The Net Part 19

"Not to my knowledge. I--" Norvin hesitated. "No, Sabella has no sweetheart, but Savigno had. I haven't told you much of that part of my story. It's no use my trying to give you an idea of what kind of woman the Countess of Terranova was, or is--you wouldn't understand.

It's enough to say that she is a woman of extraordinary character, wholly devoted to Martel's memory, and Sicilian to the backbone. After her lover's death, when the police had failed, she swore to be avenged upon his murderers. I know it sounds strange, but it didn't seem so strange to me then. I tried to reason with her, but it was a waste of breath. When I returned to Sicily after my mother died, Margherita--the Countess--had disappeared. I tried every means to find her--you know, Martel left her, in a way, under my care--but I couldn't locate her in any Italian city. Then I learned that she had come to the United States and took up the search on this side. It's a long story; the gist of it is simply that I looked up every possibility, and finally gave up in despair. That was more than four years ago. I have no idea that all this has any connection with our present problem."

Donnelly listened with interest, and for a time plied Blake with shrewd questions, but at length the subject seemed to lose its importance in his mind.

"It's a queer coincidence," he said. "But the letter was mailed in this city and by some one familiar with Narcone's movements up to date. If your Countess was here you'd surely know it. This isn't New York. Besides, women don't make good detectives; they get discouraged.

I dare say she went back to Italy long ago and is married now, with a dozen or more little counts and countesses around her."

"I agree with you," said Blake, "that she can't be the 'One Who Knows.' There are too many easier explanations, and I couldn't hope--"

He checked himself. "Well, I guess I've told you about all I know.

Call on me at any time that I can be of a.s.sistance."

He left rather abruptly, struggling with a sense of self-disgust in that he had been led to talk of Margherita unnecessarily, yet with a curious undercurrent of excitement running through his mood.

X

MYRA NELL WARREN

Miss Myra Nell Warren seldom commenced her toilet with that feeling of pleasurable antic.i.p.ation common to most girls of her age. Not that she failed to appreciate her own good looks, for she did not, but because in order to attain the desired effects she was forced to exercise a nice discrimination which can be appreciated only by those who have attempted to keep up appearances upon an income never equal to one's requirements. She had many dresses, to be sure, but they were as familiar to her as family portraits, and even among her most blinded admirers they had been known to stir the chords of remembrance. Then, too, they were always getting lost, for Myra Nell had a way of scattering other things than her affections. She had often likened her dresses to an army of Central American troops, for mere ragged abundance in which there lay no real fighting strength.

Having been molded to fit the existing fashions in ladies' clothes, and bred to a careless extravagance, poverty brought the girl many complexities and worries.

To-night, however, she was in a very happy frame of mind as she began dressing, and Bernie, hearing her singing blithely, paused outside her door to inquire the cause.

"Can't you guess, stupid?" she replied.

"Um-m! I didn't know he was coming."

"Well, he is. And, Bernie--have you seen my white satin slippers?"

"How in the world should I see them?"

"It isn't them, it is just him. I've discovered one under the bed, but the other has disappeared, gone, skedaddled. Do rummage around and find it for me, won't you? I think it's down-stairs--"

"My dear child," her brother began in mild exasperation, "how can it be down-stairs--"

The door of Myra Nell's room burst open suddenly, and a very animated face peered around the edge at him.

"Because I left it there, purposely. I kicked it off--it hurt. At least I think I did, although I'm not sure. I kicked it off somewhere."

Miss Warren's words had a way of rushing forth head over heels, in a glad, frolicky manner which was most delightful, although somewhat damaging to grammar. But she was too enthusiastic to waste time on grammar; life forever pressed her too closely to allow repose of thought, of action, or of speech.

"Now, don't get huffy, honey," she ran on. "If you only knew how I've-- Oh, goody! you're going out!"

"I was going out, but of course--"

"Now don't be silly. He isn't coming to see you."

Bernie exclaimed in a shocked voice:

"Myra Nell! You know I never leave you to entertain your callers alone. It isn't proper."

She sighed. "It isn't proper to entertain them on one foot, like a stork, either. Do be a dear, now, and find my slipper. I've worn myself to the bone, I positively have, hunting for it, and I'm in tears."

"Very well," he said. "I'll look, but why don't you take care of your things? The idea--"

She pouted a pair of red lips at him, slammed the door in his face, and began singing joyously once more.

"What dress are you going to wear?" he called to her.

"That white one with all the chiffon missing."

"What has become of the chiffon?" he demanded, sternly.

"I must have stepped on it at the dance. I--in fact, I know I did."

"Of course you saved it?"

"Oh, yes. But I can't find it now. If you could only--"

"No!" he cried, firmly, and dashed down the stairs two steps at a time. From the lower hall he called up to her, "Wear the new one, and be sure to let me see you before he comes."

Bernie sighed as he hung up his hat, for he had looked forward through a dull, disappointing day to an evening with Felicite Delord. She was expecting him--she would be greatly disappointed. He sighed a second time, for he was far from happy. Life seemed to be one long constant worry over money matters and Myra Nell. Being a prim, orderly man, he intensely disliked searching for mislaid articles, but he began a systematic hunt; for, knowing Myra Nell's peculiar irresponsibility, he was prepared to find the missing slipper anywhere between the hammock on the front gallery and the kitchen in the rear. However, a full half-hour's search failed to discover it. He had been under most of the furniture and was both hot and dusty when she came bouncing in upon him. Miss Warren never walked nor glided nor swayed sinuously as languorous Southern society belles are supposed to do; she romped and bounced, and she was chattering amiably at this moment.

"Here I am, Bunny, decked out like an empress. The new dress is a duck and I'm ravishing--perfectly ravishing. Eh? What?"

He wriggled out from beneath the horsehair sofa, rose, and, wiping the perspiration from his brow, pointed with a trembling finger at her feet.

"There! There it is," he said in a terrible tone. "That's it on your foot."

"Oh, yes. I found it right after you came downstairs." She burst out laughing at his disheveled appearance. "I forgot you were looking.

But come, admire me!" She revolved before his eyes, and he smiled delightedly.

In truth, Miss Warren presented a picture to bring admiration into any eye, and although she was entirely lacking in poise and dignity, her constant restless vivacity and the witch-like spirit of laughter that possessed her were quite as engaging. She was a madcap, fly-away creature whose ravishing lace was framed by an unruly mop of dark hair, which no amount of attention could hold in place. Little dancing curls and wisps and ringlets were forever escaping in coquettish fashion:

Bernie regarded her critically from head to foot, absent-mindedly brushing from his own immaculate person the dust which bore witness to his sister's housekeeping. In his eyes this girl was more than a queen, she was a sort of deity, and she could do no wrong. He was by no means an admirable man himself, but he saw in her all the virtues which he lacked, and his simple devotion was touching.

"You didn't comb your hair," he said, severely.

"Oh, I did! I combed it like mad, but the hairpins pop right out," she exclaimed. "Anyway, there weren't enough."

"Well, I found some on the piano," he said, "so I'll fix you."

With deft fingers he secured the stray locks which were escaping, working as skilfully as a hair-dresser.

"Oh, but you're a nuisance," she told him, as she accepted his aid with the fidgety impatience of a restless boy. "They'll pop right out again."