The Great Pearl Secret.

Auckland Star, Volume LI, Issue 212, 4 September 1920, Page 21

The Great Pearl Secret.

By C. N. and A. M. WILLIAMSON.

CHAPTER IX.— (Continued.! Juliet had perfect :ru-i 7n Piuione, so far us discretion was concerned, Imt it was within her estimate of the maid's character that she should eavesdrop. People of her class did that sort of thing and thought no harm. It made the drama of their Uses! Simone would keep her knowledge or her suspicion to herself, of course, until whatever was fated to happen hud happened. Then, no douht. she would tell her friends that she'd "known all along." Still Juliet suddenly disliked the thought of being pitied even by her maid. Simone was aware that her mistress had looked forward to {jetting the pearls. It was humiliating that she should have instead a mere string of wax. or fish-scale beads! If Simone had heard, it couldn't be helped. If she hadn't, however, she should remain in ignorance.

"They're not <|iiite a> glorious as I expected them to be." Juliet remarked. "I suppose it's like that with everything in life."

"But they mc very beautiful,"' ventured Simone with the privileged air of tlie old anil trusted servant, which »he ]>ut. on like a sort of chain-armour at times. -Will Madame hi Dueliesse wear them to-night V"

Juliet was taken aback. She ha(U, of course, intended In wear the Tzarina pearls. She had told herself that she would do so. if only that everyone should see that she. iiot Yaleska,' had them. Hut since discovering the truth about them- why. it. had not occurred to her that she cillld wear the things: Rather would she have thrown them ill the fire. Suddenly, however, she saw the matter from another point of view. Supposing she did appear wearing the rope? To do so would give her time to think. And it would be interesting to see Pat's face when lie caught sight of them.

"Oh, yes, I'll wear the pearls," she said. '••You know perfectly well I had this -shot blue and silver tissue" made on purpose to go witli then,. Why shouldn't I wear them, Simone'. , "

Simone ilk! not answer, because she knew well that no answer was expected. She had overheard something, and, it was not her fault that she had not overheard all. Unfortunately for her tlie room was large, and the Duke and Duchess had stood, talking at a good distance from tlie door. The manner of her mistress, however, filled up several aching gaps of Simone's curiosity; and putting together what Bhe knew and what she surmised, the maidjjjchanged her mind as to her own wiseit course of conduct.

She' had intended to sacrifice inelina-tion'-to prudence, and say nothing to the Duchess about the Polish dancers visit ihat afternoon. Now, she decided that'it would be best to mention it. How to work up to the subject was the only doubt on that score left in her mind.

"Madame la Duchesse is merveilleuse —etincelantc!' , she cried, as she held the rope of big blue heads over Juliet's head, and let it fall gently upon the swan-down whiteness of the bare neck. "Madame was perfect as a girl. Now she goes beyond perfection. Other women are charming—the beautiful Pole—Mademoiselle Yaleska, for instance but —"

Juliet darted upon lier a piercing, angry glance. "What makes you think or speak of Yaleska just now?" she sharply questioned.

"Oh—l hardly know. Except that she is of a great beauty, and—in her way —of a strange attraction. And then, also, as no doubt Togo told Madame la Duchesse. la Yaleska called to-day."

"Called to-day!" echoed Juliet. "You don't mean here?"

"But, yes, Madame. Did not Madame know? I was about to go out with the bulldog. Being permitted to pass down by the front stairs, I saw the lady arrive. To be surp, she had on a thick embroidered 'veil through which, perhaps, many people could not recognise the most famous features. But my eves are sharp. And then, her figure! There are not two such. Though, to my tastu, that of Madame la Duchesse is more alluring, more human. The dancer is a mere sprite! T said to myself, 'It must be about the charity performance for the Armenians that she is here to consult with my mistress!'"

As she thus interpreted her own impressions. Simone busied herself in getting Juliet's ermine cloak, which previously she had laid ready on the bed. Sometimes when the Claremanaghs were going out together in the evening, the Duke came in and took his wife's coat from Simone, slipping it in a leisurely and loving way over the white arms, as if he never tired of touching the adorable creature who belonged to him. But somehow, Simone did not think he would come to perform that office tonight; and. besides, she wanted an excuse to escape from her mistress' great wide open blue eyes. The maid had taken a tactful method of explaining the dancer's (possible) motive for calling; because if she dared to accuse the Duke by a hint, the Duchess would be bound to stop her.

Juliet was struck dumb for a moment. She would not have thought, after what had passed between her and Pat, that she could be surprised b3' anything concerning him and Valeska; but now she knew that she could be startled.

Yaleska had called! Toko had let her in, the traitor!—bribed by Claremanagh, who had sunk low enough even for that! Still, had Togo let the woman in? Itwas easy to make sure.

"A jjity I was out," Juliet said. "I suppose she went away when she heard that."

"No, Madame, she came in," replied Simone with the innocence of a child. "I- do not know how long she stayed. Monsieur de Due will toll Madame that. It was to his study that Toko took her."

•'Oh, very well. T can ask him what message she left." Juliet 'promptly out short this coniidencc. She had no wish to learn more, and her suppression of Simone was no triumph of honour over curiosity. She felt a sick, languid repulsion against the whole subject, for she knew the worst now, and any further information would be a kind of horrid anti-climax.

"Oh, Pat, Pat!" her heart motirned. •'How has my idol fallen! And he talked so nobly about never lying!"

That night, wlien ttie Duke, and Duchess of Claremanagh came into their box in time for the second act of Rigoletto, everyone ''in the know" said "jJook! She's got the Tzarina pearls at last!"

And Clarcmanajrh woudercd at her. He wondered terribly, abysmally, why— after their scene together, and her

threats—she had worn the abomination, lie had wondered about that ever since

--the ermine cloak removed—he had seen the blue beads adorning her neck, at the van Baton's.

He oliffllt, perhaps, to have rejoiced at the sight, for she could not wear a rope of imitation pearls, and accuse Lyl.i Yaleska of stealing the real ones. That would be to punish him less severely than herself. Yet I'nt was uneasy as well us unhappy. The only thine; he understood clearly in the hideous affair was that—he understood Juliet not at all. lie asked himself over and over ayain a question he could not, would not ask her. What, in God's name, she intended to do nt-xtV

On the way home, when at. length they were ajjain alone together in their brilliantly lit limousine, she did n.it utter one word.'or once look at him. She sat quite still, pretending to he asleep, but Olnrelnan.iv'b knew that he was m> wider awake than she. A dozen times he longed to speak. Hut there are some tiling .i man cannot do. She seemed to have barricaded herself behind a transparent wall, through which he couid see. yet not touch, her—as if had been a lovely statuette under a carte.

At the house. isbc> spraii.il past him quickly, without accepting liin help to nlijiht! anrl ran up the two or three marble steps. I'laremnnailh had his key. liut before lie could use it Juliet pressed the elc-ctric bell, and To-., api ar.'d. The jfir! did not look buck at her hus'iMiid to sec , whether he meant to follow. And suddenly he did not mean to. lie hadn't decided, at first, what lie would ,I«i; but he could not bear to hiive her shut her door upon nim, as she surely w.mld.

With a gesture, he signed to Togo that he was not coming in. The car waited, but he said to the chauffeur in the pleasant, courteous tone, which won the affection of the servants; "I shan't want you—thanks."

In that mood, he could not make use of Juliet's ear. lie preferred the poor independence of his own feet, even while he laughed at himself, bitterly, for mo petty a revolt. Hi' v.nlked 'to the

"Crumblers," that one of his several clubs nt wliicli lip was likely to meet a man with whom he liml business—business important enough to remember even now. "I won't keep that beastly money oj; mc any longer," he thought. "The beast shall have it to-night. , CHAPTER :t. THE HOUSE IN A CROSS-TOWN' STREET. If Simone had not already teTepnoned to the private oflice of "The Inner Circle's" editor, she might have changed her mind about going there that night. She was les* superstitious, and of harder mental fibre than most Frenchwomen of the South and of her class; hut after the quarrel between the Duke and Duchess, something within her shrank from keeping the secret appointment she had made. It was not that she was suddenly con-science-stricken, or that she thought her mistrees had suffered enough without having the. skeleton in the cupboard dangled in front of the public. The woman was incapable of any real love, save self-love, but she liked Juliet, and would have inflicted upon her no gratuitous pain. The pain to be inflated in this instance, however (as well as others in the past) was not gratuitous. Simone would be magnificently paid for inflicting it; and so far as Juliet was concerned she could earn the reward without a qualm. It was for herself that she hesitated; and she did not quite know why.

That was the trouble! If she had known', she could have argued out the two sides of the matter, for and against. But it was only a vague sort of presentiment she felt, thai she would somehow be sorry if she gave this story to the paper she served. And it might not be a proper presentiment at all, but only a form of indigestion. She had (she too vividly recalled) taken at luncheon three helpings of lobster salad, a dish which neve? agreed with her. Besides she was naturally excited over her part in the events of the day. And then she had telephoned to the ofliee. She had camouflaged her message, lost it should be overheard; but what Rhe had said would inform the editor that she had the best tit-bit he had ever got from her.

To-morrow afternoon "The Inner Circle" (a weekly publication) would be on sale, and the "Whisperer's" columns were always kept back till the latest possible moment, on account of just su .''i morsels dropping in.

But to-night the last paragraphs were to be held up expressly for almost beyond the time limit. She was bound to "make good," or she would never be trusted again; and if the editor were satisfied, she was to receive exactly live times the -sum she got for more or less valuable items supplied each week.

With a vague, uneasy presentiment in one scale, and five hundred dollars in the other Tnotes, not a cheque: "The Inner Circle" never paid cheques for '"Whisperer" stuff) the presentiment outweighed.

Bimone had in any case a dinner enzajremont, which nothing short of death would have induced her to miss; and the Duchess liacl not been gone ten minutes when she flew out to keep it.

She said nothing to her dinner companion, however, about the later appointment, and excused herself early on the plea that it would be "like Madame to Mash in at home, clamouring for her maid, between Mix. van Esten's party and the opera, if only for a minute."

Certainly it was little more than a minute that Simone remained at the Phayre house, after being brought back after dinner in a tnxi. At the end of that time she wrfs out again, and on her wuy to the oflice of "The Inner Circle."

About this place there, was always something mysterious even to Simone's practical and unimaginative mind, ami the private offlee of the editor was the heart of the mysteryj the inner circle of "The Inner Circle." For years she had been a highly paid contributor to the scandalous little paper, ever since she had entered her lirst ""smart" situation in New York, and had been approved bj- a man whose outward business was straightforward reporting for the "Society" columns of a reputable claily. Wlien in town, Simone had been in the habit of calling in person instead of trusting to the post; and since her value had become recognised, she was invariably received by the editor himself in that very private sanctnarj r of his. Yet to this day she had never seen hie face, and did not know lii-i real name. ,

"Mr. Jonee will see you," was the message telephoned down from regions abore to the amateurish little recep-

tion room, where an elderly, mi!d-faccd lady in an old-fashioned dro« received visitors and tapped a typewriter. But the Frenchwoman was mi re tnat outside tlie oflice HE was other tnan -.Mr. Jones,'' ac sure as that Sinio.KAmanuithe was at home Simonettn Ainaraiiti. The editor's private onice was divided uracticallv into two by means of a fixed screen or partition of match-hoarding. >o high that even if an enterprising caller jumped on to a chair he (or Khe) could not see what lay on the other side. There wa* no door in this serpen, therefore no danper existed that the editor could lie -rushed." Against the partition was placed a table, and n chair of the ordinary oflice-furniture type: and other adornment there was none. On the tahli! were writing materials, and a small liouric telephone. V.y means of liiis instrument, one spoUe to the Presence on the other side, and he spoke in return. That it was always the samp l'rcwence. Sinionc knew by the voice". It was peculiar: mmcm™ and rather efleminate: and thmiL'h slip shrewdly attrihuted this quulit.V to dUf;uis.e, it could not well have been imitated liy an understudy. This hapjiened to he the first time • Sinionc had ever been to the office at iiii'jht. It was in a cross-town street, I within possible walking distance of the i I , hay re house: and this was luck for her, and she would have taken a taxi with .L'real reluctance. This errand of hers was the most ticklish she had evpr carried out, and rihe could not afford to leave the least detail to chance, in case a hue and cry should be raised by Ihe Clarrmanajihs. Twenty minutes brisk \\«ilk brought her to the door of wlmt had once been a private house, and was now jiiven up to offices. "The Inner Circle" occupied tin- two lower floors, and above was quite a wellknown, tliousrh not very faxliiofiablc manicurist. Madame Yeiio. Still liighpr, the fourth (and top) floor \va ? tenanted by a wig-maker who widely advertised a hair dye. "(Soh'enalints.'' and once, when a wave of rafro against t!ic "Whisperer' , swept New York, it was rumoured that both these businesses were fiocretly owned by ''The 'Inner Circle."' No proof was obtainable, however , nnd siiii-c then several new manasjers had come nnd both for Madam» Vpno and "<;oldenv;liiits."

To-night the whole house-front so darkly brooding to Simone'x worried eyes, that she could have believed anything of it, especially anything that was ugly, ami evil.

There "ere no lights in the windows, and the front door, always open by day. was closed. But the voice which answered Simone's oaM on the 'phone that afternoon had warned her that this would be so. and had told her what to do. Following instructions, she descended the steps to a basement door, and touched an electric bell above which, on a small brass plate, was the word "Janitor." Two or three minutes passed nnd brought no answer. But suddenly, as Simone was about to ring again, the door opened on a chain. "What do you want?" a woman's voice demanded through the aperture. "To see the editor of ''Hie Inner Circle,' replied Simone. ' J have an appointment with him." "Oh! Wlmt is your name?" questioned the voice. "Mademoiselle Simone Amaranthe." The chain fell, and the door opened as if the Frenchwoman, challenged, had [given the countersign. Simone squeezed through the small space allowed her, and the door instantly shut.

It was dark in the basement passage, except for the light which came from a room at the back. The woman —the Janitor's wife, perhaps—had n little, knitted shawl over her head, as though she were suffering from neuralgia. Simone could not see what she was like, whether old or young, except that her silhouette loomed tall and slender against the dim light. "Can you find your way upf" asked the voice. "Yμ,'' said Simone. "I was told it would be dark, and 1 must bring an electric torch. I have brought it." - "Very well. f!o up nnd knock when you come tn the door. .Mr. Jones is expecting you.' , Simone switched on the flame of her torch, and went up. (To be continued Saturday next.)