The Paternoster Ruby Part 20

A pitiful smile stirred her lips.

"You have shown me my duty," she said, with gentle firmness; "you can't dissuade me now."

What do words avail at such a time? I loved this splendid girl, and my heart ached for her. I was almost swept from my balance by a sudden mad yearning to take her in my arms and try to comfort her.

Yes, I loved her; there is no use in holding back the confession; else where would be my great personal interest and concern in the death of Felix Page?

Yet I did not protest further; remonstrance would avail me nothing.

Gently as she had spoken, it was driven home to me that she had expressed a determination which no power in heaven or on the earth below could change.

Another long silence followed, during which I as well as she was stirred by the most conflicting emotions. At last, though, I too began to see my way clear. Matters could not be helped any by either of us shirking the least part of a responsibility which had, within the last few minutes, become sweetly mutual. How anxious I was to spare her!

The silence was broken by Genevieve abruptly rising.

"I must really go," she announced, hurriedly. She was the least bit flurried, and there was a wonderful soft light in the handsome eyes that had not been there when she came. As she pa.s.sed me she lightly brushed my shoulder with the gloved tips of one hand.

"I am no longer cast-down," I heard her murmur; "I know you will do--what is right."

I caught the fingers, detaining her.

"Don't go--not yet."

She lingered, expectant and more cheerful.

"I can't let you go like this"--I was steady enough now. She moved again to the chair she had just vacated, and I released the slim, soft fingers.

"There is one thing we haven't considered," I pursued, "and that is Mr.

Alexander Burke. You say Mr. Fluette despises him: if he does, it is not without warrant, I 'd be willing to swear. What that fellow's game is I can't just at this time conceive, but I 'm confident that he 's playing one of some kind--a deep one, too. If he is, the potentialities are endless with such a cunning, unscrupulous rascal.

"I 'm satisfied, moreover, that he has lied to me. According to his statement, no one was in this house last night besides himself, Mr.

Page, and Royal Maillot. Between him and Maillot I give the latter the preference, for, if the stories of both are true on any one point, it is that Burke was up and about before and during the time the murder was committed. Burke is consequently in the best position to know who was or was not in the house.

"Now I have a particular reason for thinking that this is one phase of the matter about which he has lied. Should it be that some one else was here--some one that we know nothing about--why, that would put an entirely different complexion upon the affair."

"Suppose," she propounded evenly, "that it was Uncle Alfred?"

I looked at her earnestly.

"You don't know that he was here," was my sober comment.

"No."

"Well, then, what's the use of borrowing trouble?"

"It's very silly--especially as I have trouble enough as it is."

With an impulsive movement, she thrust one little gloved hand into mine.

"I am still your a.s.sistant," she affirmed, striving hard to be gay, "if you will have me now. Together we will drive the trouble away."

I caught the other hand, and held the two of them together. She permitted the caress for a moment--for caress it was--then drew her hands away.

"Good-bye," she said faintly, without looking up.

But I got my hat and coat and walked down to the gate with her. Of a sudden, after we reached the walk, she moved a pace or two away from me and halted. Her pretty face dimpled in a smile, and there was a gleam of mischief in the blue eyes. One can't be always melancholy.

"I suppose I 'm a big goose," she said, "to have any faith in you; I 'm thinking it's a case of misplaced confidence."

She waved a hand, gathered her skirts closely about her slender figure and tripped away through the snow.

I could not realize any portion of the past when she had not been near and dear to me.

CHAPTER XIV

RIDDLES

I returned to the library and heaped the fireplace with coal. For an hour after Genevieve's departure I was utterly unable to concentrate my mind upon any congeries of fact that might be of the least possible use in unravelling the badly tangled skein presented by Felix Page's death; I could see nothing but the fine blue eyes clouded with trouble, and the sweet face under the shadow of her gnawing anxiety.

I fished up the cipher, flattened it upon the library table, and strove manfully to hold my vagrant attention to the task of interpreting its secret message. My thoughts straightway wandered back to Genevieve again.

Now that I was alone, it was inevitable that I should sum up the results of our conference. I did not blink the truth; the facts were plain, not susceptible of argument.

No matter what the future might have in store for Genevieve and me, whether it was replete with delicious promise, or whether the useless iron gate marked the parting of our ways, her intrusion must ever remain a cherished memory. But it would have been better for her peace of mind not to have sought me out. If she had not, she would have remained ignorant of the circ.u.mstance that she possessed any knowledge hurtful to her uncle; if she had remained away, the accusation that he had come to harm through her could never reproach her in after years.

Her errand had been impelled by a conviction that I would appreciate her more intimate knowledge of her cousin's lover. She knew that she could lay before me no tangible testimony in his behalf, but hoped that I could be made to sympathize with her estimate of his character.

During her first visit to the house, with Belle, she had clearly recognized the seriousness of the young man's predicament, and that I would be governed only by the facts as I read them. Notwithstanding he was somewhat fiery and headstrong, if she could influence me to see that he was honest, sincere and straightforward, she felt hopeful that I would continue my investigation with a strong leaning in his favor.

_Was ever a cipher so empty of all meaning!_ _What addle-pate had conceived it? Why should_ _he want to perpetrate anything so idiotic?_

By her simplicity and singleness of purpose, however, she had innocently drawn my attention to her uncle; then, in a measure, she had verified my awakened suspicions. While Maillot and Felix Page were in the library, engrossed in their own affairs, could Alfred Fluette have been in the house?

Highly improbable as such a contingency might appear, still it was by no means impossible. "Suppose," Genevieve had asked me, "that it was Uncle Alfred?" Never, unless she herself had some reason to doubt and mistrust, would she have propounded that question. Had he been absent from home until an unwontedly late hour last night? Was his manner in the morning of a nature to draw attention to himself, so that, in the light of later developments, it had provoked her suspicions? I had purposely refrained from asking her any questions touching upon this possibility.

In a flash the image of Genevieve Cooper swam out of my thoughts. My whole attention became glued to the cipher. At each end of the two rows of numerals and arrows was a peculiar crenellated design; it had struck me with a sudden sense of familiarity. Where had I ever seen anything similar or identical, that this odd symbol should penetrate into the midst of my absorption and force me unwittingly to try to recall the circ.u.mstance? Quite recently, I was sure--to-day--in this very house. My glance skirted the s.p.a.cious library, darting from one object to another, but encountered nothing at all that in any way resembled it. Here was a subliminal reminder which my perception was dull to read.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Cipher]

Filled with the idea, I thrust the strip of parchment like paper back into my pocketbook, and started eagerly upon another tour of the entire establishment. I paused in one room after another, examined each article in turn, but ended not a whit wiser than when I began.

Yet my belief in the correctness of the veiled mental impulse remained unshaken. The design was a facsimile of some object in this house; something my eyes had rested upon, albeit without the existence at the time of any occasion to fix it upon my mind; but conjure my brain as I would, I could not recall where or when.

When Stodger returned, I determined at last, I would set him at work searching for the odd symbol, or whatever it might be. When I made this resolve I was standing beside the old walnut table at the head of Mr. Page's bed; with a forefinger I idly traced the design in the dust on the artificial leather cover, beside the impress made by the jewel-box.