The Lion's Mouse

by C. N. Williamson and A. M. Williamson

  XXXV

  THE TIME LIMIT OF HOPE

  A big, blond man had hustled Mrs. Mac and Violet downstairs before theshot was fired. It was bewildering to them that Mr. Cheffinsky shouldcome home after his strange absence with his beautiful golden beard andmoustache shaved off.

  Cheffinsky was like an officer directing a defence. He took commandinstantly he entered the house, seeming to understand the situationwithout a question. "If any one rings, let Violet be a long time openingthe door," he said. "But it must be opened. Don't act as if there wassomething to hide. Keep 'em talking, no matter who, or about what aslong as you can. There's been a theft from a lady boarder, and a littleexcitement; you've only to tell the truth--see?"

  All this in a second; but it got the two women out of the way. The spymust be muzzled at any cost, for Cheffinsky guessed at a word from Kitthat this was the mysterious girl of the telephone.

  "Pick her up," he said to Kit, when they had got the locked door open."If any eyes are on that window, it won't look too queer for one girl topull another back into the room."

  As the other two women had done, Kit obeyed. She was used to obeyingChuff in the past. She dragged Clo to the back of the room, out of sightfrom the window, and awaited further commands.

  "Now," Chuff said, "if we're spotted, this is a suicide--see? She stoleyour pearls, and when she was caught she killed herself."

  "But the shot's in her shoulder--and she ain't dead. She's opening hereyes," Kit objected.

  "She's got to be dead," Chuff decreed. "I know how to fix the bulletbusiness. It'll have to be done now, because if trouble comes it willcome quick. Look here; this is the thing to do, if there's questions toanswer. You caught her stealing. She ran down to this room from yours,threw the stuff out of the window to a pal, and then grabbed my Browningfrom the mantelpiece. She'd have shot you, but seeing the men, knew thegame was up, and did for herself instead. Shut the window, Kit. I'mgoing to put another ball into her, in the chest, just opposite the spotof blood on her back. Carry her into the closet, to cover the sound. Imustn't touch her myself. There's spots on you already. Account for themby saying you picked her up to see if she was alive."

  "But if she's in the closet----"

  "She ran there, and shot at you from inside the door, after we'd allbroken into the room to get at her. Is that clear to you both? We muststick to the same story. Into the closet with her, Kit."

  Clo felt a strange sensation, as if her soul had left the body that hunglimp in Kit's strong arms, and was gazing at it with impersonal pity."The worst will be ended for me in a minute," she thought. Then,suddenly, she remembered Justin O'Reilly. A great desolation ofloneliness swept over her. He would be sorry. But he was far away.

  * * * * *

  When Clo telephoned, Ellen Blackburne did not even know that the Sandswere out of New York. The message, however, instantly awoke her sleepinginterest. She guessed that Clo had tracked the thief, and that what shecalled the "weird address" given was the "lair." Miss Blackburne was nocoward, and the astonishing request that came over the telephone wiresdid not frighten her. She prepared to follow instructions at once,taking only one precaution. Before starting, she left word that if shedid not 'phone or return within an hour, inquiries were to be made atthe house and in the street whose number she wrote down.

  The pearl-stringer did, therefore, precisely what she had been asked todo. She abandoned the work laid out for the morning, and dashed off in ataxi on a moment's notice. Clo's little face at the window of atenth-rate boarding-house told her nothing new. Clo was always pale.When the girl dropped to her knees it looked to Ellen as if thatattitude were more convenient for throwing down the bag. No sound of apistol shot reached Ellen's ears over the noises of the street. Sheheard only the "teuf-teuf" of her own taxi, and the snort of a big graycar which had at that instant come to a stop close by. Miss Blackburnewas used to odd adventures, and prided herself on "keeping cool," butshe could not help giving an undignified jump as a man sprang out of thegray limousine and laid a hand on her arm.

  "What is in that bag and where are you taking it? I've a right to know,"he said sharply. "I'm a friend of Miss Riley."

  Ellen grabbed at the door of her taxi. The man was about thirty orthirty-two, she thought, certainly a gentleman and rather handsome. "I'macting for Miss Riley," she returned as sharply. "My name's Blackburne.Clo's in a hurry for me to do an errand. If you're really her friend,you'd better let me get away while you look after her."

  The two eyed each other for an instant. "You are Miss Ellen Blackburne,the pearl-stringer?" the man inquired.

  "The same," she answered.

  "Then go on her errand!" he exclaimed. And while Ellen stared, he ran upthe steps of the house where a companion had already rung the bell.Neither of the men looked again at her. Ellen waited for no more. Tosave delay and further suspense for Mrs. Sands she drove straight to thePark Avenue house, in order to string the pearls there: for she hadhastily collected her materials before starting. It was a blow to hearfrom the hall porter that the Sands had already left New York; shedecided on going up to get further information. She even thought ofsending a long-distance message to Beverley from her own flat; but thegrim personality of Anna Schultz banished this idea at a glance. Ellenrealized that if she asked to enter the apartment she would be regardedas a suspicious character. Important business with Mrs. Sands would takeher to Newport immediately, she told Miss Schultz. If there were anyletter or parcel to be sent she would carry it.

  Anna's reply to this offer was a stiff refusal, but Miss Blackburne hadnot reached the lift when the woman came after her. "I've justremembered, there's a telegram for Mrs. Sands' French maid, you mightgive her by hand, if you're going to Newport to-day," she said, with agrudging air. "It will be quicker than posting." Anna Schultz slippedthe envelope into Ellen's hand, and turned away without waiting for ananswer.

  Having telephoned to the jewellers where she was employed, Ellen decidedto string the pearls at home. She dared not dash off to Newport withoutseeing her mother, and arranging with a neighbour to stop in the housewhile she was gone. On second thoughts, she told herself that, for Mrs.Sands' own sake, it might be best not to risk a reassuring message ofany sort in advance. Someone else might happen to receive it! Shedetermined simply to work as fast as possible, and take the first trainshe could catch for Newport, with the restrung rope of pearls.

  * * * * *

  Beverley dreaded the night of the dance more even than she had dreadedher mission, nearly a year ago, in Albuquerque.

  It seemed very long since she had been radiantly happy in the thought ofthis glorified cottage at Newport--"Gulls' Rest"--Roger's present toher. She hated it now, and everything associated with it; the fuss ofsettling into the place, in a foolish hurry, though the Newport seasonhad not yet begun: Roger's determination to begin with a house-party anda dance; his civil, quiet coldness to her; the strange look she caughtin his eyes at times; the mystery of Clo's silence, which deepened dayby day; fear of reprisals for loss of the papers; these things seemedharder to bear in Newport than at home in New York. Often Beverleywondered how long she would be sane.

  The Sands had brought with them a couple of friends: two others hadjoined them the day after, and half a dozen more had come since. Rogerhad engaged all the rooms in a small but delightful hotel for extraguests who would arrive for the dance and stay the night; and, inadvance of the season as the house-warming was, word had gone out thatthe entertainment would be worth a long journey. The favours for thecotillon were said to have cost ten thousand dollars; and there was tobe a "surprise" of some sort. Perhaps this was the reason why Mrs. Heronchanged her mind, and John Heron wired to Roger that he and his wifewould be pleased to come on from Narragansett, where they were spendinga weekend for Heron's health.

  The invitation had been sent to the Herons by Roger's firmly expressedwish, but Beverley had not dreamed that it would be accepted. And, afterall
, they were both coming to the dance! This seemed ominous. It gaveher one more fear for the dreaded night.

  Through the morning she still wildly hoped for news from Clo. Even asthe afternoon wore on she did not utterly despair; but at six o'clock,when Roger advised her and the other women staying in the house to resttill dressing-time, she definitely gave up. For the first time sincethat Sunday night which marked the end of happiness, Roger slipped hishand under her arm in a friendly, familiar way.

  "Come along," he said. "I'll trot you up to your room and see that youlie down. I want you to look your best to-night; and you know dinner'sat eight. You won't have more than an hour's nap. I suppose it'll takeyou at least an hour to dress?"

  "Just about," Beverley answered, dully. She knew that she could notsleep, but she was worn out with the effort of "keeping up" before herguests. She expected Roger to leave her at the door of her room, whichhe had entered only when the house was being shown to friends; but toher surprise, almost alarm, he followed her in. She said that she wouldnot ring yet for Leontine. She would unfasten her own frock and find herown dressing-gown.

  "I'll draw the curtains for you," Roger suggested, in the coolly kindmanner to which she had grown accustomed during the black fortnight."One rests one's brain best in twilight, I think. I'm sure you needrest. I never saw you so pale. I hope you're not worried aboutto-night?"

  "Worried? Why should I be worried?" she echoed. "I'm sure everythingwill go well, aren't you?"

  "I hope so," he said, gravely. "You haven't shown me your new dress. Isuppose it's come?"

  "Oh, yes," Beverley replied, convinced that it was not about the dresshe thought or cared. "It came the day after we arrived."

  "Good! Then you'll be able to do full justice to the pearls!"

  Beverley had the impulse to throw herself into her husband's arms andupon his mercy; but she would not, or could not--she hardly knew which.It seemed to her that he was being purposely cruel, and was deliberatelytesting, torturing her, to see how much she could bear and not break."Let him find out when the time comes," she thought, in sullen despair.Instead of confessing her trouble she asked if he would like to see hernew gown.

  "No," Roger said. "I'll wait till you're ready and I can see you in yourglory--pearls and all."

  Beverley merely smiled an answer, and wondered what Roger thought of hersmile. He drew the curtain, and led her to rest, asking at the door thatshe would promise to call him when she was dressed. "I want to have agood look at you before you go downstairs," he added as he went out.

  Adjoining Beverley's bedroom was a small room whose wall appeared to becomposed entirely of mirrors. It was a glorified wardrobe with mirrordoors, and light and ventilation came from above. Behind the mirrordoors were deep closets, some of which were lined with cedar, otherswith sandalwood; and at the back of one was an ingeniously concealedsafe. In this safe Mrs. Roger Sands' jewels had already been placed, andamong them was the empty case which had contained the queen's pearls.Beverley slid back the sandalwood panel, and opened the steel doorbehind it, which was manipulated by a miniature time-lock.

  "Suppose I wear diamonds and emeralds," she thought, "and tell Rogerthey match better with my dress than the pearls--that I'll wear thepearls another time?"

  But at the best this would only postpone the evil moment.

  She took off her dress of embroidered white organdie, and put on a _robede chambre_. Then she dropped wearily down on a great, cushiony sofa,not to rest, but because she had nothing else to do.

  It was very still in her room, save for a far-off murmur of waves belowthe rocks. When she had remained thus for about three quarters of anhour she sprang up, her brain throbbing more feverishly, her bodyquivering more uncontrollably than when she had lain down. It was closeupon seven o'clock, and she rang for Leontine. Her hair had to be done,and the whole process of dressing would need quite an hour.

  "I daresay Mary Stuart took a lot of pains dressing to have her head cutoff," she thought bitterly.

  Leontine came, and made ready her mistress's bath. She emptied a bottleof eau de Cologne into the tepid water, but for once the refreshingscent failed to revive Beverley. She was like a creature in a dream asLeontine wound her long hair in bands round her head (a new fashionRoger had fallen in love with a few weeks ago), fastening it here andthere with diamond pins. "Madame will be late if we are not careful,"the Frenchwoman said. "Everything takes so long to-night." She laid onthe floor at Beverley's feet a cloud of silver gauze, supple as chiffon.It was the new dress and Madame must step into it to avoid ruffling herhair. Beverley obeyed, and when her arms had slid into the odd littlejewelled sleeves, she let Leontine draw her gently in front of a mirror.

  "Madame is like a marvellous statue of ivory and silver," the maidexclaimed. "But she should have some colour. If Madame--but no, it istoo late. There is a knock. It will be Monsieur. Shall I open the door?"

  "Yes, open the door," Beverley echoed. Her voice sounded metallic andunnatural in her own ears.