Part 18 (1/2)
The door opened at that moment, and Charles, entering, announced:
”Mrs. Stapleton.”
”Oh, Connie, how glad I am you've come!” Dulcie burst out, jumping off the arm of the big chair impetuously, and hurrying forward to meet the widow, who at once embraced her affectionately. ”We were just this instant talking about you. Isn't that strange?”
”And I hope not saying nasty things, as I have reason to believe some of my 'friends' do,” Mrs. Stapleton answered, with a charming smile, casting a careless glance at me. ”But, of course, I couldn't imagine you or Mr. Berrington saying anything unpleasant about anybody,” she added quickly; ”you are both much--much too nice.”
This was heaping coals of fire upon me, and I believe I winced as Dulcie's eyes met mine for a brief instant and I noticed the look of scorn that was in them. She did not, however, repeat to Mrs. Stapleton what I had just said about her, as she had threatened to do. Instead, she slipped her arm affectionately through the young widow's, led her over to the big arm-chair, made her sit down in it, and once more perched herself upon its arm.
”Ring for tea, Mike, like a dear,” she said to me. Her tone had completely changed. Once more she had become her own, delightful self.
This sudden _volte-face_ did not, I must admit, in the least surprise me, for I knew what a child of moods she was, how impulsive and impetuous, and I think I loved her the more because she was like that.
We now formed, indeed, quite a merry trio. By the time tea was finished Connie Stapleton's magnetic personality must, I think, have begun to affect me to some extent, for I found myself wondering whether, after all, I had not been mistaken in the opinion I had formed that she was a woman one would be well-advised not to trust too implicitly--become too intimate with.
”And your jewels, dear!” she suddenly asked, as though the recollection of the robbery had but at that instant occurred to her. ”Have you recovered any of them? Have the police found any clue?”
”Yes,” Dulcie answered at once, ”the police have a clue, though, as yet, none of the stolen things have been recovered.”
”Indeed?” I exclaimed. ”Why, Dulcie, you never told me. What is it? What is the clue?”
”I forgot to tell you; at least, I should have told you, but you've been so snappy all the afternoon that I thought there was no need,” Dulcie answered equivocally. ”Well, the clue is merely this. When Churchill--that's the head gardener, you know,” she said to Mrs.
Stapleton--”was sweeping away the snow in the drive at the back of the house, that narrow drive which leads down to the lane that joins the main road to Newbury, just by Stag's Leap, he saw something s.h.i.+ning on the ground. He picked it up and found it was a buckle, set in diamonds, as he thought, so when he brought it to me of course he was tremendously excited--he made sure it was one of the stolen bits of jewellery. As a matter of fact, it was one of a set of very old paste buckles which belonged to my mother, and those buckles were among the stolen things.”
”When did he find it?” Mrs. Stapleton asked, interested.
”Why, only a few hours ago--it was just after lunch when he came to me, and he had then only just found it. You see, the ground has been covered with snow ever since the day of the robbery; that was the last day we hunted.”
”Did the gardener say anything else? Has he any theory to account for the buckle being there?”
Again it was Mrs. Stapleton who put the question.
”None, Connie,” Dulcie answered. ”At least, yes,” she corrected, ”he has a sort of theory, but I don't think much of it. That narrow drive is rarely used, you know; the gate into the lane is nearly always locked--it was unlocked and the gate set open the day the hounds met here in order to save people coming from the direction of Stag's Leap the trouble of going round by the lodge. I don't think, all the same, that many people came in that way.”
”I don't see much 'theory' in that,” I observed drily. Somehow I could not shake off the feeling of irritability that my quarrel with Dulcie during the afternoon had created.
”Naturally, because I haven't yet come to the theory part,” Dulcie answered sharply, noticing the tone in which I spoke. ”I am coming to it now. Churchill says he happened to come along that drive between about eleven o'clock and half-past on the morning of the meet--that would be just about the time when everybody was at the breakfast--and he distinctly remembers seeing a car drawn up close to the shrubbery. There was n.o.body in it, he says, but as far as he can recollect it was drawn up at the exact spot where he found the buckle this afternoon. Of course, there was no snow on the ground then.”
”Has he any idea what the car was like?”
As Connie Stapleton made this inquiry I happened to glance at her. I could only see her profile, but there was, I thought, something unusual in her expression, something I did not seem to recollect having ever seen in it before. It was not exactly a look of anxiety; rather it was a look of extreme interest, of singular curiosity.
”Churchill is most mysterious and secretive on that point,” Dulcie answered. ”I asked him to tell me what the car was like, if he had any idea whose it was. He said it was a grey car, but he wouldn't tell me more than that. He said he believed he had 'hit the line,' and would soon be on a 'hot scent.' Try as I would, I couldn't get him to say another word. He asked if he might have this afternoon off, and gave me to understand he wanted to go into Newbury. I believe he is going to try to do a little detective work,” she ended, with a laugh; ”but, as I say, I don't put much faith in any theory Churchill may have formed.”
”Well, my dear Dulcie, if you succeed in recovering your jewellery you know I shall be the first to congratulate you,” Mrs. Stapleton said, taking Dulcie's hand and patting it affectionately. ”It is too dreadful to think all those lovely things should have been stolen from you, things of such exceptional value to you because of their long a.s.sociation with your family. Oh, how stupid of me,” she suddenly said, interrupting herself, ”I have forgotten to tell you what I have come to see you for. I have some friends from town dining with me to-night--some of them are going to stay the night at 'The Rook,' the others will return to town in their cars--and I want you and Mr. Berrington to join us. It's quite an informal little dinner party, so I hope you will forgive my asking you in this offhanded way and at such short notice.
The fact is, two people telegraphed at lunch time that they wouldn't be able to come, so I thought that if I motored over here I might be able to persuade you to come instead. Will you come, dear? And you, Mr.
Berrington? Do say 'yes.' Don't disappoint me when I have come all this way out to try to persuade you--if I were not really anxious that you should join us I should have telephoned or telegraphed!”