THE WORLD WAR COLLECTION OF H. C. MCNEILE (SAPPER). Sapper
introduced Mavis, and the irrepressible twins metaphorically hurled themselves upon her. "Come and play cork pool, snooker, slosh, pot the pink—anything you like," they chanted.
"I don't think I know any of them," she said doubtfully.
"Doesn't matter; you play with Terrill. He's far too good otherwise."
"Would you like to play, Miss Houghton?" said Terrill, rising. "Between us, let us beat the Heavenly Horrors."
"If you like," laughed Mavis. "But I warn you, I'm hopeless."
She was, but her partner wasn't. Even to her inexperienced eye, his skill was obvious. He carried her comfortably, though she only scored once and that by a fluke, and they won as they liked.
"Thanks so much," he said as he took her cue from her to put it in the rack. "We must have another some time." For a moment his eyes— dark brown unfathomable eyes—held hers, and then he strolled out of the room.
"Rum devil that!" said Paul Wetherby thoughtfully.
"I don't like him," said his sister decisively. "He always reminds me of a panther."
"He's very good at billiards." put in Mavis.
"There's nothing he isn't good at," said Paul, lighting a cigarette. "He's a marvellous shot; he's a plus man at golf; he rides as if he were part of his horse."
"For all that, young fellah," returned his sister, "I don't like the bird. Well, it's time for this child to dress for dinner."
True to her resolve, her aunt sent Mavis in to dinner with Terrill, and though the conversation was more or less general he contrived to devote himself pretty exclusively to entertaining her. And he was a very entertaining individual when he chose to exert himself. In a dark, somewhat foreign way he was very good-looking, and he had that gift of the good conversationalist of making his audience talk. Before dinner was half over there was nothing he didn't know of Pileditch Road and the family that lived under the roof of Number 11. And Aunt Jane, casting an occasional glance in their direction, congratulated herself on the course of events. Of course, she didn't know much about him; still, you always met him at decent houses, and really little Mavis ought to be thankful for anything.
"What's that, General?" She fumed to the man on her left. "My rubies: you'd like to see them? Certainly. I'll get Tom to show them to you after dinner."
"Bit dangerous keeping such historic stones in a country house like this, isn't it, Mrs. Frosdick?" Mark Terrill leant across towards his hostess. "I should say it was a burglar's paradise—a house of this sort," he continued.
"Why?" chorused the Heavenly Twins.
"I don't speak professionally," he smiled, "but with all these ground-floor windows, I should say entrance would be easy. Jove! General, do you remember Lampiter House?"
"I do, indeed," answered the soldier. "And as far as I know they never laid hands on the fellow."
"You mean the Duchess's emeralds?" said Tom Frosdick. "I remember reading about it in the papers."
"What happened?" asked Mavis eagerly.
"A burglary," said Terrill, smiling. "And a singularly daring one. It was just such a house-party as this, only a little larger. Nobody ever went to bed much before three o'clock, and there were swarms of servants all over the house. Nevertheless, the emeralds disappeared, and have never been heard of from that day to this. Nor have they ever caught the man. And it's not the only case, you know, Miss Houghton. During the last three or four years there have been several big robberies of that type—robberies where some big, very valuable piece of stuff has disappeared. The thief or thieves evidently specialise in precious stones—"
"You think it's the same man?" asked the girl.
He nodded. "I do—and Scotland Yard does too. In fact, it was a friend of mine—one of the Commissioners—who told me they were sure of it. It's the work, they think, of a singularly skilful man, who, so far— though they're a bit diffident over admitting that—has not left a single clue behind him. Apparently he won't touch gold owing to the difficulty of getting away with it: he sticks entirely to jewels. There were the emeralds we've just been talking about, and Lady Archer's pearls, and the diamonds belonging to Isaac Goldstein's wife, and three or four more as well."
"But how perfectly thrilling!" said the girl, and at that moment she happened to glance across the table. The footman was handing something to Janet Wetherby, and for the first time she noticed his face. It was the large young man with the blue eyes who had travelled down with her from London. And just for a moment those blue eyes met hers and twinkled slightly: then they were lowered deferentially once more.
Fortunately Terrill had fumed to the woman on his other side: fortunately, also, her aunt gave the signal for the ladies to rise very shortly after. So she made an excuse and fled upstairs to her room. The impertinence of it: the supreme impertinence! He must have known that she was a guest at the house in which he was going to take a situation. How dared he talk to her as he had done? She grew hot at the mere thought of their conversation on the way down. He'd offered her a cigarette...
And then came the next pressing point: how on earth was she to treat him? Supposing she met him in the passage or something when there was no one else about? Oh! the situation was intolerable. She couldn't tell her aunt, and besides, what was there to tell? It's not a crime to talk to someone in a railway carriage, and the man had seemed a gentleman. And then his parting remark came back to her. So that was what he had meant about the obvious, was it? So be it: it was obvious that he was a footman, and she didn't find it interesting.
With that she went downstairs where they had begun dancing. She danced four times with Mark Terrill, and three times with Paul Wetherby, and tried to persuade herself that it was beneath her dignity to think about the matter any more. If she happened to meet him alone she would give him a condescending nod and a cutting word or two, and the episode would be closed.
It was just before a general exodus to bed occurred that the ghastly suspicion dawned on her. She had been dancing with Terrill, who did it—as he did everything else—divinely.
"Perfect," he whispered. "Quite perfect. It's heaven to dance with you. Hullo!" he continued, glancing towards the end of the room, "here's your chance of seeing the Frosdick rubies. Though I expect you've seen them often."
"I haven't," she said. "Do let's go and have a look!"
They joined the little crowd which was standing round Tom Frosdick, and Mavis gave a little gasp as she saw the wonderful stones. They were historic, of course, as everyone knew, and their owner was expatiating on the story—with relish. It was a pastime that never bored him, and he had just got to the bit about the Indian Rajah and the series of strange murders, when, for the second time that evening. Mavis noticed the footman. He had come in with the butler, carrying a tray and drinks, and as she saw him she noticed that his eyes, gleaming strangely, were fixed on the rubies.
She never heard another word of the story: dimly she realised that her uncle had finished; mechanically she took the necklace in her hands and murmured some words of admiration.
It was clear: there wasn't a doubt about it in her own mind. Her travelling acquaintance was the mysterious burglar, of whom Mr. Terrill had been telling her at dinner. True, she had no proof, but she had a woman's intuition, which was far better. It accounted for everything—his charm, his cultured manner, his strange power of observation. They were impossible characteristics in a footman. But in a gentleman burglar, who had disguised himself as a footman, they were not only possible but likely. And suddenly she remembered that the cigarette case he had offered her in the train was of gold...
"Interesting," said Mark Terrill's voice in her ear, "but I'd far sooner have danced with you again. Miss Houghton."
She smiled at him almost mechanically, and asked him to bring her some lemonade. She wanted to be alone to think out this new development, though she couldn't help feeling flattered at his obvious interest in her. And as soon as she could, on the plea of being tired, she left him and went upstairs.
What was she going to