Whitewash/Chapter 7
CHAPTER VII.
FOR some time Philippa, utterly dazed, lay back among the cushions, gazing vacantly into the face of her captor, who sat opposite, a square-headed man, with beady eyes and a thin, determined mouth, while Victoria sat and wondered ruefully at her own quixotism. She had no cause to love Philippa; but she had obeyed the impulse of class. She had seen one of her own world suddenly caught in this equivocal net, and had turned to help, forgetting for the moment her wrongs at the hands of this woman.
Sharply Philippa straightened herself, and as if her stolen voice had suddenly been returned to her, burst out: "What do you mean? How dare you arrest me? What have I done? It's wicked—it's cruel! Tell me this instant!"
"Now, lady," the detective said, soothingly, "don't you get riled; just you be quiet. You're not used to this sort of thing, I know, and I tell you the best thing to do is to say nothing at all; it's safest."
"But what for—what for? It's some horrid plot—it's your doing," she cried, suddenly opening fire on Victoria. "It's you—you informed on him—you did! And now he'll be sent to Russia or Siberia! And all because he wanted to help a poor, down-trodden people!"
"I don't know what you are talking about!" said Victoria, angrily. "I saw you in distress, and I came to shield you from the crowd. As to informing, I told you the whole story, and that I had gone to the French consul. I suppose this had something to do with Valdeck?" she added, addressing the detective.
"Yes, mum," he nodded, "and from what I heard you say, I take you to be the lady who gave the clew. Did you recognize the woman—the other woman?"
Victoria shook her head. "I didn't see her," she answered. "Who is she?"
He looked at her sagely. "Big game," he said, "and came mighty near giving us the slip. The next thing is to make her tell where the gent is. Here we are, ladies—not far to go. Now, my girl, you be careful how you talk. I know you—you all get hysterical the first time you're caught, but just you hang on to yourself."
The cab stopped short, and the door was opened by a police sergeant, who stood aside as the trio descended from the vehicle to the stone-paved court, surrounded by official-looking buildings. The hack turned and departed, making room for the second cab, from which Madame Tollé and her two companions emerged.
The whole party filed into the large, bare waiting-room, lighted by a gray-white shine of daylight filtered through pebbled glass. An immense desk similar to those used in hotels filled one side of the place; a telephone, a huge metal safe, still suggestive of a cheap hostelry, and wooden benches made up the furniture. Behind the desk a police captain stood twirling his mustache.
As the party entered, he reached for a huge ledger, and opening it, gave it a twist toward the arrivals, but on recognizing the detectives, he nodded, and closed the register with a bang. His glance fell admiringly upon the three women, of whom only Victoria was unveiled.
The detectives advanced to the captain, and a low-voiced conversation ensued, in which the words "small book," and "French consul" were repeated at intervals.
Philippa shivered as with cold, and leaned against the desk helplessly. Victoria bent toward her, touched by her misery. "Ask for a lawyer," she suggested, softly. "You have a right to that, I know."
"Here, you!" interrupted the captain, "no whispering with the prisoner. Say, Pollock, who's that?"
"Miss Claudel, who gave the information to the consul—so she said. It seems she knows the other lady who brought the box."
"Hum," said the captain, "I suppose we had better do a bit of telephoning here. Mulligan, ring up the consulate."
"I want a lawyer," begged Philippa, timidly.
"Do, eh? Well, I suppose you can have one. Who?"
She hesitated a moment, vainly trying to collect her scattered memory. "Mr. Pendle, 12Oa Broadway—Pendle & Brown. They are my aunt's attorneys."
"Your name?" demanded the officer.
"Philippa Clensdale Ford, of Madison Avenue."
"Very well. Now we will see what we have here."
The two hand-bags and the iron despatch-box were laid on the table, and after a few attempts the lock of the latter was forced, and the lid thrown back, revealing a layer of white cotton.
"Inventory," ordered the captain.
The sergeant prepared to note the contents. There was a moment's tense silence as the concealing batting was removed, revealing a number of tiny packages wrapped in tissue-paper. The clumsy, hairy fingers of the officer unfolded one picked up at random. There was a glitter, a sparkle, and a flash as the contents lay bare to the light—ten or more diamonds of various sizes.
A gasp from Philippa was the only sound that greeted the find.
"First package, twelve diamonds; second package, six small emeralds; third, two large diamonds; fourth, handful of small stones; fifth, four rubies, one cat's-eye; sixth, eight-strand pearl and diamond collar; seventh, pearl rope, very large; eighth, large yellow diamond; two packets colored pearls, three pink, two brown, one large black, pierced."
There was absolute quiet as the heaps increased, sparkling as they lay on their opened wrappers.
Philippa, her eyes dilated, breathed hard in terror as the jewels accumulated. She was staggered by the shock of surprise. All this had been left in her charge; she had slept in her violet-hung bed above all this wealth, believing it but a few paltry hundreds to be turned over to a deserving charity. What did it all mean? Could it be that Valdeck— But no! impossible! These were doubtless the gifts of wealthy sympathizers.
The merciless counting went on. Would they never come to an end? At last an exclamation from the imperturbable sergeant voiced the feelings of all, as he rolled in his palm a huge brown diamond and two solitaires of great size and brilliancy. "So help me, Mulligan!" he exclaimed, "if this ain't the swag of them New Orleans robberies that we had word of last month. This here brown shiner is the 'Longosini' one. Where's that reward-list? On the board yonder."
Mulligan went to the large blackboard at the further end of the room, whereon were pasted announcements of rewards for the capture of criminals. "Yes, sor," he answered, from across the room, "it's themselves! 'Brown diamond, five carats, two white and one blue, three and a half, three, and four carats respectively.' Say, Pollock, you've made the haul this time, and no mistake!"
"Here's the blue one," broke in the captain, as he held up a jewel between his thumb and forefinger. "Well, of all the surprises! No bail for this, I guess,—no, sir!"
"But," cried Victoria, "you can't keep Miss Ford here. Put her under surveillance if you must,—but no, you can't! Philippa, Commissioner Holes is one of your aunt's friends—have him called up; he can do more for you here than any one else."
"Oh, yes! " exclaimed Philippa, "you must let me go! Yes, telephone to Commissioner Holes; tell him to come himself and release me. Oh, I don't know what I shall do!"
"Whew!" whistled the sergeant, softly; "Commissioner Holes, is it? Well, well, now! But, Miss Ford, how did you come by these beauties? Maybe ye can give us a satisfactory explanation?"
"I can,—oh, I can! " Philippa exclaimed, pale with excitement. "Mr. Valdeck told me he was the head of the Polish Educational Society, and was collecting funds for the cause. He said he was watched by Russian spies and couldn't send the money on without being suspected and having everything seized and confiscated when it reached the other side—and of course I believed it all; indeed, I did!"
"Look at that, now," Mulligan nodded.
"Russian spies, is it? Sure, lady, it's the likes of you that makes the life easy for scamps and rogues. And what is the grand American police for? Sure, we haven't no use for nary a foreign spy."
"Shut up!" commanded the captain. "Miss Ford, have you anything to prove your statement?"
Philippa dragged at the bosom of her dress; tremblingly she undid the buttons and drew forth two crumpled notes. "There! there!" she cried, "read them. See what he says himself!"
The captain smoothed the rumpled sheets, and read aloud.
There was a pause, and then Philippa wished she had died before she had given up the letters. As the words of endearment spoken in the harsh, mechanical voice of the captain filled the police-station, a burning, writhing shame overpowered her. She had forgotten, in her anxiety to clear herself, the terms of the letters. She clung to the desk, feeling Victoria's honest gray eyes on her burning with indignation. Oh, that Victoria, of all people, should see her in this state!
As the last sentence echoed into silence, Madame Tollé, who up to this moment had stood silent, uttered a sharp cry like a hurt animal as she recognized the handwriting. Then she burst into a torrent of French abuse that made the walls of the station-house shiver, used as they were to ungentle language.
But Philippa was unconscious of this. All she realized was Victoria—Victoria, who turned and faced her with clenched hands and white face. She was speaking slowly and with terrible scorn: "And you were engaged to Morton—you! I thought there might have been some mistake about that private-room dinner-party; I thought you might explain, but we hardly need go further!" She broke off and turned her back; without an other word she moved toward the door.
"Hold on! Miss Claudel, we want you, please. The consul will be here presently, and then we'll need your services. Mulligan, search the bags, and then take the French woman to the matron and have her go over her. But first, come here."
Madame Tollé was led forward. "Your name?" asked the captain. There was no answer. The detective spoke: "She is Marie Françoise Ducas," he said. "Here is her photograph." He laid it on the desk.
"Nativity?"
"Paris," answered the detective, as the woman maintained her stubborn silence, now and again darting venomous glances at Philippa through her heavy veil.
"Occupation?"
"She is a pal of Valdeck's, alias Kelsoff, alias O'Farrell."
"Lift that veil," commanded the officer.
The blue tissue was raised, revealing a sharp, not unhandsome face, on which the traces of a delicate make-up were apparent, contrasting with her present pallor.
Victoria started, looked, and looked again.
"Why," she cried, "I know her! That is the maid, Madame Château-Lamion's maid."
The woman turned on her an instant's searching glance; then, in spite of herself, recognition dawned in her face. "Connais pas," she said, shortly, with a shrug of her shoulders.
"You could swear to this?" the captain asked, slowly, of Victoria, who answered without hesitation:
"Yes, I will swear to it. I recall her perfectly."
"That's the consul's racket," Mulligan suggested. "We're in for this New Orleans business. Glory be to the saints, but she's a thorough one!" And he looked admiringly at the Frenchwoman.
Meanwhile, communications were pouring in by telephone. The consul was out, but would be notified as soon as possible; Mr. Pendle would come at once; Mrs. Ford was absent.
"Gentlemen," said Victoria, "if you have no further need of me, I will go."
"Your name first, please, in full, and your residence. For sure you'll be wanted as a witness, and to identify the lady's maid again. Then ye can go, and many thanks for your trouble."
Victoria gave her name and address without casting a glance toward Philippa, too outraged to show any sympathy. The sergeant accompanied her to the door, but as it closed she heard the order, "Take 'em to the matron."