The House Opposite Part 25

The room was almost dark, and, coming from the brilliantly-lighted hall, it was some seconds before I could distinguish from its surroundings the small figure of my hostess, silhouetted against the crimson sky.

Her s.h.i.+mmering black gown and fluffy hair caught and reflected her red background in such a way that for a moment I fancied I saw her surrounded and bespattered with blood. The effect was so uncanny that it quite startled me, but as she moved forward the illusion vanished, and I was soon shaking a soft, warm hand, which was quite rea.s.suring.

"I just hope you don't mind the dark," she exclaimed, leading me to a chair and sinking into one herself, "but somehow the light has hurt my eyes lately, and so I don't turn it on till it is so dark that I tumble all over the furniture. Mr. Atkins says I'm crazy and ought to buy a pair of blue goggles, and so I would, only they're so unbecoming."

"On the contrary," I a.s.sured her, as I let myself cautiously down into one of those uncomfortable gilt abominations known to the trade as a Louis XVI. armchair, "I think this dim light just the thing for a chat; I always become quite confidential if I am caught between daylight and dark. The day reveals too much; it offers no veil for one's blushes. The darkness, on the other hand, having no visible limits, robs one of that sense of seclusion which alone provokes confidences. But the twilight, the tactful twilight, is so discreet that it lures one on to open one's heart. Luckily, no designing person has yet found out how weak I am at this hour, or else I should have no secrets left."

"Oh, go along," she giggled; "I guess you're not the kind to say more than you mean to."

"I a.s.sure you I am--" but here I was interrupted by my host, who called out from the threshold:

"h.e.l.lo, sitting in the dark? This is really too absurd, Lulu."

A flood of light followed these words and revealed young Atkins's stalwart figure, irreproachably clad in evening dress.

"Well, I _am_ glad to see you, Doctor," he cried, as he wrung my hand vigorously. "Dinner's ready, too, and I hope you're ready for it."

The folding doors leading into the next room slid back and disclosed a prettily appointed table, profusely decorated with flowers and silver.

Soon after we had settled into our chairs, I seized a moment when I was un.o.bserved to steal a look at Mrs. Atkins. She was certainly paler and thinner than when I had seen her last, but the change instead of detracting from her looks only added to her charm. Dark violet lines encircled her blue eyes and lent them a wistful, pathetic expression that greatly enhanced their beauty. Otherwise, I thought her less changed than her husband had led me to suspect and I could detect none of that extreme nervousness of which he had spoken; only when she turned towards him did her manner appear at all strained, and even this was so slight as to be hardly noticeable. In fact, of the two, it was he who seemed ill at ease, and I noticed that he kept watching her anxiously. I saw that she was conscious of his constant scrutiny and that at times she became quite restless under his prolonged gaze; then, tossing her head defiantly, as if determined to cast off the spell of his eyes, she would talk and laugh with renewed animation.

The dinner was delicious and well served; my hostess extremely pretty; my host almost overpoweringly cordial, and the conversation agreeable, if not highly intellectual. We had reached the fruit stage, and I was leaning contentedly back in my chair, congratulating myself on my good luck in having happened on such a pleasant evening, when Mrs. Atkins exclaimed:

"I say, Doctor, you haven't told us a thing about your thrilling adventure. What a blessing the madman didn't succeed in killing you. Do tell us all about it."

After her husband's warning me that the bare mention of the tragedy excited her I had naturally taken great pains to avoid all reference to the subject. I was, consequently, a good deal surprised to hear her broach it with such apparent calmness.

I glanced inquiringly at Atkins.

"Yes, do," he urged, still looking at his wife.

"I'm afraid there isn't much more to tell," I hesitatingly replied; "I gave the newspapers a pretty straight account of the whole affair."

"Oh, but you were much too modest," she cried; "a little bird has told us that you are a great detective, and suspected Argot from the first.

Say, how did you manage to hit on him? We want all the details, you know."

It was her flattery, I am afraid, which loosened my tongue and made me forget my former caution.

"Well, it was mostly luck," I a.s.sured her, and then proceeded to give a long account of the whole affair.

"And now," I said, warming to my topic under their evident interest, "I wonder if either of you, when you read over the description of the murdered man, or when you saw him, for the matter of that, noticed anything peculiar about him? I confess that it escaped me and my attention had to be called to it by Mr. Merritt."

"Something peculiar," she repeated. "What kind of a peculiarity do you mean?"

"Well, the lack of an important article of apparel," I replied.

"No; I didn't notice anything out of the way," she answered, after considering the question for some minutes.

I turned towards her husband. He was leaning forward, so deeply absorbed in watching his wife as to be entirely unconscious of my presence, and on his ingenious countenance I was shocked to observe suspicion and love struggling for mastery. Struck by his silence, she, too, looked at him, and as her eyes encountered his I saw a look of fear creep into them, and the faint color fade from her cheeks. When he saw how his behaviour had affected her, he tried to pull himself together, and pa.s.sed his hand swiftly over his face as if anxious to obliterate whatever might be written there.

"Well, what is this missing link?" he asked, with obviously enforced gaiety. He looked squarely at me, and, as he did so, I became convinced that he already knew the answer to that question. For a moment we stared at each other in silence. Were my looks tell-tale, I wondered, and could he see that I had discovered his secret?

"Say," broke in Mrs. Atkins, "don't go to sleep. What was this missing thing?"

I would have given anything not to have had to answer.

"No hat was found with the body," I said. Atkins, I noticed, was again looking fixedly at his wife, who had grown deathly white, and sat staring at him, as if hypnotised. Both had, apparently, forgotten me, but yet I felt deeply embarra.s.sed at being present, and dropped my eyes to my plate so as to give them a chance to regain their composure un.o.bserved.

"Has the hat been found?" I heard her inquire, and her high soprano voice had again that peculiar grating quality I had noticed during her interview with the Coroner.

"Yes," I answered, "it was found in Argot's possession. He actually wore it, and laid it down under my nose. Insanity can go no further."

"But how did you know it was the missing hat?" demanded Atkins, without taking his eyes off his wife.

What could I answer? I was appalled at the dilemma into which my vanity and stupidity had led me.

"I suspected it was the hat which was wanted," I blundered on, "because Mr. Merritt had told me he was looking for an ordinary white straw containing the name of a Chicago hatter. Argot's hat answered to this description, and, as the Frenchman had never been West, I concluded that he had not got it by fair means."

"So the dead man hailed from Chicago, did he?" inquired Atkins.

"The detective thinks so," I answered.

"Have the police discovered his name yet?"

"I--I am not sure!"

"You are discreet, I see."

"Indeed, no," I a.s.sured him. "The last time I saw Mr. Merritt he was still in doubt as to the man's real name."

"He only knew that the initials were A. B.," said Atkins, quickly.

I glanced, rapidly, from the husband to the wife. They sat, facing each other, unflinchingly, like two antagonists of mettle, their faces drawn and set. But the strain proved too much for the woman, and, in another moment, she would have fallen to the floor if I had not managed to catch her. Instead of a.s.sisting me, her husband sat quite still, wiping great beads of perspiration from his forehead.

"Come here," I said, "and help me to carry your wife to the window."

He got up, as if dazed, and came slowly toward me, and, together, we carried her to a lounge in the drawing-room.

"Look here, you told me yourself that all mention of the murder made your wife extremely nervous, and yet you distinctly encouraged us to talk about it this evening. Do you think that right?"

He stared at me with unseeing eyes, and appeared not to understand what I was saying.

"I had to find out the truth," he muttered.

"Look here, man," I cried, shaking him by the arm, "pull yourself together. Don't let your wife see that expression on your face when she comes to. This is not a simple faint; your wife's heart is affected, and if you excite her still further you may kill her."

That roused him, and he now joined to the best of his ability in my endeavors to restore her. She soon opened her eyes, and glanced timidly at her husband. He managed to smile affectionately at her, which seemed to rea.s.sure her.

"How stupid of me to faint!" she exclaimed, "but it was so very hot."