Shadow in the House

On one side at least, the dinner party had been marked by a sort of ebullient reticence. Landis and Elsa had returned two days since from their honeymoon and were still feeling a little dignified and unique.

Erect and formidable in her stiff chair, Mrs. Paul Bernard appraised the radiance of her niece and found it genuine. Her direct regard swung over upon her recently acquired nephew-in-law. His expression diffused the subdued glow of a vast inner content, whereat she smiled.

Something drew her eyes down the table to her own husband. Her smile faded slowly.

“And now,” Bernard was saying to Landis, “you’re coming back on the job at Headquarters to show up the old rough-and-ready methods of my day. Well, times change!”

“I am, sir! But sarcasm eludes me tonight!”

To their words Mrs. Bernard paid no heed, though she noted the veiled affection in her husband’s voice. His eyes twinkled with amusement. He seemed more animated than usual, yet his change of mood threw into relief something of which she had been only subconsciously aware--a slightly patient droop to his shoulders and to his mouth. Perhaps her effort had been not to see it.

Abruptly, with a novel pang of doubt, she recalled the concluding scene of the case[1] which had brought them all together, a scene wherein she had practically bullied him into an autumnal marriage. Believing her guilty, he had led the hunt away from her and upon himself. She had tried to repay him by giving him her heart and then taking most capable charge of him and his bachelor ineptitudes. She had found him a worthy idol for the deeper, more tranquil devotion of her later years. Intuition had said that he loved her. If he were not content, then intuition had lied and she had taken rather than given.

[1] “The Last Trap,” Dodd, Mead & Co., New York City, N. Y.

Recalling his latest words, she banished her doubts. Of course, he loved her! It was the game that he missed! Paul Bernard, a name familiar and respected in official circles on two continents, had retired. Was ever a famous man content with love alone?

Nor did she blame him--much.

The reunion with Elsa and Landis had been a success. But she smothered a sigh as she gave the signal to rise.

“Come along, Elsa! These two head-hunters want to talk shop. We’ll leave them to steep themselves in crime!”

With a backward glance at her husband she slipped her arm about the girl and led her out of the room.

Bernard and Landis entered the drawing-room and settled themselves in the midst of that surprising conglomeration of savage weapons and hunting trophies with which their hostess had decorated the place. To them appeared Mrs. Bernard’s soft-footed houseboy, Tsu. He set tiny cups of coffee and tall, icy glasses at their elbows and as silently withdrew.

“Pretty decent of you to come back and hobnob with a murderer,” observed Bernard at length.

Landis cocked an ironic eye at him, then shook his head slowly. “Don’t rub it in, sir!”

“Why, you pinned the thing on me and I admitted it! If Charles Carson hadn’t murdered Foot, where would I be today?”

“Where you are, d--n it!”

Landis had flushed a little. “When I offered not to denounce you that day I felt very skilful and very magnanimous. Since then I’ve felt less so, on each count. There wasn’t a link missing in the chain that led to you. You confessed readily--too blamed readily. A man of your character and achievements simply couldn’t commit a cold-blooded murder and try to hide it. I don’t know your motive. But if you know who did murder Carson, for the love of Mike, tell me!”