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The Gay Adventure: A Romance

Richard Bird

Mizzi rose with dignity and marched to the door, nose in the air. "If you are a gentleman," she said scornfully, "you will release me at once." "Afterward," he replied without moving. He sensed his triumph already. "After what?" "Your explanation." She sat down again and looked keenly at him, as if trying to divine the strength of his determination. "I have nothing to explain," she said presently. "If I had, you could not compel me. If you attempt it I shall scream." "Quite worth trying," he said urbanely. "Start now. I haven't the least objection." Mizzi remained silent for several minutes, debating the point. Then she laughed frankly, as if admiring his coolness. "Ah! that's better!" he approved. "Now, perhaps, we shall get on." "But no!" she said quickly, "I shall not scream, because I am quite capable of taking care of myself. But I will tell you nothing. What next, monsieur?" Lionel got off the bed and began to fill a pipe in leisurely fashion. "You don't mind me smoking?" he asked formally. "It always helps me." He struck a match and lighted the tobacco, apparently preoccupied. "What next? you ask. This. Have you ever seen that Pinero play, _The Gay Lord Quex_?" She shook her head, puzzled. "Ah! that's a pity, for I am going to borrow a hint if you are difficile. If you refuse to confess I mean to keep you locked up here till the morning." "And then?" "Then I shall ring for my shaving-water. And where's your character?" She bit her lips. "I mistook you for a gentleman." "Ah! that was the fault of the top hat. I'm really a detective and can't afford the luxury of sentiment." Mizzi nibbled a finger-nail, and watched him with sparkling eyes. It was clear that she was not at ease, that she had not expected to find him so ready with a plan, so determined in dishonor. Being a woman, it is probable that she did not altogether blame him. Lionel smiled, reading her, as he thought, like a book. "Well, what is it to be?" She made a disconsolate gesture. "You are too strong," she said, and smiled in pitiful appeal. "Ah, monsieur! once you would not have----" "That line is useless," said Lionel brutally. He was playing for high stakes and could not afford to waste a trick. "Once I flirted and had the pleasure of a kiss. Never again, my pretty schemer! So don't try it on!" She looked bewildered. "You misunderstand me cruelly. But as I am to be beaten, let us get to business. What do you wish to know?" "Where are the papers?" She did not attempt to parry now. "They are not in this house." "That is a lie." She shrugged again. "Monsieur is not discriminating. I tell you the truth. I took the papers and have hidden them. They are not here. If you like, here are my keys"--she held them out--"you may search my boxes." He looked steadily at her. There was no wavering in her tone, no weakness in the eyes or mouth. Belief was imperative. "Very well," he said. "Where have you hidden them?" "I will not tell you that." "You know the penalty?" "Yes, and I do not care. I tell you so much, but not that." Her voice was so inflexible, so cold and so indifferent that he felt defeat at hand. "Leave it for the present, then. Have you sold them?" "No. They would not pay the price." "And you are waiting till they increase their offer?" "Perhaps." "Perhaps!" he echoed. "But you mean to sell them?" She smiled faintly. "Perhaps. I may have stolen them for other motives than money. Enough that I stole them and will not tell you where they are." He changed his line of attack. "To-morrow I will have you arrested for theft." "No," she demurred. "You have no proof--no witness. The papers will _never_ be found unless I choose. Besides, you dare not have me arrested: you know this is not a police matter." "True," he admitted, for her knowledge made it useless to bluff. He paused and thought, Mizzi smiling maliciously from the armchair. The pendulum of victory was swinging to her and she could afford to smile. "Look here!" said Lionel, remembering another weapon. "Will you sell me them? I'll give you your price." "I will _never_ sell them to you," she said, still with inflexible determination. "Do not suggest it again, please. It would be a waste of time." Lionel was baffled, beaten at every point in the game, and he knew it. "Confound it!" he thought savagely, "I fancied I held the key of the situation in my hands, and I am no further on. I am deeper, in fact, for I know that Mizzi is here and I do not know why.... Ah!" he cried suddenly, determined to have one thing decided for good and all. "You have won to-night, I allow--I have no hold on you to make you confess--but there is one thing that you have done for me--one suspicion that your presence here has made almost a certainty--one resolution of a doubt that I can thank you for, however painfully--" "And that is?" she asked with polite interest. "This. I have come to the conclusion that the whole business is a game. I don't understand it in the least, but it's a game none the less, and I have been a dupe. I am sure now that Miss Blair and Miss Arkwright are the same person. What do you say to that?" Mizzi did not so much as flicker an eyelash. She looked at him with a lazy amusement. "_Herr Gott!_" she said with a scorn that seared his unbelief forever. "If you think that you will think anything. Miss Arkwright and Miss Blair the same!" and she went off into an uncontrollable peal. Lionel would have dearly liked to shake her, but in the midst of his defeat he realized with a glow that she had won a Pyrrhic victory. "She won't tell me what I ask her," he thought deliriously, "but she has convinced me of Beatrice's innocence. That is something at all events!" and he, too, began to laugh so infectiously that Mizzi stared in amazement. They laughed like two good friends, and it was in an excellent humor that Lionel at last got up. "Congratulations!" he said courteously. "You have beaten me, I confess. I can not give you in charge, unfortunately, and I do not see that any good purpose would be served by keeping you here all night. If I did, I would do so without hesitation. But I warn you that I shall ask Miss Arkwright to-morrow for an explanation of your presence." "I hope she will give you one," said Mizzi, rising with twinkling eyes. "Thank you, Mr. Mortimer. I hardly expected you to be generous, but I felt sure you would be sensible." He laughed good-humoredly and walked over to the door, she following with a demure air that was something of a trial to Saint Anthony. He fitted the key, turned it, and opened the door with a little bow. The bow was never perfectly finished, for framed in the doorway he beheld the figures of his hostess and Mrs. Wetherby. They had evidently been on the point of knocking, for Miss Arkwright's right hand was raised in the air: the projected knock had assumed the similitude of a blessing--or a curse. Mizzi fell back in unaffected horror. Lionel, the sport of fortune, was past surprise. He only stood and waited. "_Mizzi!_" said Miss Arkwright--one can not think of her as Winifred in such a deplorable situation: she radiated outraged respectability. "_Mizzi!_" The unhappy innocent was almost incapable of speech. Before Miss Arkwright's cutting dissyllables and Miss Wetherby's damnatory mien she was crushed. Lionel felt really sorry for her. "It is not my fault, madame," she mumbled. "Believe me, it is not my fault! This gentleman trepanned me. I am innocent. Is it not so, Mr. Mortimer?" "She speaks the truth," said Lionel calmly. "I kidnaped her and locked her in. I suppose that sounds unlikely, but it is a fact: I alone am to blame. Does one apologize for this sort of thing? If so, I am very sorry, but----" Miss Arkwright silenced him with a gesture. Her looks were serpents, her attitude was a virgin horror of man. She pointed imperiously to the corridor. "Go!" she hissed (yes--yes: "hissed" is melodrama, but she _did_ hiss), and Mizzi scuttled whimpering into the darkness. For a moment there was silence, but when the luckless girl had disappeared she turned again to Lionel. "Now, sir, be good enough to give me your key." "My _key_!" he repeated in amazement. "Why?" "Because I mean to lock you in for the night," she said sternly. "Without that degrading precaution we can not feel safe." Mrs. Wetherby said nothing, but nodded a grim approval. "I recognize your claims as hostess," replied Lionel amicably, "but, really, this is carrying the thing too far. I am not the vulgar intriguer you suppose--I merely kidnaped that charming----" "If you refuse," interrupted Winifred with basilisk eyes, "I shall ring for Forbes and have you turned out of the house at once. Do you understand?" Lionel sighed. "I ought to have known," he said, "that a woman judges by emotion, not reason. In the morning perhaps I shall be able to convince you of my innocence." He gave her the key, which she snatched with unnecessary vehemence. "Good night. Thank you for an uneventful evening." She ignored the insolence, which he justified to himself by her unreasonable suspicions. Leaving him in a nonchalant attitude, she swept out like an offended princess, her satellite following in an eloquent silence. Lionel heard the key turn dismally in the lock, and then the sound of footsteps retreating down the passage. He laughed gently to himself. "Good lord, what a muddle!" he said, "and what an evening! First, the face at the window (what a title for a melodrama!--Dash it! I've seen it already on the posters!); second, the appearance of Mizzi; third, discovered by Winifred. Climax after climax, and I was beginning to think myself bored. _Bored_ ... ye gods!... all I need at the present moment is bed: I've done enough thinking to scour my brain-pan for a year." He undressed rapidly and got into bed. As he pulled the clothes about him he chuckled, remembering Winifred's face. Then he grew grave. "Sacked to-morrow, old boy!" he muttered. "Marching orders at breakfast and no mistake! But before I go I'll ask her straight out what little Mizzi is doing here." And then he turned over and was soon asleep. But the horn of plenty still had some gifts to shower upon him: the god of mischances had not yet exhausted his store of thrills. About five minutes, as it seemed, after his retiring--it was really an hour and a half--Lionel was roused from a deep slumber by a knock. He sat up in bed, blinking heavily, wondering if his senses had deceived him, whether he was dreaming or awake. For a moment he sat listening, and then the knock was repeated, distinct beyond the possibility of mistake. "Confound it!" he muttered in an ill temper; "they might give me a night off now.... To-morrow I'll hang a placard on my door--'Conspiracies attended to from nine A. M. to eleven P. M. Kindly note hours of consultation.'--Hello!" he said aloud; "is anybody there?" The door opened a few inches, but no one entered. Lionel was too bored to speculate whether it might be Mizzi, Winifred or some unknown Oriental with turban and simitar. He was prepared to accept anything, if only he might be allowed to go to sleep. "Hello!" he repeated; "who is that?" "Me," said the voice of Miss Arkwright. "Are you asleep, Mr. Mortimer?" "Yes," said Lionel, grinning in the darkness--"sound asleep." A species of cluck was heard from outside the door, but whether the strange sound indicated amusement or wrath he could not determine. He was wide awake now, determined to exact vengeance for his cavalier treatment. "Some one," continued the voice, "is prowling round the house. A thief, I suppose. He seems to have a ladder."