Part 29 (1/2)
”Why, yes, if you like.”
She went to the door, and we all followed her.
”A dainty room,” said the professor. ”It is like you, contessa.”
She laughed at the absurdity of the remark, and yet there was some truth in it. The room wasn't really untidy, but it was not the abode of an orderly person. A hat was on the bed, thrown there apparently, a pair of gloves on the floor.
”I can always tell what a woman is like by seeing where she lives,” said Quarles. ”There is no toy on the mantelpiece which Nella could break. A pretty dressing-table, contessa.”
He crossed to it and began examining the things upon it--silver-mounted bottles and boxes.
He lifted lids and looked at the contents--powder in this pot, rouge in that--and for a few moments the contessa was too astonished to speak.
Then there came a flash into her eyes resenting the impertinence.
”Really, monsieur--”
”Ah!” exclaimed Quarles, turning from the table with a pot in his hand.
”I want it,” said the child, stretching herself up for it.
”Evidently Nella has played with this before, contessa. A French preparation for softening the skin, I see. I should guess she was playing with it as she crawled about the floor that afternoon. You didn't notice her. I can quite understand a child being quiet for a long time with this to mess about with. There was grease on her frock, and look! the smoothed surface of this cream bears the marks of little fingers, if I am not mistaken. It is quite a moist cream, readily disarranged, easily smoothed flat again. Let us hope there is no ingredient in it which will hurt--pearls.”
He had dug his fingers into the stuff and produced the earrings.
”You will find a grease mark on the case,” he went on. ”It is evident you could not have put the case away. Nella possessed herself of it when your back was turned, and, playing with this cream, amused herself by burying the pearls in it--just the sort of game to fascinate a child.”
”I remember she was playing with that pot. I did not think she could get the lid off.”
”She did, and somehow the case got kicked under the bed.”
”Naughty Nella!” said the contessa.
”Oh, no,” said Quarles. ”Natural Nella. May I wash my hands?”
Well, we had tea with the contessa, and I saw the smile which rewarded Christopher Quarles.
I suppose he had earned it.
”When did you first think of the child?” I asked him afterwards.
”From the first,” he answered; ”but I was too interested in the mother to work out the theory.”
How exactly in accordance with the truth this answer was I will not venture to say. That he was interested in the woman was obvious, and continued to be obvious while she remained in London.
Zena and I were rather relieved when her professional engagements took her to Berlin.
CHAPTER IX
THE DISAPPEARANCE OF MADAME VATROTSKI