A Master Hand Part 17

At length, to recall his attention, I inquired if he had any definite plans for the course he meant to pursue, adding that I agreed with him in his determination to try and find the real criminal, and that I did not believe it could be so difficult as Littell seemed to judge.

He shook his head. "It will be difficult, I have no doubt," he said, "but still I think perhaps I can do it."

"Tell me your plans," I urged, my interest aroused.

He hesitated and seemed embarra.s.sed. "I think, if you don't mind, I would rather you would leave it all to me just now," he said at length.

I was too surprised to make any immediate reply. This man, whom heretofore I had found subservient to my every suggestion, was now prepared apparently to a.s.sume the leadership and relegate me to the background. "But," I said, when I had recovered from my astonishment, "do you expect me to abandon the case altogether?"

"Not at all," he hastened to explain; "I only wish you to leave the work of the next few days to me. It is peculiarly in my line, and besides I do not think you would find it agreeable. Leave it to me," he urged, "and I will report all results to you as soon as possible, and after that I will be guided entirely by you in the matter."

He was evidently in earnest and so serious over it that I offered no further objection, though I was somewhat humiliated at what I deemed his lack of confidence in me. When he had left me, I puzzled over his strange conduct, but as I could make nothing of it wisely determined to resign myself to the inevitable and make the most of the respite this forced inaction would grant me.

After I had despatched notes to Van Bult and Davis, asking them to dinner, and had attended to some routine duties, I made the first use of my freedom by leaving my office and devoting the afternoon to a long horse-back ride. It was a glorious winter's day, cold and sparkling, and full of sunshine, and I drew in deep lungs full of the bracing air as I directed my way leisurely towards the Park.

Once clear of the stones, I gave the horse his head and with an eager bound he had stretched out into a gallop. As we went speeding along through the country for mile after mile, it seemed to me that I had never felt anything so fine as this gallop. After my long siege of worry and work it was like a tonic to my mind and body and with every stride of the horse I seemed to get stronger and brighter.

I could feel the blood coursing through my veins, while my mental faculties were stirred into renewed vigor, and I began to realize into what a rut I had gotten and how morbid had become my state of mind, and I was content to accept the dictum of Miles and to put the case and all its gruesome details away from me.

When at length, wearied with the rapid pace and my horse giving signs of laboring, I pulled him down to a walk and settled with a feeling of tired comfort in the saddle, the buoyancy of youth had rea.s.serted itself in me and I felt at peace with the world.

I had turned about and was well on my way toward home again, given over to pleasant thoughts about lighter things, when I overtook and pa.s.sed a woman riding by herself. I scarcely noticed her and would have continued on without giving her a second thought if I had not heard my name called after me. I stopped and looked back and, to my surprise, recognized Belle Stanton.

She was approaching me slowly, patting the neck of her horse, that was a little restive under her, and her manner betokened no consciousness of anything unusual in her salute. For a moment I was doubtful of the accuracy of my hearing, for I scarcely knew her, if it could be said I knew her at all, the chance meeting at the trial furnishing the only excuse for acquaintanceship; but my doubts were dispelled by her friendly little nod as she came up with me.

Evidently she considered the acquaintance legitimate enough for informality, even if I did entertain some doubts on the subject. She looked well in her riding habit and sat her horse gracefully, and as she swayed in her saddle, looked at me with a merry challenge in her eyes.

"You had rather ride with me than ride alone, had you not?" she asked demurely, and I obediently wheeled my horse beside hers, as I a.s.sured her the encounter was welcome; and while we rode on together, she told me she had wanted to know me for a long time, and that she felt we were old friends, though this had been our first real meeting, and many other such things that a man likes to hear a pretty woman say even though he knows she is fooling him.

"Don't you think," she said, "that people sometimes feel they are going to like each other before they have ever met?" and she laid her hand gently on my arm and looked up for my answer.

I have since tried to defend myself for the weakness of that moment in which I was near being recreant to the memory of a friend, but I know in my heart that there was no excuse for me except it be the witchery of the woman and the charm of the occasion. She was pretty--awfully pretty--and she knew all too well how to attract men, and then, too, the time and place were in her favor.

The winter's day was in its last twilight, the moon was already filling the wayside with light that made shadows on the snow, and through the long avenue of trees that stretched before us no one was in sight, we two were alone. As I felt the caressing touch and looked into the fair face lifted to mine, I forgot all else in the intoxication of the moment, and responding impulsively leaned down to meet her glance and would have been guilty of what foolishness I know not, had her woman's mood not changed in time to save me.

With a laugh she rapped me over the fingers with her whip and, spurring her horse, was gone from my reach in a moment. No man altogether likes the sensation of having been played with, and as I galloped after her I made up my mind not to let myself be again distracted by her wiles, but when I should have overtaken her to make the most of my opportunity to learn anything more she might know about the death of White.

When she had tired of the fun of leading me a long and not very dignified chase, she pulled up and waited for me to rejoin her, remarking casually as I did so that I seemed to have a "good steady horse."

"Yes," I replied, rather sharply I fear, for I was out of breath and humor, "and a fast one when I think it worth while to call on him." She looked him over carelessly as she replied: "I thought he was doing his best just now; he seems a little blown, does he not?"

I deigned no reply to this and there were prospects of our ride being finished in silence, for if I intended to sulk she evidently meant to let me. Such a course, however, was not calculated to accomplish my purpose and as we were nearing the city again, I determined to introduce the subject I had in mind.

"It is strange," I said, "is it not, that you and I should both be connected so closely with the circ.u.mstances of Arthur White's death?"

She looked up surprised and evidently none too well pleased with the unexpected change in my tone.

"I don't know why you should say that," she answered, "I had nothing to do with Mr. White's death."

"No, nor had I directly," I replied; "but I was at his house the night of his death and he was at yours."

"You may have been at his house," she answered, "but I do not know that he was at mine."

"But he left his ulster there," I insisted.

"His ulster was left there," she said, changing my phraseology; then she stopped and hesitated; "but let us talk of something else," she concluded, "for the subject makes me sad," and I discerned a little tremor in her voice that I thought was genuine.

Sometimes a woman like Belle Stanton may grieve, though she must not show it, and I was sorry for her, but I meant to persevere in my purpose, nevertheless.

"I do not wish to make you feel badly," I tried to say gently, "but I want to learn all I can about Arthur's death and if you know any more than you have yet disclosed, I wish you would tell it to me."

She looked away, as if determining something before answering, and then asked what reason I had for thinking she knew anything more than she had told at the trial. For reply, I quoted to her Van Bult's words:

"You will find it is through Belle Stanton that you must trace the criminal."

"Who said that?" she asked quickly. I told her.

"Oh! it was Van Bult, was it? Well, you may find he was mistaken," and her tone betokened indifference.

"Do you then know nothing at all that can help us in the case?" I inquired. She stopped her horse, for we had reached the Fifty-ninth Street entrance, and wheeling him so that she faced me, said:

"I know very little more than I have told, probably nothing of any importance, but if you will come and see me sometime, I will help you, if I can"; but I was impatient and urged her to tell me at once what she knew.

"No," she replied, "you must leave me here and if you wish to learn more you will have to come and see me," and turning her horse she waved her hand to me and rode away.

I sat looking after her just a moment debating over what she had said and then hastened home, for it was approaching my dinner hour, but the first thing I did on entering the club was to write a line to Miles.

"Stanton knows more than she has told," I said. "Find out what it is."

And then I made my preparations for dinner.

At eight o'clock I was in the reception-room awaiting the arrival of my guests, and as I surveyed myself in the long mirror, I felt a thrill of pleasure at finding myself again a part of the social world.

After all there are two sides to life--the serious and the gay--and we must mingle them to get the most out of it. For a long time now I had known the serious side, but the release from the service on the case and the ride and encounter of the afternoon had awakened in me a longing for the brighter side that I had no disposition to deny.

When Davis entered with his cheery way and cordial greeting I was more than usually glad to see him and we fell as readily into our accustomed easy intercourse as though it had never been interrupted by a tragedy. A few minutes later Littell and Van Bult appeared and our party was complete.

I advanced to Littell as he appeared, eager to welcome him, but he had stopped on the threshold and while rolling a cigarette between his deft fingers was inquiring casually of Davis concerning the latest bit of social scandal as if he had no more serious thought in the world. A few hours had sufficed to remove every sign of care and fatigue that I had observed in the morning.

Van Bult in the meanwhile had sauntered over to the fireside, and, leaning on the mantle, was looking from one to the other of us with that rare smile that helped to make him so attractive.

I was proud of my friends as I stood in their midst and reflected that it would be hard to find three better dressed, better appearing men than those. They were gentlemen, all of them, not by a.s.sertion or imitation, but because it was inherent in them. And the atmosphere they created was reposeful and agreeable.

When dinner was announced, we adjourned to the private dining-room I had reserved and were received by my old servitor, Brown, standing ceremoniously at the door, and I think he was as pleased as any one over the reunion. His bow to each of us as he pa.s.sed the frosted martinis was almost a salaam, and no dish was served till it had pa.s.sed under his critical eye, and no bottle uncorked till he had tried its temperature with solicitous touch.

We were a pleasant party of old friends together as we sat down that night, with mutual interests and a.s.sociations to talk over, and the conversation drifted from one topic to another, in easy sequence.

The boyish gayety of Davis was infectious, and drew out the brightest side of Van Bult's nature, though in the sober tone habitual to him, while Littell's side fire of cynical, humorous comment gave a keener edge and point to all that was said.