Annie Haynes Premium Collection – 8 Murder Mysteries in One Volume. Annie Haynes
have already said that a knowledge of Nurse Marston’s errand in Exeter could in no sense help you. Besides”—he paused and hesitated—“it is not an affair of my own. I can say no more.”
“That is your last word?”
“It is.”
“Well, upon my word, Davenant—”
“One moment, if you please, Sir Arthur,” the superintendent said. “There is another question which I must ask permission to put in different forms to every one who was in this house on the 6th of June. Perhaps Mr. Davenant would kindly answer it now?”
With an air of relief Garth turned to him.
“Certainly—I am at your service.”
There was a light step outside, and after a preliminary tap at the door it was thrown open and Mavis appeared.
“This is really too bad of you, Arthur. You are keeping Garth a most unconscionable time—you and Dr. Grieve,” with a smile at the old man. “We shall be late at Friar’s Key, and you know how particular Lady Maynard is.”
“I shall be ready in a moment,” Garth answered for himself, with a smile at her, though his face looked worried and anxious. “What was it you wanted to ask me, superintendent?”
“Perhaps another time, sir,” Stokes suggested smoothly.
“Oh, it will be better to get it done with now! You can wait a moment, Mavis,” Sir Arthur said with fraternal unconcern. “Now then, Stokes!”
“It is only that, just as a matter of form, I should like to ask Mr. Davenant whether he has in his possession a gutta-percha tobacco-pouch ornamented with a spray of flowers in silk?”
“Why, certainly he has!” Mavis interrupted with a gay laugh. “I worked it for him myself—roses and lilies, wasn’t it, Garth? Awfully old-fashioned they are too; but it is so difficult to know what you can work for a man. Have you got it with you, Garth?”
He looked embarrassed, and the other three men gazed across at him in silent expectation.
“Not to-day, Mavis.”
“When I gave it to you you said you would always carry it about with you. Where is it? You do not— Oh, Garth,” in a tone of deep reproach, “I believe you have lost it.”
Davenant’s smile was a trifle forced.
“It—I have mislaid it for the time being, Mavis. I shall find it again in a day or two, I have no doubt.”
“In the meantime”—the superintendent’s mellifluous accents interposed—“I believe Miss Hargreave saw the one that was found in this room on the night of the 6th of June. Perhaps she could tell us whether it was the one she worked?”
“I am sure I couldn’t,” Mavis said indifferently. “I hardly glanced at it. It looked dirty, I remember. I should have noticed it more particularly had I guessed the care you took of my presents, Garth.”
“The spray across, as I remember, was pink and white,” Sir Arthur said slowly. “Garth, I—”
“I will never forgive you if you left it lying about to be picked up by anybody,” Mavis finished. “I am sorry I can’t wait to hear you describe it more accurately, Arthur, but I am afraid Lady Maynard would think it a poor compliment to her luncheon-party if she could see us standing here discussing that wretched pouch when we ought to be on our way. Come, Garth, we really must make a start,” and with a laughing nod she took him away.
Chapter VII
“Oh! If one could only realize one’s ideals in this world!”
“Does it not satisfy you now?” Hilda asked softly.
She was lying back on the great roomy sofa in Lady Laura’s morning-room. Her clinging white wrapper, as Arthur had assured her, was the very garment for the lily-maid, and the warm rug across her feet took, for the nonce, the place of the coverlet of cloth of gold.
She had acceded with a little blush and smile to her host’s eager request for a sitting, and since then Sir Arthur, having transferred his sketch-book and himself from the studio to the morning-room, had spent most of his time in making attempts, which invariably ended in failure, to portray her in the character of Elaine.
Dorothy was sitting a little behind her. She leant forward.
“Why, Arthur, that is beautiful! If it does not content you, you must indeed be hard to please.”
“How can I be satisfied when I look at the original?” Arthur inquired gloomily. “That glowing colour—I wonder whether I dare ask you to let your hair down, Miss Hilda? I want it to fall on both sides like that—do you see?”
The girl’s delicate colour deepened a little, her long lashes drooped beneath his gaze, but she raised no objection.
“I will let it down with pleasure,” she declared at once, “but I am afraid it will come far short of the required length, Sir Arthur.”
She drew out the pins as she spoke, and both Dorothy and Arthur made exclamations as the hair fell around in a glittering golden mass.
“It is beautiful,” Dorothy said with honest enthusiasm, “and it curls so prettily round your head, Hilda.”
“It is a lot of trouble to keep in order,” Hilda complained with a pout, a little flickering smile playing round her mouth as Arthur, with a gesture of despair, went back to his paint-box.
“Oh, to catch that wonderful sheen!” he cried as he turned over the tubes despairingly. “But it is hope-less!” rumpling up his hair. “How can one dream of obtaining it with paint and canvas?”
“I am sorry I am such a difficult subject,” Hilda said demurely, “but I have never been painted before, and I must plead that as an excuse.”
Dorothy lifted her brown eyes and glanced at her cousin; the significance of the remark was apparently lost on him. With evident love in his eyes he was gazing at his beautiful model.
Dorothy saw that if advantage was to be taken of this apparent return of memory on their mysterious visitor’s part she must be the one to avail herself of it; her cousin’s absorption in his work and his model was so great that he had not even noticed it.
She put a stitch or two in her work before she spoke, then she said in a carefully matter-of-fact tone:
“Have you ever been photographed, Hilda? A good photograph is often a great help.”
The blue eyes looked at her for a second vaguely.
“I don’t think I have a very good one,” the girl began slowly, then her face clouded over, and she put up her hands to her head. “I think I have a photograph somewhere—in fancy dress—I seem to see it—but I can’t remember. Oh, why did you ask me? It is so dreadful not to know.” She burst into a passion of tears.
Dorothy drew back in dismay.
“I did not mean—Indeed, I am so sorry,” she faltered.
Sir Arthur flung down his palette, his eyes full of a passionate pity.
“Do not think of it, do not try to remember. It will come back some day—all the doctors are agreed upon that. In the meantime you know how delighted we are to have you with us; if we could only teach you to look upon the Manor as your home.”
“You are all so kind to me,” the girl said as she sobbed, “far too kind, and I am very stupid and ungrateful. But it seems to bring it home to me somehow what an absolute waif I am when I am asked a simple question like that and cannot answer it.”
Sir Arthur’s face darkened as he