Читать книгу Netta - Fred M. White - Страница 10

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BY a piece of good luck Netta had managed to get her own way in the matter of staying another day at Loudwater.

Lady Langworthy seemed a different woman; the mask-like look had gone from her face; she no longer started at the slightest sound, nor glanced over her shoulder as if afraid of some dreadful unseen thing.

Netta noticed the change, and in some subtle way Lady Langworthy was aware of it. Perhaps she was thinking of the scene in her bedroom on the previous evening. The little luncheon party was a trifle constrained, but not unpleasant on the whole. Sir John went off to his study presently on the plea that he had letters to write. He could see no reason why Netta should not indulge in music of a suitable character.

"Oh, pray do play something!" Lady Langworthy exclaimed. "Something soothing. But do you mind being left alone for a little while! There are one or two small household matters that I must attend to, and as we shall have the house full again all next week I shall have no more favourable opportunity. I shan't be long."

Netta had not the least objection to being alone: in fact, she rather preferred it.

At that hour in the afternoon the maids would have nothing to do, and therefore it was improbable that any of them would be in the upper part of the mansion. She would lurk outside the room where Gordon Falmer lay, she might even enter it, and nobody would be any the wiser.

Yes, here was the room, the door of which was closed and locked, the key being gone. Netta was surprised at this discovery. Why had the key been taken away!

No servant was in the least likely to enter that room. The next room was not locked, and Netta crept in softly. She had expected to find a dressing-room, but it was a sort of study. Then she recollected that Gordon Falmer's suite boasted no dressing-room, but a kind of place that he had used as an office. There was a door opposite that led to his bedroom. There again the key was missing.

With a sigh of disappointment Netta turned away. She had promised Reggie to do certain daring things, but here was an obstacle that rendered her help impracticable. If the papers that Reggie required were not in the study, then it would be impossible to obtain them. Netta looked around for some desk or receptacle of the kind, but none was to be seen. The house was very-quiet, so quiet that Netta almost fancied that she heard somebody moving in the chamber of the dead man.

"I am getting nervous," she muttered. "It is pure fancy. And yet that smell—"

There was no fancy whatever as to the scent of a strong Turkish cigarette. It was not in the study, it was not in the corridor, and certainly did not come from Sir John Langworthy, who abhorred cigarettes of all kinds. It came beyond question from the death-chamber. Somebody locked in there was smoking a full-flavoured Turkish or Egyptian cigarette. The discovery thrilled Netta; she tingled to the finger tips. Then she crossed the floor and applied her eyes to the keyhole. She could hear nothing and see nothing beyond a dim space with a chair here and there. But presently the light became dimmer and of a more violet hue, and then Netta saw the smoke rising. What strange mystery was here, a mystery that grew larger the more it was probed!

Well, nothing was to be gained by lurking there, Netta thought, as she made her way back to the corridor. She looked cautiously out just in time to see Lucille Ganton coming down the corridor. She was creeping furtively along as if afraid of being seen. Netta drew back into the study again; she had no alternative but to do so. Perhaps Lucille Ganton was coming into the same room; indeed, nothing seemed more likely.

If Netta were discovered she was hopelessly lost. She looked rapidly around her for a hiding-place of some kind. There was nothing but a large cupboard, which appeared to be partially filled with a man's wardrobe. There was room for her, and very little chance of discovery. Netta squeezed in and pulled the door to. She had hardly clone so when Lucille entered.

Apparently she had no suspicion of anybody being present but herself. Netta could just catch sight of her face through the hinge of the door. Cunning and greed were written all over it. The woman lingered a moment, before she disappeared as quickly as she had come. Netta breathed a deep sigh of relief, but decided to remain where she was for a few minutes. The wisdom of this course became apparent a little later when Lucille Ganton returned literally dragging Neil Jackman after her. She bundled the latter into a chair without ceremony.

"There!" she whispered hoarsely. "Now we can talk without fear of interruption. There is not the slightest chance of anybody in the house venturing here. Why didn't you come before! Gordon Falmer is dead, but those papers still exist. We know they are in the house not far off—they may be in this room for all we know. Come, you must know where he used to keep them."

"Well, I don't," Jackman growled. "Didn't your precious master have any keys?" she asked.

"Not that I am aware of. Yes, he had a gold key on his watch-chain. I can't say what it was for; perhaps it was only an ornament."

Lucille Ganton rose and crossed over to the door leading to the bedroom. She turned the knob, and then shook it passionately. Something like a curse broke from Jackman.

"Why are you making that infernal noise?" he growled. "You can't do anything at this time of the day. It must be done after ten to-night. Help me off with my overcoat; it's warmer here than downstairs. I've been cold as death till now. And you need not worry yourself about keys. All the door keys on this corridor are interchangeable. I found that out days ago."

Jackman spoke in a hoarse whisper that Netta scarcely heard. It was a piece of valuable information, as valuable perhaps as the statement that Falmer carried a gold key on his watch-chain. She knew now that this precious couple were coming back after ten to hunt for some papers, probably the papers she herself was in search of. Well, dinner would neither be long nor formal to-night, and Netta made up her mind she would be here before ten.

"Well, that's good hearing," Lucille Ganton muttered as she released the door knob. "All the same, there is not much time to be lost. To-night at ten, then."

Through the slit of light passing the hinge of the cupboard door Netta saw Jackman rise. He fumbled his way to the door, partially guided by Lucille. When Netta ventured out at last the coast was clear. It might have been imagination, but she fancied that she heard something like a smothered laugh from the inner room.

She had to go to her own room and wash her face before the colour came into her cheeks again. But her step was steady, and she held her head high as she passed down the stairs. In the drawing-room Lady Langworthy was waiting for her.

"I was beginning to lose patience," she smiled, "I finished my work long ago. Now please let us have something soothing."

Netta played a piece or two, and then Lady Langworthy asked for a romance of Schubert's that Netta had in her room.

"I will go and fetch it," she said. "No, I will go myself; I hate to have servants pulling my music about. I shall not be more than a few minutes."

The girl came downstairs with the music in her hand. There was somebody, a caller evidently, in the hall talking to the butler. He had the mien of one who knew the house well. He half-turned and hesitated as the butler preceded him.

"This way, sir," the latter said. "This is the drawing-room. That used to be, but when my lady came she made several important alterations. The billiard-room is the old drawing-room."

Evidently an old friend of the family, Netta thought, but not an old friend of Lady Langworthy, for she was looking at the visitor's card with a glance of interrogation in her eyes. The well-dressed stranger advanced and bowed. He was not tall or muscular, yet his figure denoted strength; he had a brown face and beard, and his accent struck Netta as familiar.

"As a matter of fact, it was Sir John I came to see," he said. "In relation to the unfortunate thing that so recently happened here. I am Raymond Bond, a close relative of the dead man; I believe I am the only relative he had."

"Then I am sure that Sir John will be glad to see you," Lady Langworthy said more cordially. For the stranger, well-dressed and gentlemanly as he was, had not prepossessed her. "Lawrence, will you ask your master to come here?"

The butler bowed and disappeared, and the stranger rattled on agreeably. Netta sat there wondering where she had heard his voice before, her fingers idly touching the strings of her violin.

"A charming instrument," said the stranger. "Am I wrong in assuming that I have the pleasure of speaking to Miss Netta Sherlock! Ah, I thought not. If I interrupt you—"

"Pray play something," Lady Langworthy urged.

Netta brought her bow down on the strings without protest. It had suddenly come to her where she had heard that voice before. She plunged at once into the low, sad impromptu that had had so strange an effect on Falmer the night before.