Part 24 (1/2)
”Oh, yes,” she cried bitterly. ”I have eaten of the tree--and lately--very lately.”
And at the sight of her distress all Mr. Benoliel's indignation vanished.
”I know,” he said gently. ”That's why I wanted you to many, Cynthia.”
”Is that the remedy?” she asked. And she shook her head slowly. ”I am frightened of it.”
She called to her groom, dismounted from her horse and taking Mr.
Benoliel by the arm cried:
”Come in. You haven't seen my house since I bought it. You shall tell me what you think of it, now that it's finished.”
She ran up the steps and turned to him at the top with a look of compunction in her face:
”I talk to you of my troubles,” she said. ”I have no right to--no, neither to you nor to any one. I am ashamed of myself. I have food to eat, clothes to wear, money to spend, and friends. Yes, I am very fortunate,” and her mind winged back to a dark night on the estancia when she had crouched in a big chair, listening to horrors set ready for her. ”I ought to be grateful,” she cried with a shudder at her memories. ”Come in!”
She led him through the rooms and claimed his enthusiasm for this or that rare piece of satin-wood or mahogany. It had been a great joy to her in the early days of the year to ransack the dealers' shops and grow learned of Hepplewhite and Chippendale. She told Mr. Benoliel stories of her researches, seeking to recapture some savor of that past pleasure. But her sprightliness became an effort and in her own sitting-room she turned abruptly to him:
”But I have a distaste for it all now,” she said and sat down in a chair. ”I have no longer any pride in the house at all.”
Mr. Benoliel stood over her and nodded his head in sympathy. She was distressed. She had a look of discomfort.
”Yes, I understand that, Cynthia,” he said.
She took off her hard hat. It pressed upon her temples and made her head throb.
”How much do you know?” she asked.
”That Mrs. Royle is leaving you.”
”Yes,” said Cynthia moodily. ”We have agreed to separate. Do you know anything more?”
”Yes. The missing panel of tapestry hangs again in Ludsey Town Hall.”
”Yes. It was lying in a lumber-room under the roof of my house in Warwicks.h.i.+re. How long it had been lying there, or how it came there, I can't discover. Diana ran across it by accident. It was tied up in a bale like an old carpet. She didn't think it of any value--until she went one morning to the Town Hall with an American millionaire who was anxious to see the tapestry and buy it if he could.”
”Yes. I took Cronin there myself. He was staying with me and I drove him into Ludsey and met Mrs. Royle in the street. That was the day before the election. We all three went into the Town Hall together. I remember Mrs. Royle saying that she had never been in the building before. I pointed out the tapestry and explained that a wide strip of it was missing. I think I suggested that it would one day be turned out of some old cupboard.”
Cynthia nodded.
”That no doubt helped her to the truth. Anyway, she tried to persuade me to sell it. She merely told me that it was valuable and that I could get two thousand pounds for it. I didn't connect it with the Ludsey tapestry. I thought that it might be worth while to bring it up to this house; and I refused to sell. Diana urged me again, however, and but that I don't like selling things, I would have let her sell it, just because she was getting tiresome about it. Then Hartmann, the Bond Street dealer, called on me a month ago and told me what the strip was.”
”Why did he call?” asked Benoliel.
”He was in the deal with another man. Both apparently were selling to Mr. Cronin, and they quarrelled over the division of the profits. So Hartmann came to me in revenge. He told me that Diana was to get eight thousand pounds if she could persuade me to sell and that they meant to sell the tapestry afterward to Mr. Cronin for twenty-five thousand pounds. It's not a pretty story, is it?”
”No,” said Benoliel. ”So you gave it back to Ludsey?”
”Yes.”