II. THE GLOVES
I must have remained insensible for many minutes, for when I returned tofull consciousness the supper-room was empty and the two hundred guestsI had left seated at table were gathered in agitated groups about thehall. This was what I first noted; not till afterward did I realize myown situation. I was lying on a couch in a remote corner of this samehall and beside me, but not looking at me, stood my lover, Mr. Durand.
How he came to know my state and find me in the general disturbance Idid not stop to inquire. It was enough for me at that moment to look upand see him so near. Indeed, the relief was so great, the sense of hisprotection so comforting that I involuntarily stretched out my hand ingratitude toward him, but, failing to attract his attention, slipped tothe floor and took my stand at his side. This roused him and he gave mea look which steadied me, in spite of the thrill of surprise with whichI recognized his extreme pallor and a certain peculiar hesitation in hismanner not at all natural to it.
Meanwhile, some words uttered near us were slowly making their wayinto my benumbed brain. The waiter who had raised the first alarm wasendeavoring to describe to an importunate group in advance of us what hehad come upon in that murderous alcove.
"I was carrying about a tray of ices," he was saying, "and seeing thelady sitting there, went up. I had expected to find the place full ofgentlemen, but she was all alone, and did not move as I picked my wayover her long train. The next moment I had dropped ices, tray and all. Ibad come face to face with her and seen that she was dead. She had beenstabbed and robbed. There was no diamond on her breast, but there wasblood."
A hubbub of disordered sentences seasoned with horrified cries followedthis simple description. Then a general movement took place in thedirection of the alcove, during which Mr. Durand stooped to my ear andwhispered:
"We must get out of this. You are not strong enough to stand suchexcitement. Don't you think we can escape by the window over there?"
"What, without wraps and in such a snowstorm?" I protested. "Besides,uncle will be looking for me. He came with me, you know."
An expression of annoyance, or was it perplexity, crossed Mr. Durand'sface, and he made a movement as if to leave me.
"I must go," he began, but stopped at my glance of surprise and assumeda different air--one which became him very much better. "Pardon me,dear, I will take you to your uncle. This--this dreadful tragedy,interrupting so gay a scene, has quite upset me. I was always sensitiveto the sight, the smell, even to the very mention of the word blood."
So was I, but not to the point of cowardice. But then I had not justcome from an interview with the murdered woman. Her glances, hersmiles, the lift of her eyebrows were not fresh memories to me. Someconsideration was certainly due him for the shock he must be laboringunder. Yet I did not know how to keep back the vital question.
"Who did it? You must have heard some one say."
"I have heard nothing," was his somewhat fierce rejoinder. Then, as Imade a move, "What you do not wish to follow the crowd there?"
"I wish to find my uncle, and he is in that crowd."
Mr. Durand said nothing further, and together we passed down the hall.A strange mood pervaded my mind. Instead of wishing to fly a scene whichunder ordinary conditions would have filled me with utter repugnance,I felt a desire to see and hear everything. Not from curiosity, suchas moved most of the people about me, but because of some stronginstinctive feeling I could not understand; as if it were my heart whichhad been struck, and my fate which was trembling in the balance.
We were consequently among the first to hear such further details aswere allowed to circulate among the now well-nigh frenzied guests. Noone knew the perpetrator of the deed nor did there appear to be anydirect evidence calculated to fix his identity. Indeed, the sudden deathof this beautiful woman in the midst of festivity might have been lookedupon as suicide, if the jewel had not been missing from her breastand the instrument of death removed from the wound. So far, the casualsearch which had been instituted had failed to produce this weapon; butthe police would be here soon and then something would be done. As tothe means of entrance employed by the assassin, there seemed to be butone opinion. The alcove contained a window opening upon a small balcony.By this he had doubtless entered and escaped. The long plush curtainswhich, during the early part of the evening, had remained looped backon either side of the casement, were found at the moment of the crime'sdiscovery closely drawn together. Certainly a suspicious circumstance.However, the question was one easily settled. If any one had approachedby the balcony there would be marks in the snow to show it. Mr. Ramsdellhad gone out to see. He would be coming back soon.
"Do you think this a probable explanation of the crime?" I demandedof Mr. Durand at this juncture. "If I remember rightly this windowoverlooks the carriage drive; it must, therefore, be within plainsight of the door through which some three hundred guests have passedto-night. How could any one climb to such a height, lift the window andstep in without being seen?"
"You forget the awning." He spoke quickly and with unexpected vivacity."The awning runs up very near this window and quite shuts it off fromthe sight of arriving guests. The drivers of departing carriages couldsee it if they chanced to glance back. But their eyes are usually ontheir horses in such a crowd. The probabilities are against any of themhaving looked up." His brow had cleared; a weight seemed removed fromhis mind. "When I went into the alcove to see Mrs. Fairbrother, she wassitting in a chair near this window looking out. I remember the effectof her splendor against the snow sifting down in a steady stream behindher. The pink velvet--the soft green of the curtains on either side--herbrilliants--and the snow for a background! Yes, the murderer came inthat way. Her figure would be plain to any one outside, and if she movedand the diamond shone--Don't you see what a probable theory it is?There must be ways by which a desperate man might reach that balcony. Ibelieve--"
How eager he was and with what a look he turned when the word camefiltering through the crowd that, though footsteps had been found in thesnow pointing directly toward the balcony, there was none on the balconyitself, proving, as any one could see, that the attack had not comefrom without, since no one could enter the alcove by the window withoutstepping on the balcony.
"Mr. Durand has suspicions of his own," I explained determinedly tomyself. "He met some one going in as he stepped out. Shall I ask him toname this person?" No, I did not have the courage; not while his facewore so stern a look and was so resolutely turned away.
The next excitement was a request from Mr. Ramsdell for us all to gointo the drawing-room. This led to various cries from hysterical lips,such as, "We are going to be searched!" "He believes the thief andmurderer to be still in the house!" "Do you see the diamond on me?" "Whydon't they confine their suspicions to the favored few who were admittedto the alcove?"
"They will," remarked some one close to my ear.
But quickly as I turned I could not guess from whom the comment came.Possibly from a much beflowered, bejeweled, elderly dame, whose eyeswere fixed on Mr. Durand's averted face. If so, she received a defiantlook from mine, which I do not believe she forgot in a hurry.
Alas! it was not the only curious, I might say searching glance Isurprised directed against him as we made our way to where I could seemy uncle struggling to reach us from a short side hall. The whisperseemed to have gone about that Mr. Durand had been the last one toconverse with Mrs. Fairbrother prior to the tragedy.
In time I had the satisfaction of joining my uncle. He betrayed greatrelief at the sight of me, and, encouraged by his kindly smile,I introduced Mr. Durand. My conscious air must have produced itsimpression, for he turned a startled and inquiring look upon mycompanion, then took me resolutely on his own arm, saying:
"There is likely to be some unpleasantness ahead for all of us. I donot think the police will allow any one to go till that diamond hasbeen looked for. This is a very serious matter, dear. So many think themurderer was one of the guests."
"
I think so, too," said I. But why I thought so or why I should say sowith such vehemence, I do not know even now.
My uncle looked surprised.
"You had better not advance any opinions," he advised. "A lady likeyourself should have none on a subject so gruesome. I shall nevercease regretting bringing you here tonight. I shall seize on the firstopportunity to take you home. At present we are supposed to await theaction of our host."
"He can not keep all these people here long," I ventured.
"No; most of us will be relieved soon. Had you not better get your wrapsso as to be ready to go as soon as he gives the word?"
"I should prefer to have a peep at the people in the drawing-roomfirst," was my perverse reply. "I don't know why I want to see them,but I do; and, uncle, I might as well tell you now that I engaged myselfto Mr. Durand this evening--the gentleman with me when you first cameup."
"You have engaged yourself to--to this man--to marry him, do you mean?"
I nodded, with a sly look behind to see if Mr. Durand were near enoughto hear. He was not, and I allowed my enthusiasm to escape in a fewquick words.
"He has chosen me," I said, "the plainest, most uninteresting puss inthe whole city." My uncle smiled. "And I believe he loves me; at allevents, I know that I love him."
My uncle sighed, while giving me the most affectionate of glances.
"It's a pity you should have come to this understanding to-night," saidhe. "He's an acquaintance of the murdered woman, and it is only rightfor you to know that you will have to leave him behind when you startfor home. All who have been seen entering that alcove this evening willnecessarily be detained here till the coroner arrives."
My uncle and I strolled toward the drawing-room and as we did so wepassed the library. It held but one occupant, the Englishman. He wasseated before a table, and his appearance was such as precluded anyattempt at intrusion, even if one had been so disposed. There was afixity in his gaze and a frown on his powerful forehead which bespoke amind greatly agitated. It was not for me to read that mind, much asit interested me, and I passed on, chatting, as if I had not the leastdesire to stop.
I can not say how much time elapsed before my uncle touched me on thearm with the remark:
"The police are here in full force. I saw a detective in plain clotheslook in here a minute ago. He seemed to have his eye on you. There he isagain! What can he want? No, don't turn; he's gone away now."
Frightened as I had never been in all my life, I managed to keep my headup and maintain an indifferent aspect. What, as my uncle said, coulda detective want of me? I had nothing to do with the crime; not in theremotest way could I be said to be connected with it; why, then, had Icaught the attention of the police? Looking about, I sought Mr. Durand.He had left me on my uncle's coming up, but had remained, as I supposed,within sight. But at this moment he was nowhere to be seen. Was I afraidon his account? Impossible; yet--
Happily just then the word was passed about that the police had givenorders that, with the exception of such as had been requested to remainto answer questions, the guests generally should feel themselves atliberty to depart.
The time had now come to take a stand and I informed my uncle, to hisevident chagrin, that I should not leave as long as any excuse could befound for staying.
He said nothing at the time, but as the noise of departing carriagesgradually lessened and the great hall and drawing-rooms began to wear alook of desertion he at last ventured on this gentle protest:
"You have more pluck, Rita, than I supposed. Do you think it wise tostay on here? Will not people imagine that you have been requested to doso? Look at those waiters hanging about in the different doorways. Runup and put on your wraps. Mr. Durand will come to the house fast enoughas soon as he is released. I give you leave to sit up for him if youwill; only let us leave this place before that impertinent little mandares to come around again," he artfully added.
But I stood firm, though somewhat moved by his final suggestion; and,being a small tyrant in my way, at least with him, I carried my point.
Suddenly my anxiety became poignant. A party of men, among whom I sawMr. Durand, appeared at the end of the hall, led by a very small butself-important personage whom my uncle immediately pointed out as thedetective who had twice come to the door near which I stood. As thisman looked up and saw me still there, a look of relief crossed his face,and, after a word or two with another stranger of seeming authority,he detached himself from the group he had ushered upon the scene, and,approaching me respectfully enough, said with a deprecatory glance at myuncle whose frown he doubtless understood:
"Miss Van Arsdale, I believe?"
I nodded, too choked to speak.
"I am sorry, Madam, if you were expecting to go. Inspector Dalzell hasarrived and would like to speak to you. Will you step into one of theserooms? Not the library, but any other. He will come to you as quickly ashe can."
I tried to carry it off bravely and as if I saw nothing in this summonswhich was unique or alarming. But I succeeded only in dividing awavering glance between him and the group of men of which he had justformed a part. In the latter were several gentlemen whom I had noted inMrs. Fairbrother's train early in the evening and a few strangers,two of whom were officials. Mr. Durand was with the former, and hisexpression did not encourage me.
"The affair is very serious," commented the detective on leaving me."That's our excuse for any trouble we may be putting you to." I clutchedmy uncle's arm.
"Where shall we go?" I asked. "The drawing-room is too large. In thishall my eyes are for ever traveling in the direction of the alcove.Don't you know some little room? Oh, what, what can he want of me?"
"Nothing serious, nothing important," blustered my good uncle. "Sometriviality such as you can answer in a moment. A little room? Yes, Iknow one, there, under the stairs. Come, I will find the door for you.Why did we ever come to this wretched ball?"
I had no answer for this. Why, indeed!
My uncle, who is a very patient man, guided me to the place he hadpicked out, without adding a word to the ejaculation in which he hadjust allowed his impatience to expend itself. But once seated within,and out of the range of peering eyes and listening ears, he allowed asigh to escape him which expressed the fullness of his agitation.
"My dear," he began, and stopped. "I feel--" here he again came to apause--"that you should know--"
"What?" I managed to ask.
"That I do not like Mr. Durand and--that others do not like him."
"Is it because of something you knew about him before to-night?"
He made no answer.
"Or because he was seen, like many other gentlemen, talking with thatwoman some time before--a long time before--she was attacked for herdiamond and murdered?"
"Pardon me, my dear, he was the last one seen talking to her. Someone may yet be found who went in after he came out, but as yet he isconsidered the last. Mr. Ramsdell himself told me so."
"It makes no difference," I exclaimed, in all the heat of mylong-suppressed agitation. "I am willing to stake my life on hisintegrity and honor. No man could talk to me as he did early thisevening with any vile intentions at heart. He was interested, no doubt,like many others, in one who had the name of being a captivating woman,but--"
I paused in sudden alarm. A look had crossed my uncle's face whichassured me that we were no longer alone. Who could have entered sosilently? In some trepidation I turned to see. A gentleman was standingin the doorway, who smiled as I met his eye.
"Is this Miss Van Arsdale?" he asked.
Instantly my courage, which had threatened to leave me, returned and Ismiled.
"I am," said I. "Are you the inspector?"
"Inspector Dalzell," he explained with a bow, which included my uncle.
Then he closed the door.
"I hope I have not frightened you," he went on, approaching me with agentlemanly air. "A little matter has come up concerning which I mean tobe perfectly frank with you. It may prove to be
of trivial importance;if so, you will pardon my disturbing you. Mr. Durand--you know him?"
"I am engaged to him," I declared before poor uncle could raise hishand.
"You are engaged to him. Well, that makes it difficult, and yet, in somerespects, easier for me to ask a certain question."
It must have made it more difficult than easy, for he did not proceed toput this question immediately, but went on:
"You know that Mr. Durand visited Mrs. Fairbrother in the alcove alittle while before her death?"
"I have been told so."
"He was seen to go in, but I have not yet found any one who saw him comeout; consequently we have been unable to fix the exact minute whenhe did so. What is the matter, Miss Van Arsdale? You want to saysomething?"
"No, no," I protested, reconsidering my first impulse. Then, as I methis look, "He can probably tell you that himself. I am sure he would nothesitate."
"We shall ask him later," was the inspector's response. "Meanwhile, areyou ready to assure me that since that time he has not intrusted youwith a little article to keep--No, no, I do not mean the diamond,"he broke in, in very evident dismay, as I fell back from him inirrepressible indignation and alarm. "The diamond--well, we shall lookfor that later; it is another article we are in search of now, one whichMr. Durand might very well have taken in his hand without realizing justwhat he was doing. As it is important for us to find this article, andas it is one he might very naturally have passed over to you when hefound himself in the hall with it in his hand, I have ventured to askyou if this surmise is correct."
"It is not," I retorted fiercely, glad that I could speak from my veryheart. "He has given me nothing to keep for him. He would not--"
Why that peculiar look in the inspector's eye? Why did he reach out fora chair and seat me in it before he took up my interrupted sentence andfinished it?
"--would not give you anything to hold which had belonged to anotherwoman? Miss Van Arsdale, you do not know men. They do many things whicha young, trusting girl like yourself would hardly expect from them."
"Not Mr. Durand," I maintained stoutly.
"Perhaps not; let us hope not." Then, with a quick change of manner,he bent toward me, with a sidelong look at uncle, and, pointing to mygloves, remarked: "You wear gloves. Did you feel the need of two pairs,that you carry another in that pretty bag hanging from your arm?"
I started, looked down, and then slowly drew up into my hand the bag hehad mentioned. The white finger of a glove was protruding from the top.Any one could see it; many probably had. What did it mean? I had broughtno extra pair with me.
"This is not mine," I began, faltering into silence as I perceived myuncle turn and walk a step or two away.
"The article we are looking for," pursued the inspector, "is a pair oflong, white gloves, supposed to have been worn by Mrs. Fairbrother whenshe entered the alcove. Do you mind showing me those, a finger of whichI see?"
I dropped the bag into his hand. The room and everything in it waswhirling around me. But when I noted what trouble it was to his clumsyfingers to open it, my senses returned and, reaching for the bag, Ipulled it open and snatched out the gloves. They had been hastily rolledup and some of the fingers were showing.
"Let me have them," he said.
With quaking heart and shaking fingers I handed over the gloves.
"Mrs. Fairbrother's hand was not a small one," he observed as he slowlyunrolled them. "Yours is. We can soon tell--"
But that sentence was never finished. As the gloves fell open in hisgrasp he uttered a sudden, sharp ejaculation and I a smothered shriek.An object of superlative brilliancy had rolled out from them. Thediamond! the gem which men said was worth a king's ransom, and which weall knew had just cost a life.
The Woman in the Alcove Page 2