The Woman in the Alcove | Page 9

to hear such further details as
were allowed to circulate among the now well-nigh frenzied guests. No
one knew the perpetrator of the deed nor did there appear to be any
direct evidence calculated to fix his identity. Indeed, the sudden death
of this beautiful woman in the midst of festivity might have been
looked upon as suicide, if the jewel had not been missing from her
breast and the instrument of death removed from the wound. So far, the
casual search which had been instituted had failed to produce this
weapon; but the police would be here soon and then something would
be done. As to the means of entrance employed by the assassin, there
seemed to be but one opinion. The alcove contained a window opening

upon a small balcony. By this he had doubtless entered and escaped.
The long plush curtains which, during the early part of the evening, had
remained looped back on either side of the casement, were found at the
moment of the crime's discovery closely drawn together. Certainly a
suspicious circumstance. However, the question was one easily settled.
If any one had approached by the balcony there would be marks in the
snow to show it. Mr. Ramsdell had gone out to see. He would be
coming back soon.
"Do you think this a probable explanation of the crime?" I demanded of
Mr. Durand at this juncture. "If I remember rightly this window
overlooks the carriage drive; it must, therefore, be within plain sight of
the door through which some three hundred guests have passed to-night.
How could any one climb to such a height, lift the window and step in
without being seen?"
"You forget the awning." He spoke quickly and with unexpected
vivacity. "The awning runs up very near this window and quite shuts it
off from the sight of arriving guests. The drivers of departing carriages
could see it if they chanced to glance back. But their eyes are usually
on their horses in such a crowd. The probabilities are against any of
them having looked up." His brow had cleared; a weight seemed
removed from his mind. "When I went into the alcove to see Mrs.
Fairbrother, she was sitting in a chair near this window looking out. I
remember the effect of her splendor against the snow sifting down in a
steady stream behind her. The pink velvet--the soft green of the
curtains on either side--her brilliants--and the snow for a background!
Yes, the murderer came in that way. Her figure would be plain to any
one outside, and if she moved and the diamond shone--Don't you see
what a probable theory it is? There must be ways by which a desperate
man might reach that balcony. I believe--"
How eager he was and with what a look he turned when the word came
filtering through the crowd that, though footsteps had been found in the
snow pointing directly toward the balcony, there was none on the
balcony itself, proving, as any one could see, that the attack had not
come from without, since no one could enter the alcove by the window
without stepping on the balcony.
"Mr. Durand has suspicions of his own," I explained determinedly to
myself. "He met some one going in as he stepped out. Shall I ask him

to name this person?" No, I did not have the courage; not while his face
wore so stern a look and was so resolutely turned away.
The next excitement was a request from Mr. Ramsdell for us all to go
into the drawing-room. This led to various cries from hysterical lips,
such as, "We are going to be searched!" " He believes the thief and
murderer to be still in the house!" "Do you see the diamond on me?"
"Why don't they confine their suspicions to the favored few who were
admitted to the alcove?"
"They will," remarked some one close to my ear.
But quickly as I turned I could not guess from whom the comment
came. Possibly from a much beflowered, bejeweled, elderly dame,
whose eyes were fixed on Mr. Durand's averted face. If so, she received
a defiant look from mine, which I do not believe she forgot in a hurry.
Alas! it was not the only curious, I might say searching glance I
surprised directed against him as we made our way to where I could see
my uncle struggling to reach us from a short side hall. The whisper
seemed to have gone about that Mr. Durand had been the last one to
converse with Mrs. Fairbrother prior to the tragedy.
In time I had the satisfaction of joining my uncle. He betrayed great
relief at the sight of me, and, encouraged by his kindly smile, I
introduced Mr. Durand. My