Murder by Reflection Read Online Free

But she had no doubts in her own mind that she meant it. He showed no sign that he took her literally.
    They settled down to talk art and archaeology. He was certainly very intelligent, she felt, and certainly her first impression had not overrated his looks. Miss Ibis decided that he had married, but found herself wandering-wondering whether he might not be a widower. Italian women are so often delicate and die young, especially in the hard North. He was, however, never so self-centered as to refer to himself. Nor did he ask even the most indirect questions about herself. They were simply two keen appreciators of beauty exchanging impressions—though she had to own that his knowledge was greater, as she was sure her possessions exceeded his. Though his suit was of good cut and cloth, she noticed that it was a “best suit.” He had come in the same one each time and it was clear it had often been to the cleaners. Once he did inquire whether she often “ran up” to visit the Metropolitan Museum and casually remarked that he would like to hear her opinion of a “steeple-cup” which he thought was a peculiar piece.
    â€œIf it isn’t a forgery it is a beauty, and if it is, it’s fun.”
    They laughed the laugh of “insiders” able to enjoy even a fraud if well done. Humor having broken through, he told her stories—a number of them—of the big “put-overs,” as he called them: “The Miter of Tissaphernes” at the Louvre; that all-too-vivacious “Etruscan” figure-tomb in the British Museum.
    Then, as he rose to leave, he remarked smilingly, “And, by the way, here’s the Herodotus with the story why—an ultra-modern reason—the ibis is the wisest of birds, the very body of wisdom. The old boy may have been wrong about the bird but he was right in saying that had it done as he was told, then few people could teach it much.”
    â€œTell me what was its secret?” she said, as she accompanied him to the drawing-room door.
    â€œNo,” he laughed. “You must learn that from the book.”
    â€œWell, when I have learned it will you come and hear me repeat the lesson?”
    â€œI’ll come gladly,” he said. “But you must choose quite freely whether you wish to repeat it or go on to the next.”
    â€œWell, it sounds a riddle and quite intriguing. Anyhow, come again in a fortnight to retrieve your volume.”
    He gladly agreed. She was busy, however, and it was the thirteenth day before she had opened the Herodotus. Reading she had never found easy, and an old Greek author was an additional obstacle. She preferred to hear history discussed and with plenty of artistic objects as examples and helps to keep your attention when it wandered.
    She wished that Mr. Signorli had not been so noncommittal. She herself was, however, noncommittal at her fortnightly club-at-home. Mrs. Maligni was there and apologized for her inability to come with her nephew last time. Miss Ibis was glad that the others, who were all over at the window at that moment looking at a miniature which Miss Kesson had brought, did not hear that there had been a second visit. She nodded and smiled equally resolved that if Mrs. Maligni did not know that another visit had been arranged, she should remain in ignorance. With the famous feminine intuition she suspected that the aunt did not know but might discreetly hope. Yes, Irene Ibis was safe. She knew the elder woman would say nothing, even had she been on gossiping equality with the other women, which she was not.
    As the last of the member-guests left she decided she was tired enough not to go out that evening and that she would doze over a book. As the pillow-book Herodotus would serve admirably. After her dinner she picked it up. She found that it opened at a certain page and her eye, running down it, saw her attention-arresting name. Yes, it was the passage saying why the ibis is wise.