"Which Mr. Judge promptly extended to half-an-hour," said Blanche, with her back still turned.
"Why, what happened?"
"A somewhat absurd accident, Miss Loment. Whether it was the hot sun, or the wine, I don't know, but I fell asleep upstairs."
"How funny!" Isbel began to laugh.
Blanche swung round. "But the funniest thing was that when we went upstairs to look for him he was nowhere to be found."
"I repeat, Mrs. Stokes-because you looked in the wrong place. I was in one of the servants' rooms. I recollected having seen a window left open, and went along to shut it."
"Quite a chapter of accidents!" said Isbel. "However, the main thing is we're all happily assembled again, safe and sound, after our various adventures. Did you see anything interesting, Roger?"
"Much. The house is a veritable pot-pourri of styles and centuries. I have counted three distinct periods, and perhaps there are more."
Judge entered the conversation with a visible effort. "This hall is one, the main body of the house is another, but what is the third?"
"Why, the East Room. There's old, old, very old work there, unless I'm crassly ignorant. One of the rafters of the ceiling is carved with runes. That was placed there by no Elizabethan hand."
"You said nothing about this at the time?"
"I had no audience, my dear proprietor. My lady-wife was gazing around for ghosts, while you were deep in abstract thought, and did not once remove your eyes from the blank wall they chanced to alight on."
"But what would be the object of this carving?" demanded Isbel hurriedly.
"Doubtless a magic formula employed by our heathen Saxon forefathers to prevent the goblins from riding the roof-a favourite supernatural pastime of the olden days. Were I Judge, I would fain remove the timber and send it to our authorities to be deciphered."
"Perhaps I will," said Judge.
Isbel did not listen to Roger very attentively: she was cogitating Judge's story. She did not believe that he had spoken the truth. A quite different explanation of his disappearance had dawned on her, and with Isbel's intuitions from dawn to full day was but a flash. On his return to the East Room, he had seen that the staircase again which he had seen so many times before. He had ascended it, and-her heart beat rapidly-they two had met up there!…That was why they had been glancing at each other so strangely…She was as sure of it all as if she had heard it from his own mouth.
She turned aside in sick excitement.
"We'd better get home," remarked Blanche coldly. "It's nearly four, and I shan't be sorry for some tea?"
Judge glanced at her rather anxiously "Would you prefer to stop somewhere en route?"
"We'll get home, I think."
As there was nothing to wait for, they at once left the hall. The girls went in front, but as soon as they were outside Blanche accompanied her husband to the car, leaving the others on the doorstep while Judge prepared to lock up.
"I'm coming over to Worthing to-morrow, to see you," murmured Isbel, standing straight up, facing the door and Judge.
Without changing countenance or so much as looking at her, he bent down to insert the key in the hole.
"Certainly, Miss Loment."
"I'll come over by train in the morning. Can you meet me on the front, as if by accident? Do you know a train?"
"There's the 10.40 from Hove."
"That will do. Please don't say a word to anyone."
Without waiting for his response, she hastened to join her friends. The two girls resumed their wraps, and got into the back seat. Judge took his place behind the wheel, and lastly Roger climbed in. After a little preliminary backing, they made a clear start down the drive.
At the lodge-gate they stopped for a minute, while Mrs. Priday called her husband out, in obedience to Judge's request. The head gardener was in the middle of tea, and his mouth was still busily engaged, in spite of his efforts to empty it.
"Priday," said his master, leaning out of the car towards him, "one of the ladies has lost a scarf somewhere on the grounds. It might be as far away as the stream by Moss's Wood. Have a good look round for it-to-day. It must be found."
"Colour, sir?"
Judge mutely transferred the inquiry to Isbel.
"Vieux rose. A long silk scarf."
"Pink, Priday. See to it at once. Good afternoon!"
***
Blanche paid a visit to Isbel's room that evening, during the dressing hour before dinner. Isbel, fully gowned, was sitting on a sofa, reading a magazine. Blanche had on the frock which she had worn on the occasion of the dinner-party; she refused to sit down, and altogether seemed rather unusual in her manner. Isbel, being in a highly sensitive mood, detected the presence of feminine electricity at once; she quietly set down her paper beside her, feeling more apprehension than she cared to admit to herself.
"What's the matter, Blanche?"
"Nothing. I've just looked in."
"I thought perhaps you wanted to say something…Well, have you enjoyed your day?"
"Oh, I expect so. Have you?"
"Yes-but I'm vexed about the scarf."
Blanche pointed her toes together and gazed down at the carpet. "Is it worth worrying about?"
"I hate losing things."
There was a pause.
"I know where it is-if that's any help to you," said Blanche quietly.
"You do?…Why, where is it?"
Her friend slowly lifted her eyes, until they stopped on Isbel's face. "In Judge's breast-pocket."
Isbel jumped up, then sat down again.
"What!"
"That's where it was, dear, at any rate, for I saw it there-peeping out."
"Oh, absurd!…What on earth should he be doing with my scarf?"
"I wonder you don't rather ask how it comes to be in his possession. You didn't give it to him, I presume?"
"I decidedly didn't. I'm not in the habit of giving articles of clothing to men."
Blanche pursed her lips for a second or two…"You certainly were wearing it when we went upstairs. You never came upstairs at all, and Judge never went downstairs. Yet the next time we meet him, it has become mysteriously transferred to his pocket. He hadn't even taken common precautions to hide it…Somewhat puzzling, don't you think?"
Danger signals appeared suddenly on Isbel's cheeks.
"You infer…?"
"Nothing, dearest. But if you're speaking the truth-as I hope, for your own sake, you are-then that man isn't. In any case, he isn't. A girl's scarf doesn't float upstairs and find it's way into a man's pocket of its own sweet will."
"Most likely it wasn't my scarf at all."
"My dear child, whatever else I don't know, I do know the contents of your wardrobe. You might put Roger off with that suggestion, but not me. It was your scarf."
Isbel bit her lip, and stared at the carpet beneath her.
"Then all I can say is, he must be pretty far gone. He has no right to it, and I don't know in the least what he's doing with it. Perhaps it's a form of mania with him."
"Yes-but you won't see the point. How did he get hold of it?"
"I expect after he had made his escape from you he slipped quietly down the servants' staircase and got into the hall that way. Finding me asleep, he appropriated the scarf. I can't think of any other solution."
"He may be a lunatic, of course," said Blanche, in her driest tone.
"Thanks! I quite understand what you're driving at all along."
Blanche said nothing. Isbel, after waiting in vain for her to speak, uttered a high, metallic laugh.
"Oh, I admit the evidence is overwhelmingly damning against both of us. You might as well be honest about it."
"For heaven's sake don't take up that tone! You must see for yourself how it compromises you. Instead of losing your temper, you had much better set about recovering your property. If I've seen it, somebody else may."
"From which I assume that you don't propose to acquaint the others with the details
of this romantic affair?"
"I'm not a sneak. You ought to know me better than that."
Isbel gnawed away at her finger-nails.
"I came here to try and help you," went on Blanche. "It's not very encouraging to find myself treated as an interfering busybody."
"Oh, don't imagine I'm not grateful to you. It isn't everyone who would undertake such an unpalatable duty-I quite see that…Perhaps I should have been even more grateful to you for a little loyal backing up, but I see your point of view perfectly. I've no right to expect other people to behave as quixotically as I should have done under similar circumstances. Every woman must act according to her nature."
"It will be time enough to show sympathy when I know it's wanted."
"And deserved. Don't spare me, I beg."
Blanche sat down slowly on the sofa. After a minute she impulsively seized her friend's hand.
"Billy, swear there's nothing between you and that man, and I'll believe you. I don't think you could tell me a direct lie. Up to the present we've always shared each other's secrets."
"I do swear that I haven't the faintest notion how that scarf got out of my possession, or into his. I'm as utterly mystified as you are."
"Sure?"
"Quite sure," said Isbel, colouring and smiling.
"Very well; that's all I wanted to hear. As long as it's all right on your side, his conduct is of quite secondary importance. I'm more relieved than I can tell you…But you'll have to get it back, by fair means or foul."
"I'll think it over to-night in bed."
Blanche gazed at her steadily, still holding her hand.
"If I were you, I should drop the acquaintance altogether. You won't derive much good from a man like that."
"You mean, give up the idea of his house?"
"There are plenty of other houses. Have you told your aunt yet about his change of decision?"
"No."
"That's good. Don't…Dash a line off to Judge to say it's all over. And you can mention about the scarf at the same time. Say you understand it's in his possession, and beg him to return it at once…You could almost do it now, before dinner."
"No, there isn't time," replied Isbel. And she found no time the whole of the evening.
In bed, the same night, she tossed for hours, tormenting her brain over the events of the day. As often as she had satisfactorily assured herself of the impossibility of her having given that scarf personally to Judge, the whole problem would break open again, like a badly-bandaged wound, and she would find herself once more searching in vain in all directions for some escape from the necessity of accepting this awful, unthinkable hypothesis.
Her thoughts travelled round and round in circles, and relief came to her at last only in absolute physical exhaustion.
Chapter XI ISBEL VISITS WORTHING
Immediately after the departure of Blanche and Roger next morning, Isbel-attired in an old, though still serviceable, tweed walking costume, with stout, low-heeled shoes-announced her intention of taking a long tramp on the downs by herself; she might, or might not, be back for lunch. It was the only programme she could think of in which her aunt would be certain not to offer to participate. Mrs. Moor, of course, raised some half-hearted objections-that was more in the nature of a ritual between the two ladies-but in the end Isbel got her way, and before ten o'clock she was out of the hotel. Not en route to the downs, however. At the top of Preston Street she caught a bus to Hove Station, and, on arriving there, purchased a ticket to Worthing.
The train was a little overdue. Not many people were travelling, and she was able to secure an empty first-class compartment. Her first action was to fling down both windows for the atmosphere was suffocating close; it was one of those heavy, sluggish, overcast, depressing mornings which are the sure forerunners of steady rain. As they ran into Worthing, a few spots already began to gather on the left-hand side windows.
She found Judge waiting for her at the Parade end of South Street. He was smartly clad, had his hands behind him, and was gazing idly, yet with dignity, at the outside shelves of a book-dealer's shop. No one could have guessed from his manner that he was there by appointment. When she touched him lightly on the arm, his start of surprise nearly deceived herself into imagining that the meeting was accidental; but then she remembered her own caution to him.
"I am the one you're waiting for, I hope?" she asked, with a smile.
He replaced his hat. "I would have come to the station, but your instructions were definite."
"Then let's get on to the front. It's going to rain, isn't it?"
"I fear so-and you have no protection."
"I've nothing on to spoil."
They crossed the road to the Parade, and started to walk in the direction of the Burlington. There were a few people abroad, and certainly no one she knew, yet the mere fact that she was in a strange town, strolling with a strange man, had a peculiarly exciting effect upon her nerves. Everyone they passed seemed to be regarding her with suspicion.
"You didn't mind meeting me here this morning, Mr. Judge?"
"Just the reverse, Miss Loment. I regard it as a great honour."
"It's nothing very dreadful. I just wanted to talk things over."
"I quite understand." But he looked rather puzzled.
She waited till some approaching women had met and passed. "First of all, Mr. Judge-did you find my scarf?"
"Yes; it's in my pocket, and you shall have it when we separate. I've made a small parcel of it."
"Where was it found, then?"
He hesitated. "In a very queer resting-place, I'm afraid. On getting home last evening I found it reposing neatly folded in my breast-pocket."
"I see."
"Doubtless a practical joke on someone's part-a kind of joke, I must admit, I don't much care about."
"You mean Roger, I suppose? I don't think he would have done it. Couldn't you have placed it there yourself in a fit of abstraction?"
"No, that is entirely out of the question. I think we must call it a joke."
There was an interval of silence, and then she turned to him quietly:
"Mr. Judge…"
"Yes, Miss Loment?"
"When you disappeared yesterday afternoon, where were you?"
"Surely I have explained that?"
"I don't blame you for giving an untrue account of your movements, because, of course, you had to say something. But you'll tell me the truth now, won't you?"
"But, really!…"
"You did go up those stairs, didn't you?"
Judge gave her a swift sidelong glance. "What stairs?"
"That strange staircase leading out of the East Room."
"Mr. Marshall Stokes told you, then?"
"Please leave him out of it. My information is first-hand."
It now came on to rain more sharply, and they were forced to take refuge in an adjacent shelter, which luckily proved to be vacant. They sat facing the sea. Judge rested both hands on his gold-headed stick, and stared straight before him.
"Yet I distinctly gathered that you have never personally visited that room, Miss Loment?"
"Nor have I. Your house has more mysteries than you are aware of, Mr. Judge. The hall also has its staircase."
"What staircase?" He frowned. "I don't quite know how to take this."
"Not only have I seen it with my own eyes, but I have twice set foot on it-once being yesterday afternoon. I want you to believe that I am being quite serious, and not fabricating in the least."
"Yesterday afternoon?"
"Five minutes after you had all gone upstairs."
"Could you describe them-those stairs?"
"The were plain, narrow, wooden stairs, going up through an opening in the wall; no handrail. The top was out of sight."
"This is indeed extraordinary! Can you tell me your experience?"
"No; for I remember nothing of it. But I went up them and came down again."
There was a long pause, during which Jud
ge frequently cleared his throat.
"I must believe you, Miss Loment, and yet…And this was the second occasion, you tell me? Were you by yourself the first time as well?"
"Yes."
"I can't doubt your word; the same thing has happened to me more than a few times. Astonishing as your statement is, Miss Loment, in a sense I'm relieved by it. I may as well confess it-I have sometimes been alarmed for my reason. The stable laws of Nature are the foundation of the whole of our experience, and when once in a while we seem to see them no longer valid, it is inevitable that we should prefer to suspect our understanding."
"Then you did go up yesterday?"
"Yes, I did go up."
"And remember nothing?"
"Nothing whatever."
"Nothing that strikes you?"
"Might not we have met in that upper part of the house?"
Judge looked up quickly. "What makes you think that?"
"You don't realise that it might explain my scarf's being in your possession?" she asked in a very low voice.
"Your scarf?"
"Don't be in a hurry. Think it over for a minute, Mr. Judge. It's important."
"I cannot see how our meeting there, or anywhere else, would account for your scarf's being in my pocket."
"If you cannot see, I cannot help you."
"I am not a thief, and why should such a gift by made?"
"But perhaps it was made."
"I cannot imagine what you mean," said Judge, turning pale.
Isbel cast uneasy glances around her. She drew a little closer to him, re-arranging her skirt with nervous impatience.
"That's the another thing I wanted to talk about, Mr. Judge. I don't know how we really stand towards each other…Of course we're friends… Since yesterday, our relationship has somehow seemed to me very undefined. It has been worrying me."
"I think I understand what you mean."
"Is it our experience in common, or is it something else? Do try and help me. It's frightfully difficult for me to speak of all this."
"But is it necessary to, Miss Loment? As you say, we are friends. Perhaps if we show ourselves too curious, we shall merely be robbing ourselves of what we already possess."
The Haunted Woman Page 10
