Chapter XVIII: Blair’s Third Notion

It required no particular powers of observation on the part of the two men who were watching her to see that Burgoyne’s announcement gave Frances Leverton the greatest surprise of her life. It was a surprise which did not show itself by any sudden rush of colour to her face, by any sudden starting of her body; rather, it left her outwardly calm and motionless, as if she had been turned into a statue. But presently, amidst the silence which had fallen upon all three of them, she lifted her hands to the elbows of her desk-chair, and, bending forward towards Burgoyne, spoke in what was little more than a whisper.

“Do you mean to tell me that what you took away from the bank was not your necklace--the Maria Louisa necklace?” she said. “Do you?”

Burgoyne was beginning to hate the situation. He thought there was something to admire in this girl; in her direct gaze, her candid and fearless expression; it was unpleasant to feel that she was being dragged into all this miserable and sordid story of theft.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “But--it wasn’t.”

Frances bent still nearer.

“It was not what you gave my father?” she said in intent tones.

“No,” answered Burgoyne. “No!”

“Then--it was an imitation, a duplicate?” she asked.

Burgoyne inclined his head--for speech he was feeling less and less desire. But the girl went on.

“Then this imitation must have been substituted for the real article while it was in my father’s possession?” she said.

“I’m afraid so,” replied Burgoyne, miserably, and beginning to wish that he had never heard of the Maria Louisa necklace. “I’m afraid so. You see, Miss Leverton, I----”

But Frances suddenly interrupted him. She was sitting upright now, and there was a bright spot of colour on each cheek. She nodded at Captain Blair.

“Who is this gentleman?” she asked. “A detective?”

There was something in the girl’s tone that made Burgoyne wince. But Blair smiled and responded to Burgoyne’s direct glance at him.

“No, I am really what my card describes me to be, Miss Leverton,” he said. “But I am also a very old friend of Captain Burgoyne, to whom he came for counsel and advice in this matter. I advised him strongly to come straight to you and to tell you what has happened, and to----”

“And look here, Miss Leverton,” broke in Burgoyne, careless whether he interrupted Blair or not, “I want to tell you at once that I have no suspicion of--of----”

“Hush!” said Blair. “Miss Leverton need not be told that you have no suspicion of any one into whose hands the necklace came legitimately. She understands that by your coming to her.”

“If the real necklace is stolen, somebody must have stolen it,” said Frances coldly. “And it must have been stolen, and the false one substituted for it, while it was in my father’s possession.”

“Just so,” agreed Blair. “But--I think other people than your father had access to his room, from what Captain Burgoyne tells me. There were--pardon me--people about your father----”

“There were people about my father whom I wouldn’t have trusted with the value of a penny-piece!” the girl suddenly broke out. “My father was far too easy-going. People about him! My God--yes! What are you going to do?” she asked, turning on Burgoyne. “Tell me--what are you going to do?”

But it was Blair who answered.

“We are going to consult with you,” he said gently. “That’s what we came for. Captain Burgoyne does not want to make this matter public--he wants to pursue his own course. And--to begin with--he wants you to tell him all you know of two people who seem to have been considerably mixed up in your father’s affairs--I am sure you know whom I mean. And--there is a particular reason why he should know all about the--woman.”

Frances was watching Blair’s strong face with a growing interest. She felt that here was a personality.

“Why--about the woman?” she asked in a low voice.

Blair looked her directly in the eyes.

“Because young Mr. Shrewsbury has promised to marry her,” he replied.

For an instant a sudden flush of colour flamed into the girl’s cheeks, and Blair, after one quick glance at her, turned as quickly away to look at Burgoyne. And he was thankful to see that the explorer, who was evidently much troubled and concerned over the affair, or, rather, over the unpleasantness of bringing Frances into it, was at that moment engaged in the double task of endeavouring to gnaw off a part of the handle of his umbrella and at the same time to see something or other in the immaculate lining of his silk hat. And Blair himself, continuing to talk, kept his eyes for a while on the hearthrug at his feet, tracing out its pattern with his walking-cane. He had seen enough in that swift glance at the girl’s face, and he wanted her to regain her composure.

“Mr. Shrewsbury has become engaged to Mrs. Walsingham,” he continued. “Now, Mr. Shrewsbury is a very young, a very inexperienced man. He had no friends in this country when he arrived here; he was to be taken in easily by clever and unscrupulous people. Probably Captain Burgoyne has the greatest right of any one in England to consider himself Mr. Shrewsbury’s friend, for he knew him before the boy came here, and he knew his father, and had been his father’s guest, and he does not like to think that this very innocent youth is contracting a marriage with a woman of whom he knows nothing.”

He paused and looked at Frances. She had recovered herself by that time, and she was looking at him with an expression which he did not quite understand. Was she asking him to keep a secret which she had let slip for a moment, or--what? He turned to Burgoyne.

“Have I put that correctly, Burgoyne?” he said, still trifling to give Frances more time.

“Quite correctly, from my point,” answered Burgoyne, tearing himself away from the umbrella and the hat. “I’d rather forfeit the necklace altogether than know that the youngster was marrying a woman who--well, a woman that his father wouldn’t have liked him to marry. The father was a fine old chap.”

Blair turned again to Frances.

“Who is this woman, Miss Leverton?” he asked bluntly.

Frances opened out her hands.

“But I don’t know!” she answered. “I--I don’t know anything whatever about her except that she is--there.”

“Your father----” began Blair. But Frances stopped him.

“I’ll tell you, willingly, all I know about Mr. Carsdale and Mrs. Walsingham,” she said. “I have no liking for either of them, because I honestly believe them to be--well, anything but straight--but I won’t let that influence me in what I say. I first heard my father speak of Carsdale about six years ago, when I was thirteen or fourteen; my father used to tell me little business things, even then, because my mother was dead, and he had no one else to talk to. He said that he and Carsdale had entered into some sort of partnership in certain things, and that Carsdale was a very smart man, who could introduce business. Carsdale began coming here about that time, and I never liked him, though I never knew why. Then, about three years ago, my father said that he and Carsdale were going to have a lady secretary, a Mrs. Walsingham, who was Carsdale’s cousin, and a young widow, and that she was very clever in many ways. And so she came--and that is practically all I know.”

“Carsdale’s cousin, and a young widow?” said Blair. “Widow of whom?”

“Dick Shrewsbury,” broke in Burgoyne, “says that she’s the widow of some chap named Walsingham, who was making an expedition into Arabia or somewhere taking her with him, where he was killed by the natives, she being rescued by a friendly chief. But,” he added, with a sly glance at his companions, “although I said nothing to the youngster, I never heard of that affair, and I think I should have done.”

“A romantic story,” remarked Blair. “And one that could, I suppose, be traced to its origin. But, Miss Leverton--you are a business woman, and you doubtless have a good many business relations with City folk. The great thing to be desired in this matter is--privacy. Could you not find out--quietly--what Carsdale’s career was before he became associated with your father? He must have been occupied previous to that, you know.”

“But I believe he came from New York,” said Frances. “I don’t think he had been long in England when my father met him.”

Blair looked at Burgoyne.

“But Carsdale’s not an American, is he?” he asked.

“I should say, decidedly not,” answered Burgoyne. “He uses an occasional American phrase, but I should take him for a genuine Londoner, or, at any rate, an Englishman.”

Blair gave himself up to a moment’s reflection.

“The position seems to be this,” he said after awhile. “Carsdale appears to have floated over the present horizon six years ago; Mrs. Walsingham, his cousin, three years ago. During that time--in spite of your instinctive dislike of them, Miss Leverton--they seem to have run straight. Your father, for example, never complained of them?”

“No--never,” answered Frances. “No--never as regards himself. He used to laugh sometimes and say that Carsdale was as sharp as a Sheffield blade, and now and then he would make reference to Mrs. Walsingham as being a remarkably clever woman, but that was all. My father was somewhat curious in temperament--when he pleased he could be extremely close and reserved.”

“And when he died, I suppose the partnership accounts between himself and Carsdale were all right?” asked Blair.

“Oh, yes--that was easily adjusted and settled,” answered Frances. “Of late, my father had done little partnership business with Carsdale.”

“In short, you know nothing against Carsdale--or against the woman?” said Blair.

“Nothing--at least, nothing positive,” she replied.

“Then, for the present, let us turn our attention to the question of the necklace,” said Blair. “Now, Miss Leverton, as the genuine necklace was undoubtedly stolen while it was in your father’s keeping, you are naturally anxious that we should discover who stole it. I may take that for granted?”

“I am so anxious,” replied Frances, with emphasis, “that I will do anything I can to help in the discovery.”

“Very good,” said Blair. “Then first of all, let us all three understand that we are under a pledge of secrecy to each other. Now, Burgoyne, I told you that I had a third notion, and, as Miss Leverton is now well aware that we believe the real necklace is in Mrs. Walsingham’s possession, I will tell you what that notion is. You have told me that Shrewsbury wanted to buy your necklace, Burgoyne; that you were at first inclined to sell; that on finding what it was that you really had got, you refused to sell. Now, then, you are to follow my advice. You are--at once--to tell Shrewsbury that you have changed your mind, and that he can have the necklace for ten thousand pounds.”

Burgoyne who had fallen to contemplation of his hat’s lining, looked up with sheer amazement in his eyes.

“What on earth does that mean?” he exclaimed.

“Never mind,” replied Blair. “You are to do what I say. On leaving here, go straight to Levanter’s, get the paste necklace, contrive to see Shrewsbury as soon as possible, make him your offer, and hand the necklace to him--to be shown to Mrs. Walsingham. Do you follow all that?”

“I follow it--and I’ll do it, since you tell me to do it,” answered Burgoyne. “But I’m hanged if I know what it means.”

“Again, never mind--for the time being,” said Blair. “You will know. Now, I may as well tell you that Mrs. Walsingham will advise Shrewsbury to buy the necklace----”

“What, ten thousand pounds for mere paste!” exclaimed Burgoyne.

“She will tell him to buy,” continued Blair, imperturbably. “And he will buy, and he will give you his cheque. Lock the cheque up in safety--don’t even endorse it. And when that transaction is over, see me again.”

Blair rose, and Burgoyne slowly followed his example.

“Well, I really don’t know what you’re after, Blair,” he said, with a mystified shake of the head, “and I don’t know if Miss Leverton does--do you, Miss Leverton----?”

“I have a dim notion,” admitted Frances, with a glance at Blair.

“Very well--you’re cleverer, both of you, than I,” said Burgoyne. “I’ll follow the instructions to the very letter.”

“And later on,” said Blair, turning to Frances, “we shall--know more.”

Then they went away and drove back towards Bond Street, and for a time both men kept silence. But at last Blair turned to Burgoyne with a queer look.

“I believe we’re at the beginning of a striking episode, in which we shall rescue young Master Richard from the Philistines,” he said. “And I’ve a pretty good notion that we shall receive yeoman help from the young woman we’ve just left.”

“From her? Why?” demanded Burgoyne.

“Because I think she’s in love with the young gentleman,” answered Blair, drily.