Читать книгу Netta - Fred M. White - Страница 7

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NETTA considered whether she should say anything of what she had seen, or whether it would be better to keep the knowledge to herself. Very little would be gained by telling her story. Nobody would believe it.

On the face of the evidence, Dr. Rayford's statement would carry absolute conviction with it. Rayford was more or less Gordon Falmer's private medical adviser. He had been aroused early in the morning by suspicious sounds emanating from the room of his patient, and he had gone at once, only to find the unfortunate man dead. Besides, there was the lifeless clay upstairs at the present moment for anybody to examine.

Netta turned to Dr. Rayford eagerly.

"It is a most shocking thing," she said. "Tell me, did Mr. Falmer suffer from fits of any kind. I mean the faints that look like death?"

Rayford shook his head. He had never noticed anything of that kind. There was a quick, questioning glance in his eyes that bade Netta be careful.

"I always think these sudden deaths are so dreadful," she said. "I have ever had a horror of being buried alive. I suppose there have been authentic cases of such things?"

"A few," Rayford explained. "But they mostly exist in the lively imagination of newspaper reporters, and are generally born in America."

"And there are sham cases," Netta said. "I read some time ago of a man who could throw himself in a trance so that even the doctors were deceived."

Rayford admitted that also. Sir John came up at this moment.

"I have sent for Dr. Manning," he said. "You said you wanted the opinion of a colleague. Is there anybody else we can send for? Of course, you know where the poor fellow's relatives are to be found. If you will give me a few names I'll wire."

"I am as much in the dark as you are," said Rayford. "Practically, I have lived for eighteen months under the same roof as Falmer, but I know nothing of him. He may have been the son of a duke or a dustman for all I know. The man never alluded to himself at all. His solicitor is equally in the dark, for he told me so. Falmer was rich, but I haven't the least idea how he made his money. That man of his, Jackman, the poor fellow who had the accident last night, may tell you, but I doubt it."

Sir John bustled off in his kindly way to find Jackman. Most of the guests were busy consulting time-tables. Everybody seemed to be more or less affected by the tragedy, following so quickly upon the accident of the previous night, and all were anxious to get away but Netta. As a matter of fact, she was racking her brains for an excuse to stop. She had just touched the fringe of the mystery; her instinct told her that important developments were at hand. She watched Lady Langworthy closely. The latter was quiet and subdued, but every now and then a great glad light blazed into her eyes, and a certain curious relief was on her face.

"She is the happier for that man's death," Netta told herself; "that is, if he is dead. This maddening puzzle is getting worse and worse. Is Gordon Falmer dead, or is there some deeper conspiracy afoot in which Dr. Rayford is involved?"

Meanwhile Sir John was getting nothing out of Jackman. The latter, still too unhinged and ill by the shock to travel, sat huddled up in the housekeeper's room, his eyes bandaged in accordance with Rayford's instructions. He began to understand at length that his master was dead, and that Sir John was questioning him as to Palmer's antecedents.

"I know nothing, sir," Jackman said. "My brain is so confused, and I am so broken up by my terrible misfortune that I can't think, even. No, Sir John, I know nothing of my master. He was what you call a sphinx."

"But he had private letters, sometimes, Jackman?"

"Never, sir. Nothing but social letters and the like. For the eighteen months I have been with Mr. Falmer I have opened every letter that came. I believe my master had a past, though I never could get to the bottom of it."

Sir John smiled at this naive confession. Evidently there was something wrong, but there are many rich, self-made men in Society to-day who would shrink from searching investigation into their past. Sir John went back to the hall.

"I can make nothing of it," he said. "Ah, here is Dr. Manning at last!"

From without came the sound of horses' hoofs. A well-set-up, smart-looking man with a clean-shaven face and a clear eye dismounted from his horse, and gave the bridle to a servant, who was also mounted.

"I shall be here some time," he said. "Perhaps you had better take the horse round to the stables. Well, Sir John, this is a very sad business."

Netta stepped under the blind through the open window on to the drive. The atmosphere of the house was getting insufferable. She glanced up at the glossy horses, and the mounted servant civilly touched his hat to her, Netta looked up, and her heart beat wildly.

"Reggie," she whispered. "Reggie, is it really you?"

The handsome brown face of the groom quivered, but said nothing. Under pretence of admiring and petting the horses Netta drew closer. Her limbs were trembling beneath her, but outwardly she gave no sign of agitation.

"You heard what the doctor said," she murmured, "I am going across to the summer-house by the side of the lake. Will you join me there?"

The groom touched his hat again and rode slowly away. With heart that beat high and a flush on her face Netta made her way across the lawn. A minute later and her lover joined her. There was nobody in sight and they were not likely to be disturbed. No word was spoken for a long while, but those strong arms held Netta tightly, and her lips were warm with kisses. Her eyes were dim with tears as she looked up at length.

"Now, perhaps, you will tell me what all this means, Reggie," she asked.

"I am too bewildered to think, my darling," Reggie Masters smiled. "Fancy finding you here!"

"But, my dear boy, I was certain to find my way here sooner or later," Netta protested. "Those papers you gave me when you—you disappeared, supplied a hint where to look for the mystery. But I don't even know why you have run away."

"To put it plainly, I was accused of stealing £10,000."

"Dearest, I would never believe it of you. But tell me about it. You will not be needed for some time."

"Then let us sit down here where I can put my arms about you and feel your living presence. Oh, my dear, if you only knew how I have longed for you!"

Netta nestled closer to the speaker.

"And I for you, darling," she whispered. "I will never forget how you found me in the hour of my deep despair and set my feet on the ladder. And then you told me you loved me and wanted to make me your wife. You seemed to be rich then. Why, when I went for my year in Paris you had everything. I used to laugh at you because you insisted upon keeping your position as cashier in the big shipping office of Greening and Company."

"That was because I promised my father I would do something till I was thirty," Reggie said. "It was a good thing I did, because I lost all my money when you were in Paris. My dear, that money simply vanished—it was the most mysterious affair. But that I will tell you of another time. I kept that secret from you when you were in Paris, because I knew it would worry you, and that you would no longer let me pay your tuition fees. But I was getting £500 a year from Greening's people, and that was more than sufficient for my—wants—and yours."

Netta's eyes grew dim as she kissed the speaker tenderly.

"How noble, how generous of you!" she murmured. "If I had only known!"

"If you had only known, my darling, you would have come home at once, and your chances would have been wasted. Whereas you are world-famous and happy."

"Never happy so long as your name is under a cloud," Netta protested passionately. "I am famous, and I am growing rich, but it is all for your sake, Reggie. I got your one letter, but the second one you mentioned in your telegram never reached me, and you gave me no address. Therefore, I have been more or less working in the dark. I knew that I had to come here to discover certain things. Reggie, what is your association with Lady Langworthy?"

"Simply that I was madly in love with her two years ago."

Netta checked a jealous pang.

"I was infatuated with her," Reggie went on. "The infatuation lasted until Providence brought you and me together again, and then the old pure love of my boyhood revived, and I saw with clearer eyes. But I could never refrain from admiring Lady Langworthy."

"She was not Lady Langworthy then, Reggie?"

"No, she was Hilda Mallory, the brilliant young actress whose beauty and talent took London by storm. Sir John Langworthy was even then an admirer. Doubtless his money won him the day."

"I don't think so," said Netta, with a quiet sense of justice. "Lady Langworthy loves her husband. She is dreadfully unhappy about something; there was a man here who had a hold upon her. But that hold has been removed."

"You mean that the man has gone away?"

"No, that he is dead. The gentleman who died here this morning is the man who held Lady Langworthy's fate in the hollow of his hand. He was called Gordon Palmer, a rich man of mysterious antecedents. Do you happen to know the name?"

Reggie shook his head; he was bound to confess that the name conveyed nothing to him.

"I am glad to hear that Hilda Langworthy cares for her husband," he said. "Women understand these things better than men, so I suppose it must be a fact. Langworthy is a fine fellow, and deserves all the good fortune he gets. But Hilda Langworthy ruined me."

"Reggie, are you not going to tell me about it! Then I shall have a great deal to tell you."

"My dearest, I am going to tell you. My employer, old Mr. Greening, is very austere, and has a great objection to vice in any form. Gambling he especially holds in detestation. His son, Harold, is quite different. At his rooms and in the set he mingles with bridge is played for enormously high stakes. Now, in that set there happened to be Hilda Langworthy, Hilda Mallory that was. She had had a tremendous run of ill-luck, and had lost nearly £10,000.

"Of course, she could not hope to pay it. You know the consequences of defaulting in Society. You can commit any crime under the sun, and the doors of Society will never be closed to you; but if you repudiate your card debts you might as well commit suicide. Now, about this time it chanced that there was a big gamble going on at a dinner given in the house of my employer by his son. The old gentleman was away in the North of England on a very important piece of business, and I had to stay late at the office, waiting for a telegram. On the result of that telegram depended whether or not I parted with the sum of £10,000, which I had in notes in the safe. Never mind what the business was."

"But the gambling under the roof of one who so strongly objected!" Netta said.

"Well, you see he was away. Besides, if he had come home he would not have understood. He did not object to cards as cards, and as his son and his friends used private terms he was deluded into the belief that they were playing a shilling a hundred, whereas shillings meant pounds. So that they could gamble to their hearts' content under his very roof."

"It seems a very low thing to do," Netta said.

"Something of the same sort has occurred in other quarters before this, you know," Reggie said drily. "At any rate it was done by people of high degree. This big gambling was the talk of the clubs, and everybody knew how fearfully Hilda Mallory was dipped, everybody but Sir John, and it would have been dangerous to say anything to him about it.

"Well, the night of this party I was waiting in my office, as I told you just now, waiting for that message. Presently the telephone bell rang, and my employer spoke to me. At first I thought that it was a long-distance message, but presently I learnt that the business had gone off, and that Mr. Greening had returned home by an earlier train than had been expected. He wanted to see me as soon as possible at his private residence, and I was to take the bundle of notes with me. He said that he was expecting a further business call, and that if he was not in on my arrival I was to place the notes in the roll-top desk in his study and wait for him. If he did not come back in half an hour I need not stay longer.

"Well, the thing looked perfectly regular and in order, and I went. When the footman came to the door he said his master was not in, which was very natural, seeing that Mr. Greening had not come home at all, as you will hear presently. I waited for half an hour, and then I placed the notes in the desk, and pulled the top down. Those desks lock automatically, as you know, and I seemed to have made everything quite safe.

"As I reached the hall to go, Harold Greening came out of the room where the gambling was going on. He seemed surprised to hear his father was home again, and hustled me into the gambling party and made me sit down. They had forgotten their code of counting, and I had forgotten it. At the end of the rubber, I found, to my surprise, that I had won £200, and I refused to take it. They made me do so, greatly against my will, but I would not play any more. Presently I left the house richer by two separate hundred pound Bank of England notes.

"So far that was all right, and I was troubled by no suspicion of anything wrong. I did not worry even the next day when my employer failed to come to business. I thought nothing that the subject of talk of the club at luncheon time was that Hilda Mallory had paid her card debts. Next day the crash came. Mr. Greening asked me for those notes. I said what I had done. He said that he had recently used his desk, and that the notes were not there. He had not called me on the telephone; in fact he had not come home the night of the gambling party. From the very first I could see that he did not believe my story. But that is not the worst. I changed one of the notes I had won at bridge, and it was proved that that note had come out of the parcel that I had taken to Mr. Greening's house.

"There were only two Bank of England notes that could be traced, and these two notes had by some means been forced upon me. The other notes had come back from the Continent, where they had changed hands so frequently that their history could not be traced. And there I was. I lost my nerve, and disappeared, and so far that is the end of my story. But I feel sure that Lady Langworthy can explain the mystery."

"But I don't see where she comes in," Netta said.

"Don't you? I am certain she paid her gambling debts out of that money. You have a footing in the house, Netta; you say you have discovered strange things. It is for you to try to ascertain how far Lady Langworthy knows the truth. Now, what do you know?"

Netta briefly told her story. She had not quite finished when through the leaves she saw Sir John Langworthy crossing the lawn. She rose hurriedly.

"Stay here," she said. "I think Sir John is looking for me. If it is you who are wanted I will hold up my hand as a signal."

Sir John was coming across the grass with what looked like a large sheet of paper in his hand.

"I wanted to see you particularly, Miss Sherlock," he said.

With a significant smile Sir John Langworthy held out the big sheet of paper. It was music manuscript written in a cramped, classical hand. As Netta swept her practised eyes along the first few bars she saw to her intense surprise that it was the score of the little piece she had played the night before, that piece that had so agitated the dead man.

"I did not know that a copy existed," Netta said. "It is very strange."

"Very strange indeed," Sir John said thoughtfully. "I noticed how your playing of that piece affected the poor fellow. Where did it come from?"

"That I am sorry to have to decline to tell," Netta replied. "It is a private matter that I cannot disclose to anybody. If it is mentioned at the inquest—"

"There will be no inquest," Sir John said. "The cause of death is so well-known to Dr. Rayford that an inquest and post-mortem are not necessary, that is, of course, if Dr. Manning agrees, as I have not the slightest doubt he will."

At that moment Manning and Rayford came excitedly out of the house. The former's voice was loud and carried far. He seemed very much moved.

"I am certain of it!" he exclaimed. "My dear fellow, I wasn't doctor in a convict prison all these years for nothing. I tell you your man is an old gaol bird, and what is more he must have been a desperate rascal at one time, as those marks on the back—"

"But they might have been the result of an accident, my dear sir."

"Not a bit of it, my distinguished colleague. Those lines on the back of the dead man are marks of the cat. Those peculiar indentations around the wrist and ankles tell me Langworthy's guest had been many times in irons. Langworthy, you are well out of this."

Sir John listened in amazement to Manning's story. Netta had slipped away again, and was with her lover.

"We have only a few minutes left," she said. "Dr. Manning has come out and will be calling for you presently. Reggie, they have made a most startling discovery. They say Gordon Falmer is an old convict. It is an extraordinary affair altogether. First, the man is dead, and then I see him afterwards. As if I could mistake that long, thin face, and those bushy eyebrows—"

"What's that?" Reggie demanded suddenly. His face had grown very white and set. "Pray tell me about him; you did not give any details before, probably because you had such a lot to tell me. Now paint me a word picture of Gordon Falmer."

Netta sketched off the man rapidly, Reggie listening with breathless attention.

"Now we are getting on," he said at length. "I know that man now, I know him well. And I used to think he was my friend. But I have no time to go into that. Netta, that man has certain papers, papers that I must have. They are sure to be in his bedroom. It is a great risk, it is a horrible thing for me even to suggest you should do it, but—"

Netta rose to her feet, her eyes flashing and her breast heaving.

"But it shall be done," she said between her teeth.