Detective and mystery stories; Jewelry theft -- Fiction
“I will get you one,” she whispered. “But don’t speak to him, don’t tell
him without giving me some warning. I will not be far from you. I think
I will have strength for this final hour.”
“God grant that your sacrifice may bear fruit,” I said, and left her.
To enter, on such an errand as mine, a brilliantly illuminated house
odoriferous with flowers and palpitating with life and music, would
be hard for any man. It was hard for me. But in the excitement of the
occasion, aggravated as it was by a presage of danger not only to myself
but to the woman I had come so near loving, I experienced a calmness,
such as is felt in the presence of all mortal conflicts. I made sure
that this was reflected in my face before leaving the dressing-room, and
satisfied that I would not draw the attention of others by too much or
too little color, I descended to the drawing-room and into the presence
of my admired host.
I had expected to confront a handsome man, but not of the exact type
that he presented. There was a melancholy in his expression I had not
foreseen, mingled with an attraction from which I could not escape after
my first hurried glimpse of his features across the wide room. No other
man in the room had it to so great a degree, nor was there any other
who made so determined an effort to throw off care and be simply the
agreeable companion. Could it be that any other warning had forestalled
mine, or was this his habitual manner and expression? Finding no
answer to this question, I limited myself to the duty of the hour, and
advancing as rapidly as possible through the ever-increasing throng,
waited for the chance to speak to him for one minute alone. Meantime, I
satisfied myself that the two detectives sent from police headquarters
were on hand. I recognized them among a group of people at the door.
Whether intentionally or not, Mr. S ------ had taken up his stand before
the conservatory, and as in my endeavors to reach him I approached
within sight of this place, I perceived the face of Miss Calhoun shining
from amid its greenery, and at once remembered the promise I had
made her. She was looking for me, and, meeting my eyes, made me an
imperceptible gesture, to which I felt bound to respond.
Slipping from the group with which I was advancing, I stole around to
a side door towards which she had pointed, and in another moment found
myself at her side. She was clothed in velvet, which gave to her cheek
and brow the colorlessness of marble.
“He is not as ignorant of his position as we thought,” said she. “I have
been watching him for an hour. He is in anticipation of something. This
will make our task easier.”
“You have said nothing,” I suggested.
“No, no; how could I?”
“Perhaps the detectives I saw there have told him.”
“Perhaps; but they cannot know the whole.”
“No, or our words would be unnecessary.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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