“That I believe,” said I. “But why was he troubled?”
The lady shrugged her shoulders.
“A celibate sees a scandal in every bow. The memory of the most harmless flirtation is a millstone round Jonah’s neck.”
Her interpretation relieved me, for I was sure she was wise; but, though I was greatly tempted to share it with George, I did not care to admit that I, and not Mansel, had told Adèle of the theft. So I held my peace.
The next day we left for Wiltshire promising soon to return. Yet we did not, though our homes were but fifty miles apart; for with the coming of summer there was much to be done at Maintenance, and, though the hunting was over, we had our hands full.
The Pleydells and Jonathan Mansel left for Carinthia in .
Mansel was soon to come back, for he had business at home; and then, on the , he and George Hanbury and I were to go out together by road.
And so it fell out—though not as we had expected: for, though Mansel came leisurely to England, he took the road back to Carinthia, like a man possessed. And Hanbury and I with him.
On the we dined in Cleveland Row, to settle the hour of departure and other things.
Our plans were simple and soon laid.
We were to meet at Folkestone and cross by the morning boat; and, since it seemed idle to take two cars, yet send three servants by train, we arranged to keep two with us and to send the third to Salzburg in charge of our heavier stuff. As luck would have it, all three had done this journey before—for Rowley, Hanbury’s old servant, had lately reentered his service—and, since they were all efficient, any one of the three could be trusted to shift for himself: but, as Carson and Bell were accustomed to handling a car, but Rowley was not, the latter was chosen to take our baggage by train.
Not until the cloth had been drawn did Mansel tell us that he had some unfortunate news.
“Boy Pleydell,” he said, “Adèle’s husband, has broken his leg. I heard this morning. Years ago, not twenty-five miles from the scene of his accident, he broke a couple of ribs; so it looks as though Carinthia was bad for his health. However, there’s nothing to be done. He’s under a Salzburg surgeon, and I’m taking out thirty novels to help him to pass the time.”
Here the door was opened, and Carson came in with a note. This was addressed to Mansel and marked “Immediate.”
“Who brought this?” said Mansel, taking it up.
“The porter found it on the steps, sir, one minute ago.”
Mansel asked us to excuse him and broke the seal.
After a little he gave me the letter to read.
The stolen goods will be returned on the receipt by the Manager of the ⸻ Bank, Zurich, of your cheque for five hundred thousand pounds. This sum you can raise, if you please. No time should be wasted for the goods are perishable.
The body of the letter was written in a clerkly hand, but the date had been rudely added, I suppose, that day.
I passed the letter to George and turned to Mansel.
“ ‘Perishable’?” said I. “ ‘Perishable?’ What does he mean?”
“I can’t think,” said Mansel slowly, knitting his brows. “And why has he waited nine months?”
“It must be Rose Noble,” said Hanbury, looking up from the sheet: “for nobody else would know you could raise such a sum. Otherwise, I should say that the writer was out of his mind. I mean, half a million for some papers. …”
“I agree,” said Mansel. “It’s fantastic. I value them certainly: but I wouldn’t give more than a hundred to get them back. If as much. I can’t understand it,” he continued, taking the letter again; “for Rose Noble must know what they’re worth rather better than I.”
For a while we sat silent, for there was nothing to say: but I could not help wondering what was the nature of the papers which Rose Noble held and reflecting that, until we knew that, neither George nor I could make any useful remark.
Mansel was speaking in a quiet, even tone.
“The papers are the letters of a girl—occasional letters and notes—in all, I suppose ten or twelve. Their matter is so casual and ordinary that I feared that Rose Noble would wonder why I had kept them safe. They were in order of date, with her photograph. I feared he would think that she meant something to me. I mean, that was the only explanation of my keeping so carefully such artless documents.”
There was a long silence, and all that Adèle had said came to my mind with a rush. And I could have laughed for relief, but that I knew that Rose Noble was no fool.
At length—
“I still see no daylight,” said Hanbury. “He offers you those letters back. When you ignore his offer, what will he do?”
Mansel shrugged his shoulders.
“He may send them to her husband,” he said. “I would very much rather he didn’t, but that’s as far as I go.”
Again I took the letter and read it through.
“ ‘The goods are perishable,’ ” I said. “That’s a curious way of saying ‘I’m going to send them to him.’ ”
“I agree,” said Hanbury. “And it’s not at all like Rose Noble. He always made himself clear.”
“Painfully clear,” said I, and could have bitten out my tongue.
But Mansel gave no sign of having heard what I said.
Then a bell was rung, and, sitting in breathless silence, we heard a servant pass to the flat’s front door.
The next moment Carson entered, bearing a telegram.
Mansel ripped open the envelope, glanced at the sheet and clapped his hands to his face.
The three of us stared at him.
Presently—
“Tell the man to wait,” he said quietly. “He shall have an answer
