Читать книгу Netta - Fred M. White - Страница 11

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AFTER the first two bars Netta had no longer any doubt in her mind. This was the man she had seen in the corridor on the preceding night, the man who had carelessly whistled the very theme she was now playing. She saw him start, watched the flickering terror in his eyes, noted the deadly white creeping like a filmy cloud under the healthy tan. Then he partially covered his face with his hands until the air was finished. By that time he was himself again.

"Lovely," he said. "Music like that moves me to the very soul."

When Sir John Langworthy came in he listened with a grave face to the stranger.

"I am glad somebody has turned up," he said presently. "Still, I expected this. No doubt you will give due legal proofs of all you say. In the meantime I have been compelled to make arrangements for the funeral to-morrow. Perhaps I had better tell you what they are." Mr. Bond was satisfied. It mattered very little where his relative was buried, seeing that there was no family vault or anything of that kind.

He bowed to Lady Langworthy, and Sir John rang the bell. A little constraint fell on the trio in the drawing-room after he had gone.

"Something wrong about that fellow," Langworthy said, in his direct way. "Or I should have offered him a bed here till after the funeral. Man with a past, evidently. I shall be glad when the whole thing is over and the house itself again."

The afternoon wore on, and the evening came with dinner in due course. It was not a long or elaborate meal, for Langworthy was simple in his habits when alone, so that a few minutes past nine saw Lady Langworthy and Netta in the drawing-room. Langworthy had lingered over a cigar and the late evening paper from Coalend.

"A little more music," Lady Langworthy pleaded. "Anything to soothe one's nerves. I shall be so glad when to-morrow is over. Something of Chopin's."

"I'll fetch some," Netta said. "Then I'll play to you as long as you like—I know that I shall be in the mood for it presently."

Netta crossed the room with limbs that trembled under her. She stood in the hall for a moment to regain her composure, then made her way resolutely up the stairs. The place was very quiet; there was small chance of being disturbed.

From the lock of her door Netta softly removed the key. Then she proceeded into the study adjoining Gordon Falmer's room, feebly lighted from the corridor, and turned the key in the lock. A moment later and she was in the chamber of the dead man. There was no occasion fortunately to turn on the electric light, for it was not yet really dark, so that after a while Netta could see everything. She saw the gleam of gold on the dressing-table, and knew that the dead man's watch was there. She crossed over and gently raised the chain. Sure enough a gold key was attached by a swivel. With a hand that was steady enough now, Netta detached it.

That this was the key of some private drawer or case was plain. It must be a small case, for the key was only a tiny thing.

With a shudder Netta resolutely put the fancy from her mind. Very swiftly she searched the room. But for a long time nothing rewarded her search. By the dressing-table, however, the Persian carpet had been disarranged slightly, and this circumstance impressed her. She had read of such hiding-places before. She pushed the carpet farther back, and presently a long black case came in sight. It was an oblong pocket-book filled with papers.

Netta had great difficulty in repressing a cry. If the key only fitted the gold embossed lock, then her search was rewarded. It was some time before her trembling hands allowed her to bring the key and lock together, but she was successful at length. There was a click and a spring, and half the embossed lock flew back. The pocket-book was stuffed with papers.

No need to tell Netta that she had found the papers she was in search of. There was no need to search any further. With a fierce exultation at her heart, Netta locked the door and dropped the key in her pocket. She had only now to return.

Her pleasant thoughts were broken off abruptly. Somebody was coming who appeared to be talking to somebody else. Netta was taken off her balance for a few seconds. She must not be found with these precious papers in her possession. She looked out for some place to hide them in as Falmer had done.

An overcoat lay carelessly spread out on the table. Quick as thought Netta hid the papers in the outer pocket. She had barely time to conceal herself in the closet before Jackman came in.

"Now where on earth did I put it?" he growled. "I thought I knew every spot here in the dark. I shall miss it if I don't take care. My head seems to be dazed. Anyway, I swear that I left it here. Where can the things have got to! Ah!"

The grumbling note changed to one of satisfaction as his fingers advanced to the table and touched the coat. He slipped the heavy garment on quickly.

"I can leave the rest to Lucille," he said. "She can manage that."

He shuffled from the room again, closely followed by Netta. The man could not see, so if she followed him now she might get the papers back. She was half stunned by the cruel shock that fortune had dealt her at the very moment when triumph seemed in her grasp. For the time being she had forgotten that Jackman had accidentally left his overcoat in the afternoon. His own stupid carelessness, instead of being his own undoing, looked likely to prove fatal to Netta's plans. Anyway, she must have those papers if she had to play the pick-pocket. Then a face appeared at the head of the stairs, and Netta dropped back with a half-hysterical inclination to burst into tears. Lucille Ganton had come to search for Jackman.

"He's come," she whispered. "Hurry up. It's so like a man to leave everything for the woman to do."

They disappeared down the stairs together, leaving Netta a prey to her own mixed emotions. She would have those papers at any cost yet. Fortunately, the man was blind, and had not the remotest idea of the valuable papers he had in his pocket. He would be pretty sure to return presently. Then, in the dead of the night, Netta would overhaul that coat. A few sympathetic questions would elicit the whereabouts of Jackman's room.

There were no signs of agitation on her face when she returned to the drawing-room. Sir John had just come in, for his dress shoes were slightly wet.

"I am afraid that Jackman's brain has been injured by his accident," he said. "He has suddenly made up his mind to go, and a friend came to fetch him. I should have liked to do something for him, but he refused even to tell me what his destination was."

Netta's music fell to the ground with a crash, a crash that stifled her cry. Sir John politely gathered up the scattered sheets.

"Do you mean that Jackman has gone for good?" she faltered.

"Certainly he has. It has been a dreadful business altogether."

Jackman had gone, taking his secret with him, and this man was in possession of the key of the mystery!