affair."
"Explanation!" I exclaimed. "I don't call that half an explanation. Whatabout James being told to meet Dick at Paddington and then notturning up?"
"Oh, that was a mistake of Connie's. James was in town to-day, andConnie understood father to say that he would telegraph to James andtell him to meet Dick at Paddington. After telegraphing to Eton infather's name, from Newbury, she found she had made a mistake, so thenshe telegraphed to Doris Lorrimer to meet Dick. After the doctor hadseen me, he told father there was nothing to be in the least alarmedabout; in fact gave father to understand that his imagination had playedpranks with him; so then father telephoned to Connie at the Book Hotel,and they decided there was no need for Dick to come home, and Conniesuggested Dick's spending the night here and returning to Etonto-morrow."
I did not speak for some moments. At last I said:
"Dulcie, who told you all this?"
"Why, Connie, of course. Father had to attend an important magistrates'meeting in Newbury this afternoon, and, as I seemed quite well again,she got father's leave to bring me up to town again to meet some friendsof hers who are here to-night. Now are you satisfied, Mike?"
"No, I am not," I answered bluntly. "Dulcie, have you seen Dick since hearrived here?"
"No, he had gone to bed before I arrived, and Connie said I had betternot disturb him."
"My darling," I said a moment later, "I must see you alone. When can I?"
"Would to-morrow morning suit you, dear?" she asked, looking at me withher frank brown eyes. As I returned the gaze I found it impossible tobelieve that she had wittingly deceived me that morning, or indeed atany time, and yet--
"Yes. Shall we say at twelve o'clock?" I suggested. "And shall I callhere for you?"
"That will do beautifully. Oh, Mike, my darling," she said quickly,under her breath, "I hope you still love me just as much as you did; Idon't know why, but somehow I sometimes feel that you mistrust me--eventhat you suspect me of something or other, I don't know what."
"Dulcie!" I exclaimed impulsively, and I made as though to seize herhand, then remembered we were not alone, and refrained. "Dulcie, thereare things I want you to explain to me, mysteries that only you canclear up. I don't really mistrust you, my own darling; indeed, indeed Idon't; but I mistrust some of the people you mix with and have madefriends of, more than that, I happen to know that some of them are nobetter than adventurers, and I want to get you away from them. Whathouse is this we are in? I mean whose is it and who lives here?"
But at that instant our conversation was interrupted by JasmineGastrell.
"Oh, you lovers!" she exclaimed, laughing as she looked across at us."What heaps and heaps lovers seem to have to tell each other after beingparted for a few hours. It reminds me of my own young days," she addedarchly, for she looked barely seven-and-twenty. "Mr. Osborne has justtold me, Dulcie, that he is asked to stay at Eldon Hall for LordCranmere's son's coming of age, on the twenty-eighth. I have beeninvited too; I do wish you were going to be there. Connie has accepted."
Ten minutes later, as the three of us sauntered slowly along WillowRoad, we realized--at least I can answer for myself--that in spite ofour careful scheming, and our complete confidence in the success of ourplan, we had been cleverly outwitted. Not for a moment had Preston, orJack Osborne, believed the long story that Jasmine Gastrell had relatedto them while Dulcie and I had been engros
sed in conversation, a storyit is unnecessary to repeat, though it had been told apparently with aview to leading them to think that Mrs. Gastrell was shortly to make atour round the world. In the same way I had not been deceived by theingenious tissue of implications and falsehoods that Connie Stapletonhad poured into Dulcie's ear, and that Dulcie had innocently repeated tome. What most astonished me, however, was the rapidity with which ConnieStapleton and Jasmine Gastrell seemed able to concoct these ingeniousand plausible narratives to account for anything and everything thathappened on any occasion. A single discrepancy, for instance, in thestory that Dulcie had just repeated to me would have brought the wholefabric of what appeared to be true statements--though I believed them tobe false--crumbling to the ground. But there had been no suchdiscrepancy. Everything that had occurred during the afternoon inrelation to Dick, the telegram sent to Eton, Doris Lorrimer's meetinghim in place of Sir Roland's butler, had been accounted for simply andquite rationally. And yet I felt firmly convinced the statements must inthe main be a series of monstrous untruths, a belief in which Preston,with all his experience, concurred. Only two points puzzled me. NeitherJasmine Gastrell nor Connie Stapleton, nor, indeed, anybody else, couldby any possibility have known that Preston, Jack, and I contemplatedcalling at the house in Willow Road that evening. How came it, then,that everything had been so skilfully arranged with a view to disarmingour suspicions when we did call? That, I confess, was a problem socomplicated that it formed the one and only argument in favour of thestory that Dulcie had repeated to me being in part true. The otherpuzzling point was Dulcie's being at that house that night, and herknowing that Dick was there. Surely if Connie Stapleton and heraccomplices had intended to kidnap Dick for the purpose of extortingmoney from Sir Roland, they would not intentionally have let Dulcie knowwhat was happening. And, arguing thus with myself, I began at last towonder if, after all, I had been mistaken; if, after all, Mrs. Stapletonhad not invented that story, but had told Dulcie the truth. I confessthat the more I thought it all over and the harder I tried to siftpossible facts from probable fiction the more hopelessly entangled Ibecame. Perhaps the strongest argument in favour of my theory that wewere being cleverly and systematically hoaxed lay in Dick's discovery ofthe cypher messages in the _Morning Post_. There could, at any rate, beno getting away from the cypher message which had appeared on theprevious day and that ran: "_Osborne and Berrington suspect. Takeprecautions_"
Then I thought again of Dulcie. It was appalling, almost incredible,that she should be allowed to associate with men and women whom wepractically knew to be adventurers, and who might be not merelyadventurers, but criminals masquerading as respectable members ofSociety. Yet I was impotent to prevent her; it was, of course, SirRoland's duty to forbid her to mix with these people, but then SirRoland, from being powerfully attracted by the young widow ConnieStapleton, was, as I had long ago guessed, becoming deeply enamoured ofher; so that, far from preventing Dulcie from associating withher--Dulcie, with her strange infatuation for the woman--he deliberatelyencouraged the intimacy. Well, next morning, at any rate, I should seeDulcie alone, I reflected, with a feeling of satisfaction, and then Iwould have it out with her and go into the whole affair thoroughly,speaking to her with brutal frankness--even at the risk of hurting herfeelings and incurring her displeasure I would tell her everything Iknew and all that I suspected. Something must be done, and at once, toput an end to her absurd attachment to the widow--I had thought it allover quite long enough; it was now time to act. And Dick too; I must gethold of him and question him narrowly to find out if his story of whathappened from the time he left me on Paddington platform and went andstood beside Doris Lorrimer under the clock, and his arrival at WillowRoad, Hampstead, tallied with the story that Connie Stapleton had toldDulcie, and that Dulcie had related to me--for I somehow fancied thatthe two narratives might differ to some extent, if only in theirminor details.
We were approaching Hampstead Tube station when Preston, turning to mefrom Jack Osborne, with whom he had been in close conversation,inquired:
"Has Sir Roland lately said anything to you, Mr. Berrington, thatinterested you particularly? Has he thrown out any hint of any sort?"
I reflected.
"Nothing that I can recollect," I said. "Have you reason to suppose thathe has something of special interest that he wants to say to me?"
"I have, but until he speaks it is not for me to make any comment."
We had reached the Tube station. Jack booked to Russell Square; Prestonto Piccadilly Circus; and I took a ticket to Bond Street, those beingthe stations nearest to our respective destinations.
"Are you aware," Preston said soon after the train had started, "thatsince we left my house and went to dine in Soho, we have been followed?I wanted to be perfectly certain before telling you, but I see now thatI was right in my suspicion. Look to your left presently, one at a time,and at the end of the compartment you'll see quite an ordinary-lookingman, apparently a foreigner, smoking a cheroot--the man seated alone,with a lot of hair on his face."
"You wouldn't notice him if he passed you in the street, would you?" hesaid after we had looked, "but I have noticed him all the evening. Hewas in Warwick Street when we all came out of my house; he followed usto Soho; he was in Gerrard Street, awaiting us, when we came out of therestaurant after dining; he came after us to Hampstead; he has followedus from Willow Road to the Tube station, and he is in this compartmentnow for the purpose of observing us. I want you each not to forget whathe is like, and in a few minutes, when we all separate, I shall becurious to see which of us he follows--to know which of us he is reallyshadowing."
Jack was the first to alight. He bade us each a cheery good night, afterreminding us that we were all three to meet on the following afternoon,and hurried out. The hairy man with the cheroot remained motionless,reading his newspaper.
My turn came next--at Oxford Circus station. As I rose, I noticed theman carelessly fold up his newspaper, cram it into his coat pocket, andget up. Rather to my surprise I did not, after that, see him again. Hewas not with me in the carriage of the train I changed into, nor was he,apparently, on the platform at Bond Street station when I got out. As Ipushed my latch-key into the outer door of South Molton Street Mansions,I glanced quickly up and down the street, but, so far as I could see,there was no sign of the man.
However, a surprise awaited me. Upon entering my flat I noticed a lightin the sitting-room at the end of the little passage--the door stoodajar. Entering quickly, I uttered an exclamation of amazement. For inthe big arm-chair in front of the fire--the fire burned as though it hadlately been made up--Dick lay back fast asleep, his lips slightlyparted, his chest rising and falling in a way that showed how heavilyhe slept.
Recovering from my amazement, I stood for a minute or two watching him.How delightful he looked when asleep like that, and what a strongresemblance he bore to Dulcie. But how came he to be here? And how cameDulcie to have told me, less than an hour before, that he was in thehouse at Hampstead, and asleep there? Gazing down upon him still, Iwondered what really had happened since I had last seen him thatevening, and what story he would have to tell me when he awoke.
My man had gone to bed, for it was now past midnight. Considering whereI had better put Dick to sleep, my glance rested upon some letters lyingon the table. Mechanically I picked them up and looked at thehandwritings on the envelopes. Nothing of interest, I decided, and I wasabout to put them down again, unopened, when I noticed there was onefrom Holt that I had overlooked. The handwriting was Sir Roland's.Hastily tearing open the envelope, I pulled out the letter. It was quiteshort, but its contents sent my heart jumping into my mouth, and hadDick not been asleep close by in the chair I believe I should have usedsome almost unprintable language.
"Oh, the fool--the silly, doddering, abject old fool!" I exclaimed aloudas I flung the open letter down on to the table and began to pace theroom in a fury of indignation. "'No fool like an old fool'--oh, thosewords of wisdom--the man who first uttere
d them should have a monumenterected to his memory," I continued aloud; then suddenly, as Dickstirred in his sleep, I checked myself abruptly.
The letter Sir Roland Challoner had written to me ran as follows:
"My dear Mike,--As you and Dulcie are engaged, I dare say you will beinterested, and you may be surprised, to hear of another engagement. Ihave asked Dulcie's beautiful friend, Mrs. Stapleton, to become my wife,and she has done me the honour of accepting my proposal. Write tocongratulate me, my dear Mike, and come down again soon to stay with us.
"Yours affectionately,
"ROLAND CHALLONER."
The Four Faces: A Mystery Page 18
