Kitabı oku: «The Curved Blades», sayfa 12
“Off and on. I’ll be back and forth, you know. This place is up the Nile a bit, and, of course, I have to be there much of the time. But you’ll be all right. I know heaps of people, jolly sort, too, and Mrs. Mac will take you round, and you’ll have the time of your sweet young life!”
“I’m sure I shall. But, Carr, have you forgotten all about America, and Aunt Lucy and – and Fleming Stone?”
“No, Pauline, I haven’t forgotten those things. But, I own up, aside from the awful circumstances, I’m not terribly wrought up over Aunt Lucy’s death. Poor old thing, she wasn’t so awfully happy, you know, and Lord knows, she didn’t make anybody else happy. Then, too, you must realize that as I wasn’t there, through the dreadful time, as you were, I can’t feel the same thrill and horror of it. In fact, I try to forget it all I can, as I can’t do anybody any good by mulling over it. So, if you want to please me, old girl, you’ll refer to it as little as you can.”
“But don’t you care who killed her? Don’t you want to find out the murderer and bring him to justice?”
“I want that done, Polly, but I don’t want to do it. That’s why I put it all in Haviland’s hands; that’s why I didn’t want to go to America, unless, as I told you at first, unless you needed me. I can’t pay proper attention to my work here if I have any such worriment as that on my shoulders. And I tell you, Pauline, this chance that has come to me is the chance of a lifetime, the chance of a century! It means fortune, fame and glory for me. It means – oh Pauline, it means everything!”
“All right, Carr, I won’t interfere in anyway with your work. I’ll do as you tell me, but – but if they continue to suspect me, – ”
“Suspect you! My dear girl! Let ’em try it! I’ll see to that! Don’t you fear. If anything bothers you, just leave it to me! Ah, here come our truants. Now, Polly, for my sake, leave all those subjects for the present, and be your own dear entertaining self.”
And Pauline granted his request, and was so attractive and charming that the Englishman straightway fell over head and heels in love and Mrs. MacDonald was torn between throes of admiration and envy.
XXIII
TWO WILLS
For a few days Loria staid in Cairo, and devoted all his time to the amusement and entertainment of Pauline. Together they visited the Sphinx and the Great Pyramids. Together they made trips to Old Cairo and to the Ostrich Farm. Together they saw the Little Petrified Forest. But the immediate sights of Cairo, the tombs, mosques and bazaars, Loria told her, she could visit with Mrs. MacDonald or with their dragoman, after he and Ahri had gone on their trip up the Nile.
Pauline was happy. At Carr’s request she had endeavored to put out of her mind the horrors she had been through. Frightened at the suspicions directed toward herself, fearing that she could not successfully combat them, – and, for another reason, – she had fled to Egypt, and her cousin’s protection. This other reason she had almost dismissed from her mind, and she gave herself up to the enjoyment of the novelty and interest of her present situation.
After their sight-seeing each day, they returned for tea on the Terrace at Shepheard’s or went to Ghezireh Palace for it, or to the house of some friend. Dinner was always a pleasant affair, and they had frequent guests and were often invited out.
As Pauline was wearing mourning, no large social affairs were attended, and under Mrs. MacDonald’s guidance the girl pursued her happy way.
Nearly a week after Pauline’s arrival, Loria told her that the next day he must leave her, and go up the Nile to attend to his work there. They were in the sitting room of Pauline’s pleasant suite at the hotel, and Mrs. MacDonald promised to cherish most carefully her charge in Loria’s absence.
“How long shall you be away, Carr?” asked Pauline.
“It’s uncertain, Polly. Perhaps only a few days this time, perhaps a week. I’ll be back and forth, you know, and you’re bound to find enough to interest you. Keep me advised of any news from America. You can always reach me by mail or wire, or telephone if need be. And, here’s another matter, Pauline. You know, this work I’m up against is more or less dangerous.”
“Dangerous, how?”
“Well, there’s blasting and danger of cave-ins and such matters, – but don’t feel alarmed, I’ll probably come through all right. Only, I want to make my will, so if anything should happen, you’ll be my heir without any fuss about it.”
“Oh, don’t talk about such things, Carr. You frighten me.”
“Nonsense, don’t take it like that. Now, see here. You know my way. Touch and go is my motto. So, I’ve asked a lawyer chap to come here to-night and fix up things. Suppose you make your will, too. Then it will seem more like a business matter, and not as if either of us expects to die soon. Who’s your heir to be, Polly?”
“Why, I don’t know, I’ve never thought about it.”
“But you ought to. You see, now you’re some heiress, and it isn’t right not to have a will made, – on general principles. To be sure, you may marry, – ”
“Oh, I don’t think I ever will, Carr!”
“Nonsense, Pollypops, of course you will. But you must take your time and select a good chappie. Now, how does this strike you? Jeffries, my lawyer, is coming here, right away. Suppose we each make a will, leaving all our worldly goods to each other. Then, later, when you decide on your life mate, you can change and rearrange as you like.”
“But I haven’t any fortune yet. Aunt Lucy’s estate isn’t all settled, is it?”
“No matter about that. It will be, in course of time. I have every confidence in Haviland, he’s as honest a chap as ever breathed. He’ll fix up all our interests over there, in apple-pie order and don’t you forget it! Humor me in this thing, Polly, and believe I know more of business affairs than you do, and it’s best to do as I say.”
Pauline was easily persuaded, and as the arrangement was conceded to be merely temporary, she agreed. Jeffries came. The two wills were drawn, signed and witnessed, all in correct form. Loria, in his, bequeathed to Pauline all he might die possessed of, and except for a few charities and minor bequests, Pauline left her fortune to Carr. The business was soon over, and Loria took both documents, saying he would put them in his Safe Deposit box for the present, as Pauline had no place for valuable papers.
The next day, Loria, accompanied by the invaluable Ahri, went away to the site of his projected enterprise. This affair was conducted with such strict secrecy that even the location was not known to many. Actual work had not yet been begun, but negotiations and preparations of vast importance were being made, and secret conclaves were held by those most interested. Pauline had been emphatically adjured to give not the least hint to any one whatever of the project, and she had promised faithfully to obey Carr’s injunctions.
The next afternoon, a telegram from Fleming Stone announced his arrival at Alexandria and his immediate appearance in Cairo.
Addressed to her, in Loria’s care, Pauline received it duly, for her mail was brought to her at Shepheard’s, and Carr’s forwarded to him wherever he might be. She had had a cable from Haviland, but no American letters had yet reached her. Stone, having sailed just a week after Pauline’s departure from New York, was arriving eight days after her own advent at Cairo.
The girl’s first emotion was of joy. The thought of seeing Stone again, eclipsed all other thoughts.
“Oh, Mrs. Mac!” she cried, clasping that somewhat rotund matron round the waist and leading her an enforced dance. “Mr. Stone is coming! Will be here for tea! Oh, I am so glad!”
But her second thoughts were more disturbing. Why was he coming? What were his suspicions? Could he be tracking her down? Though Fleming Stone had never said a word of love to her, Pauline knew, by her own heart’s ‘detective instinct,’ that he cared. But, his sense of duty might make it necessary to follow where the trail of suspicion led, even at cost of his own affections. Then, too, could he suspect? – But Pauline’s irrepressible joy at thought of seeing him left her little time or wish to indulge in gloomy forebodings.
Singing, she ran off to dress for Stone’s reception.
“Which is prettier?” she asked of Mrs. Mac, holding up an embroidered white crêpe, of Cairo construction, and a black net gown, brought from New York.
“Wear the white, Miss Stuart. It’s most becoming to you.”
It was, and when arrayed in the lovely, soft, clinging affair, with a cluster of tiny white rose-buds at her belt, Pauline’s unusually pink cheeks and her scarlet flower of a mouth gave all the color necessary.
Her beautiful hair, piled in a crown atop her little head, was held by a carved ivory comb, and beneath their half-drooped lashes her great eyes shone like stars.
For the Terrace, she donned a large white hat, with black ostrich plumes, and flinging a white cape edged with black fur over her arm, she descended to meet her guest.
Though little given to emotional demonstration, Fleming Stone caught his breath with a quick gasp at sight of her, and advanced with outstretched hands and a smile of a sort no one had ever before seen on that always calm face.
“How do you do?” she said, smiling; for, though thrilled herself, she remembered the unfailing curiosity of the Terrace crowds.
But Stone, having taken her two hands in his, stood looking at her as if he intended to pursue that occupation for the rest of his natural life.
“Sit down,” she said, laughing a little nervously under his gaze; “this is our table. Will you have tea?”
“Tea, of course,” and at last Fleming Stone took himself in hand and behaved like a reasonable citizen. “And how are you? And your cousin, where is he?”
“Mr. Loria is out of Cairo just now,” and Pauline turned to give the waiter his order. “But we are three, as I am under most strict surveillance – ” she paused, realizing what that phrase meant to a detective! “Of a perfect dragon of a chaperon,” she continued bravely, trying to control her quivering lip. “Here she comes now.”
The appearance and introduction of Mrs. MacDonald gave Pauline time to regain her poise, and a glance of pathetic appeal to Stone made him take up the burden of conversation for a few moments. And then, with the arrival of the tea, the chat became gayer, and, of course, impersonal.
The Englishman, Pitts, appeared, indeed, he inevitably appeared when Pauline was on the Terrace, and joined the group without invitation.
It was not Fleming Stone’s first visit to Egypt, and he noted with interest the changes, and looked with gladness on things unchanged, as the kaleidoscopic scene whirled about him.
Later, they all went up to Pauline’s sitting room, and viewed the street pageant from second-story windows.
And then, Mrs. MacDonald, after a short and losing battle between her conventions and her kind-heartedness, insisted that Mr. Pitts must take her across the street to buy some imperatively necessary writing-paper.
Outwardly courteous but inwardly of a rampageous unwillingness, Mr. Pitts acquiesced in her scheme, and Fleming Stone politely closed the door behind them.
He turned, to see Pauline looking at him, with a gaze, frightened, but, – yes, surely, – welcoming, and not waiting to analyze the intent of the gaze more deeply, Stone took a chance, and in another instant, held her in his arms so closely that the intent of her glance was of little importance to anybody.
“Pauline!” he breathed, “how I love you! My darling, – mine! No, no, don’t speak – ” and he laid his finger tips on her parted lips, “Just look at me, and so – tell me – ”
The wonderful eyes raised themselves to his, and Stone’s phenomenal insight was not necessary for him to read the message they held.
“You do love me!” he whispered: “oh, my little girl!” and after a long, silent embrace, he cried jubilantly: “Now tell me! Now tell me in words, in words, Pauline, that you do!”
Unhesitatingly, without shyness, Pauline, radiant-faced, whispered, “I love you, dear,” and the vibrant tones filled the simple words to the brim of assurance.
Though it seemed to them but a moment, it was some time later that Mrs. MacDonald’s tap sounded on the door.
“Come,” cried Pauline, springing away from Stone’s side, while he sauntered to the window. “Oh, Mrs. MacDonald, you must know it at once! Mr. Stone is my fiancé!”
Mrs. Mac was duly surprised and delighted, and, after congratulations, sent Stone away to dress for dinner, and endeavored to calm down her emotional charge.
Later that evening, Stone and Pauline sat in the hall watching the people. Almost as much alone as on a desert island, they conversed in low tones, and Stone, between expressions of adoration, told her of his theory of the beauty charm.
With paling face, Pauline listened. “Who?” she whispered. “Who? Do you suspect anybody?”
“You don’t know of your aunt ever having consulted any beauty doctor or any such person?”
“Oh, no! I’m sure she never did. Never!”
“And you don’t know of any one who would give her poison, under pretense of its being a charm or beautifier?”
“Oh, don’t! Don’t ask me!” and, with a face white as ashes, Pauline rose from her chair. “You must excuse me, Mr. Stone. I am ill, – I don’t feel well – . Really I must beg to be excused.”
Almost before he realized what she was doing, Pauline had left him, glided to the elevator, and he heard the door of the cage clang to, even as he followed her.
“Poor child!” he said to himself, “poor dear little girl!” and going in quest of Mrs. MacDonald, he asked her to go to Pauline.
“You will perhaps find her greatly disturbed,” he said, “but I assure you it is nothing that can be avoided or remedied. Please, Mrs. MacDonald, just try to comfort and cheer her, without asking the cause of her sadness.”
After a straightforward look into Stone’s eyes, which was as frankly returned, Mrs. MacDonald nodded her head and hastened away.
As Stone had predicted she found Pauline sobbing hysterically.
“What is it, dear?” she queried, “tell Mrs. Mac. Or, if you’d rather not, at least tell me what I can do for you. Don’t, don’t cry so!”
But no words could she get from the sobbing girl, except an insistent demand for a telegraph blank. This was provided, and Pauline wrote a message to Carr Loria telling him that Fleming Stone had come to Cairo. This she ordered despatched at once. Then she begged Mrs. MacDonald to leave her, as she wished to go to bed and try to forget her troubles in sleep.
Meantime, Fleming Stone left the hotel and proceeded straight to Carr Loria’s rooms. He expressed surprise when the janitor informed him of Mr. Loria’s absence.
“Well, never mind,” he said: “he’ll be back in a few days. But I’ll just go in and write a note and leave it on his desk for him.”
The janitor hesitated, but after a transference of some coin of the realm was effected, he cheerfully unlocked the door and Stone found himself in Loria’s apartment. It was a comfortable place, even luxurious, in a mannish way, and the Detective looked about with interest. As he had proposed, he went to the writing table and taking a sheet of paper from the rack, wrote a short note. But instead of leaving it, he put it in his pocket, saying to the watchful janitor that perhaps it would be better to mail it. Then, he stepped into Loria’s bedroom, but so quickly did he step out again, that the janitor hadn’t time to reprove or forbid him.
“All right,” he said, as he started to leave. “When Mr. Loria returns you can tell him I called.”
This permission went far to allay the janitor’s fears that he had been indiscreet; for Carr Loria was not a man who brooked interference with his affairs or belongings.
XXIV
CONFESSION
Carr Loria was at Heluan when he received Pauline’s telegram. For a few moments he studied it, and then going to a hotel office, he possessed himself of a telegram blank which he proceeded to write on, by the use of a type-writer near-by.
With a preoccupied look on his face, as if thinking deeply, he called Ahri and gave him a long and careful list of directions.
And it was in pursuance of these directions that the Arab presented himself at Shepheard’s at ten o’clock in the morning and asked for Miss Stuart.
“What is it, Ahri?” asked Pauline, as she received the dragoman in her sitting room.
“Miss Stoort,” and the Arab was deeply respectful, “Mr. Loria begs that you go with me to Sakkara to visit the Pyramids and Necropolis.”
“Now?” said Pauline, in surprise.
“Yes, my lady. Mr. Loria will himself meet you at the station. Will you start at once, please?”
“But I am expecting a caller – Mr. Stone, – ”
“Pardon, but Mr. Loria said if you hesitated for any reason, to implore you to go with me quickly, and he will explain all.”
Pauline paled a little, but she said, simply, “Very well, Ahri, I will go at once.”
Escorted by the silent, majestic-mannered Arab, Pauline was taken through the crowded streets to the station, and they boarded a train just as it was leaving.
“We did get the train, Miss Stoort,” said Ahri, with his sad smile, “Mr. Loria would be greatly mad if we had missed it. Yes.”
Pauline nodded at him, her thoughts full of the spoiled day, which she had hoped to spend with Stone.
Yet she longed to see Carr, she wanted to tell him what Mr. Stone had said about the beauty charm and —
“You said Mr. Loria would meet us at the station, Ahri; you put me on the train so quickly I had no chance to speak. Where is he?”
“Not the Cairo station, my lady. The station at Bedrashein.”
“Where is that?”
“Where we are going. We alight there to see the ruins of Memphis and the Pyramids of Sakkara.”
Pauline looked puzzled, but said no more and sat silently wrapped in her own thoughts, now of Stone, now of Carr, and again of herself.
At Bedrashein, they left the train. Pauline looked anxiously around but saw nothing of her cousin.
“I do not see him,” said Ahri, gravely, meeting her inquiring glance; “but I obey his orders. He said, if he be not here, we go to the desert to meet him.”
“To the desert? How? Where?”
“This way. Here are our carts.” Ahri led the way to where two sand-carts stood waiting, evidently for them. They were a little like English dog-carts and drawn by desert horses.
“You take that one, Miss Stoort, and I this,” directed Ahri, standing with outstretched hand, like a commanding officer.
Bewildered but knowing the responsibility of Carr’s servant, Pauline got into the cart he indicated. She did not at all like the looks of the gaunt black Moor who drove her, but thought best to say nothing. She had learned never to show fear of the native servants, and she held her head high, and gave the driver only a haughty stare. Ahri, after she was arranged for, sprang into the other cart, and they set off.
The road was through the village, through palm groves, past large expanses of water, and at last through desert wastes, among foot-hills that quickly cut off the view of the road just traversed.
Pauline’s cart was ahead of the other, and looking back she could not see the other one, in which Ahri rode.
A strange feeling began to creep into her heart. Covertly she glanced at her driver. The hard bony face was not turned her way, but she had an uncanny sense that the man was grinning at her. Sternly she bade him stop and wait for the other cart.
“No Ingleese,” he rejoined, with a dogged expression on his ugly countenance.
“I command you,” and Pauline laid hold of his arm, “I insist that you stop!”
“No Ingleese,” he repeated, and now he gave her a distinctly impudent look and spurred the horse to faster pace.
Pauline considered. She was frightened beyond words to express, but she knew she must not show fear. Haughtily she held her proud little head aloft, and tried to think what was best to do. Something was wrong, that she knew, but whether it was Ahri who was at fault, or this dreadful man beside her, or – or, – she stifled back the thought of Loria.
He would save her, she knew he would, cried her worried brain, but in her heart was black doubt. All the unadmitted fears she had known of late, all the repressed suspicions, all the insistent doubts, these came flocking, clamoring for recognition.
On they went, – where they might be she had no idea. Nothing could be seen but the never-ending hills, not high, but of sufficient height to cut off all view of anything but their sandy slopes. Miles and miles they traversed. The sun was under a cloud, and Pauline had no knowledge of the direction they were taking. But from the man’s grim, stony face, and cruel eyes, she knew she was in dreadful, even desperate danger. Courageously, she insisted over and over that they stop. The reply was only a shaken head and a reassertion that English was an unknown tongue. This Pauline knew to be a lie, from his intelligent expression at her words. At last, desperately trying to control her trembling hands, she offered her purse, if he would stop.
To her surprise, he consented, and jerked his horse to a stand-still. Pauline handed over the purse, and the driver got out of the cart, indicating by gestures that she should also alight, and rest herself.
The cart was small, and the ride had been uncomfortable, so after a moment’s thought Pauline jumped out. She reasoned that the man having her money, had no desire to prolong the trip, and in a moment they would go back to Bedrashein. Often had she heard of these robberies, and she felt that, cupidity satisfied, she had little to fear.
But no sooner was she on the ground, than the Moor sprang again into his cart, and whipping up his horse, sped away across the desert sand and in a minute rounded a hill and was out of sight.
Pauline looked after him an instant, and then, realizing to the uttermost what it meant, – that she was abandoned to her fate in a trackless desert, – fell in a little heap on the sands and fainted away.
It was about eleven o’clock on the morning of that same day, that Carr Loria went to Shepheard’s Hotel and asked for Fleming Stone.
The two men met, and eyed each other appraisingly. There was no light chat, each was of serious face and in grave mood.
Loria spoke first, after the short greeting. “I have a telegram from my cousin, Miss Stuart,” he said, drawing a paper from his pocket. “I know why you are here, Mr. Stone, and I think best to show you this. Frankly, I am glad of it.”
Stone took the message, and read:
I have run away again. I am afraid of F. S. Don’t try to find me, I am all right, and I will communicate with you after he goes back to U. S. I positively will not make my whereabouts known as long as he is in Cairo. Don’t worry.
Polly.
“We may as well be honest with one another,” Loria went on. “I gather, from your presence here, that you know my cousin is guilty of the death of her aunt; but you don’t know, you can’t know, what that poor girl had to put up with. I can’t blame her, that in a moment of, – really of temporary insanity, – she let herself be tempted – ”
“I’m sorry to cut short this interview, Mr. Loria,” said Stone, in his quiet way, “but, truly, I’ve a most important engagement just now. If I could see you, say this evening, and talk these things over by ourselves – ”
“Surely, Mr. Stone. I must return to my work to-morrow, but I’ll see you to-night. Will you come to my place?”
“Yes, I will. About nine?”
“Nine it is,” and Loria swung away, as Fleming Stone turned and hastened into the hotel.
Straight to Mrs. MacDonald he went and asked where Pauline was.
“She went to visit Memphis and Sakkara with her cousin,” said the smiling chaperon. “That is, she went with her cousin’s dragoman, and Mr. Loria met them at Bedrashein.”
“Oh, did he! Now listen, Mrs. MacDonald. Miss Stuart is in danger. I am sure of this. I am going to her aid, but I may not – ” Stone choked, “I may not succeed soon. Tell me of this dragoman. What does he look like?”
Graphically, Mrs. MacDonald described the statuesque Ahri, and almost before she stopped speaking, Stone was flying along the corridor, down the stairs, and out at the door.
He caught a train to Bedrashein, and the first person he bumped into at the little station was Ahri himself waiting for the train to Cairo.
Fleming Stone went straight to the point. “Look here, Ahri,” he said to the astonished Arab, who had never seen him before, “what have you done with Miss Stuart?”
For once the phlegmatic Arab was caught off his guard.
“What do you mean?” he stammered. “I have not seen her to-day.”
“Don’t lie to me,” and Stone gave him a look that cowed him. “Now listen. You’re in Mr. Loria’s pay. All right. He paid you well for the job you’ve just done. Now, I’ll pay you twice, – three times as well to undo it. Moreover, I’ll inform you straight that you’ll never work for Mr. Loria again. He’s a villain, a wicked man. Take my advice, Ahri, give him up and come over to me. By so doing, you’ll not only escape punishment for your work to-day, but get a fresh start toward a good position. I don’t believe you’re a bad man at heart, Ahri. At least, I don’t believe you’ll continue to be if you’re better paid to be good.”
Stone was right about this, and the talk ended in another expedition of two sand-carts into the desert. Ahri in one, with a native driver, Stone alone in the other, driving himself. Ahri’s cart was driven by the same Moor that had driven Pauline only two or three hours before. Stone followed them, the wicked driver easily bought over to betray the place where he had left Pauline.
And there they found her.
Crouched at the base of a small hill, worn out by weeping and despair, racked by fright and terror, she had fallen into a fitful slumber from sheer exhaustion. Jumping from his cart, Stone waved the others back and went to her. On her face were traces of tears. Her gloves and handkerchief were torn in strips by her agonized frenzies. Her shoulders were huddled as if in frantic fear, and her face was drawn and pinched with anguish. But in spite of all this, Stone thought he had never seen her look so beautiful. Stepping nearer he lifted her to her feet, and unheeding the observers, he clasped her closely in his arms, and whispered endearing words.
Pauline, her eyes still closed, murmured, “it’s only a dream. I must not wake, I must not!”
“No dream, darling,” said the strong, glad voice in her ear. “Does this seem like a dream?” and his lips met hers in a long, close kiss.
Then her eyes opened, wondering, and lest she should faint from very joy, Stone carried her to the cart and placed her in it. Jumping in beside her, he ordered the other cart to lead and they started back.
Neither Pauline nor Stone ever forgot that ride. At first, she was content to ask no questions, happy in his nearness and her own rescue from an awful fate. But, later, she inquired about Loria.
“You must know the truth soon, dearest,” said Stone, gently, “so I’ll tell you, in part now. Your cousin is a wicked man, Pauline, and you must grasp this fact before I go on.”
“Carr wicked?” and Pauline paled and trembled as if struck with a sudden blow.
“Yes, it was his hand, his will, that sent you to be lost in the desert. He showed me a false telegram, saying you had run away from me!”
“What? oh, I can’t believe it!”
“Well, don’t try now,” and Stone smiled at her. “It’s all I can do to manage this fiery steed without trying to tell you unbelievable things at the same time. Let me tell you something more easy of credulity.”
Pauline’s smile was permission, and Stone had no difficulty in convincing her of certain self-evident truths.
By the time the trio reached Cairo, Ahri was as staunch a follower and as true a slave of Fleming Stone as he had been of Carrington Loria. At Stone’s direction he returned to his former master, for the present, and gave no hint of the later development of the kidnapping scheme.
“All went off as planned?” said Loria, secure in his servant’s fidelity.
“Yes, master,” answered the devoted trusty, and Loria said no more on the subject.
That evening when Fleming Stone went to Carr Loria’s rooms, he was accompanied by Pauline and the Englishman, Pitts.
Loria started at sight of his cousin, but quickly recovered his poise and jauntily asked her where she had come from.
“No place like Cairo, for me,” she replied in the same light tone, and they all sat down in Loria’s den.
“More company than I expected,” he said, as he bustled about, seating them. “Ahri, another chair.”
Ahri obeyed the request, and then softly left the room.
“Mr. Loria,” said Stone, directly, “there is no use wasting words, we are here to accuse you of the murder of your aunt and the attempted murder of your cousin.”
Carr Loria’s face blanched, but he tried to put on a bold front.
“What do you mean by this nonsense? Is it a joke?”
“By no means; I have all the proofs of your crimes and I ask you if you will confess here, or to the Police?”
“Friend Pitts, I believe, is connected with the Police,” and Loria laughed grimly.
“Yes, he is. Have you anything to say?”
“Only to deny your accusations. Except that it’s too absurd even to deny such foolish talk. What do you mean anyway?”
“That you poisoned Miss Lucy Carrington, wilfully and purposely, by sending her a dose of powdered aconite, under the pretense of its being a beauty charm that would bring fairness and youth to her plain face.”
Carr Loria’s jaw dropped. He looked at Stone as if at something supernatural. “W – what?” he stammered.
“You did it to get her money, now, to go on with your work in the bed of the Nile. Then, in order to get your cousin’s share of the fortune, you sent her away to die in the desert, having first induced her to will you her money.”
“Ha, ha,” laughed Loria, feebly. “Poor joke, Stone, pretty poor joke, I say! Murdered my own aunt! Not much I didn’t!”
“Carr Loria, listen!” Impressively Stone held up his finger, to adjure silence, and at the same time he bent on Loria a glance of accusation that made him cringe. But, fascinated, he stared into Stone’s eyes, and in the death-like silence came a voice, – the voice of Lucy Carrington, – in a burst of ringing laughter! Loria’s eyes seemed to start from his head, and the sweat gathered in great drops on his forehead, as the voice of his aunt spoke: “This song is one of Carr’s favorites,” they heard, distinctly. “I’ll sing it for him.”
