XXVII
WHEN BEVERLEY CAME HOME
When Clo had shut the taxi door almost in Beverley's face, and had giventhe chauffeur orders to drive on, she had said to herself, "Angel willbe so surprised she won't know what to do for a minute. And by the timeshe pulls herself together, she'll realize it's too late to stop me."
The girl had judged well. Beverley shrank back from the slammed doorwith a jump of the nerves. Then she guessed what Clo meant to do. Shewas in the act of tapping to stop the chauffeur, and tell him to turn,when the question seemed to ask itself aloud in her brain, "What goodwill it do for you to go back?"
Before she could reach Clo, if she returned to the hotel now, the girlwould have learned the secret of Peterson's room. When she saw whatBeverley had seen, she would know that there was nothing to be done witha dead man. She would slip away to avoid being mixed up in the businessof the murder. She would not risk being caught. The girl was toosensible, and she had plenty of money as well as brains. She had shownherself equal to desperate emergencies. She would be equal to this. Shewas so quick-witted that she would know what to do, and how to do it.Beverley let the chauffeur drive on. He went to the corner where he hadbeen hailed by his two passengers. There he stopped, and Beverley gotout. She paid him; and making a pretence of examining her change in thelight of a street lamp, stood still until the taxi had turned and shotout of sight. Then, with the bag of jewels which Clo had tossed into herlap, she walked home. Her latch-key opened the door of the flat, sheentered her boudoir, and fell into a chair, sitting as still as the deadPeterson had sat. It was not much past ten o'clock.
Five minutes later she took off hat and cloak, and peeped into herbedroom to see if her maid were there. But the room was empty, and sheput away the gray mantle and toque where she had found them. She did notforget to toss carelessly upon her bed the hat she had worn in theafternoon, and a pair of white gloves; then she rang for her maid whocame almost at once. She had gone out, Beverley explained quietly, tohelp Miss Riley transact a little matter of business.
It was eleven-thirty when Leontine bade her mistress good-night andsoftly closed the bedroom door. She had noticed nothing strange in themanner of Madame, except an unusual lack of vitality.
Left alone, Beverley opened the door of the big, bare room. "Clo," shecalled softly.
No answer. She switched on the light. No one was there, and Beverleyhurried on to the little room beyond, which had been Sister Lake's. It,too, was empty. Something grave, perhaps terrible, had detained thegirl.
"She won't come--she won't come at all." Beverley said aloud. "Whatshall I do?" She could not abandon the fragile child who loved her, whohad stood by her with wonderful strength and courage throughout thisdreadful day. Yet what was there she could do?
Roger returned about one o'clock. He moved quietly, as if in order notto disturb his wife, but she heard the cautious closing of his door. Shedid not try or wish to sleep, but lay on her bed, waiting for day.
After six o'clock Beverley could lie still no longer. She stole into herbathroom, and bathed in cold water. But she felt as utterly spent afterher bath as before.
This morning she did penance by putting on a tailor-made, white linensuit, of a slightly severe cut, and made her toilet without ringing forLeontine. She decided to breakfast at the customary hour and in thecustomary place, but she did not expect to be joined by Roger. She wasstill in her bedroom, fastening a brooch, when he tapped at her door.
"Come in!" she cried, eager for the meeting, yet sick with fear. Rogercame in, fully dressed, looking cool and well groomed. To Beverley's sadheart it seemed that he had never been so handsome--or so hard.
"Good morning," he said, as he might have spoken to any friend. "I heardyou stirring about, so I thought I might knock. Are you going outearly?" as his eyes wandered over her dress.
"You mean because I'm dressed? No, I didn't think of it. I couldn'tsleep. The night was hot, and the heat was on my nerves, I suppose, so Igot up at six. I hope I didn't disturb you, Roger?"
"Not at all," he politely replied. "I've some business which will takeme out half an hour sooner than usual. I suppose they can give usbreakfast in time for that? Coffee and toast and grape fruit can't takelong to make ready?"
"I'll ring for breakfast. I didn't know if----"
"Didn't know--what?" he caught up her sentence as it broke.
"Oh, nothing--important," she excused herself. Yet she was sure he knewwhat had stopped her short of saying that she didn't know if he wouldbreakfast with her in the boudoir.
"Well, I daresay Johnson has put the newspapers in their place by thistime," Roger said, ignoring her embarrassment. "I'll have a look, tosave time. You'll come when you're ready? I've a suggestion to make thatI think you'll like."
He spoke pleasantly, not at all as if he had a grudge against his wife.Many women would have been satisfied with such a manner; but Beverleywas not of the "many women," and Roger had never been like other,ordinary husbands. For the first morning since that day in Chicago whenhe had asked her to be his wife, they had not kissed.
"It will always be like this from now on," she told herself. "I hope Ishall die. I can't live without his love, and go on seeing him everyday!"
Roger had not mentioned Clo, and Beverley held her peace. She thought itwould be best to wait and see what the newspapers said. At the end often minutes, as the breakfast tray was being placed on the lace tablecover, she strolled into the boudoir. Roger hardly looked up, feigningto be deeply interested in his paper. On other mornings--the servantbeing out of the room--he would have sprung from his chair to placehers, and perhaps to kiss the long braid of her golden brown hair, orthe back of her white neck as it showed under her fetching little cap.
"Any exciting news?" she asked in a casual tone, as she sat down--thesort of tone which other wives perhaps use to other husbands.
"Nothing that interests us specially," Roger answered. "A rather sordidmurder, at a third-rate hotel; there's a mystery, of course."
"What hotel?" Beverley ventured to ask, pouring coffee with a hand thatwould shake.
"One I never heard of before. Let me see, what's the name? Oh, the'Westmorland.' You'll not be interested. Let's get to the thing I wantto talk about. Can you guess what it is?"
Beverley shook her head. "I am a bad guesser."
"It's partly about your pearls. By the by, was the pearl-stringersatisfactory?"
"Oh, quite," Beverley murmured, sipping her coffee.
"I'm glad she made a good job. The rope looks as fine as if no accidenthad happened, I suppose?"
"It's a--wonderful rope," his wife managed to reply.
"I imagined you'd be wearing your gewgaws for breakfast this morningjust to show they were all right!" Roger's eyes smiled coolly into hers.It was a cruel smile.
"A rope of pearls at breakfast--on a tailor gown of linen--and a queen'spearls at that! What bad taste! I shall wear these splendours only onthe greatest occasions."
"Well, I've arranged a great occasion," said Roger. "That's principallywhat I want to talk about. I'd like you to send out invitations for ahouse party and a big dinner and dance directly after we're settled inthe Newport cottage. And I'd like to move there sooner than we meant.I've decided to take a few weeks' holiday. We'll both be better out ofthe city."
"Oh, yes!" Beverley agreed.
"And I want you to do a thing to please me. Wear the queen'spearls--your pearls--on the night of the dinner and dance."