The Mysterious Mr. Quin

Portal sprung forward. His voice was hoarse his eyes bloodshot

"Why did she break the decanter?" he cried. "Why did she break the decanter? Tell me that!"

For the first time that evening, Mr. Quin addressed himself to Mr. Satterthwaite.

"You have a wide experience of life, Mr. Satterthwaite. Perhaps you can tell us that."

Mr. Satterthwaite's voice trembled a little. His cue had come at last. He was to speak some.of the most important lines in the play. He was an actor now--not a looker-on.

"As I see it," he murmured modestly, "she--cared for Derek Capel. She was, I think, a good woman--and she had sent him away. When her husband--died, she suspected the truth. And so, to save the man she loved, she tried to destroy the evidence against him. Later, I think, he persuaded her that her suspicions were unfounded, and she consented to marry him. But even then, she hung back-- women, I fancy, have a lot of instinct."

Mr. Satterthwaite had spoken his part.

Suddenly a long trembling sigh filled the air.

"My God!" cried Evesham, starting, "what was that?"

Mr. Satterthwaite could have told him that it was Eleanor Portal in the gallery above, but he was too artistic to spoil a good effect.

Mr. Quin was smiling.

"My car will be ready by now. Thank you for your hospitality, Mr. Evesham. I have, I hope, done something for my friend."

They stared at him in blank amazement

"That aspect of the matter has not struck you? He loved this woman, you know. Loved her enough to commit murder for her sake. When retribution overtook him, as he mistakenly thought, he took his own life. But unwittingly, he left her to face the music."

"She was acquitted," muttered Evesham.

"Because the case against her could not be proved. I fancy--it may be only a fancy--that she is still--facing the music."

Portal had sunk into a chair, his face buried in his hands.

Quin turned to Satterthwaite.

"Good-bye, Mr. Satterthwaite. You are interested in the drama, are you not?"

Mr. Satterthwaite nodded--surprised.

"I must recommend the Harlequinade to your attention. It is dying out nowadays---but it repays attention, I assure you. Its symbolism is a little difficult to follow--but the immortals are always immortal, you know. I wish you all good-night."

They saw him stride out into the dark. As before, the coloured glass gave the effect of motley...

Mr. Satterthwaite went upstairs. He went to draw down his window, for the air was cold. The figure of Mr. Quin moved down the drive, and from a side door came a woman's figure, running. For a moment they spoke together, then she retraced her steps to the house. She passed just below the window, and Mr. Satterthwaite was struck anew by the vitality of her face. She moved now like a woman in a happy dream.

"Eleanor!"

Alex Portal had joined her.

"Eleanor, forgive me--forgive me------ You told me the truth, but God forgive me--I did not quite believe..."

Mr. Satterthwaite was intensely interested in other people's affairs, but he was also a gentleman It was borne in upon him that he must shut the window. He did so.

But he shut it very slowly.

He heard her voice, exquisite and indescribable.

"I know-I know. You have been in hell. So was I once. Loving--yet alternately believing and suspecting-- thrusting aside one's doubts and having them spring up again with leering faces... I know, Alex, I know... But there is a worse hell than that, the hell I have lived in with you. I have seen your doubt--your fear of me... poisoning all our love. That man--that chance passer by, saved me. I could bear it no longer, you understand. Tonight--Tonight I was going to kill myself... Alex... Alex..."

CHAPTER TWO

THE SHADOW ON THE GLASS

"LISTEN to this," said Lady Cynthia Drage.

She read aloud from the journal she held in her hand.

"Mr. and Mrs. Unkerton are entertaining a party at Greenways House this week. Amongst the guests are Lady Cynthia Drage, Mr. and Mrs. Richard Scott, Major Porter, D.S.O., Mrs. Staverton, Captain Allenson and Mr. Satterthwaite."

"It's as well, "remarked Lady Cynthia, casting away the paper, "to know what we're in for. But they have made a mess of things!"

Her companion, that same Mr. Satterthwaite whose name figured at the end of the list of guests, looked at her interrogatively. It had been said that if Mr. Satterthwaite were found at the houses of those rich who had newly arrived, it was a sign either that the cooking was unusually good, or that a drama of human life was to be enacted there. Mr. Satterthwaite was abnormally interested in the comedies and tragedies of his fellow men.

Lady Cynthia, who was a middle-aged woman, with a hard face and a liberal allowance of make-up, tapped him smartly with the newest thing in parasols which lay rakishly across her knee.

"Don't pretend you don't understand me. You do perfectly. What's more I believe you're here on purpose to see the fur fly!"

Mr. Satterthwaite protested vigorously. He didn't know what she was talking about.

"I'm talking about Richard Scott Do you pretend you've never heard of him?"