A Fatal Dose. Fred M. White
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III. — THE ASPARAGUS FERN
THE last guest had been ushered out by the inscrutable butler, a sense of peace and quietness fell upon the flat, and Eleanor stood before the fire with one slim, white, satin foot upon the fender. She had her own reasons for not wishing Monkwell to see her face for the moment. The door had been closed by the butler; seated by the table, amongst the artistic litter of fruit and wine and flowers, was Monkwell, calmly smoking a cigarette. He had refused champagne, nor had he ventured to smoke till now. Eleanor turned upon him with a world of scorn in her dark eyes.
“Really, Mr. Monkwell, we are getting on,” she said. “I know that, for some time past, the barriers of Society have been breaking down, and that men and women nowadays find themselves among a class of people to which they are not accustomed.”
“That is precisely so,” Monkwell said in his boyish way.” At the present moment I see before me a most charming example of the type of individual you refer to.”
Eleanor quivered with a passion she could hardly restrain. There were few persons she was afraid of, few men from whom she would have shrunk, but Monkwell was one of them. She feared this man, she feared his peculiar air of innocence, she felt that he was an enigma. His words had been quiet enough, but she understood them perfectly. She came a step nearer the table herself and proceeded to light a cigarette in her turn.
“I have not much time,” she said, “because I have important business elsewhere. Still, I should like you to explain that remark of yours; even less dense people than myself might regard it as a piece of gross impertinence.”
“Not at all, not at all,” Monkwell said. “I meant every word of it. Ah, you are a clever and audacious woman, and some day you may land in a very high position indeed, but I know what I know and I keep my information to myself, unless you challenge me as you did just now. Then, perhaps, you will compel me to tell you a little story. Truly, it reads like a romance. Here is a girl, brought up in the heart of the country; she lives in the open air; her food is the hard food of the people. But all this is the making of her, because it builds up that magnificent health and strength of nerve which is so fine a weapon in the world’s fight to-day. The girl is ambitious; she knows she is beautiful; she eagerly devours all fiction bearing upon the lives of the great. Then she leaves the village. She graduates through a West End cigar shop, and finally finds herself the mistress of a few thousand pounds. Need I carry the story farther? She makes up her mind to finish at the top of the tree, and at present she is within an ace of doing so. But this is a dangerous game and an expensive one. Just at the moment when success is within her grasp, she has the most pressing need of money. She falls back upon the old expedient of trying to obtain possession of valuables and then disposing of them. The tradesmen are shy; the lady has not quite established herself upon a sufficiently high basis to gull my colleagues in Regent Street and Bond Street. But still, there is another way, just as useful and far less dangerous, because it implies no monetary liability in the future. We will say the lady in question comes to my establishment and looks at a lot of valuable diamonds. She does not ask for credit, she does not purchase anything; but just as she is going away, goods to the value of over a thousand pounds are missing. There are other people in the shop, so that it is impossible to say definitely who has taken the gems. The lady smilingly submits to be searched, and the more thoroughly the operation is carried out the more pleased she seems to be. Of course, we have to make the most profuse apologies, which we do, but we are not satisfied. We shall never be satisfied, though we have our own ideas which are not likely to be altered. I have my loss, and I had made up my mind to write the debt off as a bad one when I came here on business to see you this evening.” “It was a very foolish time to come,” Eleanor said coolly. Slowly, as she spoke, and self-contained as she appeared to be, a brilliant red spot burnt on either cheek. “Surely you could have done better than force yourself upon us this evening.”
“That is as it may be,” Monkwell went on. “I have been finding out things and putting two and two together. As I sat here to-night, I was pleased to find that my little experiments had not altogether been in vain. Is it not a fact that your florists are Stephanie and Co., of Burlington Gardens?”
“Why, yes,” Eleanor exclaimed in some surprise. “But what on earth can that have to do with the question under discussion?”
“I was just coming to that,” Monkwell went on. “You see, I always prided myself upon the palms and ferns which I keep in my establishment. I have a contract with Stephanie and Co. to look after the plants and change them when necessary. They are apt to deteriorate in the atmosphere of a business establishment. Some time ago Stephanie and Co. sent me a fresh consignment of palms, amongst which was quite a new specimen of an asparagus fern. It was so graceful that I sent round to Stephanie for some more. They sent me back word to say that they had supplied me with the only one they possessed, and that the specimen in question was absolutely unique. In fact, it is precisely the same plant that you have in the centre of your supper table at the present moment.”
“The same?” Eleanor faltered. “I—I don’t understand—”
“Oh, I am coming to the point quickly enough now. I know it is the same plant; in fact, I recognised it by that broken little branch at the top. As soon as I sat down here this evening I saw through the whole thing like a flash. The lady I speak of came to my establishment; she took up the missing diamonds and thrust them amongst the earth in the palm. They would be perfectly safe there, with not the slightest chance of their presence being discovered. A day or two later, the lady goes to Stephanie and Co., and asks them to supply her with an asparagus fern like one that she has seen in Monkwell’s shop. They do not like to say they haven’t got them, but profess that they will send her one in a day or two. The thing is quite easily managed; under pretence of changing my stock this unique specimen finds its way into Courtville Square, and the diamonds are safely removed from their hiding-place. Now, Mrs. Marsh, do you understand what I mean, or must I speak still more plainly? Of course, you can defy me if you like, or you can take the wiser course and give me an opportunity of getting my money. I don’t want to be too hard upon you, and I will give you just three days to find the cash. If I don’t receive it by that time, I will issue a warrant for your arrest, as sure as you are a living woman. Those are the conditions—a thousand pounds within three days, or you become acquainted with the inside of a gaol.”
Eleanor Marsh attempted no defence; she was far too clever a woman for that. As far as Monk well could see, she did not turn so much as a hair. There was a hard smile on her face.
“Very well,” she said; “I think I can see my way to manage it by that time. Almost at once I am going into the country to stay with the Duchess of Daventry. I had better give you her address, so that you can communicate with me if necessary. Have you a visiting card in your pocket, or a piece of paper?”
Monkwell searched his pockets and produced a telegram. He tore off a corner and pencilled the address down upon it, then he retired, leaving the pink flimsy behind him. In a mechanical kind of way Eleanor took up the telegram and read it. A quick cry came from her lips; she rang the bell for the butler.
“A marvellous trick of fortune,” she cried. “Robert, Jasper Cleave will be in England tomorrow. You must find him without fail. To think that this should fall into my hands!”
IV. — FOR HIS SAKE
IN a very thoughtful frame of mind, Philip drove along with the idea of finding Lena and taking her to Lexington House. He was disposed to be annoyed with himself, because he felt that in a way he had played the coward in not telling Eleanor Marsh that ‘his engagement to Lena was an accomplished fact. He might have gone further and said that they also were going down to stay with the Duchess of Daventry, and that the engagement would be formally announced there. Indeed, Philip was actually taking his mother’s family jewels with