"Of course," he murmured. "Still, I don't see how I..."

"Mrs. Whittall was lured out to the pavilion by a letter which we have reason to suppose she thought you had written."

He jumped up involuntarily, staring at her like one insane; then dropped limply into his chair again. It was some moments before he could speak. "But I never wrote to her in my life!"

"Then how could she have known your handwriting?" asked Mme. Storey.

"Well, I mean nothing but social notes; answers to invitations and so on." He saw that he had made a slip, and added hastily: "How do you know that she did recognise my handwriting?"

"We mustn't waste the afternoon fencing with each other," said Mme. Storey mildly. "You are aware of something that would help me very much in this matter."

"What makes you think so?" he asked with an innocent air.

"You betrayed it just now. It leaped out of your eyes."

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean."

"Barry, nothing can be altogether hidden. Your secret is known to a few people."

"I have so many secrets!" he said with a silly-sounding laugh.

"You were in love with her."

"If you imply by that..." he began excitedly.

"I imply nothing. From all accounts Mrs. Whittall must have been a saint."

"She was," he said. "And of course I loved her. Everybody who knew her loved her. In our world she moved like a creature apart. She was really good."

"Of course," said Mme. Storey. "But that is not what I mean."

He remained obstinately silent.

"Why did you call on her unexpectedly one afternoon last summer?" Mme. Storey asked bluntly.

He stared at her in confusion. "Why ... why for no special reason," he stammered.

"On that afternoon," pursued my mistress relentlessly, "you told her that you loved her, and she confessed that it was returned."

He suddenly gave up. "Rosika, you are superhuman!" he said simply. "I am in your hands ... we all are!" He relaxed in his chair, and his chin sank on his breast. The guard had fallen from his eyes, and he looked old and heart-broken. Mme. Storey gave him his own time to speak.

"You understand," he said at last, "my only object in trying to put you off was to protect her memory--not that it needed protection, but only from misrepresentation."

"I understood that from the beginning," said my mistress.

"It is true that I was in love with her," he went on. "Since many years ago. Almost from the time that Whittall first brought her home. We called her St. Cecilia. I watched her once cutting roses in her garden, when she didn't know anybody was near. At first it didn't hurt much. I had no aspirations. She was like a beautiful dream in my life, which redeemed it from triviality. I fed my dream with what glimpses of her came my way.

"Later, all that was changed. It hurt then! Because I knew that she must be unhappy, and I longed to make her happy. I wanted her so! Up to the afternoon that you spoke of we had scarcely ever been alone together, and we had never exchanged any intimate speech. But before that, even in a crowd, I had been aware that she had a sympathy for me. In short, she loved me. You may well wonder at that--a man like me! But you see ... she saw beneath the grinning mask I wear. She brought out the best in me, that I have hidden for so many years. Even then I had no thought of ... I knew her too well!

"And then on the day you speak of, a note was brought to me by special delivery from her. I had stored away sc.r.a.ps of her handwriting; invitations and so on, and I never doubted but that it was from her. Just four words: 'Come to me quickly!' I flew. When I entered her sitting-room, she seemed surprised, but I thought that was just a woman's defence. I took her in my arms. She surrendered for a moment, just a little moment; then she thrust me away.

"She denied having written to me. For a moment I did not believe her--I had already burned the note, so I could not show it to her; however, she made it abundantly clear she had not written it. Then we realised somebody must be trying to entrap us, and we were alarmed. But she said n.o.body could hurt us if we kept our heads up and walked straight. She sent me away. Yes, it was for good! for good! There was never any doubt about that. We were never to attempt to see each other alone; we were not to write--except in case of desperate need. It was I who exacted that. If the need was desperate, either of us might write to the other.

"When I heard of her death--by her own hand as I thought ... I felt betrayed; I felt if things had come to that pa.s.s she might have sent for me first.... Oh, well, you are not interested in my state of mind! How gladly I would have put a pistol to my own head! I did not do so because I could not bear to sully her name by having it connected with mine. And so I kept on with the same old round, showing the same old grin! I dared not stop for fear of people saying: 'Oh, old Barry Govett is broken-hearted because of, well, you know!' ... A pretty world, isn't it?" He finished with a harsh laugh.

n.o.body said anything for a while.

Finally he raised his head. "But you have given me a renewed interest in life," he said grimly. "The same hand that forged that letter to me afterwards forged the letter that lured her out to the pavilion."

"There can be no doubt of that," said Mme. Storey.

"By G.o.d!" said Govett quietly. "If the law doesn't get him, I will!"

"Slowly!" said Mme. Storey. "There is no proof yet."

V.

I see upon referring to my notes that this took place upon a Friday afternoon. Mr. Govett had not much more than left our place when Fay Brunton dropped in. She looked sweet enough to eat. To our relief she had left the inevitable mother behind on this occasion. Fay did not take tea, but dined at six in order to have a short rest before going to the theatre. She had just fifteen minutes before dinner, she said, and had rushed around to tell us--her news, after what we had just heard, was like a bombsh.e.l.l. I could scarcely repress a cry of dismay.

"Darius and I have decided to get married on Sunday morning."

My mistress never changed a muscle of her smile.

"What!" she said with mock reproach, "must you abandon us so soon?"

"I am not abandoning you!" said Fay, giving her a kiss. "It's the most wonderful plan!" she went on happily. "You know little Larrimore, my understudy, who is dying to have a chance at the part? Well, she is to have it. For a whole week! It's all been fixed up. It will be given out that I am indisposed. The fact of our marriage will be allowed to leak out later. And if Larrimore makes good she can keep the part. It's only that I don't want anybody to lose any money through me.

"We are to be married on Sunday morning in the hotel. Strictly private, of course. And immediately afterwards we'll hop on a train for Pinehurst. Think of Pinehurst after weather like this! And what do you think? Darius has secured the loan of a private car from the president of the railway! I've never been in a private car; have you? And then a whole wonderful week in the woods!"

"Wonderful!" cried Mme. Storey, and there was not a tinge of anything but sympathy in her voice. "But am I not to see you again? Tomorrow is Sat.u.r.day, and you have two performances."

"How about tonight after the show?" suggested Fay.

Mme. Storey shook her head. "I have an engagement." (This was not true.) "How about tomorrow night after the show?" she went on. "I must have a chance to give you a little party before you step off into the gulf. Come here. My flat is too far up-town."

Fay looked dubious. "I should love it," she said, "but Darius, you know. He hates parties."

The expression in my mistress's eyes said: d.a.m.n Darius! But she laughed good-humouredly. "Oh, I don't mean a party, my dear. Just you and Darius and Mrs. Brunton; Bella and I."

"I should love it," said Fay. "If Darius doesn't mind."

"Why should Darius mind?" demanded my mistress. "Doesn't he like me?"

"Oh, yes!" said Fay quickly. "He admires you ever so much!"

"Then why should he mind?"

The girl could not withstand the point-blank question. "Well, you see," she faltered, "he thinks ... that you do not like him very much ... that you disapprove of him."

"Fay," challenged my mistress, "have I ever by word or look given you any reason to suppose such a thing?"

"Oh, no, Rosika! And so I have told him. Over and over.... But he still thinks so."

"Now, look here," said Mme. Storey. "I am never the one to interfere between a married pair--or a soon-to-be-married pair, but you must make a stand somewhere, my child, or you'll soon find yourself a loving little slave. I mean when you are in the right. Now this particular notion of Darius's is a silly notion, isn't it?"

"Y-yes," said Fay.

"Then you should not give in to it.... But look here, I'll make it easier for you. Let's pretend that it's your party. You tell Darius that you have asked Bella and me to your hotel for supper after the show on your last night, and he could not possibly object, could he?"

Fay's face lighted up. "Oh, no!" she cried. "That will be splendid!"

"All right!" said Mme. Storey. "Expect us about quarter to twelve. You'll have it in your own rooms, of course, where we may be quite free."

"Now I must run!" said Fay.

"Oh, wait a minute!" pleaded Mme. Storey, slipping her arm through the girl's. "This is the last moment I shall see you alone! There are so many things I want to talk to you about! ... And now you have driven them all out of my head.... Is the little nest ready in the East Seventies?"

"It will be when we get back from Pinehurst." Fay launched into an enthusiastic description.

"And what happens to Oakhurst?" asked Mme. Storey.

"Oh, didn't I tell you? Darius has put it into the hands of Merryman. It's to be sold, lock, stock and barrel."

"And quite right, too.... By the way, do you know what Darius's movements will be tomorrow? I must see him if I can, in order to remove this ridiculous wrong impression he has got of me."

"You're so kind, Rosika! All I know is, he's going to sleep at his rooms in the Vandermeer tonight, in order to be on hand early for all the things he has to see to tomorrow."

"Well, I'll call him up at the Vandermeer."

Arm in arm, they had been moving slowly out through my office with me at their heels. They had now reached the door. Mme. Storey kissed the girl fondly. My mistress was playing an elaborate game, but at least there was nothing insincere about that gesture.

"One last thing," she said. "I want to make you a little gift of some sort..."

Fay made a gesture of dissent.

"When the news comes out you will be showered with all sorts of useless things. I should like to give you something that you want. What shall it be?"

"Oh, I'd much rather leave it to you, dear."

"Well, I must think of something original." She feigned to be considering deeply. "I have it!" she said. "I will give you a beautifully mounted gun with your name chased on the handle. Every woman ought to have a gun."

"Oh, thank you!" said Fay. "But I have one! Darius says too that every woman ought to have a gun. He gave me one months ago."

"Oh, yes, I remember," said Mme. Storey. "What sort of gun?"

"A Matson 32, automatic."

I shivered inwardly. Did the man buy them wholesale?

"Do you carry it about with you?" asked Mme. Storey, laughing.

"Oh, no," said Fay simply. "I keep it in my bottom drawer."

"Ah, well, I'll have to think of something else then," said Mme. Storey.

They embraced, and Fay went.

The instant the door closed after her, Mme. Storey said to me: "Quick, Bella! Your hat!" She went to the window to wave her hand to Fay when she issued below. While standing there, she continued to speak rapidly to me. "Pick up a taxi, and go to Merryman's. That's the big real estate office on Madison Avenue near Forty-Fourth Street. If it's closed, you'll have to look up the address of one of the partners in the telephone book, and go to his house. Apologise for disturbing him and say that your employer (who wishes to remain unknown for the moment) has just learned that the Whittall property in Riverdale has come into the market. Ask for an order to view the place tomorrow. Explain that, owing to your employer's leaving for the West, tomorrow is the only day he will have for the purpose.... Wait a minute! Fay is just getting into her car.... Now she's off. Run along!"

VI.

Next morning we drove up to Riverdale in Mme. Storey's own limousine, but instead of her regular chauffeur, we had Crider at the wheel, an admirable fellow, quiet and keen; the chief of all our operatives. I pointed out to Mme. Storey that if anybody at the house was curious about us, it would be an easy matter to find out who we were by tracing the number of our licence.

"It doesn't matter," she said. "By tonight it will all be decided one way or the other."

Riverdale, as everybody knows, is not a "dale" at all, but a bold hill on the mainland, just to the North of Manhattan Island. On the one side it overlooks the Hudson River; on the other the flat expanse of the Bronx with Van Cortlandt Park. The original village may have started down by the river, but now the whole rocky height is thickly covered with handsome new villas standing in their limited plots. It is an exceedingly well-to-do community, but not fashionable. Fashion has fled farther from town. "Oakhurst," however, is a survival. It was built and laid out by the first Darius Whittall in the days when "a mansion on the Hudson" was synonymous with everything that was opulent and eminent.

The grounds were of considerable extent. We drove in through beautiful wrought iron gates and past a lodge in the English style. The house was invisible from the road. We wound through a wood of evergreens and oaks before coming to it in the midst of its lawns. It was a long, irregular structure built of native stone. It had no particular architectural pretensions, but the years had mellowed it. It looked dignified and comfortable. This was the back of the house really; the princ.i.p.al rooms faced the glorious prospect over the Hudson with the Palisades beyond.

We drove up under a porte cochere, and upon alighting, were received by an irreproachable butler. This must have been Frost. I showed him our order to view the place, and Mme. Storey expressed a wish to be shown the grounds first. Whereupon he handed us over to the second man, a sort of embryo butler; younger, fresh-faced; not yet able to subdue his curiosity and interest at the sight of a woman so beautiful as Madame Storey. He conducted us around the side of the house to the head gardener, who was directing the operations of several men engaged in setting out shrubs.

So we began our perambulations. There was only one thing about the grounds that really interested us; i.e., the pavilion; but of course we said nothing about it, waiting until we should arrive there in proper order. In front of the house the ground fell away gradually in beautiful flower-beds and terraces, to the edge of a steep declivity which dropped to the river. The steep part was wooded in order to mask the railway tracks below. At this season it was all rather sere and leafless, except the gra.s.s, which was clipped and rolled to the semblance of green velvet. Stables, garage and other offices were all concealed behind shrubbery to the north of the house.

We could see the pavilion off to the left as we faced the river; that is to say the southerly side. On this side the hill ran out in a little point ending in a knoll, and on the knoll was the pavilion, in the form of a little Greek temple with a flattened dome and a circle of Doric columns. The winding path which led to it was bordered with rhododendrons, backed with arbour vitae. As we approached, I pictured the beautiful woman running down that path thinking she was going to the man she loved, and I seemed to hear the shot that ended everything for her. At the foot of the three steps one instinctively looked for bloodstains in the grey gravel; but, of course, all such marks had been erased long since.

Mme. Storey said to the gardener: "I should like to sit down here for five minutes to look at the view. Will you come back?"

The man bowed and hurried away to look after his subordinates.

As we mounted the three steps Mme. Storey laid her hand against the first pillar to the right. "Here," she murmured, "the murderer waited concealed, gun in hand."

I shivered.