Читать книгу Netta - Fred M. White - Страница 6

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NETTA drew a long, deep breath. The mystery was here then, though, perhaps, this had nothing to do with the object of her search. The girl felt hot and uncomfortable as it flashed across her that she might be on the track of a vulgar intrigue. But being loyal and honourable, reflection satisfied her that that was extremely unlikely.

The more Netta thought over it the more certain was she that Falmer was in some way at the bottom of the mystery. The remark as to the winding up of his watch at one o'clock was little less than a command which Lady Langworthy had obeyed shrinkingly, as a reluctant dog comes to the lash. Netta must find out more about it.

She had not long to wait, for almost before she could leave the room Lady Langworthy entered.

"How much longer, dear heaven!" she murmured. "How far can I bear it, and—"

She paused, a sudden wave of crimson flushing her face. Yet—and Netta was only too glad to observe it—she did not look guilty. When she spoke her voice trembled, but her tones were cold and clear.

"I did not expect to find anybody here," she said. "I had merely been—"

She paused, for no ready falsehood rose to her lips. Netta forced a smile.

"I certainly did expect to find somebody here," she said. "I am sorry to intrude, but could you let me have a little eau-de-Cologne? These nervous headaches—"

It was Netta's turn to pause. Lady Langworthy regarded her steadily. The latter had recovered her composure, but she pressed her hand to her heart from time to time, as if its violent beating were a pain to her.

"Oh, you shall have the eau-de-Cologne," she said disdainfully. "Tell me, did you hear what I said when I came in just now?"

Netta nodded. She would have prevaricated if she could, but to do so was unfamiliar to her.

"I am very sorry I came," she said. "You are ill and in trouble. If I could help you in any way—"

"Nobody can help me. My trouble is my own. You will keep this to yourself?"

"Not a word of it shall be said to any of your friends," Netta murmured.

"That is all I ask. Here is the scent that you require. Goodnight."

Netta took the cut-glass bottle and withdrew—but not to sleep. Her brain was clear and excited, and she had no desire to close her eyes. She had touched the fringe of the mystery, and her own wish was to probe deeper. She walked boldly along the corridor until she came to the great window again. The stable clock struck three.

The moon was fading, but the first faint streaks of dawn filled the east with a pale pink flush. As Netta stood there the figure of the man she had seen some time ago was pressed once again against the lightening panes. A moment later and the large ventilator, working on a pivot, opened slowly, and then the stranger crept deftly in.

Netta restrained her first impulse to cry out. But as she saw the man's foot touch the floor she restrained herself. She stood behind the shadow of an old Flemish cabinet, and waited. Evidently the man knew his ground.

He advanced into the corridor coolly, and made his way through the little door leading to the corridor beyond. Taking her courage in both hands, Netta followed. Who could the man be, and what was he doing here?

Her wonder increased a moment later. The man paused and coolly lighted a cigarette. His back was still to Netta, so that even now she could not see his face. Then he began to whistle softly between his teeth the very tender and winsome air that Netta had played, the air which had had so strange an effect on Gordon Falmer.

Netta gasped. Where had this man picked up that tune? There were portions of it, liquid variations, that she had never played to any one outside her own house. And yet this man was whistling it with practised ease. It seemed to Netta that she must wake presently and find that the thing had been a long, strange dream.

But here was the stranger very much in the flesh, and the notes of the melody were low but perfectly clear. As Netta stood trembling with excitement from head to foot, another figure came in sight, and Gordon Falmer's dark eyes and shaggy brows emerged from the gloom.

"So you have come at last," he said. "Why have you kept me waiting?" He spoke in a hoarse whisper and seemed to be very much moved about something. If the police had been waiting for him outside he might have been less agitated.

"I came and I went," the stranger explained. "I have a friend outside who has little time to spare, and—"

"You don't mean to say that you have found Reginald Masters?"

Netta fairly caught her breath. But, eagerly as she followed the conversation, she was not so eager as Gordon Falmer was in asking the question. She was getting into the heart of the mystery; she was enjoying more good fortune than she had any right to expect.

"No such luck as that," the stranger said. "All the same, I came in before. I got as far as the door of your private sitting-room and then I heard voices. Place aux dames, you know; I recognized the voice of a lady, and I did not care to intrude."

"Lady Langworthy," Falmer said, indifferently. "She essayed to pit her will against mine; she has been showing fight, and I had to give her a lesson. I don't fancy she will threaten me again. Now, as to Masters?"

"I can tell you nothing about Masters. He has disappeared. I don't like it, because you don't know where he is going to strike. But I have settled the other matter. Let us go to your room, where we can have a smoke and a whisky and soda—this place is too confoundedly draughty for me."

Falmer turned on his heel and the other man followed. Netta crept after them at a respectful distance. She could not risk the chance of being discovered now. The pair passed out of the corridor into a side wing until they came to a room, the door of which they closed. Netta stood with her ear close to the door. But the room was very large, and the door very thick, and excepting a confused murmur of voices the girl heard nothing.

She crept back again to the door leading into the second corridor, and there sat down doggedly to wait. There was no chance of being disturbed by a servant, because the second corridor was rarely visited. Still, it would be as well to be on the safe side, Netta thought. She would have time to change into her morning dress before the intruder departed.

She hurried into her room and tore off her evening gown. Then she slipped into a plain grey serge and brushed her hair back. She bathed her face and hands with cold water, and the touch of it brightened her up, though she was not in the least degree sleepy.

Now nothing mattered. If anybody saw her she had merely got up early to examine the old house. It was practically daylight, and the person who was closeted with Falmer could not remain much longer. Moreover, it was pretty certain that he must leave by the way he had come. And Netta must see him. So far as she knew, he was a stranger to her, but he was an enemy of Reggie's, and to know whom she had to deal with was necessary.

Netta sat waiting till the clock struck five. The glorious sunshine was filling the corridor with streams of pallid blue and orange from the famous window. The household would be stirring soon; the watcher was beginning to despair. Perhaps the man had been let out by another door; but in that case, why had he come to the window? Then a board creaked, and a figure appeared at the end of the corridor.

Netta slipped behind one of the tapestry hangings. Her patience was to be rewarded at last; she would see the face of the enemy.

But it was no stranger that Netta looked upon after the vigil of the weary hours. The man was Gordon Falmer; Falmer with a white and troubled face and eyes full of a strange foreboding.

"Well, I think I'll go to bed," Netta said, catching herself in a heavy yawn. "Evidently my man has taken his departure by a more prosaic way. Still, I have found out a great deal, very much more than I expected. Reggie must know of this. If the dear boy had only given me an address where to write to him! But that will come in time."

Netta walked sleepily to her room, for Nature had gained the upper hand at last. Netta was hardly on the pillow before she was sound asleep. When she awoke Lady Langworthy was standing before her.

"I came to see if your head was all right," she said. "I sent your maid away. Have you forgotten about your headache?"

"It is a mere dream," Netta said, "like other things last night."

Lady Langworthy's face grew grave for a moment. "It is very good of you to say that," she answered.

"We all have our troubles, and some how they seem worse at night than at any other time. What is it?"

For Amy, the maid, had burst into the room, her eyes starting and her cheeks white as milk.

"A dreadful thing, my lady," she cried. "I have just heard it in the servants' hall. Dr. Rayford has just told Sir John, and he didn't like to disturb the household in the night—"

"What is wrong?" Netta demanded.

"It's about a gentleman called Mr. Falmer, miss. Dr. Rayford, who sleeps near him, heard a sound in the night, and went into the gentleman's room. He was dead."

"Gordon Falmer dead!" Lady Langworthy cried. "Impossible! That would be too good fortune to—what am I saying? Child, you are dreaming."

But it was no dream. Lady Langworthy and Netta hurried downstairs and encountered a grave-faced set of people in the morning-room. Dr. Rayford was speaking.

"There was no object in arousing everybody," he said. "As you know, I am a light sleeper, and I keep close to Mr. Falmer, as he frequently needs me in the night. Early this morning I heard him making a choking noise. I knew what that meant directly, so I hurried into his room. He was dead—he had died with awful celerity. If there had been anything to gain by it I should have aroused the house, but there wasn't. I dozed in a chair till late, or I should have let you know before."

"But it is impossible," Netta cried, "quite impossible that Mr. Falmer can be—"

The girl paused in some confusion, which Dr. Rayford seemed to misunderstand.

"It does seem hard to believe," he said. "Even to a medical man these things are terrible. One thing will be avoided; there need be no inquest. I am prepared to give a certificate of death, only I shall call in a local doctor to certify with me. This should be done without delay."

"What time did the poor man die?" asked Netta.

"It was just four o'clock," Rayford explained. "The sound of the stable clock woke me. There is no question as to the hour."

Netta turned away to hide her quivering face. Falmer had died at four o'clock, and yet she had seen him face to face in the gallery at five, an hour later. What new mystery was this?