The Photo-Play Journal (Jul 1919-Feb 1921)

July, 1919 PHOTO-PLAY JOURNAL She felt strengthened — strangely and suddenly. She had added a new intrenchment for retreat, a battery for attack, and an aegis for hand-to-hand conflict. Her gratitude, sincere and spontaneous as it was, almost instantly gave way to the involuntary vibrant admiration that swept through her, thrilling her and holding her captive even after he had kissed her hand and left her. There was the sound of Trevor's roadster on the driveway. She hurried to the window. By some trick of synchronism Trevor glanced at the window just as she reached it. Their eyes met. He, much agitated, turned away — not without tipping his cap, however. She felt grateful for that little courtesy, stiff and conventional as it was. Besides, his haggard face and dejected demeanor evinced how the dread revelation of yesterday had laid waste his heart — ■ and how stubbornly he still loved her. This fact — for fact she believed it to be — renewed her courage and quickened her energy. She would fight to save him from Lester's gossamer craftiness bitterly, undauntedly, to whatever end the fortunes of war might decree. . . . But even if victorious, what then? They must eventually part forever, no matter what humiliating terms of peace Lester might be forced to sign. Her duty, however, as Simkin had pointed out, was to remain at the Black House until the conspirator's subtle tactics were matched with others as devious and deadly, and he himself exposed. Then, with her work done, she should have to go — even as Trevor in his first mad grief had bidden her. Her task was a difficult one. Lester, who was already in strategic position, was fighting under cover. In Madame LePage he had an ally, whose ability was indicated by his bold summoning of her to the Black House. Possibly in Johanna Lane he had another. But what part were they to play? Was Trevor, whose imagination made him especially vulnerable to delicate and insinuating attack, expected to fall in love with the little LePage? Anne had to smile. For Virginie, while a fairly good color-scheme with her hair and eyes, was decidedly passe and wizen. As for the stony Johanna, she was not to be considered as any agency for amorous conquest. Besides, Trevor loved his wife. Lester's plan, of course, was to make the master of the Black House hate Anne. This was his trump card, his last desperate attempt to gain possession of the immense Tremaine fortune. Trevor's hatred of his wife presupposed his literal casting her out of his life; and with her gone Lester's work would be easier. His direct object was the subjugation of Trevor to helplessness. He had already tried to bring this about twice, and failed. Elaborately disguised as Dr. Rattray and with the assistance of his confederate Mack, his desperate attempt to place Trevor in a private madhouse had been foiled and made to look farcical by Anne's cleverness. After this fiasco he had tried to persuade Trevor to believe himself insane. Anne had no proof of this, but regarded it as highly probable. In any event Trevor declined to go crazy even at the behest of his own transient fears. So Lester, as a last resort, was trying to set him against his wife — and, so far, succeeding alarmingly. The very brazenness of his forced entrance into the Black House and his subsequent gaining of Trevor's ear showed the deadliness of his determination to put the plot through. He would disgrace Anne and send her away, then make Trevor putty in his hands, or place him in a private asylum, or even kill him, and then, backed with proofs sufficient for his purpose, declare himself the sole living Tremaine, even the son of the late master of the Black House, going so far as to brand Guy Trevor — dead or mad, as the case might be — a usurper ! The stupendousness of it conduced to incredulity, but the plan was feasible. Its success depended on Lester's genius for craft — for nothing short of genius would suffice — and upon the apparent validity of his proofs. Anne, who knew him, knew that he had shaped almost his entire life towards the acquiring of the Tremaine name and estate. And he would die hard. But was Trevor to fall a stupid and unfighting victim to the wiles of this masterful spider? Was he already enmeshed? It was inconceivable. He was a man — with strength to match against Lester's own. Mentally, despite recurrent sick dreams, he was sound. And Lester, though he was psychologist enough to know the more or less powerful influence of suggestion, was yet no master of spells. Trevor's weak point was his imagination. That was his impressionable side. If Lester had already impressed it to the required degree, Anne was even now hopelessly defeated. If not, there was a chance for another and contrary impressment — Anne's own— if she could only secure the opportunity to communicate with him personally. This was practically impossible at present. He would neither consent to an interview nor read any letter she might write. So all she could do was to try to prevent any further communication between him and Lester. She at once rang for Simkin and informed him of her conclusion, with which he concurred, and then asked him to stand guard near Lester's door and bar Trevor's way into the room of the man of machinations, no matter if force had to be used. She then summoned Johanna and warned her not to carry any notes from Lester or Madame LePage to Trevor, or vice versa, under penalty of instant dismissal. Then in the reaction from this sharp and speedy procedure she wondered if she had gone too far. What, on the face of things, had happened — to warrant such drastic measures? Maybe — and her heart bounded in the wild hope of it — Trevor had designs on Lester quite to the extent that Lester had designs on him ! The master of the Black House had been outraged successively by the kidnapping plot and by the intrusion of "Fairbank" into his household, and in fury had threatened revenge. Was he as docile now as Anne feared? Maybe with Lester he was matching strategy with strategy. It might be that he was planning some tremendous coup, some spectacular climax of wholesale betrayal of Lester, some master-move to crush him and extract his fangs. . . . But as Anne's heart had bounded, so now it sank. She remembered his terrible denunciation of her in the library, his wild demand that she take herself out of his life forever. It was only too plain that Lester had begun his work well. CHAPTER XIX The luncheon hour found no one in the dining-room save Anne. Lester, who claimed that his ankle was still too weak for walking, had his meal served in his room as usual — but not by Johanna Lane. Anne had assigned another maid to second-floor duty and transferred Johanna downstairs. Simkin had begun sentry work near Lester's door. His ostensible excuse for remaining there so long a time was the repairing of some Gobelin tapestries that hung on the balustrade. Trevor, who had gone to his room after his morning spin, kept to himself. Virginie LePage had asked for the family car and had motored to Caermarthen on a shopping expedition, as she ironically explained to Anne — who wondered what her real reason could be. One thing seemed to be settled; the conspirators had decided not to appear at table or to take part in any social intercourse in the drawing-room. Of course, this odd behavior outraged etiquette; but Madame LePage seemed indifferent to appearances, while Lester had his eternal ankle to plead as justification for remaining in his room. What did they fear? Anne's fighting spirit? Her wit? Her genius of exigency? Had Virginie learned of her mysterious journey to London and of any investigations she might have made there ? Their secreting of their persons irritated Anne. Technically they were guests. Courtesy between a hostess and guests is reciprocal. This hoary household platitude thrilled Anne with the possibilities created by its enforced observance. Virginie LePage, for instance, in accepting Anne's hospitality, tacitly agreed not to break those unwritten, unspoken, yet binding rules governing modern domestic establishments, one of the main ones of which is attendance at table for meals. And thus it came to pass that the mistress of the Black House, desperately searching for subtlety to match subtlety, wile to trap wile, innuendo to baffle innuendo, hit upon the most effective weapon of all — a prim little rule of etiquette ! She laughed gaily as she drank her lonesome tea. Until far into the afternoon affairs at the mansion of the ebon remained in statu quo. Trevor went out with his dogs, his favorite airdale walking beside him and sharing his dispirited mien. This gave Simkin an opportunity to rest awhile from sentry-duty at Lester's door; and he and his mistress had a conference in the library. The post brought a letter from Trevor's lawyers addressed to Anne, in answer to hers written directly after the Rattray kidnapping burlesque. They counseled Trevor to remain at the Black House, to be on the watch, not to be too anxious, and not to worry. The letter, while serious enough in tone, was somewhat serio-comic in undertone. It was apparent — at least to Anne — that the writers regarded the alleged conspiracy as a more or less grim joke. And their half-bantering offer to send down two or three detectives as a body-guard deepened this impression. But the letter had no deterrent effect on Anne's aggressiveness. If it had been written with knowledge of the present impossible state of things at the Black House it would have been more urgent in counseling precautionary measures and more exhortatory in specifying how certain perils and exigencies were to be met. As it was, it was valueless ; and as Anne burned it she dismissed it from her mind. The wintry sun, itself as pale as the moon, had sunk in wan weariness behind the Welsh hills when Anne, at the library window, saw Mamade LePage and Trevor arrive at the Black House at practically the same moment. Madame LePage agilely sprang from the car just as Trevor returned from his cross-country tramp with his dogs. The airdale still walked beside him, a picture of dignified integrity and reserve ; but was guilty of a breach of canine manners when Virginie, swirling in lingerie, and lashed by rich furs, approached them smilingly. The dog growled and showed his teeth. Trevor, absent-minded, did not reprimand him. But Virginie. half-tumbling against them breathlessly, took no offense. One hand