The Paternoster Ruby Part 30

"A mere scratch--a nothing," I made light of it. "I 'll tell you all about it when the time comes. There are too many other things to be disposed of first."

"But--you have been wounded," she persisted, now thoroughly alarmed.

And so I had to tell her about the night's adventure, which I did, for the most part shamefacedly enough.

It was a delight to watch the different expressions flit across her lovely countenance, to see them mingle and blend and give way to others--wonder, amazement, awe, horror, terror--I can't begin to name them all. A score of times she interrupted me, but it was always a welcome interruption.

"Stodger 's a trump," I concluded. "Think of him jumping up from a sound sleep and throwing himself into the thick of the fray, without one second's hesitation."

"Y-e-s," she agreed, but there was no enthusiasm in her tone. Then she turned warmly upon me.

"I 'm thinking, though, that you 've been gifted with mighty little sense, Knowles Swift, to have acted so recklessly. The very idea of a sane man creeping through that dark hall and up those dark stairs, and plunging into he knew not what!" She eyed me severely.

"But I did know," I protested meekly. "It was the _etagere_"

There was a solemn rebuke in the slow shaking of her head. "A man swears so," she sighed, "when he does anything awkward, like that."

I remained discreetly silent.

However, she was too much exercised over my "wound"--as she persisted in calling the scratch on my cheek--and the loss of the ruby to encourage any levity. Honestly, at that moment I cared not a whit for the ruby. Besides, there were consolations which I need not record.

It _was_ real--very, very real; and I was the happiest man in the world.

Genevieve was also curious to learn--and very naturally so--what had transpired between Belle and me.

"How is she now?" I parried. I had concluded that when Miss Belle was again her normal self, she would rather have our little episode forgotten.

"Calm as a graven image," was the reply. Grief and anxiety trembled in Genevieve's voice. "But it is a stony, deathlike sort of calm that gives me the creeps. The poor girl is distracted. She wants to be alone; she sent me to you."

"_She_ sent you," said I, with quick interest. This struck me as being rather curious.

"Oh, I know Belle," said Genevieve. "She probably said some very bitter things to you; now she 's sorry."

I trusted that the impulsive young lady was experiencing some pangs of remorse; but before I confided anything, I learned how Genevieve came to be locked in Belle's room.

Early in the morning Belle had grown quite tranquil, but insisted upon talking. To humor and soothe her, Genevieve, during their talk, a.s.serted that I could be depended upon to save Royal. She also mentioned that I was expected to call.

After breakfast Genevieve had fallen asleep, through sheer weariness.

Belle must have risen cautiously, determined to treat with me herself.

Her impulsive decision was manifestly arrived at after I rang the bell, because she had had no time to dress.

Soon after, Genevieve had awakened with a start, to find herself locked in and the bell-b.u.t.ton dug out of its socket. She could not summon the servants without creating an uproar. She soon surmised something of what Belle had in mind, but never, until she heard the m.u.f.fled report of the pistol, had she dreamed that the frenzied girl contemplated anything so desperate and rash.

Well, I softened the matter as much as I could for Miss Belle, making it very clear that I realized from the start that she was not responsible, and that I had been most of the time engaged in calming her and trying to persuade her to return to her room. I even stretched a point about the shooting; I feared that Genevieve would never forgive her for that. I said it had occurred--without intent--while I was struggling with her; which, after all, was perhaps not far from the truth.

"Why should Miss Belle have any reason for despising Alexander Burke?"

I asked during our conference, for the girl's patent abhorrence of the fellow stuck in my mind.

Genevieve's expression became all at once very grave. For a moment she sat silent, toying with a plait of her skirt; then she looked up at me, saying soberly:

"It is one of the things that I shouldn't talk about. Still--I don't know," she faltered. "It is Burke alone who has roused her resentment." Then she decided.

"I will tell you this much: She overheard a conversation between him and her father. It filled her with loathing for the fellow--that and--and something else."

"I shall not try to force your confidence, my dear girl," I said.

"Tell me only what you think you ought."

"Belle trusts me implicitly," she said simply.

"And I want her to continue to. The something else that makes her loathe him--are you free to speak of that?"

"It's nothing; it's ridiculous." She laughed nervously. "He has tried to make love to her. _Ugh!_" She shuddered at the idea.

"The d.i.c.kens he has!"

Such a thought had never entered my head; it was impossible to imagine that slippery rascal in the role of an ardent lover. His blood was as cold as a fish's. But now I understood the fellow's animus toward Maillot; his hatred was inspired by jealousy. Belle had never spoken of the matter to Maillot--mortification was potent to hold this confidence in check--but he had instinctively distrusted and disliked Burke in return.

I could not bring myself to confide in my lovely coadjutor my convictions respecting her uncle. I learned that he had left the house that morning at an hour unusually early for him, and I thought at once of the queer memorandum on his calendar. He was still very much worried, declared Genevieve, and when at home kept more and more to himself as time went by. Mrs. Fluette was asleep after the night's ordeal with her daughter.

"If Royal were free to come after her," said Genevieve, not without some bitterness, "he could carry Belle away this very minute; there would be n.o.body to say him nay. Poor boy!"

"It is more than likely that he shall soon," I offered in dubious comfort. And then we got down to the purpose of my call.

"Do you know where your aunt and uncle were married?" I asked.

"Yes. It was in a little town in Ohio--"

"Merton," said I.

"That's it! But how did you know?"

I smiled at her surprise. "It's Felix Page's birth-place; the rest was inference."

She waited with ill-concealed curiosity for what was to follow. I found it necessary to hold her hands--both of them--while I told her.

"Would you mind making a journey there?--at once--to-day?"

Her eyes opened wide; even her sweet lips parted; but she waited.

And now I found it really essential to put my arm around her and draw her to me--she was too agitated to hear otherwise what I had to say. I hastened to explain how impossible it was for me to leave the city just at the time, what with my anxiety to recover the ruby and the necessity of keeping in close touch with Burke.

"I require only one more piece to complete the answer to our riddle," I affirmed,--I really thought so at the time,--"and you can get it for me. Don't bother your aunt; she will keep back all essentials, anyway.

Your uncle and aunt and Felix Page all came from the same town, and there you can find plenty of old gossips who can--they 'll be only too willing to--give you all the information you want. They 'll give you more; but we can winnow the wheat from the chaff after you get back.

Do you feel equal to such an undertaking?"

The proposal appeared to overcome her. She considered for a time, then turned to me, her eyes dancing, her cheeks flushed.

"Yes," she said, with bated breath. "I can't do Belle any good; she only wants to be alone. What do you want me to do?"

"Dig up every sc.r.a.p of family history that you can--the Pages', the Fluettes', and the Coopers'; especially as they affect one another.

Being a Cooper yourself, the task should be easy for you; you are compiling a family-tree, you know."