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Page 32
The man opened his coat and drew out a printed paper which at Mr.
Gryce's word he put into my hand. It ran as follows:
Look out for the body of a young girl, tall, well shaped but thin,
of fair complexion and golden hair of a peculiar bright and
beautiful color, and when found, acquaint me at once.
G.
"I don't understand," began I.
But Mr. Gryce tapping me on the arm said in his most deliberate tones,
"Next time you examine a room in which anything of a mysterious
nature has occurred, look under the bureau and if you find a comb
there with several long golden hairs tangled in it, be very sure
before you draw any definite conclusions, that your Fannys know what
they are talking about when they declare the girl who used that comb
had black hair on her head."
CHAPTER X
THE SECRET OF MR. BLAKE'S STUDIO
"Mr. Blake is at dinner, sir, with company, but I will call him if you
say so."
"No," returned Mr. Gryce; "show us into some room where we can be
comfortable and we will wait till he has finished."
The servant bowed, and stepping forward down the hall, opened the door
of a small and cosy room heavily hung with crimson curtains. "I will
let him know that you are here," said he, and vanished towards the
dining-room.
"I doubt if Mr. Blake will enjoy the latter half of his bill of fare
as much as the first," said I, drawing up one of the luxurious
arm-chairs to the side of my principal. "I wonder if he will break
away from his guests and come in here?"
"No; if I am not mistaken we shall find Mr. Blake a man of nerve. Not
a muscle of his face will show that he is disturbed."
"Well," said I, "I dread it."
Mr. Gryce looked about on the gorgeous walls and the rich old
fashioned furniture that surrounded him, and smiled one of his
grimmest smiles.
"Well, you may," said he.
The next instant a servant stood in the doorway, bearing to our great
astonishment, a tray well set with decanter and glasses.
"Mr. Blake's compliments, gentlemen," said he, setting it down on the
table before us. "He hopes you will make yourselves at home and he
will see you as soon as possible."
The humph! of Mr. Gryce when the servant had gone would have done your
soul good, also the look he cast at the pretty Dresden Shepherdess on
the mantel-piece, as I reached out my hand towards the decanter.
Somehow it made me draw back.
"I think we had better leave his wine alone," said he.
And for half an hour we sat there, the wine untouched between us,
listening alternately to the sound of speech-making and laughter that
came from the dining-room, and the solemn ticking of the clock as it
counted out the seconds on the mantel-piece. Then the guests came in
from the table, filing before us past the open door on their way to
the parlors. They were all gentlemen of course--Mr. Blake never
invited ladies to his house--and gentlemen of well known repute. The
dinner had been given in honor of a certain celebrated statesman, and
the character of his guests was in keeping with that of the one thus
complimented.
As they went by us gaily indulging in the jokes and light banter with
which such men season a social dinner, I saw Mr. Gryce's face grow
sober by many a shade; and when in the midst of it all, we heard the
voice of Mr. Blake rise in that courteous and measured tone for which
it is distinguished, I saw him reach forward and grasp his cane with
an uneasiness I had never seen displayed by him before. But when some
time later, the guests having departed, the dignified host advanced
with some apology to where we were, I never beheld a firmer look on
Mr. Gryce's face than that with which he rose and confronted him. Mr.
Blake's own had not more character in it.
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