"How can I ever thank you for all you have done?" she said.
Her face was flushed with a rosy7 hue8, her eyes sparkled like stars; and at the moment, stirred by generous emotion, Iris Link was a beautiful woman. Paul had never noted9 the fact before--perhaps from long familiarity with her face, and an unavoidable comparison of it with the brilliant beauty of the dead Milly. The revelation of the soul which rendered her beautiful came on him with unexpected force, and he wondered how he could have been so blind as not to have admired her before. In that moment love germinated10 with unexpected suddenness in his soul; and he pressed the girl's hand warmly.
"Don't thank me at all, my dear," he said in a low voice. "I am only too glad to help you and yours."
"Will you come to Barnstead this evening, Paul?"
"No, Iris. I have a great deal of work to get through before going to London."
"You are going to London?"
"To-morrow morning. I fancy I have a clue to the identity of the person who killed Milly."
"Does the clue guide you to London?"
"Yes. I have ascertained12 that a third person was in the Winding13 Lane on that night when Milly and Lovel met."
"Who is the person?"
"Catinka, the Polish violinist," replied Paul; and forthwith he told Iris all that he had learned regarding the rainbow feather from Dr. Lester.
"It certainly looks as though she had been there," said Iris thoughtfully; "but it is impossible that she could have killed my sister."
"Why? From all accounts she is in love with Herne."
"I don't believe she is!" insisted Miss Link. "Mr. Herne's explanation to my father is far more likely. I fancy her association with him is founded on patriotic14 grounds. She knows that he is rich and enthusiastic, and wishes to secure him as a member of her ridiculous society. With his money she could do a great deal towards her object of inciting15 a revolt against Russia."
"That is very probable. But on these grounds I do not see why she came to Barnstead on the night of the murder."
"Nor I. You must ask her that yourself, Paul," added Iris suddenly. "Is not this the lady you love?"
Paul blushed in his turn. "It is Catinka whom I admired," he replied with an emphasis on the last word; "but I do not love her--at least, not now. My fancy for her has passed away. My heart is free--far more so than yours, Iris."
"What do you mean?" asked his companion, a trifle coldly.
"Why," said Paul in surprise--"surely you know! Do you not love Darcy Herne?"
"No, Paul; my fancy for him has died away, like yours for Catinka."
"For what reason?"
"One which satisfies myself," said Iris resolutely16, "but one I cannot tell you."
Paul looked searchingly at her, but the cold look on her face baffled his scrutiny17. "I do not understand you," he said, turning away his eyes.
"I don't understand myself," replied Iris bitterly, "but some day I may do so. At present, my dear Paul, you may be sure that my heart is as free as your own."
"Our hearts may not always remain in such a forlorn condition," said Paul suggestively.
Iris looked at him suddenly, and saw something in the expression of his face which made her blush. With the evasive instinct of a woman, she turned hastily away.
"See--papa is going," she said hurriedly. "I must follow him. Good-bye, Paul."
"Good-bye, Iris," was his reply; and when the two went away from the house with Miss Clyde--who had to return to Barnstead also--Paul stood looking after them with a smile on his lips.
"Strange if Iris should turn out to be my fate after all," he said to himself; and then went off to the office of the "Tory Times." His presence there was much needed, and he had to discard all speculation18 about Iris and a possible wedding, in order to plunge19 into journalistic work connected mostly with the dry subjects of politics.
The next morning, having finished his work, and obtained the necessary leave from his editor, Paul went up to London by the express train. It was noon when he arrived at Victoria, and he had luncheon20 in a Strand21 restaurant before calling on Catinka. Here Fate served him well, for she brought him into contact with a rising musician, who might be supposed to know all that there was to be known about the Polish violinist. Signor Baldini was a young man of Italian blood on the maternal22 side, and he had taken the maiden23 name of his mother, as more likely to look well on music paper. He had written one or two songs which had been more or less successful, and now he contemplated24 composing the music of a comic opera, which was--in his own estimation--to place him on a level with Sir Arthur Sullivan. Paul was hailed cheerily by this individual, and they were soon in confidential25 discourse26.
After a chat about the comic opera, and people to whom they were both known, Paul ventured to ask his companion concerning Catinka. At this question Signor Baldini shrugged27 his shoulders.
"I have not seen her lately," he said, candidly28. "She does not play so frequently as she once did. You see her name rarely on the St. James's Hall programmes now."
"Have the public got tired of her, then?"
"Not that I know of. I rather fancy it is she who has grown tired of the public. The fact is, Mexton, that charming young lady has a bee in her bonnet29."
"What sort of a bee?"
"A political bee, that is intended to sting the Autocrat30 of all the Russias. Catinka is a Pole, you know, and of late she has been mixed up in politics of the Socialistic sort. I never take up a paper without expecting to see her name figuring as the heroine who has thrown a bomb at the Czar."
"Well, it isn't in the papers, you know; but it is pretty generally talked about. Catinka has a kind of society, of which she is the leader."
"The Rainbow Feather Society?"
"Yes. I see you have heard of it, even in your native wilds. Did you ever hear so absurd a name, or imagined so ridiculous a symbol? A feather plucked from a goose and dyed in bars of red, blue, yellow, and green. Symbolical32, no doubt, but no one outside the society knows the meanings thereof."
"Who belongs to this association?"
"Long-haired Poles and Russian exiles, and all that sort," replied the signor in a tone of disgust; "the most respectable member is a fellow called Darcy Herne."
"Do you know him?"
"Yes. I met him once at a musical party given by the lady. At least, it was called so," said Baldini, correcting himself; "but I daresay it was a gathering33 of conspirators34. This Herne was there, and seemed a cracked kind of creature, full of whims36. Believes in equality, and looking after the oppressed, and all that sort of rubbish. Religious, too, and has the Bible at his finger ends. Do you know him?" asked the musician in his turn.
"Then why doesn't he look after his preserves instead of mixing himself up in Catinka's mad schemes? She'll get him into trouble."
"I met her once," said Paul thoughtfully, "but I had not much opportunity of reading her character. What kind of young woman is she?"
"Oh, one of the Charlotte Corday sort!"
"She lives in Bloomsbury Square, I believe?"
"Yes--Number one thousand," said Baldini, rising. "If you intend to call on her, I warn you, my friend, you won't be well received. She cares for nothing but Anarchists39."
"And Herne?"
"Oh, that's nonsense. She only cares for him because she wants his money to work up a plot against the Czar."
"Then there is no love in the matter?"
"Love!" echoed the signor contemptuously. "If you knew Catinka well you wouldn't ask so absurd a question. She's got no more heart than one of those bombs her friends manufacture. Well, good-day, Mexton; glad to see you. Sorry to go, but awfully40 busy," and Signor Baldini rattled41 himself out of the door, as though his life depended on speedy movement.
Left alone, Paul finished his luncheon thoughtfully. The explanation given by Baldini seemed to put the guilt42 of Catinka out of the question; at all events, it removed the sole motive43 she could have for such a wicked act--that of jealousy44. If she was not in love with Herne, she could not be jealous at hearing--as she must have heard--of his engagement to Milly; and if she was not jealous, she had no reason to commit so preposterous45 a crime. Yet she had been in Barnstead Church on the night of the crime--as was proved by the Marborough friend of Mrs. Drass--and she had been on the fatal spot also, as was confirmed by the evidence of the rainbow feather picked up by Herne. What was the badge of a political society doing in the Winding Lane? and why had Herne seemed so startled when he picked it up? It was these questions which Paul wished to ask of Catinka; in the answering of which he hoped to find a clue to the assassin. He was convinced that the solution of the mystery was connected with the rainbow feather.
Catinka, as he found, occupied the first floor of a gloomy old mansion46 in Bloomsbury Square. When Paul ascended47 the wide staircase, which had borne the tread of Georgian belles48 and beaux, he found himself before a massive door, which bore a brass49 plate, upon which the name "Catinka" was inscribed50. No one knew what was the Polish girl's surname, as she preferred to be known by that which she had made famous in the world of music. Perhaps she intended to reveal who she was when heading the intended revolt against Russia; but in all artistic51 London she was known only by her first name; and then, as everybody stated, "Catinka" by itself looked well on the bills.
A sallow maidservant with rather a foreign air opened the door, and conveyed the card of Paul to her mistress. Speedily she returned, and led him into a cosy52 sitting-room53 with two windows which looked out on to the grimy trees in the centre of the square. It did not appear like the den11 of a conspirator35, for the paper was of a cheerful pattern, the chairs and sofa were covered with rose-sprigged chintz, and on the walls were portraits, signed by the leading musicians and singers of the day. Judging from the number of these, Catinka was a favourite with her fellow-artistes.
There was also a grand piano, covered with loose sheets of music, and a violin lying carelessly on the top; but what attracted Paul most was a fan of stained feathers, which was spread out in front of the mirror over the mantelpiece. The four colours mentioned by Baldini stretched in bars across the fan; and Paul became aware that he was looking at the symbol of the Anarchist38 society of which he had lately heard so much. Dyed feathers and an innocent-looking fan; yet the sign of the hatred54 borne by a crushed country against its conqueror55. Paul was struck by the incongruity56 of the symbol and its meaning.
"Good-day to you, sir," said a voice behind him, with a slight foreign accent. "You wish for to--ah!" broke off Catinka, as Paul turned--"it is my nice critic of the English town! How do you do, Mr. Mexton?"
"Oh, my dear, no! I never forget those who speak well of me. Sit down, you good young critic, and let us talk of what you wish."
The violinist was a pretty, sparkling brunette, of no great height, with an olive-hued face, handsome and calm. She was dressed to perfection in a tea-gown of amber-coloured silk, trimmed with black lace; and her back hair was gathered into a kind of coronet, through which was thrust a tortoise-shell silver-headed pin. She was all vivacity58 and charm and sympathy; yet Baldini had assured him that she had no heart and that she was a dangerous conspirator. Paul could believe neither statement in the presence of this dainty little lady.
"And now, Mr. Mexton," cried Catinka, when they were seated, "why you come for this visit--eh?"
"I want to ask you a question."
"Oh yes; assuredly. What you will, my dear sir?"
"It has to do with Barnstead," said Paul, in a hesitating manner.
Catinka's charming face hardened, and she shot a keen look at Paul. "Ah!" said she, after a pause; "that is a place near to your city where I was giving--a concert. Quite so. Oh, yes. And what you say about Barnstead?"
"I want to know why you were in Barnstead Church three weeks ago?"
"Eh?" said Catinka, attempting no denial. "You see me there?"
"No, but I know that you were there--and also that you were in the Winding Lane on the night a young lady was killed."
"No, but I wish to know why you were there?"
"Oh, most certainly, my dear sir, you shall," said the violinist calmly. "I was in your Barnstead to watch on Mr. Herne--Darcy Herne--who was there on that night also."
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1
iris
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| n.虹膜，彩虹 | |
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contrived
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| adj.不自然的，做作的；虚构的 | |
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kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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disinterested
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| adj.不关心的，不感兴趣的 | |
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zeal
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| n.热心，热情，热忱 | |
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conversing
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| v.交谈，谈话( converse的现在分词 ) | |
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rosy
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| adj.美好的，乐观的，玫瑰色的 | |
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hue
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| n.色度；色调；样子 | |
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9
noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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germinated
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| v.（使）发芽( germinate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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den
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| n.兽穴；秘密地方；安静的小房间，私室 | |
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12
ascertained
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| v.弄清，确定，查明( ascertain的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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winding
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| n.绕，缠，绕组，线圈 | |
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patriotic
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| adj.爱国的，有爱国心的 | |
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inciting
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| 刺激的，煽动的 | |
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resolutely
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| adj.坚决地，果断地 | |
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scrutiny
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| n.详细检查，仔细观察 | |
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speculation
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| n.思索，沉思；猜测；投机 | |
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plunge
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| v.跳入，(使)投入，(使)陷入；猛冲 | |
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luncheon
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| n.午宴，午餐，便宴 | |
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strand
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| vt.使（船）搁浅，使（某人）困于（某地） | |
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maternal
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| adj.母亲的，母亲般的，母系的，母方的 | |
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maiden
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| n.少女，处女；adj.未婚的，纯洁的，无经验的 | |
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24
contemplated
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| adj. 预期的 动词contemplate的过去分词形式 | |
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confidential
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| adj.秘（机）密的，表示信任的，担任机密工作的 | |
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discourse
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| n.论文，演说；谈话；话语；vi.讲述，著述 | |
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shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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candidly
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| adv.坦率地，直率而诚恳地 | |
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bonnet
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| n.无边女帽；童帽 | |
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autocrat
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| n.独裁者；专横的人 | |
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socialist
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| n.社会主义者；adj.社会主义的 | |
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symbolical
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| a.象征性的 | |
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gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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conspirators
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| n.共谋者，阴谋家( conspirator的名词复数 ) | |
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conspirator
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| n.阴谋者，谋叛者 | |
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WHIMS
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| 虚妄，禅病 | |
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squire
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| n.护卫, 侍从, 乡绅 | |
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anarchist
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| n.无政府主义者 | |
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anarchists
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| 无政府主义者( anarchist的名词复数 ) | |
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40
awfully
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| adv.可怕地，非常地，极端地 | |
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rattled
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| 慌乱的，恼火的 | |
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guilt
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| n.犯罪；内疚；过失，罪责 | |
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motive
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| n.动机，目的；adv.发动的，运动的 | |
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jealousy
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| n.妒忌，嫉妒，猜忌 | |
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preposterous
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| adj.荒谬的，可笑的 | |
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46
mansion
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| n.大厦，大楼；宅第 | |
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ascended
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| v.上升，攀登( ascend的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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belles
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| n.美女( belle的名词复数 )；最美的美女 | |
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49
brass
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| n.黄铜；黄铜器，铜管乐器 | |
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50
inscribed
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| v.写，刻( inscribe的过去式和过去分词 )；内接 | |
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51
artistic
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| adj.艺术(家)的，美术(家)的；善于艺术创作的 | |
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cosy
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| adj.温暖而舒适的，安逸的 | |
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53
sitting-room
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| n.（BrE）客厅，起居室 | |
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54
hatred
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| n.憎恶，憎恨，仇恨 | |
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55
conqueror
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| n.征服者，胜利者 | |
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56
incongruity
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| n.不协调，不一致 | |
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faltering
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| 犹豫的，支吾的，蹒跚的 | |
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58
vivacity
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| n.快活，活泼，精神充沛 | |
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curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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