Part 10 (1/2)

In spite of this news that she was waiting, I made my toilette very slowly. It would be the most awkward, embarra.s.sing meeting imaginable.

How could one bow and smile and exchange the trivial courtesies with a girl whom one had saved from that silk noose some eight hours before?

With what countenance would she greet me? Would she resent my interference? d.i.c.k, however, had plainly noticed nothing unusual in her demeanour; I consoled myself with that reflection. He noticed, however, something unusual here in my room, for as I tied my cravat before the mirror I saw that he was curiously looking at the silk scarf.

”Perhaps you have seen it before,” said I without turning round. d.i.c.k started, then he coloured.

”I was wondering why it hung there,” said he.

”It _is_ curious,” said I calmly, and I stood upon the bed and with some trouble, for the knots were stiff, I took it down and thrust it into the pocket of my coat.

”It is yours?” cried d.i.c.k.

”One silk scarf is very like another,” said I, and he coloured again and was silent. His silence was fortunate, since if he had asked to what end I had hung it above my bed, I should have been hard put to it for an answer.

”I am ready,” said I, and we walked along the pa.s.sage to the bal.u.s.trade, and the head of the stairs where I had crept on tiptoe during the night.

I noticed certain marks, a few dents, a few scratches on the panels of the wall at the head of the stairs, and I was glad to notice them, for they reminded me of the business upon which I had come and of certain conjectures which d.i.c.k had suggested to my mind. It was at the head of the stairs that Adam Mayle had stood when he drove out his son. The marks no doubt were the marks of that handful of guineas which Cullen had flung to splatter and sparkle against the wall behind his father's head. I was glad to notice them, as I say, for the tragical incident in which I had borne a share that night had driven Cullen Mayle's predicament entirely from my thoughts.

I saw the flutter of a dress at the foot of the stairs, and a face looked up to mine. It was the face which I had seen on a level with mine in the black gloom of the night, and as I saw it now in the clear light of day, I stopped amazed. It wore no expression of embarra.s.sment, no plea for silence. She met me with a grateful welcome in her eyes as for one who had come unexpectedly to do her a service, and perhaps a hint of curiosity as to why I should have come at all.

”d.i.c.k has told me of you,” she said, as she held out her hand. ”You are very kind. Until this morning I did not even know the reason of d.i.c.k's journey to London. I was not aware that he had paid a visit to Lieutenant Clutterbuck.”

There was a trifle of awkwardness in her voice as she p.r.o.nounced his name. I could not help feeling and no doubt expressing some awkwardness as I heard it. Lieutenant Clutterbuck had not hesitated to accuse her of duplicity; I at all events could not but acknowledge that she was excellently versed in the woman's arts of concealment.

There was thus a moment's silence before I answered.

”You will accept me I hope as Lieutenant Clutterbuck's proxy.”

”We had no right,” she returned, ”to expect any service from Lieutenant Clutterbuck, much less from----” and she hesitated and stopped abruptly.

”From a stranger you would have said,” I added.

”We shall count you a stranger no longer,” she said, with a frank smile, and that I might not be outdone in politeness, I said:

”If d.i.c.k had lacked discretion and told you all that he might have told, you would understand that the obligation is upon my side. For whereas I do not know that I can render you any service whatever, I do know that already you have rendered me a great one.”

”That is very prettily said,” she returned, as she walked into the parlour.

”Truth at times,” I answered lightly as I followed her, ”can be as pretty as the most ingenious lie.”

So that first awkward meeting was past. I took my cue from her reticence, but without her success. I could not imitate her complete unconsciousness. It seemed she had no troubles. She sat at the table in a flow of the highest spirits. Smiles came readily to her lips, and her eyes laughed in unison. She was pale and the pallor was the more marked on account of her dark hair and eyes, but the blood came and went in her cheeks, and gave to her an infinite variety of expression.

I could hardly believe that this voice which was now lively with contentment was the voice which had uttered that kecking sound in the night, or that the eyes which now sparkled and flashed were the eyes which had stared at me through the gloom. No doubt I looked at her with more curiosity than was convenient; at all events she said, with a laugh:

”I would give much to know what picture d.i.c.k painted of me, for if I may judge from your looks, Mr. Berkeley, the likeness is very unlike to the original.”

I felt my cheeks grow hot, and cast about for a reason to excuse my curiosity. Her own words suggested the reason.

”d.i.c.k told me,” I said, ”of a woman in great distress and perplexity, whose house was watched, who dreaded why it was watched----”

”And you find a woman on the top of her spirits,” she broke in, and was silent for a little, looking at the cloth. ”And very likely,” she continued slowly, ”you are disposed to think that you have been misled and persuaded hither for no more than a trivial purpose.”