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194 pages

English

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The society doyenne Mrs. Vanderstein is known far and wide for her vast collection of breathtaking jewelry. On one trip to the opera, she bedecks herself in a staggering array of finery in order to impress the Queen, who is also rumored to attend -- and she falls prey to a nefarious scheme. Fans of classic detective tales will appreciate this tightly constructed mystery.

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Publié par	The Floating Press
Date de parution	01 juillet 2014
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781776582457
Langue	English

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0134€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

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MRS. VANDERSTEIN'S JEWELS
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MRS. CHARLES BRYCE

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Mrs. Vanderstein's Jewels First published in 1914 Epub ISBN 978-1-77658-245-7 Also available: PDF ISBN 978-1-77658-246-4 © 2013 The Floating Press and its licensors. All rights reserved. While every effort has been used to ensure the accuracy and reliability of the information contained in The Floating Press edition of this book, The Floating Press does not assume liability or responsibility for any errors or omissions in this book. The Floating Press does not accept responsibility for loss suffered as a result of reliance upon the accuracy or currency of information contained in this book. Do not use while operating a motor vehicle or heavy equipment. Many suitcases look alike. Visit www.thefloatingpress.com
Contents
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Chapter I Chapter II Chapter III Chapter IV Chapter V Chapter VI Chapter VII Chapter VIII Chapter IX Chapter X Chapter XI Chapter XII Chapter XIII Chapter XIV Chapter XV Chapter XVI Chapter XVII Chapter XVIII Chapter XIX Chapter XX Chapter XXI Chapter XXII Chapter XXIII Chapter XXIV Chapter XXV Chapter XXVI Chapter XXVII Chapter XXVIII
Chapter I
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The room looked very cool in the afternoon light. A few bowls of whiteroses that were arranged about it seemed to lend it an aspect of morethan usual specklessness.
To Madame Querterot, a person of no taste, who made no pretensionof being fastidious, and who had, moreover, little sympathy with apassion for cleanliness when this was carried to exaggeration, the airylightness of the place suggested the convent school of her youthfuldays; and, bringing again before her the figure of a stern sistersuperior who had been accustomed in those vanished times to deal outsevere penalties to the youthful but constantly erring Justine, causedher invariably to enter Mrs. Vanderstein's bedroom after a quick intakeof the breath on the threshold, as if she were about to plunge into anicy bath.
Mrs. Vanderstein, ever the essence of punctuality, was ready for her onthis particular evening, as she always was.
Wrapped in some diaphanous white garment, which she would perhaps havecalled a dressing-gown, she lay on a silk covered sofa and lazilywatched Madame Querterot unpacking the little bag in which she carriedthe accessories of her profession, that of a hairdresser and beautyspecialist.
"You must make me very beautiful to-night, Madame Justine," she said,with a smile. "We are going to hear La Bohème , and the Queen willbe there. My box is nearly opposite the Royal box, and in case HerMajesty's eyes fall in my direction I wish to look my best."
"All eyes will not fail to be directed to your side of the theatre,madame," replied Madame Querterot, taking out her collection of pomadepots, powder boxes and washes, and arranging them in a semicircle upon aLouis XVI table. "Royalties know the use of opera glasses as well as anycitizen. As for making you beautiful, the good God has occupied Himselfwith that! I can only preserve what I find. I can make your beautyendure, madame. More than that one must not ask of me. I am not thegood God, me!" and Madame Querterot's plump shoulders shook with easymerriment.
Mrs. Vanderstein, too, smiled. She did not suffer from any affectationof modesty as far as her obvious good looks were concerned. But she wasobliged to own regretfully—though only to herself—that she was nolonger as young as she had been; and the masseuse's assurances that heryouthful appearance could be indefinitely preserved fell on her earsas melodiously as if they were indeed a prelude to the magic strainsthat would presently rise to charm her through the envied, if stuffyatmosphere of Covent Garden.
"You are a flatterer, Madame Justine," she murmured. Then, before shelaid her head back against the cushions and gave herself up to MadameQuerterot's ministrations, she called to a figure that was seated in thewindow, half hidden among the muslin curtains that fluttered before it:"Barbara, be sure and tell me if you see anything interesting."
Barbara Turner answered without looking round:
"Nothing has come yet, but I am keeping a good look-out."
Mrs. Vanderstein closed her eyes, and Madame Querterot, after turning upher sleeves and arraying herself in an apron, began to pass her shortfingers over the placid features and smooth skin of the lady's face. Fora time nothing else stirred in the big room.
A ray of sunlight passed very slowly across a portion of the greypanelled walls, and coming to a gilded mirror climbed cautiously overthe carved frame, only to be caught and held a while on the flashingsurface of the looking-glass.
On every side the subdued gold of ancient frames, surrounding pricelesspictures that had been acquired by the help of the excellent judgmentand long purse of the late Mr. Vanderstein, shone softly and pleasantly.
The furniture, of the best period of the reign of Louis XVI—as wasthe case all over the house—had been collected by the same unerringconnoisseur, and each piece would have been welcomed with tears of joyby many an eager director of museums.
The thick carpet that covered the floor exactly matched the pale greytone of the walls and upholstery, and the extreme lightness of theseimparted that air of great luxury which the lavish use of fragilecolours, in a town as dirty as London, does more to convey than any moreostentatious sign of extravagance.
Through the open casements many noises rose from the street, for thebedroom was at the front of the house, which stood in a street inMayfair immediately opposite to a great hotel where the overflow offoreign Royalty is frequently sheltered at times of Court festivals,when the hospitable walls of the Palace are filled to bursting point.
The coming and going of these distinguished guests was always a sourceof the most unquenchable interest to Mrs. Vanderstein, to whom everytrivial action, if it were performed by any sort of a Highness, wasbrimming with thrilling suggestion.
At the period of which I speak, London was astir with preparations fora great function, and representatives of the Courts of Europe werearriving by every train from the Continent.
Mrs. Vanderstein could hear the sounds of a constant stream of carriagesand motors stopping or starting below her window, and knew that itwas not to her door that they crowded, but across the road under themagnificent stucco portico of Fianti's Hotel.
"Barbara, has no one interesting appeared?" she called again after a fewminutes.
"Not yet," was the reply. "There's a victoria driving along the streetnow, though, which looks something like a Royal turnout. Rather a nicelooking pair in it."
"Is it a pair of foreign looking gentlemen?" asked Mrs. Vandersteinexcitedly.
"No, a pair of Cleveland bays. I hate them as a rule, but from here theydon't look bad. All back, though, of course."
"My dear girl, do tell me about the people. I don't want to hear aboutyour horrid horses. I believe all sorts of celebrities go in and out ofFianti's while I am lying here, and you never even notice them."
"Yes, yes, I do," said Barbara. "I will call you directly any one passeswho looks as if he might be accustomed to wield the sceptre, or who iswearing a crown over his top hat."
Mrs. Vanderstein made a little impatient movement. It annoyed her thather companion did not take her duties more seriously—did not, in fact,seem to understand how much more important was this task of keeping agood look-out in the wide bow of the window than any of the others thatshe was apt to approach in a quite admirable spirit of thoroughness.Why, wondered Mrs. Vanderstein, could the girl not do as she was askedin this matter, without making those attempts to be facetious whichappeared so ill-advised, and which fell so extremely flat, as a moment'sobservation would have made apparent to her? She did not make jokesabout the flowers while she arranged them, nor about Mrs. Vanderstein'scorrespondence, to which it was her business to attend. She was ableto answer the telephone or order the carriage without indulging inunseemly giggles. Why then, in heaven's name, couldn't she take up herpost of observation at the window without finding in it an excuse forpleasantries as dull as they were pointless?
Mrs. Vanderstein sighed deeply and wriggled her head deeper in thecushions.
Madame Querterot saw the cloud and guessed very easily what had causedit: she had often noticed similar disturbances of her customer'sotherwise easy-going temper. Knowing with remarkable accuracy on whichside of her bread the butter was applied, she at once set herself tocalm the troubled waters.
"You did not see me to-day, madame," she began, "but me, I have alreadyseen you. I passed in Piccadilly where your auto was stopped in a blockbefore the Ritz."
"Yes, we were kept there quite a long time, but I did not see you,Madame Justine," said Mrs. Vanderstein indifferently.
"How should you have seen me? I was in a bus. It's not there that youwould look for your acquaintances. That understands itself! But I wasnot the only one to see you, and what I heard said of you then willmake you smile. I said to myself at the moment, 'It is quite natural,Justine, but it will make her laugh all the same.'"
"What was it? Who can have said anything of me in an omnibus?"
"Ah, madame! Even in buses people do not cease to talk. One hears thingsto make one twist with laughter! But one hears the truth too, sometimes,and this young man, even if he made a mistake, one cannot surpriseoneself at that!"
"But you do not tell me what you heard," cried Mrs. Vanderstein.
"It was this young man of whom I speak to you. He was a nice smartlooking young gentleman, and he had with him a lady, well dressed andvery chic. What they did in that galère I know not, but as we passedthe Ritz he touched his companion on the arm and pointed out of thewindow. 'Look, Alice,' said he, 'you see the dark lady in that motor?It is the Russian Princess they talk so much about, Princess Sonia. Isshe