VI
Accusations
By this time a number of the diners, attracted by the strange actions and excited voices of the two women, had crowded about them. The manager came hurrying up to inquire what the trouble was.
“My handbag!” Mrs. Willoughby wailed. “Someone has taken it!”
“Oh, there must be a mistake,” the manager assured her.
“There’s no mistake. I left it on the table when I ran to the window at the sound of the crash. I couldn’t have had my back turned more than a minute. When I rushed back to the table my handbag was gone.”
“This is very serious, Madam. Are you certain you did not have the bag in your hand when you left the table?”
Miserably, Mrs. Willoughby shook her head.
“I’m sure I didn’t.”
“Someone must have stolen it,” Mrs. Potter interposed. “That’s the only explanation.”
“I’ll never leave this place until I get my handbag back!” Mrs. Willoughby screamed hysterically. “I’ll have everyone searched!”
“Just a minute, please,” the cool voice of the manager interposed. “Let me get this straight. How much do you claim that you lost?”
“Claim?” Mrs. Willoughby cried angrily. “Do you mean to insinuate that my handbag wasn’t stolen?”
“I am not insinuating anything. I am merely trying to get at the bottom of the matter. How much money did you have in your purse?”
“Not a cent in money, but I had a fortune in jewels! Forty thousand dollars’ worth of jewels, mostly diamonds, and they didn’t belong to me!”
There was a surprised chorus of “oh’s” from those who had gathered about, and at once many of the diners began to search the floor and nearby tables. No trace of the handbag was found.
“I regret that such a thing has happened in my tea room,” the manager said, with a troubled frown. “But of course it was very unwise of you to bring such an amount into the dining room. We provide a safe for our customers’ valuables. Since you did not choose to make use of it, the management is in no way responsible for your loss. However, I will do everything in my power to help you recover the jewels.”
“They were stolen by someone in this room!” Mrs. Willoughby cried excitedly. “I insist that every person be searched.”
The manager hesitated, for she felt that such a procedure might arouse the ire of her customers, especially those who were socially prominent.
“I for one am willing to submit to a search,” a feminine guest declared quickly.
Others expressed their willingness to subject themselves to the ordeal. Of all the guests, only two women insisted that the search would be an indignity. One of these, the dark woman who had attracted the attention of Mrs. Willoughby and Mrs. Potter some time before, tried to slip out of the door.
“Don’t let her go!” Mrs. Potter cried. “She must be searched with the others!”
“I have nothing to conceal,” the woman retorted with a show of hauteur.
“We will see about that,” Mrs. Willoughby snapped.
“You’ll see yourself if you persist in this indignity!” exclaimed the woman, a spot of scarlet flaming into each cheek.
“Perhaps it will be best for you to submit to the search,” the manager suggested in a conciliatory voice. “If you ladies will step into the adjoining cloakroom one by one I will make the search myself.”
Again the black-eyed woman began to protest angrily, but her companion, who had been the only other person to object to the search, said a few words in an undertone and the enraged woman closed her mouth in a grim line and said no more.
While Mrs. Willoughby and her friend waited anxiously in the dining room, the search was conducted. Within fifteen minutes the clothing of every guest had been examined, including that of the woman who had attempted to escape from the inn. The manager shook her head regretfully as she returned to Mrs. Willoughby.
“I did not find the jewels.”
“Then some of the help must have taken it.”
“I can vouch for every person in my employ. I demand the highest references.”
“Well, someone took the pocketbook! It couldn’t have walked off by itself! I saw one of the waiters looking at it and when he brought the salad—”
“Jennings has been in my employ for six years,” the manager said quietly. “But if it will rest your mind on that score, I am certain he will submit to a search.”
“Certainly.”
The waiter stepped forward, bestowing a not too kindly glance upon the two women. One of the men in the room offered to conduct the search. In a very few minutes he returned, but without the pocketbook.
“The kitchen help must be brought in,” Mrs. Willoughby insisted.
“Really this is going a trifle too far,” the manager said impatiently. “As I told you, I can vouch for all my help. And of course the kitchen girls never enter this room. It is ridiculous to think that one of them could have taken your bag.”
“Someone took it.”
“Are you certain that you had the handbag when you came into the dining room?” This came in a drawling voice from one of the women who had been searched.
“Am I certain?” Mrs. Willoughby screamed as she sprang up from the chair into which she had dropped in exhaustion. “Of course I am!”
Until this moment Mrs. Willoughby had controlled herself fairly well, but the realization that people were beginning to doubt her own honesty entirely unnerved her. She began to pace the floor, wringing her hands.
“Oh, what shall I do? What shall I do? I’ll never be able to face Emily.”
“Try to calm yourself,” the manager begged.
“I can’t be calm! I’ve lost poor Emily’s fortune! Oh, I wish I were dead!”
“Jane! Jane!” Mrs. Potter pleaded.
Mrs. Willoughby paid not the slightest heed to her friend but suddenly wheeled upon the staring guests.
“Is anyone missing who was here when the accident occurred?” she demanded.
A checkup was hastily made and it was found that two persons were missing.
“They’re probably at the crossroads helping those poor autoists,” the manager suggested.
Mrs. Willoughby, becoming more excited every moment, appeared not to have heard.
“One of them must have snatched my purse and run away with it!” she screamed. “Oh, help me catch the thief!”
She rushed toward the door, but before she reached it gave a low moan of pain and clutched at a table. She would have fallen to the floor had not Mrs. Potter caught her in her arms.
“It’s her heart!” Mrs. Potter cried. “The excitement has been too much for her. Oh, she’s fainted.”
Willing hands aided Mrs. Potter in stretching the limp figure out upon a couch. Someone brought a pitcher of water. A damp cloth was pressed against Mrs. Willoughby’s forehead and her hands were chafed. After a few minutes she began to revive.
“What will Emily say when I tell her?” she moaned over and over.
The bystanders murmured, some sympathetically, some skeptically.
“She will be all right in a few minutes,” Mrs. Potter said. “She has had trouble with her heart before. Poor thing! I don’t wonder that she fainted.”
As soon as Mrs. Willoughby was able to sit up, the manager suggested that she be removed to another room.
“No, I feel better now,” Mrs. Willoughby said weakly. “I can walk to the automobile.”
In spite of the protests of those who had attended her, she insisted upon departing. Leaning heavily upon Mrs. Potter’s arm, she moved slowly toward the door.
“I’m sure we’ll find the handbag for you,” the manager said kindly.
Mrs. Willoughby shook her head.
“I’m convinced someone snatched it and ran away. I’ll probably never see the jewels again. Oh, my poor little Emily! How can I tell her?”