It seemed to us that hours dragged heavily by, between the time that the motor left and the time when we heard it draw up at the front door. A moment later, and Gaby Jennings was shown into Murray's den where we three were waiting. She was alone. Her husband had not come with her.
Ralston had said in his short note that Rosemary had gone away suddenly, and that he was most anxious. But there was no sign of distress on the Frenchwoman's face. On the contrary, those big, dark eyes of hers, which could be so languorous, looked hard as glass as she smiled at me and nodded at Jim.
Her voice was soft, however, when she answered Ralston's question.
“Ah, my poor major!” she gently bleated. “You have all my sympathy. I could say nothing. But always I feared—I feared this would come!”
Ralston braced himself.
“You know something, then?” he exclaimed. “You have something to tell me!”
“I do know something, yes,” she said. “But whether I have something to tell—ah, that is different. I must think first.”
“You mean, you wish to consult Paul,” he prompted her. “But I can't wait for that. For Heaven's sake, Mrs. Jennings, speak out. Don't keep me in suspense.”
“I did not mean to consult Paul,” Gaby replied. “When I read your note, I told Paul you asked me to come over alone, though it was not true. It is better that we talk without Paul listening.”
“Shall Jim and I go away?” I asked quickly, speaking not to her, but to Ralston.
“No,” he answered. “Mrs. Jennings can have nothing to say about Rosemary which I wouldn't care for you and Jim to hear.”
I saw from Gaby's face that this verdict annoyed her, but she shrugged her pretty shoulders.
“As you will,” she said. “For me, I would rather Sir James and Lady Courtenaye were not here. But what matter? You would repeat to them what passes between us.”
“Doubtless I should,” Ralston agreed. “Now tell me what you have to tell, I beg.”
“It is a very big thing,” Gaby began. “Rosemary did not want me to tell. She offered me bribes; I refused, because I would not bind myself. Yet there is a favor you could do for me—for us, Major Murray. If you would promise, I could not resist giving up Rosemary's secret.”
Ralston's face had hardened. I saw his dislike of her and what she offered. But he could not afford to refuse, and perhaps lose all chance of finding his wife,
“Will what you have to tell help us to get Rosemary back?” he asked,
“Yes, if after you have heard you still want her back,” Gaby hedged, “I can tell you where she is likely to be.”
“Nothing on God's earth you could tell would make me not want her back!” he cried. “What is this favor you speak of?”
“It is only that I ask you to take my husband as your doctor. Oh, do not think it is from Paul I come! He does not know Rosemary's secret; or that I make a price for it. If you do this and why not, since Paul is a good doctor, and you have now finished with others?—I will tell you all I know about your wife.”
As she went on, I was thinking fast. Poor Rosemary! I was sure that Gaby had tried to work upon her fears, had promised secrecy if Mrs. Murray would get Doctor Jennings taken on as Ralston's physician. At first, Rosemary had been inclined to yield. That must have been at the time when she wired to stop Sir Beverley's visit, if not too late. Then we had appeared on the scene, saying that it was too late, and urging that Sir Beverley might offer Ralston a chance of life. At this, Rosemary's love for her husband had triumphed over fears for her own self. She had realized that by keeping Sir Beverley away, she might be standing between her husband and life itself. If there were a ray of hope for him, she determined to help, not hinder, no matter what the cost.
Once she had refused Mrs. Jennings' request, she had been at the woman's mercy, but Gaby had waited, expecting the thing that had happened to-day, and seeing that her best chance for the fixture lay with Murray. As for Jennings, it might be true that he wasn't in the plot, but if my theory concerning the portraits were correct, he certainly was in the scheme, and had at least partially planned it.
I was so afraid Ralston might accept the bargain without stopping to think, that I spoke without giving him time to open his lips.
“Before you decide to take Paul Jennings as your doctor, send for an expert to look through your collection of portraits!”
“What have the portraits to do with Doctor Jennings?” asked Ralston, astonished.
I stared at Gaby Jennings as I answered, but a woman who uses liquid powder is fortified against a blush.