Complete Works of F Marion Crawford

by F. Marion Crawford

  It was a warm evening; in the dusk of the big rooms the hum of voices was low and pleasant, broken only now and then by Van Torp’s more strident tone. Outside it was still light, and the starlings and blackbirds and thrushes were finishing their supper, picking up the unwary worms and the tardy little snails, and making a good deal of sweet noise about it.

  Margaret set down her cup on the lid of the piano, and at the slight sound Lady Maud turned towards her, so that their eyes met. Each noticed the other’s expression.

  ‘What is it?’ asked Lady Maud, with a little smile of friendly concern. ‘Is anything wrong?’

  ‘No — that is—’ Margaret smiled too, as she hesitated— ‘I was going to ask you the same question,’ she added quickly.

  ‘It’s nothing more than usual,’ returned her friend. ‘I think it has gone very well, don’t you, these three days? He has made a good impression on everybody — don’t you think so?’

  ‘Oh yes!’ Margaret answered readily. ‘Excellent! Could not be better! I confess to being surprised, just a little — I mean,’ she corrected herself hastily, ‘after all the talk there has been, it might not have turned out so easy.’

  ‘Don’t you feel a little less prejudiced against him yourself?’ asked Lady Maud.

  ‘Prejudiced!’ Margaret repeated the word thoughtfully. ‘Yes, I suppose I’m prejudiced against him. That’s the only word. Perhaps it’s hateful of me, but I cannot help it — and I wish you wouldn’t make me own it to you, for it’s humiliating! I’d like him, if I could, for your sake. But you must take the wish for the deed.’

  ‘That’s better than nothing!’ Lady Maud seemed to be trying to laugh a little, but it was with an effort and there was no ripple in her voice. ‘You have something on your mind, too,’ she went on, to change the subject. ‘Is anything troubling you?’

  ‘Only the same old question. It’s not worth mentioning!’

  ‘To marry, or not to marry?’

  ‘Yes. I suppose I shall take the leap some day, and probably in the dark, and then I shall be sorry for it. Most of you have!’

  She looked up at Lady Maud with a rather uncertain, flickering smile, as if she wished her mind to be made up for her, and her hands lay weakly in her lap, the palms almost upwards.

  ‘Oh, don’t ask me!’ cried her friend, answering the look rather than the words, and speaking with something approaching to vehemence.

  ‘Do you wish you had waited for the other one till now?’ asked Margaret softly, but she did not know that he had been killed in South Africa; she had never seen the shabby little photograph.

  ‘Yes — for ever!’

  That was all Lady Maud said, and the two words were not uttered dramatically either, though gravely and without the least doubt.

  The butler and two men appeared, to collect the coffee cups; the former had a small salver in his hand and came directly to Lady Maud. He brought a telegram for her.

  ‘You don’t mind, do you?’ she asked Margaret mechanically, as she opened it.

  ‘Of course,’ answered the other in the same tone, and she looked through the open window while her friend read the message.

  It was from the Embassy in London, and it informed her in the briefest terms that Count Leven had been killed in St. Petersburg on the previous day, in the street, by a bomb intended for a high official. Lady Maud made no sound, but folded the telegram into a small square and turned her back to the room for a moment in order to slip it unnoticed into the body of her black velvet gown. As she recovered her former attitude she was surprised to see that the butler was still standing two steps from her where he had stopped after he had taken the cups from the piano and set them on the small salver on which he had brought the message. He evidently wanted to say something to her alone.

  Lady Maud moved away from the piano, and he followed her a little beyond the window, till she stopped and turned to hear what he had to say.

  ‘There are three persons asking for Mr. Van Torp, my lady,’ he said in a very low tone, and she noticed the disturbed look in his face. ‘They’ve got a motor-car waiting in the avenue.’

  ‘What sort of people are they?’ she asked quietly; but she felt that she was pale.

  ‘To tell the truth, my lady,’ the butler spoke in a whisper, bending his head, ‘I think they are from Scotland Yard.’

  Lady Maud knew it already; she had almost guessed it when she had glanced at his face before he spoke at all.

  ‘Show them into the old study,’ she said, ‘and ask them to wait a moment.’

  The butler went away with his two coffee cups, and scarcely any one had noticed that Lady Maud had exchanged a few words with him by the window. She turned back to the piano, where Margaret was still sitting on the stool with her hands in her lap, looking at Logotheti in the distance and wondering whether she meant to marry him or not.

  ‘No bad news, I hope?’ asked the singer, looking up as her friend came to her side.

  ‘Not very good,’ Lady Maud answered, leaning her elbow on the piano. ‘Should you mind singing something to keep the party together while I talk to some tiresome men who are in the old study? On these June evenings people have a way of wandering out into the garden after dinner. I should like to keep every one in the house for a quarter of an hour, and if you will only sing for them they won’t stir. Will you?’

  Margaret looked at her curiously.

  ‘I think I understand,’ Margaret said. ‘The people in the study are asking for Mr. Van Torp.’

  Lady Maud nodded, not surprised that Logotheti should have told the Primadonna something about what he had been doing.

  ‘Then you believe he is innocent,’ she said confidently. ‘Even though you don’t like him, you’ll help me, won’t you?’

  ‘I’ll do anything you ask me. But I should think—’

  ‘No,’ Lady Maud interrupted. ‘He must not be arrested at all. I know that he would rather face the detectives than run away, even for a few hours, till the truth is known. But I won’t let him. It would be published all over the world to-morrow morning that he had been arrested for murder in my father’s house, and it would never be forgotten against him, though he might be proved innocent ten times over. That’s what I want to prevent. Will you help me?’

  As she spoke the last words she raised the front lid of the piano, and Margaret turned on her seat towards the instrument to open the keyboard, nodding her assent.

  ‘Just play a little, till I am out of the room, and then sing,’ said Lady Maud.

  The great artist’s fingers felt the keys as her friend turned away. Anything theatrical was natural to her now, and she began to play very softly, watching the moving figure in black velvet as she would have watched a fellow singer on the stage while waiting to go on.

  Lady Maud did not speak to Van Torp first, but to Griggs, and then to Logotheti, and the two men slipped away together and disappeared. Then she came back to Van Torp, smiling pleasantly. He was still talking with Lord Creedmore, but the latter, at a word from his daughter, went off to the elderly peeress whom Logotheti had abruptly left alone before the portrait.

  Margaret did not hear what Lady Maud said to the American, but it was evidently not yet a warning, for her smile did not falter, and he looked pleased as he came back with her, and they passed near the piano to go out through the open window upon the broad flagged terrace that separated the house from the flower-beds.

  The Primadonna played a little louder now, so that every one heard the chords, even in the picture-gallery, and a good many men were rather bored at the prospect of music.

  Then the Señorita da Cordova raised her head and looked over the grand piano, and her lips parted, and boredom vanished very suddenly; for even those who did not take much pleasure in the music were amazed by the mere sound of her voice and by its incredible flexibility.

  She meant to astonish her hearers and keep them quiet, and she knew what to sing to gain her end, and how to sing it. Those who have not forgot
ten the story of her beginnings will remember that she was a thorough musician as well as a great singer, and was one of those very few primadonnas who are able to accompany themselves from memory without a false note through any great piece they know, from Lucia to Parsifal.

  She began with the waltz song in the first act of Romeo and Juliet. It was the piece that had revealed her talent to Madame Bonanni, who had accidentally overheard her singing to herself, and it suited her purpose admirably. Such fireworks could not fail to astound, even if they did not please, and half the full volume of her voice was more than enough for the long drawing-room, into which the whole party gathered almost as soon as she began to sing. Such trifles as having just dined, or having just waked up in the morning, have little influence on the few great natural voices of the world, which begin with twice the power and beauty that the ‘built-up’ ones acquire in years of study. Ordinary people go to a concert, to the opera, to a circus, to university sports, and hear and see things that interest or charm, or sometimes surprise them; but they are very much amazed if they ever happen to find out in private life what a really great professional of any sort can do at a pinch, if put to it by any strong motive. If it had been necessary, Margaret could have sung to the party in the drawing-room at Craythew for an hour at a stretch with no more rest than her accompaniments afforded.

  Her hearers were the more delighted because it was so spontaneous, and there was not the least affectation about it. During these days no one had even suggested that she should make music, or be anything except the ‘daughter of Lord Creedmore’s old friend.’ But now, apparently, she had sat down to the piano to give them all a concert, for the sheer pleasure of singing, and they were not only pleased with her, but with themselves; for the public, and especially audiences, are more easily flattered by a great artist who chooses to treat his hearers as worthy of his best, than the artist himself is by the applause he hears for the thousandth time.

  So the Señorita da Cordova held the party at Craythew spellbound while other things were happening very near them which would have interested them much more than her trills, and her ‘mordentini,’ and her soaring runs, and the high staccato notes that rang down from the ceiling as if some astounding and invisible instrument were up there, supported by an unseen force.

  Meanwhile Paul Griggs and Logotheti had stopped a moment in the first of the rooms that contained the library, on their way to the old study beyond.

  It was almost dark amongst the huge oak bookcases, and both men stopped at the same moment by a common instinct, to agree quickly upon some plan of action. They had led adventurous lives, and were not likely to stick at trifles, if they believed themselves to be in the right; but if they had left the drawing-room with the distinct expectation of anything like a fight, they would certainly not have stopped to waste their time in talking.

  The Greek spoke first.

  ‘Perhaps you had better let me do the talking,’ he said.

  ‘By all means,’ answered Griggs. ‘I am not good at that. I’ll keep quiet, unless we have to handle them.’

  ‘All right, and if you have any trouble I’ll join in and help you. Just set your back against the door if they try to get out while I am speaking.’

  ‘Yes.’

  That was all, and they went on in the gathering gloom, through the three rooms of the library, to the door of the old study, from which a short winding staircase led up to the two small rooms which Griggs was occupying.

  Three quiet men in dark clothes were standing together in the twilight, in the bay window at the other side of the room, and they moved and turned their heads quickly as the door opened. Logotheti went up to them, while Griggs remained near the door, looking on.

  ‘What can I do for you?’ inquired the Greek, with much urbanity.

  ‘We wished to speak with Mr. Van Torp, who is stopping here,’ answered the one of the three men who stood farthest forward.

  ‘Oh yes, yes!’ said Logotheti at once, as if assenting. ‘Certainly! Lady Maud Leven, Lord Creedmore’s daughter — Lady Creedmore is away, you know — has asked us to inquire just what you want of Mr. Van Torp.’

  ‘It’s a personal matter,’ replied the spokesman. ‘I will explain it to him, if you will kindly ask him to come here a moment.’

  Logotheti smiled pleasantly.

  ‘Quite so,’ he said. ‘You are, no doubt, reporters, and wish to interview him. As a personal friend of his, and between you and me, I don’t think he’ll see you. You had better write and ask for an appointment. Don’t you think so, Griggs?’

  The author’s large, grave features relaxed in a smile of amusement as he nodded his approval of the plan.

  ‘We do not represent the press,’ answered the man.

  ‘Ah! Indeed? How very odd! But of course—’ Logotheti pretended to understand suddenly— ‘how stupid of me! No doubt you are from the bank. Am I not right?’

  ‘No. You are mistaken. We are not from Threadneedle Street.’

  ‘Well, then, unless you will enlighten me, I really cannot imagine who you are or where you come from!’

  ‘We wish to speak in private with Mr. Van Torp.’

  ‘In private, too?’ Logotheti shook his head, and turned to Griggs. ‘Really, this looks rather suspicious; don’t you think so?’

  Griggs said nothing, but the smile became a broad grin.

  The spokesman, on his side, turned to his two companions and whispered, evidently consulting them as to the course he should pursue.

  ‘Especially after the warning Lord Creedmore has received,’ said Logotheti to Griggs in a very audible tone, as if explaining his last speech.

  The man turned to him again and spoke in a gravely determined tone —

  ‘I must really insist upon seeing Mr. Van Torp immediately,’ he said.

  ‘Yes, yes, I quite understand you,’ answered Logotheti, looking at him with a rather pitying smile, and then turning to Griggs again, as if for advice.

  The elder man was much amused by the ease with which the Greek had so far put off the unwelcome visitors and gained time; but he saw that the scene must soon come to a crisis, and prepared for action, keeping his eye on the three, in case they should make a dash at the door that communicated with the rest of the house.

  During the two or three seconds that followed, Logotheti reviewed the situation. It would be an easy matter to trick the three men into the short winding staircase that led up to the rooms Griggs occupied, and if the upper and lower doors were locked and barricaded, the prisoners could not forcibly get out. But it was certain that the leader of the party had a warrant about him, and this must be taken from him before locking him up, and without any acknowledgment of its validity; for even the lawless Greek was aware that it was not good to interfere with officers of the law in the execution of their duty. If there had been more time he might have devised some better means of attaining his end than occurred to him just then.

  ‘They must be the lunatics,’ he said to Griggs, with the utmost calm.

  The spokesman started and stared, and his jaw dropped. For a moment he could not speak.

  ‘You know Lord Creedmore was warned this morning that a number had escaped from the county asylum,’ continued Logotheti, still speaking to Griggs, and pretending to lower his voice.

  ‘Lunatics?’ roared the man when he got his breath, exasperated out of his civil manner. ‘Lunatics, sir? We are from Scotland Yard, sir, I’d have you know!’

  ‘Yes, yes,’ answered the Greek, ‘we quite understand. Humour them, my dear chap,’ he added in an undertone that was meant to be heard. ‘Yes,’ he continued in a cajoling tone, ‘I guessed at once that you were from police headquarters. If you’ll kindly show me your warrant—’

  He stopped politely, and nudged Griggs with his elbow, so that the detectives should be sure to see the movement. The chief saw the awkwardness of his own position, measured the bony veteran and the athletic foreigner with his eye, and judged that if the two were convince
d that they were dealing with madmen they would make a pretty good fight.

  ‘Excuse me,’ the officer said, speaking calmly, ‘but you are under a gross misapprehension about us. This paper will remove it at once, I trust, and you will not hinder us in the performance of an unpleasant duty.’

  He produced an official envelope, handed it to Logotheti, and waited for the result.

  It was unexpected when it came. Logotheti took the paper, and as it was now almost dark he looked about for the key of the electric light. Griggs was now close to him by the door through which they had entered, and behind which the knob was placed.

  ‘If I can get them upstairs, lock and barricade the lower door,’ whispered the Greek as he turned up the light.

  He took the paper under a bracket light on the other side of the room, beside the door of the winding stair, and began to read.

  His face was a study, and Griggs watched it, wondering what was coming. As Logotheti read and reread the few short sentences, he was apparently seized by a fit of mirth which he struggled in vain to repress, and which soon broke out into uncontrollable laughter.

  ‘The cleverest trick you ever saw!’ he managed to get out between his paroxysms.

  It was so well done that the detective was seriously embarrassed; but after a moment’s hesitation he judged that he ought to get his warrant back at all hazards, and he moved towards Logotheti with a menacing expression.