LITMIR.BIZ

Скачать книгу

and the jewels——”

      “Mock jewels.”

      “What of it? Don’t be cynical to-night, Tommy—dear.”

      His heart missed a beat, as he caught something in her tone that he had never heard there before.

      He must have shown his perception of it, for he saw a rosy blush beneath the edge of her little mask, and he hastened to say, “No, it doesn’t matter that they’re mock jewels—for they’re mock people.”

      “Yes,” she said, softly, “all but you and me.”

      Locke was nonplussed. He didn’t know whether Pearl Jane was trying to make love to him, or whether the gayety of the occasion had gone to her head a little. He decided on the latter opinion, and steered the talk into a safer channel.

      And yet, he couldn’t help thinking, she was very sweet, the soft little chin that nestled against his shoulder, the curve of the cheek that still showed pink, and most of all the bright happy eyes that now and then met his through the eyeholes of their masks.

      Clearly, he decided, I’d better get away from her. She’ll enchant me in another minute—and that won’t do. Little Pearl Jane! Waking up! Oh, Lord!

      So, with a graceful bow, he handed her to a waiting and eager Clown, and sauntered off himself to do a duty dance with Kate.

      Not but that he liked Kate Vallon, but after all, Locke was not overly fond of dancing, and he had a dim idea of retreating to the smoking room as soon as might be.

      “Buck up,” said Kate, after a few rounds, “you’re a good dancer, Tommy, but you have no soul in it.”

      “I’d rather paint,” Locke returned. “Wouldn’t you, Kate?”

      “Yes, I would. I’d rather do lots of things. But we’re a few years older than Pearl Jane, or Henry, either. How old are you, Tommy?”

      “Twenty-eight; why?”

      “So’m I. Well, after twenty, nowadays, one gets fed up with dancing.”

      “Nonsense, lots of old ones love it. I never was keen about it. Want to sit out a while?”

      “Yes, but not with you! Find Jack Henderson for me, won’t you? He’s a Continental Soldier.”

      Not at all minding Kate’s candor, Locke went after the man she preferred. He looked about in the rooms, and then went downstairs in his search. The staircase was crowded, and as he passed a “Winter,” he heard her say, “How very warm it is—I must have some air!”

      He turned to see if he could be of assistance, but others were nearer her, so he went on.

      He found Henderson and sent him to Kate.

      “My, but I’m glad to be summoned,” the cheery Henderson said, as he reached her. “I didn’t dare intrude till I was sent for.”

      After a few moments they concluded the room was too crowded for chat, and they started for a tiny balcony that gave from a rear window.

      “What’s that?” cried Henderson, as they passed through the little smoking room, dimly lighted and now deserted.

      “What’s what?”

      “That on the floor, behind the table!”

      “Looks like a pillow from a couch,” and Kate glanced toward some gay colored silk that lay in folds.

      “It isn’t! Kate—stay back!”

      Henderson took another step, and gave a startled exclamation.

      “Keep back, I tell you, Kate. There’s been some awful accident. Call some one—some man. Call Locke and Post first. Wait, don’t raise a general alarm. Get that Chinese servant.”

      “What is it, Jack? I will see! Oh, my God!”

      Kate Vallon pulled herself together by strong will power.

      “Who is it? Take off her mask!”

      “I—oh, I can’t! Get Locke—do, Kate!”

      Kate ran through the rooms, and though she didn’t see Locke just then, she saw Henry Post and bade him go at once to the smoking room.

      He did so, and Kate continued her hunt for Charley, trying to keep from screaming out.

      “What is it?” Post asked, coming into the dimly lighted room.

      “Something terrible,” Henderson said, gravely. “See here, Post, this woman is dead. I’ve felt her heart—and I tell you, man, she’s dead.”

      “Who is she?”

      “I’ve no idea. A stranger. I wouldn’t raise her mask when Kate was here, but I’ve done so now, and I don’t know her.”

      “My heavens! What shall we do? What ought we to do?”

      “First get Locke. Also Chinese Charley. And as you go out, shut the door. I don’t fancy being here alone—but you must shut the door to keep the women out. Then—oh, I don’t know what then! Get Locke first.”

      Henry Post gone, Henderson again looked at the woman’s features. She was beautiful, save for an awful wound where something had crashed down on her temple, and had surely killed her.

      “What a strange accident!” Henderson thought. “If she had fallen against a fender now—but there’s no mantelpiece in this room. I wonder if there’s a doctor here. I ought to call one. It can do no harm to leave the poor thing alone for a minute—I won’t go past the door.”

      Half uncertainly he rose and went to the door into the studio.

      Slightly opening it, he asked the first man he saw to see if any doctor was present and would come to him at once.

      “I’ll get one,” and the youth hurried away.

      And in a moment he was back, with Doctor Gannett.

CHAPTER III

       Table of Contents

      WHO WAS SHE?

      Henderson admitted Doctor Gannett and stood nervously waiting as the physician stooped over the prostrate form.

      Almost impatiently he pulled off the mask and tore away the filmy veil which still hid the lower portion of the face, and Henderson noticed with increased pain what a lovely face it was. Strangely enough, it was not highly colored artificially, indeed, it could scarcely be said to be made up at all.

      Jack Henderson was impressionable and he turned his glance away as the doctor remorselessly, though gently, moved the wounded head and peered into the dead eyes.

      Then the medical man looked up wonderingly and gazed around.

      “What hit her?” he said, with a puzzled frown. “Unless she fell against something, she must have been—attacked—here, we have it!”

      As he brushed aside the voluminous draperies of the Oriental costume he found that some folds of silk had covered what was without doubt the instrument of death.

      It was a heavy bronze book-end, shaped like the head of a Sphinx. A quick glance showed the mate to it on the table near by.

      “She was hit on the temple by this weight,” the doctor said, gravely. “It is highly improbable that the bronze was on the floor and she fell on it—it looks far more like——”

      “Don’t say it!” Henderson cried. “Who could do such a thing? Here in Tommy’s place?”

      “It is certain that she did not

Скачать книгу