Part 16 (1/2)
”I trust that I have made my report sufficiently plain to you, ladies, and that you find no flaw in it.”
Constance, who with her keen sense of the ridiculous, had been fancying the effect this report would have upon the detective in ambush, and struggling hard with her own risibilities, mastered herself finally, and preserving her gravity of expression, replied with a wicked undercurrent of meaning:
”It is quite plain to me, sir; I am a poor critic of such matters, but I should think it a masterpiece for directness and comprehensiveness.”
”And you see nothing in the theory to object to? You think that working from these findings, there will be a hope of success?” he queried.
Constance hesitated once more to consider her answer and collect herself generally.
”Why, you know, Mr. Belknap,” she said at last, and with charming ingenuousness, ”this is not a matter for my judgment; I rely upon you entirely; pray do not hesitate, but continue your investigations in whatever direction your judgment leads you. I wish Mr. Lamotte was here to confer with you; but, if he were here,” and her face became sad as she thought of his home coming; ”he would hardly be in spirits for such a consultation. Mr. Lamotte has bad news awaiting him. We must venture this matter without his aid for the present.”
The detective's face showed grave concern.
”Bad news for Mr. Lamotte,” he murmurs; ”I deeply deplore that. He seems such a genial, kindly gentleman, so much above the average business man.
It is not too serious, I hope.”
”It is something you would have heard from the first gossip, if you had mingled with the town people at all,” replied Constance sadly. ”I may as well tell you what every one knows. Mr. Lamotte's only daughter has eloped during his absence, with a very worthless man.”
”His only daughter!” repeated the detective in a hushed sympathetic voice; ”what a blow! what a bitter blow to a father's heart. Ah, madam,”
turning to Mrs. Aliston, ”these things are common, especially so to men in my profession, but we can never adjust ourselves to them for all that; each one comes to some one with the shock of a never before experienced horror. Death is common, the commonest thing of all, but, it is the 'king of terrors' still.”
His voice, low, splendidly modulated, sadly cadenced, seemed thrilling with sympathy, and he sighed as he lowered his eyes to the floor, and relapsed into meditation, seemingly forgetful of the business in hand.
Suddenly he started, seeming to recover himself with an effort.
”Pardon my abstraction,” he said, a shade of pensiveness still lingering in his voice. ”In contemplating another's sorrow, I am forgetting your business. I can only hope that this matter is not so bad as it might be, as such things sometimes are.”
”It's as bad as it can be,” responded Constance, gloomily. ”It won't bear discussion; I mentioned it to you, Mr. Belknap, in order to show you how entirely absorbed Mr. Lamotte will of necessity be in his own affairs when he reaches home, and that we will be obliged to move in this matter without him.”
”Perhaps there is some one else you may desire to consult, in Mr.
Lamotte's absence?” hazarded the private detective.
”No,” replied Constance; ”my lawyer is out of town, and there is no one else upon whom I can rely. You must act alone, Mr. Belknap.”
”Authorized by you I shall not hesitate to do so,” he replied, bowing courteously. ”The case looks very clear to me. It will be a matter of time of course, these old birds are sly; but eventually they will try to market their wares, and then we shall have them. You can give me an accurate description of all the stolen jewels, Miss Wardour?”
”Oh, certainly.”
”Then the sooner that is done the better.”
At this moment a soft rap sounded on the door. Constance crossed the room and admitted Nelly, who said in a low tone:
”Mr. Francis Lamotte wishes to see you, Miss. I told him you were particular engaged, just as you told me; but he said to tell you he had just come from his search, and would only detain you for a moment.”
Constance paled slightly, and after a moment's thought, said:
”Wait a moment, Nelly.” Then she went back and addressed the detective and her aunt.
”It is Francis Lamotte,” she said, adding, by way of explanation, to the detective, ”the eldest son of Mr. Lamotte, and brother of the young lady who has brought trouble to herself and family. He, Francis, went on Sat.u.r.day, on a self-imposed search through the surrounding country, in the hopes of finding some trace of these robbers. If he is but now returned he cannot yet have heard of his sister's flight. We cannot let him go away in ignorance, and yet,” turning a look of swift appeal upon her aunt, ”Aunt Honor, will _you_ lay aside old prejudices and tell him of this sad misfortune?”
Mrs. Aliston looked doubtful for a moment, then a look of satisfied commiseration came into her face as she thought: