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"Really, Margaret, to listen to you, one would think that I had stolen the jewels myself. Are you suggesting that I'm a thief? If so, pray don't beat about the bush; do be candid."
"No, Vi, you don't. I know how difficult it is to get from you a plain answer to a plain question, if you choose, but I'm going to get one now. It's not necessary for me to say that I don't think you stole the jewels yourself, but I do think that you've some sort of knowledge as to who did."
"Margaret!"
"It's no use your saying 'Margaret'-out with it."
"Out with what?"
"Vi, shall I have to shake you in spite of your bad foot? Have you any suspicion as to who stole my jewels? Answer me now-yes or no-on your honour."
"I shan't answer you."
"Thank you, you have answered me."
"I've not answered you, and I'm not going to. Margaret, will you please go away?"
The young lady laid herself down in bed, drew the clothes up over her shoulders, and turned her face from her friend. The countess observed her proceedings with something in her eyes, the meaning of which it was not easy to understand.
"Yes, my dear, I will go away, but that will make no difference to you-you'll feel as if I were at your bedside all the time; it will be worse for you than if I were. But I don't at all mind giving you an opportunity to think things over. You've told me something of what I want to know, and I rather fancy that when I see you again, you will tell me all the rest. Good-night, Vi; pleasant dreams; I hope that your foot won't keep you from sleeping. Shall I turn out these lights? You won't be able to sleep amidst all this illumination, and you've got that one over your bed."
The girl said nothing, but the lights went out; the one above her was not on, so that when the visitor had departed the room was in darkness.
Something kept Miss Forster from sleeping, and it was not her foot; it was her thoughts. The countess had prophesied truly: her going made no difference; she might as well have stayed, for all the peace she had left behind. What, the girl asked herself, as she lay there wrestling with the thoughts which banished sleep-what had she said; what had she admitted; what would she be made to admit when the countess could get at her again, before she was allowed to quit Avonham? What was more to the point-what had she to admit; what did she know?
That was where the iron entered into her soul, so that she hid her face on the pillow, and would have sobbed, only the tears refused to come. What did she not know? And, from what she knew, what did she not surmise? The leather bag in the old oak chest-what was in it? Did she not know as well as if the contents had been spread out in front of her? And it had been in Sydney's hand!
It was Sydney. She had tried to tell herself that it was not; that she had made a mistake; that there was a doubt about it; she could not be sure-how could she be sure when she had only seen him for an instant in a light which, after all, was no light at all? It was absurd to suppose that anyone could be certain, under such conditions, of another person's personality. Yet she was certain; she was sure.
It was Sydney; and it was he who was the thief. It was at this point that she dug her nails into the palms of her hands, and would have liked to tear her own heart out, and to have died.
It was Sydney who was the thief; it was his footstep she had heard hurrying past her room. By what odd chance had he not visited her? He had visited so many of the others. Could he have known which rooms it would be worth his while to visit, and which to leave alone?
Had he come to her-if he had! – with the leather bag in his hand, he would have found her still up. What a meeting that would have been!
It was not easy for her to reflect, but it was borne in upon her presently that this act of which he had been guilty was one of astounding daring. She had not gone to bed; others might have still been up; it was extraordinary that he had only gone to the rooms in which the people were asleep. How had he known-that they were asleep? The problem set her thinking.
She recalled the feeling she had had that she had not been the only person in the hall. If that was the case, who could that other person have been? It was not Sydney; she had distinctly heard him, as she believed, rushing from one of the rooms beyond. What had he been doing in there, and what was the explanation of the voice which, in its anguish, she had heard addressing him by name? Could it be he who had been quarrelling with Noel Draycott?
She did not dare to try to find an answer to that question; it had come upon her unawares-she did not dare to put it to herself again. She was a young woman of strong will-with all her might she put it from her. As it were, she passed her mind into another channel-she thought of the bag.
Two things occurred to her; the one was the almost uncanny feeling that she had had that she was being observed as she hid it in the chest; the other was a sudden hideous terror that if the bag was found, there might be something about it, in it, which would associate it with-its owner. This fear became all at once such a terrible, mastering obsession that it possessed her whole being; all else was banished from her tortured brain but that one thing-the bag. Suppose-suppose-something happened to the bag?
She would not risk it, she could not. The only chance she might have of getting it into her own keeping, where it would be safe, was-now. In the morning, in an hour or two, it would be too late. Servants would be about, then members of the household; she would never dare to go to that chest for the bag while a single soul was about. That would be impossible; that might be-to bring ruin to Sydney. She could not take the risk-she would not; the only thing to be done was that she should go and get it now.
She got out of bed to get it. She did not switch on the light. A grey gleam was coming through the sides of her blinds; the morning was come; there would be light enough for her to see. Her foot hurt, but it was not so painful as it had been; she could move on it, enough to serve her purpose. She got into her dressing-gown and she went to the door of her room.
CHAPTER XIX
The Two Women
Curiously quiet the house seemed to be as, in the cold, grey light, Violet Forster made the best of her way along the passage. At the head of the great staircase she paused; now it was possible to see; she wondered which was the stair on which, in the darkness, she had caught her heel in her draperies and stumbled. Her ankle was better, yet, in spite of the caution with which she descended, it gave her a twinge at every tread. How comfortless, how even ghostly the great hall seemed, as the first glimmer of the day came shimmeringly through the painted windows!
At the foot of the stairs she stopped-to listen. A curious quality which was in the air seemed to affect her nerves, which were already sufficiently highly strung; she was affected by the feeling which she had had in the darkness that there was someone in the hall already. She went out into it to look about her; there was no one to be seen, certainly nothing to be heard; she told herself that it was utter nonsense to suppose that anybody was watching her. It was not yet broad day, but there was light enough to render it difficult for anyone to keep from being seen, unless someone was cowering down behind one of the tall chairs, or hiding behind a hanging. She had a mind to search behind each piece of furniture, behind each curtain; she might have done it, too, had it not been that her foot rendered movement very far from easy. Ordinarily she would have peered into every nook and cranny in a dozen seconds; it might take her minutes as things were.
Realising that her doubts meant waste of time, she moved towards the chest under its velvet cover. She lifted the cover, had it nearly off, was about to raise the lid when-was that a sound? With one hand upon the velvet, the other on the chest, she stood and listened; this time her fancy was not playing her tricks, it was a sound. Someone was coming down the stairs, quickly, yet quietly-who could it be? On the instant she let the cover fall back into its place; with a rapidity of which a moment before she had not thought she could have been capable, she slipped behind a long curtain which hung against the wall, suspended to a rod, which could be moved at will so as to form a sort of cosy corner; but quick though her movements had been, they had not been at all too fast. No sooner was she behind the curtain than she became conscious that someone had come down into the hall, and had done as she had done-stopped to take a good look round. Then the footsteps began again; they seemed to be moving directly towards where she was; they were-she was sure they were each instant coming closer. She held her breath; what did it mean? Could she have been observed? Even if she had been, it seemed impossible that her retreat behind the curtain could have been noticed. And yet-the footsteps were making straight for where she was. Her impulse was to come out before she was discovered; she was about to do it, when the footsteps again were still.
A thought all at once occurred to her which diverted her mind into very different channels; was it possible that the new-comer's errand was the same as hers had been, with the old chest as an objective? That would mean that someone had been in the hall when Major Reith had switched on the single light; that her suspicions had been well founded, that there had been some interested watcher who had seen what she had put in the chest.
In that case the person who was within a foot or two of her, on the other side of the curtain, was probably the interested watcher. Whoever it was must be standing very close to the chest; was possibly, at that very moment, raising the velvet cover; would in a second or two have lifted the lid, and taken out the bag. What was she to do? It was a very knotty problem which so suddenly confronted Miss Forster in her hiding-place.
One thing seemed clear-that it was in the highest degree essential that she should know who it was with whom she had to deal. As matters stood the position was too one-sided. If her proceedings with the bag had been witnessed, then she had been recognised; but while her identity was known to someone, she had not the dimmest notion who that someone was. Since, in a sense, she was at someone's mercy, it was surely of the first importance that she should know whose. It might be-in an instant half a dozen different names flashed through her mind; any one of half a dozen persons might hold her-should it be written reputation? – in the hollow of a hand. The thought was unbearable. She must know with whom she had to deal; she would.
This presentation of the problem to her mind occupied a scarcely appreciable space of time; thoughts move quickly. To her it seemed longer than it was, for while she considered the position, what was being done on the other side of the curtain?
She heard something; when she had begun to raise the lid, she had been conscious that it creaked, though ever so slightly; that was a creaking she heard, which meant-
She did not stop to tell herself what it meant; there was an end of thinking; she decided before she knew it. Brushing the curtain aside, she stepped from behind it.
Whom she had expected to see she could not have said; she had told herself that it might be any one of half a dozen; yet when she saw who was there she knew it was the one she had expected.
A woman was bending over the chest; she had the velvet cover raised, and the lid an inch or two; she had come on the scene at what had been delicate moment for Violet Forster, and that young lady had returned the compliment in kind. She retained her presence of mind in a very creditable manner. One felt as one looked at her that she might be used to being found in delicate positions. She said nothing, but she never moved-she kept just still, and she looked Miss Forster in the face with eyes which betrayed no hint of nervousness. Even the scornful something which was in Miss Forster's tone when she did speak, did not seem to cause her the least discomfort.
"I thought it was you."
"Did you really?"
The thing was said so demurely that it was hard to tell from the tone alone if the intention was to be impertinent.
"What are you doing there?"
"I was just going to see what it was that I saw you put in this chest last night."
"So you did see? I thought that also-I begin to understand."
There was something in the girl's tone which the other seemed to resent.
"I confess I don't; but I hope to presently. Pray, miss, what do you begin to understand?"
"You were in league with him last night; you were-his confederate."
"His confederate, Miss Forster! What do you mean? With whom was I in league?"
"Oh, you do it very well; I've no doubt that this is the sort of thing in which practice has made you perfect. Now I understand how you came to be in possession of my locket."
The woman seemed to have a trick of repeating the girl's words.
"How I came to be in possession of your locket? I don't understand, Miss Forster, what you are talking about; will you please to make yourself plainer? I never did like insinuations."
"Was he concealed in the house last night, or did you let him in? But you must have seen him earlier in the day, or you could hardly have had the locket when you did."
It was a second or two before the other answered; when she did, it was in a tone which hinted resentment at Miss Forster's manner.
"I don't understand you, Miss Forster, but I should like you to understand me clearly. I was awakened early this morning by hearing someone running along the passage outside my room. Thinking someone might be ill, I got up to see if I could be of any use; I just caught sight of the skirt of a woman, who seemed to be running for all she was worth. And I heard a queer noise coming from downstairs; I waited, thinking it would stop, but as it continued, and kept getting queerer, I thought I would go down and see what was the matter. I came down in the hall here, and it was pitch dark; there wasn't a sound, and I was more than half afraid, and told myself I was a fool for coming. Then I heard someone coming down the staircase as if he didn't want to be heard. I said to myself that what was going on was probably no business of mine, and I tried to get away; but before I had a chance, someone came down into the hall, passing me so close that her skirts touched me as she passed."
Miss Forster interposed.
"I had a feeling all the while that there was someone there, but my ankle was so painful that all I could think of was finding something to lean upon."
"Of course I didn't know who it was-"
"I suppose not."
"How could I? The feel of the skirts told me it was a woman, and I fancied from the way she moved, that she must have hurt herself; but I couldn't see, and though I don't mind owning that I wondered what was up, I didn't want to be caught in what looked like prying, though no idea of doing anything of the kind had entered my head, and my one wish was to get quietly away. Then something did happen which took my breath away."
"What was that? I should imagine you are not the kind of person whose breath is easily taken away."
"I heard someone, who, I had no doubt, was a man from the noise he made, come rushing along, though I couldn't think from where. I heard him go rushing towards the someone who had just passed me, and I heard him speak to her."
"That's a lie, not a word was spoken."
"Then if that's so, I must have dreamt it, and it's one of the funniest dreams I ever had; because I thought I heard him say, 'Here it is, take it. Look out-there's someone coming!' In my dream I heard him say it as plainly as I hear myself speaking now."
"Each word you utter makes me understand you more clearly."
"That's what I want you to do, miss; to understand me. Then off this whoever it was went tearing, and along came somebody else, who turned on one of the lights, and I saw it was a tall, middle-aged gentleman, with a moustache. I got down behind a chair, so that I couldn't hear quite all that you said to each other; then he went off, and you took something which was under a cushion on the seat of the chair by which you were. I could see that it was a leather bag, and I said to myself, 'That's what that other party gave her,' who I'd heard speaking in my dream. You put the bag in the chest by which I am standing, and when you went after that tall gentleman, I wondered what it was; but, as I've said, it wasn't any business of mine, and I didn't like to take the liberty of looking."
"I appreciate the feelings by which you were actuated."
"But when, as I did later, I heard about all that lot of jewellery which had been stolen from the different ladies' rooms, that set me thinking. Miss Forster, would you mind my seeing what is in the bag which you put inside this chest, which you came downstairs to give the man I never saw a chance of passing on to you? Do you mind?"
The woman stood with her hand resting on the chest as if she waited for the girl's permission to raise the lid.
"I perceive," said Miss Forster, "now, for the first time, what a dangerous woman you really are. Do you actually suppose me to be so simple as to be taken in by your acting?"
"Explain yourself, Miss Forster, as plainly as I've explained myself to you. If you'll excuse my saying so, I'm only a servant, but I've got my character to lose-there's something in your tone that I don't like."
"What was your last situation, Jane Simmons?"
"Never you mind what was my last situation, but I was in it for seven years, and a seven years' character is good enough for anyone."
"You expect me to believe that also?"
"I don't care what you believe. May I see what's in the bag that you put inside this chest?"
"Am I also expected to believe that you don't know from whom that bag came?"
"I know it was a man, but who he was I know no more than a babe unborn. Am I to see what's in it, or would you like me to ring the bell and let others have a look?"
"Can't you realise what a foolish game you're playing? You're seeming to suggest that I was associated with what I have no doubt was an act of wholesale robbery; I know that you were."
"You know that I was what?"
"You call yourself Jane Simmons, but I don't suppose that that's your name; you probably assumed it when you entered this house."
"Well, I never did."
"You talk about being seven years in one situation. I doubt if you ever did any honest work in your life. I believe you to be a thief, and the associate of thieves; I have no doubt that what took place last night was carefully planned by you and your confederates; and you have the assurance to stand there and pretend that you think that I was associated with it, in any way whatever."
"Oh, that's it, is it? Now you have spoken plain, now I do understand what you are driving at. Miss Forster, I will rouse the household, and I'm going to tell them what I saw you do; and you'll be able to explain, if you're as innocent as you're trying to make out, why you hid that there bag inside this chest, and who it was that gave it to you; then we'll see."
"We shall. My record is known to every person in this house; I'll have careful inquiries made into yours-you will be able to give details about that situation in which you stayed for seven years; how you will come out of such an inquiry, you know better than I. You foolish woman! To think that sheer impudence will enable you to win at such a game of bluff; don't you know perfectly well that the attempt to fasten your guilt on me will make matters much worse for you?"
For some seconds there was silence; the woman by the chest seemed to be summing Miss Forster up. She did not change countenance, the smile did not fade from her eyes; yet, somehow, something seemed to have fallen from her; she seemed to have ceased to play the part of servant, and to have become a different creature altogether. When she spoke again it was very quietly, coldly, as if she were measuring the meaning of each word before she allowed it to pass her lips.
"Suppose, Miss Forster, that I do not alarm the household, what then?"
"I am afraid that I don't quite grasp your meaning."
"Oh, I'll make it plain enough; you and I had better be plain with each other-it will be good for both of us. There's a leather bag inside this chest; what's going to become of it?"
"It depends on what it contains."
"Oh, you know what it contains; there's jewels in that bag worth fortunes."
"And you ask me what is to become of it; you have that courage?"
"I even have courage to ask it again; if I don't alarm the household, what is to become of that bag?"
"Its contents will be returned to their various owners."
"By whom?"
"By me."
"Oh, I see; and where do I come in?"
"I rather fancy that will be a point for the consideration of the police."
"Oh, that's what you fancy, is it? Now again we are beginning to understand each other. Does that mean that you're going to give me away? If it does, let me beg you to be careful; you'll be giving yourself away much more than you'll be giving me; just think."
"Are you now suggesting that I have been in collusion with you?"
The woman smiled as if the question had been a funny one; the girl could not but see that the smile became her, and that she was not ill-looking.
"Hardly; I can assure you that you are not the sort of person I should choose as a partner if I wanted one; but I was serious when I said to you 'Just think.' For instance, you saw the person who came rushing into the hall last night, and unwillingly left in your charge that leather bag; you have to think of that. You recognised him, didn't you?"
"Who told you so?"
"He did."
The girl started; for the first time something which the other had said had gone home.
"When did he tell you?"
"I didn't time it, but I should say about a minute afterwards."
"Then you saw him again?"
The woman raised her eyebrows, as if with a faint surprise.
"Of course I did. I went straight to where he was; I knew where to find him. The first thing he said to me was, 'Vi Forster saw me.'"
"He said that to you?"
"His very words. I said to him, 'You don't mean that she recognised you?' 'She did,' he said. 'Then,' I said, 'we're in the soup.' 'She's got the bag,' he groaned; I could see that that was what worried him more than the recognition. Then something happened which turned his attention in another direction. You know as well as I do that the man who came into the hall with the bag, which he dropped on to the seat of that chair in his surprise at the sight of you, was Sydney Beaton."
CHAPTER XX
The Leather Bag
The girl had known it, but there was something brutal in the way the woman said it which affected her almost as if she had thrown something in her face; she shrank back-shivered. The woman seemed to be enjoying her obvious discomfiture; she smiled, as if the joke had grown still funnier.
"You see, that's what made me say that you had better think. Suppose you do give me away; after all, I'm not the person whom you saw in possession of the bag, and you did see someone. That someone was a gentleman friend, whose name, I am sure, you don't want to have shouted from the house-tops. Now do you?"
The girl seemed to be reflecting; her cheeks had grown whiter, trouble had come into her eyes; her bearing was in striking contrast to that of the woman in front of her, who could not have seemed to be more completely at her ease.
"How long have you known him?"
"Oh, some time. We've been in one or two little matters together, out of which we have done very well."
"You mean that this is not the first time, that he has done this sort of thing?"
"Gracious, no; he has been in the business quite a time; but I'm not going to give him away, never fear."
She laughed right out, while the girl winced.
"Where is he to be found?"
"I beg your pardon."
"I asked where is he to be found?"
"And you may ask; do you suppose I'd tell you? What, for you to give him away? He'd get-well, he'd get penal servitude for this alone; and then there's that Captain Draycott, or whatever is the name, to whom he owed one."