Joan Smith Read online

  I snatched up the keys and returned to the black box. The smallest key opened it. The others were quite obviously door keys. I ought not to have been surprised at the box’s contents, for I had a good notion what would be there. There was the stack of bills, and of no small denomination either. There was the diamond ring and the ruby necklace, a replica of the Huit Rubis my aunt possessed. Or was this the original? I examined it closely. It felt heavier than my aunt’s. Though I was no expert, I felt quite sure I held the original, and my aunt’s was a somewhat inferior imitation. This one looked richer, the stones more deeply colored, the workmanship finer. He had already made the switch, then. The man was a thief, and possibly a blackmailer to boot. What else could account for the extraordinary appearance of the items mentioned?

  There were other extravagant bibelots as well. Not the tiara, and not all of my aunt’s pieces by any means, but enough to indicate what was going on. He had got paste copies of the heirlooms made, substituted them for the originals, and was in all probability selling them off to someone, and piling up the money in this box. Was he doing this for St. Regis, or at least with the man’s approval? It was difficult to believe so. He was more likely a conning, cunning criminal who imposed on his cousin’s gullibility to find a soft berth, while awaiting marriage to an heiress. By checking the denomination of the bills I tried to calculate the amount of money he had amassed. As I thumbed quickly through them, I noticed a tiny green mark had been made on the top left corner of each. Marked bills.

  This was a curious enough detail that I sat pondering it for a moment. Had he marked them? Or—beautiful thought!—was some higher authority already suspicious of him, and paying him in marked currency in order to entrap him?

  His keen interest in the secret passage took on a new meaning now. How much easier his job would be with that piece of information I had handed him on a platter! Or was the job done? Why would he not make all the substitutions at one time? It was possible some jeweler was making up one piece at a time for him, but my own way of proceeding in such a case would be to wait till I had all of them, then make one comprehensive substitution. Once this was done, I would depart rather quickly too, and not stay around pretending to be writing a treatise.

  It was a very curious affair indeed. No sensible explanation came to me. I must tell Loo about this and let her decide what action was to be taken. In the back of my mind lurked the suspicion that the odious St. Regis was mixed up in it somewhere. He took a keen interest in the estate that was not yet his. Dr. Hill too might have a sensible suggestion to offer. I would convince my aunt to seek his advice.

  I locked the box back up, stuffed it under the bed, but was not wise enough to let well enough alone. When I took the keys back to his room, I decided to do a spot more of spying, hoping for some written proof of the jewelry transactions, a name, a draft design of some of my aunt’s pieces, something that could be followed up.

  What I found, stuffed on to the floor of Sinclair’s clothespress, was the ghost of Uncle Edward. A very thin piece of white calico was what he had used. It looked like a very well worn bed sheet. It was white, the flesh tint lent to it by the play of light from behind. It was rigged with strings on four corners, while the face and body were sketched on with black ink. That’s all. Danced across a dark room in some manner on the strings, and with a light carefully played behind it, it gave a lifelike, or ghostlike enough appearance to deceive the gullible. Sinclair must have taken a sketch from Uncle Edward’s portrait in the gallery, redrawn it carefully on to the calico, and ... And what?

  How had he manipulated it, while sitting at the table, with his two hands spread out on top? There were more of them in on it, then. The Franconis of course, that went without saying. The great friendship between Madame and Welland was clear now. The husband must be the other party. I could not be certain, but did not think he had been in the kitchen the night before, when I had made my wild dash from window to saloon. It was said he went there, but really I could not remember seeing him. He was in that feather room all the time. I cannot imagine how he concealed himself. Maybe he had a grouse suit, but he was most certainly there, dancing this sheet of calico across the room on strings. What a take-in! My poor aunt being fooled by these unscrupulous scoundrels. It was surprising indeed that Sinclair would bother with them, when he had such a profitable rig running on the side in stealing jewelry.

  Thinking I had still a quarter of an hour before the séance would be over, and highly curious to prove that it was Uncle Edward’s ghost I held in my hands, I tried tying the strings to the posts of Sinclair’s bed and the other to his dresser handle, then placing my candles behind it to view the results. At this close range, the effect was not so good as it seemed the night before. The light did not penetrate so well, the drawing of the features too was blacker than I remembered, but my dim view through a dust-laden window might account for the difference.

  It was while I stood observing the calico sheet that I got caught by my host. He came sneaking up the stairs on silent toes and was at the doorway before I realized he approached. I hadn’t time to do a thing but stand and look guilty as sin, and wait for his vengeance. He was not wearing his glasses, which surprised me, till I saw them dangling from his fingers. “Clever stunt, don’t you think?” he asked, in a pleasant, conversational tone, as he observed the ghost-calico.

  “Clever enough to fool a gullible old lady. One can only wonder you would have bothered ...” I stopped dead. There was no point in revealing that I knew his other, more heinous secret. The keys were safely back on his dresser, the box put away under the bed. All was not lost.

  “I was curious to discover how it was done. That’s all. You were not present when Edward materialized, but to me it seemed this was how it was managed. His likeness sketched on some thin, nearly transparent material. It was not calico they used, I think, but chiffon.”

  “They?”

  “The Franconis. The Phonies would be more accurate. They are obviously a pair of con artists, who make their livelihood preying on lonesome and credulous people like Lady Sinclair.”

  This about-face in his whole attitude toward the couple threw me for a loss. If it was a way of wiggling out of my discovery, it was a good one. “You have nothing but praise for them! What of your mother’s locket? How about Anastasia?”

  “They are not likely to welcome me to the sittings if I profess to doubt their talents, are they? You notice how quickly your aura was found to interfere when you began making sane comments? I have played the role of an enthusiast to win their confidence, to try to learn more about how they operate. Madame’s asking me a couple of times if I had a picture of my mama confirmed my feeling the ghosts were done up from portraits. As to the locket, Madame made some vague reference to an apple tree when I was trying to contact Mama, and I invented the bit about finding the locket. I had it with me all the time, for it holds Mary’s miniature. It was a parting gift from her. Anastasia is Madame’s invention, like Ahmad.”

  “How did you get away from the sitting so soon?” was my next question.

  “Well, you know, it’s a strange thing, Valerie,” he said, lounging against the dresser, crossing his arms, and assuming an amused face, “it just struck me as a little peculiar, your sudden interest in looking over this house. There is nothing of the least interest in it—real interest, I mean. A simple question to Loo told me she had not mentioned any secret passage existing here to you. You wanted an excuse to snoop. Once I realized that, I fell smack into a trance, and the séance broke up. I am at this moment lying down to recuperate my strength before joining the others below. Very fatiguing, these trances. Of more interest to me is to discover what you were looking for.”

  “This,” I answered boldly, pointing to the sheet. “I did see Uncle Edward the other night, through the window. I was outside, perched on a ladder. When you were so eager to move the sitting down here, I began to wonder whether you were not working with the Franconis. I was looking for evidence; I am
not sure I haven’t found it.”

  He nodded his head, considering this explanation. “Flimsy evidence on which to suspect me, but I suppose it could have happened that way. Wait here. I’ll be right back.” With this arrogant command, he turned and left the room. I was about to follow him out, when the door closed in my face, and the key turned in the lock. Glancing to his dresser, I noticed he had picked up the ring of keys without my having noticed it. I knew instinctively where he was going. He was going to see if his black box had been disturbed. Surely I had left no telltale sign! He could not know.

  He knew. When he returned about forty-five seconds later—he must have run all the way—he knew I had been into his box. “Nice try, Valerie. You think fast, and under stress too. That is unusual in a lady. They usually fly to pieces at the first sign of pressure. So, what is to be done about it?” he asked, rubbing his hands together with the greatest relish, while he stared at me, a bold smile decorating his lips.

  “What is to be done, Mr. Sinclair, or Mr. Whoever you are, is that I am going to report you to a constable as a jewel thief, and you are not going to do a thing to stop me. Within hollering distance are my aunt, Dr. Hill, who is bound to recognize a bullet wound or marks of strangulation on my neck and wonder how they got there, the Franconis, and Pierre. If you are half as cunning a rogue as I take you for, you will jump out the window this instant, hop on your colicky horse, and get out of here, before you are clamped into irons. You had best leave my aunt’s jewelry and the money obtained from the sale of same behind, or it will be necessary to give chase.”

  He unfolded his arms, which had been crossed against his chest during my speech, clapped his hands lightly and bowed. “An excellent rant. So that is what your muddled efforts at thinking have led you to conclude. I was premature to compliment you on your unladylike powers of thought. If a constable is called in, it is dear little old Aunt Loo who will be in shackles, where she belongs.”

  “What is that supposed to mean?” I demanded, becoming frightened at his threat, for he seemed very sure of himself.

  “This will take a deal of explaining. I can’t recuperate from my trance forever. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

  “No, Mr. Sinclair, we will talk tonight. I don’t trust you as far as I could throw a cathedral. You’re not going to disappear while we all sleep, with the jewelry and money stuffed into your carriage. I am not that big a fool.”

  “What a suspicious little mind the lady has! One might be forgiven for wondering who is a rogue in the affair. I know you have a vested interest in your aunt’s fortune, but you won’t get your grasping hands on that pile.”

  “Fine talking, sir. You can try to redistribute blame as much as you like, the facts are, you have got money and jewelry that don’t belong to you. That will take some fancy explaining to a constable, and I am not at all sure St. Regis would approve of your getting caught either, whatever about his views on the theft.”

  “I begin to think hauling in the law is not a bad idea. Shall we go arm-in-arm to an officer, watching and abusing each other all the way?”

  “I don’t intend to leave this room till I have an explanation.”

  “You are more than welcome to remain the night, dear Amazon. In that case, we must have our wine and food brought up, and served here on my bed. There is Lady Sinclair calling you now.”

  Her voice came wafting up the stairway. My decision had to be taken in a split second. “We’ll talk tonight.”

  “I’ll drive you home.”

  “No, it will look too odd, and Pierre would be sure to tag along. I’ll sneak back after Auntie goes to bed. No—I won’t though,” I added, as the various and totally obvious ineligibilities to that scheme rolled over me.

  “I’ll go up to Troy Fenners. Let me in at the library door about an hour after you get home, after the others are in bed.”

  “How do I know you’ll come? You could run away in the meanwhile.”

  With a worried, startled look, he handed me his key ring. I was so hurried and alarmed at my aunt’s approaching steps that I took that as a safeguard, a sort of hostage. Of course I realized even before the three of us reached the bottom of the stairs that it was no safeguard at all. He could hammer the box open with a rock or hammer or anything.

  The others were already having their sherries, and some cold meat and bread were awaiting us on a table, with a quite delicious-looking cake about a foot high. It was a pale yellow cake, flavored with lemon, which tasted as good as it looked.

  My recollections of that party are not at all clear. I expect Pierre acted as badly as usual. I have a memory of Madame sighing and expressing fatigue, and of Dr. Hill lifting his eyebrows as I came downstairs, finding my having been above with Welland a strange business. I know the party lasted much too long. No one was in a hurry to get away that night except me. My only desire to get away was that I wished to run back very fast to the gatehouse to make sure Welland did not bolt with the box. How should I stop him if he did? Nancy—I’d ride Nancy down, and I could at least give chase.

  At one point during the remainder of the evening, Welland found an opportunity for a private word with me. “You think it safe to meet at Troy Fenners? Would it not be wiser to meet outdoors, well away from Peter?”

  “I would prefer to meet you in the safety of my aunt’s home, thank you.”

  “It’s up to you. I can strangle or shoot as well indoors as out.”

  “I shall bring a gun.”

  “Do you carry one?” he asked, with a surprised laugh.

  Actually I did not possess such a thing, nor did I recall having seen one about my aunt’s house. “No, I see you don’t,” he went on. “Never mind. I’ll bring one. For you, I mean.”

  I could hardly believe it when he actually slipped a little pistol into my reticule five minutes later, after making an excuse to leave the room. “It’s loaded,” he cautioned. “Handle with care.”

  I was nervous as a kitten with the thing in my reticule.

  Chapter Twelve

  I went up to my room the instant we got home and slipped out again as soon as my aunt’s door closed, to dart to the stables for Nancy. Pinny did not know what to make of it. “Your night dress is all ready, miss,” she pointed out.

  “Keep it warm for me. I shall be back soon.”

  “But miss, where are you going at such an hour?”

  “Out.”

  My trip to the gatehouse on Nancy, while still in my second best bronze crepe, created some extra work for Pinny. How happy she would be. She loved washing and airing my gowns. It was well soiled from the ride. The scent of horse is not an easy one to dispel. The ride was all in vain too. About forty-five minutes after the party broke up, Welland came out of the house and walked up to Troy Fenners on foot. It was necessary for him to wait a few minutes at the library door while I stabled Nancy and entered the house by the kitchen door.

  “What the devil kept you?” he asked impatiently. “I’ve been waiting an age.”

  “I had to make sure Auntie was settled in for the night.”

  The library was in total darkness. There was a diffused lightening of the darkness at the window, where a scrap of moon struggled to get out from under a cloud. Mr. Sinclair wore his green glasses, if you can imagine the absurdity.”! had better light a taper,” I decided.

  “Why?”

  “Why not?” I countered.

  After this brilliant exchange, I lit the taper, just one, to allow me an inkling of what my guest’s expression was as he prepared to fabricate his Banbury tale.

  “I see what it is. You want to be able to shoot me, and fear to miss your target in the dark. Where is the gun?”

  “In my pocket, Mr. Sinclair,” I lied, for I had forgotten the thing in my reticule. “Pray be seated. Have you had time to arrange your story? I am on thorns to hear it.”

  “I believe I have the details all worked out. I have had a month in which to do it. It goes as follows: Lady Sinclair, as you know, enjoys the u
se of a large income while she lives, along with Troy Fenners and the Sinclair heirlooms. Being a foolishly generous lady, she has always managed to spend every cent of the income. It is in her sole discretion, however, and St. Regis had nothing to say against it. When she began trying to mortgage the estate, he became worried, for he is the one who would eventually have to settle the mortgages, for Troy Fenners is entailed on him. He quite sensibly refused to approve the mortgages. He was in a position to do so, since he is the trustee of the estate. Your aunt’s next clever ploy was to sell family heirlooms—jewelry—which is also entailed on St. Regis. Reputable agents would not touch the stuff with a pair of tongs. They know their business, know what pieces of national importance are entailed, and which are free to be sold. When Hamlet, in London, was offered the Huit Rubis necklace, he was kind enough to notify St. Regis of it. Hamlet did not buy it, but he knew the fellow who was trying to peddle it.”

  “Who was this man?”

  “A dealer in stolen and misappropriated gems, whose name would mean nothing to you. He used the name Farber, which may or may not be his real name, In any case, that is where I came in. St. Regis was too busy to handle the matter personally. He appointed me to track down Farber, buy up the jewels at the lowest price possible, and try if I could discover in the meanwhile what is going forth here at Troy Fenners that Lady Sinclair should require such colossal sums of money.”

  “Those are genuine pieces you have then?”

  “Yes, does your aunt have copies tucked away in her vault? I expect she would take the precaution of having ones made up and occasionally wear them, to deflect suspicion that they have vanished.”

  “Yes, she has.”

  “So—now you understand the presence of the jewels and the money in my black box. The money is to buy back any more she might have outstanding. I am not sure I have got them all. Time for me to understand how you went so unerringly to the spare room and ferreted out the goodies. How the devil did you know where to look?”