Читать книгу Leonie, the Typewriter - Wenona Gilman - Страница 6

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The first week passed almost without incident.

Leonie came and went with the freedom of a servant, nothing that occurred escaping her knowledge. She watched Lynde Pyne's visits to the house with a sinking of the heart that was indescribable. Not a thing out of the ordinary run of fashionable life had happened. She had discovered nothing either of the thief or Miss Chandler's mysterious connection with herself, and she was beginning to think she never would.

It was the evening of one of Mrs. Chandler's most pretentious dinner parties, at which the wealth and fashion of New York had been largely represented, and Evelyn Chandler, in a decollete gown of gray crepe and La France roses, had rarely appeared to greater advantage, her sparkling wit and brilliancy of humor making her the attraction of the evening.

From a distance Leonie looked on, her rebellious heart throbbing with something very like envy, a sentiment of which she was infinitely ashamed, but seemed unable to control. Lynde Pyne, too, was there, and a short conversation had taken place between them that had convinced her that he loved the heiress, though he was doubtful of the success of his suit. She had rarely if ever been more miserable than when she saw the last guest depart.

She was dragging herself wearily to her room when a slight noise in an adjacent hall attracted her. The subdued sound aroused her suspicions, and slipping her slippers from her feet she advanced silently toward it.

"What are you doing here again?" she heard a voice ask in a whisper, a voice so evidently Evelyn Chandler's that there was no room left for doubt.

"I have come for money!" a man replied, in a half dogged, wholly defiant sort of way.

"What, again?"

"Yes, and I must have it now!"

"But I have not a dollar in the world."

"That is not true; and if it were you could get it easily enough, as you have done before."

"You told me, when I gave you the first thousand, that that would be the last."

"You were not fool enough to believe it, were you?"

"Well, when is it to end?"

"When I come in possession of a million and can afford to live on my own money."

"Have you no regard for the danger to me?"

"When you put it on a sentimental basis, my dear, you might ask if I am not very tired of living without you. In that instance I should answer, yes. I think old Moneybags would give you to me fast enough if he knew as much as you and I do. Which do you prefer, my dear?"

The girl shuddered, and Leonie fancied she heard it there in the stillness.

"How much do you want this time?" she asked, making no effort to conceal the dull anger of her tone.

"A thousand will do."

"Impossible!"

"You always say so, but it invariably comes when you know it must! If you can't get the money, another diamond bracelet will do."

Leonie's start almost betrayed her presence there. Evelyn Chandler, then, the heiress and beauty, one of the rulers of New York society, was the thief whom she had come there to apprehend. The thought was horrible to her.

"Will this be the last?" cried Miss Chandler, in a strained voice.

"Not by any means, my dear. You must learn to save more for me out of your dress money. I tell you what I will do. Give me this thousand and I will be easy on you. You can give me a stated amount, so that you can make your arrangements to have it ready at the beginning of each month, and I will make no further demands upon you. Will that do?"

"How much will you want?"

"Well, say three hundred a month!"

"Never! If you keep this up you will make it impossible for me to do anything. I will give you two hundred, and that is the last cent."

"We-ll," grumbled the man hesitatingly, "it is a beggarly amount, considering all you have, but as I don't want to kill the goose that lays the golden egg, I suppose I must yield the point. Now get me the thousand and let me go before we are discovered."

"There is one thing I want to say to you first. Who do you suppose is here in this house?"

"I have not an idea."

"Leonie Cuyler!"

"The devil! What is she doing here?"

"She is engaged as house-maid, but there is some mystery about it that I cannot fathom."

"As sure as you live that old idiot, Godfrey Cuyler, sent her here for a purpose. If you are smart, my girl, you will get rid of her without loss of time."

"But how am I to do that?"

"I think I can manage it for you. It is an infernally dangerous thing, and what is dangerous for you is for me. I'll think about it and write to you to-morrow. Go and get the money now."

"You promise me that you will keep your word about the two hundred in future?"

"Yes, I do. I don't want to be hard on you. You had better be in a hurry. It is not safe for me to be in this house."

Knowing that it was worse than useless to argue the matter with him, and also knowing that he was perfectly right about his own and her insecurity, she heaved a sigh and turned away.

In the darkness her skirts touched Leonie's in passing, but she was unconscious of it, and flitted silently down the broad stairs, guiding her steps by passing her fingers along the wall.

Leonie followed noiselessly, scarcely daring to draw her breath.

Into the library Miss Chandler went, closing the great heavy door behind her.

Leonie stood for a moment nonplused. She could not open the door without Miss Chandler being aware of it, and that she did not desire.

A sudden idea seemed to strike her, and passing swiftly through the drawing-room, she entered the conservatory and silently drew back the portiere that separated it from the library.

By the dim light she could see Miss Chandler quite distinctly.

She had already possessed herself of a key by some means, and was unlocking the desk in which Leonard Chandler had told Leonie he kept his money.

The beauty of the blonde face was marred by an expression of great anxiety, but there seemed to be not the slightest repugnance at the disgusting act she was performing; on the contrary, there was a smile of relief when she found that the drawer contained an even greater amount than she required.

With unusual deliberation she counted out the money, laid it on the desk, replaced what was left, and relocked the drawer. She picked up the money, and was about to leave the room, when Leonie stepped forward, allowing the portiere to fall behind her.

The hand that held the money fell upon the desk, and Miss Chandler gazed at the girl aghast.

Leonie did not speak, but waited until Miss Chandler had fully recovered herself.

"Why are you here at this hour?" the heiress demanded, haughtily. "Surely you know that the servants are not allowed to be roaming over the house in the middle of the night."

"I am not a servant, Miss Chandler," answered Leonie, with dignity, "but a detective whom your father placed here to locate a thief! I am sorry to say that I have found her."

"What do you mean?"

The tone was haughty enough, but the blue eyes faltered, and the cheeks were white as death.

"I mean," answered Leonie, firmly, "that I shall have to report to Mr. Chandler that the thief whom he has sworn to prosecute is his own daughter."

Leonie laid her hand upon the burglar alarm that the room contained. She had no intention of ringing it, but was simply trying to frighten Miss Chandler into putting the money back, and making a promise that the operation never should be repeated. Much as she loathed the act, much as she despised the girl who could descend to so vile a thing, she had no wish to disgrace her or the family of which she was a member.

But she was unprepared for what occurred.

With a spring like that of a tigress, Evelyn Chandler was upon her, and had seized her hand.

"Do you know what you are doing?" she cried, hoarsely. "You would disgrace me forever! I tell you that you shall not. Let go of that bell, or as Heaven is my witness I will kill you, and escape before it can be answered!"

By the flash of demoniacal light in the blue eyes, Leonie saw that the girl meant what she said. Her hand fell from the bell-cord.

"Then put the money back," she said, as quietly as she could force herself to speak.

"Never!" exclaimed Miss Chandler, vehemently. "Do you think my father would believe you if you told this story to him, and I was not here? To-morrow you may tell him what you wish."

"Then you propose to make me an accomplice to your act, so to speak, by my remaining quiet, and saying nothing, while you rob your own father, is that it?" cried Leonie, aghast at the girl's audacity.

"Exactly!" replied Miss Chandler, firmly, the memory of her danger overcoming her fear.

"And I tell you," exclaimed Leonie with equal firmness, "that it shall not be so! Put that money back, refuse in my presence to give that man up-stairs any more, either now, or at any future time, and you are safe from me. Refuse, and as God is my judge I will denounce you! You think I am at your mercy. Look!"

She had prepared for some such emergency, little thinking under what circumstances she would require it; and as she spoke she produced a small Derringer revolver, which she did not point toward Miss Chandler, but with it clasped in one hand she calmly laid the other upon the bell-cord.

"Will you put that money back?" she asked, coolly.

"No!" cried Miss Chandler, half wildly. "Denounce me if you will; disgrace me, if you wish. Do you not think I will not tell the story of your infamous birth? Do you think that I have not seen that you are in love with Lynde Pyne? Ha, ha! Tell this if you wish. It will disgrace me, and then I shall not hesitate to tell the world that you are the daughter of Lena Mauprat, who was condemned to the penitentiary for stealing. What if I am the daughter of the same mother, and but the adopted child of Leonard Chandler? I am legitimate, while you are not!"

Slowly the hand that held the bell-cord dropped. The one that held the pistol relaxed its hold, and the weapon fell upon the chair that was under it noiselessly, the dainty face became gray and drawn, and without a cry or moan, Leonie Cuyler fell at her sister's feet.

Godfrey Cuyler's terrible suffering was explained at last.