CHAPTER III
Sir Philip Heredith was a dignified figure of an English countrygentleman of the old type. He was tall and thin, aristocratic of mien,with white hair and faded blue eyes. His face was not impressive. Atfirst sight it seemed merely that of a tired old man, weary of thepaltry exactions of life, and longing for rest; but, at odd moments, onecaught a passing resemblance to a caged eagle in a swift turn of thefalcon profile, or in a sudden flash of the old eyes beneath thestraight Heredith brows. At such times the Heredith face--the warriorface of a long line of fierce fighters and freebooting ancestors--leapedalive in the ageing features of the last but one of the race.
His companion was a man of about fifty-five. His face was brown, asthough from hot suns, his close-cropped hair was silver-grey, and he hadthe bold, clear-cut features of a man quick to make up his mind andaccustomed to command. His eyes were the strangest feature of hisdominating personality. They were small and black, and appeared almostlidless, with something in their dark direct gaze like the unwinkingglare of a snake. His apparel was unconventional, even for war-time,consisting of a worn brown suit with big pockets in the jacket, and asoft collar, with a carelessly arranged tie. On the little finger of hisleft hand he wore a ruby ring of noticeable size and lustre.
Vincent Musard was a remarkable personality. He came of a good countyfamily, which had settled in Sussex about the same time that the firstPhilip Heredith had burnt down the moat-house, but his family treeextended considerably beyond that period. If the name of Here-Deith wasinscribed in the various versions of the Roll of Battle Abbey to be seenin the British Museum, the name of Musard was to be found in the Frenchroll of "Les Compagnons de Guillaume a la Conquete de l'Angleterre en1066," the one genuine and authentic list, which has received the stampof the French Archaeological Society, and is carved in stone and erectedin the Church of Dives on the coast of Normandy. Vincent Musard was thelast survivor of an illustrious line, a bachelor, explorer, man ofscience, and connoisseur in jewels. He had been intended for the Churchin his youth, but had quarrelled with it on a question of doctrine.Since then he had led a roving existence in the four corners of theearth, exploring, botanizing, shooting big game, and searching for bigdiamonds and rubies. He had written books on all sorts of out-of-the-waysubjects, such as "The Flora of Chatham Islands," "Poisonous Spiders(genus Latrodectua) of Sardinia," "Fossil Reptilia and Moa Remains ofNew Zealand," and "Seals of the Antarctic." But his chief and greatesthobby was precious stones, of which he was a recognized expert.
His father had left him a comfortable fortune, but he had made anotheron his own account by his dealings in gems, which he collected in remotecorners of the world and sold with great advantage to London dealers. Hewas intimately acquainted with all the known mines and pearl fisheriesof the world, but his success as a dealer in jewels was largely due tothe fact that he searched for them off the beaten track. He had exploredCooper's Creek for white sapphires, the Northern Territory for opals,and had once led an expedition into German New Guinea in search ofdiamonds, where he had narrowly escaped being eaten by cannibals.
The passage of time had not tamed the fierce restlessness of hisdisposition. Although he was not quite such a rover as of yore, thediscovery of a new diamond field in Brazil, or the news of a new pearlbed in southern seas, was sufficient to set him packing for anotherjaunt half round the world. He was the oldest friend of the Herediths,and Miss Heredith, in particular, had a high opinion of his qualities.Musard, on his part, made no secret of the fact that he regarded MissHeredith as the best of living women. It had, indeed, been rumoured inthe county a quarter of a century before that Vincent Musard and AletheaHeredith were "going to make a match of it."
It was, perhaps, well for both that the match was never made. Musard haddeparted for one of his tours into the wilds of the world, not to returnto England until five years had elapsed. Their mutual attraction was theattraction of opposites. There was nothing in common except mutualesteem between a wild, tempestuous being like Musard, who rushed throughlife like a whirlwind, for ever seeking new scenes in primitive parts ofthe earth, and the tranquil mistress of the moat-house, who had rarelybeen outside her native county, and revolved in the same little circleyear after year, happy in her artless country pursuits and simplepleasures.
Of late years, Musard had spent most of his brief stays in England withthe Herediths. He had his own home, which was not far from themoat-house, but he was a companionable man, and preferred the warmwelcome and kindly society of his old friends to the solitary existenceof a bachelor at Brandreth Hall, as his own place was named.
He had recently returned to England after a year's wanderings in thesouthern hemisphere, and had arrived at the moat-house on the previousday, bringing with him a dried alligator's head with gaping jaws, acollection of rare stuffed birds and snakeskins for Phil, who had ataste in that direction, and a carved tiki god for Miss Heredith. He hadalso brought with him his Chinese servant, two kea parrots, and a mat ofwhite feathers from the Solomon Islands, which he used on his bedinstead of an eiderdown quilt when the nights were cold. He had left inhis London banker's strong room his latest collection of preciousstones, after forwarding anonymously to Christie's a particularly finepearl as a donation towards the British Red Cross necklace.
Musard's present stay at the moat-house was to be a brief one. TheBritish Government, on learning of his return to his native land, hadasked him to go over to the front to adjust some trouble which hadarisen between the head-men of a Kaffir labour compound. As Musard'swide knowledge of African tribes rendered him peculiarly fitted for sucha task, he had willingly complied with the request, and was to go toFrance on the following day.
Miss Heredith had taken advantage of his brief visit to consult himabout the Heredith pearl necklace--a piece of jewellery which wasperhaps more famous than valuable, as some of the pearls were nearlythree hundred years old. Sir Philip had given it to Violet when shemarried Phil. But Violet had locked it away in her jewel-case and neverworn it. She had said, only the night before, that the setting of theclasp was old-fashioned, and the pearls dull with age. Miss Heredith,although much hurt, had realized that there was some truth in thecomplaint, and she had asked Musard for his advice. Musard had expressedthe opinion that perhaps the pearls were in need of the delicateoperation known as "skinning," and had offered to take the necklace toLondon and obtain the opinion of a Hatton Garden expert of hisacquaintance.
Vincent Musard smiled at Miss Heredith in friendly fashion as he enteredthe dining-room, and Sir Philip greeted his sister with polite, butsomewhat vague courtesy. Sir Philip's manner to everybody wasdistinguished by perfect urbanity, which was so impersonal and unvaryingas to suggest that it was not so much a compliment to those upon whom itwas bestowed as a duty which he felt he owed to himself to perform withuniform exactitude.
Musard began to talk about the arrangements for his departure thefollowing day, and asked Tufnell about the trains. On learning that thefirst train to London was at eight o'clock, he expressed his intentionof catching it.
"Is it necessary for you to go so early, Vincent?" inquired MissHeredith. "Could you not take a later train?"
"I daresay I could. Why do you ask?"
"I was thinking about the necklace. Violet was too unwell to give it tome to-night, and she may not be awake so early in the morning. I shouldlike you to take it with you, if it could be managed."
"I can take a later train. It will suit me as well."
"Is Violet unable to go with us to the Weynes' to-night?" said SirPhilip, glancing at his sister.
"Yes; her head is too bad."
"It is a pity we have to go without her, as the party is given in herhonour. Of course, we must go."
"Where is her necklace?" asked Musard. "Is it in the safe?"
"No," replied Miss Heredith. "It is in Violet's room, in herjewel-case."
"Well, as Mrs. Heredith will be alone in the house to-night, I think itwould be wise if you locked it in the safe," said Mus
ard. "There aremany servants in the house."
"I think that is quite unnecessary, Vincent. Our servants are alltrustworthy."
"Quite so, but several of your guests have brought their ownservants--maids and valets."
"Very well. If you think so, Vincent, I will see to it after dinner."
The conversation was terminated by the sound of the dinner-gong. Theguests came down to dinner in ones and twos, and assembled in thedrawing-room before proceeding to the dining-room. The men who were notin khaki were dressed for dinner. The gathering formed a curious mixtureof modern London and ancient England. The London guests, who were in themajority, consisted of young officers, some young men from the WarOffice and the Foreign Office, a journalist or two, and the ladies MissHeredith had entertained at tea on the lawn. These people had beeninvited because they were friends of the young couple, and not becausethey were anybody particular in the London social or political world,though one or two of the young men had claims in that direction. Mingledwith this very modern group were half a dozen representatives of oldcounty families, who had been invited by Miss Heredith.
The party sat down to dinner. There were one or two murmurs ofconventional regret when Miss Heredith explained the reason of Mrs.Heredith's vacant place, but the majority of the Londonguests--particularly the female portion--recognized the illness as asubterfuge and accepted it with indifference. If Mrs. Heredith was boredwith her guests they, on their part, were tired of their visit. Thehouse party had not been a success. The London visitors found the fixedroutine of life in a country house monotonous and colourless, and werelooking forward to the termination of their visit. The life they had ledfor the past fortnight was not their way of life. They met each morningfor breakfast at nine o'clock--Miss Heredith was a stickler for themid-Victorian etiquette of everybody sitting down together at thebreakfast table. After breakfast the men wandered off to their owndevices for killing time: some to play a round of golf, others to goshooting or fishing, generally not reappearing until dinner-time. Afterdinner they played billiards or auction bridge, and the ladies knittedwar socks or sustained themselves till bedtime with copious draughts ofthe mild stimulant supplied by their favourite lady novelists. Athalf-past ten o'clock Tufnell entered with a tray of glasses, and theguests partook of a little refreshment. At eleven Miss Heredith bade hervisitors a stately good-night, and they retired to their bedrooms. Thegreat lady of the moat-house was a firm believer in the axiom that awoman should be mistress in her own household, and she saw no reason whyher guests should not adopt her way of life while under her roof. Shewas a country woman born and bred, believing in the virtues of an earlybed and early rising, and she was not to be put out of her decorousregular way of living by Londoners who turned night into day withtheatres, late suppers, night clubs, and other pernicious forms ofamusement which Miss Heredith had read about in the London papers.
Dinner at the moat-house was a solemn and ceremonious function. Inaccordance with the time-honoured tradition of the family, it was servedat the early hour of seven o'clock in the big dining-room, an ancientchamber panelled with oak to the ceiling, with a carved buffet, an openfireplace, Jacobean mantelpiece, and old family portraits on the walls.There were sconces on the walls, and a crystal chandelier for waxcandles was suspended from the centre of the ceiling above the table.The chandelier was never lit, as the moat-house was illuminated byelectric light, but it looked very pretty, and was the apple of MissHeredith's eye--as the maidservants were aware, to their cost.
The dinner that night was, as usual, very simple, as befitted apatriotic English household in war-time, but the wines made up for thelack of elaborate cooking. Sir Philip Heredith and his sister followedtheir King's example of abstaining from wine during the duration of war,but it was not in accordance with Sir Philip's idea of hospitality toenforce abstinence on their guests, and the men, at all events, sippedthe rare old products of the Heredith cellars with unqualified approval,enhanced by painful recollections of the thin war claret and sugaredports of London clubs. Such wine, they felt, was not to be passed by. Ofthe young men, Phil Heredith alone drank water, not for the same reasonas his father, but because he had always been a water drinker.
Under the influence of the good wine the guests brightened upconsiderably as the meal proceeded. Sir Philip, in his old-fashionedway, raised his glass of aerated water to one and another of the youngmen. He was an ideal host, and his unfailing polished courtesy hid thefact that he was looking forward to the break up of the party with arelief akin to that felt by the majority of his guests. Conversation hadbeen confined to monosyllables at first, but became quite flourishingand animated as the dinner went on. Miss Heredith smiled and lookedpleased. As a hostess, she liked to see her guests happy andcomfortable, even if she did not like her guests.
The conversation was mainly about the war: the Allies' plans and hopesand fears. Several of the young men from London gave their views withgreat authority, criticising campaigns and condemning generals. PhilHeredith listened to this group without speaking. Two country gentlemenin the vicinity also listened in silence. They were amazed to hear suchfamous military names, whom they had been led by their favouritenewspapers to regard as the hope of the country's salvation, criticisedso unmercifully by youngsters.
"And do you think the war will soon be over, Mr. Brimley?" said afeminine voice, rather loudly, during a lull in the conversation. Thespeaker was a near neighbour and friend of Miss Heredith's, Mrs. Spicer,who was not a member of the house party, but had been invited to dinnerthat night and was going to the Weynes' afterwards. She was stout andfresh-faced, and looked thoroughly good-natured and kind-hearted.
She addressed her question to a tall young man with prematurely greyhair, prominent eyes, and a crooked nose. His name was Brimley, and hewas well-known in London journalism. His portrait occasionally appearedin the picture papers as "one of the young lions of Fleet Street," buthis enemies preferred to describe him as one of Lord Butterworth'sjackals--Lord Butterworth being the millionaire proprietor of aninfluential group of newspapers which, during the war, had stood for"the last drop of blood and the last shilling" rallying cry. As one ofthe foremost of this group of patriots, Mr. Brimley had let his ink flowso freely in the Allies' cause that it was whispered amongst those "inthe know" that he was certain for a knighthood, or at least an EmpireOrder, in the next list of honours.
Mr. Brimley looked at the speaker haughtily, and made an inaudiblereply. Although he was a lion of Fleet Street, he did not relish beingcalled upon to roar in the wilds of Sussex.
"Won't the poor German people be delighted when our troops march acrossthe Rhine to deliver them from militarism," continued the old ladyinnocently.
There was a subdued titter from the younger girls at this, and a youngofficer sitting near the bottom of the table laughed aloud, then flushedsuddenly at his breach of manners.
"Have I said something foolish?" asked the old lady placidly. "Pleasetell me if I have--I don't mind."
"Not at all," said another young officer, with a beardless sunburntface. "Personally, I quite agree with you. The Germans ought to be jollywell pleased to be saved from their beastly selves."
"What a number of land girls you have in this part of the world, MissHeredith," remarked the young officer who had laughed, as though anxiousto turn the conversation. "I saw several while I was out shootingto-day, and very charming they looked. I had no idea that sunburn was sobecoming to a girl's complexion. I saw one girl who had been riding ahorse through the woods, and she looked like what's-her-name--Diana. Shehad bits of green stuff sticking all over her, and cobwebs in her hair."
"That reminds me of a good story," exclaimed a chubby-faced youth in theuniform of the Flying Corps. "You'll appreciate it, Denison. Old Graham,of the Commissariat, was out golfing the other day, and he turned up atthe club all covered with cobwebs. Captain Harding, of our lot, who wasjust back in Blighty from eighteen months over there, said to him,'Hullo, Graham, I see you've been down at the War Offic
e.' Ha, ha!"
The other young men in khaki joined in the laugh, but a tall gaunt manwith an authoritative glance, the Denison referred to, looked ratherangry. Miss Heredith, with a hostess's watchful tact for thesuspectibilities of her guests, started to talk about a show forallotment holders which had been held in the moat-house grounds a fewweeks before. It seemed that most of the villagers were allotmentholders, and the show had been held to stimulate their patriotic warefforts to increase the national food supply. The village had enteredinto it with great spirit, and some wonderful specimens of fruit,vegetables, poultry and rabbits had been exhibited.
"The best part of it was that Rusher, my own gardener, was beaten badlyin every class," put in Sir Philip, with a smile.
"Not in every class," corrected Miss Heredith. "The peaches andnectarines from the walled garden were awarded first prize."
"Rusher was beaten in the vegetable classes--in giant vegetable marrowsand cabbages," retorted Sir Philip, with a chuckle. "He hasn't got overit yet. He suspects the vicar of favouritism in awarding the prizes. Thefact that his daughter won first prize for rabbits with a giant Belgiandid little to console him."
"And we raised quite a respectable sum for the Red Cross by chargingthreepence admission to see a stuffed menagerie of Phil's," added MissHeredith.
"A stuffed menagerie! What a curious thing," remarked a young lady.
"Not quite a menagerie," said Sir Philip. "Merely the stuffed remains ofsome animals Phil used to keep as a youngster. When they died--as theyinvariably did--he used to skin them and stuff them. He was quite anexpert taxidermist."
"Tell them about your museum exhibit, Philip," said Miss Heredith, withquite an animated air.
"We also arranged a little exhibition of--er--old things," continued SirPhilip diffidently. "Armour, miniatures, some old jewels, and thingslike that. That also brought in quite a respectable sum for the RedCross."
"From the Heredith collection, I presume?" said Mr. Brimley.
"What wonderful old treasures you must have in this wonderful old houseof yours," gushed the young lady who had spoken before. "I am sodisappointed in not seeing the Heredith pearl necklace. What a pity dearMrs. Heredith is ill. She was going to wear the pearls to-night, and nowI shall have to go away without seeing them."
Sir Philip bowed. He did not quite relish the trend of the conversation,but he was too well-bred to show it.
"You shall see the pearls in the morning," said Miss Heredithcourteously.
"I adore pearls," sighed the guest.
"If you admire pearls, you should see the collection which is being madefor the British Red Cross," remarked Vincent Musard. "I had a privateview the other day. It is a truly magnificent collection."
All eyes were turned on the speaker. The topic interested every ladypresent, and they were aware that Musard was one of the foremost livingauthorities on jewels. The men had all heard of the famous traveller byrepute, and they wanted to listen to what he had to say. Musard seemedrather embarrassed to find himself the object of general attention, andwent on with his dinner in silence. But some of the ladies weredetermined not to lose the opportunity of learning something from such awell-known expert on a subject so dear to their hearts, and they pliedhim with eager questions.
"It must be a wonderful collection," said a slight and slender girlnamed Garton, with blue eyes and red hair. She was a lady journalistattached to Mr. Brimley's paper. Twenty years ago she would have beencalled an advanced woman. She believed in equality for the sexes in allthings, and wrote articles on war immorality, the "social evil" andkindred topics in a frank unabashed way which caused elderlyold-fashioned newspaper readers much embarrassment. Miss Garton was justas eager as the more frivolous members of her sex to hear about the RedCross pearls, and begged Mr. Musard to give her some details. She wouldhave to do a "write up" about the necklace when she returned to London,she said, and any information from Mr. Musard would be so helpful.
"It is not a single necklace," said Musard. "There are about thirtynecklaces. The Red Cross committee have already received nearly 4,000pearls, and more are coming in every day."
"Four thousand pearls!" "How perfectly lovely!" "How I should love tosee them!" These feminine exclamations sounded from different parts ofthe table.
"I suppose the collection is a very fine and varied one?" observed SirPhilip.
"Undoubtedly. The committee have had the advice of the best experts inLondon, who have given much time to grading the pearls for the differentnecklaces. In an ordinary way it takes a long while--sometimes years--tomatch the pearls for a faultless necklace, but in this case the expertshave had such a variety brought to their hands that their task has beencomparatively easy. But in spite of the skilful manner in which thenecklaces have been graded, it is even now a simple matter for thetrained eye to identify a number of the individual pearls. The largest,a white pearl of pear shape, weighing 72 grains, would be recognized byany expert anywhere. There are several other pearls over thirty grainswhich the trained eye would recognize with equal ease in any setting.The few pink and black pearls are all known to collectors, and it is thesame with the clasps. One diamond and ruby clasp is as well-known injewel history as the State Crown. The diamonds are in the form of aMaltese Cross, set in a circle of rubies."
"That must have been the gift of the Duchess of Welburton," remarked SirPhilip. "She inherited it from her great aunt, Adelina, wife of thethird duke. There was a famous pearl necklace attached to the clasponce, but it disappeared about ten years ago at a ball given by theGerman Ambassador, Prince Litzovny. I remember there was a lot of talkabout it at the time, but the necklace was never recovered. The clasp,too, has a remarkable history."
"All great jewels have," said Musard. "In fact, all noteworthy stoneshave dual histories. Their career as cut and polished gems is only thesecond part. Infinitely more interesting is the hidden history of eachgreat jewel, from the discovery of the rough stone to the period when itreaches the hands of the lapidary, to be polished and cut for adrawing-room existence. What a record of intrigue and knavery, stabbingsand poisonings, connected with some of the greatest jewels in theBritish Crown--the Black Prince's ruby, for example!"
Musard gazed thoughtfully at the great ruby on his own finger as heceased speaking. The guests had finished dinner, and Miss Heredith, witha watchful eye on the big carved clock which swung a sedate pendulum bythe fireplace, beckoned Tufnell to her and directed him to serve coffeeand liqueurs at table.
"What is your favourite stone, Mr. Musard?" said a bright-eyed girlsitting near him, after coffee had been served.
"Personally I have a weakness for the ruby," replied Musard. "Itsintrinsic value has been greatly discounted in these days of syntheticstones, but it is still my favourite, largely, I suppose, because aperfect natural ruby is so difficult to find. I remember once journeyingthree thousand miles up the Amazon in search of a ruby reputed to be aslarge as a pigeon's egg. But it did not exist--it was a myth."
"What a life yours has been!" said the girl. "How different from thehumdrum existence of us stay-at-homes! How I should like to hear some ofyour adventures. They must be thrilling."
"If you want to hear a real thrilling adventure, Miss Finch, you shouldget Mr. Musard to tell you how he came by that ruby he is wearing," saidPhil Heredith, joining in the conversation.
The eyes of all the guests were directed to the ring which Musard waswearing on the little finger of his left hand. The stone in the plaingold setting was an unusually large one, nearly an inch in length. Thestone had been polished, not cut, and glowed rather than sparkled with adeep rich red--the true "pigeon's-blood" tint so admired byconnoisseurs.
"Nonsense, Phil"--Musard flushed under his brown skin--"your guests donot want to hear me talk any more about myself. I've monopolized theconversation too long already."
"Oh, please do tell us!" exclaimed several of the guests.
"Really, you know, I'd rather not," responded Musard, in someembarrassment. "It's a long s
tory, for one thing, and it's notquite--how shall I express it--it's a bit on the horrible side to relatein the presence of ladies."
"I do not think that need deter you," remarked one of the young officersdrily. "We are all pretty strong-minded nowadays--since the War."
"Oh, we should love to hear it," said the lady journalist, who scentedgood "copy." "Shouldn't we?" she added, turning to some of the ladiesnear her.
"Yes, indeed!" chorused the other ladies. "Do tell us."
"Go ahead, Musard--you see you can't get out of it," said Phil.
"Perhaps, Phil, as Mr. Musard does not think it a suitablestory--" commenced Miss Heredith tentatively. Her eye was fixed anxiouslyon the clock, which was verging on twenty minutes past seven, and shefeared the relation of her old friend's experience might make them lateat the Weynes. But at that moment Tufnell approached his mistress andcaught her eye. A slight shade of annoyance crossed her brow as shelistened to something he communicated in a low voice, and she turned toher guests.
"I must ask you to excuse me for a few moments," she said.
She rose from her place and left the room. As the door closed behind herthe ladies turned eagerly to Musard.
"Now, please, tell us about the ruby," said several in unison.
The explorer glanced at the eager faces looking towards him.
"Very well, I will tell you the story," he said quietly, but withvisible reluctance.