Detective and mystery stories; English fiction -- 20th century
"It is true that I was able to do your father a service," he replied
slowly. "I did him another to-night." He smiled with a certain
mysticism. "In truth, it was what delayed me. But as for
your--ah--conspiracy, Miss Grayson, believe me, I know little. That
a--a committee exists, with a president----"
"Baggin!" breathed the girl. Her eyes were wide with terror.
"Ah!" His face was immovable, but a gleam in his eyes betrayed him.
She turned upon him sharply. "You did not know?"
He shook his head. "I know nothing--certainly. I wish I did!" he
added simply.
"That is true--you swear it?" She leaned toward him a little, her
bosom heaving tumultuously.
He bowed his head in assent.
"If I could believe you!" she faltered. "I need a friend! Oh, if you
could know how I have been torn by doubts, beset by
fears--oppressions!" Her voice quivered. "It is illegal, you know,
and terrible! If you would help me---- Wait. May I test you with a
question?"
"A thousand if you like."
"And you will answer--truthfully?" In her eagerness she was like a
child.
He smiled. "If I answer at all, be sure it will be truthful."
"Tell me then, is Mr. Baggin your friend?"
"He is my dearest enemy," he returned promptly.
She drew a deep breath of relief. "And my father?" The question was
a whisper. She appeared to hang upon his reply.
The count hesitated. "I do not know," he admitted finally. "If he
were not influenced by Mr. Baggin, I believe he would be my friend."
For the first time that evening Doris looked at him with warmth in
her manner. "By that," she said, smiling faintly, "I know you have
told the truth. My father likes you, but Mr. Baggin sways him
completely." The smile deepened in her eyes and she laughed a little
unsteadily. "You--you will be kind, and forgive my rudeness and--and
my anger?" The coldness had departed from her face completely and
she was charming.
The count looked hard at her. Her glance wavered, fell, and met his
again for a long moment. Her colour heightened, and her breath came
more quickly. A cloud of passion was about them. It brushed them
with invisible wings.
He broke the spell.
"I am happy to have convinced you of my--ah--sincerity," he murmured.
"And you do, in truth, believe me?"
She laughed softly. "Yes."
"And will trust me?"
"Yes."
He bent nearer to her. His face was quite pale and his eyes burned
like living things. "May I put my original question, then--my
personality is not utterly displeasing to you?"
"My dear count," it was Lady Dinsmore's voice again, "it occurs to me
that you are putting several hundred questions besides the one which
I permitted you."
"It is I who am the culprit, auntie," exclaimed Doris gaily. "You
see it was a game--taking down bottles off the shelf! Each one of us
had ten questions which the other must answer truthfully. I finished
mine first, and the count had just begun on his!"
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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