Odd how a mere strip of black velvet alters people," remarked Corkran, surveying the shifting crowd critically. "I've made three bloomers already."
Amberley was dangling his mask by the strings. "You can usually tell by the voice."
"You can't always. Oh, hell!"
"What's the matter now?"
"This blasted sword again," said Faust disgustedly. He hitched it round. "Can't dance with it, can't move a step without jabbing somebody in the shins with it. I'm going to park it somewhere soon and trust to luck that Joan doesn't spot it."
Joan, a dazzlingly fair Marguerite, passed at that moment in the arms of an Arab sheikh. She caught sight of the two in the doorway and slid out of the dance, drawing her partner with her. "Haven't you got a partner for this one?" she asked in concern. "Point me out somebody you'd like to be introduced to."
"My dear old soul, I can't dance with this sword on," protested Corkran. "I've made myself fairly unpopular as it is."
"That," said the sheikh, "is putting it mildly. I've got about an inch of skin missing from my calf."
"Oh, dear," said Joan, looking distressed. "Can't you manage to keep it out of people's way, darling?"
"I can," said Faust. "I can go and take the blighter off."
"But you look so awfully nice with it on," she sighed. "You ought to lay your hand on the hilt, like that."
"In the best circles," interposed Amberley, "it was never considered really good form to dance with a sword at one's side."
"Wasn't it?" said Joan doubtfully. "But I've seen pictures…'
"That's good enough for me," announced Faust, and prepared to depart.
As he turned, the end of the scabbard dug into a complete stranger who looked furious and said icily that it was quite all right. "That makes the third time I've caught that bloke with it," whispered Faust, not without satisfaction.
"Perhaps you had better do without it," Joan said reluctantly. She turned her attention to Amberley. "You mustn't take off your mask till midnight, you know," she reproved him.
He put it on again. "Why are masks de rigueur, Marguerite?" he inquired.
"You mean we ought just to have had dominoes with them? I know, but I specially wanted a fancy-dress ball, and masks are such fun that I thought we might have them too."
"Your brother doesn't wear one, I notice," remarked the sheikh, nodding to where Fountain, an imposing Cardinal Wolsey, stood talking to Mme de Pompadour.
"No, because he's the host. Shall I find you a partner, Mephistopheles?"
Amberley was watching a girl at the other side of the ballroom. "Will you introduce me to the contadina?" he asked.
Joan glanced in the girl's direction. "Yes, of course, but I don't know who she is."
"Kitty Crosby, isn't it?" said the sheikh.
"I thought Kitty was coming as a gipsy."
"Oh, was she? It might be Miss Halifax. No, I don't think it is, though."
Joan looked up at Amberley. "That's the fun of it. Do you know, I didn't recognise one of my oldest friends? Come on, I'll introduce you."
She led him to where the contadina was standing. "May I introduce Mephistopheles?" she said, smiling.
The contadina's eyes gleamed through the slits of her mask. She bowed and cast a fleeting glance up at the scarlet-dad figure before her.
"Shall we dance?" said Mr. Amberley.
"I should like to," she replied.
He drew her out into the room and took her in his arms. She danced well, but showed no desire to talk. Mr. Amberley guided her through the maze of shifting couple and said presently: "I wonder whether you are Miss Halifax or Miss Crosby?"
The red lips curved. "Ah!" said the contadina.
"Or neither?" pursued Mr. Amberley.
The hand in his moved slightly. "You will see at unmasking, Mephistopheles."
"I wonder?" said Mr. Amberley. He was aware of her gaze searching his face and smiled down at her. "A bit a mob, isn't it?" he said. "Do you think the Fountains can really know everyone here tonight?"
"Oh, but surely!"
"In these days of gate-crashing . ." murmured Mr. Amberley.
"I don't think that is done in the country," she said.
"I expect you know much more about it than I do," he agreed politely.
The music came to an end. Mr. Amberley did not join. in the clapping, but led his partner to the door. "You must let me get you something to drink," he said. He nodded towards a sofa in an alcove of the hall. "Will you wait for me there?"
The contadina appeared to consider. Then she shrugged. "Very well."
He found her seated on the sofa when he returned with two glasses. "You haven't run away," he observed, and handed her one of the glasses.
"Why should I?" she said coolly.
"I thought you might have grown impatient. There's a bit of a barge round the refreshments." He sat down beside her. "You remind me so much of someone I've met," he said thoughtfully. "Now who can it be?"
She sipped her hock-cup. "Funny," she said. "I don't seem to know you at all. You don't live here, do you?"
"Oh no!" he replied. "I'm merely a bird of passage. I'm staying with the Matthews'."
"Yes? For long?"
"No, just till I've cleared up a little matter that's interesting me."
She inclined her head. "I see. It sounds most intriguing."
He looked down at her. "Somehow I don't think you can be the girl I had in mind."
"No? Who is she?"
"Oh, nobody you would be likely to know. Rather a callow young thing."
She stiffened. "Really, I can't pretend to be flattered."
"But didn't I say I felt sure you couldn't be her?" he said. "Let's talk of something else. Are you fond of shooting?"
"I have never done any," she replied in a voice of dangerous calm.
"No? It's an odd thing, but nine women out of ten would rather have nothing to do with firearms." He offered her his open cigarette case. "You occasionally find an exception to the rule. I met a girl the other day who carried a businesslike automatic about with her.. Fully loaded."
She took a cigarette from his case; her hand was quite steady. "In these days it's probably wise to carry a gun after dark," she said.
He paused in the act of striking a match. "Did I say it was after dark?" he asked, surprised.
"I assumed that it must be," she replied rather sharply. "Wasn't it?"
He held the match to the end of her cigarette. "As a matter of fact it was," he admitted.
She exhaled a long spiral of smoke and turned her head slightly so that she could survey him. "I'm trying to place you," she said. "I have a feeling you are probably a newspaper reporter."
She saw the flash of hiss teeth as he smiled. "Aren't you going to tell me why you think that?" he suggested.
She shook her head. "I shouldn't like to be rude," she said sweetly. "Are you a reporter?"
"No, fair lady. I'm a barrister."
He guessed that she was frowning.
"Oh!" she said. "A barrister."
"In the criminal court," nodded Amberley.
She got up abruptly. "That must be most interesting. I must go back to the ballroom; I'm engaged for this dance." She paused and he saw her lips curl scornfully. "May I compliment you on your costume? It suits you to perfection."
Mr. Amberley's shoulders shook slightly. He watched her walk away across the hall and wandered off in search of his cousin.
He had seen her go upstairs with an infatuated youth not long before. Mr. Amberley had a poor opinion of the youth, and saw nothing against interrupting the tete-atete and claiming Felicity for the dance which was undoubtedly his. He picked his way between the couples scattered on the staircase and reached the upper hall. It was as spacious as the one below, and had been provided with chairs and screens placed discreetly to form small sitting-out places. At one end was the broad staircase lit by a great window with many lights; at the other a graceful archway gave onto a wider passage that ran at right angles to it. Having reason to believe that his cousin was to be found in the picture gallery, which someone had said lay at the back of the house, Amberley went to the archway and glanced up and down the passage.
One end to the right of the arch was lit up; the other lay in shadow, as though to indicate that that portion of the house was not being used tonight. Amberley guessed that it led to the servants' quarters and the back stairs, and turned right.
The floor was carpeted in pile that deadened the sound of footsteps. Various doors, one labelled Ladies' Cloakroom, opened onto the passage at wide intervals; between them stood some obviously show pieces of furniture, very different from the massive mahogany that ruined the sitting room downstairs. Apparently the late Mr. Fountain had preferred the solid productions of his own period to these more graceful furnishings of an earlier age. Nor, it seemed, had his heir cared to banish the Victorian chairs and tables and cabinets in favour of these banished works of art.
Pictures in heavy gilt frames hung on the white walls. Mr. Amberley, something of a connoisseur, glanced up at them as he passed and presently came to a halt under a fine Reynolds. He was still standing thoughtfully surveying the picture when his host came out of the gallery at the end of the passage.
Fountain was in great spirits tonight; his enjoyment of' the ball was unaffected and immense. He had been circulating freely among his guests, an excellent host, anxious to make the party a success and contributing largely to the general gaiety by his own evident geniality and pleasure.
When he saw Amberley he at once came up to him and clapped him on the shoulder. "This won't do, this won't do, Mephistopheles," he said chaffingly. "Not dancing? Don't tell me you haven't got a partner!"
"I have. I was going in search of her when I stopped to look at your pictures. I envy you your collection."
"Do you?" said Fountain. "Not much in my line, I'm afraid. I've got some jolly fine sporting prints though, if you like them. In my study."
"I prefer this," answered Amberley, still looking up at the Reynolds. "Who was she?"
"My dear fellow, I haven't the foggiest idea! Some great-grandmother, I expect. Got the family beetle brows, hasn't she? Not a bad-looking wench. You ought to get on to my housekeeper. She knows much more about all these hoary ancestors than I do."
Amberley turned away from the portrait and remarked that the ball was a great success.
Fountain looked pleased. "I think it's going quite well, don't you? Awfully silly, really, but I find I'm not too old to enjoy this sort of thing. Once I can get a lot of cheery people round me in a jolly party with a good band and dancing and all the rest of it, I forget all my worries. Daresay you'll laugh, but this is the kind of thing I like. Always did."
Have you many worries?" said Amberley lightly. "It doesn't look like it."
A cloud descended on Fountain's brow. "I suppose we all have our private troubles," he answered. "There's a good deal of worry attached to a place like this, you know."
"I suppose so. You don't like the house, I gather?"
"No," Fountain said with odd vehemence. "I hate it. I used to think I liked it. Always rather looked forward to living here eventually. But sometimes I wish to God I was back in my town flat, without all the - worries of an estate to bother me."
"Yes, I can quite understand that. But I expect there are compensations."
A grim little smile twisted Fountain's mouth. "Oh yes. There are substantial compensations," he said. "Fact is, I wasn't cut out to be a country squire. Look here, quite sure you don't want me to introduce you to some charmer? No? Well, I must get back to the ballroom. Hope you find your truant." He went on down the passage and Amberley proceeded in a leisurely way to the picture gallery, where he succeeded in retrieving Felicity.
The unmasking was to take place in the ballroom at midnight, immediately before supper. Quite twenty minutes before twelve people had begun to congregate in the hall and ballroom, deserting the inglenooks upstairs for the fun of the unmasking. The noise of laughter and of chatter, mingled with strains of the latest quickstep, floated upstairs, contrasting queerly with the brooding stillness there.
There was a movement in the long passage; a door was opened softly and a girl came out and stood for a moment looking down into the shadows at the far end of the corridor. There was no one in sight, no sound of voices in the picture gallery where the lights still burned; even the medley of sound coming from below was hushed at this end of the house.
The Italian contadina stole along the passage slowly, looking for something. The painted eyes above her looked down as though watching what she would do. She reached the archway and glanced through it into the hall. It was empty. She seemed to hesitate, and still with that feeling that unknown eyes watched her, glanced nervously over her shoulder. There was no one there. She went on, but paused by a court-cupboard and put out her hand as though to touch it. Then she drew it back; it was not a court-cupboard that she was looking for.
Almost at the end of the corridor a slim shaft of light coming from an open door was cast on the opposite wall and caught the corner of a walnut tallboy. The girl saw and went forward.
The open door disclosed the well of the back stairs. She peeped through, but the place seemed deserted. One more look she sent over her shoulder, then glided towards the tallboy and softly pulled out the bottom drawer of its upper half. The drawer ran easily and made no sound, but the brass handles clinked as she released them and the tiny noise made her start guiltily.
The drawer was empty; the girl put one hand in, feeling with trembling fingers along the back.
Something impelled her to look up; the breath caught in her throat, and her groping hand was checked. A shadow had appeared in the panel of light on the wall, the shadow of a man's head.
The girl's eyes remained riveted on it while seconds passed. No sound had betrayed his approach, but someone was behind her, watching.
She slid the drawer home inch by inch; her throat felt parched, her knees shook.
A smooth voice that yet held a note of menace spoke: "Were you looking for something, miss?"
She turned; under the mask she was deadly pale. The valet stood in the doorway behind her, motionless.
She said with what assurance she could muster: "How you startled me! I have been admiring some of this wonderful old furniture. I wonder if you can tell me if this is a William and Mary piece?"
His eyes travelled slowly to the tallboy and back again to her face. His tight mouth relaxed into a smile that was curiously unpleasant. It seemed to triumph, to gloat; the girl felt her skin prick, but stood still, waiting.
"The tallboy," said Collins softly.
She swallowed. "Yes. Do you know its date?"
He put out his hand and passed it over the polished surface caressingly. His smile grew. "No, miss," he said politely. "I fear I do not. You are very interested in it, are you, miss?"
"I'm interested — yes. I must ask Mr. Fountain about it."
There was a footstep on the stone stairs; a woman's voice called: "Mr. Collins! Is that you up there? Mr. Collins, will you come? They'll be in to supper in a minute; the champagne ought to go on the ice."
He turned his head; the smile had faded. "I'll be down in a minute, Alice." He looked at the girl beside him with narrowed, calculating eyes. "I think you had better go downstairs, miss," he said. "This way, if you please."
He went before her down the passage; she had no choice but to follow him. He led her to the front stairs and stood aside for her to go down them. She hesitated, desperately seeking an excuse to keep him with her.
A big, scarlet-clad figure stood talking to a Mary Queen of Scots upon the half-landing. He looked round and saw the valet. The girl's heart gave a frightened leap, for the scarlet figure was that of her host and the hour of unmasking must be very near at hand. She slipped past him and went down to the hall.
"Oh, there you are, Collins! I want you," Fountain said.
An ugly look came into the valet's face and was swiftly gone again. He said: "Yes, sir," and followed his master downstairs.
The contadina's eyes stole to the big grandfather clock. In less than five minutes midnight would strike. Unconsciously her hands clasped and unclasped in the folds of her dress. Fountain had gone across the hall to the dining room with Collins; they were standing in the doorway, and Fountain seemed to be giving the valet some instructions. The man was watching her, she knew, though he did not appear to be looking in her direction. Two other people had joined Fountain; the valet bowed and went into the dining room.
At once the contadina began to edge her way through the crowd in the hall to the staircase. There was probably a second door into the dining room, which gave access to the back part of the house where the kitchens were situated, but the girl dared not let slip her opportunity..
A Harlequin with whom she had danced earlier in the evening detained her as she tried to slip past him. He showed a tendency to keep her beside him, pointing laughingly to the clock. One minute to twelve; she made an excuse that she had left a ring in the cloakroom and escaped him. She reached the top of the stairs as the first chime began and ran towards the archway.
The passage was silent and deserted; at the top of the back stairs the door still stood ajar. She reached it, cast a quick glance through, and with a shuddering sigh of relief pulled it to. The shaft of light disappeared, the latch clicked. The girl went to the tallboy and pulled open the drawer she had tried before. Straining her ears to catch the sound of a footstep approaching up the stairs, her hands went feverishly about their work, pressing, scratching along the back of the drawer. Something moved there; the false back came away, revealing a space behind. The girl thrust her hand in, feeling for some object. There was nothing there.
For a moment she stood quite still, her hand in the drawer. Then slowly she drew it out and replaced the false back. There was a bitter twist to her mouth. She pushed the drawer home.
"Admiring the furniture?" said a drawling voice.
She started uncontrollably and swung round. Leaning against the archway that led to the hall was Mephistopheles, without his mask.
The dry sob that broke from her was one of startled nerves. "You!" she panted. "You followed me up here!"
"Why not?" he said.
She could not answer; she stood staring at him, backed against the tallboy.
"Do you usually inspect the furniture in the houses you visit?" inquired Mr. Amberley in a conversational voice.
She made an effort to pull herself together. "I'm interested in period pieces."
"Are you indeed?" He strolled forward and saw her stiffen. "I'm quite uninstructed in these matters. But I'm most curious to know what you find to interest you inside the tallboy."
She said, trying to speak naturally: "Of course - I should not have opened the drawer. I only wanted to see whether it ran easily I haven't stolen anything, if that's what you think. There - isn't anything to steal."
"You don't have much luck, do you?" he said.
A footstep sounded in the hall; Fountain's boisterous voice said: "Half a moment, you people; I'm going to rout out the picture gallery. Aha, Miss Elliott, so I did spot you! It was the dimple that gave you away. Couldn't disguise that, you know!"
The contadina stood like a statue, but through the mask her eyes were fixed on Amberley's face in a rather desperate entreaty.
Fountain came through the archway into the passage humming a dance tune. He had almost turned right, in the direction of the gallery, when he caught sight of the couple at the other end of the passage. He stopped. "Hullo!" he said, surprised. "What are you two up to?"
Amberley looked down at the girl for a moment, then he turned. "Hullo!" he answered. "We're admiring the tallboy. Do you know the date of it?"
"Lord, what a chap you are for antiques!" said Fountain, going towards them. "No, I haven't the foggiest. But it's a show piece all right. Rotten things, tallboys, I think. If you put things in the top drawers you have to have a pair of steps to get 'em out again. But you can't put me off with furniture, my boy! No, no, it's midnight, and masks off! Now who's this pretty lady?"
He was standing before the contadina, burly and ovial, a hand advanced to take off her mask. Mr. Amberley caught his wrist and held it. "Oh no!" he said. "My privilege. You're very much de trop."
Fountain burst out laughing. "De trop, am I? All right, all right, I won't spoil sport! Tallboys indeed! You tell that to the marines."
Someone called: "Basil! Do come here!" from the direction of the stairs, and Fountain began to walk away, saying over his shoulder: "Mind you claim the penalty for being masked after midnight, Amberley!"
In another moment he was gone. The contadina's muscles relaxed. She said: "Why did you do that? Why didn't you let him unmask me?"
"You ought to be grateful to me for not letting him," said Mr. Amberley.
"I am grateful. But why did you do it? I know very well you don't trust me."
"Not an inch," said Mr. Amberley. "But I'm handling you myself."
"If you think I'm a thief - oh, and a murderess too! - why don't you give me up to the police?" she said bitterly.
"Well," said Mr. Amberley, "having given way to a somewhat foolish impulse and refrained from mentioning your presence on the scene of the murder to the police, I can't very well come out with it now. And who am I to question your interest in antiques?"
She put up her hand and ripped her mask off; her face was flushed, her eyes stormy. "I hate you!" she shot out. "You didn't shield me out of- out of consideration! It was because you want to solve what you choose to think is a mystery by yourself!"
"Quite right," agreed Mr. Amberley. "Though somewhat involved."
She looked as though she would have liked to hit him. "Then let me tell you I'd rather you went downstairs now and let the Fountains know I'm a gate-crasher and a thief than — than have you following me and spying what I do!"
"I haven't the smallest doubt of that," he replied. "After all, what would happen if I gave you away to the Fountains? You would merely be shown the door. That wouldn't help me in the least."
She prepared to leave him, but paused to say: "All right! But if you think you're going to find out anything about me you're wrong."
"Would you like to take a bet on it?" he inquired.
But she had gone. Mr. Amberley gave a laugh under his breath, stooped to pick up the handkerchief she had dropped, and began to stroll away towards the hall.