The Master Detective Part 29

"Why, yes, if you like."

She went to the door, and we all followed her.

"A dainty room," said the professor. "It is like you, contessa."

She laughed at the absurdity of the remark, and yet there was some truth in it. The room wasn't really untidy, but it was not the abode of an orderly person. A hat was on the bed, thrown there apparently, a pair of gloves on the floor.

"I can always tell what a woman is like by seeing where she lives," said Quarles. "There is no toy on the mantelpiece which Nella could break. A pretty dressing-table, contessa."

He crossed to it and began examining the things upon it--silver-mounted bottles and boxes.

He lifted lids and looked at the contents--powder in this pot, rouge in that--and for a few moments the contessa was too astonished to speak.

Then there came a flash into her eyes resenting the impertinence.

"Really, monsieur--"

"Ah!" exclaimed Quarles, turning from the table with a pot in his hand.

"I want it," said the child, stretching herself up for it.

"Evidently Nella has played with this before, contessa. A French preparation for softening the skin, I see. I should guess she was playing with it as she crawled about the floor that afternoon. You didn't notice her. I can quite understand a child being quiet for a long time with this to mess about with. There was grease on her frock, and look! the smoothed surface of this cream bears the marks of little fingers, if I am not mistaken. It is quite a moist cream, readily disarranged, easily smoothed flat again. Let us hope there is no ingredient in it which will hurt--pearls."

He had dug his fingers into the stuff and produced the earrings.

"You will find a grease mark on the case," he went on. "It is evident you could not have put the case away. Nella possessed herself of it when your back was turned, and, playing with this cream, amused herself by burying the pearls in it--just the sort of game to fascinate a child."

"I remember she was playing with that pot. I did not think she could get the lid off."

"She did, and somehow the case got kicked under the bed."

"Naughty Nella!" said the contessa.

"Oh, no," said Quarles. "Natural Nella. May I wash my hands?"

Well, we had tea with the contessa, and I saw the smile which rewarded Christopher Quarles.

I suppose he had earned it.

"When did you first think of the child?" I asked him afterwards.

"From the first," he answered; "but I was too interested in the mother to work out the theory."

How exactly in accordance with the truth this answer was I will not venture to say. That he was interested in the woman was obvious, and continued to be obvious while she remained in London.

Zena and I were rather relieved when her professional engagements took her to Berlin.

CHAPTER IX

THE DISAPPEARANCE OF MADAME VATROTSKI

I firmly believe the contessa had succeeded in fluttering the professor's heart, and I think it was fortunate that he was soon engaged upon another case. The fact that it was also connected with theatrical people may have made him go into it with more zest. The contessa had given him a taste for the theater.

The three of us were in the empty room, and after a lot of talk which had led nowhere, had been silent for some time.

"I never believe in any one's death until I have seen the body, or until some one I can thoroughly trust has seen it," said Quarles, suddenly breaking the silence.

"You have said something like that before," I answered.

"It still remains true, Wigan."

"Then you think she is alive?" Is it the advertis.e.m.e.nt theory you cling to, or do you suppose she is a Nihilist?"

"I suppose nothing, and I never cling; all I know is that I have no proof of death," said the professor, and he launched into a discourse concerning the difficulties of concealing a body, chiefly, I thought, to hide the fact that he had no ideas at all about the strange case of Madame Vatrotski.

The rage for the tango, the sensational revue, for the Russian ballet, was at its height when Madame Vatrotski's name first appeared on the h.o.a.rdings in foot-long letters.

The management of the Olympic billed her extensively as a very paragon of marvels, but most of the critics refused to endorse this opinion.

Perhaps they were anxious to do a good turn to the home artistes who had been rather thrust aside by the foreign invasion of the boards of the variety theaters; at any rate, they declared her dancing was a mere pose, not always in the best of taste, and that her beauty was nothing to rave about.

I had not seen this much-advertised dancer, but the Olympic management could have had no reason to regret the expense they had gone to. Whether her dancing was good or bad, whether her beauty was real or imaginary, the great theater was full to overflowing night after night; her picture, in various postures, was in all the ill.u.s.trated papers, and paragraphs concerning her were plentiful.

From beginning to end actual facts about her were difficult to get; but allowing for all journalistic exaggeration, the following statement is near the truth.

She was an eccentric rather than a beautiful dancer, and if she was not actually a beautiful woman there was something irresistibly attractive about her. Her origin was obscure, possibly she was not a Russian, and if she had any right to the t.i.tle of madame, no husband was in evidence. She was quite young; upon the surface she was a child bent on getting out of life all life had to give, and underneath the surface she was perhaps a cold, calculating woman, with no other aim but her own gratification, utterly callous of the sorrow and ruin she might bring to others.

All other statements concerning her must at least be considered doubtful.

Her friends may have been too generous, her enemies unnecessarily bitter.

Personally I do not believe she was in any way connected with one of the royal houses of Europe, as rumor said, nor that she was the morganatic wife of an Austrian archduke.

I have said that I had never seen her. I may add that I was not in the least interested in her.

Even when I read the headline in the paper, "Mysterious disappearance of Madame Vatrotski," I remained unmoved; indeed, I had to think for a moment who Madame Vatrotski was, and when the paragraph concluded that the disappearance was probably a smart advertis.e.m.e.nt I thought no more about the matter.

Before the end of the week, however, I was obliged to think a great deal about this woman. It was a tribute to the dancer's popularity that her disappearance caused widespread interest not only in London, but in the provinces, and it speedily became evident that her friends were legion.

She had dined, or had had supper, at various times, with a score of well-known men; she had received presents and offers of marriage from them; she had certainly had two chances of becoming a peeress, she might have become the wife of a millionaire, and half a dozen younger sons had kept their families on tenter-hooks.

It was said the poet laureate had dedicated an ode to her--that Lovet Forbes, the sculptor, was immortalizing her in stone, and Musgrave had certainly painted her portrait.

From all sides there was a loud demand that the mystery must be cleared up, and the investigation was entrusted to me.

From the outset it was apparent that Madame Vatrotski had played fast and loose with her many admirers. She had not definitely refused either of the coronets offered her, nor the millions. I say her behavior was apparent, but I ought to say it was apparent to me, because many of those who knew her personally would not believe a word against her.

This was the case with Sir Charles Woodbridge, a very level-headed man as a rule, and also with Paul Renaud, the proprietor of the great dress emporium in Regent Street, an astute individual, not easily deceived by either man or woman.