The Mystery of the Blue Train Read Free Page B

back in his coat pocket, he nodded to Knighton and left the room.

Four
    O N CURZON STREET

    T he Hon. Mrs. Derek Kettering lived
     in Curzon Street. The butler who opened the door recognized Rufus Van Aldin at once and
     permitted himself a discreet smile of greeting. He led the way upstairs to the big double
     drawing room on the first floor.
    A woman who was sitting by the window started up with a cry.
    â€œWhy, Dad, if that isn’t too good for anything! I’ve been telephoning Major
     Knighton all day to try and get hold of you, but he couldn’t say for sure when you were
     expected back.”
    Ruth Kettering was twenty-eight years of age.
     Without being beautiful, or in the real sense of the word even pretty, she was striking -looking because of her colouring. Van Aldin had been called Carrots and Ginger in his
     time, and Ruth’s hair was almost pure auburn. With it went dark eyes and very black
     lashes—the effect somewhat enhanced by art. She was tall and slender, and moved well. At a
     careless glance it was the face of a Raphael Madonna. Only if one looked closely did one
     perceive the same line of jaw and chin as in Van Aldin’s face, bespeaking the same
     hardness and determination. It suited the man, but suited the woman less well. From
     her childhood upward Ruth Van Aldin had been accustomed to having her own way, and anyone
     who had ever stood up against her soon realized that Rufus Van Aldin’s daughter never gave
     in.
    â€œKnighton told me you’d ’phoned him,” said Van Aldin. “I only got back from
     Paris half an hour ago. What’s all this about Derek?”
    Ruth Kettering flushed angrily.
    â€œIt’s unspeakable. It’s beyond all limits,” she cried. “He—he doesn’t seem to
     listen to anything I say.”
    There was bewilderment as well as anger in her voice.
    â€œHe’ll listen to me,” said the millionaire grimly.
    Ruth went on.
    â€œI’ve hardly seen him for the last month. He goes about everywhere with that
     woman.”
    â€œWith what woman?”
    â€œMirelle. She dances at the Parthenon, you know.”
    Van Aldin nodded.
    â€œI was down at Leconbury last week. I—I spoke to Lord Leconbury. He was awfully
     sweet to me, sympathized entirely. He said he’d give Derek a good talking to.”
    â€œAh!” said Van Aldin.
    â€œWhat do you mean by ‘Ah!’ Dad?”
    â€œJust what you think I mean, Ruthie. Poor old Leconbury is a washout. Of course
     he sympathized with you, of course he tried to soothe you down. Having got his son and heir
     married to the daughter of one of the richest men in the States, he naturally doesn’t want
     to mess the thing up. But he’s got one foot in the grave already, everyone knows that, and
     anything he may say will cut darned little ice with Derek.”
    â€œCan’t you do anything, Dad?” urged Ruth, after a
     minute or two.
    â€œI might,” said the millionaire. He waited a second reflectively, and then went
     on. “There are several things I might do, but there’s only one that will be any real good.
     How much pluck have you got, Ruthie?”
    She stared at him. He nodded back at her.
    â€œI mean just what I say. Have you got the grit to admit to all the world that
     you’ve made a mistake? There’s only one way out of this mess, Ruthie. Cut your losses and
     start afresh.”
    â€œYou mean—?”
    â€œDivorce.”
    â€œDivorce!”
    Van Aldin smiled drily.
    â€œYou say that word, Ruth, as though you’d never heard it before. And yet your
     friends are doing it all round you every day.”
    â€œOh! I know that. But—”
    She stopped, biting her lip. Her father nodded comprehendingly.
    â€œI know, Ruth. You’re like me, you can’t bear to let go. But I’ve learnt, and
     you’ve got to learn, that there are times when it’s the