Читать книгу The Sentence of the Court - Fred M. White - Страница 10

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Here at last it appeared to Gilray was Fortune holding out both hands to him. He had formed a compact with Enid, showing that she was more or less under an obligation to him. It would have been a difficult matter to state precisely what that obligation was, but no doubt time would help him to give it some satisfactory definition. Anyway, Enid had been desperately afraid lest he should speak, lest he should say something that might put Van der Knoot on the track of his missing miniatures. Gilray had certainly seen the precious pictures in the hands of Daniel Harley. Whether they had been stolen or not it did not in the least matter—perhaps there was some strange story attached to their appearance in the queer dock-side house, some plausible explanation. Even the blackest evidence sometimes becomes commonplace when the witnesses for the defence enter the witness-box.

What did it matter? Suppose Daniel Harley was a thief, what then? At any rate he was a man of immense wealth and Enid was his only child. If there should be any scandal it would be an easy matter Gilray argued to himself, to shield her good name. People would be sorry for her, she would have the sympathy of everybody. It is not a difficult matter to extend the hand of friendship to a girl who has a million or so of her own. Folks would tell the story of the beautiful wife of the popular and fashionable Doctor Gilray—and envy her. Assuredly everything was going the right way now, his creditors would wait when they knew everything. And the girl was already more or less in his power. But he must not let her see that yet.

Enid had been watching Gilray as these thoughts rushed swiftly through his mind, with a look of appealing alarm upon her face. He noted her expression and turned to her again with gentle deference.

"You may rely on me implicitly," he whispered almost tenderly. "You have not the faintest cause for fear. Remember that a doctor regards the confidence of his patient as sacred. I have already forgotten what I saw in that old house of yours. But you won't forget me, Miss Harley. You will let me see you sometimes."

Gilray paused. It seemed to him that he had put the matter with great delicacy. Enid's lip quivered in a smile, her eyes were eloquent of her thanks, and yet she felt conscious of being in some sort of trap, although she could not see the bars.

"I very rarely come here, Dr. Gilray," she said. "You have been very kind, perhaps more kind than you know. Oh, how all this mystery worries me."

Enid spoke the last few words impulsively, and then, as if, suddenly conscious that she was saying too much, pulled herself up short and with another murmur of thanks slipped from Gilray's side and moved towards the door.

He made no attempt to detain her, he was perfectly satisfied with the progress of affairs so far. So he leisurely turned to listen to the woes of the unfortunate rich, as expounded by the disconsolate Van der Knoot who, the centre of a knot of sympathisers, was still bitterly lamenting his misfortune.

"I am only one of many," he fumed. "Look you at the scores of thievings of this kind that have in London happened lately. Always it is the small things worth the most that go from us. What is it the police are doing? They have, it would seem, no way to check this kind of thing. It is for my wife I am more sorry than for myself. You see, it was to her that the stolen miniatures belonged really."

Mrs. Van der Knoot fidgeted uneasily. There was a deep flush on her dark, handsome face.

Already she had made more than one attempt to change the conversation. She seemed to suggest an aloofness from her husband's somewhat vulgar ostentation. As the daughter of an impoverished Irish peer the Honourable Mrs. Van der Knoot despised the wealthy Teuton plebeian she had wedded for his money. So long as she was free to indulge in her bridge, her turf, and her stock Exchange gambles unmolested she was prepared to tolerate his coarse city friends, but this was no place for the manners of Throgmorton-street.

"You are boring these good people here," she said coldly. "Really, anyone would think that it was a serious matter. And, anyway the loss is mine, not yours. You brought me those pretty miniatures, because I took a fancy to them, and now they are stolen. My dear Ninon, are we to be permitted any bridge to-night?"

Ninon's dancing, mischievous eyes suddenly grew steady. She had been watching the whole scene with infinite amusement, nothing had escaped her. From behind her mask of frivolity and inconsequence she saw into the heart of things as few around her did.

"I am desolated, ma cherie," she cried. "It cuts me to the soul to disappoint you. But alas! this evening it cannot be. You have sat in the music room and listened enraptured to my wonderful tenor, and for to-night that must suffice. On the stroke of 12 I shall have to turn you all out, for I have to go further. Behold the Peris outside the gates of Paradise. I blush for my hard, cold inhospitality."

She flitted like a butterfly to another group of guests, but left them almost as quickly as she came, and caught Enid in the doorway. Here, in a flash, she became another woman, cold and persistent, with the light of a great determination gleaming in her eyes.

"I love the life of a kaleidoscope," she said rapidly. "My foi, how things develop in the course of a few seconds; I have had to rearrange all my plans, little Enid. I have to go out when but a little time ago I was hoping to retire early. There is no occasion for our conference after all. Still, I have a few questions to ask, and you must reply to them freely. What was Dr. Gilray saying to you, and what reason have you to be afraid of him?"

"Oh, if I only knew," Enid said passionately. "Take me somewhere so that I can speak to you without fear of interruption....Yes, this will do. You asked me a question—let me reply by asking you one in my turn. What is the meaning of all this mystery? Why am I treated as if I were some child, some baby who cannot understand? Why am I a mere puppet in the strange transactions that take place between my father and you and that drunken, good natured Doctor Horace Vorley?"

"My dear child, let business matters alone. They are not for you to worry about. Be content with your life as it is. I want you to believe me when I say that I am your friend. I asked you a question. And I asked it with a sincere desire for your own welfare. Are you in that man's power?"

"I don't know," Enid said helplessly. "I don't know. He forced me to make a kind of friendly compact with him. He spoke nicely enough, and yet there was something in his voice that made me hate him. He—he knows that I have the Hessingdale miniatures here in my possession."

Ninon Desterre's face grew hard, and her eyes gleamed wickedly.

"Oh, indeed," she said. "So our brilliant Gilray guessed so much, did he? He has nosed out, has he, that you came here tonight bringing a parcel purporting—only purporting, mind—to contain the missing miniatures?"

"But, my dear Madame, it does not contain the missing miniatures. And they belong to Mrs. Van der Knoot."

"They don't, you silly little cabbage. I give you my word of honour they don't. I cannot explain, but you can accept my statement implicitly. It is all a most complicated business matter, child, that you could never understand. And Gilray thinks he has found something out. My dear child, why did you clasp your hand to the place where the parcel is in that dramatic manner? I was watching you. Of course you made the Doctor think you had something hidden. He's a very clever man, is Dr. Gilray."

"But he knew about the miniatures before. He was at our river-side house last night. I told you he came down to see a patient who is, well, hiding I call it, with us. The miniatures were on the table in my father's room and Dr. Gilray saw them. He had them in his hand. Had he chosen to open his lips to-night he could have ruined me, and all of us. Cannot you see the danger?"

"Oh, yes," Ninon said gravely. "I can see danger of a sort, mark you. It was a good thing, a very good thing, that our friend the doctor did not speak—especially for him. He came here to spy out the land, no doubt, and he has put two and two together and made them five. I think I see his motive. You are young and lovely, Enid, and some of these days you will be the happy possessor of great wealth. On the other hand, Gilray is poor and ambitious. No wonder that he artfully managed to make a compact with you, that he took advantage of your position. But do not be afraid. I shall know how to deal with the ambitious doctor when the time comes. Now just go quietly home, and don't let this stupid affair trouble you any more. The compact, if you chose to think it as such, will not be very troublesome after all."

Enid smiled gratefully. She was wonderfully comforted by Ninon's assurance. She was beginning to realise that there was some strange power and force behind this brilliant society butterfly; that she had a purpose in posing as a woman of whom nothing mattered in the world besides gaiety and self-indulgence. At the same time Enid still resented being treated as a child whose thoughts and opinions were of no consequence.

"I should like to feel sure," she began timidly, "that what you say as to the miniatures——"

"Is true," Ninon interrupted shortly. "Of course it is. We are exceedingly clever business people, my dear, so clever that we do nothing to bring us within the grip of the law. We believe in the truth of the saying that there is a fool born every minute, and some fools are very rich, and we arrange our business accordingly, my dear, that is all. And now, if you like, I will call Mrs. Van der Knoot here, and she shall tell you herself that the Cosway miniatures no longer belong to her. She shall even give you information that would afford some folks a good income for life. But, thank goodness, you don't belong to that class, Enid. Now, shall I call Mrs. Van der Knoot?"

Enid smiled in spite of herself. All that Ninon was saying sounded ridiculously wild and extravagant, but her manner gave the impression that she was quite in earnest.

"No, no, do not call her. I could not speak to her on such a matter. The mere idea frightens me," said Enid, quickly. "Only I am getting so tired and weary of this nightmare existence. How much longer am I to live in it?"

"Not much longer, dearie. Have patience. It is only young people who cannot wait for anything. The older one gets the less time seems to matter. Now go back to your taxi and don't come here again until I send for you. Good night, my dear, and pleasant dreams."

The guests were dropping away one by one, the beautiful rooms were being gradually deserted. One of the last to go was Gilray. He stood for a moment bending over the hand of his hostess. He had something easy and pleasant to say as usual, for his compliments were always well turned.

"It is always such a pleasure to come here," he murmured. "You strike an original note. There is no salon in London quite like your's, Madame Desterre. May I come again soon?"

"As soon as to-morrow night," Ninon said with one of her fascinating smiles. "Come and dine with me at 9 o'clock. I shall be quite alone for once. I will show you a way out of your troubles. Only it will not be by means of a marriage, at least not the marriage you are at present contemplating, my dear doctor. Now I have warned you."

"Are my troubles public property?" Gilray asked, a trifle coldly. "Am I to be told that?"

"You will be told what I choose to tell you," Ninon said coolly. "My dear, clever doctor, when you know me better you will find that I always get my own way. And it is quite dangerous for people to interfere with me. If you are only sensible you will be happy and prosperous yet. Good-night, and mind you are punctual to-morrow evening."

Gilray went away conscious of a vague sense of defeat. What did the woman mean? Why had she spoken in that frankly impertinent way of his affairs? Was there a hand of steel under that exquisite little velvet glove? Gilray was asking himself these questions as he passed down the garden to the road. From somewhere in the background he caught the flash of a lamp, he could hear the purring of a motor engine. The car swept by him a moment or two later, the light gleaming inside. As he looked he caught sight of Madame Desterre, a companion by her side. It was only for a moment, but that moment sufficed to disclose the dissipated features of Horace Vorley.

In a flash Gilray hailed a passing taxi cab.

"Keep that motor in sight," he commanded. "Follow it to the end of the world if necessary. Here's a sovereign on account of your fare. Now then, get a move on you or you'll be too late."