Dorothy Dixon and the Double Cousin

  Chapter VIII

  "WALK INTO MY PARLOR"

  The sedan, with Martin Lawson driving and Dorothy beside him, purredsmoothly through the dank, cold night. Now that they were past the realmof traffic lights, it lopped off the miles between them and Ridgefieldwith the regularity of an electric saw cutting planks from a log.

  During the entire journey, now nearly over, Dorothy had spoken no wordto the man beside her. She wanted him to believe that she was stillfuriously angry. As a matter of fact, she had felt antagonistic towardhim from the first moment she laid eyes upon him; his smug overgrooming,the highly polished fingernails, the small waxed moustache and tooimmaculate clothing, all repelled her. She knew at once what it hadtaken Janet some time to realize: Martin Lawson might be and probablywas a very clever man; he was, on the other hand, a man to be wary of.His manner was just a little too complacent, too smooth. Notwithstandingthe forewarning she had received regarding his character, Dorothy knewinstinctively that he was not genuine and not a trustworthy person inany respect. She detested him thoroughly.

  He was a careful driver, she gave him credit for that. They found littletraffic to impede their progress along the Boston Post Road, once thelong tentacles of the great city were left behind. But the black swathof highway leading out and on from their moisture-coated headlightsglistened wetly in their reflection. After they turned into the hillsbehind Stamford, heading for the Connecticut Ridge Country, the road fora mile or more at a stretch was covered with wet leaves. They crawledalong at a snail's pace to prevent skidding and a crash into the NewEngland stone fences that rambled along the roadside dividing woodlandfrom the rolling meadows.

  Just beyond New Canaan, they drove past Dorothy's home and BillBolton's, for the properties faced each other across the ridge road.Before they reached Vista it was raining dismally, and Lawson had thewindshield wiper going. Dorothy was thankful that the sixty-mile journeyfrom New York was nearly over. At last they reached the outskirts ofRidgefield, and the car swung into a driveway between high pillars ofnative stonework. In the glow from the electric globes on the gateposts, the blue stone driveway curved and twisted like a huge snake,winding through landscaped lawns and gardens as formal and precise as apublic park.

  It was raining harder now, and Dorothy could see nothing beyond the pathof their headlights. Although she had never been in the grounds before,she had driven past the Winn place numbers of times. Finally, she madeout the bulk of a great stone house. Martin Lawson stopped the carbeneath a porte-cochere. They had arrived.

  Massive doors of wrought iron and glass swung open. A butler and twofootmen in livery ran down the steps. The butler, a tall,important-looking individual, snapped open the car door.

  "Good evening, Mr. Lawson," he said. "Good evening, Miss."

  The voice with its high-pitched Oxford drawl still smacked ofWhitechapel. Dorothy, who had travelled in England, was sure that understress, the cockney in this personage would come out. She knew he wascareful of his aitches.

  "Good evening, Tunbridge," Lawson returned briskly, and Dorothy smiledpleasantly. "Is Mrs. Lawson still up?"

  "Madam is awaiting you in the library, sir." Tunbridge helped Dorothy toalight and handed Janet's overnight bag to a footman. "Jones," he saidto the other flunky, as Lawson stepped out of the car, "drive round tothe service entrance. Miss Jordan's box is in the back of the car. Seethat it is taken up to the Pink Bedroom and have Hanley garage themotor-car."

  "Very good, sir," returned the man, and he got into the automobile.

  Tunbridge ushered them up the broad stone steps. Dorothy caught a lastglimpse of a leafless, dripping hedge across the drive, and the giantskeleton arms of a tree that seemed to menace earth and sky; then sheentered the house, wondering what the next act of this strange dramawould bring forth.

  She found herself in an enormous hall, furnished with objects such asshe had never seen outside a museum. Elaborately carved oak, suits ofarmor, stone urns, portraits, a wide stone staircase mounting upward tosurrounding galleries, stained glass windows, tigers' and lions' heads,antlers of tremendous size, strange and beautiful weapons, all ranged inconfusion before her eyes and suggested a baronial castle rather thanthe home of an American scientist, in the Connecticut hills.

  Tunbridge led to a door on the right, where he knocked, then opened, asa muffled "Come in" was heard.

  "Miss Jordan and Mr. Lawson, Madam," announced the butler, and he stoodaside to let them pass.

  Dorothy walked into a room whose walls seemed built of books. Thefurniture was richly attractive and looked luxuriously comfortable. Afire blazed in a fine chimney and a table near it was set with a glitterof splendid silver and hot water plates below shining metal covers.

  A tall, superbly beautiful woman, with dark eyes and coal-black hairthat grew in a widow's peak on her brow, rose from a chair on the widehearth and came toward them. Her clear, white skin, and a broad streakof silver across the black hair gave her a strangely etherealappearance, as though she might have been a being from another planet.The hand she held out to Dorothy was exquisitely formed, the fingerslong and tapering.

  "How do you do, Janet," she said pleasantly. "Welcome to Winncote. Youare later than we expected. The Doctor has gone to bed, but he left hisgreetings."

  "Thank you," Dorothy returned formally and shook hands. "You are verykind, Mrs. Lawson."

  Laura Lawson gave her a smile, but the girl saw that it was a smile ofthe lips alone, her dark eyes remained somber. "Did you have abreakdown?" she asked her husband, taking notice of him for the firsttime.

  "Slippery roads--it was impossible to do much more than crawl, Laura."He lifted a dish cover on the table and inspected its contents. "Gladyou thought to order supper--I'm famished."

  "So am I," admitted his wife and her words seemed to carry a doublemeaning. "It's long after three. Come over here by the fire and getwarm, Janet. Now Tunbridge--if you'll please serve us?"

  Tunbridge seated them at the supper table and uncovered the dishes.

  "Just a light meal," announced the hostess, "scrambled eggs, toast andcocoa, but it will warm you up and help you last until breakfast."

  "It looks delicious!" said Dorothy, who discovered at the sight of foodthat she was starving. In fact all three were hungry, and for somelittle time conversation was dropped while the soft-footed Tunbridgewaited upon them.

  "We will have a chat tomorrow, Janet," Mrs. Lawson said presently."Tonight you are tired and so am I. We take breakfast in our rooms. Ringfor it when you're ready, but don't hurry about getting up, I'll see youdown here about eleven-thirty. Have you had enough to eat and drink, mydear?"

  "Plenty, thank you, Mrs. Lawson." Dorothy thought it would be just aswell if she played the demure mouse until she had a chance to size upher employer.

  "Then I think we'll go upstairs, Janet, and I'll show you your room."She looked at her husband. "You'll be coming up soon, Martin?"

  "Just as soon as I finish this pipe, and get a bit warmer."

  "I think," said Mrs. Lawson, "that both you and Janet had better take ahot lemonade before you go to bed. I don't want to have you both laid upwith colds tomorrow." She smiled solicitously at the girl.

  "I hate the filthy stuff," protested her husband.

  "Don't be ridiculous," she answered coldly and turned to the butler."Tunbridge, have hot lemonades sent to Miss Jordan and Mr. Lawson inabout twenty minutes, if you please."

  "Very good, madam."

  Laura Lawson slipped her arm through Dorothy's. "Don't be long, Martin."

  "I won't. Good night, Janet."

  "Good night, Mr. Lawson."

  Mrs. Lawson seemed lost in thought as they slowly mounted the stonestairs. Suddenly she began chattily: "Men are such stupid creatures,Janet. So stupid about taking medicine or anything else that may be goodfor them. Martin and that hot lemonade is a case in point. I hope thatyou haven't any foolish ideas like that?"

  "Oh, no, indeed
. I'm rather fond of it."

  "That's fine. Now promise me you'll get into bed and drink it just ashot as possible. There's nothing better to ward off a cold, and you'llsleep like a top into the bargain. Well, here's your room, my dear. It'slate, so I won't come in, but I think you'll find all you need to makeyou comfortable. If you want anything, ring. Good night, Janet. Sleepwell."

  "I'm sure I will, Mrs. Lawson. Good night."

  The older woman passed along the gallery and Dorothy entered herbedroom. It was a good-sized room, attractively furnished witheverywhere evidence of a woman's taste. Pink-shaded electric candlesgleamed from the walls papered in cream and scattered with tiny pinkrosebuds. The small grey-painted bed displayed pink pillow cases, sheetsand blankets. A dainty writing desk in one corner of the room was alsopainted grey as was the chaise longue and the chairs, where theupholstery carried out the note of pink. A soft grey rug, pink-bordered,covered the floor, and Dorothy's feet sank into its thick, warm pile asshe investigated her new quarters. She saw that the room was nearlysquare, and opposite the door a rounded alcove sheltered a bow window,hung with pink taffeta, and the window seat below it was cushioned inpink.

  In a corner against the wall stood Janet's wardrobe trunk, and near itwas a door that led into a spacious closet. Dorothy hung her coat on apadded hanger, and then looked into the rose and onyx tiled bath.

  As she re-entered the bedroom she stopped short in surprise. A smallpiece of white paper protruded from beneath the door to the gallery.Quickly she stooped, snatched the paper and opened the door. The gallerywas empty. Crossing to the balustrade she looked down upon the greatentrance hall. That also was deserted and nobody was to be seen on thestaircase.

  She turned back, closed and locked her door. Then she spread out thepaper she had crumpled in her hand. Printed on one side in pencil sheread the words:

  "BE ON YOUR GUARD. DO NOT DRINK THE LEMONADE. DESTROY THIS AT ONCE."

  "Now I wonder..." Dorothy muttered softly, "who sent me this note?"