THE CURVED BLADES
by
CAROLYN WELLS
Author of "A Chain of Evidence," "The Gold Bag," "The Clue," "TheWhite Alley," Etc.
With a Frontispiece in Color by Gayle Hoskins
Philadelphia and LondonJ. B. Lippincott Company1916
Copyright, 1916, by Frank A. Munsey CompanyCopyright, 1916, by J. B. Lippincott CompanyPublished February, 1916
Printed by J. B. Lippincott Companyat the Washington Square PressPhiladelphia, U. S. A.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE I. Miss Lucy Carrington 7 II. A Clash of Tongues 21 III. The Tragedy 36 IV. A Paper Snake 49 V. A Man's Glove 61 VI. A Neighbor's Call 75 VII. The Inquest 90 VIII. Anita's Story 104 IX. Further Testimony 117 X. Bizarre Clues 130 XI. Fleming Stone 144 XII. Estelle's Story 156 XIII. Bates, the Burglar 169 XIV. Who Gave the Poison 182 XV. Pauline's Purchase 195 XVI. The Two Girls 210 XVII. The Overheard Conversation 222 XVIII. Fled! 235 XIX. Letters from the Fugitive 251 XX. In the Boudoir 261 XXI. Fleming Stone's Theory 274 XXII. Pauline in Cairo 289 XXIII. Two Wills 302 XXIV. Confession 314
THE CURVED BLADES
I MISS LUCY CARRINGTON
"Garden Steps" was one of the show-places of Merivale Park, Long Island.In summer it was an enchanting spot, and the dazzling white marble stepswhich led to the sunken gardens justified their right to give the placeits name. Other stone steps gave on terraces and flower banks, othersstill led to the Italian landscape gardens, and a few rustic steps of awooden stile transported one to an old-fashioned garden, whose larkspurand Canterbury bells were the finest of their sort.
The house seemed an integral part of this setting. Its wide verandahs, ormore often loggias, were so lavishly furnished with flowering plants, itswindows so boxed with them, that the whole effect was that of amarvellously well-planned horticultural exhibition.
But all this was of the summer. In winter--for it was anall-round-the-year home--only the varied and extraordinary collection ofevergreens shared with the steps the honor of making picturesque andbeautiful the view from the house windows.
And now, in January, one of the all too seldom enjoyed white snow stormshad glorified the whole estate. Wind-swept drifts half hid, halfdisclosed the curving marble balustrades, and turned the steps to snowyfairyland flights.
And, for it was night, a cold, dear, perfect winter night, a superciliousmoon looked down, a little haughtily and condescended to illumine thescene in stunning, if a bit theatric, fashion.
"Ripping picture, eh?" said Gray Haviland, as he held back the heavycurtain for the golden-haired young woman at his side to look out.
"Oh, isn't it a wonderful sight!" And as Anita Frayne took a stepforward, toward the casement, Haviland let the curtain fall behind himand the two were alone in the deep embrasure of the wide bay-window.
"Not nearly such a wonderful sight as you are!" Haviland swung her roundto face him, and stood gazing at the pretty, doll-like face that halflaughed, half frowned into his own.
"Me! I'm not like a moonlit landscape!"
"No, you're just a golden morsel of summer sunshine----" Haviland'seulogy was interrupted by a petulant voice calling shrilly:
"Where are you two? I hear you talking; come on. I'm waiting."
"Oh, Lord! come on," and, holding the curtain aside, he let Anita passand then followed her.
"Here we are, Cousin Lucy, all ready for the fray. Good evening, Count."
Count Charlier bowed Frenchily, and Anita gave him the bright, flashingsmile that she kept on hand for mankind in general, and which was quitedifferent from that she used on special occasions or for special friends.
Annoyed at the duration of this delaying smile, Miss Lucy Carringtontapped impatiently on the bridge table, and looked her impatience mostunmistakably.
Mistress of Garden Steps, wealthy, well-born, of assured social position,capable and efficient, Miss Carrington lacked the one gift of Fate forwhich she would have bartered all else. She was not beautiful, and hadnot even enough pretension to good looks to think herself beautiful.Plain features, graying hair--dyed red--big, prominent light-blue eyes,and a pasty, pudgy complexion left no hope for the miracles worked bybeauty doctors to avail in her case. Her figure was short and dumpy, thedespair of her staymakers, and her taste in dress ran to the extremes incoloring and fashion.
Passionately fond of all beauty, Miss Carrington felt keenly her own lackof it, and to this lack she attributed the fact that she was a spinster.Those who knew her felt there might be other reasons why her suitors hadbeen few, but, as a matter of fact, the acidity of her disposition was adirect result of her disappointed, loveless life, and even yet, thoughnearing fifty, Miss Lucy Carrington had by no means laid aside allthoughts of matrimonial adventure.
Heiress to immense wealth, there had been fortune-seekers who asked herhand, but Lucy Carrington would none of these. Aristocratic andhigh-minded, she had unerring perception of motives, and the men who hadbeen willing to marry her face as well as her fortune had been of suchunworth that the lady scorned them.
But now, looming on her hopes' horizon was a welcome possibility. CountHenri Charlier, a visitor of a neighbor, seemingly admired the mistressof Garden Steps and had fallen into the habit of frequent calling.Courteous and polished of manner, he flattered Miss Carrington in suchwise that his attitude was acceptable if not indubitably sincere. Herclosest scrutiny and most challenging provocation failed to surprise anyadmission of her lack of perfection in his eyes, and his splendidphysique and brilliant mind commanded her complete approval andadmiration. There had been hints that his title could not be readentirely clear, but this was not sufficient to condemn him in MissCarrington's eyes.
To be sure, the Count had as yet said no word that could be construed asof definite intention, but there had been certain signs, deemedportentous by the willing mind of the lady in question.
Bridge was Miss Carrington's favorite diversion, and, as the Count alsoenjoyed it, frequent evenings were devoted to the game.
It was, perhaps, a mistake that Miss Carrington should have allowed this,for her temper, always uncertain, lost all restraint when she sufferedill-luck at cards. A poor hand always brought down violent objurgation onthe head of her partner and sarcastic comment or criticism on heradversaries. These exhibitions of wrath were not good policy if shewished to charm the French visitor, but, as he invariably kept his owntemper, his irate hostess made little effort to curb hers.
"What are you doing, Anita?" cried Miss Carrington, petulantly, as theysettled themselves at the table. "You know I always play with the bluecards, and you are dealing them!"
"Sure enough! Pardon me, Lady Lucy, I will take the red ones."
"Then, pray, wait till I make them u
p. There. No, let the Count cut them!Have you no notion of bridge rules? You are quite the most inattentiveplayer! Will you kindly concentrate on the game?"
"Yes, indeed," and Anita Frayne smiled as she deftly dealt the red cards."I hope you have a good hand."
"You hope I have a good hand! A strange idea for an adversary!"
"But I know you like to win," and Miss Frayne hastily gathered up her owncards.
"I do not like to have you want me to win! That's babyish. I like to winby superior skill, not merely by lucky cards!"
This was an awful whopper, and all at the table knew it, but it wasignored and the game began.
Miss Carrington--Lady Lucy, as she liked to be called--did not hold goodhands. On the contrary, she had a run of bad luck that made her more andmore irate with each hand dealt. Miss Frayne, who was her _protegee_ andsocial secretary, watched with growing apprehension the red spots thatappeared in Miss Carrington's cheeks, infallible danger signals of animpending outbreak.
It came.
"Another handful of blanks!" Miss Carrington exclaimed, angrily, andflung the offending thirteen cards across the wide room.
"There now, Cousin Lucy," said Gray Haviland, determined to keep thepeace if possible, "that was a clever idea! It will certainly change yourluck! I'll collect the pasteboards, and we'll start fresh."
Easily, the big, good-looking young chap sauntered across the room andgathered up the cards, chatting meanwhile. "You don't lose your deal, youknow; so try again, Cousin Lucy, and good luck to you!"
In angry silence Miss Carrington dealt again, and examined her hand."Nothing above a nine spot!" she declared, throwing them, backs up, onthe table.
"Too bad!" murmured Miss Frayne, carelessly picking up the hand. "Why,you didn't look closely! Here's an ace and two queens and----"
"They're nothing! How dare you dispute my word? I say the hand isworthless!" She fairly snatched the cards from the girl and turned themface down again.
"But mad'moiselle," began the Count, "if you have an ace and two queens,I could have played a no-trump hand grand,--ah, splendid!"
"Yes, _you_ could have played it! You want to play all the open hands!You want me to sit here a dummy, a figure-head, every time!"
"Now, now, Lady Lucy----" and Anita Frayne laughed pleasantly.
"Be quiet! You're worse yet! You want to deal me good hands to humor me!I believe you would cheat to do it! I don't want good cards that way!"
"Ah," begged the Count, seeing Anita flush, "do not tell the young ladyshe cheats! Do not do that!"
"I'll tell her what I choose! Gray, say something! You sit there like amummy, while these people are insulting me right and left! Tell Anitathat I am right in not wishing her to deal me good cards purposely."
"But she didn't," declared Haviland; "you know she didn't. Why, shecouldn't, even if she wanted to!"
"Oh, yes, she could!" and Miss Carrington gave a disagreeable sneer."She's quite clever enough for any deceit or treachery."
"Stop, Cousin Lucy! I can't let you talk so about Miss Frayne in mypresence!"
"Oh, you can't, can't you? And, pray, what right have you to defend her?Go away, both of you! I'll play with you no longer. Go away and sendPauline and Mr. Illsley in here. They, at least, will play fair."
Anita Frayne rose without a word. Haviland rose too, but talking volubly."Let up, Cousin Lucy," he said sternly. "You've no right to treat MissFrayne so. You ought to apologize to her for such rudeness."
"Apologize!" Miss Carrington fairly shrieked; "she'll do the apologizing,and you, too, my foolish young cousin. You little know what's going tohappen to me! To-morrow you may sing another song!"
Haviland looked at her in astonishment; the Count, thoughtfully. The sameidea was in both their minds. Could she mean that she was expecting theCount to propose to her that evening?
"Nothing nice can happen to you unless you learn to control that temperof yours," and Haviland swung away after Anita.
He found her in the next room, nestled in the corner of a big davenport,weeping into a sympathetic sofa-cushion.
"Go and find the others," she whispered, as he came near her. "Make themgo and play with her!"
Obediently, Haviland went. In the glassed sun-parlor he found PaulineStuart, Miss Carrington's niece, and Stephen Illsley, one of the mostfavored of Pauline's many suitors.
"For goodness' sake, people," he began, "do go and play bridge with theLady of the Manor! She's in a peach of a fury, and you'll have to takeyour life in your hands, but _go_!"
"I won't," said Pauline, bluntly; "It's Anita's turn to-night. She saidshe'd do it."
"She did! But she came off second best, and she's weeping buckets on thebest Empire embroidery sofa-cushions! I'm going to comfort her, but youmust go and keep the gentle Lucy from pulling the house down about ourears! She's sure queering herself with his nibs! He can't admire hersweet, flower-like soul after this night's exhibition."
"I don't want to go a bit, but I suppose we'll have to," and Paulinesmiled at her guest.
"Oh, go on," said Haviland, as he turned to leave them; "and, forHeaven's sake, give her all the good cards. Can you manage that,Illsley?"
"I am afraid not. Her eyes are too sharp."
"Well, if her luck stays bad, get her to play mumble-peg or something,instead of bridge."
Haviland disappeared and Pauline rose unwillingly. "I do so hate to playwith Aunt Lucy," she said, "but it must be done. Are you willing tosacrifice yourself?"
"For you? Always!" And the two went to the cardroom.
Pauline Stuart, tall, dark, graceful, was a striking-looking girl. Onlytwenty-four, she carried herself with the dignity and poise of a duchess,and her heavy, dark brows gave her face an expression of strength andwill-power that contrasted forcibly with the delicate Dresden chinabeauty of Anita Frayne. The two girls were not especially friendly,though never definitely at odds. Anita was envious of the more fortunatePauline. The latter, Miss Carrington's niece, would inherit a goodly partof her aunt's large fortune, while the humble position of the secretarycommanded only a liberal, not munificent, salary.
The girls, however, were at one in their dread of Miss Lucy's ebullitionsof temper and their resentment of the biting sarcasms and angry diatribesshe flung at them in her frequent spasms of fury.
Illsley, a well-set-up chap of good address, followed Pauline into heraunt's presence.
"You waited long enough," grumbled Miss Carrington. "Sit down. It's yourdeal now, Pauline."
Matters went well for a time. Miss Lucy held good cards, and once ortwice she triumphed through a mistake of her adversaries, which shefortunately did not discover was made on purpose.
Count Charlier's little bright black eyes darted inquiringly from aunt toniece, but he made no comment. All four played well, and when at lastMiss Carrington made a grand slam her joy was effervescent.
"Good play," she flattered herself. "You must admit, Count, that it wasclever of me to take that difficult _finesse_ just at that criticalpoint."
"Clever indeed, mademoiselle. You have the analytical mind; you shouldhave been a diplomat. Also, Fortune favors you. You are beloved of thefickle goddess."
"Let us hope so," and for a moment Miss Carrington looked grave.
And then, with the perversity of that same goddess, the card luckchanged. Pauline and Illsley held all the high cards, Miss Lucy and theCount only the low ones.
Storm signals showed. Whiter grew the stern, set face; tighter drew thethin, wide lips; and rigid muscles set themselves in the angry, swellingthroat. Then, as she scanned a hand of cards, all below the ten, againthey went in a shower across the room, and she cried, angrily: "AYarborough!" reverting to the old-fashioned term.
"Never mind, Aunt Lucy," and Pauline tried to laugh it off; "this is notyour lucky night. Let's give up bridge for to-night. Let's have somemusic."
"Yes! because you love music and hate bridge! It makes no difference what_I_ want. My wishes are never considered. You and Anita
are just alike!Selfish, ungrateful, caring for nothing but your own pleasure. Mr.Illsley, don't you think young girls should pay some slight attention tothe wishes of one who does everything for them? Where would either ofthem be but for me? Are you not sorry for me?"
"Why,--I--you must excuse me, I am not sure I understand----"
"Yes, you understand, perfectly well. You know the girls slight me andsnub me every chance they get. But it will not always be thus.To-morrow----"
"Come, Aunt Lucy," pleaded Pauline, "let us have some music. You knowthere are some new records, just arrived to-day. Let us hear them."
"Are there new records? Did you get the ones I wanted?"
"Some of them. We couldn't get them all."
"Oh, no, of course not! But if _you_ had wanted certain records theywould have been found!"
"But, Auntie Lucy, we couldn't get them if they aren't made, could we?Gray tried his best."
"Oh, tried his best! He forgot to ask for them, so he says he 'tried hisbest,' to excuse his carelessness. If Anita had wanted them----"
The starting of the music drowned further flow of the lady's grievances.
The Curved Blades Page 1
