Читать книгу The Vanishing Point - Coningsby Dawson - Страница 5

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Santa Gorlof?” Hindwood feigned surprise. “A very charming lady!”

The shrewd face puckered in a smile. The gray eyes grew piercing beneath the beetling, white brows. “So I've been given to understand. She has a way with the men, has our Santa. Even Prince Rogovich, old hand that he was, fell for her. I believe that's your expressive phrase in America. He fell for her in every sense, especially when she pushed him overboard.”

Hindwood frowned. He realized that a cat-and-mouse game had commenced, in which he had been allotted the rôle of mouse. He resented the levity with which Santa's name had been mentioned. If the man was in earnest, the matter was too terrible for jest. Though he had harbored the same suspicion, to hear it stated as a fact appalled him. The charge sounded dastardly, spoken in that pleasant voice by this courtly English gentleman who was old enough to be her father.

With an effort he kept command of his composure. “Of course you're joking?”

“Not in the least.”

“Then, in plain American, you're accusing a beautiful and fascinating woman of murder.”

“Of what else?”

Hindwood shrugged his shoulders. “Pardon my density. I didn't catch on. It was your appearance misled me; you look so much a gentleman.”

“I flatter myself that there are occasions when I am.”

“Then I guess we'll have to reckon this occasion an exception. I might remind you that it's a woman you're accusing and that the penalty for murder is death. Scarcely a subject to make merry over with a play upon words!”

“And you're reminding me,” the stranger added gently, “that, if she's a woman, you and I are men. You're trying to tell me that, if my supposition is correct, then all that ravishing caprice that we know as Santa Gorlof will have to be ruthlessly blotted out. Possibly you're picturing, as so many of her victims have pictured before you, the wealth of happiness that might be yours if you could win her for yourself.”

Hindwood's hand trembled as he flicked his ash. “My dear sir,” he drawled, “I'm not twenty. I'm a hard-bitten man of the world. You credit me with too much romance. In your profession you're trained to spin theories. Please leave me out; stick to your assertion. You come to me, accusing a woman of my acquaintance—I can hardly call her a friend—of having committed murder. The charge sounds preposterous. Why you should come to me at all I can not guess. Before we go further, I have a right to ask a question: is this mere conjecture or can you prove it?”

“I can prove it.” The stranger paused, studying the despair his words had caused. “I can prove it.” Then he added, “If you'll help.”

“If I'll perjure myself.” Scowling, Hindwood leaped to his feet. “That was what you meant. At your time of life I should have thought you could have found a less infamous way of gaining your livelihood. There's your hat, and there's the door.” The mocking old gentleman went through the dumb show of clapping his applause. He settled himself more deeply in his chair. When he spoke, it was with the lazy good-humor of a man at his club. “You fill me with admiration. Your last attitude was superb. I have only one criticism to offer of your play-acting; by letting your cigar go out, you betrayed the perturbation you were trying to disguise. It's been dead three minutes.” He raised his hand, delaying interruption. “Don't be angry. I'm not doubting your momentary sincerity. But think back and then own that you also have suspected that she's guilty.”

“Never.”

“Humph! Your memory must be faulty. Allow me to prompt you with a few facts.”

Then and there, without hesitation or boasting, he detailed to Hindwood all his actions, from his departure from the Ryndam to the moment when he had arrived at the Embassy. Hindwood listened to the narration dumfounded.

“So you see,” he concluded, “if I can tell you so much as this, there is probably much more that I could tell. You've been infatuated by a she-wolf. What she did to Prince Rogovich, she has done to at least a dozen of her admirers. She would have done the same to you. Because there have been moments when you thought you loved her, you're unwilling to hand her over to justice. You're even willing to risk your own good name in her defense. It's sports-manly of you, but she's undeserving of your loyalty. When you know the truth, you'll thank your lucky stars that I came to-night.”