Frank Danby

“ The immediate question is to find from what wrecked home or hope came the shot that killed Harry Maingaye."
"And when you have found out, will you be responsible for his execution; that he shall hang by the neck until he is dead? There is no 'unwritten law in our civilised England."
"I am not bound to give him up. But I am bound to find out. I owe it to myself. He killed the man, why didn't he kill the woman? I will, do nothing else—I swear I will not—until I know the truth. I did not seek the task; it has been thrust upon me."
"You had far better write another play." ”

“ But Georges Carpenter, the polyglot millionaire newspaper proprietor, rose up from his easy chair in the hall of the hotel, put out a hand like a manicured mutton-chop, and greeted him in a voice that had at least one more disadvantage than the proverbial bassoon.
"Ah! my friend, Mr. Keightley Wilbur. Now this is very pleasant, and I am glad to see you. You have come for a long stay?"
"Have I?" asked Keightly dryly.
"If Monsieur Wilbur stays as long as his friends desire it will be long, but not long enough." ”

“ And when he came as far as this—when he came as far as to admit that, although he had met Stanley Dacre staring at the windows of Inez's flat, it was not sufficient proof that he had murdered Harry Maingaye in order to enjoy her company, he found himself quite suddenly, and without any preparation at all, gazing again into those very eyes with which he had told the court at the coroner's inquest he was familiar—those strange light eyes. ”

“ At nineteen, when seen in the coroner's court as a witness in the Lamotte case, Ellaline had been merely a pretty girl with fair hair, blue eyes, and lovely little teeth. At twenty-one, after the advantages of eighteen months in Paris and one or two at the Odeon, her outlines refined, grace added to her beauty, she had all the exotic charm of a super supper cat. David succumbed—succumbed utterly, to the great entertainment of his many friends and the undisguised and sympathetic amusement of Keightley Wilbur. ”

“ A quiet, undistinguished gentleman, grey and middle-aged, found himself wedged between two who talked with as much freedom as if they had been in the seclusion of their no doubt elegant dressing-rooms.
"That's Julia Vibart there—just in front of Lady Sylvester, in black velvet. Did ever a woman get her own back so neatly? They'll hang that Arbuthnot woman." ”

“ All the household had been up already. Such are the easy pleasures of the servants' hall.
The nursery was full of the scent of flowers, lilies and orchids, gardenias and tuberoses. The blinds were down. The swinging cot, white painted and hung with muslin and lace, was nothing but a mound of flowers in the gloom. Keightley dismissed his guide:
"Thank you. Get out now. I want to be alone."
Keightley stood beside the cot. The little waxen figure lay stiff and unreal amid the lilies—one had been put in the tiny hand. Then Keightley Wilbur did a strange thing, an unaccountable thing. ”

“ David Devenish, of the Daily Grail, was quite satirical when Keightley brought up the subject over luncheon at the Savoy grill.
"You are suffering from inquestitis. Having made up your mind that the object of an inquiry before a coroner is always to conceal a story or a crime, you will soon be at the point where no one will be run over or fall from a ladder, where no cyclist will collide with a cow, where there won't be a breakdown in the tube, or a railway accident, a fire or a fall of masonry, without your seeing some, thing mysterious in the occurrence." ”

“ It's impossible. To snuff me out—me! The powers know better than that. The chorus can be dismissed, but not the leading comedian. I play a part for which there is no understudy."
"Don't agitate yourself." A morphia injection had not long been administered. "Lie still—lie perfectly still, my dear fellow. You know I am doing all that is possible."
"I am the idol of my mother's heart; the expression is jejune, perhaps. That's the temperature. Delete it, but the fact remains. I have critics, but no enemies. You're a fool, Ince, a fool." ”

“ Was it the assassin? He felt that he was on the threshold of discovery, as he knew he would be, once he had got in touch with Inez de Brissac. Nevertheless, the darkness before him was impenetrable, and although he was on the threshold the door was not open before him.
Now the fascination of the pursuit fastened upon him; he forgot his bet, his cherished work, everything. ”

“ But I want to sacrifice myself and my curiosity. Don't balk me. I so seldom have a moral impulse. This is one, I am sure. I erase from my mind La Vallière, Blanchette, Carpenter, and the pearls. I am no longer Keightley Wilbur, the world-renowned criminal investigator. I am Keightley Wilbur, the devoted son. We are off to-day to Ventimiglia, to Nervi and Santa Margherita, to Florence, Venice, Capri. There are no crimes. ”

“ The two walked on together out of the sordid surroundings of the coroner's court, to where the sun pierced through the gloom and lit into a strange foggy splendour the river and the buildings on either side.
"He is drink-soddened or life-soddened, naturally nervous," Roger answered thoughtfully. "But there is a good deal I don't understand."
"You are not a psychological novelist," Keightley answered lightly. ”

“ She got Roger's assurance, and then said, as if it were the merest commonplace:
"Poor Mornie killed himself because papa wanted him to take Esmé back."
"Come, come Leda! That's not the way to tell a story. Begin at the beginning. Remember Roger Macphail knows nothing of papa and his methods or of the Jerman passion for hushing up family scandals, keeping their tainted name from the public purview. Tell us of the marriage; of what manner of man was this Mornington Ransby who turned his back upon the world: of the events that led to the tragedy. Settle yourself comfortably. ”

“ Wilbur, the talented author of the brilliant play we were in course of presenting to you, came before you to make an announcement. But his emotion has proved too much for him. He will have your sympathy. Ladies and gentlemen"—there was a dramatic break in his own voice and a pause—"I have a dreadful thing to tell you. As Mr. Harry Maingaye left the stage after the last act, he was shot by an unknown assassin."
Now there was a desperate strained attention, a silence that was like fog, then sobs, like a storm breaking.
"The doctors are with him now. We are not without hope." ”

“ At dinner he had paid you compliments, and your bridling had led him to think you were open to his advances. They don't understand your methods in Paris, your insatiable vanity and desire for indiscriminate admiration, your fickle, futile flirtatiousness. David, here, does not understand, either. Nobody in England but I knows the soul of the dancer, of the light woman who is nevertheless virtuous, who will take everything but gives nothing: who never loves, but sometimes feebly desires. ”

“ Archie Vibart's brains! If he had had half an ounce of intelligence he would have carried on with anyone in the world rather than Mrs. Jim, as you call her—Mrs. Gerald she is now. Julia is a vindictive woman, and he might have known what to expect."
The congestion of traffic broke up at the moment, but the man who listened found himself little better circumstanced. It was Mrs. Vibart herself who was now talking of the Arbuthnot case to her absorbed host, quite calmly, and as if her interest in it was no different from that of the general public. ”

“ The painful cough interrupted again, broke hoarsely through the morphia film. Kito glided in, lifted his master into a more comfortable position, held him until the paroxysm was over. It was true that no one could have a more competent or devoted nurse. Mrs. Wilbur, too, spent her days and nights between here and the dressing-room.
Ince, when he left the house—full of misgiving, for the temperature was high and many symptoms alarming—thought how true it was that Keightley Wilbur played a part for which there was no understudy. He was only twenty-seven years of age. ”

“ This was the opening for an interlude of coquetry in which Keightley found it difficult to play his part. Either his coolness or her own emotions presently brought about an hysterical burst of confidence.
"He said I had had another man in the flat," she broke out suddenly, her handkerchief to her eyes. "Not a soul can come near me without his making scenes. I've been driven from pillar to post, he has made my life a perfect hell upon earth. I'm sick to death of dodging about and hiding. ”

“ There are readers however for whom such description would have but limited value, to whom humanity has a stronger and deeper appeal than tradition; individuality than the most pregnant art. And it is for these the following stories have been gathered together. They represent one short phase in the evolution of Keightley Wilbur's psychology; the psychology of a young man of genius whose preciosity was almost sincere: a young man of taste who violated it perversely and often; a young man of sentiment who spent a lifetime in disguising that which he looked upon as a weakness. ”

“ A year or so ago Georges Carpenter, who, by the way, has already had two wives, both of whom divorced him, falls passionately in love with the notorious 'La Vallière,' and makes himself the laughing-stock of Paris by marrying her. There are scenes, quarrels, jealousy. All Paris watches, and Blanchette, 'La Vallière's' dearest friend and companion, is hard put to keep the peace between them. Peace is patched up, and the three of them agree to spend the summer in a houseboat or yacht. ”

“ There is no room in the world for a proud youngster whose mother's name is a byword among men."
This pause was longer than the last. At the end of it Roger was startled to hear him say:
"That is why I don't know what to do. You said 'Don't go,' and I came back. Not because I thought Guy Dacre was in any jeopardy, or cared if he were, or if I myself were. Neither of us counts. And if the truth comes out, the whole truth, neither of us would suffer. But she would." ”

“ David Devenish pleaded an engagement.
"Will she talk about Mornington Ransby? Will she tell me why he committed suicide?" Roger asked, looking up from his drawing.
"I shouldn't be surprised. She is not at all a reticent person. It depends how you handle her."
"Let me know if you hear anything sensational," David said lightly, as he went off, leaving the other two together.
"It won't be fit for the chaste columns of the Daily Grail," Keightley said when he had gone. "True stories have always to be emasculated for newspaper consumption," he explained. "The naked truth is an indecent thing." ”

“ He was so buoyant that he walked all the way home, thinking of how he would triumph over David Devenish, win his bet, spread himself over that column and leader. In justice to him, however, it must be admitted that he never thought of what his discovery might be going to mean to poor Stanley Dacre, or what would be the upshot.
Keightley had to talk, every man had a weakness, and that was admittedly his. Because David must not know until the last minute, and he could not talk to his mother of Inez B. Mott, Roger Macphail seemed marked out for his confidant. ”

“ Arbuthnot's good looks persuade you to that course," Keightley said coolly. "I should think it over again. Mrs. Vibart is not the woman to be ignored. She won't leave the matter here."
Mr. Turner looked annoyed, and Keightley Wilbur stood up and threw his cigarette into the fireplace. "No, I should certainly not let Mrs. Arbuthnot's attractions carry you as far as that," he repeated thoughtfully.
"Nonsense," the coroner answered pettishly. "I don't know what you mean. When a man has a hobby like yours there is no saying where it will lead him." ”

“ Members of the Cabinet were present, and a knighted actor with an exquisitely overdressed wife. A lame peeress brought an American hanger-on, and a well-known publisher a better-known beauty. There were a few obscure-looking people who had really done things, and many, more prominent ones, who were of no consequence whatever. Keightley Wilbur was always sure of a distinguished first night. The dramatic critics omitted to yawn and explain how bored they were at having to sit through a play, and the representatives of the box offices were present in force. ”

“ Sir Audley left the box as if a long array of ancestors were behind him and he was leading them.
The coroner leaned forward and said a few words to his officer.
"Idiot!" commented Keightley to his mother. "He has told the man not to lose sight of him!"
Dr. Ince was the next witness called.
"Now watch," said Keightley excitedly. "See him practise the art of suppressio veri. I coached him myself. He mustn't fail me."
Keightley's excitement was manifest, culminating.
"After Ince it will be my turn. Watch, mater: watch, listen! "
Dr. Ince, duly sworn, proved comparatively uninteresting. ”

“ She looked at him quietly.
"You find him so much worse to-night?"
"The temperature is 105."
"He will not be taken from me. I have faith. There are only us two." And still her voice held and her courage.
When Dr. Ince left him, and the room was in darkness, Keightley Wilbur slept or dreamt, dreamt or slept. He had had three injections of morphia, and the effect was cumulative. For the first time he dreamed that he was dying. In his disorganised sleep he wept for himself; painful tears oozed through hot lids. ”

“ He was very clever and nice——"
"The story behind the verdict—that is what Roger has come to hear. Tell us the story, Leda."
Keightley, lounging in a double-cushioned black satin chair, was obviously at home and at ease in this quaint drawing-room.
"Roger has stopped work: he can't think of anything but inquests. He is haunted by the ghost of a man who lay at the mercy of twelve very common jurymen without anyone to defend him. Roger is really a sentimentalist, although he doesn't paint babies and dogs." ”

“ The two ladies who followed Kito into the witness-box added little to the story.
Madame Bosquet, a Frenchwoman, whose evidence had to be translated, was very voluble and a little incoherent, about thirty-five years of age, with white hair surmounting a young face, a little made-up, but still beautiful. Her eyes were soft and dark, and she was admirably dressed. She described a pleasant evening, charming company, and said vehemently that between such men as her eminent host and his no less eminent guest no possible cause of friction could have arisen. ”