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

38 PHOTO-PLAY JOURNAL July, 1919 The day wore on monotonously enough. In the early afternoon one of the maids reported syping Johanna Lane in the pine wood beyond the lake. But this did not trouble Anne particularly ; so far Johanna's stupid misadventures had been without rhyme or reason. When, however, another maid declared she had seen Johanna in company with Madame LePage Anne gave the matter serious thought. It seemed, after all, that the Lane girl was to have a role in the tragicomedy to be enacted that night in the music room. But even yet the mistress of the Black House was undismayed. The theme of the play interested her far more than the number of characters in the cast. The afternoon was a trying one for Anne. She was restless and expectant. She felt that the night was to mark a crisis in the plots and counter-plots that surcharged the atmosphere within the ebon walls. This feeling, which was born of nothing tangible and hence was difficult to analyze, impelled her to aimless activity and subtle disquiet. Her room, with its over-dress of tapestries, conduced to foreboding; so she passed much of the time downstairs roaming dispiritedly from room to room, leaving unentered only one — the dead Tremaine's study. Mechanically, absently she had put her hand on the knob before she quite realized what she was doing. Then with a start she recognized the door — which was heavier, blacker, more forbidding than the others. There was a sound at the far end of the hall. She turned and saw Simkin. At the same instant he turned away from her. He had evidently been approaching, but, suddenly seeing her at the fateful door, had turned abruptly to retrace his steps. At least this was the construction Anne put upon his otherwise inexplicable act. "Simkin!" she called. He hesitated, then turned and approached her. In the niggardly light his face looked troubled and haggard. She was startled at the change in him. "Have you found the key to this room?" she asked. "No." "Have you hunted for it?" "No." " — Why haven't you?" "I haven't had time." "You'll have time this afternoon — ?" "Yes." He regarded her with an amused quizzicalness, then burst into a laugh. "You're trying to do Fate's work again, I see." "Simkin — what is in this room?" "Nothing I cannot easily remove before I've found the key !" She gave a start. "You mean you may hide this— thing?" "Possibly." Indignant words rose to her lips. But she could not utter them. She could only gaze at his face — and feel the silent rebuke of his strong and patient soul. "Tell me this much," she said, "has the secret of this room any connection with the secret of the lake?" "No ..." "I remember the night you took me to the shivering waters. You were going to tell me of a great service you had done me, but your courage failed — " "I was afraid your courage might fail — " "And yet you did it for me — really?" "For you — and your husband — and myself." Again he had linked his destiny with hers and Trevor's ! Once more the spell of the shivering waters held her — and once more she felt oppressed by that Secret he would not reveal. "That night by the lake, Simkin, you declared you had done the deed for me — you didn't mention Mr. Trevor or yourself." He smiled. "The whole truth is sometimes like an avalanche. Then we have to tell it — gradually." He disregarded the feverishly eager look in her eyes and glanced at his watch. "Shall I go upstairs and resume my guarding of Lester's door?" She thought a moment. "No. Mr. Trevor will not try to see him. Simkin — " "Yes?" "Tonight the four of us — Lester, Madame LePage, Mr. Trevor and I — are to meet in the music room. It sounds stupidly conventional, even silly, doesn't it? But it will mark a crisis." She hesitated, glancing at him almost mystically. "I'm wondering what part you are to play ..." He smiled amusedly. "A rather important part. I shall take the center of the stage from all of you." She had a sudden reaction. "Sometimes I fear I'm dignifying the occasion to an absurd extent. After all, it's just a whim of Lester's. I can't understand why he wants Madame LePage to play " "Has your husband ever discussed music with you?" "No. -Well?" "He's very sensitive to its influence — almost incredibly so " "Yes, yes ?" "When he was a child the minor arpeggios and Slav and Hungarian music in particular had the power of putting him into a condition resembling trance. Harmony imparted to him a peace that was heavenly, while inharmony transformed him into a creature of the wildest passions. Once I was playing some imperfect chromatics on the 'cello, pianissimo, when his father began to read aloud a tale of murder from the Spanish. The boy suddenly seized a small Italian dagger that was used as a paper-cutter, and . . . ." "Go on," gasped Anne. "I took the knife from him, and in a minute he was himself." "How horrible " "Not at all. It was simply his super-sensitiveness to sound." "I shall not allow Madame LePage to play !" Simkin smiled at her earnestness. "But he has changed vastly since then. Such impressionability was but a phenomenon of his boyhood. Let Madame LePage play her best — or her worst. He will listen unmoved." This reassuring prophecy was mysterious, like everything else about Simkin. "Did his father really hate him?" she queried suddenly. The anomalous butler was somewhat taken by surprise. "Hardly that. He was disappointed in him. They didn't understand each other." " You mean they were not like father and son?" "I can't answer any more questions. I'll simply say this much — your young husband is more of a man than the late master of the Black House dreamed. It is only the pall of funereal memories that puts him at a disadvantage now. He is outgrowing his besetting mysticism just as you have outgrown your fears. He is not the helpless prey to suggestion that Lester fancies. So don't dread the night." With these words, spoken with the impressiveness of authority, Simkin turned and went down the hall. And Anne was left to marvel. Her mind, preternaturally alert, ran over the sinister series of events from her meeting with Trevor to the present protentous moment. In this amazing period three mysteries stood out against a background of mist. Two were solved — the murder of the late master of the Black House, and the peculiar relations existing between him and Trevor. One — the greatest mystery of all — remained unsolved. That mystery was — Simkin. CHAPTER XXI The music room opened upon a small piazza overlooking the lake of the quivering waters. The ceiling was high and vaulted; the tapestries were erratic in workmanship and bizarre in subjects; the lighting facilities were designedly meager — for the purpose, evidently, of preserving an atmosphere of neutral tones deepening into shadows. Only over the keyboard of the exquisitely carved piano depended a lamp of any especial brilliance ; and even that was shaded with phosphorescent blue — the color of spectral dreams. No other room in the Black House was so fitted for the weaving of spells. Lester had chosen cleverly. But Anne was not to be placed at so subtle yet signal a disadvantage by anything a little effort could remedy ; so she had Simkin bring in every electrolier in the house. Consequently when Lester and Madame LePage appeared they were palpably disconcerted by the glare of light. Lester, who handled his crutches discreetly, managed to keep on smiling, however; but Virginie, whose make-up had been intended only for the softest of semi-shadowed glows, turned and overtly used her handkerchief quite vigorously. Anne, amused at the outset, chatted on divers small topics, even venturing an elusive jest concerning the pathetic crutches. She called Lester — alias Fairbank — "Paul" without hesitation, explanation or apology, and, by devious art, succeeded in ruffling his temper a trifle by gently sarcastic references to the Rattray kidnaping fiasco and other incidents of his unusual career. Her memory was irritatingly good. Despite Lester's neutralizing laughs, she delved into his distant past, much to his very obvious chagrin. Virginie listened openmouthed to these piquant recollections. She showed she was a stranger to them. Indeed, her astonishment was so keen and so violent as to disquiet Lester, who tried to pacify her deftly. He failed miserably. She hurled a number of verbal explosives at him, and, grimacing in his face, magnificently threatened to box his ears. "Why have you never told me you loved her?" she cried, pointing at the smiling Anne. "But she's my sister !" he answered, recklessly. "I'm your sister ! You're a liar — a cheat — a " Suddenly he pointed warningly towards the door. There stood Trevor. He had heard all. The angry expression of his face proved it. He strode towards Lester menacingly. His fists were clenched and his eyes ablaze. Lester, forgetting his crutches, let them drop noisily to the floor and backed precipitately across the room. "Knave!" cried Trevor, clutching him by the throat. "I've been aware of the little game you've been trying to play, but my great sorrow has made me unmindful of everything else. This disgraceful scene tonight, though, has changed my dormant dislike of you into