The Red Symbol Part 8

"Then you'll have to postpone your journey," he said dryly. "For you're bound to attend the inquest; you'll be the most important witness. May I ask where you were going?"

I told him, and he nodded.

"So you're one of Lord Southbourne's young men? Thought I knew your face, but couldn't quite place you," he responded. "Hope you won't meet with the same fate as your predecessor. A sad affair, that; we got the news on Friday. Sounds like much the same sort of thing as this"--he jerked his head towards the ceiling--"except that Mr. Carson was an Englishman, who never ought to have mixed himself up with a lot like that."

Again came that expressive jerk of the head, and his small bright eyes regarded me more shrewdly and observantly than ever.

"Let me give you a word of warning, Mr. Wynn; don't you follow his example. Remember Russia's not England--"

"I know. I've been there before. Besides, my chief warned me last night."

"Lord Southbourne? Just so; he knows a thing or two. Well, now about Ca.s.savetti--"

I was glad enough to get back to the point; it was he and not I who had strayed from it, for I was anxious to get rid of him.

I gave him just the information I had decided upon, and flattered myself that I did it with a candor that precluded even him from suspecting that I was keeping anything back. To my immense relief he refrained from any questioning, and at the end of my recital put up his pocket-book, and rose, holding out his hand.

"Well, you've given me very valuable a.s.sistance, Mr. Wynn. Queer old card, that Russian. We shouldn't have much difficulty in tracing him, though you never can tell with these aliens. They've as many bolt holes as a rat. You say he's the only suspicious looking visitor you've ever seen here?"

"The only one of any kind I've encountered who wanted Ca.s.savetti. After all, I knew very little of him, and though we were such near neighbors, I saw him far more often about town than here."

"You never by any chance saw a lady going up to his rooms, or on the staircase as if she might be going up there? A red-haired woman,--or fair-haired, anyhow--well-dressed?"

"Never!" I said emphatically, and with truth. "Why do you ask?"

"Because there was a red-haired woman in his flat last night. That's all. Good day, Mr. Wynn."

CHAPTER VIII

A TIMELY WARNING

It was rather late that evening when I returned to the Cayleys; for I had to go to the office, and write my report of the murder. It would be a scoop for the "Courier;" for, though the other papers might get hold of the bare facts, the details of the thrilling story I constructed were naturally exclusive. I made it pretty lurid, and put in all I had told Freeman, and that I intended to repeat at the inquest.

The news editor was exultant. He regarded a Sunday murder as nothing short of a G.o.dsend to enliven the almost inevitable dulness of the Monday morning's issue at this time of year.

"Lucky you weren't out of town, Wynn, or we should have missed this, and had to run in with the rest," he remarked with a chuckle.

Lucky!

"Wish I had been out of town," I said gloomily. "It's a ghastly affair."

"Get out! Ghastly!" he e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed with scorn. "Nothing's ghastly to a journalist, so long as it's good copy! You ought to have forgotten you ever possessed any nerves, long ago. Must say you look a bit off color, though. Have a drink?"

I declined with thanks. His idea of a drink in office hours, was, as I knew, some vile whiskey fetched from the nearest "pub," diluted with warm, flat soda, and innocent of ice. I'd wait till I got to Chelsea, where I was bound to happen on something drinkable. As a good American, Mary scored off the ordinary British housewife, who preserves a fixed idea that ice is a sinful luxury, even during a spell of sultry summer weather in London.

I drove from the office to Chelsea, and found Mary and Jim, with two or three others, sitting in the garden. The house was one of the few old-fashioned ones left in that suburb, redolent of many memories and a.s.sociations of witty and famous folk, from Nell Gwynn to Thomas Carlyle; and Mary was quite proud of her garden, though it consisted merely of a small lawn and some fine old trees that shut off the neighboring houses.

"At last! You very bad boy. We expected you to tea," said Mary, as I came down the steps of the little piazza outside the drawing-room windows. "You don't mean to tell me you've been packing all this time?

Why, goodness, Maurice; you look worse than you did this morning! You haven't been committing a murder, have you?"

"No, but I've been discovering one," I said lamely, as I dropped into a wicker chair.

"A murder! How thrilling. Do tell us all about it," cried a pretty, kittenish little woman whose name I did not know. Strange how some women have an absolutely ghoulish taste for horrors!

"Give him a chance, Mrs. Vereker," interposed Jim hastily, with his accustomed good nature. "He hasn't had a drink yet. Moselle cup, Maurice, or a long peg?"

He brought me a tall tumbler of whiskey and soda, with ice clinking deliciously in it; and I drank it and felt better.

"That's good," I remarked. "I haven't had anything since I breakfasted with you,--forgot all about it till now. You see I happened to find the poor chap--Ca.s.savetti--when I ran up to say good-bye to him."

"Ca.s.savetti!" cried Jim and Mary simultaneously, and Mary added: "Why, that was the man who sat next us--next Anne--at dinner last night, wasn't it? The man the old Russian you told us about came to see?"

I nodded.

"The police are after him now; though the old chap seemed harmless enough, and didn't look as if he'd the physical strength to murder any one," I said, and related my story to a running accompaniment of exclamations from the feminine portion of my audience, especially Mrs.

Vereker, who evinced an unholy desire to hear all the most gruesome details.

Jim sat smoking and listening almost in silence, his jolly face unusually grave.

"This stops your journey, of course, Maurice?" he said at length; and I thought he looked at me curiously. Certainly as I met his eyes he avoided my gaze as if in embarra.s.sment; and I felt hot and cold by turns, wondering if he had divined the suspicion that was torturing me--suspicion that was all but certainty--that Anne Pendennis was intimately involved in the grim affair. He had always distrusted her.

"For a day or two only. Even if the inquest is adjourned, I don't suppose I'll have to stop for the further hearing," I answered, affecting an indifference I was very far from feeling.

"Then you won't be seeing Anne as soon as you antic.i.p.ated," Mary remarked. "I must write to her to-morrow. She'll be so shocked."

"Did Miss Pendennis know this Mr. Ca.s.savetti?" inquired Mrs. Vereker.

"We met him at the dinner last night for the first time. Jim and Maurice knew him before, of course. He seemed a very fascinating sort of man."

"Where is Miss Pendennis, by the way?" pursued the insatiable little questioner. "I was just going to ask for her when Mr. Wynn turned up with his news."

"Didn't I tell you? She left for Berlin this morning; her father's ill.

She had to rush to get away."

"To rush! I should think so," exclaimed Mrs. Vereker. "Why, she was at Mrs. Dennis Sutherland's last night; though I only caught a glimpse of her. She left so early; I suppose that was why--"

I stumbled to my feet, feeling sick and dizzy, and upset the little table with my gla.s.s that Jim had placed at my elbow.

"Sorry, Mary, I'm always a clumsy beggar," I said, forcing a laugh.

"I'll ask you to excuse me. I must get back to the office. I've to see Lord Southbourne when he returns. He's been out motoring all day."

"Oh, but you'll come back here and sleep," Mary protested. "You can't go back to that horrible flat--"

"Nonsense!" I said almost roughly. "There's nothing wrong with the flat.

Do you suppose I'm a child or a woman?"