Chapter XV: Mrs. Walsingham Admits

Mrs. Walsingham had listened to the brief conversation between Burgoyne and Richard with an interest which she had taken care not to show. She had had an idea that Burgoyne was watching her while he talked, as if he had wanted to observe the effect of the conversation upon her; the same feeling had been upon her upstairs. And it had seemed to her that when Richard had first mentioned the diamonds, Burgoyne had given her a sharp glance, which she had pretended not to see.

“And yet,” she thought, as the car got away from Norfolk Street, “it may have been all fancy, all nervousness, on my part. Didn’t I hear him say that his diamonds were worth twelve thousand? If he thinks that, then, of course, he hasn’t found out anything, and I dare say everything is all right--yet.”

But Mrs. Walsingham was not the sort of woman to leave any concern of hers, however small, to chance, and she meant to know precisely where she was. Wherefore, later in the evening, when she and Richard were dining at a very fashionable restaurant to which they had taken a fancy because it was so exclusive as to be very quiet, she brought round the conversation to the events of the afternoon, intent on improving her knowledge.

“What were those diamonds that you and Captain Burgoyne were talking about this afternoon, just before you got into the car?” she asked, with a good assumption of fairly interested indifference.

“Oh!” answered Richard, who had already forgotten all about the diamonds. “Didn’t I tell you? Burgoyne has a diamond necklace which is believed to have been the property of--what was the name of Napoleon’s wife, or, at any rate, one of them?”

“I don’t know,” answered Mrs. Walsingham. “I’m not good at the history of anything that doesn’t concern me.”

“I remember, now,” continued Richard. “Maria Louisa. It’s been in the Burgoyne family over a hundred years--you’ve never heard of it, then?”

Mrs. Walsingham favoured her fiancé with an upward glance of her beautiful eyes.

“How should I have ever heard of it?” she asked. “I never saw Captain Burgoyne until he came to the office the other day.”

“Oh, I thought, perhaps----” began Richard, and then he paused. It had been on the tip of his tongue to tell her that the famous necklace had lain in pawn in Leverton’s safe, within a yard or two of herself, for three years, but a sudden instinct stopped him as he reflected that no one but Burgoyne, Francis Leverton, Mr. Winch and himself knew of the transaction. “No, hang it!” he thought. “I mustn’t talk of Burgoyne’s private affairs. Oh, I fancied you might have heard of it,” he continued, aloud, “seeing that it’s a bit famous, you know. However, Burgoyne was talking of it this morning when he breakfasted with me, and he said he thought he’d sell it, and I offered to buy it--that’s all.”

“He said it was valued at twelve thousand,” said Mrs. Walsingham. “What did you want to buy a diamond necklace worth that for?”

“To give to you, of course,” answered Richard. “Every man gives his wife diamonds.”

“Every man does nothing of the sort. You must not think of such a thing, Richard,” said Mrs. Walsingham with a fine air of wifely protection. “I should be miserable if I thought that you believed me to be that sort of woman who is perpetually expecting gifts of that sort. Do be a sensible boy!--I suppose that if Burgoyne had been willing to sell, you’d have written a cheque for twelve thousand there and then?”

Richard laughed. At that time, what with his knowledge of his investments, his prospects, and his boundless faith in Carsdale, twelve thousand pounds seemed a mere bagatelle to expend on the woman one was going to marry.

“I suppose I should!” he said.

“How foolish--and how thoughtless!” exclaimed Mrs. Walsingham. “Pray, what do either you or Burgoyne know about the value of such things? I’m sure you, at any rate, couldn’t tell whether a stone such as this, for instance, is worth five pounds or five hundred pounds.”

“No,” said Richard, “I couldn’t. But,” he added, with a smile of great wisdom, “jewellers can, being experts. Burgoyne took his necklace to Levanter’s this morning, just to have it valued. You know Levanter’s?--I should think they know the worth of diamonds!”

Mrs. Walsingham, who was just then eating an ice, and qualifying its coldness with her own pet liqueur, received with seeming indifference the highly important information which she had been angling for.

“Oh!” she said. “So Levanter valued it at twelve thousand, did he? Of course he would know. But promise me, Richard”--here she took advantage of the fact that they were quite alone in a nook-and-corner to lay a hand on Richard’s and to give his a slight pressure--“promise me that you’ll never, never, never buy these or any other diamonds without consulting me? You see, I know how impetuous you are, and there are so many dishonest people about.”

Richard felt touched at this kindly desire to shield him.

“All right, Sylvie,” he said. “Of course, I won’t. I know you know a lot more than I do. Though it would have been all right buying these things from Burgoyne on Levanter’s valuation, wouldn’t it?”

“Oh, of course!” replied Mrs. Walsingham, sweetly. “But you are not to buy them--on Levanter’s valuation or anybody else’s.”

Levanter’s valuation! That was what puzzled her. When she was alone that night she sat down to think things out. Like all people who live by their wits, she was more or less of an adept at presenting matters to herself, as well as to others, in a clear and lucid fashion, and it did not take her long to sum up the present position of affairs. And when the summing up was done, Mrs. Walsingham’s pretty face was puckered with lines which indicated that she was puzzled and doubtful. She knew that she ought not to allow her face to be puckered, that she ought not to frown, that, whatever happened, she ought to keep on smiling, since smiles are conducive to a youthful appearance and frowns are not. But the situation was embarrassing, even if it was not awkward.

This was how Mrs. Walsingham summed it up. There was now no doubt in her mind that Burgoyne had redeemed his pledge from Frances Leverton and Mr. Septimus Winch acting as executors of Barclay Leverton. He had taken what they handed to him as being the real necklace which he had deposited with Leverton. And what he had been so handed he had that very morning--according to Richard--shown to Levanter, and Levanter had valued it at twelve thousand pounds.

This was what puzzled Mrs. Walsingham more than anything had ever puzzled her in her life--that Levanter should put such a value on something which she knew only too well was worth--well, never mind what. And she had smoked several cigarettes before she came to the conclusion that Levanter had never really examined the necklace. She reconstructed the scene for herself. Burgoyne had probably had the necklace on him; he had pulled it out, shown it to the jeweller, and asked, in an off-hand way, what such an article should be worth. And Levanter, not examining it over carefully or critically, perhaps not even handling it, but forming a rough idea from long experience, had answered that it should be worth about twelve thousand--and Burgoyne had put his property in his pocket again. That was it, that must be it!--there could be no other explanation.

But--that did not answer the question which she was putting to herself, had been putting to herself ever since she had found out that what passed for the genuine necklace was undoubtedly in Burgoyne’s possession. That question was a plain one. It was an unmistakably plain question. And it was packed easily into five simple words--

“How long am I safe?”

She went on reckoning up all the pros and cons of the case as she sat there, long after midnight, smoking. The whole place was very quiet, for Sophie Guyner had gone to bed, and there was not even the ticking of a clock to disturb her. But she thought so intently that she never noticed whether the quietness was deep or not; she would have thought matters out in the crowded streets of the City.

How long was she safe? Burgoyne might change his mind--he might decide to sell the necklace. The purchaser-in-prospect would certainly have the valuable article valued on which he was to lay out so much; then would follow inevitable inquiry--not as to everything, but as to so much of everything as would certainly lead to unpleasant investigations into the character, history and antecedents of everybody who had been in connection with Barclay Leverton during the past three years. And, as one of the people who had been very closely connected with the top floor of Abbotsbury House, but much more as the prospective bride of a young man who was worth three hundred thousand pounds, Mrs. Walsingham had no desire for inquiries or investigations of any sort, and she knew quite well that Mr. John Carsdale would share her feelings.

She threw away her last cigarette as she thought of Carsdale. And her puzzled countenance suddenly cleared as she began to make ready for her night’s rest.

“I may as well make a clean breast of it to Jack,” she thought. “After all, two heads are better than one.”

Then she slept like an innocent child--and in the morning awoke refreshed and ready for the fray. And beginning to exercise her generalship at once, she telephoned to Richard, and told him that he was on no account to present himself at Abbotsbury House before five o’clock that day: she had arrears of work, she said, which had accumulated through his habit of dropping in at any hour he chose to, and they must be cleared off. She spoke imperatively, and Richard promised to obey; she was just as imperative later on, at the office, when, at noon, Miss Rousby and Griffkin being out, taking much needed refreshment at neighbouring places of popular resort, she informed Carsdale that she wanted to have a talk to him.

Carsdale knew from experience that a certain tone in Mrs. Walsingham’s voice, a certain look in her eye, meant that she wanted to have his most serious advice on some equally serious matter. He followed her into her room, and took a chair at her desk.

“There’s nobody can interrupt,” said Mrs. Walsingham. “The girl and the boy are out, and I’ve put up the notice at the door. Jack--I’m in a devil of a mess! It may spoil all--for both of us. So each of us has just got to think pretty hard.”

Carsdale lighted a cigar--it was his way of showing that he was all attention. And Mrs. Walsingham proceeded.

“You remember when Captain Burgoyne first came here the other day?” she asked.

“Of course,” replied Carsdale.

“But you didn’t know why he came?”

“Came to see Leverton--who happened to be dead.”

“He came to redeem something on which Leverton had advanced him some money,” said Mrs. Walsingham. “It wasn’t here, of course. Frances and old Winch took it away the day of Leverton’s death.”

“What was it?” asked Carsdale, still only mildly curious. “Anything good?”

“It was a diamond necklace, worth about eleven or twelve thousand pounds,” replied Mrs. Walsingham.

Carsdale stared.

“Great Scott!” he exclaimed. “I didn’t know that Leverton ever did anything of that sort. How did you come to hear of it?”

“Found it out,” answered Mrs. Walsingham. “He lent Burgoyne five thousand pounds towards the expenses of his expedition and held the diamond necklace as security. Burgoyne came to pay principal and interest the other day, and as Leverton was dead, of course, he had to go to Winch’s.”

“I remember--I remember!” said Carsdale. “Yes--of course, I didn’t know why he came here. Oh, yes, to be sure, Shrewsbury went over there to Winch’s with him.”

Mrs. Walsingham gave her _vis-à-vis_ a keen look.

“That, of course, is how I have been able to supplement what information I already had,” she observed; “the boy and Burgoyne are friends.”

“Just so,” said Carsdale. “Yes? Well--I suppose Burgoyne paid his money and took his security. Yes?”

“He paid the five thousand pounds and the interest on it for three years,” replied Mrs. Walsingham. “And they handed over to him what they and he believed to be the diamond necklace which he had given to Leverton.”

Carsdale suddenly started and faced sharply round.

“Believed!” he exclaimed. “Then--it wasn’t?”

“It wasn’t,” said Mrs. Walsingham.

“Then where--where is the real one?” demanded Carsdale.

Mrs. Walsingham bent over the desk and sank her voice to a whisper.

“I’ve got it!” she answered.