Читать книгу Netta - Fred M. White - Страница 5

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NETTA covered her face with her hands as if to shut out the painful scene. The whole thing had been so vivid, and, above all, so unexpected. And yet the conviction forced itself upon the girl's mind that here was a good omen for her success.

Greatly daring, she approached the group gathered round the unhappy Jackman. He sat moaning and trembling on a chair whilst one of the house party examined his eyes. Fortunately a doctor was amongst the guests.

"He must be got to bed," the latter said presently. "Then he shall have a strong sleeping draught. I dare say it is only temporary."

The guests were returning to the drawing-room. The storm was passing away, and the air had grown cool and fresh. Netta drew the doctor on one side.

"Is it a very bad case?" she asked.

"Really I cannot tell," was the reply. "You see, it is out of my line. I am a heart specialist, in fact I am here more or less looking after Mr. Falmer. But one thing I am certain of—even under the best treatment that poor fellow will not see for many months, the optic nerve is paralysed."

Netta breathed more freely, though she could not help feeling ashamed of herself. But she was glad to feel she was safe. Then she turned the conversation.

"Mr. Falmer does not look like a weak man," she said.

"Nevertheless, his heart is in a very bad state. He pays me a large salary to watch after him; I am what you might call a private doctor."

"He must be a rich man, then?" Netta suggested. "Who is he?"

Dr. Mason Rayford confessed that he did not know. Falmer was one of the class of men who emerge from nowhere apparently with all the evidences of enormous wealth about them.

"He seems to have no feelings or emotions," Rayford went on. "I have only seen him moved really once, and that was to-night, when you played that exquisite melody. There is a romance somewhere if we could only fathom it."

Netta thought so too.

In the hall below most of the guests were chatting and laughing as if the accident of an hour ago had never been. Lady Langworthy, without her white mask, and looking charming and natural, came up to Netta and began to talk.

"Your bedroom is the fifth along the corridor by the big window," she said. "My maid has seen that you have everything for the night. You don't want to start too early, I hope?"

"Time makes little difference now," Netta said, "seeing that I have missed my appointment. Being tied to time is one of the things that always worry me."

Lady Langworthy laughed, and then her face suddenly grew rigid again. Netta knew that Gordon Falmer must be close by. His long shadow loomed in a sinister way between guest and hostess. He seemed to draw Lady Langworthy's glance to him.

"Then I am afraid that you do not wind your watch up regularly," he said.

Netta admitted the correctness of the charge. A joke hovered on her lips, but it seemed difficult to jest in the presence of this man with the strange eyebrows. He tapped his waistcoat pocket in what struck Netta as a significant manner.

"I always wind up my watch at one o'clock," he said.

It seemed absurd even to Netta, but it struck her that there was a note of warning in the seemingly inane speech. There must be a hidden meaning behind it. Lady Langworthy's face had grown still paler, and there was a mute appeal in her eyes. She looked like one who was fascinated by some poisonous snake, and was praying for help. Of course, it was pure imagination. Netta thought her nerves were unstrung, but she could not rid herself of that impression. She felt sure this woman was utterly in this man's power, and that he was using her for unworthy ends. Sir John came up at the same moment, and gently touched his wife's hair. She turned and smiled on him tenderly. Surely there was no acting here; Lady Langworthy loved her husband.

"A model pair," Falmer suggested with just the touch of a sneer. "My love is like a melody that's sweetly played in tune! Like your melody, in fact."

"Which one do you mean?" Netta asked guardedly.

"Why, that uncommon piece tonight. Won't you tell me where you got it?"

The question was pleading, and yet there was a hint of command in it. The dark eyes played like summer lightning over Netta's face, the heavy eyebrows cast a shadow over her, and for a moment Netta felt that she must give the desired information. But she put the impulse aside; come what might this man should not fascinate her.

"I cannot tell you," she said coldly. "I play that melody because I love it, and because it is a piece of inspiration. No piece so moves my audiences. But it is more or less connected with a sad time in my life, and I discuss that with nobody."

"Then you refuse to tell me where you got it?"

The dark eyes were flashing. He was a man accustomed to his own way, and not very scrupulous as to the means by which he attained his ends.

"Refuse is a strong word to use," Netta said. "Shall we say I decline to discuss the matter?"

Her eyes met those of her antagonist boldly. Falmer smiled and adroitly changed the subject. The house party was thinning by this time, and several of the guests had retired to rest. Netta rose with a wearied gesture.

"Night's candles are burning out," she said. "It is getting time to wind your watch, Mr. Falmer."

The speech was innocent, but Gordon Falmer started as if something had stung him. He glanced suspiciously at Netta, but she appeared to see nothing. But she knew for a certainty now that that little speech about the watch had a secret meaning. As she passed into her room she was still puzzling over the mystery. The chatter in the hall had ceased, and she could hear the sharp click of the electrics as the servants switched off the lights.

Very slowly and thoughtfully Netta undressed. One faint light had been left in the corridor. Netta lay in bed with her door not quite closed. She had come to explore a mystery, and she had not the slightest intention of throwing any chance away. She had come, greatly daring, on behalf of the man she loved; she was bold and resolute, and would do anything for Reggie.

That the key of the mystery was here she was morally certain. The partial recognition of Lucille Ganton and the presence of Neil Jackman proved it. But who was Gordon Falmer, and what had he to do with the matter? And why did he exercise a strange magnetic influence over Lady Langworthy?

The affair was not over yet, or Falmer would not have made that singular allusion to one o'clock.

Netta, not in the least inclined for sleep, watched the lobby, the darkness of which was broken by the narrow streak of light. The big clock over the stables struck the hour of one.

"I wish I had the gift of second sight," Netta murmured. "I wish I possessed the gift of fernseed that I could walk invisible. Then I—"

The girl paused suddenly. There came the sound of a suppressed cry, followed by the flash of some white body past the small slit of light which filtered in from the corridor. Some person was moving along swiftly, and in a manner that betokened familiarity with the mansion. Netta jumped out of bed and looked cautiously out of the door.

The doors were closely shut along the corridor, and nobody was to be seen. All the same, Netta did not feel like letting the chance pass. No guest would have given that strange, strangled cry, and remain absolutely silent afterwards. Netta hesitated with her hand upon the door. As she stood she heard a faint click, and the feeble light in the corridor went out.

Then there must be somebody there. The light could not go out without human agency. But where did the hand come from, and why—?

"How stupid of me!" Netta said half aloud. "Why, I had forgotten the double corridor, and the way into it. Something is going on in the old wing. It may have connexion with my dear boy, or it may not. I must see for myself."

Netta hurriedly dressed, and started with a box of matches. She would fumble her way along the corridor by the light of the waning moon. If she were discovered it would be easy to invent some apocryphal cat that was disturbing her slumbers. But nobody was about, and from some of the bedrooms proceeded an occasional snore. It was such a prosaic contrast to Netta's adventure that she smiled. At length she reached the door at the end of the corridor, and opening it carefully passed beyond. As she did so another door that seemed a long way off closed with a sullen bang that echoed like thunder down the corridor.

Netta's heart literally stood still for a moment. Surely a window or a door leading to the outer world must be open, or there would never have been so much draught. Netta lit one of her vestas, but it was blown out directly. She could hear now the sound of smothered voices and a laugh that was instantly suppressed. As Netta half turned to gather a little light from the great stained window she saw that a shadow was pressed against it, the figure of a man who seemed to be fumbling for something. The girl started back, as if fearful of being seen, till it dawned upon her that the glass was opaque and that nothing could be discovered from the outside.

Presently the violent draught ceased and the distant door banged again. Once more, with her hand for a shield, Netta lighted a match and trailed the faint illumination on the floor. The oak boards were thick with dust, and here down the centre of the corridor, going away from the window, was the clear imprint of a small foot that could only have belonged to a woman—and a lady at that. The impression was so fresh that it must have been made in the last few minutes.

Whose footprint was it, and where did it go? Netta asked the question in vain. But if she could not tell whose it was she would make sure on one point. She blew out the match, and hurriedly returned the way she had come. Then she tapped at Lady Langworthy's bedroom door.

No reply came, and Netta walked in. The lights were still up, the silken curtains of the bed were drawn, but no sound proceeded from behind them. Netta pulled the curtains aside, her little speech was ready framed to her lips, but there was no occasion to use it. The sheets were turned down and the silk and lace coverlet was thrown aside.

But the room was empty!