The Second Latchkey Part 18

"_That's_ why people were so impressed with the rest of the visions.

We're all inclined to be superst.i.tious. Even I was interested. Though I don't pin my faith in such things, I asked her to look into the crystal, and see if she could tell what had become of my gold repeater, which disappeared the same night."

"Oh!" exclaimed Annesley. "So _you_ had something stolen?"

"It looked like it. Anyhow, the watch went. And the Countess lost a ring during the trip--a valuable one, I believe. She couldn't 'see' anything for herself, but she got a glimpse of my repeater in the pocket of a red waistcoat. n.o.body on board confessed to a red waistcoat. And in the searching of pa.s.sengers' luggage--which I should have proposed myself if I hadn't been among the robbed--nothing of the sort materialized.

"However, that proved nothing. Jedfield's pearls and other trinkets must have been somewhere on board, in someone's possession, if the yacht vision wasn't true. Yet the strictest search gave no sign of them. It was a miracle how they were disposed of, unless they _were_ thrown overboard and picked up by someone in the plot, as the Countess said."

"Is that why you hate to think of the trip--because you lost your watch?"

Annesley asked.

"Yes. Just that. It wasn't so much the loss of the watch--though it was a present and I valued it--as because it made me feel such a fool. I left the repeater under my pillow when I got up in the middle of the night to go on deck, thinking I heard a cry. I couldn't have heard one, for n.o.body was there. And next morning, when I wanted to look at the time, my watch was equally invisible. Then there was the business of the pa.s.sengers being searched, and the everlasting talk about the whole business. One got sick and tired of it. I got tired of the Countess and her crystal, too: but the effect is pa.s.sing away now. I expect I can stand her if you can."

Annesley said that she would be interested. She refrained from adding that she did not intend to make use of the seeress's gift for her own benefit.

The Countess de Santiago wired her acceptance of the invitation, and appeared at the Knowle Hotel on Sat.u.r.day with a maid and a good deal of luggage. Annesley had secretly feared that the effect of the beautiful lady on the guests of the hotel would be overpowering, and had pictured her, brilliantly coloured and exquisitely dressed, breaking like a sunburst upon the dining room at luncheon time.

But she had underrated the Countess's cleverness and sense of propriety.

The lady arrived in a neat, tailor-made travelling dress of russet-brown tweed which, with a plain toque of brown velvet and fur, cooled the ruddy flame of her hair. It seemed to Annesley also that her lips were less red than before; and though she was as remarkable as ever for her beauty, she was not to be remarked for meretriciousness.

She was pleasanter in manner, too, as well as in appearance; and Annesley's heart--which had difficulty in hardening itself for long--was touched by the Countess's thanks for the invitation.

"You are so happy and wrapped up in each other, I didn't expect you to give a thought to me," the beautiful woman said. "You don't know what it means to be asked down here, after so many lonely days in town, and to find that you and Don are going to give me some new friends."

This note, which Knight also had struck in explaining the Countess's "heart's desire," was the right note to enlist Annesley's sympathy. One might have thought that both had guessed this.

Annesley and Knight gave their dinner party in a private room adjoining their own sitting room, and connecting also with another smaller room which they had had fitted up for a special purpose. This purpose was to enshrine the seeress and her crystal.

As Knight had said, she seemed to take her clairvoyant power seriously, and insisted that she could do herself justice only in a room arranged in a certain way. In the afternoon she directed that the furniture should be removed with the exception of one small table and two chairs. Even the pictures had to be taken down, and under the Countess's supervision purple velvet draperies had to be put up, covering the walls and window.

These draperies she had brought with her, and they had curtain rings sewn on at the upper edge, which could be attached to picture hooks or nails.

From the same trunk came also a white silk table-cover embroidered in gold with figures representing the signs of the zodiac. There were in addition three purple velvet cushions: two for the chairs and one--the Countess explained--for the table, to "make an arm rest." By her further desire a large number of hot-house lilies in pots were sent for, and ranged on the floor round the walls.

As for the Turkish carpet of ba.n.a.l reds, blues, and greens, it had to be concealed under rugs of black fur which, luckily, the hotel possessed in plenty. It was all very mysterious and exciting, and Annesley could imagine the effective background these contrivances would give the shining figure of the Countess.

When, later on, she saw her guest dressed for dinner, the girl realized even more vividly the genius of the artist who had planned the picture.

For the Countess de Santiago wore a clinging gown made in Greek fashion, of a supple white material shot with interwoven silver threads. She wore her copper-red hair in a cla.s.sic knot with a wreath of emerald laurel leaves.

She would gleam like a moonlit statue in her lily-perfumed, purple shrine, Annesley thought, and was not surprised that the lady should achieve an instant success with the county folk who had begged for an invitation to meet her.

The Countess de Santiago did not seem to mind answering questions about her powers, which everyone asked across the dinner-table. She said that since her seventh birthday she had been able, under certain circ.u.mstances, to see hidden things in people's lives, and future events.

Her first experience, as a child, was being shut up in a darkened room, and looking into a mirror, where figures and scenes appeared, like waking dreams. She had been frightened, and screamed to be let out. Her mother had taken pity and released her, saying that after all it was what "might be expected from the seventh child of a seventh child, born on All Saints' Eve."

The Nelson Smiths' guests listened breathlessly to every word, and were enchanted when she promised to give each man and woman a short "sitting"

with her crystal after dinner.

Nothing was said about the purple room, so that the surprise could not help being impressive.

It was a delightful dinner, well thought out between the host and head-waiter, but no one wished to linger over it. Never had "bridge fiends" been so eager to "get to work" as these people were to take their turn with the Countess and her crystal. At Lady Annesley-Seton's suggestion they drew lots for these turns, and Constance herself drew the first chance. She and the gleaming figure of the Countess went out together, and ten or twelve minutes later she returned alone.

Everyone stared eagerly to see if she looked excited, and it took no stretch of imagination to find her face flushed and her eyes dilated.

"Well? Has she told you anything wonderful?" A clamour of voices joined in the question.

"Yes, she has," replied Constance. "She's simply _uncanny_! She could pick up a fortune in London in one season, if she were a professional.

She has told me in what sort of place the heirlooms are now, but that we shall never see them again."

So saying, Lady Annesley-Seton plumped down on a sofa beside her hostess, as the next person hurried off to plunge into the mysteries. "I feel quite weak in the knees," Constance whispered to Annesley. "Has she told you anything?"

"No," said the girl "I don't--want to know things."

She might have added: "Things told by _her_." But she did not say this.

Constance shivered. "The woman frightened me with what she _knew_. I mean, not about our robbery--that's a trifle--but about the past. That crystal of hers seems to be--a sort of _Town Topics_. But I must say she didn't foretell any horrors for the future--not for me personally. If she goes on as she's begun she can do what she likes with us all. Dear little Anne, you must ask her often to your house when you're 'finding your feet'--and I'm helping you--in London. I prophesy that she'll prove an attraction. Why, it would pay to have a room fitted up for her in purple and black, with relays of fresh lilies."

Annesley smiled. But she made up her mind that, if a room _were_ done in purple and black with relays of lilies anywhere for the Countess de Santiago, it would not be in her house. Unless, of course, Knight begged it of her as a favour.

And even then--but somehow she didn't believe, despite certain appearances, that Knight was anxious to have his old friend near him. He had the air of one who was paying a debt; and she remembered how he had said, on the day of their wedding: "We will find a time to pay back the favours they've done us."

This visit and dinner and introduction to society was perhaps his way of paying the Countess. Only--was it payment in full, or an instalment?

Annesley wondered.

Vaguely she wondered also what had become of Dr. Torrance and the Marchese di Morello. Would the next payment be for them, and what form would it take?

She was far from guessing.

There was no anti-climax that night in the success of the Countess with her "clients." They were deeply impressed, and even startled. Not one woman said to herself that she had been tricked into giving the seeress a "lead." There was nothing in the past hidden from that crystal and the dark eyes which gazed into it! As for the future, her predictions were remarkable; and she must have given people flattering accounts of their characters, as everyone thought the a.n.a.lysis correct.

What a pity, the women whispered, that such an astonishing person was not a professional, who could be paid in cash! As it was, she would expect to be rewarded with invitations: and though she was presentable, "You _know_, my dear, she's frightfully pretty, the red-haired sort, that's the most dangerous--not a bit safe to have about one's _men_. Still--no price is too high. We shall all be fighting for her--or over her."

And before the evening had come to an end the Countess de Santiago had had several invitations for town and country houses. To be sure, they were rather informal. But the beautiful lady knew when to be lenient, and so she accepted them all.

"She told me that our stolen things are hidden away for ever, and that we'll be robbed again," Connie said to her husband on the way back to Valley House.

"She told me the same," said d.i.c.k. "And I hope to goodness we may be.

We've done jolly well out of that last affair!"

"Yes," his wife agreed. "The only thing I don't like about it is the _mystery_. It makes me feel as if something might be hanging over one's head."

"Over the trustees' heads!" laughed Lord Annesley-Seton. "I wish the other night could be what the Countess called the 'first of a series.'"

"The first of a series!" Constance repeated. "What a queer expression!

What was she talking about?"

"She was--looking in her crystal," answered d.i.c.k, slowly, as if something he had seen rose again before his eyes.