Corner House — Chapter III, The Face at the Window; Chapter IV, Weaving the Net
Only for a minute, a brief respite; then she must go down to her guests again.
CHAPTER III. THE FACE AT THE WINDOW.
Hetty darted up the secondary staircase intent only on her little charge.
The child was unusually nervous and imaginative, as if she had been frightened by the ghost stories of a foolish nurse.
Alternatively her mother's pet and encumbrance, Mamie had been driven back upon herself.
And she had given up all the love of her heart to Hetty.
It was quite silent upstairs; there was no sign of a maid anywhere.
As Hetty reached the landing the frightened bleating cry broke out again.
There was only a night-light in the nursery; a little white figure sat moaning in bed.
"You poor little mite," Hetty said tenderly.
"There, there.
I shall stay here and not leave you any more until you go to sleep.
Where is Richards?"
"She said she wouldn't be a minute," Mamie sobbed.
"I had one of my headaches and I couldn't go to sleep.
Then I began to get frightened and I wanted somebody to talk to me.
I could hear the people and the music downstairs, so I just got out of bed and went into the corridor."
"Ah, that is why your feet are so cold.
Well?"
"I stood in the corridor for some time," Mamie continued with her head on Hetty's shoulder.
"The blinds were up and I could see those two wide windows in the Corner House.
Richards' father was a footman there and she told me all about the poor dead lady and the dark husband who never said anything----" "Richards shall tell you no more stories," Hetty murmured.
"Go on, pet."
"And then I began to think about it and wonder.
And when I was wondering and wondering and looking into those dark windows I saw a light."
"You saw a light?
In one of those windows?
Nonsense!"
"Dearest, it was not nonsense at all.
The shadow of the light was all across my nightdress.
I was so frightened that I could not call out because the Corner House is empty and it must have been a ghost.
But that was not all."
"You fancied that you saw something besides the light?"
"I am certain," said Mamie with a resolute nod.
"There was a face, a face looking out of the window.
Oh, such a terrible face!
It was dirty and grimy and one eye was all discoloured, and both the eyes were wild and fierce and hungry, just like that new tiger at the Zoo.
Then the face went away and I screamed, and that's all, dearest, and oh, I am so dreadfully tired."
The little dark head fell back and the troubles were forgotten for the moment.
The child was breathing regularly and peacefully now.
More disturbed and uneasy than she cared to admit, Hetty crept out into the corridor.
A certain amount of light from the house and the street fell on the blank side of the Corner House.
There were the two blank windows at one of which Mamie had seen the face.
It must have been imagination, seeing that the Corner House had been deserted for years.
Hetty knew its story as well as anybody else.
Was it possible that some crime or tragedy was being enacted behind those grimy walls, all unknown to the police?
The house was reported to be luxuriously furnished, the front of the place was all shuttered.
Stranger things are happening in this London of ours every day in the week.
She could certainly mention the matter to----.
Hetty stopped suddenly and caught her breath.
A faint light had commenced to glow in the Corner House, gradually the blank window shaped to a luminous outline.
The light grew stronger and stronger, till Hetty could see the balustrade of the staircase.
And then, surely enough there came a face to the window.
A dreadful face, a face dull and dissipated, with horrible watery red eyes, yet full of malice and cunning and passion.
There was a bristle of whiskers and a moustache, as if chin and razor had for days been strangers.
As suddenly as the face had come it turned.
A hand shot out from somewhere, as if seeking for the throat of the strange apparition, a fist was uplifted, and the figure disappeared, evidently going down before a cruel and crushing blow.
The light vanished; it had probably been overturned and gone out.
"Good heavens!"
Hetty cried.
"Did you see that?"
She was conscious that somebody was by her side.
She looked and found that her companion was the Countess.
No answer came.
Hetty touched the other's arm.
She was shaking from head to foot like a reed in the gale.
"Did you see that?"
Hetty demanded, again.
The woman by her side was slowly recovering herself.
A minute later and she was her cold calm self again.
"I saw nothing," she said, between her teeth.
"And you saw nothing.
It was some trick of the imagination.
There is nobody in yonder house.
When I took this place a year ago so that I could be near--what am I talking about?
I have been working too hard at my pleasures lately; I shall have to take a rest."
"I am not suffering from any delusions," Hetty said, coldly.
"All the same, you will say nothing," Leona Lalage hissed.
"What you have seen or what you imagine you have seen tonight is to remain a secret between us for all time.
Do you understand me?
There is no better friend than I in all the world, and there is no more dangerous enemy.
See?"
She gripped the girl's arm with fearful force.
A strong man would have had no more firm a clasp.
Hetty winced under the pain, but no cry escaped her lips.
There was some dark mystery here, some evil connexion between the desolation of the Corner House and the brilliant establishment in Lytton Avenue.
Else why would Countess Lalage have been so far from the centre of the small world called Society?
"It is nothing to me," Hetty said coldly.
"If you desire to avoid a scandal for the sake of the house, my lips are sealed.
If you have nothing further to say to me, I will go and see if Mamie is still asleep."
CHAPTER IV. WEAVING THE NET.
Hetty rubbed her eyes with the feeling that it had all been a dream.
It was not yet very late, only a little after midnight, and the brilliant saloons were still crowded with guests.
Down below in the dining-rooms people were supping, there was the dreamy music of a band somewhere.
As if nothing in the world had happened Countess Lalage sat smiling brilliantly and chatting with not the least distinguished of her guests, Mr. Gilbert Lawrence, the famous novelist.
Hetty's uncle was evidently flattered.
He liked talking of his own work, for his heart was in it, and he had for audience one of the most brilliant and beautiful women in London.
His voice was something high pitched and it carried easily to Hetty's ears.
Apparently, Bruce was gone, for the girl could see nothing of him anywhere.
She was only too glad for a chance to sit down quietly and ponder over the disturbing events of the evening.
Nobody was likely to be particularly interested in Leona Lalage's governess.
The little man with the keen restless eyes and the pince-nez did not suggest the popular idea of the novelist.
He chattered on with frank egotism.
The world made much of him, and he took it for granted that all the world was interested in his work.
And he was talking eagerly to Leona Lalage about the Corner House.
Hetty caught her breath eagerly.
That dark and evil place seemed to have suddenly become part and parcel of her life.
Instinctively she half hid herself behind a great dragon vase full of palms.
"Fact is I used to know the man who lived there," Gilbert Lawrence was saying in his quick staccato way.
"And I was once in the house.
No, I never met the wife.
A depressing, gloomy house, like Tom Hood's haunted mansion.
Just the place to plan a murder in, and never be found out.
After the scandal I worked out a novel on the subject."
Leona Lalage's eyes gleamed like points of fire.
They seemed to be burnt into her face.
Hetty could see the restless play of the jewelled hands.
"Did you ever publish it?"
she asked, eagerly.
"Never had the chance to write it," Lawrence cried.
"But I worked it all out.
Wicked woman, revenge, plot to bring hero within the grip of the law.
It's pigeonholed in my writing desk, and labelled 'The Corner House.'
But I don't suppose it will ever be written."
"Worth stealing," a Society journalist lounging by remarked.
"I could write a novel, only I can never think of a plot.
Your old housekeeper is asleep long ago.
Where do you carry your latchkey?"
"Ticket pocket of my overcoat," laughed Lawrence.
"But you'll be found out, Stead.
Being a critic, the public would never take you seriously."
The Countess's eyes flamed again suddenly.
Hetty, watching, was utterly puzzled.
What was there in this trivial conversation that held this woman almost breathless?
She had the air of one who has taken a great resolution.
She seemed like a man face to face with death, who sees a way out.
A great many of the guests had by this time departed.
It was growing very quiet in the streets now, the jingle of harness and the impatient pawing of horses had almost ceased.
A soldierly-looking man came up to Leona Lalage, and held out his hand.
"But you are not going to Aldershot tonight.
Captain Gifford?"
Leona asked.
"A cab?
How extravagant!"
"Motor car," the stolid dragoon replied.
"I've got a fifteen horsepower Daimler that I can knock seventy miles an hour out of at a pinch.
And no danger of being picked up for scorching on a dark night like this."
The Countess put her hand to her throat as if she had found some trouble with her breathing.
Those wonderful eyes of hers were gleaming like electric flashes.
Her face was white, but her lips were drawn narrow with resolution.
She rose, and sauntered carelessly to the door.
"I dote on motors," she said.
"Nothing pleases me better than to go out in my own alone.
I am coming to see your steed, Captain.
The rooms are so hot here that I have a great mind to run away with it."
Gifford murmured something about the honour and pleasure.
There was no vehicle to be seen in the dark street besides the gleaming mass of brass and steel that quietly simmered by the pavement.
"A beauty!"
the Countess exclaimed, "And the same action as my own.
I
believe I know as much about it as my chauffeur.
Captain Gifford, let me try it alone, do.
Harris, give me a coat.
No, one of the gentlemen's overcoats--that grey one will do.
Do let me go round the square alone!"
Gifford consented with outward urbanity.
Few men could say no when Leona Lalage asked for a favour.
With a man's coat over her gleaming black dress and ivory shoulders she sprang into the car, and the next moment she was flying round the corner.
She laughed recklessly as she passed out of sight, a laugh with a ring of insolent triumph in it.
Ten minutes, twenty minutes passed, whilst Gifford fidgeted with a half-chewed cigarette in his teeth.
Then there was a distant whirr, two flaming eyes and the gleam of brass and steel.
"An adventure!"
the Countess cried gaily.
"I have been dodging a couple of policemen, or I should have been back before.
Beware of the high road.
Goodbye, Captain, and if ever you wish to dispose of your Mercedes, give me the first offer."
She passed up the steps with a face white but smiling, a queer lingering smile that boded ill to some one.
A few guests of the higher Bohemian type still lingered, but with easy tact the hostess contrived to get rid of them.
Her absence had not been noticed, the little escapade on the motor was not mentioned.
The took of triumph faded from her eyes, she had grown worn and weary.
The roses were wilting on the walls, the lights were mostly down now.
Hetty, looking in to see if anything was wanted, found herself driven away almost fiercely.
"I am tired, weary, worn-out," the Countess cried.
"I am sick of it all, sick of the world, and sick to death of myself.
Go to bed."
The house was quiet at last, there was a passing cab or two, the heavy tramp of a policeman.
Up in the nursery little Mamie was still sleeping, she was flushed and uneasy and murmuring as she slept.
The recreant nurse lay on her back snoring loudly.
Well, Hetty was a light sleeper, and her room was just opposite the nursery.
Nurse would have slept through an earthquake.
Hetty returned to her room, but not to sleep.
The vague shadow of some coming trouble lay upon her.
She was young and healthy, and she was engaged to one of the best men on earth.
And they were going to be married soon.
She ought to have been superlatively happy.
Yet she was restless and uneasy.
She had never known what it was to be nervous before.
There was a dull booming noise somewhere, a knocking that seemed to proceed from the Corner House.
Hetty heard something fall with a thud, she could have sworn to a stifled cry.
A door opened and closed somewhere, there was a strong draught as if the basement had been opened.
Hetty's heart was beating in some strange, unaccountable way.
A little cry brought her to her feet.
But it was only Mamie whimpering and crying for her.
The child was awake and sitting up in bed, whilst the nurse still slept.
Mamie was hot and feverish.
"I am so sorry," she said, "but my throat is all parched up.
Dearest, do please get me some soda-water."
"All right, darling," Hetty whispered.
"Lie down and be quiet, and I will see what I can do for you.
I shan't be long."
There was everything that Hetty required in the dining-room.
She crept softly down the marble staircase in her stockinged feet; down below in the hall a solitary point of flame in the electric corona made fitful shadows everywhere.
There was one light also in the big, dark, dining-room, which was always left there, so that Hetty had no difficulty in finding a syphon of soda-water.
She crept out into the hall again and paused.
Cigarette smoke.
Smoke of a pungent acrid kind that might have been smoked in the house, but never beyond the kitchens.
And it was fresh, too, for a trailing wreath of it hung heavy on the air.
Without a doubt somebody was in the morning room.
Yes, Hetty could hear the chink of a glass, the fizz of something aerated.
Her heart was beating painfully, but she was not afraid.
Dimly, in a mirror opposite, she could see a hand reflected.
But she could not see the face.
The girl deflected the mirror slightly, so that the head and shoulders of the intruder were dimly focused upon it.
A cry rose to her lips, but she stifled it.
In a sudden, blind, unreasoning fear she fled noiselessly up the stairs.
She had seen that man's features.
It was the face of the man from the Corner House!
