CHAPTER XI--FERGUSON'S IDEA
During these days Dick Ferguson thought a good deal and said verylittle. Like the rest of his world he wondered over the unsolved mysteryof the Janney robbery, but his wonderings contained an element ofdiscomfort. He heard the subject discussed everywhere and often the nameof Esther Maitland came up in the discussions. Not that any one eversuggested she might be involved;--it was more a sympathetic appreciationof her position. Every one spoke very feelingly about it:--poor girl, souncomfortable for her, knowing the combination and all that sort ofthing--the Janneys had stood by her splendidly, but still it _was_trying.
It tried _him_ a good deal, made inroads on his temper, until it lostits sunny evenness and he was sometimes short and surly. The day afterMolly and Esther went to town he had been called to a conference in theFairfax house on the bluff. A gang of motor boat thieves had beenoperating along the Sound, had already stolen two launches, and theowners of water-front property had convened to decide on a course.Ferguson, with a small fleet to his credit, had taken rather a highhand, and shown an unwonted irritation at the indecision of hisassociates. If they wanted their boats protected it was up to them to doit, establish a shore police patrol financed by themselves. That waswhat he intended to do and they could join with him or not as theypleased. He left them, ruffled by his brusqueness and remarking grumpilythat "Ferguson was beginning to feel his money."
He went from the meeting to his own beach and on the way met Suzannereturning with Bebita from the morning bath. They stopped for a chat inthe course of which Suzanne made a series of remarks not calculated tosoothe his perturbed spirit. They were apropos of Miss Maitland, who hadtaken an early morning swim, all alone, refusing to wait and go in withthem. Suzanne said it was a pity Miss Maitland kept so much toherself--the girl seemed depressed and out of spirits lately, didn't hethink so? Quite different to what she had been earlier in the season,seemed to be troubled about something. Too bad--every one liked her somuch, and people _did_ talk so. Then with an artless smile she went offunder her white parasol.
There was no smile on Ferguson's face as he walked to his boat houses.He told his men of the police patrol--to operate along the shore afternightfall--gave a few gruff orders and disappeared into a bath house.When he emerged, stripped for a swim, he stalked silently by them anddove from the end of the wharf. They were surprised at his manner,usually so genial, and wondered among themselves watching his head,sleek as a wet seal's, receding over the shining water.
The head was full of what Suzanne had said. Though he had offered noagreement to her suggestions, he _had_ noticed the change in Esther. Hehad noticed it soon after the robbery, in fact before that, for it haddated from the evening when she dined at his house, the night the jewelswere taken. Disturbance grew in him as he thought:--if so shallow acreature as Suzanne could see it, others could. And Suzanne had nosense, no realization of the weight of words. She might go roundchattering like a fool and get the girl talked about. It would be thedecent thing to give Esther a hint, put her wise to the fact that sheought to brighten up--not give any one a chance to say she was not asshe had been.
As his long, muscular body slid through the water he decided to go overand have a talk with her. The decision cheered him, for to be withEsther Maitland was the keenest pleasure he knew.
Suzanne had told him she and her mother would be out that afternoon, soat three--the hour they were to leave--he set out for Grasslands by thewood path. As he crossed the garden his questing glance met anencouraging sight--Esther Maitland sitting under a group of maples atthe end of the terrace. She was alone, an empty chair beside her, herhead bowed over a book.
Her welcoming smile was very sweet; his eye noticed a faint color risein her cheeks as he came up. These signs were so agreeable that he wouldlike to have sat there, placidly enjoying her presence, but he was aperson who once possessed by an idea "had to get it out of his system."This he proceeded to do, advancing on his subject with what he thoughtwas a crafty indirectness:
"You know, Miss Maitland, you're not a credit to Long Island."
She raised her brows, deprecating, also amused:
"What have I done?"
"It's what you haven't done. We expect people to come here worn andweary and then blossom like the rose. You've gone back on thetradition."
She stretched a hand for a bundle of knitting--a soldier's muffler--onthe table beside her:
"I don't feel worn or weary and I'm sorry I look so."
"Oh, you always _look_ lovely," he hastily assured her. "I didn't meanthat it wasn't becoming. But--er--er--what I wanted to say was--er--whyis it?"
Miss Maitland began to knit, her face bent over the work, her dark headbacked by the green distances of the lawn. Ferguson thought she had themost beautifully shaped head he had ever seen. He would like to haveleaned back in his chair studying its classic outline. But he was therefor a purpose and he held himself sternly to it, looking at her profileand trying to forget that it was as fine as her head.
"I don't know why it is," she answered, "but I do know that you're notvery complimentary."
"If you give me a dare like that I'll show you how complimentary I _can_be. But I'll put that off until later. What I think is that you'reworrying--that the robbery has got on your nerves."
"Why should it get on my nerves?"
He was aware of her eyes--diverted from the knitting--looking curiouslyat him:
"Why, it's been so--so--unpleasant, all this fuss and publicity. It'sbeen a shock."
Her hands with the knitting dropped into her lap. She was now staringfixedly at him:
"Do you mean that I'm worrying because I think I may be suspected ofit?"
He was shocked to angry repudiation.
"Good Lord, no! What a thing to say!"
She took up her work, and answered with cool composure:
"Nevertheless I _have_ wondered if anybody ever thought it. You see I'mthe only one in the house--the only one who knows the combination--who_is_ a sort of stranger. Dixon and Isaac are like members of thefamily."
"Don't talk such rubbish," he protested, then leaning nearer, "Have youhad _that_ on your mind all this time? Is _that_ what's made thechange?"
She looked up at him, startled:
"Change--what change?"
"Change in you. Yes," in answer to the disturbed inquiry of her glance,"there is one. I've noticed it; other people have."
"What do you mean?"
"Why, you're different, you've lost your good spirits. You're not likeyou were before this happened."
Her response came with something combative in its countering quickness:
"I'm busier than I used to be. Since the robbery I've taken over a gooddeal of the housekeeping. Mrs. Janney has been much more upset than youguess."
"And you're so withdrawn, keep more to yourself. I used to find youabout when I came over; now I almost never see you."
The interview had taken on the character of a verbal duel, he thrusting,she parrying, both earnest and insistent.
"I've just told you; I have more work, I've not the leisure I used tohave."
"So busy you have to shun people?"
"That's absurd, you imagine it. I've never shunned any one and there'sno reason why I should."
"I agree with you but let me ask one more question. You say your work isharder and you _do_ look tired and worn out. Why don't you take a decentrest on your holidays? Last year you spent them here, out of doors,loafing about. Now you go to town. I've been over twice on Thursdays andwhen I ask for you, always hear you're in the city. And you've been atother times too--Mrs. Janney told me so. It's the most fatiguing thingyou can do in this hot weather. Why do you go?"
He saw her color suddenly deepen. She had let the knitting drop to herlap and now she took it up again and began to work, very fast, theneedles flashing in her white hands. She smiled as she answered:
"You seem to have kept rather a sharp look-out on me, Mr. Ferguson. Didit never occur to you th
at a woman _might_ need clothes, or might wantto see a friend who happened to be staying in town for the summer?"
The young man had been admiring the white hands. As she spoke somethingin their movements caught and held his eye--they were trembling. He wasso surprised that he made no answer, his glance riveted on them tryingto hold the needles steady to their task. Miss Maitland made an effortto go on, then dropped the knitting in a bunch on her knees and claspedthe hands over it. Neither speaking, their eyes met. The expression ofhers, furtively apprehensive like a scared child's pierced his heart andhe leaned toward her, his sunburned face full of concern:
"Miss Maitland, what's wrong? Something is--tell me."
Without answering she shook her head, her lips tightly compressed. Hecould see that she was shaken, that the clasped hands on her knee wereclenched together to control their trembling. He could see that, for amoment, taken unawares, she did not trust herself to speak.
"Look here," he said, low and urgent, "be frank with me. I've seen forsome time something was troubling you--I told you so that night at myplace. Why not let me lend a hand? That's what I want to do--that's whatI'm _for_."
She had found her voice and it came with a high, light hardness, incurious contrast to the feeling in his:
"You're all wrong, Mr. Ferguson. You're seeing what doesn't exist." Shestarted to her feet, making a grab at her knitting as it slid toward theground. "Oh, my needle! I almost pulled it out. That _would_ have been acalamity." She carefully pushed the stitches on to the needle as if herwhole interest lay in preserving the woven fabric. "There I've pickedthem up, not lost one." Then she looked at them, smiling, her expressionshowing a veiled defiance, "You ought to have been a novelist--yourimagination's wasted. Here you are seeing me as a distressed damsel,while I'm only a perfectly normal, perfectly common-place person.Romantic fiction would have been your line."
She gave a laugh that brought the blood to the young man's face, for itsmusical ripple contained a note of derision:
"But for my sake please curb your fancy. Don't suggest to my employersthat I'm weighted down by a secret sorrow. They mightn't like a blightedbeing for a secretary and I might lose my job, and then I really _would_be worried."
He stood it unflinching, only the dark flush betraying hismortification. He assured her of his reticence and ended by asking herpardon. She granted it, even thanked him for his concern in her behalfand with a smile that was still mocking, said she had notes to write,gathered up her work, and bade him good-by.
Dick Ferguson walked back through the woods to Council Oaks. When thefirst discomfort of the rebuff had passed he pondered deeply. He wassure now beyond the peradventure of a doubt that Esther Maitland was introuble of some kind, and was ready to use all the weapons at hercommand to keep him from finding it out.
Two nights after that he dined at Grasslands. It was just a familyparty, and, being such, Miss Maitland was present. She met him with thesubdued quietness that he was beginning to recognize as her "socialsecretary manner"--the manner of the lady employee, politely colorlessand self-effacing.
In the dining room, with its clustered lights along the walls, wherelong windows framed the deep blue night, they looked a gay and goodlyparty. To the unenlightened observer they might have stood for a typicalgroup of the care-free rich, waited on by obsequious menials, feedingsumptuously in sumptuous surroundings. Yet each one of them was preyedupon by secret anxieties.
When the ladies withdrew Mr. Janney and Ferguson sat on smoking andsipping their coffee. If every member of the party had his hiddendistress, Mr. Janney's was by no means the least. His problem was stillunsolved, still menacing. Kissam's suggestion and his own fond hope,that the jewels would be restored had not been realized, and he wascontemplating the day when he would have to face Suzanne with hisknowledge. Damocles beneath the suspended sword was not moreuncomfortable than he. Any allusion to the robbery made his heart sink,and, as the allusions were frequent, conversation had become a thingharkened to with held breath and sick anticipation.
Alone with Ferguson he was experiencing the usual qualms, but the youngman, instead of the customary questions, asked him his opinion ofWillitts, Chapman's valet, whom he thought of engaging. Mr. Janneybrightened up, told Dixon to bring some of his own especial cigars, andrelapsed into tranquillity. He could recommend Willitts highly, smart,capable and honest, but he thought he'd heard Dick say he couldn't standa valet fussing about him. Dick had said it and was still of the samemind, but most of his guests were men and he needed some one to lookafter their clothes. They made a lot of bother, the servants had kicked,and he'd thought of Willitts.
Mr. Janney could give no information as to Willitts' whereabouts, butDixon, entering with the cigar box and lamp, could. Willitts was atCedar Brook where Mr. Price spent a good deal of time; he was stilldisengaged and looking for a position, if Mr. Ferguson would like Dixonwould get word to him. Mr. Ferguson would like, and, the box presentedat his elbow, he took out a cigar and held its tip to the lamp. Mr.Janney forgot Willitts and drew his guest's attention to the cigar, aspecial brand of rare excellence.
"We keep them in the safe," said the old man. "Only place that's secureagainst the damp. It was Chapman's idea--the one thing in myacquaintance with Chapman I'm grateful for."
It was an unfortunate remark, for Ferguson, leaning back in his chairwith the cigar between his lips, murmured dreamily:
"The safe--do you know I've been thinking over things lately. I can'tunderstand one point. Why didn't the thief take those jewels when thehouse was virtually empty instead of waiting until it was full?"
Mr. Janney's heart took a dizzying, downward dive. He had been lookingforward to his smoke, now all his zest departed, his old, veined handshaking as it felt in the box.
Ferguson went on:
"The fellow may have come in early and hidden himself--not got down tobusiness until every one was asleep."
Mr. Janney emitted an agreeing murmur and motioned Dixon to hold thelamp nearer. As he bent toward it the young man was silent and Mr.Janney began to hope that the obnoxious subject was abandoned. He sent aside glance at his guest and the hope was strengthened. Ferguson hadtaken his cigar from his lips and was looking at the paper band thatencircled it. He was looking at it so intently that Mr. Janney felt surehis interest was diverted and sought to drive it into safer channels.
"Pretty fine cigar, eh?" he said. "This is the first of a new lot, justcome."
Ferguson drew the band off and laid it beside his plate:
"Excellent. That's a good idea--keeping them in the safe. Do you alwaysdo it?"
"Yes, it's the only thing--much better than a humidor."
"I haven't got a safe or I'd try it. Did you have any there the night ofthe robbery?"
Mr. Janney felt that the gods had sought him out for a special vengeanceand murmured drearily:
"I believe so--a few. Dixon knows."
Dixon who was on his way to the door turned:
"Yes, sir, only one box, the last we had."
Ferguson laughed:
"If the thief had had time to try one he'd have taken the box alongtoo."
Dixon, who treated all allusions to the subject with a tragicalseriousness, said:
"I don't think he touched them, sir. The box looked just the same. Mr.Kissam was very particular to ask about it, but I told him I thoughtthey was intact, as you might say. Though if it was the loss of one ortwo I couldn't be certain."
Dixon left the room and Mr. Janney looked dismally at his plate, havingno spirit to fight against fate. Ferguson, with a glance at hisdown-drooped face, picked up the band and slipped it in his pocket.
He did not stay long after dinner. As soon as his car came he left,telling the chauffeur to hurry. At home he ran up the stairs to hisroom, switched on the light over the bureau and opened the box with thecrystal lid. Under the studs and pins lay the band Esther had found thenight he walked with her through the woods. He compared it with the onehe took from his pocket and saw th
at they matched. The new one he threwinto the fireplace, but put the other back in the box--it was somethingmore than a souvenir. Then he sat down on the end of the sofa andthought.
Mr. Janney could not have dropped it for he had driven both to and fromCouncil Oaks. Neither Dixon nor Isaac could have, for they had gone tothe village by the main road and come back the same way at midnight. Hehad found it at half-past ten, untouched by the heavy shower, which hadlasted from about seven till half-past eight. Therefore, whoever hadthrown it there had passed that way between the time when the rainstopped and the time when Esther had found it. It had been droppedeither by a man who had one of the cigars in his possession and had beenon the wood path between eight-thirty and ten-thirty, or by a man whohad taken a cigar from the safe between those hours.
Ferguson sat staring at the wall with his brows knit. If it had not beenfor the light his own gardener had seen he would have felt that he hadstruck the right road.