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Page 33
R. Jones groped his way down, relieved that all was over and had
ended well. He believed what she had told him, and he could
conscientiously assure Freddie that the prospect of his sharing
the fate of poor old Percy was nonexistent. It is true that he
proposed to add in his report that the destruction of the letters
had been purchased with difficulty, at a cost of just five
hundred pounds; but that was a mere business formality.
He had almost reached the last step when there was a ring at the
front door. With what he was afterward wont to call an
inspiration, he retreated with unusual nimbleness until he had
almost reached Joan's door again. Then he leaned over the
banister and listened.
The disheveled maid opened the door. A girl's voice spoke:
"Is Miss Valentine in?"
"She's in; but she's engaged."
"I wish you would go up and tell her that I want to see her. Say
it's Miss Peters--Miss Aline Peters."
The banister shook beneath R. Jones' sudden clutch. For a moment
he felt almost faint. Then he began to think swiftly. A great
light had dawned on him, and the thought outstanding in his mind
was that never again would he trust a man or woman on the
evidence of his senses. He could have sworn that this Valentine
girl was on the level. He had been perfectly satisfied with her
statement that she had destroyed the letters. And all the while
she had been playing as deep a game as he had come across in the
whole course of his professional career! He almost admired her.
How she had taken him in!
It was obvious now what her game was. Previous to his visit she
had arranged a meeting with Freddie's fiancee, with the view of
opening negotiations for the sale of the letters. She had held
him, Jones, at arm's length because she was going to sell the
letters to whoever would pay the best price. But for the accident
of his happening to be here when Miss Peters arrived, Freddie and
his fiancee would have been bidding against each other and
raising each other's price. He had worked the same game himself a
dozen times, and he resented the entry of female competition into
what he regarded as essentially a male field of enterprise.
As the maid stumped up the stairs he continued his retreat. He
heard Joan's door open, and the stream of light showed him the
disheveled maid standing in the doorway.
"Ow, I thought there was a gentleman with you, miss."
"He left a moment ago. Why?"
"There's a lady wants to see you. Miss Peters, her name is."
"Will you ask her to come up?"
The disheveled maid was no polished mistress of ceremonies. She
leaned down into the void and hailed Aline.
"She says will you come up?"
Aline's feet became audible on the staircase. There were
greetings.
"Whatever brings you here, Aline?"
"Am I interrupting you, Joan, dear?"
"No. Do come in! I was only surprised to see you so late. I
didn't know you paid calls at this hour. Is anything wrong? Come
in."
The door closed, the maid retired to the depths, and R. Jones
stole cautiously down again. He was feeling absolutely
bewildered. Apparently his deductions, his second thoughts, had
been all wrong, and Joan was, after all, the honest person he had
imagined at first sight. Those two girls had talked to each other
as though they were old friends; as though they had known each
other all their lives. That was the thing which perplexed R.
Jones.
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