I assumed it to be her own.”
“It is,” said Miss Fordyce. “But how did you know about her spangled dress and that curious ring she wears?”
“The ring left a decided impression on the outer sticks of the fan near the end, in such a position that it could come only from the abrasion of a heavy ring worn on the little finger. Then, you see this tassel, as is usual on this sort of a fan, is of fine silk floss. It is much fluffed and tangled, and has a tendency to catch anything it may. In it I find a portion of a small black spangle, and two or three threads of fine embroidery floss, pink and green. Surely it is easy to infer that the lady uses embroidery silks frequently, and that the spangle is from one of her gowns.”
“Don’t take it so casually!” cried Anne, with an imperious nod at him. “You shall not so belittle your great powers. Supposing it is only logic and careful observation, no one else could do it! That fan could not have spoken to one of us, because our logic cannot understand its language. Mr. Stone, I thank you for doing that I know you didn’t want to.”
“It isn’t my custom to deduce for social entertainments,” said Stone, smiling at her; “but it is my custom to accede to the wishes of my hostess.”
“Thank you for that, then;” and Anne smiled back at him. “Now, as a small return favor, may I show you over the house? Mrs. Davidson tells me you want to see it.”
“Yes, I’m interested. I understand it is very old and was built by an eccentric.”
“Yes, it was; though we bought it from its second owner. Mr. Sturgis, will you go with us?” I was glad to accept the invitation, and as we started we were joined by Miss Fordyce and Archer, and also by Mrs. Stelton and Morland Van Wyck.
So it was quite a party which followed Anne through the doorway in the corner.
We found ourselves in a corridor that ran along the south side of the house. We passed a branch corridor bearing to the right, but Anne laughingly remarked that those were the apartments of herself and her husband, and we might not enter. We went on into a beautiful music-room, through stately reception and drawing-rooms, and into a delightful library. There were billiard and smoking-rooms near by, and through the dining-room and sunny breakfast-room we passed out to the terrace and down into the gardens. I thought Stone seemed disappointed that, though the house was old, it gave no hint of secret passages or dark staircases. No dungeons or anything that savored of mystery or crime. I chanced to be walking by his side, and I rallied him on this.
“It is so,” he confessed. “From what I had heard of the house, I had fancied it more complicated in structure. It is very four-square.”
“Yes, it is,” said I, as we looked at it from across the wide expanse of lawn and garden.
“Curious construction, though,” mused Stone, “and yet perfectly simple: one large rectangle, with smaller rectangles attached at its two back corners.”
“Usually wings are built entirely across the ends,” I observed.
“Oh, of course it was done to get the advantage of light. Wings at the ends would have darkened many of the rooms; but attached so, at the corners, there are windows all round each part of the house.”
This was true, and, as I now recollected, every room was flooded with daylight
“I must join my hostess now,” said Stone, “and make my adieux. I am leaving to-night for Kansas City, where I’m about to investigate a most important case.”
I longed to ask him about it, but I didn’t feel privileged to do so. I did, however, express my pleasure in knowing him, and hoped that we might meet again. He very courteously gave me his card, bearing an address that he said would always reach him; an attention that I prized highly, though it might never fulfil its purpose.
We all returned to the study, and after the departure of the Davidsons and their distinguished friend, the talk naturally turned to Fleming Stone and his work.
“It’s uncanny, that’s what it is,” declared Mr. Van Wyck, “and it gives me the fidgets to have the man around.”
“I feel that way, too,” said Connie Archer. “Why, I’m perfectly sure that he could see straight through my coat into my pocket and read a letter there that I wouldn’t have anybody know about—not anybody!”
“Is it one I wrote you?” asked Anne, so roguishly that it was most apparent fooling, but her husband looked up and scowled.
“Yes,” returned Archer, with a most obvious intent of teasing his host; “that last delightful missive of yours!”
At this, David Van Wyck frowned angrily, and Anne said, “Nonsense, Connie, such jokes aren’t funny. What is the letter about, really?”
“It’s a tailor’s dun,” said Archer, taking his cue; “but I wouldn’t have Stone know it for anything. I expect he pays his bills before they’re due.”
“Of course he does,” said Morland: “deduces the exact amount they’re going to be, and sends off a check without seeing ’em.”
“Well, don’t ask him here again, Anne,” said her husband. “I don’t like him.”
“He won’t come again very soon,” I volunteered. “He’s off to-night for Kansas City.”
“Good thing, too,” growled Mr. Van Wyck. “And now you people may seek some other pasture. I expect some callers to-night, and I want to get this place into some semblance of a gentleman’s study, instead of a picnic ground.”
“Oh, David,” said his wife, “are they coming to-night?”
“Yes, they are. My mind is made up, Anne, and I’d rather you wouldn’t refer to. the subject.”
“It’s an outrage!” said Morland, under his breath. He spoke to Anne, but his father heard it, and said, “None of that, boy! I suppose I have a right to do as I choose with my own! And if you know when you’re well off, you’ll accept the situation gracefully. It’ll be better for you in the long run.”
Morland turned away, looking obstinate and sullen. I had no idea what it was all about, but when I looked at Anne her face was so tragic in its utter despair that I was startled. Surely I had been right in thinking her light-hearted manner was a cloak for some desperate, heart-breaking trouble. But in obedience to Mr. Van Wyck’s command, we all left the study. It was not quite time to dress for dinner, so we strolled out through the great doors onto the terrace; and even as we left, the footmen were already clearing away the tea-things.
Chapter IV.
The Decision of David Van Wyck
From a certain terrace-landing which Anne called her “Sunset View,” we watched the last glowing clouds dull and darken in the west.
A sort of depression had fallen on the party, because—as was perfectly evident—of Anne’s mood. She was distrait and preoccupied; though now and then her dark eyes flashed with what was unmistakably anger.
“What’s it all about, Anne dear?” said Archer, who let himself go a little when Mr. Van Wyck wasn’t present.
Instead of evading or parrying his question, Anne spoke out frankly.
“It’s just this,” she said: “David is going to give away all his fortune. He’s going to build and endow a magnificent library for Crescent Falls Village—a library out of all proportion to a tiny little place like this.”
“All his fortune!” I exclaimed, astounded. “You can’t mean that, Anne!”
“But I do mean just that! He calls it philanthropy—that’s his fad this year. If he were really philanthropic, it would be different; but he has become