Part 3

The last arrival had opened the outer door unheard, and, profiting by the commotion, had removed his overcoat and hat in the anteroom.

When the rest of the party perceived him, Majendie was standing erect and smiling under the Turkish lamp that, hanging from the balcony, cast a mellow light on his genial, aristocratic forehead. In every detail, from the ruddy, delicately veined cheeks and white mustache to the slight, finely shaped figure at ease in the evening coat that fitted him as a woman's ball gown, he radiated the patrician, but the patrician of urbanity, tact, and generous impulses.

"My dear hostess," he said at once, bending over Mrs. Kildair's hand with a little extra formality, "a thousand excuses for keeping you and your guests waiting. But just at present there are quite a number of persons who seem to be determined to keep me from my engagements. Am I forgiven?"

"Yes," she answered, with a sudden feeling of admiration for the air of absolute good humor with which he pronounced these words, mystifying though they were to her sense of divination.

"I think I know every one," he said, glancing around without a trace of emotion at Bloodgood and Cheever, whose presence could not have failed to be distasteful. "You are very good to be so lenient, and I will accept whatever penance you impose. Are we going to have one of those delightful chafing-dish suppers that only you know how to provide?"

"What pride!" she murmured to herself, as he passed over to Miss Charters with a compliment that made her and Beecher break out laughing.

Up to the moment, the group had found not the slightest indication of the probable outcome of the afternoon's conference. If anything, there was in his carriage a quiet exhilaration. But the moment was approaching when he must come face to face with Mrs. Bloodgood, who, either in order to gain time for the self-control that seemed almost beyond her, or that she might draw him into more immediate converse, had withdrawn so as to be the last he should greet. Majendie perceived instantly the imprudence of the maneuver, and by a word addressed to Mrs. Kildair, who followed at his side, contrived to bring himself to the farther side of the group, of which little Mrs. Cheever and Garraboy were the other two.

"I make my excuses to the ladies first," he said, with a nod to Garraboy, whom he thus was enabled to pass. He offered his hand to Mrs. Bloodgood, saying: "Grant me absolution, and I promise to do everything I can to make you as gay as I feel now."

Elise Bloodgood took his hand, glancing into his face with a startled glance, and immediately withdrew, murmuring something inaudible.

Mrs. Kildair, who with everyone had been listening to his words for the double meaning that seemed to be conveyed, stepped in front of Mrs. Bloodgood to cover her too evident agitation.

"Elise," she said sharply, pressing her hand, "get hold of yourself. You must! Everything is all right. Didn't you understand him?"

"Ah, if he were going to die tomorrow he would never tell me," said Mrs. Bloodgood, pressing her handkerchief against her lips. "Nothing will ever break through his pride."

"But he told you in so many words," said Mrs. Kildair--who, however, didn't believe what she said.

"He told me nothing--nothing!"

"You must control yourself," said Mrs. Kildair, alarmed at her emotion.

"What do I care?"

"But you must! Listen. When I go into the dining-room don't follow me. I will contrive to take your husband with me. Profit by the chance. Besides, you are in no state to judge. Does Bernard look like a man who has just been told he is ruined? Come, a little courage."

She left her and, stepping into her bedroom, donned a Watteau-like cooking-apron, and, slipping her rings from her fingers, fixed the three on her pin-cushion with a hatpin. From the mirror in which she surveyed herself she could see the interior of the studio--Nan Charters' laughing face above the piano, where she was running off a succession of topical songs, surrounded by a chorus of men, while Beecher, at her side, solicitously turned the pages.

"Teddy seems quite taken," she thought. But the tensity of the drama drove from her all other considerations. Completely mystified by Majendie's manner, she was studying the moment when she could throw him together with Elise Bloodgood, convinced that from the woman she would learn what the man concealed.

"Your rings are beautiful, dear, beautiful," said the deep voice of Maud Lille, who, with Garraboy and Mrs. Cheever, was in the room.

"I never saw the ruby before," said Mrs. Cheever in a nervous voice. "My dear, you are the most mysterious woman in the world. Think of having a ring like that, and never wearing it!"

"It is a wonderful stone," said Mrs. Kildair, touching with her thin fingers the ring that lay uppermost.

"It is beautiful--very beautiful," said the journalist, her eyes fastened on it with an uncontrollable fascination.

Mrs. Cheever, her lips parted, her black eyes wide with eagerness, leaned over. She put out her fingers and let them rest caressingly on the ruby, withdrawing them as though the contact had burned them, while on either cheek little spots of red excitement showed.

"It must be very valuable," she said, her breath catching slightly.

Garraboy, moving forward, suddenly looked at the ring.

"Yes, it is valuable--very much so," said Mrs. Kildair, glancing down. Then she went to the door that led into the studio, and clapped her hands:

"Attention, everybody! Beecher and Garraboy are the chefs. Each one must choose his scullery-maid. Mr. Majendie is to make the punch. Everyone else is butler and waitress. Mrs. Cheever, did you ever peel onions?"

"Good heavens, no!" said Mrs. Cheever, delicately recoiling.

"Well, there are no onions to peel," said Mrs. Kildair, laughing. "All you have to do is to carry dishes or make the toast--on to the kitchen!"

"Miss Charters, you are engaged at any salary you may name," said Beecher, forestalling Garraboy, who was coming forward.

"But I shall drop every dish," said Nan Charters, rising from the piano. "I don't know anything about cooking."

"Splendid! Then you'll make no mistakes."

He installed her at one end of the table, and went off for the chafing-dish. When he returned, gingerly balancing it on a silver platter, Garraboy, profiting by his absence, was seated beside Nan Charters, speaking in a purposely low voice. She was listening, perfectly composed, looking straight before her with a tolerant, uninterested smile.

If women often can conceal their true natures from women, men seldom deceive one another. There was a fixity in Garraboy's glance which Beecher understood and hotly resented. But at the moment when, setting the tray on the table, he was meditating some ill-advised remark, Mrs. Cheever, passing by, said with ill-concealed impatience in her thin, hurried voice:

"Mr. Garraboy, I am sorry for you, but I have been assigned as your assistant, and I should like to know what I am to do."

Garraboy rose immediately, bowed with perfect suavity, and rejoined Mrs. Cheever, who said to him something that the others did not hear, but at which they saw him shrug his shoulders.

"Well, what are we going to make?" said Nan Charters, with the enjoyment that this exhibition of feminine jealousy had brought still in her eyes.

"I don't like Garraboy," said Beecher directly.

"Why not?" she said, smiling a little, and raising her eyebrows as though interrogating a child.

"Because I like you," he answered abruptly.

Accustomed to contend with men, she was surprised by the genuineness of his remark, which was inspired by a sentiment deeper than jealousy. She looked at him again with that sudden second estimate which is vital.

"He is not difficult to handle," she said carelessly, unaware of the touch of intimacy which her reply permitted.

"I don't like him," he said obstinately, "and I don't like his crowd--the crowd that is here to-night. They're like a pack of wolves. What the deuce does Rita see in them?"

"Mrs. Kildair has generally, I should say, a very good reason for whom she invites," she said carelessly.

"But these Cheevers--they're impossible. How the deuce do they live?"

"I thought Mr. Majendie very charming."

"Oh, Majendie--yes, I except him," he said enthusiastically. "He's a gentleman."

"That counts a good deal with you?" she said, with a touch of raillery.

"It does. I think a gentleman is almost the rarest thing you meet with today," he said, holding his ground, "a gentleman in the heart. I know only four or five."

"Yes, you are right," she said, changing her tone. She looked at him a third time, at the honest, boyish loyalty so plainly written on his face, and said: "You haven't gone out much here?"

"No; I'm just back from knocking around the world, hunting in Africa and all that sort of uselessness."

"Come and tell me about it sometime.

"May I?"

She laughed at his impetuousness, and pointed to the contents of the chafing-dish, which had been simmering neglected; but more than once during the operation her glance returned to the eager, earnest face.

Meanwhile, Garraboy, at the other end of the table, assisted by Mrs. Cheever and Maud Lille, was busy with a lobster a la Newburg. Mrs. Kildair, having finished in the kitchen, had entered the dining-room, where she established a sort of provisional serving-table. She called to her side Cheever and Bloodgood, and, under the pretext of arranging the dishes from the china-closet, kept them isolated. At this moment Elise Bloodgood approached Majendie, who, at the rear end of the studio, was occupied with the brewing of a punch. Natural as was the movement, it was instantly perceived by the four or five persons vitally interested. A moment afterward Mrs. Bloodgood passed into the bedroom; but there was in her carriage a triumph that she did not care to conceal.

"He's won out," thought Bloodgood.

"The shorts will be caught," thought Cheever. "The devil! I must cover."

"Has he lied to her?" said Mrs. Kildair to herself. "If everything is all right, why should he conceal it from any one?"

She went across the room, stopping at the punch-table.

"Have you everything you need?" she asked.

"Everything, thank you," Majendie answered gently; but there was in his voice a tired note, as if some effort had suddenly exhausted him.

"I understood what you meant," she said, looking at him not without a little pity--an emotion which was rare with her. "Let me congratulate you on the result of this afternoon."

"Thank you very much for your congratulations," he said quietly, taking her hand. "If you knew, you will understand why I was kept so late."

As he bowed, the front of his jacket opening a little, she saw or fancied she saw in the inner pocket a strip of green, slightly protruding. She left him, still unconvinced, and turned to the company.

"Everything ready, Teddy? All right. Every one sit down. Mrs. Cheever and Mrs. Bloodgood are appointed butlers--because real work will do them good. Sit down, sit down. I'll be back in a minute."

As she turned to her bedroom, there came a strong ring, twice repeated. She paused, astonished.

"Who can that be?" she thought, frowning, and directing her steps toward the antechamber. "No one is allowed to come up. It must be a telegram."

She opened the door, and Slade entered.

"I came right up," he said directly, "because I had no success on the telephone. You rather excited my curiosity this afternoon. Please invite me to your party."

The first moment of irritation was succeeded, on her part, by the feeling of elation. The impulse that had brought Slade so unexpectedly there was a feeling of jealousy, in which Beecher and Majendie were confusedly mixed.

"He wishes to watch me with his own eyes," she said triumphantly. "Very well; he shall be well punished."

Slade's arrival produced a moment of profound astonishment. Bloodgood and Maud Lille exchanged quick glances, believing the meeting between Majendie and Slade had been premeditated. Garraboy plucked Cheever nervously by the sleeve, while Majendie, as if realizing that he was dealing with an antagonist of a different caliber, rose with a little nervous inflation of the chest. Rapid as had been the interim in the antechamber, Mrs. Kildair had had time to say:

"Majendie is here. Do you know what happened this afternoon?"

"I do," said Slade, with malicious enjoyment, and he added: "Do you?"

"Yes," she replied, convinced, likewise, of the falsity of his statement. Then aloud she added: "Ladies and gentlemen, Mr. Slade, an impromptu guest."

She passed with him about the table, introducing him where it was necessary. Slade and Majendie did not offer hands; each bowed with a quiet, measured politeness. On the contrary, when Beecher was reached, the older man grasped the hand of the younger, and held it a moment with a grip that, despite Beecher's own strength, made him wince.

"Teddy, be a good boy and place Mr. Slade somewhere," she said, resting her hand purposely on the young man's shoulder. "I'll take off my apron and be back immediately."

She stopped near Majendie, who had returned to the punch-table for an extra glass, and, seeing that her movements were followed by Slade, said:

"Bernard, believe me, I did not plan it. I had no idea he was coming."

"It makes not the slightest difference," he said instantly. "Mr. Slade and I have no quarrel. Please don't worry about me."

"You're an awfully good sort," she said abruptly.

"That is high praise from you," he said, with a little critical smile which showed he was not entirely the dupe of her maneuvers.

She went into her bedroom, and, divesting herself of her apron, hung it in the closet. Then, going to her dressing-table, she drew the hatpin from the pin-cushion and carelessly slipped the rings on her fingers. All at once she frowned and looked quickly at her hand. Only two rings were there. The third one--the ring with the ruby--was gone!

*CHAPTER III*

Her first emotion was of irritation.

"How stupid!" she said to herself, and, returning to her dressing-table, began to search among the silver and ivory boxes. All at once she stopped. She remembered with a vivid flash putting the pin through the three rings.

She made no further search, but remained without moving, her fingers slowly tapping the table, her head inclined, her lips drawn in a little between her teeth, watching in the glass the crowded table reflected from the outer studio.

In that gay party, one person was the thief--but which one? Each guest had had a dozen opportunities in the course of the time she had been in the kitchen.

"Too much prinking, pretty lady," called out Garraboy, who, from where he was seated, could see her.

"Not he," she said quickly. Then she reconsidered: "Why not? He's shifty--who knows? Let me think."

To gain time, she went slowly back to the kitchen, her head bowed, her thumb between her teeth.

"Who has taken it?"

She ran over the characters of her guests and their situations as she knew them. Strangely enough, with the exception of Beecher and Majendie, at each her mind stopped upon some reason that might explain a sudden temptation.

"And even Majendie--if he is bankrupt or running away," she thought. "No, I shall find out nothing this way. That is not the important thing just now. The important thing is to get the ring back. But how?"

All at once she realized the full disaster of the situation. Slade would never believe her; and yet, how was it possible to admit before others who had lent her the ring?

"What could I say to him?" she thought desperately. "No, no; I must have the ring back, whatever happens. I won't give him that hold. I must get it back--some way--somehow."

And mechanically, deliberately, she continued to pace back and forth, her clenched hand beating the deliberate, rhythmic measure of her journey.

In the studio, meanwhile, under the gay leadership of Majendie and Nan Charters, the spirits of the company began to rise. The rival chefs were surrounded by anxious admirers, who shouted laughing instructions or protested with mock agony against the shower of red pepper.

The ceremony had served to bring Beecher and Nan Charters on terms of sympathetic familiarity. The young actress had the secret of what is meant by that much abused word--charm. Her vivacious movements were all charming. The eagerness with which her eyes seized the excitement of the moment, the soft and yet animated tones of her voice, the most casual gesture she made, or the most evident reply, all seemed invested with a peculiar charm which was at the same time a delight in pleasure and a happiness in the consciousness of pleasing.

Beecher did not or could not conceal the empire she had so suddenly acquired over his imagination, while Nan Charters, quite aware of what was happening, laughingly provoked him further, a little excited beyond the emotions of an ordinary flirtation.

During the progress of this personal duel, which, however, every one perceived with different emotions, Slade, placed at the middle of the table, followed only the expressions of Bernard Majendie, his scrutiny at times becoming so insistently profound that the banker several times noticed it with a swift glance of annoyed interrogation, which, however, did not alter in the least the fixity of the other's gaze.

Meanwhile, two or three conversations, expressed in snatched phrases, took place between those whose interests in the stock market were put in jeopardy by the mystery as to Majendie's fate.

"There'll be a rush of the shorts to cover tomorrow, if this is true," said Cheever in a low whisper to his wife. "Pump Mrs. Bloodgood all you can."

"How quick do you suppose they'll give the news out?" said Bloodgood to Garraboy. "It means a buying movement as soon as they do."

"Any paper may have the news tomorrow," said the broker, and the glass that he took from the punch-table shook as he raised it.

"Do you think Slade knows?"

"I'm not sure--but I think he does," said Garraboy carefully. "Better meet me at the Waldorf at eleven. I'll get another line on it by then."

"Why the deuce should he pull through?" said Bloodgood, with a quick, dull fury.

Garraboy, with his malicious smile, perceiving that Bloodgood's hatred was purely financial, chuckled to himself, took a couple of glasses in rapid succession, and returned to the table under perfect control, not without a scowl at the other end of the table, where Nan Charters and young Beecher were laughingly disputing the possession of the pepper-shaker.

A moment later, as Mrs. Cheever was exclaiming at their hostess' prolonged delay to Garraboy, who was dipping into the lobster a la Newburg, which he was preparing to serve, Mrs. Kildair slipped into the room like a lengthening shadow. Her entrance had been made with scarcely a perceptible sound, and yet each guest was aware of it, at the same moment, with the same uncontrollable nervous start.

"Heavens, dear lady," exclaimed Garraboy, with a twitch of his arms. "You come in on us like a Greek tragedy. What is the surprise?"

As he spoke, Beecher, looking up, saw her turn suddenly on him, drawing her forehead together until the eyebrows ran in a straight line.

"I have something to say to you all," she said in a quiet, discordant voice, while her eyes ran restlessly through the company with a predatory sharpness.

There was no mistaking the gravity in her voice. Garraboy extinguished the oil-lamp, covering the chafing-dish clumsily with a disagreeable tinny sound; Mrs. Cheever and Mrs. Bloodgood swung about abruptly; Maud Lille rose a little from her seat; Nan Charters, dramatically sensitive, seized unconsciously the arm of young Beecher; while the men, with the exception of Slade, who still watched Majendie like a terrier, imitated their movements of expectancy with a clumsy shuffling of the feet.

"Mr. Bloodgood."

"Yes, Mrs. Kildair?"

"Kindly do as I ask."

"Certainly."

She had spoken his name with a peremptory positiveness that was almost an accusation. He rose, placing his napkin carefully at the side of his plate, raising his short eyebrows a little in surprise.

"Go to the vestibule," she continued, immediately shifting her glance from him to the others. "Are you there? Shut the sliding doors that lead into the studio. Lock them. Bring me the key."

He executed the order without bungling, while the company, in growing amazement, fascinated, watched his squat figure returning with the key.

"You've locked it?" she said, making the question an excuse to bury her glance in his.

"As you wished me to."

"Thanks."

She took from him the key, and, shifting slightly, likewise locked the door into her bedroom through which she had come.

Then, transferring the keys to her left hand, seemingly unaware of Bloodgood, who still composedly awaited her further instructions, her eyes studied a moment the possibilities of the apartment and then returned to her guests.

"Mr. Cheever," she said abruptly.

"Yes, Mrs. Kildair."

"Put out all the candles except the candelabrum on the table."

"Put out the lights?" he said, rising, with his peculiar nervous movement of the fingers to the lips.

"At once."

Mr. Cheever, in rising, met the glance of his wife, and the look of questioning and wonder that passed did not escape the others.

"But, my dear Mrs. Kildair," cried Nan Charters, with a little nervous catch of her breath, "what is it? I'm getting terribly worked up."

"Miss Lille," said Mrs. Kildair's undeviating voice of command, while Beecher placed his hand firmly over his companion's, which had begun to open and shut in nervous tension.

The journalist, more composed than the rest, had watched the proceedings from that shadowy calm which had made her presence almost unnoticed. Now, as though forewarned by professional instinct that something sensational was hanging on the moment, she rose quietly with almost a stealthy motion.

"Put the candelabrum on this table--here," said Mrs. Kildair, after a long moment's confrontation. She indicated the large round table on which the punch-bowl was set. "No, wait. Mr. Bloodgood, first clear off the table, cover and all; I want nothing on it."

As Bloodgood started to remove the punch-bowl, Majendie rose quickly and took the heavy candelabrum from the hands of Maud Lille, saying:

"Permit me; that's rather heavy for you."

"But, Mrs. Kildair--" began Mrs. Cheever's voice, in shrill crescendo.

Mrs. Kildair, as though satisfied by her examination of the journalist, nodded to Majendie, and, perceiving the mahogany table clear, said without notice of Mrs. Cheever:

"Good! Now put the candelabrum down on it."

In a moment, as Cheever proceeded lumberingly on his errand, the brilliant cross-fire of lights dropped away in the studio, only a few smoldering wicks winking on the walls, while the high ceiling seemed to recede as it came under the sole dominion of the three candles bracketed in silver at the head of the bare mahogany table.

"Now listen!" said Mrs. Kildair, and her voice was cold and abrupt. "My ring has just been stolen!"

She said it suddenly, hurling the news at them, and waiting ferret-like for some indication in the chorus that broke out.

The hand that Beecher still grasped shot out from him as though it had been stung. For the first time, Slade, forgetting Majendie, wheeled brusquely and concentrated his glance on Mrs. Kildair, who listened unmoved to the storm of exclamations:

"Stolen!"

"Oh, my dear Mrs. Kildair, not that!"

"Stolen--by Jove!"

"Rita dear!"

"What! Stolen--here--tonight?"