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Updated: June 13, 2025
She and her father reached home from the theatre about a quarter past twelve, had a bit of supper in the dining-room and went up to bed before one o'clock. Miss Mackwayte saw her father go into his room, which is next to hers, and shut the door.
"I carried the package on me night and day and I could hardly believe my eyes when I discovered that a box of cigarettes had been substituted for the silver casket containing the jewel. I then suspected that Barbara Mackwayte, in collusion with Nur-el-Din, whom she had visited at the Dyke Inn that evening, had played this trick on me.
Mackwayte' "I'm afraid I'm a bit behind the times. Has she been appearing here long?" "First appearance in London, old man' and she's made good from the word 'Go! She's been in Paris and all over the Continent, and America, too, I believe, but she had to come to me to soar to the top of the bill. I saw at once where she belonged!
"Barbara Mackwayte!" he whispered in a low voice, not seeming to realize that he was speaking aloud, "so that's what she wanted with Nur-el-Din!" Desmond was standing at Mortimer's elbow and caught the whisper.
On the top of all this fog of obscurity rested the dense cloud surrounding the murder of old Mackwayte with the unexplained, the fantastic, clue of that single hair pointing back to Nur-el-Din. Desmond consoled himself finally by saying that he would be able too get some light on his mission from Barbara Mackwayte, whom he judged to be in the Chief's confidence.
"How on earth did you know that I was at the Palaceum last night?" The Chief smiled grimly. "Oh, that's very simple," he said. "Shall I tell you some more about yourself? You sat..." he glanced down at the desk in front of him,"... in Stall E 52 and, after Nur-el-Din's turn, Strangwise took you round and introduced you to the lady. In her dressing-room you met Mr. Mackwayte and his daughter.
"Miss Mackwayte knows Mortimer?" echoed Desmond in stupefaction. "But certainly," replied Nur-el-Din. "Was it not I myself " She broke off suddenly with terror in her eyes. "Ah, no!" she whispered. "It is enough. Already I have said too much..." Desmond was about to speak when the door opened and a foreign-looking maid, whom Desmond remembered to have seen in the dancer's dressing-room, came in.
"All these people, excepting the officer there, are waiting to see him, Miss, and he's got a dinner engagement at eight..." "It is urgent, Mr. Matthews, I tell you. If you won't take my name in, I shall go in myself!" "Miss Mackwayte, I daren't interrupt him now. Do you know who's with him...?" Strangwise crossed the room to where Barbara was standing.
And there's many a one worse off than we are today!" "Any luck at the agent's, daddy?" Mr. Mackwayte shook his head. "These revues are fair killing the trade, my dear, and that's a fact. They don't want art to-day, only rag-time and legs and all that. Our people are being cruelly hit by it and that's a fact. Why, who do you think I ran into at Harris' this morning?
The sunshine seemed to fade out of his debonair countenance, and for a moment Barbara Mackwayte saw Maurice Strangwise as very few people had ever seen him, stern and cold and hard, without a vestige of his constant smile. But the shadow lifted as quickly as it had fallen. His face had resumed its habitually engaging expression as he murmured: "Believe me, I am truly sorry for you!"
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