The Ivory Dagger

At the sound of voices in the hall she turned and went to meet the Considines. She was very well aware that her effect would be a little daunting.

Mabel Considine had been a dowdy girl, and was now a dowdy elderly woman. Like Cori

She came in beaming, voice and ma

‘Sybil-how nice! You look as if you had stepped straight off the cover of Vogue! How do you do it? Doesn’t she look marvellous, George? No one would think we were the same age, would they?’

George, large and florid, covered his embarrassment with a hearty greeting. He detested smart women, and especially smart elderly women. Sybil Dryden made him feel that his di

With all this in his mind, he shook hands, and was presently saying ‘Not at all-not at all’ to Herbert Whitall, who strolled in with a casual apology for being late.

There was one of those aimless arguments as to whether the quarter had struck or not. The village church had its chime, but if the wind was not just right, the sound did not carry as far as Vineyards. Anyhow nobody had heard it. Mrs. Considine consulted her wrist-watch on a leather strap and made it five minutes to eight, at the same time admitting that it gained five minutes a day, and that she had no idea when she had set it last.

In the middle of all this Mr. Eric Haile walked in. If he had just had a disagreeable interview with his host, he showed no sign of it. His handsome ruddy face was all smiles as he greeted Lady Dryden and the Considines, his ma

‘My dear lady, I needn’t ask how you are-so very, very easy on the eye!… Mrs. Considine-wearing yourself out with good works as usual!… Ah, Considine-how are the hens?’

If Lady Dryden stiffened a little, it did not trouble him. He had dark dancing eyes that went from one to the other, and an air of being quite certain of his reception. He could not have appeared more perfectly at home if Vineyards and his cousin’s great fortune had been his own by right of birth. He was just saying, ‘I hear you acquired some new treasures at the Harrington sale, Herbert’, when Professor Richardson was a

‘As for Whitall’-he was shaking hands with Lady Dryden- ‘he’d put anything on to anyone. Don’t trust him a yard. Never did. Never shall. Get the better of a blind orphan starving in a snowstorm-ha, ha!’ He gave a short explosive laugh. ‘Well, Whitall, isn’t that so? Isn’t it?’ He got an affable smile and a touch on the shoulder. ‘My dear Richardson, I fly for much higher game than blind orphans. You for instance, or Mangay. And I rather think I brought it off at the Harrington sale. Mangay would have liked that dagger.’

The Professor stared.

‘Daresay he would. He hasn’t got a bottomless purse-nor have I. Not that I wanted the thing myself. Probably spurious. Didn’t trouble to go to the sale.’

Herbert Whitall smiled with those thin lips of his. ‘No-you had Bernstein bidding for you, hadn’t you?’ Professor Richardson’s bald head glowed. The red frill which stood up all round the back of it like an Elizabethan ruff appeared to quiver as if every individual hair was angry. His eyebrows, a shade more sandy, bristled. He glared and burst out laughing.

‘Me? Not at all! Who told you that? Lot of damn lies flying round! Very doubtful origin, that dagger. A fake, likely as not. Mrs. Considine, my housekeeper told me to tell you those pullets she had from you have started to lay. She is as pleased as Punch.’

‘Isn’t that nice!’ said Mabel Considine in her warmest voice. Miss Whitaker came in, and made her unobtrusive greetings. She had done the conventional things to her face, but there was an underlying pallor. Like Lady Dryden she wore black, but with a difference-high neck and long sleeves, skirt to the ankles. At the throat the kind of brooch that a humble dependant may wear. But she didn’t look humble. Outwardly perhaps, but not to the discerning eye. Herbert Whitall was pleasantly aware of a seething pride. Eric Haile was intrigued. Mabel Considine, moving to speak with gentle kindness to the least considered member of the party, was thinking, ‘Dear me, I’m afraid that girl isn’t happy. I do hope she hasn’t become too much attached. Secretaries so often do.’ Herbert Whitall looked at his watch.

He said, ‘Lila is late,’ and turned to Lady Dryden. ‘Is she all right?’ And then the door opened and Lila came in with Adrian Grey. She wore the ivory crepe dictated by Lady Dryden. There was a Greek simplicity in its graceful lines. She looked lovely, pale, and dreadfully tired. Adrian was speaking to her as they came in. She had a faint smile for him.

Marsham sounded the gong, and they went in to di

CHAPTER XI

Considering all things, di

The table was an oval one, and since she was as far from Herbert Whitall as it was possible for her to be, she felt able to relax. On one side of her there was Adrian, the Professor, and Mrs. Considine. On the other George Considine, with Miss Whitaker on his left and Eric Haile between her and Lady Dryden.

Eric was finding it amusing to speculate as to Milly Whitaker’s reactions. Would she stay, or would she go? And if she stayed, what sort of a fist would Herbert make of ru