*CHAPTER III*
Her first emotion was of irritation.
"How stupid!" she said to herself, and, returning to her dressing-table,began to search among the silver and ivory boxes. All at once shestopped. She remembered with a vivid flash putting the pin through thethree rings.
She made no further search, but remained without moving, her fingersslowly tapping the table, her head inclined, her lips drawn in a littlebetween her teeth, watching in the glass the crowded table reflectedfrom the outer studio.
In that gay party, one person was the thief--but which one? Each guesthad had a dozen opportunities in the course of the time she had been inthe kitchen.
"Too much prinking, pretty lady," called out Garraboy, who, from wherehe was seated, could see her.
"Not he," she said quickly. Then she reconsidered: "Why not? He'sshifty--who knows? Let me think."
To gain time, she went slowly back to the kitchen, her head bowed, herthumb between her teeth.
"Who has taken it?"
She ran over the characters of her guests and their situations as sheknew them. Strangely enough, with the exception of Beecher andMajendie, at each her mind stopped upon some reason that might explain asudden temptation.
"And even Majendie--if he is bankrupt or running away," she thought."No, I shall find out nothing this way. That is not the important thingjust now. The important thing is to get the ring back. But how?"
All at once she realized the full disaster of the situation. Sladewould never believe her; and yet, how was it possible to admit beforeothers who had lent her the ring?
"What could I say to him?" she thought desperately. "No, no; I must havethe ring back, whatever happens. I won't give him that hold. I mustget it back--some way--somehow."
And mechanically, deliberately, she continued to pace back and forth,her clenched hand beating the deliberate, rhythmic measure of herjourney.
In the studio, meanwhile, under the gay leadership of Majendie and NanCharters, the spirits of the company began to rise. The rival chefswere surrounded by anxious admirers, who shouted laughing instructionsor protested with mock agony against the shower of red pepper.
The ceremony had served to bring Beecher and Nan Charters on terms ofsympathetic familiarity. The young actress had the secret of what ismeant by that much abused word--charm. Her vivacious movements were allcharming. The eagerness with which her eyes seized the excitement ofthe moment, the soft and yet animated tones of her voice, the mostcasual gesture she made, or the most evident reply, all seemed investedwith a peculiar charm which was at the same time a delight in pleasureand a happiness in the consciousness of pleasing.
Beecher did not or could not conceal the empire she had so suddenlyacquired over his imagination, while Nan Charters, quite aware of whatwas happening, laughingly provoked him further, a little excited beyondthe emotions of an ordinary flirtation.
During the progress of this personal duel, which, however, every oneperceived with different emotions, Slade, placed at the middle of thetable, followed only the expressions of Bernard Majendie, his scrutinyat times becoming so insistently profound that the banker several timesnoticed it with a swift glance of annoyed interrogation, which, however,did not alter in the least the fixity of the other's gaze.
Meanwhile, two or three conversations, expressed in snatched phrases,took place between those whose interests in the stock market were put injeopardy by the mystery as to Majendie's fate.
"There'll be a rush of the shorts to cover tomorrow, if this is true,"said Cheever in a low whisper to his wife. "Pump Mrs. Bloodgood all youcan."
"How quick do you suppose they'll give the news out?" said Bloodgood toGarraboy. "It means a buying movement as soon as they do."
"Any paper may have the news tomorrow," said the broker, and the glassthat he took from the punch-table shook as he raised it.
"Do you think Slade knows?"
"I'm not sure--but I think he does," said Garraboy carefully. "Bettermeet me at the Waldorf at eleven. I'll get another line on it by then."
"Why the deuce should he pull through?" said Bloodgood, with a quick,dull fury.
Garraboy, with his malicious smile, perceiving that Bloodgood's hatredwas purely financial, chuckled to himself, took a couple of glasses inrapid succession, and returned to the table under perfect control, notwithout a scowl at the other end of the table, where Nan Charters andyoung Beecher were laughingly disputing the possession of thepepper-shaker.
A moment later, as Mrs. Cheever was exclaiming at their hostess'prolonged delay to Garraboy, who was dipping into the lobster a laNewburg, which he was preparing to serve, Mrs. Kildair slipped into theroom like a lengthening shadow. Her entrance had been made withscarcely a perceptible sound, and yet each guest was aware of it, at thesame moment, with the same uncontrollable nervous start.
"Heavens, dear lady," exclaimed Garraboy, with a twitch of his arms."You come in on us like a Greek tragedy. What is the surprise?"
As he spoke, Beecher, looking up, saw her turn suddenly on him, drawingher forehead together until the eyebrows ran in a straight line.
"I have something to say to you all," she said in a quiet, discordantvoice, while her eyes ran restlessly through the company with apredatory sharpness.
There was no mistaking the gravity in her voice. Garraboy extinguishedthe oil-lamp, covering the chafing-dish clumsily with a disagreeabletinny sound; Mrs. Cheever and Mrs. Bloodgood swung about abruptly; MaudLille rose a little from her seat; Nan Charters, dramatically sensitive,seized unconsciously the arm of young Beecher; while the men, with theexception of Slade, who still watched Majendie like a terrier, imitatedtheir movements of expectancy with a clumsy shuffling of the feet.
"Mr. Bloodgood."
"Yes, Mrs. Kildair?"
"Kindly do as I ask."
"Certainly."
She had spoken his name with a peremptory positiveness that was almostan accusation. He rose, placing his napkin carefully at the side of hisplate, raising his short eyebrows a little in surprise.
"Go to the vestibule," she continued, immediately shifting her glancefrom him to the others. "Are you there? Shut the sliding doors thatlead into the studio. Lock them. Bring me the key."
He executed the order without bungling, while the company, in growingamazement, fascinated, watched his squat figure returning with the key.
"You've locked it?" she said, making the question an excuse to bury herglance in his.
"As you wished me to."
"Thanks."
She took from him the key, and, shifting slightly, likewise locked thedoor into her bedroom through which she had come.
Then, transferring the keys to her left hand, seemingly unaware ofBloodgood, who still composedly awaited her further instructions, hereyes studied a moment the possibilities of the apartment and thenreturned to her guests.
"Mr. Cheever," she said abruptly.
"Yes, Mrs. Kildair."
"Put out all the candles except the candelabrum on the table."
"Put out the lights?" he said, rising, with his peculiar nervousmovement of the fingers to the lips.
"At once."
Mr. Cheever, in rising, met the glance of his wife, and the look ofquestioning and wonder that passed did not escape the others.
"But, my dear Mrs. Kildair," cried Nan Charters, with a little nervouscatch of her breath, "what is it? I'm getting terribly worked up."
"Miss Lille," said Mrs. Kildair's undeviating voice of command, whileBeecher placed his hand firmly over his companion's, which had begun toopen and shut in nervous tension.
The journalist, more composed than the rest, had watched the proceedingsfrom that shadowy calm which had made her presence almost unnoticed.Now, as though forewarned by professional instinct that somethingsensational was hanging on the moment, she rose quietly with almost astealthy motion.
"Put the candelabrum on this table--here," said Mrs. Kildair, after along m
oment's confrontation. She indicated the large round table onwhich the punch-bowl was set. "No, wait. Mr. Bloodgood, first clearoff the table, cover and all; I want nothing on it."
As Bloodgood started to remove the punch-bowl, Majendie rose quickly andtook the heavy candelabrum from the hands of Maud Lille, saying:
"Permit me; that's rather heavy for you."
"But, Mrs. Kildair--" began Mrs. Cheever's voice, in shrill crescendo.
Mrs. Kildair, as though satisfied by her examination of the journalist,nodded to Majendie, and, perceiving the mahogany table clear, saidwithout notice of Mrs. Cheever:
"Good! Now put the candelabrum down on it."
In a moment, as Cheever proceeded lumberingly on his errand, thebrilliant cross-fire of lights dropped away in the studio, only a fewsmoldering wicks winking on the walls, while the high ceiling seemed torecede as it came under the sole dominion of the three candles bracketedin silver at the head of the bare mahogany table.
"Now listen!" said Mrs. Kildair, and her voice was cold and abrupt. "Myring has just been stolen!"
She said it suddenly, hurling the news at them, and waiting ferret-likefor some indication in the chorus that broke out.
The hand that Beecher still grasped shot out from him as though it hadbeen stung. For the first time, Slade, forgetting Majendie, wheeledbrusquely and concentrated his glance on Mrs. Kildair, who listenedunmoved to the storm of exclamations:
"Stolen!"
"Oh, my dear Mrs. Kildair, not that!"
"Stolen--by Jove!"
"Rita dear!"
"What! Stolen--here--tonight?"
"The ring has been taken in the last twenty minutes," continued Mrs.Kildair, in the same determined, chiseled accents. "I am not going tomince words. The ring has been taken, and one of you here is the thief.This is exactly the situation."
For a moment nothing was heard but an indescribable gasp, while each,turning by an uncontrollable impulse, searched the face of hisneighbors. Suddenly Slade's deep bass broke out:
"Stolen, Mrs. Kildair?"
"Stolen," she replied quietly, meeting his inquisitorial glance.
"Have you searched very carefully?" said Majendie. "Mistakes are easilymade. It may have slipped to the floor. Are you certain that it hasbeen taken?"
"Exactly. There is not the slightest doubt," said Mrs. Kildair,conscious of the almost admiring suspicion in Slade's glance. "Three ofyou were in my bedroom when I took off my rings, placed a hatpin throughthem, and fastened them to the pin-cushion. Am I correct, Mr. Garraboy?"she added abruptly.
"Perfectly so," said the broker, staring ahead with a suddenconsciousness of his dilemma. He added punctiliously; "I was there."
"With the exception of Mr. Slade, each of you has passed through mybedroom a dozen times. The ring is gone, and one of you has taken it."
Mrs. Cheever gave a little scream and reached heavily for a glass ofwater. Mrs. Bloodgood said something inarticulate, covering her heartwith her hand in the muffled outburst of masculine exclamation:
"The devil you say!"
"Incredible!"
"I saw it."
"By Jove! A nasty mess."
Only Maud Lille's calm voice could be heard saying:
"Quite true. I was in the room when you took them off. The ruby was ontop."
Mrs. Cheever sought to add her testimony, but was incapable of speech.In her agitation she spilled half of the glass of water as she put itdown from her lips.
"Was the ring valuable?" said Slade carefully, with a quiet enjoyment.
Their eyes met a moment--a look incomprehensible to the others.
"It was worth over fifteen thousand dollars," Mrs. Kildair answered, inthe buzz of astonishment.
"And what are you going to do about it?"
"I have not minced words," she said, turning her eyes to Maud Lille andback to Garraboy. "There is a thief, and that thief is here in thisroom. Now, I am not going to stand on ceremony. I am going to havethat ring back in one way or another--now. Listen to me carefully. Iintend to have that ring back, and, until I do, not a soul shall leavethis room."
"A search?" said Slade quietly.
"No," she said instantly, tapping on the table with her nervousknuckles. "I don't care to know the thief--all I want is the ring. Andthis is the way I am going to get it." She stopped for another quick,searching glance, and continued with cold control:
"I am going to make it possible for whoever took it to restore it to mewithout possibility of detection. The doors are locked and will staylocked. I am going to put out the lights, and I am going to count onehundred--slowly. You will be in absolute darkness; no one will know orsee what is done, and I give my word that I will count the full hundred.There will be no surprise, no turning up of lights. But if, at the endof that time, the ring is not placed here on this table, I shalltelephone for detectives and have every one in this room searched. Am Iclear?"
The transfer of the candelabrum to the further table had left those ofthe diners who had remained by the dinner-table in half obscurity.Instantly there was a shifting and a dragging of chairs, a confusedjumble of questions and explanations.
Nan Charters for the second time seized the arm of Teddy Beecher. Shemurmured something which he did not hear. He glanced at her face, andfor a moment an incredible suspicion crossed his mind. But the next, ashe glanced down the table at the totally unnerved attitude of Mrs.Cheever and Mrs. Bloodgood, he understood better the agitation of hiscompanion.
"Do you suspect any one?" he whispered, by an impulse that seemed tospring into his mind.
The young actress turned to him with almost an expression of terror inher eyes, which at the same time implored him to be silent.
"She knows something," he thought, with a somber feeling. His own facewas flushed. He felt that to all he must appear guilty. "Every onefeels the same," he thought, looking again at his companion, who wasgazing with almost frightened intensity straight ahead of her.
He followed her glance, and saw that the object of her gaze was noneother than Mrs. Enos Bloodgood, who still held her hand pressed over herbreast, her lips parted as though suffocating with emotion. But, beforehe had time even to consider the bearing of this discovery, Mrs.Kildair's voice, firm and unrelenting, cut short the confusion.
"Every one come to this table, please. Take your places here," shesaid, and to emphasize the command she rapped sharply for order.
In the bustle that took place, Beecher was separated from Miss Charters,and when he found himself at the table she was opposite him, her eyes onthe table.
"Can you make a little room?" he heard Maud Lille's low voice say, and,drawing away from Cheever, who was on his right, he allowed thejournalist to take her place beside him.
Majendie was on the left of Mrs. Kildair, Slade next to him, sweepingthe table slowly with his direct, lowering glance, his lips slightlypursed. Bloodgood, his hands sunk in his pockets, stared bullishlyahead, while between Cheever and his wife there passed a covert,terrible glance of interrogation. Garraboy, with his hands locked overhis chin, arms folded, looked straight ahead staring fixedly at hishostess.
Mrs. Kildair, having assured herself that all was arranged as shedesired, blew out two of the three candles, which suddenly caused theeyes on the dim faces to stand out in startled relief.
"I shall count one hundred--no more, no less," she said quietly."Either the ring is returned or every one in this room is to besearched. Remember."
She motioned to Slade, who, leaning over, blew out the remaining candle,while a little hysterical cry was heard from Mrs. Cheever.
The wick shone a moment with a hot, glowing spire, and then everythingwas black. Mrs. Kildair began to count.
"One--two--three--four--five--six--seven--eight--nine--ten--"
She gave each number with the inexorable regularity of a clock'sreiterated note.
"Eleven--twelve--thirteen--fourteen-- fifteen--sixteen--seventeen--"
In the ro
om every sound was distinct--the rustle of a shifting dress,the grinding of a shoe, the deep, slightly asthmatic breathing of a man.
"Twenty-one--twenty-two--twenty-three--twenty-four--twenty-five--twenty-six--"
The counting went on, without the slightest variation, with a methodic,rasping reiteration that began to produce almost an hypnotic effect onthe imaginations held in suspense.
"Thirty--thirty-one--thirty-two--thirty-three--"
A slight rasping breath was heard, and then a man nervously clearing histhroat.
"Thirty-nine--forty--forty-one--forty-two--"
Still nothing had happened. No other sound had broken in on thestrained attention of every ear. Yet the voice that counted did not varyin the slightest measure; only the sound became less human, moremetallic.
"Forty-seven--forty-eight--forty-nine-- fifty--fifty-one--fifty-two--"
A woman had sighed--Mrs. Bloodgood next to him--the sigh of a womanyielding up consciousness to pain.
"Fifty-four--fifty-five--fifty-six--fifty-seven--fifty-eight--fifty-nine--sixty--sixty-one--"
All at once, clear, ringing, unmistakable, on the sounding plane of thetable was heard a quick metallic note that echoed and reechoed in theempty blackness.
"The ring!"
It was Maud Lille's deep voice that had cried out. Beecher suddenlyagainst his shoulder felt the weight of Mrs. Bloodgood's swaying body.The voice that counted hesitated a moment, but only a moment.
"Sixty-two--sixty-three--"
Several voices began to protest:
"No, no!"
"Light the candles!"
"It's too much!"
"Don't go on!"
"Seventy-five--seventy-six--seventy-seven--seventy-eight--seventy-nine--"
The sound dominated the protest. Some one began to laugh, anhysterical, feverish laughter that chilled Beecher to the bones. He putout his hand and steadied the body of the woman next to him.
"Eighty-five--eighty-six--"
"Hurry, oh, hurry--please hurry!" cried the voice of Nan Charters, andsome one else cried:
"Enough--this is terrible!"
"Ninety-five--ninety-six--ninety-seven-- ninety-eight--ninety-nine, andone hundred."
At once a match sputtered in the hands of Slade. There was a cry fromevery one, and the table shivered with the weight of those who cranedforward. Then a second cry of amazement and horror. The table wasabsolutely bare. The ring a second time had been taken.
"In that gay party one person was a thief--but which one?... A match sputtered. There was a cry of amazement and horror. Thetable was absolutely bare"]