Читать книгу Craven Fortune - Fred M. White - Страница 6

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Freda looked at Wilfrid in a vague kind of way as if she were not quite sure of his identity. The mysterious disappearance of the diamond brooch filled her with something more than uneasiness. And yet it seemed almost impossible to believe that the thing had been stolen; there must be some mistake. Wilfrid was first to speak.

"Didn't you snatch it up in the excitement of the moment?" he asked.

"I am certain I did not," Freda replied. "As you passed into the hall I looked back and caught the glint of the electric light on the stones. Hurried as I was, I recollect thinking how beautiful and artistic it was, and how much more charm there was in the old settings of jewels. I call that to mind perfectly."

"You were quite sure that that was after you had hurried to the door?" Wilfrid asked.

"Absolutely certain, my dear boy. I thought you were going to pick it up, and I was fiercely glad that you had given way to me in this matter. I was very glad for your sake and for the sake of poor Frank Saxby, and yet I was sorry for the loss of my one good gem. You know how strange women are in such matters."

Wilfrid touched Freda's hand caressingly. It seemed to him that he could understand her feelings quite easily. The sympathetic touch repaid Freda more than words could have done.

"Then the brooch must have been stolen," Wilfrid declared. "Somebody must have slipped into the conservatory as you passed out."

But that Freda declared to be impossible. She had merely slipped into the garden and closed the door behind her. She had never been more than a yard from the door and had remained at the side of it so that her figure might not stand out against the glazed half of the doorway. It was impossible that anybody could have entered that way.

"It must have been taken when you were engaged in that dispute," Freda concluded.

But Wilfrid was equally certain that that was out of the question.

"I thought of you all the time," he explained. "There was always a chance that somebody might pop into the conservatory and pass through the far door. That is why I never went beyond the hall and kept my back to the inner conservatory door, so that nobody could enter. The thought of you was uppermost in my mind the whole time. I never forgot you for a moment. Freda, this is a deeper and more mysterious affair than it seems."

Freda's face had flushed and there was a look of anxiety in her eyes.

"I quite understand that," she said. "Somebody was watching us; somebody hidden behind all those plants and flowers must have listened to our conversation. Not only have they surprised your secret, but they know how things stand between us. It is dreadful."

Wilfrid had lost sight of that side of the matter. But he recognized now how serious was the position in which Freda had placed herself. A feeling of impotent rage filled him.

"Perhaps we are imagining too much," he said with a feeble effort of consolation. "Probably we are the victims of some vulgar thief, after all, who cares nothing for anything but your jewel. If he listened he knew that it was worth £400, and that being so he would not try to dispose of it in Middlesworth at all. It's very unfortunate, but----"

Freda did not appear to be listening. Already she had ceased to think of herself. With sweet self-abnegation she was all for her lover and the promise that he had made. She did not believe that she had been the victim of a vulgar thief. She had her own anxious ideas on that score. The jewel was gone, however, and Wilfrid's chance of redeeming his promise lost, so far as the brooch was concerned. Another desperate plan was beginning to take shape in Freda's mind.

"How long are those men likely to play cards?" she asked suddenly.

Wilfrid shrugged his shoulders. It was impossible to say. They were all keen gamblers and it yet wanted a few minutes of half-past twelve. They would be pretty sure to go on till two. But why did Freda want to know?

The girl parried the question skilfully. Whatever reason she had to ask, she was not going to confide it at present to Wilfrid. She made a step towards the door.

"Don't go before the others," she said. "I may want to put another proposal before you. I am tired and my head is too hot to say more just now. I had better go."

"You had, most assuredly, dearest," Wilfrid said as he bent and kissed her hot lips. "What a brave little girl, and how loyal you are! And to think that all that love is for me."

Freda would have said something, but the tears rose to her eyes and the lump in her throat choked her. She returned the pressure of Wilfrid's lips and then flitted out of the conservatory and up the stairs.

With his brain whirling like a wheel Wilfrid returned to the others. Jackson was asleep in one corner, the others were deep in their game. A thick haze of tobacco smoke filled the room; the air was heavy with the smell of spirits. Fortunately there was no suggestion of Wilfrid coming in again; nobody wanted to go out, and he had declared that he should not play any more that evening. Stephen Morrison stood up and stretched himself at length and gave a significant nod in Wilfrid's direction. The millionaire had been winning, as usual. His big coarse face was beaming with satisfaction, his greedy eyes twinkled.

"Like to take my place for a rubber, Bayfield?" he asked.

"Not for a moment, sir," Wilfrid replied. "I play no more to-night. For the present I am quite cleaned out. Please don't stop the game on my account."

"Then make yourself useful," the millionaire said, in great good humour. "The servants have gone to bed. Never keep my servants up late for anybody. The cigars are the best that money can buy, ditto the champagne and the whisky. If you can't help yourself, go without, I say. Act the butler like a good chap."

Wilfrid complied willingly enough. There was no conversation now, for the stakes were high; those who had lost were anxious to recoup themselves and those who had won were only too eager to make their gains more. There was a lull presently and above it came the ripple of an electric bell.

"Somebody at the front door," Morrison suggested. "Cab for one of you fellows, perhaps. As you are acting deputy butler, would you mind going to see, Bayfield? If it is a cabman, let him come into the hall and help himself from the drinks on the side-table. I don't suppose that any of you want to chuck it yet."

Nobody expressed a desire to break up a table. With a cigarette in his lips, Wilfrid crossed the hall and opened the front door. There was no vehicle of any kind in sight, but on the steps stood a figure muffled to the eyes and covered with a soft flopping hat. In a hard, grating voice he asked to see the master of the house without delay.

"You can't see him," Wilfrid said curtly, nettled by the man's manner. "He's playing cards."

The man in the cloak chuckled harshly. A few playing cards lay on the mosaic floor in the hall, where they had dropped after the recent dispute. The stranger stepped in and picked one of them up. Close by his side was a silver-mounted telegraph-form holder with a pencil attached. On the card the intruder wrote a name in a bold hand.

"Show me into the morning room," he said, "and then lay that card before Mr. Morrison. He'll see me fast enough."

With a feeling of curiosity, Wilfrid did as the stranger suggested. Then he stole into the library and laid the card before Mr. Morrison, whose partner was playing his hand. There was a sudden gasp on the part of the millionaire, his big face turned white as ashes, then the red blood flamed into his cheeks again. The great diamond on his little finger flashed and shimmered as his hands trembled. He rose, breathing hoarsely.

"Where have you put him?" he asked. "In the morning room, eh? Levison will of course excuse me for a moment? It's a man on business to see me. I shall be back in time to play the next hand. How dry this game makes one!"

Morrison poured himself out half a tumbler of neat brandy, into which he dropped just a touch of water, and swallowed it. For a man who boasted that he had built up his fortune on water, this struck Wilfrid as suspicious. But it was no business of his, he reflected, as he stood watching the game. Morrison came back presently looking more subdued than was his wont; the rubber at his table was just over.

"Very sorry, but I can't play again to-night," he said. "I've got to leave by the 7.15 in the morning on business that has suddenly sprung up. It's a great bore, my dear fellows, but I must turn you out. I've come to the time of life when I can't get through a hard day's work without a good sleep."

There was no help for it and gradually the tables were broken up. Cigars took the place of cigarettes; in the hall the guests were getting into their coats. Wilfrid moved forward to say good-night to his host, when the latter detained him.

"Hang about till they have gone," he whispered. "I want to ask you a professional question."

Wilfrid was not altogether surprised to hear this. Morrison was a strong, healthy man, but there were certain signs on his face, and he seemed to have grown suddenly old and grey as he came back to Wilfrid after seeing the last of his guests depart.

"Never had a doctor in my life, Bayfield," he said, with a sudden defiance. "Always boasted that I was strong as a rock. Never drunk, either. Always got through the most trying business without turning a hair. But that has all changed."

"Every constitution has its limits," Bayfield murmured.

"So it seems," said Morrison grimly. "And that's what's the matter with mine. Latterly business has worried me. My heart flutters in a queer way and I get giddy and frightened. But to-night, it was alarming. No occasion for it, either. A man I had occasion to teach a lesson to some years ago turns up and I feel nervous about seeing him. In the hall I had a kind of mild fit--couldn't breathe and everything all queer before my eyes. Will you examine me?"

Wilfrid proceeded to do so as well as he could without his stethoscope. His face was rather grave when he had finished his diagnosis.

"It's just as well to tell you the truth," he said. "Your heart is in a very queer state, indeed. It is not only your heart either, but your brain, too. There is no question what you must do--you must go away at once for at least six months. During that time you must do nothing. If you follow my advice, I see no reason why you should not be yourself again by the end of a year; if you stick to business you will be a dead man in three months."

Morrison laughed in a queer dry way.

"Then I must run the risk," he said, "for at least a month, any way. To shut down the machine at present spells blue ruin. Are you going towards Middlesworth? Then I'll go with you and get a bed at the York Hotel. When I have to travel early I never worry about my breakfast at home."

Morrison extinguished the few remaining lights and dropped the latch of the front door to make all safe. Not that there was any cause for alarm, he explained, seeing that one of his bull dogs had the run of the passages all night.

"I hope you won't say anything about this," Morrison remarked, as he and Wilfrid passed through the grounds towards the lodge gates. "It would never do for it to be known that I was nearly on the shelf. I have too many enemies, which is the position of all rich men, and the fellow who turned up to-night with the expectation----"

Morrison paused as if conscious that he was saying too much. Something pattered on the path before the two men and a black nose nozzled Morrison's legs.

"Too bad of Masson," he said. "Here's one of the young bulldogs out again. I'll go and knock the fellow up and give him a piece of my mind. The cottage is close behind the lodge. You go on and I'll catch you up. That dog is worth a good four hundred pounds."

Wilfrid wished devotedly that the dog belonged to him, in which case his bother and the troubles of Frank Saxby would soon be over. As he walked along in the direction of the lodge he could hear Morrison thumping on the cottage door of the under-keeper. A figure in black flitted out of a bush and stood panting, white-faced, before Wilfrid.

"Freda," he gasped, "Freda, in the name of heaven, what does this mean? I cannot believe that----"

Freda dragged her lover aside into the bushes as Morrison passed. She panted so she could hardly get her words from her lips.

"I had to be out," she said. "I trusted those men would stay longer. The house is shut up and I cannot get in. What is to be done, Wilfrid? What is to be done?"

"Come along!" Morrison shouted. "Where the deuce have you got to, Bayfield?"

"I must get in," Freda said, half-fainting. "Oh, Wilfrid, I must--I must!"