"It does, indeed!" Cardyn responded, thinking she little knew how strange.
"I am so glad—" Dorothy was beginning when she was interrupted by a cry from the house.
"Dorothy! Dorothy! where are you?"
"Here, here!" the girl called back. She smiled again at Cardyn. "At any rate I shall see you again soon. We shall not lose sight of one another now."
Cardyn saw that quite a crowd of young people seemed to take possession of her altogether.
He felt a curious sense of depression as he followed more slowly and made his way back to the little study where Monsieur Melange was still poring over the miniatures.
"Zis—zis, is very fine. I see too a likeness—a resemblance to ze Lady Anne," he said as Cardyn came in.
The younger man realized at once that some one was in Lady Anne's room. He sat down and hastily scribbled a line on a scrap of paper and handed it to Monsieur Melange.
"Find out as soon as possible what is known of the past of a young actress called Daisy Melville, probably playing in Sydney in the summer of last year."
Chapter IV
"This is my new secretary, John—Mr. Bruce Cardyn."
"How-d'ye-do." John Daventry shook hands heartily, as they sat down to the luncheon table.
Bruce Cardyn glanced keenly at the young man who was now taking the place opposite Lady Anne.
There was nothing very remarkable about John Daventry. He was just the ordinary well set-up, well-dressed young Englishman, with a rather unusually attractive expression, perhaps. Certainly no one could have looked less like a murderer, above all a secret poisoner, Bruce Cardyn decided as he studied the fair, regular features, the sunburnt skin telling of an outdoor life as the regular white teeth and bright dark eyes spoke of perfect health.
But Cardyn had been long enough in his chosen profession to know that nothing is more deceptive than the appearance. Some of the worst criminals have been handsome, pleasant-looking people, whose most important asset has been their charming manner. Wherefore he by no means crossed John Daventry off his list of suspects.
Dorothy Fyvert was sitting lower down the table on the same side as Cardyn. But it was noticeable that Daventry did not seem to have any glances to spare for her. Constantly his eyes wandered in the direction of his newly-found cousin, Margaret Balmaine. Miss Balmaine was opposite—all her attention apparently given to the man who sat next her and who had come with Lady Barminster.
Next to Lady Anne on one side was Monsieur Melange. Bruce Cardyn could hear him discussing miniatures with her and old Lady Barminster, Maureen was next to Cardyn himself. Quite evidently he had incurred her severe displeasure. He could see little but one hunched-up shoulder and the bright bobbed hair that was so like her sister's.
For a long time there was a perfect babel of conversation in which it was difficult to distinguish any one voice, but at last one clear young voice rang out above the others:
"Lady Anne, after lunch will you show us your pearls? Lady Barminster was telling us yesterday what magnificent jewels you had, amongst others a wonderful rope of pearls, that your father and mother gave you on your birthdays."
Lady Anne looked rather surprised.
"I do not often show my jewels. I do not often look at them myself," she said, slowly. "My jewel-wearing days are over. My pearls seldom see the light. They were given to me one by one by my parents. They began, I believe, on my very first birthday of all, and afterwards every Christmas and New Year as well as birthdays and other joyful occasions found my chain added to. My husband liked the idea and helped to carry it out. The old diamond and enamel clasp that fastens it was one of his wedding gifts to me. So, as you may imagine, my necklace is a fairly long one. But—"
There arose quite a chorus of exclamations. Everyone seemed to be talking at once, and all united at last in beseeching Lady Anne to show her pearls.
In some moods, the very outcry would have made Lady Anne determined to refuse, but to-day, it may be that the very peril in which she stood had moved her.
"We will go up to my sitting-room after lunch and I will show them to you," she promised.
"But you don't mean to say that you keep them in the house, Lady Anne?" old Lord Barminster remonstrated. "Damned dangerous thing to do. Ours are all at the Bank, and if my lady wants to make herself smart unexpectedly she has to put up with paste!" He ended with a chuckle that broke into a burst of coughing.
Lady Anne smiled serenely, but the curl of her upper lip betrayed the fact that the Barminster jewels had never been high in her estimation.
Bruce Cardyn alone sat silent. The mention of the pearls gave him new ground for thought. It did not seem that their presence in the house could have anything to do with the mystery he was there to investigate. They would certainly provide a motive for robbery or burglary, but secret poisoning was in a different category altogether. Yet, for all this conviction of his, he had a certain presentiment that the clue to the maze in which he was wandering had been placed in his hands, though at present he did not see how to make use of it. His eyes strayed to Monsieur Melange's mildly bored face; only miniatures appeared to interest that gentleman, and he was obviously waiting his opportunity to turn again to Lady Anne with his mild prattle of Coros and Lavellettos.
Cardyn himself was thinking over the problem of the jewels when an hour later he realized, from the merry chatter in Lady Anne's room, that her guests were keeping her to her word. Monsieur Melange had departed pleading another engagement immediately after lunch. Lord and Lady Barminster with certain of their guests had gone on their way wishing to make the most of the daylight, so that only John Daventry and a couple of girls the Barminsters had brought with them remained.
Cardyn had purposely left the communicating door ajar and presently he heard Lady Anne call out:
"You there, Mr. Cardyn? I am going to turn all these noisy young people in to you while get my pearls out. I don't care that the secret that guards them should be known to every one. People may be all right by themselves, but their associates may be burglars or the Lord knows who!"
"My dear Aunt Anne, what a lurid imagination you have, or have you been taking a course of detective novels?" John Daventry laughed as he held the door open for the girls.
They all came across to the table where Cardyn had been working and began to admire the miniatures.
John Daventry did not pretend to be much interested.
"We have drawers full of them at the Keep," he said. "But I would almost as soon have a lot of old photographs. If you don't know the people, what good are they?"
"What a Goth you are, John!" Dorothy laughed as she bent over the tray. "It must be most absorbing work, Mr. Cardyn."
"It is rather," Bruce assented, his brows contracting as he noticed how John Daventry's eyes followed every movement of Margaret Balmaine, and how his voice softened as he spoke to her. Was Dorothy Fyvert to be slighted for this girl? And yet—Cardyn himself had hardly realized until he met her again how the memory of Dorothy Fyvert had haunted his dreams since that night, two years ago, when he brought her out of the burning house in his arms—how often he had recalled her sweet brown eyes, with their long up-curling lashes, her pretty hair, bobbed then, now attempting to grow again and curling at its own sweet will all over her small head.
But of what use was it for a poor detective to dream of Lady Anne Daventry's niece? He gave himself a shake, called himself a blockhead, and, disregarding John Daventry's black looks, went over to Miss Balmaine who was standing by the window looking into the garden. She welcomed him with a bright smile. A man is always a man to a woman of Margaret Balmaine's type.
Bruce