Part 8 (1/2)

Mr. Parker's car was waiting and we drove together to Covent Garden. I left them in the vestibule and went to call on some of my friends. My sister had a box in the second tier and I was fortunate enough to find her there and alone with her husband. Almost directly underneath us in the stalls Mr. Parker and Eve were sitting; and next Mr. Parker was a woman wearing a pearl necklace. I asked my sister her name. She raised her lorgnette and looked over the side of the box.

”Lady Orstline,” she told me. ”Her husband is a South African millionaire.”

”Are those real pearls she is wearing?” I inquired.

”My dear Paul,” she laughed, ”why not? Her husband is enormously wealthy and they say that her jewels are wonderful. Unlike so many of those people, she really does select very fine stones, independent of size.

Those pearls she is wearing now, for instance, are quite small, but their l.u.s.ter is exquisite. What an extraordinary fat man is sitting next her-- and what a pretty girl!”

”Americans,” I remarked.

”They look it,” she agreed. ”Quite the Gibson type of girl, isn't she?”

The curtain went up and we turned our attention to the stage. As a rule I find music soothing; but that night proved an exception--perhaps because my moderately well-ordered life had crumbled into pieces; because I was conscious of a new and overmastering pa.s.sion--the music appealed to me in an altogether different way. My enjoyment was no longer impersonal--a matter of the brain and the judgment. I felt the excitement of it throbbing in my pulses. The gloomy, half-lit auditorium seemed full of strange suggestions. I felt in real and actual touch with the great things that throbbed beneath. I was no longer an auditor--a looker-on. I had become a partic.i.p.ator.

The hours pa.s.sed as though in a dream. I talked to my sister and her husband, and exchanged the usual gossip with their callers. I even paid a call or two on my own account; but I have no recollection of whom I went to see or what we talked about. I had no chance to visit either Mr. Parker or Eve, for neither of them left their places and they were in the middle of a row; but I took good care that we were close together in the vestibule toward the end. With a little s.h.i.+ver I saw that Lady Orstline was there too--next Mr. Parker. I was a few feet behind them both, with my sister. I found myself watching almost feverishly.

As usual there was a block outside, and the few yards between us and the door seemed interminable. I had none of the optimism of those others. I was filled with vague fears of some impending disaster. Suddenly, with a s.h.i.+ver, I recognized Cullen, scarcely a couple of yards away, also watching, wedged in among the throng. His lips were drawn closely together; his opera hat was well over his forehead; his eyes never left Mr. Parker. He looked to me there like a lean-faced rat preparing for its spring.

I followed the exact direction of his steadfast gaze and I became cold with apprehension. Lady Orstline was just in front of me; by her side was Eve, and immediately behind her Mr. Parker, I tried to lean over, but in the crush it was impossible.

”Some one you want to speak to, Paul?” my sister asked.

”There's a man there--if I can only get at him.”

The little crowd in front of us was suddenly thrown into disorder by having to let through two people whose carriage had been called. We seemed to lose ground in the confusion, for a moment or two later I noticed Lady Orstline standing outside the door, and my heart sank as I realized that her neck was bare. Almost at the same instant I saw her hand fly up and heard her voice.

”My necklace!” she called out. ”Policeman, don't let any one pa.s.s out! My necklace has been stolen--my pearls!”

The confusion that followed was indescribable. The doors were almost barricaded. My sister and her husband and I were allowed through easily enough, as we were known to be subscribers, but almost every one else seemed to be undergoing a sort of cross-examination. My brother-in-law was disposed to be irritable.

”Why can't the silly woman look after her jewels?” he exclaimed. ”Another advertis.e.m.e.nt, I suppose.”

”Can we drop you anywhere, Paul?” my sister inquired. ”Or would you like to give us some supper?”

I had been staring out of the window. There was not a sign anywhere of Eve or her father; nor had I been able to catch a glimpse of Mr. Cullen.

”I am sorry,” I replied; ”but I am supping with some friends at Stephano's. Could you set me down there?”

My sister raised her eyebrows as she gave the order. We were already in the Strand.

”Really, Paul,” she remonstrated, ”at your time of life--you are thirty- four years old, mind--I think you might leave Stephano's to the other generation!”

”Second childhood!” I explained as I descended. ”In any case I really have an appointment here. Give you supper any other night with pleasure. Many thanks!”

My first intention had been not to enter the place at all, but to return at once to Covent Garden. Some impulse, however, prompted me to glance round the room first. To my amazement Eve and her father were already seated at their usual table--Eve drawing off her gloves and her father with the wine list in his hand. I made my way toward them. I suppose my expression indicated a certain stupefaction, for directly I got there Eve began to laugh softly up into my face.

”We aren't ghosts!” she declared. ”Did you think _you_ were the only person who could leave the opera house in a hurry?”

”I saw you in the vestibule,” I ventured. ”I never saw you get away.”

”No more did our friend Cullen,” Mr. Parker remarked, smiling. ”I really am beginning to feel sorry for that man. We were within a yard or two of him and he was watching us good and hard. I think he had an idea that Eve had a weakness for pearls.”