|
Main
- books.jibble.org
My Books
- IRC Hacks
Misc. Articles
- Meaning of Jibble
- M4 Su Doku
- Computer Scrapbooking
- Setting up Java
- Bootable Java
- Cookies in Java
- Dynamic Graphs
- Social Shakespeare
External Links
- Paul Mutton
- Jibble Photo Gallery
- Jibble Forums
- Google Landmarks
- Jibble Shop
- Free Books
- Intershot Ltd
|
books.jibble.org
Previous Page
| Next Page
Page 43
"Ah, Mr. Knox," exclaimed Madame as I entered, "have the others
deserted, then?"
"Scarcely deserted, I think. They are merely straggling."
"Absent without leave," murmured Val Beverley.
I laughed, and drew up a chair. Madame de St�mer was smoking, but Miss
Beverley was not. Accordingly, I offered her a cigarette, which she
accepted, and as I was lighting it with elaborate care, every moment
finding a new beauty in her charming face, Pedro again appeared and
addressed some remark in Spanish to Madame.
"My chair, Pedro," she said; "I will come at once."
The Spanish butler wheeled the chair across to the settee, and lifting
her with an ease which spoke of long practice, placed her amidst the
cushions where she spent so many hours of her life.
"I know you will excuse me, dear," she said to Val Beverley, "because I
feel sure that Mr. Knox will do his very best to make up for my
absence. Presently, I shall be back."
Pedro holding the door open, she went wheeling out, and I found myself
alone with Val Beverley.
At the time I was much too delighted to question the circumstances
which had led to this t�te-�-t�te, but had I cared to give the matter
any consideration, it must have presented rather curious features. The
call first of host and then of hostess was inconsistent with the
courtesy of the master of Cray's Folly, which, like the appointments of
his home and his mode of life, was elaborate. But these ideas did not
trouble me at the moment.
Suddenly, however, indeed before I had time to speak, the girl started
and laid her hand upon my arm.
"Did you hear something?" she whispered, "a queer sort of sound?"
"No," I replied, "what kind of sound?"
"An odd sort of sound, almost like--the flapping of wings."
I saw that she had turned pale, I saw the confirmation of something
which I had only partly realised before: that her life at Cray's Folly
was a constant fight against some haunting shadow. Her gaiety, her
lightness, were but a mask. For now, in those wide-open eyes, I read
absolute horror.
"Miss Beverley," I said, grasping her hand reassuringly, "you alarm me.
What has made you so nervous to-night?"
"To-night!" she echoed, "to-night? It is every night. If you had not
come--" she corrected herself--"if someone had not come, I don't think
I could have stayed. I am sure I could not have stayed."
"Doubtless the attempted burglary alarmed you?" I suggested, intending
to sooth her fears.
"Burglary?" She smiled unmirthfully. "It was no burglary."
"Why do you say so, Miss Beverley?"
"Do you think I don't know why Mr. Harley is here?" she challenged.
"Oh, believe me, I know--I know. I, too, saw the bat's wing nailed to
the door, Mr. Knox. You are surely not going to suggest that this was
the work of a burglar?"
I seated myself beside her on the settee.
"You have great courage," I said. "Believe me, I quite understand all
that you have suffered."
"Is my acting so poor?" she asked, with a pathetic smile.
"No, it is wonderful, but to a sympathetic observer only acting,
nevertheless."
I noted that my presence reassured her, and was much comforted by this
fact.
Previous Page
| Next Page
|
|