Читать книгу The House of the Schemers - Fred M. White - Страница 8

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In any other circumstances Ailsa would have retired discreetly. But that strangely-addressed envelope under her very eyes fascinated her strongly. The man who until recently had been little more than a pleasant memory to her had suddenly become a strange reality. And only a few hours before Ailsa had heard that Ronald Braybrooke was dead.

But was he really dead? Or had John Stern purposely lied to her? Despite the questionable way in which Ailsa had made Stern's acquaintance, she could not bring herself to believe that he was wholly bad. Perhaps he had his own urgent reasons for concealing the truth; perhaps Ronald was not dead, after all. Anyway, that envelope pointed to the latter conclusion. But, on the other hand, it was possible that the writer had yet to learn what had happened in the North Sea.

Perhaps there was a letter on the writing-table. Ailsa felt that she must know. It was not a very pretty thing to do, she told herself, but it was no time for nice scruples. With a sudden boldness, Ailsa stepped from behind the curtains into the room. The perfect appointments of the place were not lost upon the girl. She noticed the silken hangings, the delicate curtains and carpets, and the expensive flowers. The furniture belonged to the Empire period, and was elaborately upholstered in old brocade. There was enough old Bow and Chelsea china there to realise a fortune. Evidently No. 14, Vernon-terrace, was occupied by people who lacked neither money nor taste.

The house appeared to be full of people, too, for below Ailsa caught the sound of frivolous conversation and light laughter. She remembered now what a number of carriages had driven up there earlier in the evening. From a distance came the soft strains of a band. Evidently some big function was in progress at No. 14. And what a contrast it all was to the house next door! There all was gloom and mystery, here all light and pleasure, as if there was nothing to conceal and no skeleton in the closet.

But what was that envelope lying on the elaborately carved Louis Seize writing-table on a silver-mounted blotting-pad, with a gold-mounted fountain pen by its side? Ailsa felt that she must get at the bottom of that at all hazards. She rapidly crossed over to the table; but there was nothing besides the envelope and the address, and that was by no means complete. High-streets abound everywhere, indeed, few towns are complete without a High-street or two, and the half-finished address conveyed nothing. The clue was abrupt as it was puzzling. Ailsa stepped back presently whilst in the act of searching the blotting-pad, for outside she could hear the rustle of a silken dress. Like a flash the girl was behind the hanging again.

She was only just in time, for the woman who had been writing returned with a gay air, and the fragment of an opera tune on her lips. She was very tall, and dark and handsome, a beautifully dressed woman of some six-and-thirty years. But the tune died away and the dark face grew hard as the room was reached again. The half-addressed envelope was snatched up and hastily hidden under the blotting-pad as a man entered.

He was in evening dress, a man whose face and carriage did not lack distinction, save that it was so terribly marred by traces of dissipation. The shaky lip and unsteady hand told their own tale. He flicked some cigarette ash over the writing-table contemptuously.

"What are you doing here?" he asked. "Why aren't you downstairs with your guests? Had to write a letter? Who to? Look here, I'm not going to put up with any more of this. Sir George Altamont's wife has something to live up to."

"She has indeed," the woman said wearily. "Your debts and your reputation keep one going. You go your own way, and leave me to go mine. I married you with my eyes open, and I'm not going to whine about it. I have saved you from a gaol more than once already. All I ask you is not to interfere. You get your pocket-money, more than enough to muddle what little brains you have left with champagne. You are not sober now—your insane suspicions will spoil everything. Go away and leave me in peace."

"Oh, I know how cursedly clever you are," Sir George Altamont sneered. "And there's a good deal in what you say. We float on top of the wave, and people envy us. But if they only knew what a sot of adventurers we are——"

"But they never need know if you have the sense to keep your tongue still. Your part of the bargain is complete, the business of life you can leave to me. Go back to the smoking-room. You are seriously interfering with my plans now."

"What are those plans? As your husband I have every right to know."

"You have no rights at all. You have drowned them in brandy. Go back, I say. There are times when I feel disposed to leave you. I could easily invent a pretext for a separation. And I should be Lady Altamont still. I could carry on my brilliant schemes without your jealous interference. And what would become of you? You would rot in gaol in six months."

The man standing by the table made no response. Probably he felt the truth of his wife's words. Ailsa could not understand it at all. It was a new phase of life to her. Everything looked so solid and substantial here, and so like sterling worth. Lady Altamont stamped her foot.

"Will you go?" she demanded. "Your presence is needed downstairs. I shall not be many minutes. I tell you I have a most important letter to write."

Sir George shuffled away. His uncertain footsteps could be heard stumbling down the stairs. A burst of laughter came from somewhere, the strains of a band began again, Lady Altamont stood by the table tapping her heel irresolutely. A moment later, and there came the soft, subdued sound of a whistle. It sounded low and continuous like a signal. A hoarse voice asked somebody to put out the lights.

With a little cry that sounded like disappointment, Lady Altamont flicked out the lights. Ailsa felt that there were two people in the room; she was not long kept in doubt.

"What on earth does this mean?" Lady Altamont whispered. "Where did you come from? How did you manage to pass my guests without observation?"

"I didn't," a strange voice came out of the darkness. "I am not exactly in party dress, and I should probably have been kicked off the steps if I had insisted upon an audience. I came here quite modestly by the roof."

"From the roof! Surely that was a most indiscreet thing to do."

"Not at all. It was either that or falling into the hands of the police. The chase was pretty hot just for the time. An empty house and a skylight does the trick. Luckily for me, I have been over the same ground before. All the same, it's just possible that I have been spotted. If so, you must hide me."

"Then am I to understand that you have failed to-night?"

"Yes, my dear friend, I have failed, and, strange to say, I am not sorry. It may be news to you that I have suddenly developed a bad attack of uneasy conscience. Something has happened to me to-night that I need not discuss in detail. I have been a fool, but I am not going to be a fool any longer. Henceforth the game it not for me."

Ailsa thrilled from head to foot. She was in the thick of the adventure, and she had no mind to turn back. It seemed to her just for a moment that Fate had appointed her as an instrument to right some great wrong.

Besides this, she recognised the voice of the speaker. It was a little different from when she had heard it a short time before—more hard and contemptuous, but the same ring dominated it. That man was John Stern!

What was he doing here, Ailsa wondered. But then there was so much for her to wonder at that this question became of minor importance. It was, perhaps, not a nice thing for Ailsa to do, but she resolved to hear this to an end. She heard Lady Altamont laugh in a scornful kind of way.

"What has come to you?" she asked. "You were always showy and electrical, but I never saw you in a mood like this before. You speak like a man who had suddenly grown rich, and beyond the reach of temptation."

"I could be rich if I liked," Stern muttered. "I have only to stretch out my hand and the money drops into it. I was not born bad."

"Perhaps not," Lady Altamont sneered; "but at any rate, you took to bad ways fairly early. No agonies of remorse in your case, eh? But let there be an end of all this nonsense. You came here——"

"To warn you that you are in danger. I took great risks to get here. And what I said just now is perfectly true. I've done with the wrong for good and all. I daresay I shall know what it is to taste the bread of adversity; but that will do me no harm. Henceforth you are not to look to me for anything. You and that drunken husband of yours must go your own way."

"Oh, nonsense," Lady Altamont cried, impatiently. "You are out of sorts; you are moody, like you were when we first met. And you have had bad luck. A failure like yours——"

"My dear lady, there was no occasion for me to have failed. I had the thing at the tip of my very fingers. Call me a fool if you like, but I've done with it."

Ailsa wondered if she had been through it all before. She had that peculiar feeling that comes to us all at times. The voice seemed to be so strangely familiar, and yet Ailsa could not recollect where she had heard it before, at least before to-night, when she had encountered John Stern. Before Lady Altamont could reply, there was a little cry of dismay from the brilliantly-lighted rooms below, followed by a calm official voice asking questions.

"What did I tell you?" the voice of the stranger said. "The police, right enough. They are asking permission to search the house. Put me somewhere, and go down and reassure them."

Lady Altamont hustled her visitor through an inner door and turned the key. She flashed up the electric lights again, and tripped down the stairs as if the whole thing amused her. Ailsa could hear her tones presently in the distance.

"It is a mistake, of course," she was saying, with easy haughtiness. "Search the premises, by all means, beginning with the bedrooms. You are not likely to find your man down here. If any stranger had come down the stairs, I must have seen him, since my boudoir door has been open all the time I was writing."

There were heavy feet tramping overhead now, and presently a police-officer looked into the boudoir. Lady Altamont was evidently scornfully amused.

"He is not here," she said. "He is not in that room beyond, for the simple reason that I always keep the door locked. And not even the most skilful burglar can close a door behind him and lock it on the outside. See."

Lady Altamont smiled as she tried the door. The officer looked puzzled, but satisfied.

"We can't find a trace of anybody, my lady," he said. "We have been all over the house, and there is certainly no intruder here at present. Very sorry to trouble you, my lady, but we are only doing our duty. And that skylight was not fastened."

"Oh, quite so," Lady Altamont said, good-naturedly. "I'll see that the skylight is properly secured in future. Is it some noted character who——"

"We can't say, my lady. Probably it is. I'll take my men away now."

The officer touched his hairnet and moved in the direction of the door. Lady Altamont followed, on hospitable thoughts intent. She could not permit these thoughtful police to go away until they had all had something. The officer protested awkwardly as he followed his hostess down the stairs.

Almost immediately the door of the boudoir was opened and a young girl came in. She was very sweet and slender. She had deep-blue, pathetic eyes, and there was a scared expression on her perfect features. Ailsa watched her with a certain languid curiosity. The events of the night were so many that one more or less made no difference.

The girl came in much as a thief might have done. But here was no common thief, as Ailsa decided, if she was any judge of faces. Still, the girl was looking for something, and it was evident that she was fearful of being discovered. She started back once or twice, as if she heard something, then from outside came the swish of Lady Altamont's dress again.

"One minute," she called to somebody. "Let me finish my letter in peace."

The pale, slight girl wrung her hands impatiently. Evidently she would have given much not to be discovered there. A great distress was on her face.

"It's too late," she moaned. "I shall be caught. And if I arouse the suspicions of that odious woman—— Ah! if there was any place to hide!"

She backed against the hanging, actually touching Ailsa as she swayed in her distress. Ailsa acted on the impulse of the moment: she jerked back the curtain and dragged the dazed girl to her side at the same instant that Lady Altamont came smilingly into the room.