Anybody but Anne

Chapter III | All about A Fan

Chapter III All about A Fan––––––––

“YOU are sure I understand what, Miss Fordyce?” he asked; “I assure you my understanding is not limitless.”

“Oh, understand clairvoyance, and all that sort of thing. You must, you know, with all your wonderful detective ability. Please tell us all about yourself, won’t you? I never saw a real detective before, and they’re awfully different from what I imagined! I thought they were more—more—”

“Unwashed,” put in Archer bluntly. “I am not myself acquainted with many of them, but those I have met are not in Mr. Stone’s class socially, by any means.”

“They’re not in his class professionally, either,” I declared, anxious to have Fleming Stone aware of my appreciation of his genius. “Mr. Stone is in a class by himself. His work is art, that’s what it is.”

“Thank you,” said Fleming Stone, but in the smile he gave me there was a slight tinge of that boredness that masters always feel at compliments from tyros. “My art, as you call it, is my life,” he went on, simply. “I do not study it, I simply practice it as it comes along. And, after all, any success I may have had is merely the rational outcome of logical observation.”

“Oh, don’t depreciate yourself, Mr. Stone,” said Mrs. Stelton, shaking a silly finger at him. “You know you are the greatest detective ever—Mr. Sturgis told me so. And now you must, you simply must, tell us just how you do it, and give us an example. Here, take my fan, and deduce my whole mental caliber from it!”

Although Fleming Stone looked at the speaker pleasantly, I was convinced that he felt, as I did, that it would be perfectly easy to deduce the lady’s mental caliber without the assistance of her lace fan.

“Yes, do! What fun!” exclaimed Morland Van Wyck, who was standing at the elbow of the fair widow who had enslaved him.

Before Fleming Stone could reply, Anne spoke. “That wouldn’t be a fair test,” she said, flashing a smile at Stone; and then her eyes curiously deepened with earnestness as she went on: “But I do wish, Mr. Stone, that you would do something like that for us. I have heard that you can tell all about any one, just from seeing some article that they have used.”

“That is not a difficult thing to do, Mrs. Van Wyck,” said Stone. “You yourself could probably gather a great deal of information from any personal belonging of a stranger.”

“Oh, yes,” returned Anne gaily; “if I saw a thimble, I might deduce a sewing-woman; or a pipe, a man who smoked. But I don’t mean that—I mean the sort of thing you do. Please give us an example.” I fairly cringed at the thought of Fleming Stone being stood up to do parlor tricks, like a society circus; and so incensed was I that the line, “Butchered to make a Roman holiday,” vaguely passed through my mind. But as I saw Anne’s vivid, glowing face and her entreating eyes, I felt sure that no man on earth could deny her anything.

Stone appeared to take it casually. “Certainly, Mrs. Van Wyck,” he said, “if it will please you. I have never done such a thing, except in the interests of my work, but if you will give me a personal belonging of someone unknown to me, I will repeat to you whatever it may tell me concerning its owner.”

Though Beth Fordyce had said nothing during this latter conversation, I think she had never once moved her eyes from Stone’s face. Her large and light blue eyes looked at him with an absorbed gaze, and she spoke, tranquilly, but with a positive air.

“I will provide the article,” she said. “I have with me just the very thing. Excuse me, I will get it.” She glided away—for no other verb of motion expresses her peculiar walk—and disappeared through the door that led into the main part of the house.

“How lovely!” cried Mrs. Stelton, clasping her hands in delight. “And then, Mr. Stone, will you tell us how you catch robbers by their footprints?”

“Alas, madam,” said Stone, “robbers are rarely considerate enough to leave their footprints for my benefit. I know they have the reputation of doing so, but they are sadly remiss in the matter, and show a surprising negligence of their duty to me.”

“A sort of criminal negligence,” murmured Archer, and Stone grinned appreciatively.

Miss Fordyce returned, and as she crossed the room, her pale green gown trailing, she came towards Stone with a rapt expression.

“I can help you,” she said, “because I can evolve a mental picture of my friend, and project it to your mind by willpower.”

“Pray don’t trouble to do that, Miss Fordyce,” said Stone, unable to keep a quizzical smile entirely suppressed. “You force me to confess that I have no knowledge of the occult, and depend entirely upon my own very practical common sense and logic. What have you brought me?”

“A fan,” answered Miss Fordyce, handing him one. “When I came up in the train this afternoon, a friend was with me during part of the journey. She lent me this fan, and I carelessly forgot to return it. As I know my friend very well, and you do not know her at all, it is a fair test.”

“Fine!” said Anne Van Wyck, her intense eyes darkening with interest. “Beth, that is just the thing. Now, Mr. Stone, tell us of the fan’s owner.” In her interest, Anne had moved nearer to Stone, and was breathlessly awaiting his words. The magnetic fascination of the woman is indescribable. I am positive that nothing on earth would have induced Fleming Stone to such an exhibition of his special powers of deduction, except Anne’s compelling desire that he should.

I saw, too, though it was almost imperceptible, the effort Stone was obliged to make to detach his attention from her and concentrate it on the fan he was holding.

“To approach this matter in my usual way,” he said quietly, “I shall have to ask permission to examine this fan under a magnifying glass. Have you one at hand?”

“Here is one,” said Morland, bringing a fine one from his father’s desk, at which action I fancied I saw a shade of annoyance pass over David Van Wyck’s face.

For a few moments, Fleming Stone examined the fan through the glass.

In idle curiosity I looked at the faces of those grouped about. Mr. Van Wyck was clearly annoyed at the whole performance; though Morland, under the influence of Mrs. Stelton, waited in delighted anticipation. Condron Archer looked supercilious and even murmured to me that he doubted the detective’s powers in such a test. Miss Fordyce wore the exalted air usual to people who affect the mystic. But Anne, the center of the group, was surely enough to inspire Stone’s latent powers to the utmost. She waited with a suppressed eagerness that seemed to show implicit faith in the result, and she even touched the fan as she too scanned it for any enlightening details.

Fleming Stone returned the glass to Morland and the fan to Miss Fordyce. But it was Anne whom he addressed.

“The fan,” he said, in a quiet, narrative way, “belongs to a lady with dark hair and eyes and rosy cheeks, and a very perfect set of small, white teeth. She is healthy and rather robust, of a vigorous but not an athletic type. She is strong of muscle, but of rather a nervous temperament. She is thrifty and economical by nature, but proud and fastidious. Usually of decorous habits, but likes occasionally a gayer experience. She is refined in her personal tastes and artistic in dressing, though fond of bright colors. She is kind and generous-hearted, unmarried, and past her first youth. She lives in or near the West Eighties in New York City, and her telephone number has recently been changed to 9863 Schuyler. She is fond of embroidering with colored silks, she possesses a gown decorated with black spangled trimming, and she wears a very heavy ring on the little finger of her right hand.”

Stone finished as quietly as he had begun, but his listeners were more excited.

“I don’t believe a word of it!” Mrs. Stelton was saying, and of course Morland agreed with her.

But Beth Fordyce was speaking, almost as if in a trance. “It is every word true,” she said, with a far-away look in her eyes. “If you had known Leila, you could not have described her more perfectly! Don’t try to make me believe you are not occult! You are positively clairvoyant!”

“Nonsense, Beth,” said Anne impatiently. “Don’t talk such rubbish.”

“No,” said I; “occultism isn’t in it with this kind of work. Mr. Stone, that is the real thing. Are you going to tell your processes of reasoning?”

“Of course he is!” cried Anne. “That will be the delightful part of it. David, did you ever hear anything like it?”

Though Anne turned her lovely flushed face toward her husband, she received no answering smile.

“It doesn’t interest me,” he said coldly, and it is a tribute to Anne’s tact and cleverness that she quickly covered this awkward speech by turning to Stone, saying with utmost charm of manner, “Tell me all about it at once. I can’t wait another minute.”

“My dear Mrs. Van Wyck,” said Stone, seeming to address her only, “I am very glad to explain, if it interests you. You see, it’s very simple, for this fan has been used a good deal and naturally bears the impress of the lady who has used it. To begin with, it is a souvenir fan that was given to the lady when she dined in the restaurant of one of the large hotels in New York. It is of the inexpensive paper sort that is used for that purpose. But the name of the restaurant has been carefully scratched out, showing that the lady desired to keep and use it, but did not care to have her friends know where she obtained it. This shows that the lady is not amply provided with fans, and shows too that she does not often frequent the gay restaurants. The fan is bright scarlet and gold, and, since she liked it well enough to keep it, I assume that it suited her brunette coloring, and also that she is fond of bright hues. She is nervous, because the fan shows that she has often picked at it—both its edge and its tassel—and has even frequently bitten it with her small, sharp teeth. You see, these lacquered sticks show clearly all marks and scratches, and this bar of metal that holds the tassel is much bent, showing a vigorous and healthy type. The fact that the fan has been used a great deal shows a robust and rosy-cheeked young woman, though not athletic, for athletic girls never use a fan. She is refined and fastidious in her tastes, for I notice a faint perfume of orris and violet. She is generous, for she gave away a fan that she found useful. And I think neither a very young girl nor a married lady would so long preserve a fan of this sort.”

“But how did you know where she lives?” demanded Miss Fordyce.

“That argues a lack of observation on your part,” said Stone, smiling. “On this light corner of the fan is written, though faintly, ‘New No. 9863 Schuyler.’ The people living in the vicinity of West Eighty-Third Street have recently had a change in their telephone numbers; and when she noted a new number on her fan, I assumed it to be her own.”

“It is,” said Miss Fordyce. “But how did you know about her spangled dress and that curious ring she wears?”

“The ring left a decided impression on the outer sticks of the fan near the end, in such a position that it could come only from the abrasion of a heavy ring worn on the little finger. Then, you see this tassel, as is usual on this sort of a fan, is of fine silk floss. It is much fluffed and tangled, and has a tendency to catch anything it may. In it I find a portion of a small black spangle, and two or three threads of fine embroidery floss, pink and green. Surely it is easy to infer that the lady uses embroidery silks frequently, and that the spangle is from one of her gowns.”

“Don’t take it so casually!” cried Anne, with an imperious nod at him. “You shall not so belittle your great powers. Supposing it is only logic and careful observation, no one else could do it! That fan could not have spoken to one of us, because our logic cannot understand its language. Mr. Stone, I thank you for doing that I know you didn’t want to.”

“It isn’t my custom to deduce for social entertainments,” said Stone, smiling at her; “but it is my custom to accede to the wishes of my hostess.”

“Thank you for that, then;” and Anne smiled back at him. “Now, as a small return favor, may I show you over the house? Mrs. Davidson tells me you want to see it.”

“Yes, I’m interested. I understand it is very old and was built by an eccentric.”

“Yes, it was; though we bought it from its second owner. Mr. Sturgis, will you go with us?” I was glad to accept the invitation, and as we started we were joined by Miss Fordyce and Archer, and also by Mrs. Stelton and Morland Van Wyck.

So it was quite a party which followed Anne through the doorway in the corner.

We found ourselves in a corridor that ran along the south side of the house. We passed a branch corridor bearing to the right, but Anne laughingly remarked that those were the apartments of herself and her husband, and we might not enter. We went on into a beautiful music room, through stately reception and drawing rooms, and into a delightful library. There were billiard and smoking rooms nearby, and through the dining room and sunny breakfast room we passed out to the terrace and down into the gardens. I thought Stone seemed disappointed that, though the house was old, it gave no hint of secret passages or dark staircases. No dungeons or anything that savored of mystery or crime. I chanced to be walking by his side, and I rallied him on this.

“It is so,” he confessed. “From what I had heard of the house, I had fancied it more complicated in structure. It is very four-square.”

“Yes, it is,” said I, as we looked at it from across the wide expanse of lawn and garden.

“Curious construction, though,” mused Stone, “and yet perfectly simple: one large rectangle, with smaller rectangles attached at its two back corners.”

“Usually wings are built entirely across the ends,” I observed.

“Oh, of course it was done to get the advantage of light. Wings at the ends would have darkened many of the rooms; but attached so, at the corners, there are windows all round each part of the house.”

This was true, and, as I now recollected, every room was flooded with daylight

“I must join my hostess now,” said Stone, “and make my adieux. I am leaving tonight for Kansas City, where I’m about to investigate a most important case.”

I longed to ask him about it, but I didn’t feel privileged to do so. I did, however, express my pleasure in knowing him, and hoped that we might meet again. He very courteously gave me his card, bearing an address that he said would always reach him; an attention that I prized highly, though it might never fulfill its purpose.

We all returned to the study, and after the departure of the Davidsons and their distinguished friend, the talk naturally turned to Fleming Stone and his work.

“It’s uncanny, that’s what it is,” declared Mr. Van Wyck, “and it gives me the fidgets to have the man around.”

“I feel that way, too,” said Connie Archer. “Why, I’m perfectly sure that he could see straight through my coat into my pocket and read a letter there that I wouldn’t have anybody know about—not anybody!”

“Is it one I wrote you?” asked Anne, so roguishly that it was most apparent fooling, but her husband looked up and scowled.

“Yes,” returned Archer, with a most obvious intent of teasing his host; “that last delightful missive of yours!”

At this, David Van Wyck frowned angrily, and Anne said, “Nonsense, Connie, such jokes aren’t funny. What is the letter about, really?”

“It’s a tailor’s dun,” said Archer, taking his cue; “but I wouldn’t have Stone know it for anything. I expect he pays his bills before they’re due.”

“Of course he does,” said Morland: “deduces the exact amount they’re going to be, and sends off a check without seeing ’em.”

“Well, don’t ask him here again, Anne,” said her husband. “I don’t like him.”

“He won’t come again very soon,” I volunteered. “He’s off tonight for Kansas City.”

“Good thing, too,” growled Mr. Van Wyck. “And now you people may seek some other pasture. I expect some callers tonight, and I want to get this place into some semblance of a gentleman’s study, instead of a picnic ground.”

“Oh, David,” said his wife, “are they coming tonight?”

“Yes, they are. My mind is made up, Anne, and I’d rather you wouldn’t refer to the subject.”

“It’s an outrage!” said Morland, under his breath. He spoke to Anne, but his father heard it, and said, “None of that, boy! I suppose I have a right to do as I choose with my own! And if you know when you’re well off, you’ll accept the situation gracefully. It’ll be better for you in the long run.”

Morland turned away, looking obstinate and sullen. I had no idea what it was all about, but when I looked at Anne her face was so tragic in its utter despair that I was startled. Surely I had been right in thinking her light-hearted manner was a cloak for some desperate, heart-breaking trouble. But in obedience to Mr. Van Wyck’s command, we all left the study. It was not quite time to dress for dinner, so we strolled out through the great doors onto the terrace; and even as we left, the footmen were already clearing away the tea things.