TORMONT went straight to his office after leaving Joan, and in a conference with Lismore related a part of his conversation with Miss March—in particular her admission that Rufus Cran had frequently brought platinum home. Lismore was for burglarizing Elm House in order to search for the stuff, but Stormont overruled such crude methods. Lottie was to visit Joan; and they counted on the jealousy Lismore had stirred up in his daughter to spur her on to some successful prying.
After Lismore had gone, Stormont wrote something in a notebook, tore out the page and then pushed a button on his desk.
Plyden the clerk entered.
“Plyden, take this note to Ramage's,” directed Stormont, “and bring back what he gives you. Have you any particular engagement this evening?”
“No sir—nothing of importance.”
“Do you care to earn twenty-five dollars?”
“Rather!”
“Then you might dine with me and learn what the fee will be for. Do you happen to know whether there is a moon to-night?”
Plyden, who was prepared to be surprised at nothing, whipped out a little calendar-notebook.
“No sir—doesn't rise till four-two .”
“Thanks; you may go to Ramage's now. You can let the boy go.”
URING dinner, which had been delayed on Lottie's account, Joan felt very grateful to her aunt. She was experiencing a reaction from the excitement caused by Grant's message, and would have found the sustaining of conversation, even with a friend so familiar as Lottie, more than irksome.
They lingered over their coffee, and it was nine o'clock when they moved to the drawing-room, Lottie rejecting the suggestion from Miss Gosling that they might spend a few minutes in the garden.
“I don't like the darkness,” said Lottie with a dainty shudder, “and I'm sure it's less sultry indoors than out, to-night. It was suffocating on the way here. I think you might play to us, Joan.”
“Anything you like, dear,” Joan replied, feeling that she was doing badly as a hostess, and making an effort to rouse herself.
But she rose from the piano without having touched a note, and joined the others, saying:
“It seems too soon, doesn't it? It's not a month since he—” She paused.
“Perhaps it is,” Miss Gosling said gently.
“Too soon?” cried Lottie. “Oh, I see what you mean. But aren't you a little absurd, Joan? It's not as if you had any special regard for him—when he was alive, at any rate.”
“Lottie!” exclaimed Joan, her blue eyes wide.
“Oh, I beg your pardon,” Lottie said in sudden contrition. “Forgive me. I didn't know what I was saying, Joan. It must be this ghastly weather.”
“I'm sure you couldn't have meant it,” Joan said after a moment. “Aunt Griselda, can you get your smelling-salts quickly?”
“No, no—I'm all right,” protested Lottie, who had gone white. “I'm only fagged and—and worried,” she added the moment Miss Gosling left the room.
“Worried, poor child! Can't I help you?”
“Yes, you can—only it must be a secret. I thought I gave you a hint in my note.”
“So you did,” said Joan, ashamed of having forgotten. “You were going to ask a favor. Forgive me. I didn't think of its being so urgent, and I—I've had rather a crowded day. We'll go to the library at once, and you'll tell me all about it.”
“Not yet, not yet,” Lottie murmured with a surreptitious glance at her bracelet-watch. “In a little while.”
“When you please, dear,” Joan said soothingly, as Miss Gosling, whose room was on the ground floor, returned with the salts.
The changeable Lottie was now all pretty thanks and smiling apologies. She took the green bottle and sniffed at it daintily. “I'll be all right in a minute. Perhaps I ought not to have come to-night. I'm sorry to be so silly.”
Presently Miss Gosling remembered a letter that must be written. “I'll be in my own room, if you want me, Joan,” she said, and went out.
Arrived in her own room, however, she seemed to have forgotten about the letter. After turning the key in the door, she switched off the light and groped her way to the chair by the wide-open window. For many years she had lived in loneliness, and there had been many evenings which she had spent in darkness for economy's sake. Partly from force of habit and partly because she could think most clearly there, she sat in the darkness now, for there were several things which Miss Gosling wanted to think about.
N the library Lottie was saying petulantly: “Oh, Joan, would you mind opening the windows wide and having only one light? My head aches.”