Part 17 (1/2)
”It is horrible,” Gifford observed sympathetically. ”Although one tries to think there is really nothing in it for them to be concerned about.”
The dance was an enjoyable affair, and, at any rate for the time, dispersed the depression which had hung over the party from Wynford.
Gifford had engaged Miss Morriston for two waltzes, and after a turn or two in the second his partner said she felt tired and suggested they should sit out the rest of it. Accordingly they strolled off to an adjoining room and made themselves comfortable in a retired corner, Gifford, nothing loath to have a quiet chat with the handsome girl whose self-possessed manner with its suggestion of underlying strength of feeling was beginning to fascinate and intrigue his imagination.
”It is rather pleasant,” she said a little wearily, ”to get away from the atmosphere of mystery and police investigation we have been living in at home.”
”Which I hope and believe will very soon be over,” Gifford responded cheeringly.
Miss Morriston glanced at him curiously. ”You believe that?” she returned almost sharply. ”How can you think so? It seems to me that with little apparent likelihood of clearing up the mystery, the affair may drag on for weeks.”
Gifford answered with a rea.s.suring smile. ”Hardly that. If the police can make nothing of it, and they seem to be quite nonplussed, they will have to give up their investigations and fall back on their first theory of suicide.”
Leaning back and watching his companion's face in profile as she sat forward, he could see that his suggestion was by no means convincing.
”I wish I could take your view, Mr. Gifford,” she returned, with the suggestion of a bitter smile. ”I dare say if the authorities were left to themselves they might give up. But you forget a very potent factor in the tiresome business, the brother, Mr. Gervase Henshaw; he will keep them up to the work of investigation, will he not?”
”Up to a certain point, and one can scarcely blame him. But even then, the police are not likely to continue working on his theories when they lead to no result.”
”No?” Miss Morriston replied in an unconvinced tone. ”But he is--” she turned to him. ”Tell me your candid opinion of this Mr. Gervase Henshaw.
Is he very--”
”Objectionable?” Gifford supplied as she hesitated. ”Unpleasantly sharp and energetic, I should say. Although it is, perhaps, hardly fair to judge a man labouring under the stress of a brother's tragic death.”
”He is determined to get to the explanation of the mystery?” The tinge of excitement she had exhibited in her former question had now pa.s.sed away: she now spoke in her habitual cold, even tone.
”He says so. Naturally he will do all he can to that end. Of course it would be a satisfaction to know for certain how the tragedy came about: not that it matters much otherwise. But unfortunately he rather poses as an expert in criminology, and that will make for pertinacity.”
For a moment Miss Morriston kept silent. ”It is very unfortunate,” she murmured at length. ”It will worry poor old d.i.c.k horribly. I think he is already beginning to wish he had never seen Wynford.”
Gifford leaned forward. ”Oh, but, my dear Miss Morriston,” he said earnestly, ”you and your brother must really not take the matter so seriously. It is all very unpleasant, one must admit, but, after all, except that it happened in your house, I don't see that it affects you.”
”You think not,” Miss Morriston responded mechanically.
”Indeed I think so.” As he spoke Gifford could not help a slight feeling of wonder that this girl, from whom he would have expected an att.i.tude rather of indifference, should allow herself to be so greatly worried by the affair. For that she was far more troubled than she allowed to appear he was certain. It is her pride, he told himself. A high-bred girl like this would naturally hate the very idea of a sensational scandal under her roof, and all its unpleasant, rather sordid accompaniments. ”I wish,”
he added with a touch of fervour, ”that I could persuade you to dismiss any fear of annoyance from your mind.”
”I wish you could,” she responded dully, with an attempt at a smile.
Suddenly she turned to him with more animation in her manner than she had hitherto shown. ”Mr. Gifford, you--I--” she hesitated as though at a loss how to put what she wished to say; ”I have no right to ask you, who are a comparative stranger, to help us in this--this worry, but if you cared to be of a.s.sistance I am sure you could.”
”Of course, of course I will,” he answered with eager gladness. ”Only let me know what you wish and you may command the very utmost I can do. And please don't think of me as a stranger.”
Edith Morriston smiled, and to Gifford it was the most fascinating smile he had ever seen. ”Only let me know how I can serve you,” he said, his pulses tingling.
”I am thinking of my brother,” she replied, in a tone so friendly that it neutralized the rather damping effect of the words. ”He is worrying over this business more than one who does not know him well would think. I had an idea, Mr. Gifford, that you might help us by, in a way, standing between us, so far as might be possible, and this Mr. Gervase Henshaw. He stays at your hotel, does he not?”
”Yes; he is expected there to-morrow morning, if not to-night.”
”You may perhaps,” the girl proceeded, ”be able--I don't know how, and I have no right to ask it--”