diff options
| -rw-r--r-- | .gitattributes | 13 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | 78920-0.txt | 12588 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | 78920-h/78920-h.htm | 16104 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | 78920-h/images/cover.jpg | bin | 0 -> 453471 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 78920-h/images/frontispiece.jpg | bin | 0 -> 79102 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 78920-h/images/title.jpg | bin | 0 -> 35457 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | LICENSE.txt | 11 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | README.md | 1 |
8 files changed, 28717 insertions, 0 deletions
diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..9f57f44 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,13 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text +*.htm text +*.html text +*.png binary +*.jpg binary +*.svg text +*.pdf binary +*.bmp binary +*.zip binary +*.midi binary +*.mp3 binary diff --git a/78920-0.txt b/78920-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..2912ef6 --- /dev/null +++ b/78920-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,12588 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78920 *** + + + + + Transcriber’s Note + Italic text displayed as: _italic_ + + + + +THE MONEY-SPIDER + +[Illustration: “_For a second the pair stared into one another’s eyes. +There was defiance, even hatred, in the glance of both of them._”] + + + + + THE + MONEY-SPIDER + + BY + + WILLIAM LE QUEUX + + _Author of “The Great God Gold,” “The + Red Room,” etc., etc._ + + [Illustration] + + RICHARD G. BADGER + + THE GORHAM PRESS + + BOSTON + + + + + _Copyright 1911 by William Le Queux + Entered at Stationer’s Hall + All Rights Reserved_ + + _The Gorham Press, Boston, U. S. A._ + + + _In this Life of many troubles, what pain is greater than this: + Desire without ability, when that desire turneth not away?_ + + + + +CONTENTS + + + PART I + + CHAPTER PAGE + + 1 Introduces a Red-Faced Man 1 + + 2 Concerns Certain Secrets 8 + + 3 The End of the World 17 + + 4 The Touchstone of Misfortune 27 + + 5 An Allegation 35 + + 6 Strange Matters of Fact 43 + + 7 The Captain Makes a Suggestion 53 + + 8 Reveals the Shadow 61 + + 9 The Arctic Wilderness 66 + + 10 Towards the Doom 72 + + 11 Face to Face 82 + + 12 Love’s Shadow 90 + + 13 Faces in the Mist 97 + + 14 Is In Several Ways Mysterious 107 + + 15 Lifts the Veil 116 + + 16 Bride and Lover 123 + + 17 Some Amazing Facts 132 + + 18 The Four Letters 141 + + + PART II + + 1 Bide Tryst 149 + + 2 The Peril of Dick Jervoise 158 + + 3 Strangers in London 166 + + 4 Thyra Makes an Admission 175 + + 5 The Bond of Silence 182 + + 6 Contains A Problem 190 + + 7 The Problem Continued 199 + + 8 The Man Bourtzeff 208 + + 9 An Indiscreet Friendship 217 + + 10 A Curious Truth 225 + + 11 On the Ripley Road 233 + + 12 A Hammersmith Hero 242 + + 13 Another Problem 253 + + 14 A Warning is Uttered 268 + + 15 The Villa Sergio 277 + + 16 On the Adriatic 284 + + 17 A Question is Asked 292 + + 18 Father and Daughter 299 + + 19 In Black and White 308 + + 20 A Woman’s Honour 322 + + 21 Towards the Truth 329 + + 22 Alza Makes a Confession 338 + + 23 In Sound of Piccadilly 345 + + Conclusion 354 + + + + +THE MONEY-SPIDER + + + + +PART I + + + + +CHAPTER I + +INTRODUCES A RED-FACED MAN + + +“And if the truth were ever exposed—what then?” + +“Bah! You never need fear that, my dear fellow. The people we are +dealing with are discreet—silent in their own interests. This isn’t the +first little piece of confidential business I’ve had with them.” + +“Well, I don’t like it.” + +“But you want money!” + +“Not if I’m compelled to commit a crime to obtain it.” + +“Ah, my dear Jorgen, you’re becoming really too scrupulous in your old +age,” laughed the fat, pimply-faced man in a well-cut yachting suit, as +he drew heavily at his cigar and lolled back in a long cane-chair on +deck. “You should recollect that in these modern days of ours honesty +spells poverty.” + +“Not always, Peter, not always,” protested the other, a +broad-shouldered, burly, grey-bearded man in a well-worn suit of blue +serge. “One can be honest and prosper, even now.” + +“Seldom, my dear fellow, seldom. Men to become millionaires must be +unscrupulous,” replied Peter Sundt, the owner of that fine steam +yacht, the blustering, red-faced man who had once been a fisherman, +but who now practically controlled the great cod-fishing industry of +Finmarken. For him hundreds of men toiled upon the deep, reaping the +harvest of the Arctic Ocean, while he, wealthy and luxurious, lived in +summer at his beautiful home near Christiania, and in winter at his +splendid white villa among the palms at Ragusa, on the blue Adriatic. + +The man seated at his side, gazing thoughtfully across at the broken +coast of the French Riviera lying purple in the spring sunset, was of +an altogether different stamp. Big, broad-shouldered, with a kind, +merry, furrowed face and a deep-toned voice, he was a typical sailor of +the bluff, hail-fellow-well-met type. Indeed, for forty years he had +sailed the Polar Sea in search of the whale, and in the days before +Sven Foyn invented his deadly cannon-harpoon, he had had many thrilling +adventures in the frozen North—adventures which, if written, would +assuredly make a most fascinating book. + +Nowadays, however, he had given up whaling and had settled down in a +snug appointment as harbour-master at Vardo, that far-off little town +on the most northernly point east of the North Cape, a place beyond +the pale of civilisation and where for many months each year the +inhabitants lived in the perpetual Arctic night. + +He had known Peter Sundt, the millionaire of stock-fish, all his life, +and had now sailed to the South with him on his magnificent yacht in +order to keep a certain appointment at an obscure hotel—the Palmiers—at +Monte Carlo. + +The cruise around the North Cape, past Hammerfest, down the long, +broken coast-line of Norway, through the Straits of Dover, across the +stormy bay and through Gibraltar, had been a most pleasant one. It was +years since Berentsen had sailed a summer sea, nearly his whole life +having been spent on the edge of the ice-pack, therefore he had greatly +enjoyed his old friend’s hospitality. + +Yet now they were off Villefranche, with Beaulieu lying in its +picturesque bay, and the Tete de Chien rising against the clear sky, +with the brown rock of Monaco beyond, the old harbour-master had become +suddenly thoughtful and apprehensive. + +Besides the crew—a hardy set of Norwegians and Danes—they were the only +persons on board. Peter Sundt was a widower, and in no way a lady’s +man. From small beginnings he had risen to become one of the wealthiest +and most influential men in Norway, while his friend, Jorgen Berentsen, +bluff old sailor that he was, had continued his life of the sea until +his friend had been able to obtain for him the post of harbour-master +of that far-away, dismal town, which was the outpost of civilisation. + +Jorgen had been appointed to Vardo at his own request. Born and bred +within the Arctic Circle, he cared little for the South, and the +pleasures of Christiania or Trondhjem had never held any attraction for +him. + +Like most Norwegians, both men knew English, and, indeed, had been +conversing in that language. + +“The meeting is at ten to-night, isn’t it?” asked the old +harbour-master slowly, with a sigh, his deeply-furrowed face bearing a +thoughtful, apprehensive expression. + +“Yes. Our friend said so in the wire I received at Marseilles,” replied +his red-faced host. + +“I’m half inclined to withdraw, even now. I confess, Peter, I don’t +like the affair.” + +“And after all the trouble you’ve taken!” exclaimed Sundt. “Why, you’ve +planned every detail.” + +“I know; but I’m ready to sacrifice it all in order to preserve my +innocence, my own honour.” + +“Honour, be hanged!” laughed his wealthy friend. “Who cares a jot for +your honour except yourself? If I’d prided myself upon my honour I’d +to-day still have been a fisherman. My advice to you, my dear Jorgen, +is to get money wherever you can. Never refuse a good thing. You’ve +taken my advice before, and you’ve profited, haven’t you?” + +“Yes,” replied the other, with a deep pull at his cigar. “I owe +everything to you, Peter—everything. I’d still have been at sea now had +it not been for your kind offices.” + +“Well, we’ve struck a bargain, you and I; and we’ve kept it. You’ve +placed in your pocket a good many thousand kroners which you otherwise +would not have had.” + +“And you also,” laughed Berentsen uneasily. + +“Certainly; and I hope we shall both make a good many more thousands. +We shall, providing you don’t continue to suffer from these absurd +fits of groundless apprehension. Self-exposure would mean exposure of +myself—and I couldn’t afford that—as you well know!” + +“But to thus betray—” + +“Oh, rubbish!” laughed Sundt, interrupting him. “Let’s talk of +something else. You’ve never been to Monte Carlo. You’ll be amused +there, I can assure you.” + +“I’m thinking of Thyra. How would she judge me if she knew the truth?” +he remarked in a low, intense voice, his bearded chin sunk upon his +breast and a far-away look in his deep-set eyes. + +“Thyra will marry one day, I suppose, and you’ll want money to give +her. Look at the practical side of life, man! Get the money now it’s +within your grasp.” + +“Thyra would disown me as her father,” said the thick-set, old +sea-captain in a strained tone. + +“As many another daughter would disown her father if she knew all his +business secrets,” remarked Sundt, with a smile. “Ignorance is always +bliss.” + +“Well, Peter, I don’t like it!” exclaimed old Jorgen, jumping from his +long cane-chair, and taking three paces up the deck and three paces +back again—his old habit of the bridge. His face had grown pale and +rigid. + +Peter Sundt cast a curiously crafty glance at him while his back was +turned. But the unusual expression only rested upon his countenance for +a moment. Next second it had vanished, and with a smile full of forced +bonhomie the millionaire said: + +“My dear fellow, put all worry behind you, as I do. Little Thyra +believes you to be the most honest man in all Norway, as every daughter +believes her father to be. Why should she ever be undeceived? All of us +have one skeleton in our cupboard. Why should we go out of our way to +exhibit it?” + +“But this mysterious person we are here to meet? What guarantee have we +of his good faith? He might blackmail us!” + +“He will not do so. I’ll guarantee that.” + +“How can you stand guarantee for him?” + +“Well—I have had previous experience,” replied Pete, rather slowly. +“The reason why the appointment for meeting is made here in Monte Carlo +is to avoid suspicion. The place is so cosmopolitan that even though we +might be watched, there would be nothing extraordinary in us meeting a +stranger here. Besides, I always come here for a fortnight or so each +Carnival, before going round to Ragusa.” + +“I somehow scent danger,” declared the Captain, halting and leaning +with his back to the rail. “I don’t think I shall meet the mysterious +person, whoever he may be or however much I may gain by the commission +of the crime!” + +“What!” cried the owner of the yacht, starting in surprise and staring +straight at his friend. “You surely don’t wish to back out of the +bargain now? This isn’t like you, Jorgen.” + +“I see signs of a gathering storm,” he replied, heartily wishing he had +never accepted his host’s invitation. + +“Where?” + +But the old harbour-master only shrugged his broad shoulders and, as he +did so, cast his cigar-end into the water. + +A smart French steward appeared with a tray upon which was tea, and +setting it near his master, retired. + +The two men did not speak. The silence of the sunset hour was unbroken +save for the jar of the engines and the low swish of the calm, blue +waters, as they steamed straight to the long, low Cap d’Ail. + +They were close enough to the rocky shore to distinguish the Corniche +road, running like a white ribbon over the olive-clad Monte Bastis, +while in the centre of the picturesque scene rose the ancient village +of Eze, perched high-up upon its conical hill, with the white +flower-embowered villas of the wealthy dotted everywhere over the +sloping mountain-sides. + +To old Captain Berentsen the scene was an unfamiliar one. He knew +the ice-bound coasts of Kolguev, Franz Josef Land, Spitzbergen, Nova +Zembla. He lived far beyond the tree zone, in a dismal land of grey +mists and snow blizzards, where nothing grew save the Arctic mosses. +Therefore, the fairy-like scene before him was entrancing. + +Yet he gazed upon it all as a man gazes at his own open grave. + +His hands were clenched upon the iron rail, and as he looked seaward +his teeth were set, his deep-lined brow clouded. His face was turned +away from that man who, though his host, held him so irresistibly in +his power. He was poor, and his poverty had compelled him to become, as +he now was, the helpless puppet in that fat man’s hands. + +He was thinking of Thyra—his sweet-faced, neat-waisted little daughter, +whom he had left at home in that far-away town, now plunged in the +darkness of the long Arctic night. He had sacrificed his own honour in +order that she should not want. What, however, would she, devoted child +that she was, say if she knew the real reason of his present pleasure +cruise with this coarse-handed, red-faced millionaire—the object of the +secret meeting which Sundt had arranged for ten o’clock that night? + +“You’re a fool, Jorgen!” declared Peter Sundt, bluntly at last, +“and ungrateful, too! I point out to you a mode by which money can +be secured for Thyra and yourself, and you’re disinclined to take +advantage of it!” + +“If the truth were exposed,” declared the unhappy man in a faltering +voice, “I would never dare to look my daughter in the face again!” + +Peter Sundt laughed. + +“And have your hands been so very clean in the past, eh?” + +“That is just why I fear—why I fear always.” + +“You’re a coward, as well as a fool. You will never become a rich man.” + +“I’d rather remain poor and honest.” + +Sundt laughed again. + +“Honest!” he sneered. “Isn’t it rather late in the day, Jorgen, to +talk of honesty? Rest assured that Thyra will never know. So just calm +yourself, and make hay while the sun shines—as the English say.” + +But bluff old Jorgen Berentsen only buttoned his pilot-jacket tightly +and paced backward and forward on the deck, his heart full of regret +and poignant bitterness, yet held fettered and bound by the great crime +he was being forced, against his will, to commit. + + + + +CHAPTER II + +CONCERNS CERTAIN SECRETS + + +Monte Carlo at night. + +You who know the Riviera know well the scene. It never changes, the +terrestrial paradise that is so near hell. The garish, noisy cafes, +the expensive restaurants, full to overflowing with the smartest crowd +in Europe, the myriad-coloured lights, the waving palms, the beds of +sweet-smelling flowers, the well-dressed men, the pretty women in +wonderful toilettes, and the centre of it all, the Casino with its +red-carpeted steps, its wide portals, and its uniformed attendants. It +was just before Carnival, and the place was crowded. + +The old harbour-master and his millionaire host had dined at the Hotel +de Paris, amid a scene of luxury unfamiliar to Jorgen Berentsen. The +artistically lit tables, the flowers, the gay laughter of the pretty +women, and the soft strains of the Roumanian band, all combined to +create an impression upon the case-hardened old whaling captain, who +had spent the greater part of his adventurous life in the desolation of +the Arctic. To him civilisation of that luxurious kind was a revelation. + +As they crossed the palm-lined Place to the Casino they could see +the long white yacht, with its many lights, lying in the port, a +magnificent craft that had been familiar to habitués of the Riviera for +several seasons past. + +Peter Sundt was well known to the officials in the Casino, otherwise it +is doubtful whether the entrance-card would have been issued to his +burly companion, who carried with him so unmistakably the air of the +Northern sea. + +But the door at the end of the atrium swung over, and a moment later +the pair found themselves in the great world-famous gaming-room, where +the roulette tables were already crowded by a smart, eager throng. It +happened to be a Saturday night, and that is the evening of the week +when the women dress well and put on their jewels. + +“_Rien ne va plus!_” The strident cries of the croupiers were +incessant, mingled with the fascinating jingle of gold, the soft rustle +of bank-notes, and the sharp click of the little ivory ball which, each +moment, brought many of those standing by nearer to the verge of ruin. + +As Peter and Jorgen passed from table to table they found at each +crowds four or five deep, eager to stake their money in the hope of the +fickle goddess smiling upon them. + +Hot and close were the rooms, as they always are, with that +indescribable odour which ever pervades the place—that fevered, fetid +odour of mingled perspiration and perfume. + +Sundt, while standing at one of the roulette tables, handed a croupier +a hundred-franc note to place upon the last dozen. Then old Jorgen, +following his example and bitten by the contagious excitement, handed +the same croupier a louis to place on the zero. + +The game was made, the ball spun, and gradually losing its impetus, it +fell with a loud click. + +“Ze-r-ro!” announced the croupier. + +The old captain’s furrowed face brightened when a moment later he was +handed a small handful of golden louis, which he at once pocketed, and +then turned away, with Peter congratulating him upon his stroke of luck. + +But Jorgen smiled bitterly. He was dreading the fast-approaching +hour—ten o’clock. + +As they were passing on to the next table, a tall, slim, dark-haired +French girl, quite young, but most elegantly dressed in pale pink +chiffon, unmistakably a creation of the Rue de la Paix, with a big +black hat which suited her admirably, and a collar of gleaming +diamonds, swept past them laughing gaily with an elderly woman in +grey satin who accompanied her. Into her golden chain purse she was +carelessly stuffing a number of thousand-franc notes, which she had +just won by a lucky coup. + +Peter Sundt halted and stared at her for a second. His red cheeks had +blanched, and he held his breath. + +She, however, had not noticed him, and passed on towards the great +swing doors. + +As she walked down the room, two young Frenchmen, evidently Riviera +loungers, bowed acquaintance with her, and she smiled upon them. She +was not more than twenty, and her clear-cut, regular features were +strikingly handsome. + +Jorgen Berentsen noticed his friend’s sudden surprise, but made no +remark. He, however, wondered that the sight of that butterfly of +fashion, that elegant little Parisienne, with her dark hair arranged +in bandeaux across her white brow, should have produced such a curious +impression upon him. + +The young girl went out, her skirts rustling as she walked, leaving +Peter Sundt standing in the great salon gazing after her as though +dumfounded. + +“Who’s that?” the Captain inquired a few moments later. + +“That girl? Oh!—oh, well only somebody I know. I am very surprised to +meet her here, that’s all,” he responded, somewhat confused. + +“A friend of yours—eh?” + +“Well—no—not exactly,” replied the millionaire, now thoroughly +recovered from the evident shock that her unexpected appearance had +caused him. + +But the harbour-master saw plainly that the sight of that young +Parisienne, flushed with the excitement of winning a large coup, had +produced an extraordinary change in his companion, and that he knew +more of her than he intended to admit. + +“Perhaps you’d like to follow and join her? If so, I’ll stay here for a +little,” said the burly old sailor. + +“Join her!” echoed his companion, staring at him. “_Join her!_ No, +thank you,” he said, laughing grimly. “No,” he added, with an apparent +effort, as he braced himself up. “Let’s go into yonder room, and watch +the _trente-et-quarante_.” + +And together they strolled in the great painted salon adjoining, where +only gold was being played, and where the cards were being dealt in a +quiet and serious manner. + +To the hardy old sea-captain gambling possessed little attraction. +He had won a zero, and was therefore perfectly satisfied. Already he +found the atmosphere stifling and the thousand perfumes of the women +nauseating. The jingle of gold sounded everywhere, and above all the +voices of the croupiers inviting the company to play, or declaring that +no further stakes could be accepted, or announcing the winning numbers. + +“I’m ready to go,” he said at last, with a deep-drawn sigh as he looked +at the big clock at the end of the great gilded gaming-room. + +It wanted but fifteen minutes to ten—the hour of the secret appointment +which he had been so long dreading. + +At ten o’clock he was to commit a crime unpardonable! + +Together, they passed through the atrium, down the red-carpeted steps, +and out into the moonlit Place. + +The manner of the red-faced man had changed. He gazed swiftly on every +side, and looked eagerly across to the terrace of the Cafe de Paris, as +though in search of that laughing, dark-haired girl, the sight of whom +had caused him such great surprise. + +But she had gone; and upon his coarse face was a look of bitter +disappointment. + +As they re-crossed the Place and walked on beneath the dark shadows of +the palms, the old sea-captain, pale and agitated, suddenly halted, +exclaiming in a determined voice: + +“No, Peter! I—I’ll not do this! I—I’ll go no further!” + +“What!” cried his companion, stopping aghast. “What are you saying?” + +“I say what I mean,” replied the bluff old fellow resolutely. + +“You can’t mean it! Why, it would be utterly absurd to withdraw now,” +declared Peter Sundt. + +“Better withdraw now than be guilty of such an offence,” the Captain +replied in the low, hoarse voice of a man struggling with his own +conscience. + +“I’ve arranged it all and brought you here, yet you now go back upon +your word, and make a fool of me!” cried the other. + +“You brought me here, Peter, as your catspaw—just as I have always +been, ever since I took that first false step!” remarked the old +fellow, who owed his present snug position to the man standing before +him. + +“And what have you to complain of, pray? I’ve assisted you, exercised +my influence on your behalf, yet this is how you thank me! You cast mud +in my face!” exclaimed the wealthy man in quick anger. + +“I shall not do this,” said Berentsen. “I have decided.” + +“You shall! Come, it’s just on ten o’clock. We shall be late. Women are +impatient creatures.” + +“Not a step further will I go in this dirty business, Peter—even for +you.” + +“But I say you shall!” was Sundt’s determined response. “You’ve +suddenly grown conscientious, a trait which in you, my dear Jorgen, is +unusual. Conscientiousness is a very bad sign. No man who entertains +such thoughts can ever hope to prosper in these bright days, believe +me!” + +“I—I’d rather starve than do this to-night,” declared Jorgen, his eyes +staring before him, as though confronted by his own terrible doom. + +“You can’t afford to starve, my dear friend,” replied the other with a +short, harsh laugh. “Besides, think of little Thyra!” + +“It is of her that I’m thinking,” he said. “What would she say if she +knew that her father was—was—a—— But enough! Let us part, Peter. Let us +part now. I will get back to the north alone.” + +“Listen!” exclaimed the red-faced man angrily. “You are not going to +play the fool like this. Come,” and he linked his arm in that of his +friend. “Come, at once, and don’t show the white feather. I never +before thought you were a coward, Jorgen.” + +“I’m no coward!” cried his companion fiercely. “No man has ever called +me that. But I refuse to commit this crime at your bidding!” + +“You will act as I have arranged,” replied the other. “If not—well, you +know the consequences.” + +“Yes,” said the old fellow in a low, strained voice, “imprisonment for +me—and ruin for the child!” + +“You have to choose one or the other,” the coarse-faced man remarked. +“As I told you not long ago, you must choose between prosperity and +ruin. None but an imbecile would choose the latter—which must mean your +exposure to Thyra.” + +The man addressed bit his lip. His hard hands were clenched. Within +him a fierce struggle was taking place, for he knew alas! too +well, that this man, who had amassed a huge fortune by his callous +unscrupulousness, now held him entirely in his power. + +He was thinking of Thyra—his own little Thyra, to whom he was so +entirely devoted. + +Peter Sundt, quick to notice his companion’s indecision, linked his arm +in his again, and drew him slowly forward, saying: + +“Come, man. Don’t be a fool! You can’t draw back now. Why discuss such +an unpleasant subject further? Come—or we shall be too late.” + +And the old harbour-master, his face pale, his eyes set straight before +him at the long dark vista of the palms, allowed himself to be slowly +led towards that fatal rendezvous, knowing, alas! that to refuse at +that, the eleventh, hour would mean an exposure that he dare not face. + +He was as a fly in the web of the spider. The more he struggled, the +more inextricable became his position. So he only sighed bitterly, and +with set teeth bowed to the inevitable. + +It was not long before they reached the obscure little hotel, the +Palmiers—a place in a narrow street which make a speciality of cheap +table d’hôte luncheons and dinners. And into its small private entrance +both men entered, Jorgen Berentsen holding his breath, terrified at the +act which he was thus forced to commit. + +Five minutes afterwards Peter Sundt emerged alone, and retracing his +steps, sauntered slowly back to the Place du Casino, where, beneath the +dark shadow of the trees, he halted, anxiously awaiting the man over +whom he exercised a baneful influence. + +For a full twenty minutes he idled up and down, impatiently smoking +a cigar, until suddenly Jorgen’s big, square figure loomed up in the +darkness. + +“Well?” inquired Sundt anxiously. + +“It’s done!” answered the old fellow breathlessly, in a low, hoarse +voice. “Let’s get away from this horrible place—away anywhere.” + +“First let’s go across to the Cafe de Paris yonder. You want a drop of +brandy, no doubt. Then we’ll go on board. By eleven, we’ll weigh anchor +and be away.” + +They crossed to the big, brilliantly-lit cafe, where, at the small +tables, many well-dressed men and women were drinking in the interval +of staking their money on the tables of the Casino opposite. + +Upon the terrace outside Peter’s quick eye caught sight of the +sweet-faced young Parisienne in pale pink chiffon and black hat, seated +alone at a little table placed in the shadow against the wall. + +He therefore turned, and walking along the terrace both men took seats +at a table near. So agitated was the old harbour-master that he, at +first, did not notice her. + +It was only when he followed the direction of his companion’s eyes that +he recognised the girl whom they had encountered in the Rooms. He saw +that she had turned her head, and was staring straight at Peter Sundt +with a wild, fixed look, as though she had seen an apparition. + +With her dark eyes still upon him, she drained her tiny liqueur glass. +Then her pretty lips relaxed into a smile, half of recognition, half of +defiance. + +Peter Sundt raised his hat politely, and was in the act of crossing to +where she was seated in the shadow, when she half-rose from her seat. +Her face suddenly became blanched and drawn, her jaws were fixed, and +next instant, even before he could reach her, she had collapsed upon +her chair and, reeling sideways, fell heavily upon the stone flooring. + +In a moment both men dashed across to her, and all became confusion, +for there were many people seated in the vicinity. + +The first belief was that she had merely fainted, but next moment a +terrible truth became evident. Upon the little marble table lay a tiny +phial about two inches long, and empty. Jorgen took it up and smelt it. +The odour was that of almonds. + +In a few seconds two agents of police were on the spot, not, however, +before the old harbour-master had realized the ghastly fact. + +The unfortunate girl, like many another butterfly whose wings are +singed in that gilded inferno opposite, had deliberately swallowed a +fatal draught! + +The police wrested her lifeless body from Peter Sundt, who held it +tenderly in his arms, and as they did so the red-faced man, now pale as +the poor girl herself, placed his hand wildly to his brow, and shrieked +aloud: + +“_Dead!_ My God!—she’s dead! This, then, is my punishment—the vengeance +of Heaven!” + + + + +CHAPTER III + +THE END OF THE WORLD + + +“What secret can father have with Peter Sundt? Poor dad! He looked so +scared and worried! What can have happened, I wonder, to bring Peter so +far up here again to Vardo? It’s just seven months ago since dad went +south with him.” + +The sweet-faced girl of twenty, whose soft, fair hair streamed out upon +the icy wind, spoke thus to herself as, resting upon a great brown +boulder, she fixed her big grey, wide-open eyes straight before her +upon the limitless expanse of stormy Arctic Ocean. + +That wide waste of grey, tempest-tossed waters, the very edge of +civilisation, were assuredly a sea of despair. + +Thyra Berentsen, the bright, merry girl of sweet, almost child-like, +beauty, lived amid surroundings which were the most dismal and +dispiriting in all that barren, ice-bound, Arctic land of Finmarken. + +The month was August, yet she wore a thick blue beret, a fur-lined coat +of Astrakhan, and on her hands wool-lined mitts of leather, for there, +far east of the North Cape, the thermometer was at freezing point. + +Upon a small rocky islet, bare of the slightest trace of vegetation, +swept constantly by the cutting blizzards, and buffeted by the long, +dark, oily-looking rollers of the Polar Sea, stands a tiny town of low +wooden houses, mostly roofed by turf. Such is Vardo, the last post +of civilisation in the Far North, and the point of departure of many +Arctic explorers who have gone to their graves, and assuredly the +most wretched, lonely, and inhospitable spot of any between the high, +frowning Nordykn, standing sheer from the glacial ocean, to the White +Sea. + +On the one side, from the rolling waters, rise the high grey cliffs of +the mainland of Europe, while on the other lies the wide, open ocean, +where the long breakers roll in from Nova Zembla, the ice-pack, and the +unknown frozen Land of the No Return. The wind, the tearing, icy wind, +swept that August afternoon straight from the unexplored regions of the +Farthest North, causing the girl to button her fur coat tightly at the +throat and thrust her mittened hands into her pockets. + +“I wonder,” she repeated to herself, “I wonder what it all means?” + +Ever and anon she glanced along the path in the direction of the +wretched little log-built town, as though in expectation of someone +whom she was awaiting. + +Behind her, across that narrow strait, lay the great lone land, where +even the stunted Arctic willow was unable to take root, and where, +indeed, nothing grew save the carpet of a myriad different species of +wild flowers, the red cloud-berries, and the yellow reindeer-moss; +the dismal uninhabited wilderness of barren rock and sky, of river +and limitless tundra, snow-covered plains in winter, but in summer a +treacherous, mosquito-infested morass. + +In all that wild Norrland beyond the Polar Circle no spot is more +bleak or more desolate, nor is the climate with its grey fogs, its +continuous blizzards and iron frosts, more terrible anywhere than +here. Hammerfest, on the western coast, is the most northerly town in +the world, but not the coldest, for it is sheltered by the island of +Soro opposite. Vardo, on the contrary, standing out as it does in the +Arctic Sea, is more open and exposed than any other inhabited point +along that terrible rock-bound coast. Its community is, indeed, a hardy +one of sturdy fisher-folk, who year in, year out, battle fiercely with +the elements for their bare existence. + +Here, it is not the land, but the sea, that is ploughed. Men do not sow +and wield the scythe in summer, but reap in mid-winter without having +sowed. In the months in which the long night holds its undisputed sway, +when the light of the sun has given place to that of the moon, and the +rosy flush of dawn and sunset to the glow of the Northern Lights, then +those dwellers in the Far North gather in the rich harvest of the sea. + +Yet the sky there is ever low and grey, the sea ever stormy, and +the winds ever howling, while the temperature, even in August, is +that of December in our own much-maligned England. The midnight sun +which proves so attractive to European tourists who go in comfortable +steamers, and entertained by string-bands, up as far as the North Cape, +gives its continuous light in summer; yet, alas! is no compensation for +those long months of the Polar night, when God’s blessed sunlight is +entirely withheld from that dismal, grey, forgotten land. + +In such surroundings, and amid those rough, uncultured toilers of +the sea, Thyra—the only daughter of old Captain Berentsen, the +harbour-master—had been born, and now lived. + +The bleak monotony and stern wildness of everything was, alas! terribly +gloomy. The tourist steamers never went so far as Vardo. + +Notwithstanding those tempestuous winds, the very air was polluted, +for every now and then a breath of the sickening effluvia of the +fish-drying houses, the fish-guano works, the whale boileries or the +fish offal decaying everywhere in the streets, reached the girl’s +nostrils where she sat. + +“I wonder why dear old dad is so troubled?” she repeated to herself, +sighing as she gazed blankly around upon the cheerless scene, so +colourless and so inhospitable. Across her mind at that moment flashed +the recollection of Christiania, with all its brightness, its movement +and its civilisation; the capital in which she had been for some years +at school. But her schooldays being over, she had, three years ago, +returned home—returned to an exile’s life among those rude, uncouth +fisher-folk, an existence terribly galling to a girl so accomplished +and so refined. + +She thought of her old schoolfellows living their happy lives, +possessing friends and enjoying the sunshine of the south. + +And she sighed again. + +Hers, alas! was a life of dreary loneliness and cramped confinement +upon that narrow, treeless islet, with its eternal odour of decaying +codfish. Her life was as monotonous as the scene itself. All her +day-dreams down in Christiania had come to naught. Her mother had died +long ago, and her father’s household consisted only of herself and +Feyia, the old Lapp woman who acted as housekeeper. + +In all Vardo there was no girl of similar age or similar education with +whom she could associate, for the simple reason that no man would dwell +with his family amid that savage sea if he could possibly avoid it. + +Reflecting upon this, and still wondering why the red-faced old Peter +Sundt, the wealthy fish-exporter, had come up from the south to see her +father, she saw on glancing towards the town the tall figure of a young +man striding towards her. + +The quick flush of colour tinging her soft cheeks told its own tale. He +waved his hand, and, smiling, she waved back to the man to whom she was +secretly betrothed. + +“I am so sorry, darling, that I’m late!” he cried in French, lifting +his cap as he took her mittened hand. “I hope you have not waited very +long. The mail has just landed, and I was compelled to reply to an +important letter.” + +“I have not been here long, Paul,” was her reply in the same language. +“Have any strangers arrived by the mail boat?” + +“Only two Englishmen. They’ve come up from Tromso, the captain +told me. I haven’t seen them yet. Really,” he added, “one is quite +out-of-the-world up here, with only a mail once a fortnight to create a +little excitement and to bring us news from the land of the sunshine.” + +They were standing together. He was looking into her raised beautiful +countenance with his dark eyes full of passionate love, while the gaze +of those blue unfathomable eyes that held him so irresistibly beneath +their spell was fixed and unwavering. + +Paul Grinevitch was Russian. His knowledge of Norwegian, or of Finnish, +was not very extensive, therefore they talked either in French or in +English, both of which languages Thyra spoke extremely well. About +thirty, tall, athletic, with a handsome, refined face and a small dark +moustache, its ends trained upwards in German fashion, he was extremely +courteous and gentlemanly, while his bearing was undoubtedly military, +though at the moment he was wearing a suit of thick, rough tweeds. + +Six months before, he had landed one afternoon from the mail-steamer +which had come up from Tromso, and becoming unaccountably attracted +by the remoteness of the place from civilisation, had taken up his +quarters in the turf-roofed house of an old fisherman, with whom he +had made many excursions in the neighbourhood in search of sport. + +Any stranger landing at the little place is at once known to everybody; +therefore, within a few hours of his arrival, Thyra had found herself +introduced to him, and it had been, on the part of both of them, a case +of love at first sight. + +Paul Grinevitch had pretended that the reason his visit had been so +long protracted was because of the excellent fishing and shooting which +the neighbourhood afforded. But truth to tell, the sole attraction was +the beautiful Thyra, from whom he was unable to tear himself away. + +They met—again and again. She had possessed the young Russian, body and +soul. + +He had told her little about himself, very little, save that he had +been at college in Moscow, and that his parents lived away in the far +south at Odessa. That he was a gentleman, old Jorgen Berentsen had +known instinctively from the very first moment of their acquaintance +and that he was comfortably off was likewise apparent. Letters came to +him sometimes bearing on their envelopes a golden coronet and cipher, +and it was whispered in Vardo that he was the son of a Russian Privy +Councillor in the Czar’s _entourage_. + +Indeed, on one occasion he had, for one of the fish merchants, +scribbled a note to the captain of the port of Archangel, and the +bearer of the note had returned and told everybody how all-powerful the +recommendation had been, and with what respect the Russian official had +treated him. + +Therefore, all Vardo knew that Paul Grinevitch was a gentleman, even +though they regarded the reason of his continued residence among them +as something of a mystery. It was known that he was frequently in +Thyra’s company—and everybody wondered. + +They were, indeed, a handsome pair, as they stood together at the edge +of those cold, grim waters. + +He was in love with this beautiful daughter of the Arctic—in love with +her honestly, deeply, completely. Paul, to whom the smartest salons +of Petersburg, of Moscow, and of Paris were ever open, loved the +sweet-faced daughter of the old weather-beaten sailor of the Polar seas. + +He had not released her hand, but stood with it held in his own, gazing +into those deep, child-like eyes that held him ever in such fascination. + +“Thyra!” he exclaimed in a deep, low, earnest tone, as a sigh escaped +him. + +“Well?” she asked, looking up into his face as she smiled +mischievously, all trace of the troubled expression upon her +countenance having vanished. + +“Thyra—my own darling!” he cried. “I—I—I want to tell you something, +but—well, I—I can’t!” And he sighed again and drew himself up, his +passionate gaze still fixed immovably upon her. + +“Why not?” she asked simply. “If it is a secret, surely you can trust +me? Am I not your betrothed?” + +“Ah, yes!” he cried hoarsely. “It is just because of that—because we +are to marry in a few weeks that I cannot tell you.” + +The girl stared at her lover in blank surprise. She had never before +seen him so distressed. What could he mean? Had the mail just in +brought him bad news? + +A serious, apprehensive look overspread her beautiful face—a face that +was,—indeed, peerless in its perfection. The soft sweetness of her +features, so well-cut and so regular, was such that it would assuredly +have caused comment even among the women of the _haut monde_ in the +Park or in the Bois. Hers was a type of rare, delicate beauty, with her +unfathomable eyes, her well formed nose, her pointed chin and dimpled +cheeks; a beauty that was delightfully innocent and child-like, without +being insipid; a beauty the more remarkable considering the rigour of +that terrible climate, and how soon, alas! the faces of the sturdy men +and women of the Finmarken coast—the end of the civilised world—become +hard, furrowed and weather-beaten. + +The long strands of fair hair blown out upon the wind were soft as +floss silk, and as she smiled she disclosed an even row of pearly teeth +behind dainty lips, bearing upon them the true bow of Cupid, and made +for kisses. + +Yes, Thyra was lovely. The young Russian told himself that again, as +indeed he had done a thousand times within those past six months. +Among the girls he had met in Paris and in Petersburg, in Monte Carlo +or in Rome, he had never met one so beautiful, so dainty, so full of +inexpressible charm. + +And she was his—his very own. She had promised, three weeks ago, to be +his wife, and old Jorgen, the bluff old retired Arctic sea-captain, had +given his consent upon one condition—that the strictest secrecy was to +be observed regarding the engagement. + +Why, they both wondered. What motive had the old fellow in withholding +the news from that tiny, gossiping, rough-and-ready little world of +Vardo? + +“Paul,” exclaimed the girl, slowly twining her soft arm around her +lover’s neck, regardless of the fact that they might be observed. “Do +tell me, dearest, what is troubling you. Why does our forthcoming +marriage prevent you telling the truth to me—the woman who is to be +your wife?” she asked in English in a low, persuasive tone, raising her +lips to his and fondly kissing him with long, clinging caress. That +kiss itself was assuredly enough to make any man’s head reel. + +The young man sighed. She noticed his brow contract as he bit his +nether lip involuntarily. + +“Because, my darling—because it is a secret which, though I long to +confide it to you, I—I dare not. Indeed, I must not. You are to be my +wife—my own love—” And he held her with trembling hands and kissed her +with the fierce passion of affection. “But there—I was a fool to have +mentioned it—to have aroused your apprehension, my own dear heart. I so +long to be able to tell you, and yet—and yet—” + +“Yet what, Paul?” + +“I cannot. I—I dare not.” + +“Not when I, Thyra, ask you to tell me? Not when I make an urgent +request to you—the man who is to be my husband?” she asked in a voice +of quiet, earnest reproach. + +“No, no!” he cried, in quick distress, his gloved hand clenched in +desperation. “No, darling; don’t put it like that. Forget, I beg of +you; forget my unpardonable foolishness in mentioning a matter which, +after all, does not concern you, and has naturally aroused within you +some grave forebodings. We love each other, surely that is sufficient? +Come, let us put all gloomy thoughts aside.” + +“Then your thoughts are actually gloomy ones?” she exclaimed, in quick +alarm. “Why do you try to conceal the truth from me, Paul? This is not +like you.” + +“Because, my darling, in this matter it is, for the present, imperative +that—that I should remain silent. Silence is best for you, and for me,” +answered the young man. “One day you will know; but, Thyra, though I +regret deeply that I cannot explain matters, you must, for the present, +remain in ignorance. I cannot bring myself to tell you. No, I will +not, even though I could. You love me, my own dear heart, therefore +why should I bring upon you sorrow, apprehension, perhaps a great +bitterness of heart? Let us live—let us be happy, even though our +bliss may be fleeting as your summer snows. You are mine, my own sweet +well-beloved—my own darling wife that is to be!” + + + + +CHAPTER IV + +THE TOUCHSTONE OF MISFORTUNE + + +Thyra’s home was very plain and simple. Up there, in the far-away +North, they are all simple folk, honest, hardy, strong of heart and +strong of hand. + +The dismal little street of Vardo consisted of two rows of low, +wood-built, inartistic houses, mostly without an upper floor, the +majority being roofed with peat, upon which grew a varied assortment +of the Arctic mosses. One or two of the houses were tiled, and one of +these—one somewhat superior to the others, inasmuch as it possessed an +upper storey, where curtains showed at the big, ugly square windows—was +occupied by old Captain Berentsen. + +On the same evening that Paul had made that inexplicable declaration to +Thyra the girl was seated in the upstairs dining-room with her father, +her head bent beneath the lamp trying to read an English novel, while +old Jorgen himself lounged in his easy chair near the stove, smoking +his big Norwegian pipe. + +In Vardo those who possess a house of one storey live upstairs because +the deep snows of winter too frequently shut out the light from the +windows of the lower floor. The room wherein sat the pretty girl +and her grey-bearded, weather-beaten father was not a particularly +comfortable one, if judged by our southern standard of luxury. The +floor was carpetless, the chairs were cane-bottomed, the walls were +of wood, and upon them were one or two cheap Russian oleographs of +brilliant colouring. Over the door hung a small _ikon_, or holy +picture, for Thyra’s mother had been Russian, from Archangel. + +At one end of the room was the buffet of varnished pine, while at the +other was a cottage piano, one of the very few in that most northerly +point of Lapland. The windows were double, to keep out the cold, and +before them were two or three sickly-looking flowers in pots. + +The pot-plant is the hobby of the people of Finmarken. In almost every +house one will find a wretched little geranium or two, with their +blooms dwarfed by the uncongenial climate and surroundings, or a pet +rose, stunted and unhealthy, with its blossom drooping or its bud +already fading before it had opened. + +As nothing grew out of doors in that high latitude, Thyra had brought +up those plants with her from Christiania, a thousand miles south, when +she returned from school, and she had carefully tended and nursed them +ever since. + +With her elbows upon the table, she was deeply absorbed in the English +sixpenny edition of a popular detective story which one of her old +schoolfellows had sent her. In the zone of light from the small +petroleum table-lamp her face, now that her cap was removed, showed +even more perfect in its beauty, so sweet and so thoroughly feminine. + +Outside the storm howled fiercely, the tearing wind, its force unbroken +from the ice-pack, shaking the windows and ever and anon causing the +very house to tremble. But was it not the usual condition of things in +August? Therefore neither father nor daughter made remark. + +Old Jorgen Berentsen, sitting there in the shadow watching his +daughter as he smoked, was assuredly a fine figure of a man—a man of +many adventures. On one occasion his vessel had been wrecked on the +barren coast of Melville Land, in East Greenland, and after months +of suffering and starvation, during which all his companions died +except two, he had been rescued by another whaling vessel. On a second +occasion the ship he commanded had foundered, and the crew managed to +reach land at the terrible delta of the Lena, in Northern Siberia, near +where De Long and the party of the _Jeannette_ had perished two years +before. + +Little wonder was it, therefore, that his brow should be so deeply +furrowed, that his hair should be grey, that his voice should be gruff, +or that his strong hand should possess such an iron grip. + +Forty years of navigating the Arctic Ocean, first high up in the +crow’s-nest and afterwards as captain, had stirred within him the call +of the Polar Mystery as it stirs every man. Even now, retired as he +was, with the sinecure of harbour-master, and acting as vice-consul +for several foreign countries, he often closed his eyes and imagined +himself back again upon the bridge of his grimy, evil-smelling whaler +with the biting wind whistling through the rigging and the brilliant +aurora waving across the northern sky. + +Living as he constantly had done in the land of the Great Night, his +aid and advice had been sought by almost every Arctic explorer of +the past twenty years. It was he who had provided the sled-dogs for +Nansen and for Jackson; he who had given advice to Shackleton upon his +equipment for the Antarctic; he who had been consulted by Peary, by +the Duke of the Abruzzi, and by Wellman of airship fame. To him the +ice-bound coasts of Franz Josef Land, of Nova Zembla, of Spitzbergen, +and of Greenland, with their steel-blue glaciers and snow-covered +bluffs, were all well known. Indeed, he knew far more of Arctic life, +Arctic conditions, and Arctic mysteries than any Fellow of the Royal +Geographical Society of England. + +Nowadays, however, his adventures were all of the past. His wife was +dead and, with his daughter to bear him company, he led a frugal, +quiet, uneventful life, a life that bored him somewhat in summer and +became well-nigh intolerable in the three months of perpetual night +from November to January. Those dead, dark, bitterly cold days, when +the lamp burned perpetually and when the little town was silent as +the grave, made him long for the old activity at sea and the keen +excitement of hunting the leviathan of the deep. + +The last days before his retirement had been spent as captain of a +passenger vessel between Bergen and New York, hence he had learned to +speak English in addition to his native Norwegian, and Finnish and +French. + +A ring at the door-bell below aroused them. Thyra raised her head from +her book with a sigh. At that moment she did not wish to be disturbed. + +“Oh, I quite forgot, my dear,” the old man exclaimed. “The _Mercur_ +came in this afternoon, and I asked the captain to come in and bring +his two passengers, young Englishmen. I met them on the quay. They seem +to be gentlemen.” + +Thyra frowned slightly as she heard old Freyia, the Lap woman who acted +as housekeeper and maid-of-all-work, go to the door, and next instant +came the cheery voice of the captain of the _Mercur_, the black old +cargo-boat which, trading between Vardo and Hamburg, and calling at +all the ports down the Norwegian coast, brought them the mail from the +south. + +When each six or seven weeks the _Mercur_, with her high black funnel +and white bands, appeared through the driving mists and entered the +harbour it was always a day of activity, for the captain was highly +popular everywhere, and with the visits of the _Mercur_ came news of +friends, and the stores without which the dwellers on that remote +little island could not exist. + +“Well, Miss Thyra,” exclaimed the captain cheerily as he entered the +room. “And how are you getting on up here, after Christiania, eh?” + +He was a tall, rather good-looking, fair-moustached man, well set-up, +and extremely smart both in manner and dress. Well known to all along +the Norwegian coast as something of a dandy, his uniform was always +spotless, the braid upon it was untarnished, and his boots always well +shined, even though he sailed those stormy seas. Besides, though he +was Norwegian born and bred, his name, curiously enough was typically +English—John Martin. + +“Well, Captain Martin,” exclaimed the girl, with a laugh, as she cast a +furtive glance at the two strangers behind him, “here it is scarcely so +gay as in Christiania, of course. Yet it is my duty to be here and look +after dad, so, of course, I must not grumble.” + +“Allow me to introduce two friends of mine,” the captain said in fair +English. Then, indicating the elder of the pair of Englishmen, a +good-looking, dark-haired, merry-eyed fellow in a well-cut suit of blue +serge, he said, “This is Mr. Jervoise—Miss Thyra Berentsen.” + +The other, a short, rather thick-set man of thirty-two, with a small +moustache and wearing gold pince-nez, he introduced as Doctor Owen Odd, +adding, “These gentlemen have been with me all the way from Bergen—my +only passengers this trip.” + +“And a most delightful time we’ve had, Miss Berentsen,” declared Dick +Jervoise. “Your friend the captain has been untiring in his efforts to +make us comfortable in the heavy weather we ran into after rounding the +North Cape.” + +Thyra raised her eyes to his, and regarding him for a second, saw +honesty in his gaze. Then she smiled answering: + +“Everybody knows how pleasant Captain Martin makes a voyage. I’ve been +with him twice down to the south.” + +“And I hope you’ll make many more trips with me, Miss Thyra,” declared +the fair-haired man who, ashore, had exchanged his spotless uniform for +thick grey tweeds. + +At old Jorgen’s invitation the trio sat down, the two Englishmen +delighted with their experience. It was unique to be entertained in a +house so far north—and by such a delightful hostess, with her beautiful +face and her pretty broken English. + +The four men were soon chatting, while Thyra, instantly at ease with +her English visitors, busied herself in setting out the little glasses +for the vodka. + +Martin was explaining to his English friends the adventurous career +of the old man who sat there smoking his long pipe with its carved +meerschaum bowl, and they were listening, entranced by the captain’s +story. + +The old fellow, however, modestly disclaimed all title to be classed +among Arctic explorers. + +“I’m only a whaling skipper,” he declared, laughing. “My explorations +have been done out of necessity, and were the outcome of mishap.” + +Dick Jervoise glanced around the small, plain room, devoid of any +cosiness. He noted the small, sickly looking flowers, the double +windows, the big stove roaring though it was an August night. All was +so strange, so unusual, so extraordinary after the civilisation and +luxury of London. + +He fixed his eyes upon the beautiful countenance of the girl who +offered him the Russian cigarettes. In all his wide experience never +had he seen a face so sweet, so entirely perfect. And he noticed that +Owen was also gazing at her in wrapt admiration. + +She raised her big grey eyes from the box suddenly, and their gaze met. + +In the white lamplight Captain Martin saw the slight flush rise to the +girl’s cheeks. He smiled within himself for, as a bachelor, he was +never averse to a mild flirtation. He knew well how much the girl had +been admired down in Christiania, and had heard how she might have made +a most excellent match with one of the richest men in Norway if old +Jorgen had not ordered her to return home to that life of grey monotony +which was surely sufficient to crush all the gaiety and brightness out +of any young girl’s heart. + +For nearly an hour they sat together chatting, Thyra explaining to the +two visitors many interesting facts concerning the nomad Laplanders +and their habits—some of whom, dressed in their reindeer skins, they +had seen that afternoon—while the pair sat listening, entranced by the +music of her voice. + +Presently the door-bell rang again, and a few seconds later a short, +stout, pompous man with a red, pimply face, and a big diamond in his +cravat, entered the room. + +It was Peter Sundt. + +Thyra held the man in distinct dislike. She had hated him ever since +she was a child. + +Of late he had seemed to hold some irresistible power over her father, +a power that was, to her, an entire and complete mystery. + +As he entered she did not fail to notice how uneasily her father +stirred in his armchair, or that the greeting extended to him was not +that genuine, hearty one with which he had met the captain of the +_Mercur_. + +What secret was there between them? + +The Englishmen were introduced, and the coarse, red-faced, loud-voiced +man tossed off his vodka at a gulp, and seemed to treat everybody with +supreme disdain—even Thyra herself. + +Her eyes again met those of Dick Jervoise, and in them he discerned a +mutely expressed disgust. To him it seemed that society in Vardo was +not very refined, and he pitied her, compelled as she was to live amid +such depressing, soul-killing surroundings. + +At last Martin and his friends rose to go, and Jervoise, promising to +call again before the _Mercur_ sailed, bowed over the girl’s hand, +followed by the doctor. + +She accompanied them downstairs to the door, leaving her father alone +with Peter Sundt. + +The instant she had left the room the coarse-featured man rose, and +approaching the grey-haired captain, bent and asked in a low, hard +voice: + +“Well, have you decided? I’ve come here for your answer, remember.” + +The old man removed his pipe slowly from his lips and looked straight +into the other’s face. + +“I—I haven’t had sufficient time to consider. I—” + +“But you will decide to-night—now—before I leave this house,” declared +the man firmly. “If your answer is in the negative you know well what +the result will be.” + +“Ah! I see,” cried the other fiercely. “You—you now hold the dagger at +my throat, because you know that I am utterly in your hands. Are you a +man that you should make this demand, Peter Sundt, or are you one of +hell’s fiends?” + +But Peter Sundt, quite unperturbed by his victim’s outburst, coolly +poured out another glass of vodka and tossed it off, a smile of triumph +upon his pimply face as he did so. + +He knew that Jorgen Berentsen was as wax in his hands. + + + + +CHAPTER V + +AN ALLEGATION + + +“That’s a very neat and dainty little girl, the harbour-master’s +daughter,” remarked the doctor to his friend as, half an hour later, +they were seated together in the narrow little saloon of the _Mercur_, +having a cigarette prior to turning in. For a month the black old +steamer, with its odoriferous cargo of dried fish, whale oil, and cod +liver oil had been their home, and their stomachs had long ago grown +used to the flavour. To the uninitiated, however, the effluvia was +poisonous, especially in a rough sea. + +Dick Jervoise agreed, but remained unusually thoughtful. Truth to tell, +the sweet face of Thyra Berentsen had so impressed him that he could +think of nothing else. Those soft grey eyes, that slim, dainty figure, +and that musical speech in three or four languages, had charmed him. +Was it not entirely and utterly unexpected to find up there, so far +north beyond civilisation, amid that rough, hard-handed fisher-folk, a +girl so perfectly beautiful, so sweet and so child-like? + +“By Jove!” declared Owen Odd, “she’d make a sensation even in the park +in town! Fancy a girl like that being doomed to live in this awful +place, where codfish is the sole and staple food and industry. When +we started, Dick, I never thought we’d get into so high a latitude as +this.” + +“Well, we’ve taken Martin’s advice,” replied his friend. “He said if we +rounded the North Cape we’d get into a part of the world that, though +bleak and rugged, would interest us.” + +“It interests you, my dear fellow, because you’ve been such a +traveller; but for myself, who’ve had to stay at home grinding at +hospital for my degree, I confess I’d prefer a warm climate with palms +and oranges and girls in black mantillas. You’re too _blase_ for +that, I know. You spend every winter on the Riviera, or in the south +of Spain, while I’m forced to practise medicine among the poor of +Hammersmith.” + +Dick Jervoise was still staring straight before him, hardly conscious +of what his friend the young doctor was saying. + +“Well,” he exclaimed at last, with a faint smile, “the air up here is a +bit fresher than in King Street, Hammersmith, isn’t it? Why, they say +that along this coast, though the wind is so keen and the climate so +terrible, there are no cases of consumption.” + +“Because all the weaklings here die young, my dear old chap. Only the +tough ones can survive. Fancy spending the winter here—three months of +perpetual night—ugh!” + +Dick, his mind still fixed upon the girl to whom the captain had that +evening introduced him, said: + +“I don’t know, Owen, whether it struck you to-night the same as myself, +but somehow the face of Thyra Berentsen is, to me, a face of tragedy.” + +“Tragedy!” laughed the young doctor from Hammersmith. “I don’t quite +follow you, Dick.” + +“Well, I scarcely know how to explain myself,” was the other’s reply. +“In the countenance of some people I find their destiny portrayed +quite distinctly. Perhaps other people do not possess the same faculty +of—well, divination, shall we call it? But in the rare cases in which +I have discerned the future in a person’s face I have seldom been in +error.” + +“That’s curious,” exclaimed Odd, suddenly interested. “And so you +foretell tragedy and unhappiness for the pretty Thyra, eh?” + +“Yes. I fear, alas! that unhappiness will be her lot, even though she’s +now so merry and light-hearted.” + +The young medical man shrugged his shoulders. He was used to the quaint +ideas, and sometimes rather eccentric whims, of his old friend. + +To him it seemed a quaint conceit to be able to foretell a girl’s +future by her face. A woman’s past may often be read in her eyes, but +to divine the future was something novel. + +Both men smoked on in silence. + +They had been at Eton together, and afterwards at Oxford. Subsequently, +however, their ways in life had parted. Owen Odd, the fair-haired, +thick-set young man, had studied medicine at Edinburgh, where he had +taken his M. D. degree. He then expended what little capital he had +in the purchase of a partnership in Exeter, but this did not turn out +well. His partner bolted, and died abroad, and Odd, until he could pull +himself together, had to be content with the not very lucrative post of +assistant to a doctor living in Bridge Avenue, Hammersmith. + +With Richard Jervoise it had been different. For him life held all +the sweets and but few of the sorrows. The second son of Sir James +Jervoise, Baronet, ex-Lord Mayor of London and underwriter at Lloyd’s, +his lot had always been cast in pleasant places. When he was twenty-two +his father, who had amassed a fortune in the City, had died, leaving +the snug little Hertfordshire estate to Richard’s elder brother James, +who of course, also succeeded to the baronetcy, and to him bequeathed +property which brought him in a clear two thousand a year. + +It was not much, as money goes nowadays, but it had enabled him to +lead a life of easy luxury, travelling hither and thither just where +his fancy willed, and now, at thirty-five, he found himself already a +thorough-going cosmopolitan. + +He was of a quiet, studious nature, almost the exact opposite to his +elder brother, James, who had married a vain, giddy little woman six +years before and was generally believed to have run through the greater +portion of his inheritance. In order to be near his friend Odd, Dick +Jervoise occupied a cosy little flat in Castelnau Mansions, Barnes, +that big red-brick building which lies just across Hammersmith Bridge, +commanding a wide sweep of the Thames. When he was at home, but few +evenings passed that they did not sit together smoking and gossiping. + +Owen’s practice lay mostly among the struggling poor in the back +streets of Hammersmith, for his principal held the post of parish +doctor, and often when he would relate some tale of distress—a sick +widow with half a dozen hungry little ones, or an ailing father with +a motherless family—Dick’s hand went instinctively to his pocket and +never withdrew without a little gift for them. + +Though of such a wandering, restless disposition, and though he spent +much of his time at the gay Continental resorts, the dark-haired, +good-looking man’s chief hobby was the study of folk-lore, a book upon +which he intended one day to write. + +Owen and he had long planned a trip together, but the absence of a +doctor’s assistant for long periods is always difficult. At last, +however, it had been arranged, a _locum tenens_ had been provided, and +already the pair had been away from London seven weeks—weeks that had +been extremely enjoyable, even though they were sailing that stormy +Arctic sea. + +If the truth were told, the fair-haired Thyra had charmed both men, +even though neither of them was very impressionable where the fair sex +were concerned. Both had already had their little affairs of the heart +long ago. That of Dick Jervoise had been a somewhat painful one, and in +consequence he had, like so many other men before him, made a solemn +vow of celibacy. His friend knew some of the facts though not all. They +were unpleasant facts, hence he never mentioned or recalled them. He +knew of the unfortunate affair and, with a true friend’s solicitude, he +was careful always to avoid any reference whatsoever to the subject. + +He recollected Dick’s silent grief and unspoken bitterness; he +remembered the great change that had been wrought in him by the +now-buried episode. + +Thus were they smoking in silence when John Martin entered the little +saloon, and taking down his long Norwegian pipe, slowly began to fill +it, asking in his broken English: + +“Well, what do you think of Vardo, eh?” + +“Interesting for half a day, captain,” Jervoise replied; “but a +terrible place.” + +“Yes,” admitted the captain, with a laugh. “Not much amusement here, +is there? Poor old Berentsen! He must find it pretty dull, after his +active life. But there, he’s an Arctic sailor, body and soul.” + +“Pretty hard on his daughter, to be doomed to live here,” the doctor +remarked. “She told me she was at school at Christiania, and finds it +deadly dull after the capital.” + +“I should think she does,” replied the captain as he lit his big pipe. +“You should be up here in the long night. You’d never forget it.” + +“But what do the people do all the winter?” asked Dick. + +“Do? Well, they just manage to exist, and that’s about all,” was +Martin’s reply. “Of course, a good many Lapps come down to the coast +yonder, but beyond that all is still, and the place, five or six feet +deep in snow, is silent as the grave.” + +“It’s really a shame that such a pretty girl should be buried in such a +hole as this!” declared Jervoise. + +Instantly a strange look crossed the fair-haired captain’s face, and he +stroked his yellow moustache. Then, a few moments later, he said: + +“Well, perhaps she’s better here than down in Christiania, after all. +I’ve taken her backwards and forwards several times, and we’ve had some +merry music on that piano. She’s a splendid player, you know.” + +“Why is she better here than in the capital, captain?” inquired Owen, +his curiosity aroused. + +“Oh, for certain reasons,” Martin answered, with a smile. “After +leaving school she lived with an aunt for a year, and tasted the social +delights of the capital.” + +“You’re growing mysterious,” laughed Jervoise. “What’s the reason she +is better here, in this awful place?” + +But the captain only puffed at his long pipe, while the curl of his lip +betrayed that he knew more than he intended to tell. + +“Ah, a love affair, of course!” exclaimed Owen. + +“As an old friend of the family I happen to know the truth,” replied +the captain, suddenly growing serious; “but I’m not permitted to tell +you why she was not allowed by her father to remain in Christiania.” + +“A secret!” exclaimed Dick, bending towards the captain, very much +interested. “Was it some schoolgirl love affair?” + +“Mr. Jervoise,” replied the Arctic skipper, in a tone of slight +reproach, “that question is really not a fair one. Captain Berentsen +and his daughter are my friends, remember, and I have no right to +discuss their private affairs.” + +“Oh, pardon me,” Dick cried quickly. “I know I’m too inquisitive, +only—well, the fact is that she’s delightful, and the mystery about her +had only increased our interest.” + +“Let the mystery rest, Mr. Jervoise. It’s far best, I assure you,” +declared Martin. “No good is ever served by raking up the past, +especially where a woman is concerned.” + +The two Englishmen exchanged swift glances. What did the captain mean? + +The past? Surely that young girl with the grey eyes and sweet, innocent +face could not have had “a past!” + +“Well,” remarked Owen, “whatever may be the reason of the girl’s recall +from the south, certainly it’s very hard upon her that she should be +exiled in this dreadful hole.” + +“Best for her, doctor, best for her, I assure you,” declared the +captain emphatically, his pipe between his teeth. + +“Why?” + +“For reasons which, as I have already told you, are secret,” he +replied, his face, still sphinx-like. “The story is a curious one, I +admit. I’m sorry I’m not permitted to tell it to you. If I did it would +certainly surprise you both.” + +“Why don’t you tell us, captain?” urged Jervoise persuasively. “You’re +always so ready to explain everything. And we will both regard what you +tell us as a confidence.” + +“No, I cannot tell you the reason of Thyra Berentsen’s return to +Vardo,” responded Martin firmly. “Please, please don’t press your +question. It’s a secret—you understand—one that I am not permitted to +divulge. Captain Berentsen is one of my best friends.” + +Both the Englishmen were sadly disappointed. There was a reason—some +strong reason, they realised—why the merry, easy-going Norwegian +captain, who was always so merry and careless of everything, had so +suddenly become obdurate, refusing to tell them anything. + +The secret concerning the pretty Thyra was—well, it seemed that it was +not altogether creditable. What, they wondered, could it be? + +No explanation was forthcoming, therefore they both wished the captain +good night and went along to their respective cabins. + + + + +CHAPTER VI + +STRANGE MATTERS OF FACT + + +When Thyra, bright and fresh-looking, entered their own small +living-room on the following morning, she found her father seated in +his armchair, bent, pale, and tired. + +The room, the double windows of which were seldom, if ever, opened, +smelt strongly of the odour of overnight tobacco; the dirty vodka +glasses were still upon the table, and as the grey, sunless light +fell upon the rugged face of the burly old whaler the girl saw that +something serious was amiss. + +The room with its wooden walls, its wooden ceiling, and its gaudy +oleographs, presented a strangely bizarre appearance in the morning +light, while it was at once apparent to her that her father had not +been to bed. + +“Why, dad,” she cried in alarm, falling upon her knees before the +seated man, “what’s the matter?” + +“Nothing, my child, nothing,” the burly old fellow replied hoarsely, as +his hand wandered to her white brow and he tenderly stroked her fair +hair. + +“But there is—I know there is!” she declared. “You haven’t been to bed +at all!” + +“No,” he replied. “I couldn’t sleep, so I went out.” + +“What, were you out in all that storm? Why, it shook the house to its +foundations.” + +“Yes; it blew hard in the night. It was fortunate for Martin that he +anchored inside the breakwater. If not, the _Mercur_ would probably +have dragged her anchor and come ashore.” + +She glanced out of the window, and saw that the neighbouring roofs were +lightly covered with snow. + +“Now, dad,” the girl said, winding her soft arm about his neck +persuasively, “I demand to know why you’ve been so upset these last two +days. I’ve noticed a change in you, you know.” + +“Change in me, dear!” he exclaimed, pulling himself together with an +effort at once. “Why, what change is there in me? It’s only your fancy.” + +“No, it isn’t. Ever since Peter Sundt arrived yesterday morning you’ve +not been yourself. I’ve noticed it, so you can’t deny it!” + +The old fellow’s weather-beaten face, now pale and haggard, instantly +changed. He bit his lip, but tried, nevertheless, to look unconcerned. +His hand trembled nervously, and the girl detected in his deep-set +eyes, with their grey overhanging brows, an expression such as she had +never before seen there. + +Jorgen Berentsen was usually a deep-voiced, humorous, open-hearted man, +whose beaming face and iron-hand grip were sufficient index to his +honesty of character. But as he sat there, bending over his kneeling +daughter, he presented the picture of a heart-broken, disappointed man. + +“I didn’t know that Peter’s landing had had any extraordinary effect +upon me, dear,” he said, with a vain attempt to smile. “Perhaps I’m not +very well,” he added in faint excuse. + +“You are worried about something, dad. You must tell me,” she urged. + +“It’s nothing, really nothing,” he assured her, stirring in his chair. +“Freyia is late. Why hasn’t she prepared breakfast, I wonder.” + +“No, dad; it’s rather early. I got up because I intended to go out for +a walk.” + +“To meet Paul, eh, dear? Ah!” and the old man sighed as his bony +fingers entangled themselves in the girl’s silken tresses. + +“Why do you sigh like that, dad?” she ventured to ask, taking his other +hand and raising it to her lips. “I love Paul, and I’m sure—quite +sure—that he loves me.” + +“I know that, my dear. I’ve seen quite enough to be aware that you’re +deeply in love with one another,” remarked the old man. Then, after a +pause, he added, “I only wish—” + +“Wish what?” + +“I only wish, my dear, that we knew a little more about Paul +Grinevitch. He is always so silent concerning himself. He has told me +practically nothing.” + +“He is, at any rate, a gentleman, dad. And, further, he has ample +means. You told me that only the other day, you know. Besides, what +should I care if he hadn’t? I love him.” + +“Love!” the old man echoed in a hard voice. “Ah! yes, dear child, I +know—I know, alas! what love means to you both. I loved—once.” + +And he sighed deeply at some recollection of long ago that stirred his +memory to its depths. She was surprised, for she had never seen her +father in that strange and somewhat sentimental mood before. + +More than ever was she convinced that some secret existed between him +and that red-faced parvenu, Peter Sundt, the man who carried with him +the odour of fish into the salons of Christiania society. + +“Yes, dad,” she said, raising her soft white hand and pushing his grey +hair back from his brow. “You loved my dear mother—just as Paul loves +me.” + +The old man sat staring before him. All the natural bonhomie had fled +from his face. He was hard and silent, as though his very nature had +been frozen by the bitter thoughts that now obsessed him. + +“Why don’t you try and induce him, my dear, to tell you more about +himself,” he urged in a hoarse voice. “The fact is, Thyra, I don’t +like you, my only child, marrying a man about whom I know practically +nothing, and who, after all, may be only an adventurer.” + +“Oh, dad! you really shouldn’t talk of Paul like that!” she exclaimed +quickly, in a voice of reproach. “Within your heart you know quite well +he’s not an adventurer, or you would never have given your consent to +our secret engagement.” + +“No, dear, I don’t say he is an adventurer. Personally, I believe him +to be a very honest fellow. And certainly he would never remain here in +Vardo were it not for you. Who would stay here if they could get away?” + +The girl blushed slightly. She knew that her father spoke the truth. + +“Then why may we not make our engagement public?” she asked. “Only +yesterday Paul expressed a hope that you would soon allow us to make +our love known.” + +But the lines in the old sailor’s brow grew perceptibly deeper, and he +only drew a long breath without answering. + +“I know how lonely you will be when I am married and go south,” she +said. “We shall live in Russia, I expect. Paul talks of Moscow; but I +would prefer Petersburg, as in summer I could always come to Archangel +by rail, and get here by the mail to see you. And perhaps after I’m +married—perhaps you, dad, could get some appointment farther south, +where there are sunshine and trees and flowers.” + +Her father shook his head sadly. Appointments as harbour-master were +few and far between. There were always hundreds of applicants. For +the office he held he had been the lucky candidate out of nearly three +hundred retired seafaring men. + +“For myself, darling, I care nothing,” he said, looking into her grey +eyes fondly. “It is your own future I am thinking of. I have lived my +life, as hard a one as that of any man. What matters now if I die up +here? Besides the hot summers of the south don’t suit me. I’ve lived +almost my whole life here in the Arctic.” + +“But though I love Paul, father, I don’t feel happy if I have, after +marriage, to leave you alone,” she said quickly, her eyes fixed upon +his. + +“My dear, though I know so little of your lover’s position or of his +past I’d—well,” he went on, with a strange catch in his voice, “I’d +rather that you married him than—” + +“Than what?” she asked in quick surprise. + +“Oh—well, nothing, dear,” he declared. “I’m not very well this morning, +that’s all.” + +“Now, dad,” she cried reproachfully, “that really isn’t fair. You have +something upon your mind which you won’t tell me. Peter Sundt stayed +talking with you for a long time last night after I went to bed. What +has he been saying to upset you?” + +“Why, nothing, dear!” her father laughed faintly. “What ever caused +you to imagine that? I’ve known Peter a great many years; indeed, ever +since he used to live in a hut at Gamvik, behind the Sletnes, and go +out fishing for cod.” + +“I’m aware of that. But why would you rather see me married? Tell me +the reason,” she urged. + +“Well,” he laughed uneasily, “because you would, I know, be far happier +with a good husband than living up in this dull place so full of +the evil odours of decaying fish and so far beyond the culture and +refinement amid which you were educated. I’ve always lived the rough +life of the sea. With you, child, it is different. You are unfitted for +this climate, its long darkness and its hardships. Surely you can see +what a sacrifice it will be to me to allow your marriage, but——” and +he paused. “Well, shall I tell you the truth?” he asked, staring again +straight before him. + +“Yes, do, dear dad!” she cried suddenly, again flinging her sinuous +arms about his neck. + +“Well, all to-night I’ve been thinking and wondering—wondering if I +consented to your marriage with Paul at an early date, would you make +your father a firm and definite promise?” + +“A promise! Why, of course, dad,” she declared, kissing his wrinkled +cheek. “But do you really mean that I may marry Paul soon?” she asked +excitedly. + +For a second the old fellow hesitated, almost as though he had not the +courage to make such a promise. + +“I have decided, dear Thyra,” he answered in a deep, distinct voice, +“that if Paul Grinevitch is willing, he may marry you as soon as ever +he wishes.” + +The girl sprang up in a veritable delirium of joy. + +“Oh, dad, you are really too good!” she cried, bending and kissing him +again and again. Then, on reflection, a few moments later she saw that +this sudden decision must be due to some unexpected circumstance. + +What, she wondered, had happened to so change her father’s usual +character, to cause him to remember his own love of long ago, and at +the same time to induce him to allow her immediate marriage with Paul? + +“I give my permission, dear, on this one condition,” he said. “That you +make a solemn promise to me—that you promise——” he added hoarsely, +without, however, concluding his sentence. + +“Yes, dear dad; what am I to promise you?” + +Again he hesitated. It struck her curiously as though he were ashamed +to speak. + +“I—I want you, Thyra, to promise me one thing,” he stammered. +“Remember, I, your father, ask you to grant me this. After your +marriage there may be some evil spoken of myself—a foul calumny spread +by a blackguardly liar!” he cried, his eyes flashing suddenly. “If +there is,” he said, looking straight at her with an almost imploring +expression, “if there is, promise me that you will not believe one +single word of it—promise me that you, my own Thyra, will not misjudge +me!” + +“Father,” she answered quite quietly, for she saw how deadly earnest he +was, “I promise you. Of course, I would never believe any allegation +against you, who have been always so good and kind to me. When you +brought me back up here from Christiania, I fretted and thought you +unkind. But now I know different—you were cruel to me in my own +interests. But,” she added, taking both his hard hands in hers, “tell +me what is the nature of this calumny—what evil do you anticipate that +people may say of you?” + +“It will be sufficient for you to know when you hear it!” was the old +fellow’s broken reply. “As long as you close your ears to the lies of +my enemy, then I do not fear. The world may seek to crush, humiliate, +and ruin me with a disgraceful scandal which I am powerless to refute. +Yet I am still a man—and I will face them and bear the indignity for +your own dear sake, even though, at the same time, it will mean the +loss of you to me.” + +Then the bluff, broad-shouldered man in silence took the girl’s +soft hand in his own iron grip. And thus they sat for a long time; +she joyful yet full of curiosity at what her father had hinted; he +hard-mouthed, grave-faced, and broken. + +She felt vaguely that that moment was the crisis of her father’s life. +He had an enemy who had threatened to encompass his ruin. Yet she was +powerless to act, save to reassure him by repeating her promise of +refusal to believe any word that might be uttered against him. + +At what had her father hinted? Why, indeed, had he so suddenly and so +willingly given his consent to their engagement being known, and their +marriage taking place? What had caused the change in him? + +These and a hundred other thoughts ran through her puzzled brain as she +sat at his feet in silence, her hands in his, until they were at last +interrupted by the entry of the faithful, flat-faced, bead-eyed old +Lapp woman whose name, Freyia, meant in the Lapp tongue “the Goddess of +Love.” + +Though she had left her encampment many years to take service in Vardo, +Freyia still retained her national dress, the long jacket of reindeer +leather falling below her knees, secured by a leather belt and edged +with gay-coloured red, yellow, and blue cloth, while her legs were +encased in leather moccasins. Many a time old Jorgen had tried to +induce her to adopt civilised garb, but she had always refused. A Lapp, +go wherever he or she may, clings ever to the dress of his nomad clan. + +Thyra, when the old woman entered to prepare breakfast, rose, and went +to her own room to write a note to Paul announcing the good news, while +her father turned to the window, and with hands clenched and teeth hard +set, held his breath as he looked out upon the snow-covered roofs and +the grey, stormy ocean beyond. + +He had made that sacrifice for Thyra’s sake. For him, in the evening +of his days, the future held only a painful scandal which he must now +face, and which would, more than probably, bring upon him ruin as well +as disgrace. + +That same morning Dick Jervoise and his friend had, on rising, packed +some eatables together and taken one of the big, high-prowed old boats +out of the harbour and across the rough sea to the mainland, being +anxious to ascertain what the bleak, treeless, inhospitable coast was +like. + +In a deep hollow they found a Lapp encampment—a dozen or so miserable +tents of reindeer skin, with their quaintly-garbed tenants in their +curious, four-cornered caps stuffed with eider-down, and many of them +in heavy furs, even though it were summer. The Lapp is an extremely +friendly person, therefore they spent the morning photographing, buying +spoons and other articles of reindeer horn, tobacco pouches, purses of +skin and other Arctic souvenirs, in turn being invited by the head-man +into his tent and given the place of honour beside the ever-burning +fire. + +At five o’clock in the afternoon they returned to the ship to wash +and make themselves respectable before having dinner, intending to go +ashore to Vardo afterwards. + +In the saloon they found Captain Martin in mufti, taking his cup of tea +and slice of lemon. + +“Well?” he asked cheerily. “And how have you fared to-day among the +Lapps?” + +They both declared that their outing had been full of interest, +whereupon the fair-moustached, dandified man exclaimed: + +“I’ve got some interesting news for you. Vardo is full of it.” + +“What’s that?” inquired the doctor. “We haven’t seen a newspaper for a +month.” + +“Thyra Berentsen—the girl you both admire so much—is to be married.” + +“Married!” gasped Jervoise. + +“Yes. I’ve had orders this morning to go on to Archangel for half a +cargo, after calling at Vadso and Kirkanaes. Therefore she and her +father and the happy bridegroom sail with us when we go south in a +fortnight’s time.” + +“But who is she to marry? Surely not one of these uncouth fishermen!” + +“No. He’s not at all uncouth. On the contrary, he’s a very refined, +good-looking and wealthy young gentleman—a Russian from Moscow named +Paul Grinevitch.” + +Jervoise stood staring at the captain, his mouth wide open. + +“Paul Grinevitch!” he echoed. “She has promised to marry him?” + +“Yes. The announcement has set all Vardo agog. Everybody is talking of +it. Why?” + +The other’s teeth were clenched, his brows had contracted, and his +cheeks had gone pale. Odd, standing with his back to him, did not +notice the sudden change in his friend. + +“Oh, for no reason!” he managed to reply. “I—well I’m greatly +surprised. Nobody told me that she was engaged. That’s all.” + +But as he turned away he muttered some words below his breath, though +neither the captain nor the doctor heard him. + +“Paul Grinevitch! So I was not mistaken after all, when I thought I +caught sight of you yesterday! You are hiding here, at the end of the +world, and you intend to marry Thyra Berentsen! You—_you of all men_!” + +His blanched countenance grew rigid as he turned on his heel and left +the narrow little saloon. + + + + +CHAPTER VII + +THE CAPTAIN MAKES A SUGGESTION + + +When, two days later, Dick Jervoise rose, dressed with difficulty +owing to the heavy sea, and ascended to the deck, he found they were +approaching a small bay where, through the drifting fog could be +distinguished a line of low wooden houses, painted various colours, +brown, white and blue, behind which, upon a small eminence, stood a +tiny white church with pointed spire, while away on the horizon showed +a range of low bare hills. + +A dispiriting scene, ineffably sad. A grey, wintry sky, a grey sea, +a grey land, while so chill was the wind that even though he wore a +heavy leather-lined motor-coat, he shivered. And it was the height of +summer. They were far away now from the haunts of the twenty-guinea +midnight-sun tourists—away in the great lone land. + +The _Mercur_ was approaching the little fishing station of Vadso, a +lonely desolate little place on the Norwegian and Russian frontier. +On the bridge stood Captain Martin, smart and spruce in his uniform, +and without an overcoat, chatting to the big-bearded Norseman who had +piloted them through the many dangerous channels beyond the Nordkap, +and who was now keeping a wary eye upon the difficult course they were +taking. + +For a ship to approach Vadso closely is impossible, therefore, while +still a mile from the long breakwater, the pilot pulled three times +at the cord of the siren, sounding the Morse-code signal, and then +drew over the engine-room lever. The answering bell sounded, and the +engines suddenly stopped. + +A shout, and down plunged the anchor with whirr and rattle. + +Owen had not yet risen. While Dick had remained on board all the +previous day, pleading a slight indisposition, the young doctor and +the Captain had been ashore at Vardo and spent the evening with the +Berentsens. They had come on board again about four o’clock in the +morning, and sailed at once, eastward for Vadso. + +Before turning in, Owen had come into his friend’s cabin to inquire +how he was, and to explain how they had spent the evening at the +harbour-master’s hospitable little house. + +“Thyra was there, of course?” asked Dick, suddenly interrupting him. + +“Certainly. And the young Russian too. It appears that their engagement +was formally announced to-day, and it has created as great a sensation +among the fisher-folk of Vardo as a similar announcement in the +_Morning Post_ does in Mayfair. She’s being congratulated everywhere.” + +“And what sort of fellow is he?” inquired the man. + +“A gentleman, I believe,” replied the young doctor carelessly. “Speaks +English as well as most educated Russians, is rather good-looking, +but slightly disfigured by a white scar against his left ear. He’s +evidently devoted to her, and seems quite a decent sort of fellow.” + +Dick turned over in his narrow berth without a word. He only sighed. +Truth to tell, however, he had turned his head away lest his friend’s +curiosity should be aroused by the expression upon his countenance. + +“Well,” exclaimed Owen after a slight pause; “you’re tired, old chap. I +really ought not to have disturbed you, only—well, I thought you’d like +to know all the news.” + +“Thanks, old chap. I’m not disturbed. But I’ll just have an hour or two +longer.” + +“Right. We’re due off Vadso at nine,” Owen said cheerily, and he left +the cabin, closing the door after him, and struggling unsteadily to his +own berth, for the ship was already on her way, rolling heavily outside +the harbour. + +After that, Dick Jervoise had slept but little. So it was really _the_ +Paul Grinevitch! The white scar that he remembered so well—the mark of +Cain upon him—proved his identity. + +He was glad that after Martin had told him of Thyra’s engagement, he +had not set foot in Vardo again. Surely he had pursued the only course +possible? + +Yet the discovery had utterly staggered him. + +Even now, as he stood upon the black, greasy deck, slippery with the +cod-liver oil which oozed from the many barrels lashed to the bulwarks, +the strange and unexpected truth filled his mind. The Captain, from +the bridge above, shouted a merry “Good-morning”; but he only replied +mechanically. + +He was thinking of Thyra, and that man, her lover—of all men. + +Again he shivered, and even while half-frozen by that biting wind he +was at the same time asphyxiated by the horrible effluvia wafted from +the cod-curing and boiling-houses and poisonous odours from guano +factories. + +A big, high-prowed boat rowed by six Lapp fishermen in furs with +leather mitts upon their hands, came alongside, and into it was flung +the small, half-filled mail bag from the south. Then the Captain, +Dick and Owen Odd, together with the two officers, the engineer and +mail officer—the same merry little company who had met there every +morning for the past month—assembled for breakfast. + +“Well, Mr. Jervoise,” inquired the Captain cheerily from the head +of the table, “what have you decided? We sail at ten to-night for +Archangel. Shall you come with us, or do you intend taking a trip +inland for a fortnight, and we’ll pick you up again at Kjelvik on our +way south? As I said yesterday, you’d have a most interesting journey +with the Lapps. Of course you’d perhaps be compelled to rough it a +little, but you, as a traveller, wouldn’t mind that.” + +“I think it would be jolly good fun,” declared Odd enthusiastically. +“I’ve been looking up the route on the map. Of course, Captain, you +wouldn’t fail to call in for us? We don’t want to be left up here all +the winter,” he added with a laugh. + +“We shall be at Kjelvik fifteen days from to-day,” answered the +Captain. “The voyage from here along the Murman coast and up the White +Sea is not at all interesting. You’d find much more enjoyment in a +journey across country. Mr. Ackerman, your British consul here, would +no doubt find you a reliable Lapp guide, and you wouldn’t have much +trouble. The steward can give you some tinned food, and I daresay you +can buy a little cooking-stove ashore. I did the journey once across to +Kistrand, on the Porsanger Fjord, and had a most excellent time.” + +“How far is it?” inquired Jervoise. + +“About four hundred kilometres—the last two hundred through a +magnificent mountain range. The country is a very wild one, and quite +unknown to travellers. But you’ll find the Lapps exceedingly friendly,” +the Captain said. “There are two routes from here to Kistrand. One +is by road to a little place called Nyborg, across the Tana River, +and then due east by the track in the valley of the Mats and over the +Borgavarre to a tiny place called Laxelven, at the extreme head of the +Porsanger Fjord and thence north for fifty kilometres to Kistrand. +From there you can go in a boat down the fjord to Kjelvik, where we +will pick you up. The other, which is longer, but more interesting, +is to ascend the Tana from Seida to Karasjok in a Lapp boat for about +two hundred kilometres, and drive thence due north to Laxelven and on +to Kistrand. I should certainly recommend the latter route as less +tedious. The Tana, as you know, divides Norwegian Lapland from that of +Finland. Besides you’ll be able to see the Laplander at home.” + +Captain Martin’s description appealed to the adventurous spirit of Dick +Jervoise. He had roughed it in many odd corners of the world, and his +main object in going so far north now was in order to see the Lapps and +their mode of life, to study a people about whom scarcely anything has +ever been written. + +So there and then he and his friend decided to take the Captain’s +advice and go by the longer route of Karasjok and up the Fjelma +valley. The journey by road and river would occupy them about +thirteen days, the Captain estimated. The _Mercur_ could not be in +the Magerosund—behind the island of Magero on which the North Cape is +situated—for at least eighteen or nineteen days, being compelled to +call at all the tiny fishing stations between Vardo and the North Cape, +those clusters of wooden huts sheltered beneath the bare rocks, such +as Makur, Mehavn, Gamvik and Finkongkjeilen. Therefore they would have +five or six days to spare, in case of untoward circumstances. + +The big map of Lapland was brought from the chart-room, spread upon +the table of the saloon, and eagerly examined by the ship’s officers +and the two Londoners. Then, when the route was decided, the steward +was interviewed, and tinned provisions obtained from the store-room. +There being no fresh food in the north, all the victuals on board the +_Mercur_, including the vegetables, were preserved. The only thing +fresh was the ever-present codfish, the very smell of which permeated +everything on board. + +A couple of reindeer skin sleeping sacks were brought out of the +store-room, as well as a tea-kettle, a cooking-pot or two, matches, a +couple of drums of petroleum, and other necessaries. + +For several hours Dick and his friend were thus occupied in their +preparations, packing warm clothing into two canvas mail-sacks. +After luncheon they went ashore to interview the British consul, Mr. +Ackerman, and to purchase a cooking-stove. + +The doctor was delighted. It was his first experience of travel upon +an unbeaten track. Hammersmith and Hammerfest were indeed widely +separated. He recollected the dust and stuffiness of King Street, +Hammersmith, with its working-class crowds, now, as he gazed upon the +quaint though evil-smelling little town of Vadso, so far removed from +the bustle of the world. + +On landing at the breakwater, the Captain accompanying them, they +found that the population of about a couple of thousand were mostly +Laplanders. The few Norwegians occupied a central group of houses, one +tiny street, while all around, in the rows of ramshackle sheds built +of odds and ends of driftwood, old petroleum-tins and slabs of stone, +lived the Lapps, or Kvaen, as they call themselves. + +Alongside the water stood a row of little wooden houses painted in +bright colours, interspersed by old boats transformed into various +uses, and black wooden sheds for the drying of the cod. + +In the centre of all was the little _torv_, or market, which at the +moment of their arrival presented quite a picturesque scene. Around +the stalls, where various wares were displayed, notwithstanding the +cutting wind, was an unwashed crowd of all the races of the far +North—Norwegian fishermen, Russian sailors, Finns, Russian Lapps in +four-cornered caps, tunics of dark blue homespun ornamented by heavy +embroideries in red and yellow cloth, Lapps of the Finmarken, short +of stature, in ragged furs, with knitted blue caps with scarlet +tassels, and knives in their belts, while Samoyeds from Archangel were +distinguishable by their long caftans of reindeer hide. Truly a most +remarkable crowd—a _melange_ of a dozen different languages and a dozen +different costumes. + +Consul Ackerman proved to be a shipping-agent and agent of the +universal Lloyd’s. Upstairs, in his comfortable wooden house, where +stunted roses and geraniums struggled for life behind the double +windows, the two Englishmen were introduced by the Captain, the usual +glass of vodka was offered as sign of the hospitality of the North, and +the conversation soon drifted to the ways and means of the projected +journey across the Kistrand. + +Mr. Ackerman, a pleasant middle-aged man who had spent his life in the +Arctic, and who had travelled in various parts of Lapland and also out +across the terrible country of the Kola, sat for a full hour and gave +them a number of useful hints regarding their proposed route. + +Eventually they descended to the ground floor, where a funny, bead-eyed +little man wearing ragged furs, and whose face was of distinctly Mongol +type, was introduced. + +“This is Henkela,” explained the consul. “You may place every reliance +in him. He is a Lapp of the Finmarken, and has travelled your route +several times. He often does odd jobs for me, for he speaks Russian as +well as a little English.” + +At this, the brown-faced aborigine of those inhospitable tundras of the +North grinned, nodded, and exclaimed: + +“Yes.” + +In Norwegian the consul explained the route which the travellers +desired to take, and to every word Henkela listened most attentively. +His age it was impossible to guess, for the average Laplander begins to +look old at twenty-five. + +Both Dick and Owen noted that he was not particularly clean-looking, +but the consul had already warned them that they must expect dirt in +travelling so far from European civilisation. Dick was used to it, and +possessed the practised traveller’s instinct of being able to keep +himself clean under almost any circumstances. Odd, as medical man, +however, regarded uncleanliness with horror. + +The remainder of that short grey day was occupied mostly in +preparations, the wizened-faced Henkela being particularly active in +adding to the stores various articles of necessity which had been +forgotten. + +On the road from Vadso to Nyborg reindeer are only used with the sleds +in winter, therefore Henkela obtained horses with two very shaky +vehicles, while at the general store Dick and Owen each purchased, at +the Lapp’s request, pairs of leathern mitts, and from a house in the +Lapp town each a _pesk_, or huge coat of reindeer skin with the fur +outside. + +That evening the pair, together with the Captain, dined with the +consul, and afterwards Captain Martin bade them farewell and went off +in the ship’s boat, promising to call for them at the little fishing +station of Kjelvik within eighteen days. + +Half an hour later the siren, echoing across the dark fjord, announced +the departure of the _Mercur_ for Archangel. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +REVEALS THE SHADOW + + +The only road in Northern Lapland worthy the name is that which runs +for fifty kilometres or so from Vadso, along the edge of the desolate +Varangerfjord to Seida, on the broad Tana, one of the most noted salmon +rivers in the world. + +Next morning, soon after it became light, Jervoise and his companion +driving in one rickety old vehicle and the little beady-eyed Henkela in +his ragged furs seated on the top of the impedimenta in the other, set +forth upon the journey, the consul shouting them a cheery adieu. + +The whole of the little Lapp town seemed to have been made aware +of the impending departure of the Englishmen, for a hundred or so +quaintly-garbed men and women, mostly in leather or in furs, turned out +to witness the triumphant start of Henkela, who was evidently a most +popular person. + +During the night it had snowed, and the ground was still covered to +the depth of perhaps an inch. All around the Varanger is a veritable +wilderness. As they left Vadso a tree two yards high, growing in a +sheltered corner of the town, was pointed out by Henkela to the two men +in the cart behind as a vegetable prodigy. And as they went out upon +the road, forth into that grey sad country of silence and solitude, an +inexpressible feeling of melancholy fell upon them both. + +“How horribly depressing this place is!” Owen remarked when they got +beyond the town, the road running close to the edge of the broad fjord, +where, far across, showed the misty mountains in Russian territory. + +“Yes,” answered Jervoise mechanically. He was driving, but his thoughts +were far from that scene of wintry desolation—away in a different +vista of palms and olives, of sunshine and blue sky—a scene that was +delightful to the eye, but full, alas! of bitter tragedy. + +Before him, as he drove from the drifting mists of morning, arose that +peerless face of the fair-haired daughter of the old Arctic whaler—the +tall, graceful girl with the grey eyes that had held him in such +strange fascination—even before he became aware of the identity of her +lover. + +He was thinking of her—thinking as he had done a hundred times during +those past twenty-four hours—thinking, too, of that man whom she had +promised to marry. + +And whenever he thought of him, whenever there recurred to him that +scene among the gnarled grey-green olives of the south, he set hard his +teeth, and his nails drove themselves into his palms. + +Owen noticed his friend’s silence, but attributed it to the impressive +sadness of the scene. The road they were travelling was the most +northerly in Europe, and was passable for wheeled vehicles only about +three months in the year. In the country of the Great Night the sled +and reindeer are the usual means of locomotion. The Laplander uses a +_pulk_, or boat-shaped sled in which he sits and is drawn by reindeer, +one of the most uncomfortable modes of travelling in the whole world, +for the bottom of the _pulk_ being rounded, and not being on runners +like the Russian sled, is constantly turning over, and its occupant +usually finds himself beneath it. + +Winter had not, however, yet set in in earnest. Nevertheless, the +ground was lightly covered with snow until the whole country, flanked +on one side by the great grey expanse of the fjord and on the other +by the sloping treeless waste, was the very acme of inhospitable +desolation. + +Not a tree was visible, not a habitation—nothing but a long, straight +road through a desert of intense white snow and grey water. + +The ravines were rich in polar flora, with a thousand different +varieties of mosses, as well as the dwarf cloud-berry or “multebaer,” +which, as every visitor to Scandinavia knows, is so dear to the +Norwegian palate. No plant higher than a few inches, however, survived +that terrible climate of that Arctic desert. + +It was freezing hard, and even in their mitts and heavy coats the two +travellers soon began to be chilled to the bone. Therefore, after +about five miles, at Henkela’s suggestion they pulled up and exchanged +their motor-coats of European civilisation for the big Lapp _pesks_ of +reindeer skin. + +Both laughed at the bulky figure each presented in that unaccustomed +garb. + +As they travelled westward the snow became less until the stony road +was only lightly powdered, the way, however, still keeping along the +edge of the broad fjord, until, after five hours, they pulled up at a +long, log-built house, alone in that treeless region, which proved to +be the post-house of Bergeby. + +This, the most northerly skyds-station which the Norwegian government +maintains, proved to be a curious little place. In the carpetless +guest-room was a table and some chairs. That was all. Travelers +supplied their own food and their own bedding. + +The post-house keeper produced his register for the Englishmen to sign, +and having done so, they “killed” a tin of corned beef, off which they +made a rough meal, handing the remainder to the faithful Henkela, who +devoured it without much ceremony. + +As they sat together in that lonely little house so far removed from +any human habitation, smoking cigarettes while the fresh horses were +put to amid the shouts of Henkela, Owen remarked: + +“Well, old chap, when we set out from London we never anticipated this +journey, did we?” + +“No,” responded his friend reflectively. “We’ve met with several +unexpected incidents,” he added meaningly. + +Truth to tell, that journey did not interest Dick in the least. Usually +he loved the excitement of travel, but at that moment it only bored +him. He was on a route unfrequented and unknown to all save the Lapps +of that district and the Finnish post-driver who passed along twice +each month. Yet the pale, tragic face with the grey eyes was ever +before his vision, blotting out every other thing and every other +interest. + +Owen Odd was puzzled. His companion’s almost complete silence during +that long drive had caused him considerable reflection. Dick Jervoise +was always so full of dry humour that he began to wonder whether his +friend’s present attitude was due to any annoyance he might have +unwittingly caused him. + +“What’s the matter, Dick?” he ventured to ask at last. + +“Matter?” echoed the other, rousing himself suddenly. “Nothing. Why?” + +“Well—because you’re not exactly yourself to-day, old fellow. That’s +all. I’m afraid you’re annoyed with me for going ashore the night +before last when you were seedy.” + +“Annoyed, my dear Owen! What rubbish! Surely we are good friends enough +not to quarrel over any childish disagreements,” he said, pulling +himself together and bracing himself up with an effort. “Forgive me,” +he added apologetically, “if I’m not quite as bright as usual. I’m +sorry.” + +“My dear fellow, don’t be so foolish,” laughed the other. “As long as +you’re not annoyed with me I don’t mind, I assure you.” + +Dick Jervoise suppressed a sigh. What would Owen think if he knew the +truth? Yet he must never obtain knowledge of it—never—_never_. + +Paul Grinevitch would be sailing with them on board the _Mercur_ +for the south. He and his bride—his bride!—would be traveling to +Christiania to be united as man and wife! + +On board the steamer they must meet. And then? + +Aye, and then? + + + + +CHAPTER IX + +THE ARCTIC WILDERNESS + + +Leaving the Varangerfjord just before darkness set in, the travellers +struck across the wide, rolling tundra, and for many hours went +forward, until about two o’clock in the morning they drove into an +enclosure in the centre of which stood a small wooden hut, together +with several other ramshackle out-buildings. + +It was the last resthouse on the road. Indeed, the road, or rather +the track, ended there, for before it lay the broad, swift-flowing +Tana river. The stockade kept out the wolves in winter, and the house +itself, raised several feet from the ground, showed the depth of the +snows which lay there for several months each year. + +Henkela banged loudly upon the wooden door, shouting something in +Lappish, while Dick and Owen descended from the cart, cold and cramped, +stamping their feet upon the frozen ground to promote the circulation. + +A deep, guttural response came from within, and after the lapse of +five minutes or so, the door opened, and upon the threshold before the +lamplight stood a tall, fair-haired Finnish Lapp, in his blouse of +dark blue cloth heavily embroidered with red, and long fur boots with +upturned toes. + +With a broad grin of amusement upon his fat face, he stretched out +both his big hands to wish the travellers welcome, and a few moments +later Dick and his friend found themselves inside a good-sized wooden +room, bare and carpetless, of course, save for four truckle beds, an +old couch, some chairs, and a stove, the warmth of which was indeed +gratifying after the frosty night. + +“Senko, our host, asks whether the gentlemen would like some coffee?” +asked Henkela in his very indifferent English, and at the same time +there appeared a good-looking Finnish girl of fourteen, who was +introduced as Senko’s daughter, and who busied herself in piling +driftwood into the stove. + +She was a fresh-looking, blue-eyed girl, all smiles and bows. Her dress +was typical of the civilised Lapp, fur boots like her father’s, a short +homespun skirt with heavy blue ornamentation, and a Russian shawl of +scarlet and white plaid around her shoulders. + +Dick replied that coffee would be welcome; therefore the girl at once +retired into the back premises to prepare it. Coffee is a speciality +with the Lapps, and wherever one may go, even among the half-civilised +aborigines like Henkela, it is always quite drinkable. + +“By Jove!” remarked Owen, spreading his hands to the stove. “This is a +weird place, isn’t it?” + +“Yes,” his friend answered. “We’re getting beyond civilisation now. +This is the last resthouse.” + +Henkela explained that for the next seven days or so they would be +compelled to throw themselves upon the hospitality of the nomad Lapps +for shelter in their huts, while Senko, his big face beaming with +pleasure at entertaining strangers from that almost legendary land, +England—the first he had ever had—came forward and through the guide, +answered their eager interrogations. + +He was a fine specimen of a man, six feet two in height, a perfect type +of stalwart northerner. His blouse was held by a wonderful girdle of +chased brass, and in a repousse sheath reposed the usual long knife +used by the Lapp for the slaughter of reindeer. + +Henkela and Senko were in deep consultation, speaking in Lappic, of +course. The subject of their conversation was the best means of getting +up the river to Karasjok, and presently Henkela turned to the pair, +saying: + +“Senko has a boat which will just suit us. We shall want three rowers, +and he will get them from the encampment down in the ravine, two miles +away. He will send there in the morning.” + +“Let us go, too,” suggested Owen. “We’ll then see the kind of men we +are getting.” + +So that was arranged. Coffee was brought by the blue-eyed girl, who +also bent and unlaced Dick’s boots, and the whole party sat down to sip +the comforting beverage. + +“Well,” declared Owen, laughing, as he looked around, “this is really +most quaint!” + +True, it was a curious experience. But curious experiences are of every +day occurrence when one is travelling beyond the zone of our modern +civilisation. Those people whom they were among were a race who fought +the elements every day in order to live; a race who had never seen a +tree or flower as we know them, who knew nothing of trains, tramways, +or modern locomotion, and who cared not a jot how the world lived so +long as they themselves obtained sufficient for their daily wants. + +While the coffee was being drunk and all smoked the cigarettes which +Dick offered from his case, Senko entertained them with an account of +how a bear had been killed close by on the previous day, concluding his +narrative by showing them the skin. + +All the while he slapped his leg and laughed merrily, as though the +arrival of two wandering Englishmen in the middle of the night at that +outpost of civilisation was the greatest joke he could conceive. + +At last, however, tired out, Dick, Owen and Henkela, dressed just as +they were, threw themselves down on the beds, blew out the smoking +lamp, and all slept soundly until the dawn. + +After more coffee, and some ship-biscuits and ham from their stores, +the humorous giant, who at every turn slapped the travellers heavily +upon the back as a sign of good-fellowship, conducted them to the Lapp +encampment. + +It consisted, they found, of a dozen or so roughly constructed +conical-shaped huts covered with turf, a hole being left in the roof +to allow the egress of the smoke. Beside each hut was a framework of +sticks, upon which were stretched reindeer skins in process of drying, +antlers, salmon from the river, and pieces of reindeer meat awaiting +consumption, all placed high out of the reach of the many grey, +wolf-like, Arctic dogs which barked vociferously and snapped viciously +at their approach. + +Senko stooped, and pretended to take up a stone, whereupon the animals +slunk away. It is the only method of quieting the ever-barking dog of +the Laplander. + +A shout from Senko, and a little undersized native in ragged furs, +wearing a cap similar to that worn by Henkela, emerged from one of the +huts and shouted back what was evidently a welcome. Then the party +entered the encampment, Henkela explaining that to enter without +permission was, by his people, considered the gravest form of insult. + +To receive assistance or hospitality from the Lapp the traveller must +always place himself in the position of being helpless. He will then be +most kindly and considerately treated. + +They approached the hut of the head-man who had greeted Senko, and as +they entered the narrow but not uncomfortable little dwelling, Henkela +exclaimed: + +“_Rafthe vissui_” (Peace to your house). + +“_Ibmel addi_” (God grant it) was the man’s reply as, by dumb signs, he +motioned the two Englishmen to a heap of furs placed on the right of +the smouldering fire, the place of honour. + +In a Lapp hut the master and his family sleep on the skins spread on +the right of the fire, and the servants on the left. + +A wizened, brown-faced little woman in furs, wearing a cap similar +to the man, and dressed like him, was cleaning a cooking-pot, quite +undisturbed by the intrusion, while the interior, with the suffocating +smoke curling through the hole in the roof, dimly lit by the light from +the doorway, presented a strange, unusual scene. Around the place were +heaps of reindeer and fox skins, in one spot the cooking utensils, in +another a heap of fur clothing, while close to where Owen sat lay a +child of six or seven, calmly sleeping. + +A sharp-nosed dog rose, sniffed the two strangers inquisitively, and +then, satisfied with his investigations, curled himself again before +the fire. + +Henkela, a minute later, explained in his broken English that the +head-man, having heard what the pair required, bade them welcome, and +promised to let them have three of his best men as rowers to Karasjok. + +Then Dick handed round his cigarette-case, and all smoked, including +the old woman. Presently the two Englishmen were taken to the stockade, +where a herd of about eight hundred reindeer was enclosed against that +arch-enemy of the Lapp, the wolf. + +Upon his reindeer the lonely Laplander practically subsists. He lives +upon the flesh, he makes his tent and his clothing of its skin, his +thread of its sinews, his cheese of its milk, his implements of its +bones, and often his fire of its offal. All this Henkela explained. + +Dick, student that he was, soon discovered Henkela to be a man of more +than average intelligence. In his youth he had been for some years +at the government school at Vadso, and, possessing a rather musical +voice, he had, he said, learned many of those ancient songs which +for centuries past have been produced and orally spread among the +Lapps—including many of the runes of the “Kalevala.” + +In a moment Dick Jervoise became interested. He had long ago closely +studied the various works of Russian and Norwegian writers upon the +traditional poetry of the Lapps and Finns, and here was an opportunity +to gather much information at first hand which hitherto he had not been +able to obtain. + +Henkela’s English was, of course, not very clear, but it was quite +sufficient to act as a channel through which he could obtain knowledge. + +He had gone deeply into the subject. In the cosy comfort of his little +flat at Barnes he had studied many translations of the Finnish and +Lappish runes, those heroic or magic songs which have been handed down +from the remote ages. The song of the “Origin of the Kantele,” those of +the “Journey to Vipunen,” “Vainamoinen’s Wound,” and the “Expedition +for the Sampo” were all well known to him; therefore, with much +gesticulation and not without difficulty, he discussed them with the +black-eyed little man in furs and knitted cap, as, after making final +arrangements with the three Lapps who came forward as rowers, they +walked back side by side to Senko’s house. + +At last Dick Jervoise seemed to take a keen interest in the journey; +therefore Owen was gratified. Though the story of the ancient runes or +of the “Kalevala” did not interest the doctor, yet he was delighted to +see that in his friend, student that he always was, a new interest had +been aroused. + + + + +CHAPTER X + +TOWARDS THE DOOM + + +The ascent of the broad Tana in that big old black boat was slow, +tedious, and terribly monotonous. + +For the most part the river, famous for its salmon and the particles of +gold the water contains, flowed across a great, open, treeless tundra, +and often the current was so strong that the three rowers required the +assistance of Henkela, himself a fisherman, to keep her head to the +stream. + +The distance from Seida to Karasjok was nearly three hundred +kilometres, and most of the course lay due south through a barren land +entirely uninhabited save where the Lapps had settled upon the banks to +fish. And it was in these huts, in every way similar to the huts of the +encampment near Seida, that each night they sought shelter and slept. + +Landing several times each day to cook food and stretch themselves was +the only recreation they obtained; therefore Dick, seated in the stern +of the boat hour after hour and day after day as they slowly ascended +the stream, turned his main attention to Henkela, in order to improve +his knowledge of the Lapp poetry. + +The weather was by no means propitious. Often they would be delayed +for hours by those dense white mists which hung over the river each +morning, and more than once snow fell heavily. Still, even Owen, +matter-of-fact Londoner that he was, was compelled to admit that the +journey was fraught with plenty of excitement and many humorous +episodes. + +To enliven the voyage, and to encourage the rowers to their oars, +Henkela, at Dick’s request, took to chanting the old runes. Sometimes +he would sing of the beautiful Luonnotar, daughter of the air, of the +supreme god, the ancient of years, Ukko, or of Vainamoinen, the eternal +singer who was for thirty years imprisoned with his mother. + +Hour after hour, across those broad-flowing waters with their rippling +shallows, would the voice of the dark-faced Lapp sound, with that soft +sibillation peculiar to his own unwritten tongue, musical almost as +Italian. + +As well as he could he would, after chanting the runes, explain what +they meant in English. + +One day Henkela, as the rowers kept up the rhythm of the oars, was +explaining the rivalry in magic between the Finns and Lapps which is so +strongly marked in the magic and epic runes. + +“Lapp magic is not poetical,” he was explaining as well as he could in +his somewhat indifferent English. “It is of that damnable kind, called +by the Norse _seidr_. This word has not entered the Finnic tongue, but +we Lapps have taken it and applied it to formless or rude images of our +deities in wood, or in stone, because we used them years ago in our +magic operations. We Lapps all believe in magic.” + +“But surely you are Christians!” Jervoise exclaimed. + +“We believe in magic, nevertheless,” Henkela declared. “Each day when +I go forth fishing I make my song of prayer—my _rukouksia_. I say: +‘Vellamo, mistress of waters, Queen of a hundred sea-caves, Arouse the +scaly crowd, Urge on the fish flocks. Forth from their hiding-place. +Forth from the muddy slime. Forth to this net-hauling. To the weights +of the hundred-meshed. Take now thy beauteous shield. Shake the +golden water-lily with which the fish thou frighten’st. And driv’st +them towards the net. Beneath the plain so gloomy, Above the boulders +black.’” + +“Most interesting!” declared Odd, who had been listening attentively. + +“Again,” exclaimed the Lapp with the sharp black eyes, as he puffed at +his long pipe, setting his gaze straight towards the grey bank of mist +before him. “Again, if I am ill, and I take waters as a medicine, I +repeat the words: ‘O pure water, O Lady of the waters, Now do thou make +me whole, Strong as before. For this I beg thee dearly, And in offering +I gave thee, Blood to appease thee, Salt to propitiate thee.’” + +One morning, after passing an uncomfortable night in the hut of some +nomad Lapps near the dreary Finnish settlement of Audagoski, they had +been delayed from starting for several hours by the dense fog which +hung over the river, and in which it was impossible to row. + +At length, however, about noon, they had made a start, and at the +suggestion of Jervoise, Henkela had resumed his explanation of the +land of Pohjola as being the seat of evils and darkness. In all the +Lapp songs Pohja, or Pohjola, is conspicuous, and according to Henkela +that mythical country of the far north beyond the eternal snows was +inhabited by Lapps, and the lady of Pohjola was Lady of the Lapps. + +This Lady is one of the principal types among the heroines of the +“Kalevala,” and from her mythic region, ill-omened in character and +harbourer of ills, come forth all the evils that afflict the northern +peoples, such as ice, snow, cold winds, and the darkness of winter. +It is a remote region, existing they know not exactly where; but in +what direction is clearly shown by the icy breath of Boreas which +comes out of it. A country of fearsome imagination, an outer land on +the northern confines of the earth (ulkomaa), essentially dark (pimea) +and cold (kylma) the country of Pakkanen (icy coldness), a wretched +land, fatal to men and heroes, where sun and moon are never seen, but +visible in the eternal night is the “coloured cover” (kyrjokansi) or +the star-studded vault of the sky. + +All this curious lore of a practically unknown people Dick Jervoise +found peculiarly fascinating, and by the hour he sat chatting and +learning from Henkela, whose broken English daily became clearer to the +pair. + +That morning the little brown-faced man had, at Jervoise’s request, +been chanting the “Kalevala,” the rowers keeping time with the runes as +they passed through that dismal, depressing land. The quaint ancient +poetry told how the daughter of the air, tired of her long solitude, +came down from the vast untrodden regions of the air and settled on the +surface of the waters, where for seven hundred years she floated hither +and thither as Lady of the Waters. + +The runes told how the egg of a duck fell into the sea and broke, and +the fragments underwent a transformation. From the two halves of the +shell arose the vault of the sky, and the terrestrial hemisphere below +it; from the yolk the sun took form; from the white the moon; from the +more shining parts the stars; from the darker parts the clouds. The +story was told of how every tree grew, save the oak, which Vainamoinen, +the eternal rune-maker, at last made grow by a fire lit by five +sea-maidens; how it rose so high as to darken the clouds, and how a +giant was called to cut it down and fling it into the waters, where it +was carried north to the shore of the dreaded land of Pohjola. + +He sang those five hundred or so lines of the quaint national song of +ages long past in his curious plaintive chant, the rowers straining at +their long oars and keeping time. + +And when he had concluded he translated portions of it into his +indifferent English. The conclusion the two travellers understood to be +as follows:— + + Spake ancient Vainamoinen: + “Come now, thou dame of Pohjola, + Go we to share the Sampo, + To see the coloured cover, + On the point of the misty headland, + On the height of the fog-swathed island.” + Says of Pohjola the lady: + “I’ll not go to share the Sampo, + To see the coloured cover.” + Then ancient Vainamoinen + Sieved mist within a sieve + And around about fog sowed he + At the foggy headland’s ending; + And thus in words then spake he: + “Here ploughing and here sowing, + Here every kind of grain-crop + For the wretched north country, + For the widespread soil of Suomi. + Moons here, and here be suns, + Here stars be in the skies!” + Says of Pohjola the lady: + “To this I’ll find a hindrance; + A wondrous thing have found I + For thy ploughing, for thy sowing. + I’ll create a hail of iron, + Of steel a raging rain-storm, + To strike thy crops so tender, + To scourge and waste thy field!” + Spake ancient Vainamoinen: + “Create thy hail of iron, + Yea, cause to fall thy steel storm, + Upon the land of Pohjola, + On the crest of the cliff of clay.” + +The river mists had now lifted, disclosing the low, treeless banks of +the broad-flowing waters—a wide, dreary, uninhabited wilderness. Here +and there clumps of dwarf silver-birch, the trees only four or five +feet in height, struggled for an existence. This was the edge of the +tree zone. Travelling south, it was the first sign of vegetation in +addition to the moss and lichen of the Arctic tundras. + +As next day and the next they continued their voyage up-stream the +birches grew thicker and higher, their grey trunks adding to the +general melancholy of the scene. + +At rare intervals they passed a few scattered Lapp huts near the river +bank, when the rowers would shout their salutations, awakening a horde +of dogs whose barking made exchange of greetings difficult. Sometimes +they would land to allow the three rowers to rest, and receive the +hospitality of a Lapp hut, and in exchange make presents to the chubby, +brown-faced little children in furs. + +In that great lone, God-forgotten land, where fog and stretches of snow +intensified the gloom, and where the only means of subsistence were the +fish and the reindeer, those fur-clad wanderers of the tundra, dwarfed +of stature and still savage of nature, only just managed to keep body +and soul together. Many of the men went, in winter, down to the coast +to work in the cod-fishing or in those strong-smelling “hjelder,” the +timber-built sheds where the fish is dried for the European markets. +The others remained in their turf-built settlements, herding their +reindeer and awaiting the passing of the long night. + +Henkela one afternoon ordered the rowers to halt at a sharp bend of +the river, now rapidly narrowing and more wooded on its banks, and, +landing, conducted Jervoise and his friend to the “siedi,” or sacred +oracle-stones of Lavvajok. The same day they passed three dangerous +rapids, which roared and foamed, and as night closed in they found +themselves at the junction of the Karasjokka (rapid river) with the +Tana. + +Dick Jervoise had one thought, one fear. Each day, each hour, brought +him nearer a crisis of his life. And that thought obsessed him during +the whole journey through the monotonous gloom. + +They found a Lapp hut, where they spent the night wrapped in their +furs, for it was snowing heavily and intensely cold; and next morning +ascended the swiftly-flowing stream which ran through thick birch woods +to the little Lapp town of Karasjok, where their boat journey ended. + +The time at their disposal was very limited, for they had already taken +a day and a half longer in ascending the Tana than they had estimated, +and now, in order to catch the _Mercur_, they would be compelled to +travel in all haste due north again to the Porsanger Fjord. + +Though they found Karasjok and its three hundred or so inhabitants +intensely interesting, they could only remain there six hours. Then, +bidding adieu to their three rowers, they with Henkela, mounted into +two ramshackle vehicles, each of which was driven by a Lapp in reindeer +_pesk_, fur boots, and four-cornered cap stuffed with eider-down, and +set their faces due north across the wide, rolling tundra, upon which +snow had already fallen, though not so deeply as to enable them to use +sleds. + +From Karasjok to Laxelven, at the extreme head of the fjord, was a +distance of about a hundred kilometres. But progress was difficult +owing to the bad state of the track. The route is a winter way used by +the Lapps in their boat-sleds. Therefore, in autumn, before the heavy +snow has fallen, it is in places almost impassable. + +On the road there was neither resthouse nor even Lapp huts, therefore +the drivers were compelled to husband the strength of their horses, and +progress was consequently very slow. + +Evening drew on with that curious steely light only seen within the +Polar circle, that bright greyness which quite suddenly gives place to +total darkness. They were slowly plodding their way around the base of +a bare, giant, snow-covered mountain, known to the Lapps as the Gvornik +and for ages regarded as sacred, owing to its form like a crouching +man. The birches around were stunted, and ever and anon could be heard +the dismal howling of the wolves which infest that district. Before +them in the cheerless gloom lay the grey waters of the Lake of Igja, +and Henkela explained that while in winter the sleds traversed its +frozen surface from end to end, it was at that season necessary, in +order to avoid the swamps, to make a long detour. + +For the thousandth time Dick Jervoise cursed himself that he had not +continued in the _Mercur_, landed at Archangel, and gone south to +Petersburg. The journey they were now completing must end in disaster. +That was inevitable! + +The tired horses stumbled over the rough way, and the tearing wind in +their teeth was bitingly cold. So sharp, indeed, was it that Dick and +his friend had their faces half hidden by their big fur hoods and their +hands in their mitts. All were hungry; therefore, after consultation, +it was arranged to halt by the lakeside, light a fire, and have a meal, +while the horses rested. + +In that lonely, dismal spot they remained, sheltered from the tearing +wind as well as they could by the two Lapp carts, until about three +o’clock in the morning, when, all having snatched a brief sleep +reclining before the fire on their baggage, they struck camp and pushed +again onward. + +“If we don’t turn up in time at Kjelvik,” laughed Dick, as he mounted +into the rickety old vehicle, “then Martin must go on with the mails +and we’ll be left up here to spend the winter! What would your patients +in Hammersmith do then, my dear fellow—eh?” + +“They’d have to die happily, without my aid,” exclaimed the other, with +grim humour. + +“Never fear,” interrupted the faithful Henkela, “you will be in Kjelvik +in time. We have yet two days. We shall be at Laxelven to-morrow +evening, and row down the fjord fifty kilometres to Kistrand, and then +by another boat to Kjelvik.” + +“We leave it entirely to you, Henkela,” Jervoise said. “We must +catch the _Mercur_ at all hazards. We couldn’t spend the winter here +with you. We have no proper clothes or equipment, and could not, in +consequence, withstand the cold.” + +“You would have to wear the dress of our people and live in our huts. +You would not suffer,” answered the Lapp simply. “Our life, though so +rough to you, is very healthful after all.” + +“We’ll return again next year—never fear,” Owen promised. + +He was just as anxious to rejoin the ship as his friend had been to +leave it. + +Dick had grown more silent and thoughtful in the hours which slowly +passed as they pushed forward towards the coast. + +How much would he give if he could but avoid travelling by the old +_Mercur_? True, he could land in Hammerfest after they had rounded the +North Cape. + +But it would then, alas! be too late. + +On board that black steamer, with its eternal smell of cod-liver oil, +was Paul Grinevitch, the last man in the whole world he desired to +meet. Had not Captain Martin told them he was to pick up Berentsen, +Thyra, and the young Russian on his way back from Archangel? + +Alone in that terrible land of darkness and desolation all the winter +it was impossible to remain. + +To meet that man to whom Thyra Berentsen was engaged was now absolutely +imperative. There was no way by which to avoid him. + +On the morrow he must board the steamer; he must meet Paul Grinevitch +face to face! + +He shrank, yet he set his teeth hard and his brows contracted at +thought of what must ensue at that encounter. + +A name escaped his lips involuntarily, yet so low that his friend +seated beside him did not distinguish it. + +“Thyra! Thyra!” + +Yes. He must act—act even at risk of his own honour—for her sake! + + + + +CHAPTER XI + +FACE TO FACE + + +Four days later. + +A cold, cheerless morning with grey sky, drifting snow and a biting +wind. + +From Laxelven they had rowed the whole length of the wide Porsanger +Fjord, first to Kistrand and then on to Kjelvik, the wretched little +fishing station on the island of Magero, just behind the North Cape. + +The _Mercur_ was due that day. + +The fortnight of hard travel had fagged them both, and now, resting in +a bare and rather uncleanly little hut belonging to a fisherman, the +outlook over the grey narrow Magerosund, with the high, brown rocks, +rising sheer on either side, was terribly dismal and dispiriting. + +Henkela had gone forth, and with the searching eyes of the fisherman +was scanning the horizon eastward for any sign of the steamer. But +there was none. + +A little cluster of miserable huts, together with the two or three +drying-sheds, comprised the most northerly fishing station in Europe, +being nearly one hundred kilometres north of Hammerfest. + +The climate at that point, exposed to the open Polar ocean, was even +worse than at Vardo, while the stench from the cod-liver boilery was +dreadful. The dwellers there, the hardy toilers of the sea, most of +them Lapps, knew not a bright day of sunshine as we of the south know +it, nor had they ever in their lives seen either tree or even flower +other than those upon the mosses of the tundra. Never a cornfield or +an olive grove, a vineyard or a grass pasture had they ever gazed upon. +They knew of nothing but those storm-tossed waters of the glacial sea, +the floating ice, the bare rocky land, and the bird-covered bergs from +which, even as the two Englishmen gazed, countless thousands of gulls, +penguins and auks came forth darkening the sky in their flight. + +Dick Jervoise, still in his big reindeer coat and with a fortnight’s +growth of scrubby beard upon his chin, was sitting on an upturned +barrel calmly smoking a cigarette. + +The moment he had been dreading through all those days of travel since +they had left Vadso was now approaching. + +He was to meet Paul Grinevitch! + +Owen Odd, with an air of nonchalance, very different from that +calm attentive attitude he adopted in his shabby little surgery in +Hammersmith, was seated on a box impatient for the arrival of the +_Mercur_. + +“By Jove, Dick!” he was saying. “I’ll be glad to get out of this +stinking hole. It’s the worst place we’ve struck in the whole journey. +Only fancy being doomed to live here and to work in the boilery yonder! +Phew!” and he held his nose against the sickening stench. + +“Yes,” laughed his friend. “This is, I admit, rather different from +other places—the perfume factory at Grasse, and the otto-of-rose +distillery at Kazanlik, for instance. Yet surely ours is an experience +never to be forgotten, an experience of the hard conditions of life on +the edge of civilisation.” + +“This place, Henkela tells me, is one of the fishing stations belonging +to that fat, red-faced old man Sundt whom we met at the Berentsen’s. He +controls the fishing and boiling here, at Mehavn, Finkongkjeilen, and +lots of other places.” + +“And is reputed to be a millionaire—eh?” added Dick. + +“They say so—and all out of cod-liver oil and stock-fish,” Owen +laughed. “The more consumptives there are in the world, then the better +for his pocket! Some men’s fortunes actually depend upon the spread of +disease.” + +“Doctors included,” remarked Dick, with a mischievous smile. + +Whereat Odd laughed, and with impatience suggested they should go +outside and join Henkela to scan the horizon for signs of the incoming +_Mercur_. + +The whole of the wretched little colony of undersized men, in furs and +mitts, unclean men, with pale brown faces of Mongol type, with small, +narrow eyes, short, scrubby beards, full lips, and blunt noses, was +agog with expectation. The rare visits of the steamer which brought +them stores and took away their barrels of oil and the great packages +of dried cod down to Hamburg, was always a red-letter day. The few +Norwegians and Russians who worked there looked for letters and +newspapers from the civilised land they had known in their youth. The +others, the half-savage Lapps, loved the excitement of drawing their +big black boat alongside the steamer in the heavy sea, and shipping +their black, greasy barrels on board. + +The work was always very perilous, for the sea around that great +frowning cliff, called the Helnes, was never calm, and the wind, +straight from the ice, was always rough, bleak, and bitter. Many a life +had been lost in the work of shipping the oil and the wind-dried fish, +and many, alas! in the work of gathering the scaly harvest of the sea. + +The shingly beach, whereon the great breakers of the Arctic were +lashing themselves into a boiling foam, was strewn with thousands of +cod-heads and offal, while from the boilery came forth a dark vapour, +poisoning the atmosphere for miles around. + +Some Lapps, in their grey, ragged furs, their dirty red-tasselled caps, +and their fur boots, turned up at the toes, were busy packing the last +bales of dried fish, shouting among themselves and hauling on the +cords as they bound four or five hundred cod together. A Norwegian, +one of Peter Sundt’s managers, in furs and mitts, stood by, directing +operations. + +Outside some of the huts the Lapps were mending nets, others tarring +and repairing their boats, while the flat-faced women within were busy +cooking meals and attending to their household duties. + +Henkela, as they strolled along the shore, chatted here and there in +his own soft tongue with the fur-clad fishermen, while as they passed +the flag-staff the Norwegian flag was run up as signal of the approach +of the steamer. + +Away on the grey horizon could be seen the sharp, rocky point of the +Svoerholtklubben, standing out from the land eastward, and from behind +this Henkela pointed out, the _Mercur_ would first be distinguished. + +That little colony, which, through those months of the great Arctic +night, toiled and fished in a perpetual darkness, only broken by the +occasional aurora borealis, and in snowstorms and blizzards almost +continuous, was, Henkela declared, enjoying a “fine” day! “Fine” meant +that there was no fog, no snow, and it was daylight. + +The eyes of the colony were even upon that far-off, indistinct horizon, +and were so for several hours, until nearly midday, when a shout from a +group of Lapps attracted the two Englishmen; and they saw emerging from +behind the long, misty headland a thin trail of black smoke. + +The heart of Dick Jervoise fell. He bit his lip, uttering no word. +Owen, however, set about packing their traps together and seeing that +they were carried down to the boat which Henkela had engaged. They had +paid off their faithful attendant, paid him well, and he had expressed +his delight in many ways. + +For the next four months there would be no steamer to take him back +to Vadso; therefore he explained that he would return to Karasjok by +the way they had come, wait there until the Tana was frozen, and then +travel in a reindeer _pulk_ over the surface of the river, and so back +to his own settlement. + +Dick had scribbled a note to Mr. Ackerman, explaining how pleased they +had been with the Lapp’s services, and there now remained nothing but +to leave that damp, dreary, inhospitable land. + +The two friends stood watching the rapid approach of the black, +battered old steamer, with its high black funnel bearing the three +narrow white bands, the vessel that had been their home for so many +weeks, and was now to bear them back to the civilisation and hustle of +modern life. + +With the long trail from her smoke-stack, she steamed direct for the +shore, until, when about three miles away, there sounded from the siren +that well known warning note, the Morse code signal of long and short +blasts, announcing its approach. + +Ashore all was bustle in the little place. Men, women, and children ran +down to the beach to watch the only link they possessed with Europe, +that unknown country of the sun, the country whence came the flour +without which they must die—the country about which the men who had +seen it told such marvellous stories. + +The Laplander is ever a child in his vivid imagination, and though he +may be rough and uncouth he builds castles in the air and imagines +that he has seen that wonderful city of which he had heard so much—the +capital, Christiania, where lives King Haakon. + +At last the _Mercur_ suddenly altered her course, dropping anchor about +half-a-mile from land, whereupon the boats, already laden with barrels +and bales of fish until they appeared top-heavy, put off, followed +by the boat with the two Englishmen and their impedimenta, Henkela +insisting upon coming in order to see his charges safely on board what +he termed “the Hamburger.” + +The crucial moment for Dick Jervoise had arrived. He knew that among +the passengers on deck watching the arrival of the cargo would be Paul +Grinevitch. + +In a few moments, too, he would bow over the white hand of Thyra +Berentsen, the girl with the grey, child-like eyes, that he so +admired—the eyes that now ever haunted him. + +The approach was difficult on account of the tremendous sea running, +but at last Dick found himself on board, shaking hands with Captain +Martin, who, smart in his well-kept uniform, was greeting the pair. + +“Well, how did you get on? Had a good journey—eh?” he inquired. + +“Excellent!” Owen declared. “It was all most interesting. And you?” + +“Oh, pretty bad weather in the White Sea; quite unusual at this +season,” responded the captain. “But,” he added, “we have on board +our friends from Vardo, the captain, his daughter, and the Russian +gentleman. They go down with us to Trondhjem for the wedding. You will +land there and go on to Christiania by train, I suppose?” he asked of +Jervoise. + +“I—well, I really don’t know,” Dick replied, almost mechanically. “I +may get off at Hammerfest or Tromso.” + +“Better not,” advised the captain. “The summer season is over now, you +know, and winter is setting in. Up here it is not place in winter for +you people from the south.” + +“Well,” declared Odd, “I’ll have to get back to Christiania and across +to Hull as soon as I can, even though you stay here, Dick. I’ve my +practice to return to, remember.” + +“We’ll discuss it all later on,” Dick said; and as he turned he found a +burly man in yachting cap and thick blue pilot-jacket standing behind +him. It was Jorgen Berentsen, whose face beamed with good-humour as +they grasped hands. + +“I’m going down to Trondhjem,” he explained, “I go to be present at my +daughter’s wedding. You land at Trondhjem, too, of course. I hope you +and your friend the doctor will accept our invitation to the ceremony. +You,” he added, addressing Owen, “have met Monsieur Grinevitch. You met +him the night before you sailed.” + +“Yes,” replied the young doctor. “But my friend Jervoise has not yet +done so.” + +“He’s on the upper deck, I believe, with Thyra. Of course they are +inseparable!” he laughed merrily. + +Inseparable! Would they be, thought Dick Jervoise, if father and +daughter knew the shameful truth. + +Above their heads rang out a peal of merry, girlish laughter. + +She was leaning upon the rail just over them. He could hear the man’s +voice—a voice which he had, alas! bitter cause to remember. + +Her lover made a remark, whereat she laughed again. + +Dick Jervoise overheard what the man had uttered. His brows contracted, +and, smiling a hard, tight-lipped smile, he turned away. + +Jorgen Berentsen held him, however, in conversation for a few moments +longer, while Owen had already gone below to wash and make himself +presentable. + +Then, just as he turned to descend to his cabin, he came face to face +with Thyra and her lover. + +Dressed in neat blue serge, with a long seal jacket, a fine blue +foxskin around her neck, and a small fur toque, she presented a +delightfully dainty figure, as her grey eyes shone with delight at +meeting the Englishman. + +“Ah, Mr. Jervoise!” she cried, holding out to him her hand in its +leather mitt. “Here you are at last! We’ve been wondering ever since we +left Vardo whether you would get across here in time.” + +“We arrived only this morning, Miss Thyra,” he answered, bending over +her hand with his cosmopolitan courtliness. “It took us much longer to +ascend the Tana than we had anticipated, and it seems we very nearly +lost the steamer.” + +“Oh, Captain Martin intended to wait twenty-four hours for you,” she +declared. “We could never have left you and Doctor Odd in this awful +place all the winter! Allow me to introduce Mr. Grinevitch, my future +husband—Mr. Richard Jervoise.” + +The Russian, in a suit of rough homespun, and wearing a thick, grey, +half-military overcoat, reaching to his heels, and a golf cap, turned +from gazing across at the land and faced him. + +For a second the pair stared into one another’s eyes. There was +defiance, even hatred, in the glance of both of them. + +Thyra, however, did not detect Paul’s expression. Her usually quick +intelligence had now become blinded by her intense and all-absorbing +love for him. + +She did not notice that quick flash of anger, so cold and metallic. + +The two men bowed stiffly in silence. Neither uttered a word. + +Dick Jervoise, with an excuse that he was unpresentable, passed by them +and went straight downstairs. + +The strife had begun. How would it end? + + + + +CHAPTER XII + +LOVE’S SHADOW + + +Evening fell rapidly; the shadows deepened into black, impalpable +clouds. + +Slowly the _Mercur_ steamed up the narrow Magerosund behind the bare, +rocky island of Magero, on which stands the North Cape. On either side +rose, sheer from the rolling waters, the dark, black, inaccessible +rocks, the home of thousands of sea-birds. + +As daylight faded the scene became inexpressibly grand. The merry +little company had assembled below in the shabby little saloon, where +somebody was playing the old piano. Only Paul and Thyra were on deck, +standing near the chart-room, hand in hand, and watching the northern +twilight fast deepening into night. + +Thyra, for the first time since leaving Vardo, felt a weight of sadness +upon her soul. What was it? The gloom, the oppression of twilight in +that remote and barren place through which destiny was carrying her; or +was it the mere reflection of Paul’s unwonted seriousness? + +She spoke, raising her beautiful eyes to his, but he remained silent, +his cigarette between his teeth, his gaze fixed straight before him. + +The light was being run up to the mast-head, the music ceased, and the +only sound was the rhythmic throbbing of the engines and the hiss of +the angry sea. An infinite sadness, a mystery of fearful shadow fell +blacker and blacker from the heavens. + +Why had her father so suddenly and inexplicably allowed her marriage +to Paul? This thought again recurred to her as she stood leaning upon +the rail in silence. It was certainly most generous of him to make that +sacrifice—to allow her to marry and leave him to lead his life alone in +that dismal settlement of the Far North. Yet she felt that there was a +reason—some strong reason—of which she was being kept in ignorance. + +True, she loved Paul with all her heart. Yet, somehow, when she came to +analyse her feelings, she regarded the future, the embarrassments of +the first days of marriage, with just the slightest trepidation. + +Surely her soul was becoming involved in the shadows darkening her! + +Together they paced the slippery deck, sometimes with difficulty, owing +to the heavy roll of the Polar Sea. Her lover buttoned her coat tightly +at the throat, and tightened the splendid blue fox around her throat, +for the wind was biting. + +The ship’s bell clanged out the time of day, and the mast-head light +showed brighter in the darkness. + +A strange sense of oppression had fallen upon her. She was not guilty +of folly in action, but certainly her words were strange. Paul found +them amusing, yet they distressed him. + +Though seemingly calm, Thyra could not hide that she was under the +dominion of some fixed idea. What was she thinking about? + +He halted, and at a point secluded from the view of any sailor who +might be on deck, he embraced her tenderly, imprinting a fond kiss upon +her soft, white cheek. And yet, even as he held her in his arms, he +felt her far, immeasurably far, away from him. + +What could it mean? + +“Aren’t you happy, my darling?” he asked at last. + +Paul’s searching question had its echo in her soul also. What was it +that they lacked? They were both of them strong and young, the girl +told herself. Paul loved her ardently, blindly; he lived only for her; +and he was so good-looking. His fine, passionate eyes, his soft white +hands, his clear-cut features possessed a magic which intoxicated her. + +Since leaving Vardo, three days before, they had been skirting that +northern iron-bound coast, spending greater part of their time on deck, +standing or sitting hand in hand. The stern grandeur of the scenery was +everywhere impressive; the gloom of that silent coast alternated with +the gaiety of Captain Martin and his officers, and the merry strains +of the old piano below. True, the sea was rough, but was she not +essentially a child of the sea? + +As they steamed along in the gathering gloom, black masses of rock +reared themselves perpendicularly out of the waters, rising directly +from the deeply cut fjords, and, riven and cleft, towered precipitously +upwards or leaned threateningly over. On their heads lay masses of ice +stretching for miles, covering whole districts and scaring away all +life save the torrents to which they themselves gave birth. + +The midsummer sun had disappeared. No longer at midnight it stood large +and blood-red on the horizon, its veiled brilliance reflected alike +from the ice-covered mountains and from the ocean, as Dick and Owen had +witnessed it, for the brief summer in that dread wilderness of rock and +icy sea had passed. + +There is a bewildering, overwhelming charm about that northern +latitude—that region of silence and mystery—a charm that is unlike +any in the whole wide world. It is a charm that grips the heart +unconsciously, and yet so firmly that all who have sailed the Arctic +seas, or travelled on those barren lands of the far north, strangely +enough, are ever eager and ever long to return once again to those +islands and skerries and that maze of bays, sounds and straits of +the northern coast of Lapland, which possesses for the southerner an +attraction as magnetic as they do for the compass of the mariner. + +As the darkness deepened, the steamer slowly passed beneath a high +black cliff rising sheer from the water, which, the girl pointed out to +her lover, was one of the largest bird-covered bergs of the district, +the home of millions of eider-duck. + +“How strange it is,” she remarked for want of something to say, for +she saw that he seemed troubled, “that only two causes can move the +sea-birds—the eider-ducks, auks, gulls, terns, oyster-catchers, and the +rest—to visit the land: the joyous springtime sense of new-awakening +love, and the mournful foreboding of approaching death.” + +“I was not aware of that,” he said, gazing up at the towering wall of +black rock. “You have studied the birds, I suppose?” + +“A little,” she laughed. “It’s curious that not even winter, with its +long night, its cold, and its storms, can drive them to the land; they +are proof to all the terrors of the North. They may alight, but only +for a short time, often on a solitary island in the sea to oil their +feathers more thoroughly than can be done in the water. But when with +the sun’s first brightness love stirs in their breasts, all—young and +old alike—though they may have thousands of miles to swim and fly, +strive to reach the place where they themselves first saw the light of +day. And if, in mid-winter, months after the breeding-places have been +left desolate, a sea-bird feels death in his heart, he hastens, as +long as his strength holds out, that he may, if possible, die in the +place where he was cradled.” + +“It is surely much the same with us,” he said, holding her hand. “We +would all of us, if we could, die in the place where we were born.” + +He spoke mechanically. The truth was that his thoughts were far away +from that gloomy solitude. Before him had arisen a vision of the past—a +recollection of sunshine and brightness, of sweet-smelling violets +and carnations, of pretty women and well-dressed men; of a land where +man had enhanced the beauties of nature until it seemed almost a +terrestrial Paradise. And as he gazed upon the scene he saw two faces—a +man’s and a woman’s—faces that he had believed until an hour ago he +would never again recall. + +The man—that man who alone knew the terrible truth—had risen against +him, risen as though from the sea! He had come on board, and had met +him face to face! + +Thyra, in ignorance of the reason of her lover’s silence, stood by his +side in uneasiness. + +Try how she would, she could not account for that strange feeling of +oppressive sadness, precursory of evil. Something was not right. Of +that she felt convinced. + +And yet what could it be? Her father, devoted as he was to her, was +taking her to her aunt’s in Trondhjem, where she was to be married to +Paul. Afterwards they were to live in St. Petersburg. They had decided +upon the Russian capital in preference to Moscow. Before they had left +Vardo, Paul and her father had spent some hours together, and what her +lover had said had apparently entirely satisfied the old captain. + +“Soon,” Paul was saying, as with her soft hand in his they both fixed +their gaze upon the dark waters, “soon you will be mine, my own dear +wife. Then we shall be happy—so happy,” he added in a strange voice. + +“Aren’t we supremely happy now, Paul?” she asked. “Surely this journey +should be the happiest in all our lives!” + +He bit his lip. But in the darkness she could not see the hard +expression upon his countenance. + +“It is. Of course it is,” he assured her with an uneasy laugh. Yet his +thoughts were all of that man. Richard Jervoise, in the saloon below, +the man with whom he must sit and eat at the same table in half an +hour. Then a moment later he said: “I never anticipated, dearest, that +we should be traveling south so soon. All this seems a dream, Thyra—a +dream too sweet to be a reality.” And his fingers closed tightly upon +hers. + +“Yes,” she declared, turning her face, half buried as it was in her +furs, towards his with a passionate look in her eyes, filled with the +light of unshed tears. “I know, Paul, how fondly you love me. Need I +say that I love you, dearest, just as fervently, and that I am very, +very happy?” + +“Are you?” he cried quickly. “Do you know that from your attitude +to-day I began to suspect that you had been filled by some grave +apprehensions—that something had caused you uneasiness.” + +“Did you?” she laughed with well-feigned carelessness. “How absurd! +Why, Paul, I’m the happiest girl in all the world. I have your love. +What more can I desire?” + +“That’s right,” he exclaimed cheerily. “Love, peace, happiness—all +that makes life worth living lie before us. Therefore why let these +dispirited surroundings influence our thoughts? In Petersburg my +friends will welcome you warmly, and you will soon be mistress of your +own home.” + +“And you, dear heart,” she said, clinging to him, “will be my husband. +Ah! Paul, my Paul, I want nothing else in all the world—only you.” + +He bent until his lips touched hers. + +Yet as she returned his passionate caress his conscience smote him. +What would she, who trusted him so entirely and implicitly, she so +innocent of the world and its pleasures and its pitfalls, think of him +if she knew the shameful truth? + +She clung to him, for where they stood no one could witness their +embrace. He loved her, yet he feared—feared that tall, athletic, +straight-eyed Englishman who had once before crossed his path in that +far-off southern land, and who now, at the very moment of his triumph, +had risen a living witness of his dishonour! + +As he held her slim form close to his breast, covering her dainty mouth +with his kisses, yet standing unsteadily on the slippery deck owing to +the long roll of the sea, he reflected. His brain was awhirl. True, +Dick Jervoise could, if he chose, tell a strange and bitter truth. Yet +was not that hateful Englishman utterly in his power, after all? + +Could he not, if he so wished, crush him so completely that any word he +uttered in retaliation would be disbelieved? + +And his lips tightened into a hard smile, even as he pressed them again +to those of the sweet, innocent girl whose pure soul he possessed and +whose intense love was all-consuming. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + +FACES IN THE MIST + + +The evening meal in the small saloon of the _Mercur_ was bright and +pleasant, even though it consisted of tinned provisions and many +varieties of cheese in Norwegian style. + +Captain Martin, his uniform carefully brushed, his linen spotless, +and his fair moustache carefully curled, sat at the head of the table +smiling brightly, while Berentsen, the bluff old whaler, and Owen Odd +were the life and soul of the little party. + +Paul Grinevitch had been allotted a place opposite Jervoise, but as he +seated himself the Englishman had smiled affably and remarked that it +was the first civilised meal he and his companion had enjoyed since +leaving Vadso. The Russian having replied with equal affability, none +of the party guessed that the two men had met on a previous occasion in +circumstances both remarkable and tragic. + +Indeed, Thyra, her lover, and Dick Jervoise were soon in animated +conversation, the last-named describing their journey to Karasjok and +relating many of the humorous incidents of the road. + +Now and then the two men exchanged glances—quick, covert glances—each +wondering what was passing at the back of the other’s mind, while Owen +was laughing heartily with Martin and the grey-bearded harbour-master, +the hunchback mail officer and the engineer joining in the hilarious +chorus. Captain Berentsen’s broad smile lighting his weather-beaten +face, told of unruffled good humour, that easy-going good-fellowship of +the true-born sailor. Full of amusing anecdote and possessor of a keen +sense of humour, he kept the little company in fits of laughter as he +related to them some of the ludicrous experiences during his whaling +days. He had, just before his appointment as harbour-master, been +second in command of the copy of the Viking ship built by the Norwegian +Government and sent over for exhibition at the World’s Fair in Chicago. + +The voyage of the weird-looking craft across the Atlantic and the +sensation it caused aboard the various vessels met on the way, he +described most humorously. Some skippers, discovering it looming up on +the horizon, believed that Noah’s Ark was still afloat, while others +fancied it was one of the Armada vessels risen from the deep, or the +Flying Dutchman himself. + +“You should have been on board with me!” he was saying in English. “We +had the greatest fun, I assure you. We would refuse to answer signals, +and they would heave-to and come on board to see who and what we really +were. The crews of some craft were evidently frightened, for they stood +away directly they sighted us. They believed Old Nick himself to be +aboard.” + +“Yes,” remarked Captain Martin; “no doubt it was a most unusual looking +vessel, and must have given a good many people a turn! One doesn’t meet +Viking ships on the high seas very often in one’s life.” + +“Well, we, of course, acted suspiciously in order to puzzle every ship +we met,” laughed Berentsen. “And in mid-Atlantic we experienced some +very bad weather into the bargain.” + +The meal was enlivened throughout by nautical and other reminiscences, +and afterwards, at Dick’s request, Thyra went to the piano and, smiling +sweetly, sang one or two of the gay French songs she had learned from a +book, called “Les Chansons de Paris,” which Captain Martin had brought +her up from the south a year before. + +The first she sang was “Heures d’Ivresse,” the popular ditty which +Leontine Deschamps sang for so long at the Folies Bergere, and the +refrain of which was:— + + Veux-tu, toi que j’adore, + Me dire encore, encore, + Ces mots voluptueux, + Tendrement amoureux? + Ces phrases si grisantes, + Si folles, si troublantes. + Viens me les dire encore, + Toi que j’adore! + +This she followed by the dainty chansonette of Denoisy, “Les Refrains +du Printemps”:— + + Quand le printemps dans les buissons + Met un bouquet de fleurs nouvelles, + Il apporte aussi des chansons, + Dedans le coeur des demoiselles; + Les p’tits jeun’s gens sont plus legers, + Et trottinant, l’amour en tete, + Ils chantent d’un air degage. + Un gai refrain de chansonette: + + Titine, + Mutine, + N’a pas dix-huit ans, + Et chante, + Contente, + Voici le printemps! + +Sweetly she sang, with a tuneful verve and a pronunciation full of +charm, and when she had ended all the party applauded her again and +again, bringing a slight flush of embarrassment to her soft cheeks. + +Captain Berentsen, a fine burly, grey-bearded figure as he stood at +the table, his body swaying easily with the motion of the ship as +became the sailor, gave a humorous recitation in Norwegian, while +Dick Jervoise, now thoroughly reassured by the Russian’s attitude of +pretended disregard of the past, gave one of the Ingoldsby Legends. + +Thus passed the first evening of the southward voyage, Martin and +Berentsen smoking their long, Norwegian pipes with the huge bowls, and +everyone contributing to the general entertainment. Captain Martin had +but little to do with the navigation of the ship, for so dangerous +are the channels and fjords right down to Bergen that the vessel was +constantly in charge of the two pilots which she always carried to and +from the North. + +Paul Grinevitch’s turn came. He seated himself at the piano and, with a +quick glance at Jervoise first, ran his fingers over the yellow keys, +and then, in a rather good tenor voice, began:— + + On la nomme la Fanchonnette, + Elle est blondes, comme les bles, + Elle a la voix d’une fauvette, + Les yeux noirs, les cheveux boucles; + Elle est frele, mignonne et blanche, + Exhale un parfum embaume; + Nous nous connumes un dimanche, + Et depuis mon coeur fut charme. + + Ma Fanchonnette + Svelte et simplette + Revets tes atours gracieux; + A la folie, + Fais-toi jolie, + Et le charme de tous les yeux + Ma favorite + Profitons vite + Car les beaux jours n’auront qu’un temps, + Et dans la fete + Des amourettes + Sachons depenser nos vingt ans, + Ma Fanchonnette! + +Fanchonnette! Those words, that haunting refrain of the cafe concerts, +brought back to the eyes of Dick Jervoise the vision that he would fain +forget—the vision of that sweet-faced girl with whom he had walked in +the olive groves at sundown and in the bright moonlight by the tideless +southern sea! He tried to close his ears to the words, but, alas! it +was impossible. He sat rigid, staring towards that man seated at the +piano, that man who was taunting him, torturing him with a refinement +of cruelty of which those about them never dreamed. + +It was a pretty song. Ah! yes; but they knew not the tragic memories +which that tune awakened within the heart of the tall Englishman. +Before him rose a grey mist, and from it a woman’s face gazed forth, +at first with a look of bitter reproach in her big, blue eyes, to be +succeeded a moment later by an expression of terrible haunting horror, +the face of a woman who was gazing into eternity. + +Once, while singing, Paul Grinevitch, turned from the instrument and +again glanced at Jervoise. Their eyes met. The singer recognised by the +Englishman’s countenance the effect of the song upon him, and, after a +pause, commenced the last verse. + +It was _her_ song! Had not they both sat and witnessed her triumphs; +had they not both joined their plaudits with those of the after-dinner +crowds at the Alcazar d’Ete, the Ambassadeurs, Olympia, the Parisiana, +and that gilded casino beside the Mediterranean? Ah! yes. It was her +song—the one he remembered so well, the one she had sung at his request +on that last never-to-be-forgotten night. + +His nails drove themselves into his palms and the perspiration stood +upon his brow at thought of it all. There was a grim fatality, surely, +that he should meet Paul Grinevitch face to face—that Grinevitch +himself should sing that song out upon that chill Arctic sea! + +He sat staring straight before him, not moving a muscle. His attitude, +though none noticed him save the Russian, was that of a man fascinated +by a peep into the future. + +Strange how a simple song, the scent of some common flower, the mention +of a name, recalls in both men and women after long years the vivid +recollection of a tender affection of a forgotten love. For one brief +moment the heart strings are touched, and respond in sympathy. Then, +disregarding the present, we live again for a short space beside the +one we loved and, more often than not, drink our fill of the tragedy of +the past. + +Fanchonnette! The very name caused a big lump to rise in the throat of +Dick Jervoise. The torture of it all was beyond endurance. He could +have risen and struck down that grinning man who, singing her song, +knew that he was cutting deeply into his enemy’s heart more cruelly and +relentlessly than by a knife thrust. Scenes, some sweet and tender, +some—alas! tragic and terrible, arose in quick succession before his +clouded vision. In all he saw her countenance—that pale, wan face, with +the shadow of death upon it—that face upon which he had, alas! looked +for the last time! + +Ah! it was cruel—too cruel of Grinevitch to sing that song. It was +inhuman to thus torture him, well knowing that he dare not raise his +voice in complaint. + +At last the singer sang the concluding refrain, and then turned to his +victim. But the latter dare not raise his gaze. He was sitting pale and +erect, glaring before him at that hideous ghost of the past. + +“What a charming little song!” Thyra declared; and as her lover rose +from the piano and rejoined her she gazed into his eyes with an +expression of fervent devotion. + +As soon as he could, Dick Jervoise escaped from the saloon and, +followed by Owen, ascended to the deck. The night was now dark, with a +tearing wind straight from the ice-pack, causing the vessel to labour +heavily in the long rollers, for they were now out in the open Polar +Sea again, and would remain so until they reached Hammerfest. + +Behind the canvas wind-screen on the bridge the pilot, in heavy fur +coat and mitts, paced up and down, his keen, deep-set eyes ever upon +his difficult course. From the high funnel sparks flew out far across +the angry waters, while ever and anon a huge wave would strike the +bows, causing the ship to shiver from stem to stern. + +“Ah!” cried Dick to his companion, as he bared his head to the wind, +“it is more pleasant up here than down there in that stuffy saloon.” + +“Yes,” answered the Doctor, “I noticed just now that you were a bit +pale, Dick. What’s the matter?” + +“Nothing, my dear fellow—nothing,” laughed the other. “I’m tired, +perhaps.” + +“Better turn in early to-night,” the doctor suggested. “But, I say, the +young couple seem most devoted, don’t they? Thyra has been engaged to +the Russian for quite a long time, I hear, though the secret, for some +reason or other, hasn’t been allowed to leak out. Then, all at once, +it is announced, and the marriage hurried on as quickly as possible. +Rather strange, isn’t it?” + +“Yes,” responded Jervoise, as they walked together towards the stern, +careful to avoid stumbling against the piles of miscellaneous deck +cargo. “You said, I think, that the Russian has been staying in Vardo +for some time. What took him up to such an out-of-the-world place, I +wonder?” + +“Who knows? What took us there, for example? Only just our wanderings. +Same with him, I suppose. He met her, and fell in love with her—just +as you or I would probably have done had we been first on the scene. +Myself, I have no hesitation in saying that she’s one of the most +charming and intelligent girls I’ve ever met.” + +“We were agreed on that point on the first evening we went to the +harbour-master’s house,” said Dick slowly. “What do you think of the +man?” + +“Well, rather a good sort, I should call him,” was Owen’s deliberate +reply. “I know there’s a prejudice against Russians all the world over. +People believe they treat their wives badly. But I can’t imagine him +treating Thyra—or, in fact, any woman—badly. He’s completely devoted to +her, that’s quite apparent, and she has eyes only for him. They make a +very smart pair.” + +Dick Jervoise smiled. + +“Love-making is always amusing and sometimes ludicrous—when you +are only a witness,” he said. “The lover always puts on his best +behavior before his enchantress. It is certainly so in this case. Paul +Grinevitch is, I admit, good-looking, courteous, well-spoken, and +essentially a ladies’ man; but——” And he paused. His mouth shut with a +snap. + +“But what? Don’t you think he’ll make a good husband for our little +Thyra? I call her ours because we seem to have discovered her.” + +“Husband!” echoed his companion quickly. “Thyra would be better off in +her grave than to marry such a man.” + +“Why do you anticipate unhappiness for her?” asked Owen in quick +suspicion. + +“Because that man, like most of his race, conceals the claws within the +velvet paw. When powerless, he is humble and humiliated; but give him +power over a woman and he will tire of her and crush the heart—nay, the +very life—from her. Ah! you don’t know, old chap—you don’t know.” + +“Why, what’s the matter with you to-night, Dick?” inquired his friend. +“You don’t seem to have a very good opinion of Paul Grinevitch.” + +“No,” Jervoise snapped, “I have not. Thyra will regret the day of her +marriage to that man—depend upon it.” + +“Don’t you think your condemnation—well, rather premature, old fellow? +You’ve only been with him a few hours.” + +“I’ve seen sufficient to know the truth,” was the other’s hard response. + +Could it be that Dick was jealous of the Russian, his friend wondered. +He had noticed his curious pre-occupied demeanour all through their +journey across from Vadso. Prior to their meeting with Thyra he had +been his sane, rollicking, easy-going, cosmopolitan self. Could it +mean that Dick had fallen desperately in love with the daughter of the +harbour-master, and now, discovering that she already had a secret +lover, he hated him? + +That was the only solution of the problem. Dick, dear old Dick +Jervoise—who was to him almost as a brother—was deeply in love! This +Russian, with his courtly airs and piercing eyes so full of passionate +glances, was his rival for the hand of the beautiful Thyra. + +Owen Odd was silent. The position was both painful and difficult. He +had never suspected it, for he had long ago believed Dick to be proof +against a woman’s smiles, case-hardened against feminine blandishments, +as most men who lead cosmopolitan lives at last become. But his words +were sufficient proof of the hatred and bitterness in his heart. + +“You don’t appear to like Paul Grinevitch, eh?” he repeated a few +moments later. + +“Like him!” cried Dick. “I—I hate him.” + +“Because she loves him?” slowly suggested Owen in a softer voice. + +“Not for one reason alone I hate him,” declared Dick frankly, “but for +many.” + +At that moment he would have given worlds to have been able to unburden +his heart to his friend. But, alas! it was quite impossible. + +Fanchonnette! Fanchonnette! That name, the haunting music, the face +of that man seated at the piano was still before him, until he almost +cried aloud to the wind in agony of soul. + + + + +CHAPTER XIV + +IS IN SEVERAL WAYS MYSTERIOUS + + +Owen and Dick spent a pleasant hour on deck next morning with the +dainty grey-eyed girl, while Paul and Captain Berentsen smoked and +chatted in the deck-house. + +In her neat serge gown, long sealskin travelling coat, and fur toque +she was a delightful little companion. Anticipation of the coming event +in Trondhjem filled her with intense, almost childish, excitement, +and she had already made both the Englishmen promise to remain to be +present at the marriage feast. To Paul—her Paul—she was utterly and +entirely devoted. She spoke of him almost with every breath. + +Leaning against the rail on the upper deck, she chatted merrily in +English with the two men, always piquante and always amusing, as the +ship rounded the high rocky headland of the Island of Kyalo. Suddenly, +pointing with her mittened hand to the grey distance, she exclaimed: + +“Look! There’s Hammerfest—the most northerly town in the world. You saw +it on your journey north, of course.” + +“We didn’t land,” Dick replied. “We put in there at night and left at +dawn. Captain Martin said there was very little to see, and promised us +a longer stay on our return.” + +“I heard him say this morning that we’ll remain six hours there,” she +replied. “I know the place quite well. I have an uncle who owns one of +the boileries yonder.” + +“And his factory contributes to the unpleasant effluvia, of course,” +laughed Owen. + +“I suppose so,” she answered. “But all these places must really seem +very terrible to both of you after the sunshine and warmth and trees +and flowers of your southern land. I love Christiania. Everything there +is so bright and gay—and life altogether so very different.” + +“You ought to see London,” Dick remarked. “There’s far more movement +and bustle there than in Christiania.” + +“Ah! yes. I have read so much of your great London, where the railways +run underground. I would love to see it. Paul has promised to take me +there some day.” + +Jervoise held his breath. Paul! She spoke ever of that man. In her +ignorance and inexperience she believed in him; believed all the lies +he had told her. She worshipped him as a god. + +Gradually they approached the small bay where the northernmost little +wood-built town nestled at the foot of its stony hill. In the harbour +were moored rows of small Russian schooners, which had come round from +the White Sea for fish, together with some whalers, distinguishable by +the white crow’s-nest upon their mast. Along the shore stood a row of +wooden drying-houses and boileries for making cod-liver oil, all of +them emitting an effluvia that already caused them to hold their noses. +Above the other roofs rose the pointed wooden spire of the church +against the rocky background. There, as at Vardo, Thyra explained, +the sun never set from the middle of May until the end of July, and +never rose from the middle of November until the end of January. +On going ashore they found it a quaint and very interesting little +place, notwithstanding the noxious odour of boiling cod that pervaded +everything. In the Gronnevold Gaden were a number of stores and shops, +and from the post office—built high from the ground on account of the +deep snows experienced for so many months each year—the two Englishmen +obtained their mail, which had been lying there for some weeks, +together with a London newspaper or two, the most recent a month old. + +Captain Berentsen, with Thyra, took Paul to introduce him to his +brother-in-law, and not until a few moments before sailing did they +scramble back on board. + +Then, in the grey evening light, the vessel stood south for the Loppen +Sea. + +During that week’s voyage south to Tromso, and eventually to Trondhjem, +calling at Lodingen, on the Lofoden Islands, at the rocky little island +of Skjervo, threading the narrow Raftsund and the dangerous channels +between the thousand islands north of Bodo, obtaining glimpses of the +great pale-green glaciers of the Svartisen, they passed through the +finest fjord scenery of Norway, and as each day succeeded day the air +grew perceptibly warmer. They were returning to the European summer. + +One afternoon, not long after leaving Bodo, with its background of +irregular snow-capped mountains, they crossed the Polar Circle, their +small signal-gun being fired to mark the event, while in the saloon a +bottle of champagne was opened, and the future prosperity was wished to +the happy pair now so soon to become man and wife. + +Paul Grinevitch curiously enough, displayed no further animosity +towards the Englishman. Ever since singing that song of Fanchonnette he +had, indeed, showed a marked cordiality towards his fellow passenger, +frequently chatting with him, and even on one or two occasions taking a +hand at bridge. It was as though he had thrown down the gauntlet, and +now stood defiant and triumphant. + +Two passengers, bearded Norwegian merchants, had joined the ship at +Tromso, and as they skirted the rocky coast, a grand panorama day +after day, the merriment grew greater. The oppression of that terrible +desolation of the bleak Nordland was being lifted from them all now +that upon the land, right down to the sea shore, grew the firs and +pines, while the houses and smiling villages of civilisation nestled +beneath the brown rocks. + +They were entering the Norway of the tourist, the picturesque fjords of +the twelve-guinea-yachting-folk and the fjields of the tweed-attired +personally-conducted. But the season was over. The last tourist steamer +had gone south, and even though it was early September, winter was +creeping on; in those latitudes there is no autumn. + +Thyra’s gay, rippling laughter rang everywhere throughout the vessel +as one afternoon they steamed up the beautiful Trondhjem Fjord towards +the busy Northern port. All was excitement and bustle, and the deck was +heaped with baggage. The girl had, in her lover’s presence, repeated +the invitation to the two Englishmen to remain in Trondhjem and be +present at the wedding, and as Grinevitch had added his cordial request +with hers, Dick and Owen both accepted. Captain Martin, whom Berentsen +and his daughter pressed to remain, had promised to do his best to +anchor for three days before proceeding down to Hamburg. + +Owen Odd was still sorely puzzled. He could not for the life of him +decide whether, after all, Dick was really in love with Thyra or +whether his friend, by some extraordinary intuition, believed Paul +Grinevitch unfitted to be her husband. + +Many times during walks along the oily deck with his friend he had +reverted to the subject, but Dick had always declined to discuss the +matter. + +“I hope she will be very happy,” was all he would say. Never once +did he again betray his animosity towards the man who was to be her +husband. It was that very fact which mystified the doctor so completely. + +Thyra and her lover had spent most of their time together seated in +cosy corners out of the wind, chatting and discussing the future. When +he was nigh the love-look was ever in her eyes—that expression which in +a woman is so unmistakable. + +On landing at last Dick and Owen took up their quarters at the +Britannia Hotel, Paul having announced his intention of going to the +Grand, where he had stayed on a previous occasion. Thyra went at once +with her father to her aunt, the widow of a Government official, who +occupied a large house facing the fjord, about a mile from the town. +The house Thyra had pointed out to Jervoise as they approached the +landing stage. + +Trondhjem, surrounded by its green hills, proved to the travellers a +pleasant little place with fine main streets broadly built in order to +diminish the danger of fire, even though they were perhaps a little too +full of shops of false curios and those rubbishy souvenirs prepared for +English and German tourists who land there, and purchase articles of +reindeer-horn, Lapp “skaller,” knives and caps, and make believe they +have visited the North. + +As at Hammerfest, on their journey north they had put in at night +and sailed at dawn; therefore, after so much knocking about in the +Arctic, Dick and his companion were glad to bid adieu to their rather +narrow quarters on the storm-battered old _Mercur_, to sleep again in +a civilised bed, and eat food that had not been tinned. A few days’ +sojourn there, they resolved, would prepare them for the journey home. +Therefore in the hotel they took their ease and waited for the wedding +feast. + +Martin they frequently met in mufti in the streets, but Paul +Grinevitch, it appeared, was mostly with Thyra out at her aunt’s house. +At first it had been uncertain whether the necessary formalities prior +to the marriage could be completed within the three days at Martin’s +disposal, but a note from old Jorgen Berentsen delivered at the hotel +told them that all was in order, and that the wedding, which was to be +of the quietest nature, was to take place in the quaint old cathedral +of Trondhjem, wherein repose the relics of St. Olaf, and which is +probably familiar in photographs to many readers of this drama of the +Arctic seas. + +That same evening the two Englishmen met Paul emerging from a +jeweller’s in the Dronningens Gaden. At first the Russian endeavoured +to avoid them, and seemed a trifle flurried at the encounter. + +“No,” laughed Owen good-humouredly. “Now you might just as well +confess! You’ve been to buy your bride a present. May we not be allowed +to see it?” + +With some reluctance the Russian at last handed the doctor a leather +case, which, on being opened, disclosed a pretty hair-ornament in +diamonds of chaste design in the form of three ears of barley. + +The keen eyes of Grinevitch met Dick’s. In them was that same look of +bold defiance and of triumph. + +The Englishman lowered his gaze, made a remark of admiration of the +present, and then spoke of something else. + +“Well,” exclaimed the Russian presently, “you will be at the church, +both of you, to-morrow at twelve.” And he rushed off, for he had, he +said, to visit his _fiancee_. + +“You hate that man, Dick—and he hates you!” Owen declared the instant +Paul was out of hearing. “I saw it in the fellow’s eyes.” + +Jervoise started at his friend’s words. Then he had noticed! + +“Yes,” he replied, with a feeble attempt to laugh it off. “I—well, +I suppose he’s jealous of me. Yet I can assure you he has not the +slightest cause.” + +Next day was bright and brilliant as Dick Jervoise passed from the warm +sunlight into the grey, sombre interior of the great cathedral with its +wonderful windows. That day he acted as though in a dream. + +He saw the little group in the shadow before the altar, the pair +kneeling, the pastor speaking in low, impressive tones in the Norwegian +tongue. Not more than a dozen people were present in that vast edifice +and all seemed attired in black. Owen whispered something, but he sat +unheeding his friend’s words. Then there was a short prayer, and Thyra +Berentsen and Paul Grinevitch rose from their knees man and wife. He +saw the passionate love-look in her eyes, as arm in arm they walked +out. Yes. She loved him entirely and devotedly; she believed in him as +other women had believed! Ah! it was all tragic—horrible. + +Dick drove to the Hotel Angleterre, where the feast was to be held +and where he stood to congratulate the bride and bridegroom, though +his words almost froze upon his lips. The food he afterwards took +almost choked him. He had been compelled to stand by and see that +sweet-faced innocent girl, so full of plans for the future, sacrificed +to that man whom he dare not rise up and denounce—that man who had sung +“Fanchonnette,” and who stood triumphant. + +At the feast there was much merriment. Old Jorgen, beaming with +good-fellowship and satisfaction at the match made by his daughter, +related some of his best stories, throwing his sister-in-law and the +other guests into fits of laughter, while on every hand the bride and +bridegroom received congratulations and toasts in their honour until +Dick Jervoise could no longer bear it. He rose, making an excuse that +he must send a telegram, and, going out, did not return. + +That night at seven he and Owen took their seats in the express for +Christiania, his intention being to cut himself adrift in future from +the newly-wedded pair. That man’s presence was to him a perpetual +torture. His evil, crafty face brought back all the bitter past. Owen +was aware of the deadly hatred existing between the men, but of course +believed it to be owing to jealousy. He suspected that his friend loved +the beautiful Thyra. + +Dick had sent a hurried note to the Grand, wishing Paul Grinevitch a +cold adieu, and was greatly surprised, while he and Owen were seated +together in their compartment at the moment of departure, to see Paul +and his bride upon the platform, followed by old Jorgen and Captain +Martin, the latter more spruce and dandified than ever. + +“Why, of course, I quite forgot!” cried Owen. “They go to the capital +to spend their honeymoon! I didn’t expect, however, they’d be +travelling by our train.” + +A compartment at the rear had been reserved for the pair; therefore the +two Englishmen descended, and, having greeted them, promised to see +them on their arrival in Christiania next morning. + +Then the train moved off, and through the brilliant, moonlit night +wound due southward among those fertile valleys of the Hedenmark, +until, at ten o’clock next morning, the travellers found themselves in +the Norwegian capital. + +On alighting, the Englishmen greeted the happy pair, Paul promising +to send his address in Petersburg to Dick’s club in London. They had, +he said, decided to go to the Hotel Victoria, at the corner of the +Raadhus-Gaden, for a few days, as Thyra wished to visit her relations +and one or two of her old schoolfellows. The Englishmen, in reply, +said they were putting up at the Grand. + +“We may perhaps meet again before you leave Christiania,” the young +wife exclaimed merrily as she held out her hand, and Dick Jervoise bent +over it gallantly. + +As he did so he whispered: + +“Remember your promise! Make excuses to him to get away, for I shall be +awaiting you. Be careful to arouse no suspicion.” + +Then, with a quick, meaning glance, a glance of bitter hatred at her +husband, who was standing near, he raised his hat, and, turning upon +his heel, walked across to the fiacre, whereon the baggage was already +piled. + +“Well, Dick, old chap,” remarked Owen, with a slight sigh, as they +drove together out of the station, “that little incident of our lives +has, I suppose, ended. By Jove! how lovely she looks!” + +“Yes,” responded his friend hoarsely, “it has ended—but badly for her, +poor little girl, I fear—very badly.” + +“You seem to know something, Dick!” + +“Yes,” replied his friend, “I do; I could tell a story that would amaze +you.” + + + + +CHAPTER XV + +LIFTS THE VEIL + + +Husband and wife drove at once to the Hotel Victoria, situated near the +harbour. + +Thyra felt happy again at Paul’s side, squeezed in the corner of +the fiacre. Yes, certainly, Christiania was the dream-city, full of +gardens, fountains, grand buildings; a city great and splendid by +day and by night! She felt joyous, as if she had drunk wine; she +chattered with feverish animation. Never afterwards did she succeed +in remembering what she said in that first hour of arrival; she +did remember, however, that her pleasure was marred by the strange +thoughtful look upon Paul’s face, a look she had never noticed there +before. + +They reached the hotel at last. The manager came forth, bowing, +and Thyra was impressed by the grand entrance-hall and the marble +staircase, which seemed a continuation of the splendours of the street. + +The suite of rooms reserved for them was on the first floor, a pretty +sitting-room, two bedrooms, a dressing-room, and bath-room, and when +their baggage was deposited and the porters and chambermaid had left, +Grinevitch clasped his wife in his arms and fondly kissed her. + +“Paul,” she said, “you don’t, somehow, seem your old self to-day. How +is it?” + +“I don’t know,” he laughed. “I wasn’t aware that I was unusually +uninteresting.” And he assumed an air of gaiety which she, with her +woman’s quick perception, detected was forced and false. + +She took off her hat and cloak; her little face, all eyes and lips, +seemed suddenly pale and frightened under the waves of her abundant +hair. + +He grasped her hand and raised it tenderly to his lips, saying: + +“Tell me, little one, what’s the matter? You, who seemed so very happy +as we drove from the station, are now worried and pale.” + +“Why, I’m sure I’m not, Paul!” she protested. “I’m so delighted to be +back again in Christiania. I want this afternoon to go and see my old +schoolfellow, Aslang Anderson, if you’ll let me. I sent her a postcard +from Trondhjem.” + +“Of course, dearest, go and see her, if you wish. I have letters to +write, so I’ll remain in after luncheon.” + +Thyra, who had sought permission to be absent not without some +apprehension, breathed more freely when her husband gave his consent. +Would he have done so so readily, she wondered, if he had known her +real intention? + +When she had washed and redressed her pretty hair, they sat down to +_dejeuner_ in their little salon, both laughing merrily while they ate +their meal. + +Paul, who had been rather surprised at her change of manner, attributed +it to her excitement at again finding herself back in the capital, +where she had spent so many happy days of her girlhood. + +“My friend has no idea I’m here,” she was saying. “I did not telegraph +to her, as I want to give her a surprise. She doesn’t even know I’m +married.” + +But Paul listened to her chatter only mechanically. His mind was full +of other things. A cloud had arisen upon the horizon, and he was now +wondering if it would pass over, as so many clouds had passed over, or +if it would burst. + +If it did, what then? Well, he would be instantly overwhelmed. The +truth would be out! He held his breath at the mere thought of such ugly +contretemps. + +Their marriage had been a strange one, it was true, but its result was +foredoomed to be stranger, with a _denouement_ undreamed of. + +About two o’clock Thyra put on her furs, and for the first time since +her marriage wished her husband “Au revoir!” promising to be back in +a couple of hours at most. She knew her way well about the capital; +therefore, before leaving Paul, she kissed him and begged him not to be +apprehensive on her behalf. + +“Get through all your horrid letters, dearest,” she urged, “and we will +go out to the theatre this evening. It will be such a great treat to +me, you know.” + +So he promised her, and, with a ripple of light, happy laughter, she +left him, and disappeared with a frou-frou of her skirts down the great +staircase. + +From the window he watched her turn the corner out of sight, for she +preferred not to take a cab. She loved to walk in Christiania, she +declared. + +Then, when she had gone, the man drew a long breath, and, as he stood +in the centre of the room, he gasped: + +“My God! if she knew! Ah! if she knew, what would she think? But she +must never know the truth—never!” + +He lit a cigar to steady his nerves, and then passed out upon the +balcony, where he seated himself, staring moodily down into the street. + +Afterwards, agitated and unnerved, he rose and, returning to the room, +sat at the writing-table for a short time. The three letters he had +written with a fountain-pen, he took in his hand, and, descending to +the bureau, asked that they might be sent to the post office to be +registered. He also remarked to the manager that any visitor who should +chance to call should be shown to his room at once. + +Then he re-ascended the broad staircase and paced the room in quick +agitation. The expression upon his countenance showed that he dreaded +something—that a dark cloud overwhelmed him. + +Shortly before half-past three a waiter tapped at the door of the +sitting-room and ushered in a tall, slim young woman in deep mourning, +and wearing a veil. + +“Well, Paul,” she exclaimed in a hard voice, the moment the man had +gone, “this is a curious situation, is it not? So you are married!” + +She spoke in Russian, though by her dress and manner she presented the +appearance of a Frenchwoman. She was dark, and, when she raised her +veil, revealed well-cut regular features. + +He had risen, but had scarcely greeted her. Indeed, he had not even +offered her a chair. + +“Ah!” she laughed, “I see that my presence here is not altogether +welcome, eh? You are devoted to your bride from the snows, of course,” +she added with a sneer. + +“Cannot we leave Thyra out of this discussion?” he asked coldly, +indicating a chair, in which she seated herself. + +“It seems that she’s gone out and left you. Have you quarrelled +already?” + +“It was fortunate, perhaps, that she wished to go and visit an old +schoolfellow.” + +“Fortunate for you. She would not have approved of this meeting.” + +“I can’t think why you assume this attitude, Alza,” he cried angrily. +“Surely it is only to torture me that you recall the past?” + +She laughed triumphantly. + +“Is the past so very bitter, then? I did not know you possessed a +memory. I don’t.” She laughed airily. “It was not always so. You have +tasted the sweets, you now have the dregs.” + +“Yes,” he said, in a hoarse, bitter voice, “I know, alas! And you are +carrying out your threat. You intend to expose me—to tell Thyra the +truth.” + +“I am here to do so,” was the woman’s calm response. “It is only right +that she should be informed. She little knows whom she has married, +poor girl.” + +“And you!” he cried fiercely, advancing a few paces towards her. “You! +What if I tell the truth—that you are the woman who——” + +“My dear friend!” she exclaimed, interrupting him, “you are perfectly +at liberty to make whatever charge you like against me. I am quite +capable of taking care of myself.” + +“Not always. Remember what you owe to that white-livered Englishman!” + +“He was at least a gentleman, Paul,” she declared, “and, if he had +chosen, he could have made matters very awkward for both of us.” + +“If we had allowed him.” + +“We could not have prevented it. I was caught like a rat in a trap.” + +“Yes, I know,” laughed Paul Grinevitch, “but isn’t it best to drop the +subject? Why are you here in Christiania—on the old game, I suppose?” + +“My business here is my own affair,” she replied with an air of +defiance. “You and I are not friends, so it is scarcely probable that +I shall tell my secrets to my enemy, is it?” Then, suddenly catching +sight of Thyra’s photograph on the writing-table, she crossed and took +it up. It was a cabinet portrait in a plain silver frame. + +For some time she regarded it in silence, then she replaced it with +just a suspicion of a sigh. It was a pretty picture, one which Paul had +himself taken up at Vardo, showing the girl in furs standing beside one +of the high-prowed fishing-boats. + +Afterwards, when she turned again to the man at her side, there was a +curious hard expression in her eyes. It was evident that she held him +in distrust. She had come there at his invitation, but, nevertheless, +in order to make a statement to the woman who was now his wife. + +“Well?” he asked; “don’t you think it’s time you left? Thyra may return +at any moment.” + +“I thought you wished to see me?” + +“I did. I believed that you were better disposed towards me than you +are. I wanted to ask you a favour.” + +“A favour of me—eh?” + +“Yes, Alza,” he said in an earnest, altered voice, “since that +scoundrel Bourtzeff has spoken we are both sailing in the same boat. +You know my position—penniless.” + +“You’ve married Thyra, and haven’t a sou!” + +“That is unfortunately true. I’ve been a fool, an absolute fool, but I +loved her. I went too far, and I couldn’t draw back.” + +“Well?” + +“I want money—money to take us to England. You have plenty, I know. +That last little affair with the French bonds must have brought you at +least a hundred thousand francs. Will you lend me some?” + +The well-dressed young woman sighed slightly, her dark eyes still fixed +upon him. + +“You want me to assist you to carry this grim comedy of marriage still +further?” + +“Yes. Why expose me? It would break the girl’s heart. You yourself have +suffered sufficiently, I know; at least spare her—I beg of you.” + +She hesitated for a few moments. + +“Yes, Paul, as you appeal on the girl’s behalf, I’ll remain silent, and +I will help you, only on one condition.” + +“What’s that?” + +“You will resume your friendship with me—your business friendship, if +we may so put it,” she said, her eyes still upon his. + +“But, Alza—I—could never do that! It wouldn’t be fair to Thyra.” + +“Fair or not,” replied the young woman with determination, “if I help +you, then you must in return give me your assistance.” + +“And run the risk of arrest?” + +“Are you not doing so now—each hour since Bourtzeff has betrayed us? +Come, you will write a letter to Enderlein, agreeing to assist us +again, and I will telephone to the Norsk Credit Bank for funds for you.” + +“But I—I really can’t. I’ve done with that kind of thing—done with it +for ever.” + +“Very well,” she laughed, “then we, on our part, have done with you, +and shall regard you still as an enemy.” + + + + +CHAPTER XVI + +BRIDE AND LOVER + + +Owen and Dick, on their arrival after the night journey from +Trondhjem, idled about the Grand Hotel and took a stroll up the broad +Karl-Johans-Gaden, smoking and inspecting the shops. + +The young doctor did not fail to notice that, with Thyra’s departure, +Dick’s manner had entirely changed. He had now become listless and +careless, and once or twice had remarked, with a deep sigh, upon the +tragedy of the girl’s union with the young Russian. + +The life and movement of the capital was pleasant enough after their +long sojourn in the silent north, yet both men were now anxious to get +back to London. + +As Dick strolled at his friend’s side up the principal street his mind +was full of Thyra, and of apprehensions regarding her future. His blood +boiled when he realised the full consequence of her marriage to Paul +Grinevitch. That she should have married that man—of all others! + +Through his brain surged a thousand bitter thoughts. The past arose +before him, hideous as a bad dream. He saw nothing of the scene before +him. His thoughts were far away in the south—away in another land. The +face of another woman—one almost as fair as Thyra—arose before him—the +woman who had loved the Russian better than her own life. + +He bit his lip, and tried to brace himself up. Beneath his breath he +uttered a fierce imprecation. + +“What’s the matter, old chap?” inquired Owen. And only then Dick +realised that he was making a fool of himself before his friend. + +They lunched together in the big restaurant of the hotel, and, soon +afterwards, Dick, with a somewhat lame excuse that he wanted a little +exercise—for they had not been able to get any during the past month or +so—put on his overcoat and went out. + +Owen, not in walking mood, preferred to lounge about with a new +Tauchnitz he had bought earlier in the morning. + +“I’ll be back in time for dinner,” Jervoise said as he left the hotel, +and then, passing up the street for some distance, he took from his +pocket the plan of the city which he had torn from his Baedeker, and, +having studied it for a few moments, continued his walk right up to +the royal palace, situate, as it is, on an eminence, in the centre of +a pretty park. Then, taking the road through the royal grounds to the +right, he emerged into the suburb of Homansby. + +Walking some distance, he found himself in a small, rather secluded +square, the name of which he noted upon it, and there he halted, lit a +cigarette, and waited in expectation. + +His countenance was pale, and his eager apprehension was apparent. Not +a soul was to be seen in the vicinity, therefore the spot was eminently +adapted as a place of rendezvous. A full quarter of an hour he waited, +until at last around the corner came a smart, slim, female figure in +furs—that of Thyra, the newly-wedded bride. + +He raised his hat as he advanced, while her sweet countenance lit in a +glad smile of welcome. + +“I—I’m so glad you were able to get away,” he exclaimed quickly. “Where +can we go, so that we may talk? I have something very important to say +to you.” + +“It is very wrong of me to have done this, Mr. Jervoise,” she said. “I +was compelled to tell my husband an untruth—that I was going to visit +an old schoolfellow.” + +“You can go to see her afterwards,” laughed the Englishman. “Shall we +go back into the park? We shall not be disturbed there.” + +“As you wish,” was her reply, and, strolling at her side, they turned +and retraced their steps along the Holbergs-Gade into the well-wooded +royal demesne which nowadays is thrown open to the public. + +“Doctor Odd does not suspect that you are meeting me, I hope?” she +asked apprehensively. + +“Certainly not. Our meeting must be kept a most profound secret—at all +costs, and for several reasons.” + +“I, on my part, shall never admit having seen you,” she smiled. + +“Nor I. You may depend upon that.” + +“But if you wished to speak to me, Mr. Jervoise, why didn’t you do so +when we were on board the _Mercur_?” she asked, puzzled. + +“There were reasons why I could not,” he said, rather evasively. And as +they walked on in silence he glanced at her face, and could not help +remarking her striking beauty. She, the sweet, pale-faced, innocent +Thyra, was the victim of that man who was now her husband! + +The very thought caused his nails to press themselves deeply into his +palms. + +At last, after entering the park and traversing one of the byways, they +found a seat away from the more frequented paths. Then, when they were +seated side by side, he turned to her, and, looking very seriously into +her face, he said: + +“Madame Grinevitch—for I suppose I must now call you by that name——” + +“No,” she said; “Thyra to you, Mr. Jervoise—always Thyra,” and she +smiled. + +“Very well, then,” he said, “I will continue to call you Thyra. I first +want you to forgive me for daring to presume to speak to you upon a +subject which is—well, very painful to me.” + +She stared at the Englishman in wonder. She did not follow his meaning. + +“I—I think it was ill-advised for me to have met you,” she said, +stirring uneasily. “What would Paul say if he knew?” + +“Paul will never know—nobody must ever know. Understand that!” he +cried. “I have my own honour, my own safety, at stake—as well as yours.” + +“Your safety!” she echoed. “What do you mean?” + +“I mean that if the secret of this meeting were ever betrayed, it might +prove disastrous for us both. You do not know Paul Grinevitch as well +as I do.” + +“You surely do not insinuate anything against my husband!” she +exclaimed, looking straight at him. + +“I—oh, no!—well, I mean this,” he stammered. “But of course, it would +not be my place to make any remark. Paul Grinevitch is your husband, +after all.” + +“Yes,” she said, and in a slow, distinct voice she added, “And I love +him.” + +Dick Jervoise drew a deep breath. He wanted to speak to her, but +could not find a way. He realised that in asking her to that secret +rendezvous he was only making a fool of himself. + +“‘Love is blind’ is an old and true saying, Thyra,” he remarked. + +“And you think I am blind—eh?” she asked quickly. + +“Certainly not—except towards myself.” + +“How?” + +“You do not realise that in asking you to meet me here—for the +last time—that I wish to act sincerely in your interests, but—but, +unfortunately, am debarred from so doing.” + +“Please explain further,” she urged with a slight frown of +thoughtfulness. + +“I intended to speak to you, but—well, Thyra, I—I haven’t the courage! +You are married now. Therefore it is, alas! too late.” + +He was longing to warn her against the man whose wife she had become, +but she, unfortunately, misunderstood his words. She believed that his +intention had been a declaration of love. + +“Yes, Mr. Jervoise,” she said with a slight sigh. “It is, as you say, +too late. I am already Paul’s wife.” + +“Ah, that is the cruel tragedy of it all!” he cried, starting up +suddenly. “If—if I only dared to tell you the truth—to speak openly. +But I see that I was wrong in asking you here, in attempting to tell +you the truth. If I did, you would never believe me.” + +“I think, Mr. Jervoise, it would be better if I left you,” she said +quietly. “This interview is as painful to me as to you.” + +“Thyra!” he said. “You are in ignorance of the tragedy that lies before +you—ignorant of the past of Paul Grinevitch. If you but knew, you would +hate him with as deep and fierce a hatred as I do!” + +In an instant her cheeks flushed crimson with anger. + +“How dare you ask me here in order to make vague allegations against my +husband!” she demanded resentfully. + +“I want to tell you the truth, but you will not allow me,” he answered +quickly. “Ah! do not misunderstand me, Thyra. I am acting in your +interests, because, even though you are now married to this man, I—I +still hold you in sincerest regard. If—if I cannot be your husband—I +can at least stand your friend!” he blurted forth. + +“My husband should be my best friend,” she said, her eyes downcast, for +she saw in this speech of the Englishman’s a covert declaration of love. + +“Your husband!” he cried. “Go to him, and ask him if he knows poor +Helene Marquet.” + +She turned and faced him with a strange look in her wide-open eyes. For +a moment she held her breath in surprise. + +“What is it—what do you really allege against Paul?” + +“I allege,” he said, “that he is not what he represents himself to +you to be. I have tried to remain silent, Thyra, for your sake. But I +cannot any longer. I know that I ought to have spoken before, but—well, +I did not wish to destroy your confidence in that man, lest you should +think that I did it for my own personal ends and in order that I might +take his place in your heart. But now it can no longer be alleged that +I have any ulterior motive, except to warn you against him; I have met +you here to speak with you and place you upon your guard.” + +She was silent. His words had confused her. What could he mean? + +“Tell me, Mr. Jervoise,” she asked in a hard strained voice, “who is +this woman Marquet?” + +“Ask him,” was Dick’s response. “Go back to him, and tell him that +you know a friend of Helene Marquet’s, and that this friend has told +Nicholas Bourtzeff of his whereabouts. Then watch the effect of your +words upon him.” + +“And this on the first day of my marriage!” + +“Better to-day than later—when you are numbered among his victims,” was +Dick’s earnest reply. “Only I beg of you to regard the source of your +information as a secret one.” + +“Then you fear Paul?” + +“Fear him!” cried Dick in furious anger. “I do not fear him! He fears +me, rather. I hate him, and if ever we meet again I—I’ll crush the life +from him with as little compunction as I’d kill a viper!” + +“You would kill Paul?” she gasped. + +“It would only be what he richly deserves—and, alas! Thyra, you will +agree with me some day—when you know the truth!” + +The girl was silent. What the Englishman had told her caused her +to reflect deeply. Could it really be true that Paul—her Paul—her +husband—was only an adventurer after all? + +No. It could not be. She refused to believe. What proof had she against +him? She was his wife, and it was not just to him that she should +listen to such calumny. + +Who was Helene Marquet? At least she would know that, and would demand +a reply from his own lips. Oh! why, she thought, had not the Englishman +told her this before her marriage, instead of waiting until it was too +late? + +No word was spoken between the pair for a full five minutes. Then, +suddenly stirring herself, she said, rising from her seat: + +“I wish to go, Mr. Jervoise.” + +“Why so quickly?” + +“I have got my girl friend to call upon, in order to justify my +absence.” + +“Ah! You fear your husband,” he remarked bitterly. “But it will not be +for long, I venture to think.” + +She noticed the strangeness of his manners, and wondered. + +Then she bowed, her eyes filled with tears, and refusing to remain +longer with him wished him adieu, and hurrying away down the path was +quickly lost to sight. + +A few minutes later Dick, with his pale drawn face hard set, turned +upon his heel and walked in the opposite direction. + +“At any rate,” he muttered between his teeth, “I’ve told her the truth +and unmasked the scoundrel!” + +And he strode along, not knowing whither his footsteps led him. + +About three hours later he returned to the hotel, distrait and +thoughtful, and slowly dressed for dinner. The latter was not by any +means a cheerful meal, and Owen noticed how gloomy his friend had +become. + +In order to liven him up a little he suggested a music-hall, and not +until midnight did they return to the Grand. + +About half-past twelve, just as they were leaving the big, noisy cafe +which occupied the ground floor of their hotel, to ascend to their +rooms, a page-boy approached them asking for Mr. Jervoise, and saying +that a gentleman was in the bureau desiring to see him instantly. + +Filled with curiosity as to who his visitor might be at that hour, Dick +found a tall, thin-faced, elderly man, who, speaking in fairly good +English, said: + +“I have been sent, sir, by Madame Grinevitch, at the Hotel Victoria. +Would you kindly go to her at once.—She is in greatest distress, poor +young lady!” + +“Distress at what?” he gasped, his face in an instant pale as death. + +“Ah! then you have not heard—you have not read the newspaper this +evening?” said the man. “You are unaware of the mysterious occurrence. +Madame’s husband is dead!” + +“Dead!” the two gasped in one breath, staring at each other. + +Dick’s face was blanched to the lips. Owen noted how his hands were +trembling, and how his eyes seemed starting from his head. + +“Ah, gentlemen!” exclaimed the thin man who stood before them holding +up his hands. “It is indeed a most annoying matter for our hotel, +and calculated to greatly injure us. Poor little Madame! She has +been out alone all the afternoon, and returning a little after six +found her newly-wedded husband lying dead upon the floor of their +sitting-room—_murdered_!” + + + + +CHAPTER XVII + +SOME AMAZING FACTS + + +The announcement electrified them. + +“What can have happened?” gasped the doctor, staring at his friend, +who, standing rigid, could utter no word. “We must go at once to her.” + +Dick Jervoise hesitated. He was trembling like a leaf. He tried to +articulate some words, but his tongue clave to the roof of his mouth. + +“The matter is already in the hands of the police,” exclaimed the +thin-faced Norwegian, who explained that he was manager of the +hotel. “The poor lady is distracted. For nearly two hours she +remained unconscious. Then she only sat moaning her dead husband’s +name—Paul—Paul! Afterwards she asked me to find Mr. Jervoise, and to +inform him of the terrible tragedy. Ah! gentlemen,” the man added, “it +is most unfortunate for my brother’s hotel. Business is bad enough just +now, without this damaging occurrence.” + +“Is it an entire mystery?” asked Jervoise. “Is nobody suspected?” he +managed to inquire. + +“Nobody,” was the reply. “But, gentlemen, we are wasting time,” added +the man. “I have a fiacre; let us go to her.” + +Outside it had been raining for the past three hours. Christiania was +drowned in mire and gloom. As the rickety fly rumbled over the stones +up the broad Karl-Johans-Gaden, the principal street of the city, +to where the great arc lamps of the station shed their cold white +brilliance, Dick Jervoise sat as a man in a dream. The announcement had +staggered him. Why had she sent for him. Why had she dared to do that? +There was a danger, a peril to her and to him. He knew that it would +now require all his self-possession, all the cunning he possessed, in +order to avert suspicion of the truth. + +She had loved that man who was now dead—the man struck down by an +unsuspected hand. + +His teeth were tightly clenched, and he held his breath. It was fate. +In her presence he had felt the burning, the fragrant, the intoxicating +whirlwind of life. She was everything his youth, his instinct, his soul +had yearned for of maddest and sweetest. How many years had he not +travelled and dreamed of that one pale, sweet face—the one woman who +would fill the void within his heart! The delicious expectation was +already beginning to be shrouded in his cosmopolitan world, weariness +was beginning to seem altogether gone when she had appeared in that +out-of-the-world place. + +And then—and then—— + +He bit his lip as the vehicle, with the rain pelting against the +closed windows, turned from the zone of brilliant light around the +station into one of the long, narrow, ill-lit streets on the right, the +Dronningens-Gaden, and presently they drew up before the hotel-entrance. + +They found the dead man’s bride huddled up in a chair in a small +sitting-room on the first floor, a pale, pathetic little figure whose +face, turned towards them as they entered, had strangely changed. + +Jervoise crossed to her, and, bending, spoke softly, humbly, almost +sweetly, but with that sweetness one employs towards a sick and +fractious child. + +For a moment it seemed that Thyra was unconscious of his presence, but +next instant, with a curious haunted look in her fine eyes, she shrank +from him. + +A grave-faced, elderly man was standing at her side—the doctor who had +been summoned to her when she had fallen unconscious beneath the blow. +To both Englishmen it was apparent that the unfortunate girl’s mind had +become slightly unbalanced by that sudden shattering of all her hopes, +of all her love—that love born of dreams and enchantments. + +Dick Jervoise still stood before her in silence, his eyes fixed upon +hers, as though he read into her very soul. Why, if she had called him, +did she now shrink from him? + +Owen looked from the sweet, wan face with the dishevelled hair, to that +of his friend. The attitude of the pair puzzled him. Why did she, who +on board the steamer had been so friendly with Dick, now glance at him +with eyes so full of dread and terror? + +“Madame,” he exclaimed at last, “we are here to assist you. We have +heard the terrible, appalling news. What can we do?” + +“Do!” she answered hoarsely, raising her pointed chin from her breast. +“Do! Why, find the man who, in my absence, killed my Paul!” + +And Owen noticed that, as she spoke, she fixed her eyes upon those of +his friend. + +The scene was indeed a sadly pathetic one—the slim, white-faced +girl-wife, seated in that small, rather shabbily furnished room to +which she had been moved after the tragedy, the man who loved her so +intensely standing before her, bowed and undecided. + +Owen Odd saw that, for some unaccountable reason, Dick feared her just +as much as she feared him. What, he wondered, had really occurred? In +a flash the recollection of his friend’s long absence that afternoon +crossed his mind. She, too, had been absent from her husband—out +making a call upon one of her old schoolfellows, it was said. Had Thyra +and Dick met—and spoken? + +Suspicions—dark, grave suspicions—arose within him, but, being Dick’s +friend, he resolutely put them aside. Yet he could not conceal from +himself his friend’s bitter hatred of the man now dead; nor could he +forget that Dick himself, in a moment of anger, had denounced the +murdered man. + +“Paul! Paul!” cried the poor girl suddenly in English, lifting her +white arms into space, now believing in her delirium that her husband +still stood before her. “Ah! you are still sad!” she went on. “You +think it a mere passing caprice. If you could only know the truth—how +many days, how many weeks, how many months even, I had thought it over, +examined it all, tortured my conscience with it! If you knew how many +times I have tried to express in words what I want to tell you.... I +have never found it possible to speak; some tyrannous force has always +prevented me from opening my heart to you. And now you are my husband, +dearest, we two, by ourselves, far from every molesting voice, we two +alone, shall decide our destiny. Hear me! I will try and explain.... +More than ever, at this moment, I love you. I am united to you for +my whole life—and for the life beyond. I—I was crying, and I fancied +I saw your eyes clouded too; it was at that moment I realised that I +loved you above everything in the world, and I decided then to make the +sacrifice for you. I—I——” + +Her rambling sentences were too painful to the listeners—painful to +Dick most of all. + +The grey-bearded man standing by her motioned to them, and they left +the room, feeling themselves powerless to assist. Even Owen, a medical +man himself, recognised that the case was better left in the hands of +a doctor of her own people. + +In the corridor outside they met the thin-faced Norwegian who had +conducted them there, and another rather stout, fair-haired man, whom +the other introduced as a commissary of police. + +“The whole affair is a complete mystery,” explained the thin-faced +hotel manager in English. “Yonder is the room in which the tragedy +occurred—if you care to see it.” + +And he conducted them along the passage to the farther end, where, on +opening a door, they found themselves in a good-sized salon, rather +well furnished with two long French windows overlooking the small, +tree-lined square and the harbour beyond. + +As the electric light was switched on, they saw at one end of the room +a high carved sideboard, and on the walls each side long gilt mirrors. +Across near the windows was a restful-looking couch with a big yellow +silk cushion, in the centre a square table, and in a corner, set +cross-wise, a small escritoire. + +On the table, in a big vase, was the splendid bouquet of white flowers +which Captain Martin had presented to the bride as she had entered the +train on the previous night, the odour of them heavy and oppressive, +now that they were drooped and fading. + +Jervoise tried to blot the scene from his vision. Had he dared, he +would have refused to enter there. + +Those words of Thyra’s, as in her delirium she believed that her +husband still lived, haunted him. His, indeed, was an agony of soul. + +Her sacrifice—what had been her sacrifice? + +“See!” exclaimed the commissary of police in Norwegian, pointing to the +dark green carpet behind the table. + +Owen bent, and upon it saw a large brown patch, still damp—the +life-blood of Paul Grinevitch. On the yellow silk cushion which the +official turned over was another ugly stain, and again upon the +couch, to which it was apparent the unfortunate man had crawled after +receiving the mortal wound. + +“Explain to us all that is known concerning the affair,” urged the +young doctor, turning to the hotel proprietor’s brother. + +The other shrugged his shoulders, exchanged a few words in Norwegian +with the stout police official, and then answered: + +“There are several very remarkable features about the case, the +commissary says. As far as we in the hotel know, what happened was +this: The young gentleman sent a telegram last night from Trondhjem, +engaging a suite of rooms for himself and wife. When they arrived we at +once saw they were newly-wedded, and gave them this suite, the best in +the hotel. They took their _dejeuner_ up here at eleven, after which, +according to the waiter who served them, it seemed as though the young +lady had been crying bitterly. At two o’clock the chambermaid, who +was called to button the young lady’s blouse, heard her say that she +was going over to the Hegdehaugen quarter to visit a friend, while he +declared that he would remain in and write some important letters. He +sat down and wrote three. Then he lounged in a chair in the balcony and +smoked for some time. Afterwards he descended to the bureau, bringing +his letters, asking me to have them registered, and telling me that +if anyone called they were to be shown up to his room directly. At +half-past three, or thereabouts, a young lady in deep mourning, wearing +a veil and speaking with a distinctly foreign accent, called, and +inquired for Monsieur Grinevitch. She held in her hand a letter, as +though a letter of introduction, and was at once taken up in the lift +and ushered into the salon.” + +“A woman!” gasped Dick Jervoise, interrupting. “Was she French?” + +“We cannot tell,” the man went on. “All we know is a statement by the +waiter who, a few moments afterwards, heard voices raised in anger. The +pair were speaking in some foreign tongue—probably Russian. The lady +went to the telephone yonder and rang up somebody—whom we don’t know. +The communication is direct with the exchange, which, unfortunately, +does not keep a note of the numbers inquired for. The waiter heard +her speaking for some time—the gentleman prompting her what to say. +Then she rang off, and seemed to be persuading the gentleman to act +somewhat against his inclination. Eventually he sat down at the table, +scribbled a letter, which he sealed with wax, using the gold seal upon +his watch-chain. Then, their disagreement having apparently ended, she +laughed merrily, wished him adieu, and the gentleman saw her along to +the lift.” + +“Then there are people who saw this woman!” Dick demanded eagerly. +“They could recognise her again, I mean?” + +“They say so. I did not see her.” + +“She wore a veil,” remarked Owen. “She therefore evidently meant to +conceal her identity.” + +“No doubt. Is that to be wondered at, with the bride’s absence in +view?” remarked the brother of the hotel proprietor, the latter, they +understood, being absent in the Telemarken. + +“And what occurred afterwards?” demanded Jervoise quickly, now +breathless in curiosity. + +“His actions afterwards were most mysterious. The lady having left, he +called the waiter, and, announcing his departure by the Wilson steamer +which sailed at ten to-night for Hull, order his bill to be prepared. +He then called the hotel messenger-boy, and, writing a note, told him +to take it to an address behind the Royal Park, and there wait for a +reply. The note was addressed to a man named Nystrom, who chanced to be +out; therefore the boy waited there for hours, until this evening, when +he returned, having failed to deliver the note.” + +The stout police officer, who evidently understood English, like so +many officials in Norway, interrupted the hotel manager with some rapid +words. + +“These gentlemen,” the other explained, “are intimate friends of the +poor young lady.” + +“And also of the dead man,” added Doctor Odd. “Therefore we wish to +know the most complete details, in order, if possible, to throw some +light upon them.” + +“The authorities are entirely puzzled,” declared the thin-faced man. +“They do not suspect anybody—at present.” + +“But what happened after the unfortunate man had sent the boy on the +message?” Dick inquired. + +“He wrote a telegram addressed to Captain Berentsen, in Trondhjem, +announcing his immediate departure for England, and giving his address +in London at 108, Keppel Street, Russell Square.” + +“Did he give no reason for his sudden departure?” asked Owen. + +“None. His wife, remember, was not aware of this decision, which we +think must have been arrived at in consequence of the unwelcome visit +of the lady in black.” + +“But apparently he expected her,” said Dick. + +“No. I understood him in the bureau to say that a gentleman would call.” + +“Ah!” remarked Owen. “Then the lady called and found him unawares. +She, however, knew Madame was absent, or she would scarcely have dared +to visit him, I think.” + +“But the assassination!” exclaimed Jervoise anxiously. “What led to it?” + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + +THE FOUR LETTERS + + +“How can we tell?” asked the Norwegian as he stood beside that ugly +stain upon the carpet. + +“It could not have been suicide?” suggested Owen Odd. + +“Impossible. Both doctors have unhesitatingly pronounced it a case +of murder. The victim was struck down from behind, they declare, and +very considerable force must have been used,” was the reply. “After +the despatch of the telegram it is probable that the young Russian +destroyed a quantity of papers, for, as you see, in the stove yonder +there has been a fire, and there still remains a quantity of tinder, +all of which will to-morrow be carefully examined by the police.” + +Both Englishmen turned, and saw inside the open door of the high, tiled +stove a quantity of burnt paper. + +“It is as though he wanted to get rid of some documents that were +incriminating,” declared the doctor to his friend. + +“Exactly. Yet what had he possibly to fear? He was crossing to England +in a few hours,” Dick said. + +“He probably did not wish to take them to London. He no doubt had +reason.” + +The round-faced official interrupted, whereupon the hotel manager added: + +“The police theory is that the documents were burned by the assassin.” + +“Most probably,” exclaimed Jervoise. + +“Yet shortly afterwards, when he ordered some tea, the waiter says that +in the room there was a strong smell of burning paper, combined with +a curious choking odour, like some chemical—which he had never before +smelt in all his life.” + +“Then that would surely lend colour to the theory that he himself +destroyed the papers,” remarked Owen. + +The fat commissary elevated his broad shoulders with an expression of +stupefaction. + +“A chambermaid, passing along the corridor about five o’clock, declares +that she heard voices in this room,” went on the hotel manager, “and +believed that Madame had returned. One voice, she asserts, was a female +one. But,” he added, “the servants are scared, and therefore one cannot +believe all the statements that have been made.” + +“Was that the last known of Mr. Grinevitch?” inquired Owen. + +“Yes, except that he again descended to the bureau, and, obtaining a +copy of the _Petit Parisien_, returned to his room.” + +“After the lady’s voice was heard there?” + +“Yes, ten minutes afterwards. That is why we disbelieve the +chambermaid. The police have closely questioned her, and now discount +her allegation. She is not now certain whether it was a woman or only +the young gentleman speaking aloud to himself. At any rate, when he +came down for the newspaper, I spoke to him, and he was perfectly calm. +‘I may be out when my wife returns,’ he said. ‘If I am, kindly tell +her I have only gone along to the telegraph office and will be back +immediately.’ He ascended again in the lift, and that was the last I +saw of him alive.” + +“What else is known?” anxiously inquired Dick, his blanched face drawn +and haggard. + +“Nothing—or practically nothing,” was the prompt reply. “Madame +returned in a fiacre just after six. As she passed through the hall I +noticed that she seemed very flurried, and anxious to get upstairs. +I spoke to her, giving her her husband’s message, but she scarcely +heeded me, and flew upstairs without waiting for the lift. She dashed +along the corridor and opened the door. Then a loud, piercing shriek +alarmed us, and the terrible truth was quickly apparent. I was called +instantly, and on entering here my eyes met a ghastly scene. The poor +fellow was lying beside the couch over there, with life extinct, while +on the floor beside him his girl-bride had fallen in a dead swoon.” + +“And was no stranger seen to enter or leave the hotel?” asked Owen with +knit brows. + +“Absolutely nobody.” + +“How many entrances are there here?” + +“Only one—by the main hall. There is, of course, a kitchen entrance, +but it is shut off from the visitors by a locked door, the key of +which hangs in my office. The door has been examined, and has not been +unlocked.” + +“And the only visitor was the young lady in mourning?” + +“She was the only visitor. Of that we are quite certain.” + +“Then who committed the crime?” asked Jervoise. + +“Ah! that is an absolute and complete mystery—one which is rendered +even the more remarkable by certain extraordinary facts which have been +discovered since the grim occurrence.” + +“And what are they?” demanded the young Hammersmith doctor. + +“Several,” replied the hotel manager. “One is, perhaps, more curious +than all the rest. You will recollect that the deceased gentleman, +before his death, sent our messenger with a note to a certain person +named Nystrom. That note was not delivered. But the police have just +ascertained that the man in question is an adventurer who is wanted in +Copenhagen on a very serious charge, and whose arrest was only this +afternoon applied for by telegram by the Danish police.” + +“Curious.” + +“The authorities believe that the note sent by the unfortunate man was +a preconcerted signal, or warning.” + +At that moment two police officers in uniform entered the room, and +handed to the commissary several letters. + +“Ah! here are the letters I sent to the post office to be registered +this evening—the letters which Mr. Grinevitch brought down to me after +his wife’s departure!” exclaimed the manager. “See, they are all +addressed to persons in Russia. It is fortunate that they had not been +despatched.” + +The fat commissary laid the three sealed letters upon the table, and, +taking his penknife, slit them all open, being eagerly watched by all +assembled. + +“Zo!” he ejaculated as he took out the contents of the first. + +“Extraordinary! The same as the mysterious letter to Nystrom!” +exclaimed the hotel manager. + +And to the two Englishmen were exhibited three sheets of the hotel +notepaper—blank! + +“Most curious!” declared Odd, turning again to his friend. “What can +they all mean?” + +“Who knows?” replied Jervoise in a hoarse, inert voice. “That there’s +no suspicion against anyone is also very strange. The destroying of +papers, the sudden resolve to cross to England, and the unwelcome visit +of the woman in black, all point to suicide. And yet——” + +“It was murder—crafty and deliberate murder, I tell you,” the manager +declared. “The poor young man was, according to both doctors and +police, struck treacherously in the back as he was seated at the little +escritoire over there. He rose, reeled across to the spot where that +stain appears on the carpet, and in his dying agony dragged himself +here to the sofa. It is their belief that in his dying moments he was +trying to reach the window in order to call for assistance.” + +“I see no sign of any struggle,” Owen Odd said, glancing around the +scene of the tragedy. + +“There was none,” answered the Norwegian. “He was struck down before he +could turn to defend himself. He probably never even saw his assailant.” + +Dick Jervoise pursed his hot lips. There was a strange, stony look +upon his countenance—a look which his friend Odd had never seen there +before. Was it possible that he knew something more about the tragedy +than the police knew? Was it possible that he had, on that same +afternoon, met Thyra in secret? + +He recollected the strange glance in the girl’s eyes when he had +entered to where she sat—that look of undisguised terror—of abhorrence. + +Yes. Dick was concealing from him some facts which, if divulged, would +place that amazing affair in a very different light. Of that he felt +convinced. + +Knowing his friend so well, and being acquainted with his every mood, +he saw quite plainly that he was strenuously endeavouring to conceal +some knowledge which he possessed. + +Was he shielding the woman with those wonderful grey eyes? Or was he +withholding, for his own purposes, a guilty secret? + +The pale cheeks with just a spot of colour in the centre, the dry, +half-parted lips, the contracted brows, the haggard deep-set eyes, +were all most unusual to Richard Jervoise. Besides, had he not been +absent from the Grand Hotel during the whole time of the bride’s +absence from her husband? + +But why should he sit in judgment upon his friend—his oldest, his +dearest friend, he reflected. No. A thousand times no. He would believe +nothing against him, even if the suspicion were so strong—even if, +after the first shock, it was Dick whom the bereaved bride had summoned. + +He set his teeth, steeling himself against all that horrible suspicion. +Within himself he declared that Dick could in no way be an accessory to +the fact of that most terrible and mysterious crime. + +“And what is now being done?” asked Owen of the hotel manager. + +“Everything that is possible,” he replied. “The police have removed +the body. The scene was a most painful and tragic one. When the poor +young lady recovered consciousness after the shock, she returned to the +body of her husband and refused to leave him. She believed him to be +still alive, and, kneeling by him, made all sorts of strange and wild +statements.” + +“What did she say?” gasped Dick in breathless anxiety. + +“Oh, all sorts of curious things. She made an allegation against +some man, but would not name him. She said she knew now who was her +husband’s enemy.” + +“Then the police are in possession of some suspicious fact?” exclaimed +Owen with a side glance at his friend. + +“The doctors did not consider her in a fit state to be questioned. Her +statements were so very contradictory.” + +Jervoise breathed again. He longed to get away from that room where the +floor still bore traces of the horrible crime. + +“But,” the young doctor went on, “what are the police doing? Surely it +is known by what means the assassin gained access to Grinevitch’s room?” + +“We cannot tell,” answered the thin-faced Norwegian. “The hall-porter +saw no stranger enter or leave, though he was at his post the whole +time. Neither did the servants see anyone go into the room, even though +several of them, their curiosity aroused by the happenings of the +previous couple of hours, were almost constantly on the watch. There +were whispers among the servants that the bridal pair had quarrelled; +hence the whole staff on this floor had become instantly inquisitive, +as was but natural. Yet the assassination was committed swiftly and +surely by invisible hands.” + +“Could anyone have climbed up from the street—or come along the +balcony?” Owen suggested. + +“See for yourself,” replied the other, throwing open one of the long +windows. + +Both men, followed by Dick, stepped out upon the spacious balcony into +the rain. But at a glance all saw that entrance by the window was +entirely out of the question. + +“No,” Owen said, reassured. “The assassin must have entered by yonder +door, for if the victim had been sitting writing, then the murderer +could have crept across the carpet noiselessly and struck the blow ere +the other could realise his danger.” + +“That is exactly the police theory. They are doing all in their power +to obtain some clue. Already they have taken away certain things—the +door knobs, as you see, and other small articles—in the hope of finding +fingerprints. The whole of the Christiania detective force are at this +moment engaged in trying to solve the mystery, and endeavouring to +trace Nystrom and the dead man’s unknown visitor. You can do nothing, +gentlemen, I fear—nothing except to try and console the poor young +lady. Let us return to her.” And the hotel manager led the way back to +the room where Thyra was still sitting silent, crushed, lifeless. + +The grey-bearded doctor stood near the window, looking out gloomily +upon the wet night. + +As they entered he held up a warning finger. They halted. + +In the slim girl-widow’s grey eyes they detected a strange, wild +expression as her gaze fell upon Dick Jervoise. + +“Ah!” she gasped with sudden surprise, stretching forth both her thin, +white hands. “You—Mr. Jervoise! I—I must speak to you—alone! Come in +for a few moments, and send all these people away. I—I want to speak +with you—alone!” + +Owen and Dick exchanged glances. Then the grave-faced doctor, who had +been watching her, spoke something in Norwegian, and all withdrew—all +save Richard Jervoise. + +They closed the door softly, leaving the pair alone. The Englishman +stood in the centre of the room trembling, staring, pale as death, his +chin sunk upon his breast. To her he dare not lift his stony eyes; he +dare not utter a single word. + +For several moments there was dead unbroken silence. + +Then, bending forward and looking straight at him with those great, +wide-open eyes, she said in a hard, distinct voice: + +“Mr. Jervoise, you lied to me! _I know the truth!_” + + + + +PART II + + + + +CHAPTER I + +BIDE TRYST + + +The grey light of the brief December afternoon had deepened into +darkness. + +The Woodland Pytchley had enjoyed a splendid day across South Rutland. +Meeting at Stockerston Hall, they had found in Great Easton Park, and +after a sharp run across Holyoaks Lodge, the fox had crossed the Eye +brook to the Uppingham road, where the kill had taken place. + +Another brush had been secured in that long little spinney behind +Seaton Grange after a hard chase, and a third, an old dog-fox, had been +given to the hounds in Laxton Park. + +The smart crowd of men and women who had followed—people who hunted +with the Quorn, with Lord Exeter’s, or with the Fitzwilliam three +or four days a week—had agreed that it had been the best run of the +season. Then, after mutual adieux, they had, in the falling light, all +separated to ride home, each his own way, some for many a weary mile. + +Dick Jervoise’s road back to Ingarsby Hall, his aunt’s splendid old +place, lay by bridle-paths which he knew well, paths which he had +ridden ever since a boy. That morning he had gone to the meet with his +cousin Harry, a young Yorkshire landowner, but the latter had been +thrown out at a spot north of Uppingham, where he had had a spill in +a brook, and Dick had not seen him since. Therefore he rode on alone, +his tired bay mare stumbling ever and anon, and causing him to utter +language scarcely suited to a drawing-room. + +His way lay across bare ploughed lands, and through Harrington Wood, +leafless and dismal in the fading light, until close to the old mansion +of Kirby, gaunt and grim in its loveliness and decay, he was compelled +to dismount and lead the mare. + +Thus he trudged onward for nearly five miles, sometimes across ploughed +land, or over broad pastures and along muddy lanes, every inch being +known to him. The shortest cut is not always the easiest, for on his +way he found a brook so swollen that he had to remount in order to +cross it. + +Fox-hunting ran in Dick Jervoise’s blood. His father had been one of +the most noted followers to hounds in the grass country, and one of the +fastest cross-country riders of his day. Before his death he had been +M. F. H., and more than once had received tempting offers to write his +reminiscences of the Belvoir and the Grafton. In the hunting season +Dick frequently stayed with the Dowager Countess of Corby at Ingarsby, +and rode with both the Woodland Pytchley and Mr. Fernie’s. + +In his well-worn hunting pink he looked a fine athletic fellow, an +ideal English sportsman, as indeed he was. Though a student who loved +to pore over his dry-as-dust books in his little flat overlooking the +river at Hammersmith Bridge, yet no sooner had cub-hunting commenced +than he was down at Ingarsby and up and out at four o’clock in the +morning, riding with the huntsman and his pack through the mists before +daybreak. + +“A chip of the old block,” old hunting-men had dubbed him long ago. In +his teens he had earned his laurels by breaking his collar-bone in a +bad fall over at Cold Overton, and even other accidents of minor count +had never deterred him from enjoying hot runs over that ideal country +north of his late uncle’s fine ancestral domain. + +As he entered the great old-world stableyard, Chapman, the groom, +touched his cap, and, glancing at the mare, exclaimed: + +“Gone lame, sir—eh?” + +“Yes,” Dick replied, handing over his mount. “We’ve had a pretty hard +day, but we killed three times, so we mustn’t grumble.” And he entered +a door, traversing many stone corridors of the magnificent old Tudor +mansion, worn hollow by the feet of many generations, until he passed +into the great hall, with its high windows of stained glass, its oaken +roof, its rich carpets, stands of armour of bygone Corbys, and the +splendid old Gibbons carvings. + +Before the wide, open hearth, where blazed huge logs, the tea-table had +been set, and around it, with the well-preserved, white-haired Countess +presiding, were several gay, gossiping young men and women of the +house-party. + +Dick’s entry was hailed with delight, and news of the run eagerly +demanded. + +“And where’s Harry?” inquired her ladyship, pouring out Dick’s tea from +the silver pot. + +“Don’t know, aunt,” replied her nephew airily. “Last I saw of him was +in a ditch, looking a bit muddy and rather the worse for his fall. I +saw he wasn’t hurt, and rode on.” + +“You hunting men are really extremely selfish,” declared the old lady, +when at the same moment Burton, the elderly butler, handed Dick a +telegram on a salver, saying: + +“It came for you, sir, about twelve o’clock.” + +Jervoise tore it open, read its contents, and thrust it carelessly into +the pocket of his scarlet coat. Then, turning to a pretty girl in blue, +the daughter of a Yorkshire banker, he began to chaff her regarding +something he had heard in the hunting-field that day anent her latest +swain. The girl blushed, declaring that what he said was both cruel and +untrue. + +“Well, that’s what Teddie Mills told me to-day as we rode together. And +he’s your cousin, isn’t he?” asked Dick, good-humouredly. + +Ingarsby was a splendid old Tudor place, with battlemented towers, +turrets, buttressed walls, and noble oriel windows originally glazed +with beryl, and imposing structures with numerous shields of arms and +heraldic devices upon the masonry. On the painted glass of the high +mullioned windows of the hall beneath where Dick stood were emblazoned +the shields of the various families with whom the Earls of Corby had +intermarried; and straight before him, at the rear of that great, +open fireplace with its shining dogs, was a secret chamber, in which +twenty persons could comfortably dine, as well as the entrance to a +subterranean passage to a house three miles distant. + +The white-haired Countess had led a lonely widowhood in that beautiful +old place for twenty odd years, dividing her life between there and +her snug, little house in Curzon Street. She was a very charming, +well-preserved woman, essentially aristocratic in bearing, whose “turn +out” was always one of the smartest in the park, whose hospitality was +unbounded, and who at Ingarsby delighted in surrounding herself with +young people, for there was plenty of hunting and some of the finest +shooting in the Midlands. + +Sir James Kingwell, first Earl of Corby, who died three years after the +Restoration, was a typical old cavalier, who spent twenty years of his +life as a prisoner in the Tower. Many of the portraits in the hall, in +the dining-room, and in the splendid ball-room were historical, among +them being the picture of the Earl of Shrewsbury, who was slain in the +notorious duel by the second Duke of Buckingham. Indeed, the old place +was full of interesting relics, but practically unknown because her +ladyship, preferring privacy, had closed her doors rigorously to all +sightseers, prying archæologists, or photographers of the illustrated +papers. + +There was much merry chatter over the tea cups around the huge, blazing +logs. About a dozen young men and women had assembled, and were +discussing in anticipation the ball which Lady Exeter was giving at +Burghley on the following night, and to which the house-party had been +invited. + +Dick, however, managed to slip away up to his room, the great, +old-fashioned apartment which he always occupied, and was known as +Henry VII’s room, as that monarch, when Earl of Richmond, was said to +have ridden from Bosworth Field to seek refuge at Ingarsby, then a +monastery. It was a quaint, old-world room, the mullioned windows of +which looked out across the terrace, the monks’ fish ponds, and the +great park beyond. In the centre was an old, carved, four-poster bed, +the counterpane of which was of silk embroidered by hands dead three +centuries ago. + +So frequent a visitor was he at his aunt’s that he kept some books +there, and the big writing-table in the corner Burton had provided for +him specially. + +Entering his room, he threw off his hunting coat, drew off his riding +boots, and then re-read the telegram which had been handed to him in +the hall. + +“I wonder!” he exclaimed to himself aloud, as he crushed the message in +his hand, standing staring at the fire, the light of which illuminated +the room. “I wonder if I dare?” + +He drew a long breath, standing in indecision. + +“By Jove!” he went on. “If it’s not dangerous—then I may, after all, +see her again. I may——” + +But he did not finish his sentence, for a second later, with sudden +impetuosity, he tossed the telegram into the flames, and with a changed +expression on his face lit a cigarette, and flung himself into the big, +cretonne-covered armchair to think. + +“No!” he cried aloud at last. “She was a fool—an absolute fool. Her +words aroused suspicion. Owen suspects—everybody suspects!” And he gave +vent to a harsh, bitter laugh as he leaned back in his shirt sleeves +and blew a cloud of smoke from his lips. + +Presently, after half an hour, his man Carter, a smart, clean-shaven +man, entered to arrange his master’s evening clothes. Without a word +the servant crossed to the wardrobe, and busied himself in getting out +the suit and spreading it, with the dress-shirt, collar and tie, upon +the bed. + +“Shall you dress now, sir?” he inquired at last. + +“No, Carter,” was his master’s reply. “Perhaps I shan’t dress at all +this evening. At eight I want you to send word to her ladyship that I’m +not very well—caught a chill out hunting to-day—and ask her to excuse +me from coming down to dinner. Pretend I’m in bed, and have some food +brought up here. I’m going out this evening, and I don’t want anyone to +know I’ve been absent. You understand?” + +“Exactly, sir,” answered the well-trained man. + +“I don’t know when I’ll be back—before the house is closed, I hope. If +I’m not, watch Burton to bed, and then go down to the ball-room, and +leave one of those two end windows unfastened for me. I shall go out +that way—as I went once before.” + +“Very well, sir.” + +“And if my cousin Harry or anyone wants to see the invalid, say I’m +asleep, and have told you I didn’t wish to be disturbed. You’ll stay on +duty up here all the evening, and eat my dinner for me.” + +“Yes, sir.” And the man stood awaiting further commands, without moving +a muscle of his aquiline face. + +“Remember, not a soul must know of my absence. A lady’s good name may +perhaps be at stake. If I’m back early I may dress and join the men in +the billiard-room. I don’t know yet. Be discreet, that’s all.” + +“I shall be, sir. No one shall know you are absent.” + +Then Dick Jervoise exchanged his hunting breeches for a rough suit +of country tweeds, and, putting on a golf cap and taking a stick, he +glanced at the little silver travelling clock upon the dressing-table. +It was, he saw, nearly seven. + +He felt in his hip pocket, as though to reassure himself that he had +something there. Then, with parting instructions to his man, he left +the room, descending by the stairs at the end of the corridor, and by +an intricate route threaded those endless stone passages and reached +the great ball-room. + +It was in darkness, but in order to make sure he was alone he touched +the electric switch, and next second the magnificent room with its +polished floor and splendid portraits, the scene of so many brilliant +gatherings, was flooded with a bright light from a dozen crystal +electroliers. After a hasty glance around, he extinguished the hundreds +of lamps, and then, walking to the further end of the huge apartment, +opened one of the long, lead-paned windows, and, climbing through it, +dropped softly upon the grass outside. + +Then, keeping in the shadow as much as possible, he slipped across the +stone bridge that spanned the lake in front of the house—the ancient +fish pond of the Carthusian brothers—and struck out straight across the +park to the dark woods beyond. + +The night was moonless, with heavy clouds precursory of rain; but the +way being known to him, he walked on without hesitation, and was soon +within the wood, taking a narrow footpath, which, in twenty minutes or +so, brought him out into a ploughed field, which he skirted, passing in +turn across a wide pasture, and at length gaining a narrow lane full of +deep cart ruts, where walking in the darkness was somewhat difficult. + +Presently, however, he came out upon a broad highway, the many +telegraph lines beside which denoted that it was a main road, and, +turning to the left, walked along for a full half-hour, passing on his +way a small hamlet consisting of half a dozen or so tiny cottages with +dormer windows peeping forth from their thatch. + +By the light from one of the windows he glanced at his watch, and +seeing that he was late, quickened his pace up a long hill. A big motor +car with a long bonnet and a single searchlight glaring in front, came +swiftly down, and, passing him, bespattered him with mud from head to +foot. He recognised that it was the Ingarsby car—the six cylinder—which +was conveying an arrival guest, the Honourable Walter Bryant, a friend +of his, from Ashley station, on the Market Harborough line, to the Hall. + +Rockingham Hill, one of the steepest in the Midlands, he climbed, and +presently turned into a road by the left, which at length brought him +in sight of the lighted windows of a village. He avoided the village +street, for, passing the inn on the outskirts, he turned again into a +dark, muddy lane on the left. + +Walking still farther for about a quarter of a mile, he halted against +a gate standing white in the darkness, and next moment a figure loomed +up out of the night. + +It was a woman—a woman who uttered his name in greeting. + + + + +CHAPTER II + +THE PERIL OF DICK JERVOISE + + +“You sent me no reply, therefore I feared lest you might not come,” +exclaimed the woman, speaking rapidly in French, with an accent purely +Parisian. + +Her voice was soft and refined, yet so dark was it that her features +were scarcely distinguishable. That she was young and rather handsome, +with a somewhat oval face, was, however, apparent; and wearing a short +fur bolero and neat, felt travelling hat, she presented quite the +average _chic_ appearance of the Frenchwoman. + +“Well,” he asked as he leaned upon the gate, “why do you wish to see me +so urgently after our last meeting in London?” + +“To tell you something, _mon cher ami_—something curious which I have +discovered.” + +“Well, and what’s your latest discovery, eh?” he asked in a half-mused +tone. + +“That he is living in hiding in this neighbourhood.” + +“Whom?” + +“Bourtzeff.” + +“Bourtzeff!” echoed Jervoise in amazement. “Bourtzeff here? Impossible!” + +“I tell you he lives in Great Easton,” she responded calmly. “I’ve been +lodging near by for the past ten days—watching. Something serious is in +progress. Of that I am absolutely convinced.” + +“But is it not dangerous for you, of all women, to be here, in the +vicinity, and alone? Remember he’s not a man to stick at trifles!” + +“Bah! I do not fear him, monsieur,” laughed the young woman defiantly. + +“But how did you trace him?” + +“By patience,” she replied. “You know how he fled from Keppel Street +the instant the news became known. At that time we were not even aware +of his identity. We had no suspicion—nothing but a mere address in +London to guide us. We commenced investigations, you and I. I admired +your careful methods, but you relinquished the inquiry too early—you +were, my dear friend, just a trifle too impatient. I waited and +watched, day by day, week by week, for I knew that the landlord of that +house was a consummate liar, and that he was endeavouring to shield +some mysterious person whom he had sheltered. The matter was difficult, +because of your friend Doctor Odd’s constant inquisitiveness. I don’t +like that man, for he has, I feel confident, strong suspicions.” + +“And surely not exactly unnaturally?” he remarked in a strained voice. + +“Ah, yes!” she snapped impatiently. “I know you believe him to be your +friend. But mark me, M’sieur Dick, that man will prove your enemy.” + +“You always say so, I know. But I venture to think you entertain a +rather unfair prejudice against him,” Jervoise said. + +“Time will prove that,” replied his companion. “At present it is +sufficient to know that I waited in patience until, late one evening, +about a fortnight ago, I was watching the house in Keppel Street, more +out of curiosity than anything else, when a hansom drew up, and from +it alighted a man, who ascended to the door and quickly let himself in +with a latch-key. It was Nicholas Bourtzeff! From that moment until +now I have never lost sight of him.” + +“And he does not suspect?” + +“Not in the least.” + +“You say he is in hiding over in Great Easton. I know the place quite +well—about a couple of miles from here.” + +“He is the guest of a certain Doctor Larcombe, who lives in a house at +the extreme end of the village.” + +“I know him,” Jervoise said, much surprised. “Larcombe rides to hounds +sometimes.” + +“He is apparently living there as a paying guest in the name of +Siegler.” + +“Are you sure it is Bourtzeff?” + +“Absolutely. I have seen him a dozen times or more. I know him rather +too well, alas!” replied the woman. + +“Bourtzeff! Bourtzeff!” he repeated to himself. + +“Then what is your theory?” he asked. + +“Theory!” she exclaimed, speaking still in French. “I have none, my +dear m’sieur. I regard his movements, as strange, very strange—that is +all. Paul Grinevitch telegraphed to Jorgen Berentsen that he intended +to leave Christiania at once, and go direct to 108, Keppel Street, +Russell Square. An hour later he was killed. Then when inquiries are +made at the address in question, a mysterious lodger, who only returned +that day, instantly disappears. Now this mysterious person turns out to +be Nicholas Bourtzeff who had gone into hiding in the name of Siegler. +Surely there is an object—and that object is fear of something. But +what it is, how can we tell?” + +“Be careful that he doesn’t discover you, mademoiselle.” + +“I shall take very good care of that,” was her reply. “I have taken +lodgings with a good woman in Middleton village, and am supposed to +be a governess waiting for a family to return from India. Yesterday I +had news from Christiania. The police have made an arrest—the fools! +They’ve thrown one of the hotel waiters into prison.” + +Dick Jervoise was silent. What mademoiselle had told him caused him +the greatest surprise. Why had Nicholas Bourtzeff fled from one +hiding-place to the other on hearing the news of Paul’s death? What +connection, indeed, could the two men have had, except that they were +compatriots? + +“But he was in London at the time of the affair?” remarked Dick, after +a long pause. + +“Ah! That is just the point,” replied mademoiselle quickly. “He was not +at Keppel Street on that day, nor did he return there until four days +after the tragedy.” + +Jervoise was again silent. The circumstance was suspicious. + +The woman who stood there—a woman who was in many ways remarkable—had +become his friend. His acquaintance with her was a clandestine one, it +was true. She was not a person in whose company he would care to be +seen publicly; but though unscrupulous and full of clever subterfuge, +yet she was, nevertheless, acting in his interests. + +More than a month ago she had called at his flat overlooking the river +beyond Hammersmith Bridge, and for several hours they had been engaged +in earnest conversation. It was then that Dick Jervoise had told the +young, dark-eyed, foreign lady, Alza Dresler, of the remarkable death +of Paul Grinevitch, and she had started to her feet on hearing the +amazing story. + +She had placed her black-gloved hand in Dick’s as sign of friendship, +and from that moment to the present had, alone and quite unaided, been +pursuing a somewhat erratic course. + +She was one of those women whose age it was quite impossible to +determine, and whose exact nationality was as equally uncertain. +In certain circles in London and in Paris she was well known as a +struggling artist, with sufficient private means to support herself. +In her own artistic set she was extremely popular. Until two years +before she had occupied a studio high up in the roof of one of those +old houses in the Rue Madame, in Paris, but of late her headquarters +had been in a shabby house in a mean street off the Tottenham Court +Road. She travelled a good deal, notwithstanding her limited means, +and outside her artistic set she had quite a wide acquaintance in both +capitals. + +Good-looking, always neatly dressed, and quite ladylike and refined, +she was at home in almost any grade of society. Yet Dick Jervoise, who +in common with certain others who knew the truth concerning her, always +avoided being seen with her in public. + +Owen Odd, on the other hand, had been attracted towards her from +the first moment of her introduction by Dick, and, notwithstanding +the latter’s veiled warnings, he had managed to snatch two or three +evenings away from his practice to take her to theatres. He found the +romance surrounding her particularly fascinating, for was she not to +the world a mystery? + +“The affair becomes more complicated, Alza,” Dick exclaimed at last. +“Somehow I can’t quite conceive that Bourtzeff has ever had any +dealings with Paul.” + +“That remains to be seen,” she said. “You know Bourtzeff almost as well +as I do.” + +“And for that reason I do not think it wise for you to live here alone +and watch him. Remember he has spies ever about him.” + +“My dear M’sieur Jervoise, I am quite capable of taking care of +myself,” she cried, laughing his fears to scorn. “Already I am trying +to ascertain why Grinevitch decided to come to London, and I hope soon +to learn something.” + +“Ah! Yes. It will be interesting,” said the man. “But do you suspect +Bourtzeff?” + +“At present I suspect nobody. First, let me discover the reason of Paul +Grinevitch’s sudden decision. Then, perhaps, we can form some theory. +At present, I can only watch.” + +“Rather dull for you in Middleton,” he laughed. “The place is never +very exciting even in summer, but at this time of year it must be +pretty quiet.” + +“As an artist, my dear m’sieur, I can adapt myself to any mode of +life,” she declared with a light laugh. “In this affair I have an +object, you will recollect—a personal interest.” + +“A personal vengeance,” he said, correcting her, in a low, meaning +voice. + +“Well, if you choose to put it so,” she said in a changed voice. Then +she added: “Though you were unaware of my presence, I’ve seen you in +the neighbourhood of Ingarsby on two or three occasions. I saw you +walking with two young ladies on the Bulwick road one afternoon, and +twice you’ve passed me in a motor car without recognising me.” + +“Ah! you wore a veil, I suppose!” + +“Certainly. Mourning always suits me well, you know!” she laughed. + +“And how does this Siegler pass his time?” he inquired. “The doctor, of +course, has no idea of his identity?” + +“No. Everyone believes him to be a German professor of botany. He is +friendly with several people in the neighbourhood. In fact, he’s dining +out this evening at a house about two miles from here. When I leave +you, I’m going across there to try and discover something concerning +these friends of his.” + +“What’s their name?” + +“Sedgwick, I believe it is. They are a father, mother, and two +daughters, and live in a big, old-fashioned, ivy-covered house lying +back from the road not far from a place called the Holy Well. Some fine +cedars stand on the lawn.” + +“Sedgwick!” exclaimed Dick Jervoise. “I happen to know the Sedgwicks, +of Blaston! Does he know them?” + +“He went there to dine this evening, I tell you. He and the doctor +drove over in the dog-cart. They passed me on this road.” + +“My dear Alza, you’re a very remarkable woman!” he ejaculated. “By +Jove! nothing seems to escape you.” + +“When my mind is set upon accomplishing something, no power on earth +turns me against it. You know me well enough,” was her answer. “In +this affair I have an object in view—a distinct object. Whether I +remain here for a day, or for a year, it is, to me, immaterial. I shall +accomplish it. You asked me for advice—you asked my assistance. As for +advice, I urge you once again to beware of that man who calls himself +your friend—Doctor Odd.” + +“But why? I don’t understand.” + +“I need not go into details, M’sieur Dick,” answered the woman, +standing there in the darkness. “Indeed, that is not my habit. I am +working in your interests—in those of Thyra; and also—well, I do +not deny it; why should I?—in my own. Since I saw you last, sixteen +days ago, I have again seen your friend the doctor. Oh! he was +very charming. He took me to the play, and to the Savoy to supper +afterwards. I accepted his invitation that evening for one reason +alone. I wanted to ascertain something.” + +“Well?” + +“I was successful. I discovered what I wanted to know. I discovered +that he was not your friend.” + +“Not my friend? How can you tell that?” + +“He has seen Thyra,” was her slow reply. “He slipped across the Channel +to meet her—to tell her of his suspicions, I expect.” + +“You think so?” gasped Jervoise, standing rigid before her. “He +suspects me!” + +“Yes. That is my surmise. But I had one truth—from his own lips—that he +loves her!” + +“Loves her!” echoed her companion in a hollow voice. “Why, he has +always given me to understand——” + +“My dear M’sieur Dick,” interrupted the mysterious woman, whose face he +could only indistinctly distinguish. “That’s just it! You are so very +confiding, so easily misled. It is your failing, if I may be forgiven +for saying so. That man loves Thyra; hence he is no longer your friend, +but rather your most bitter enemy! Ah! yes. You will discover the truth +ere long. He loves her—_loves her_!” + + + + +CHAPTER III + +STRANGERS IN LONDON + + +In one of the luxurious pale blue and white sitting-rooms in the Hotel +Ritz in Piccadilly, Peter Sundt, the millionaire of stock-fish, lounged +lazily by the fire, smoking an expensive cigar. + +His well-cut frock coat, smart fancy vest, carefully-trimmed moustache, +and hair arranged with care, gave him a somewhat gentlemanly +appearance, though his red and rather pimply face was coarse, his hands +rough, and his manner betrayed his plebeian birth and the struggles of +his fisher days. + +The man for whom thousands were at that moment netting those cold, dark +icy seas, whose nauseous-smelling boileries supplied three parts of the +whole world’s produce of that boon to the consumptive, cod-liver oil, +whose fishing fleets were spread all across the Arctic seas, and whose +influence in Norway was almost equal to that of the Prime Minister +himself, sat regarding his visitor with narrowed brows. + +Upon the hand holding his cigar a fine diamond flashed in the +firelight, and removing his gaze from the pale, drawn face of the man +seated opposite him, he thoughtfully contemplated the ash, waiting for +a reply to his question. + +His visitor was the grey-bearded, bluff old sailor, Jorgen Berentsen. + +Outside in Piccadilly the short, grey, January afternoon was drawing to +a close. The great arc lamps were already lit, though it was not yet +dark, and the roar of the traffic reached the two men, notwithstanding +the double windows. One window of the room looked away across the Green +Park towards Buckingham Palace, the other upon the life and movement of +Piccadilly itself. + +“Well?” asked Sundt at last, speaking in Norwegian. “I invited you to +come here because I want to know the truth, Jorgen. You know it. Come, +tell me.” + +“I have already replied. I do not know the truth.” + +“You mean that you refuse to tell me!” cried the red-faced man, his +dark eyes flashing angrily. “Do you recollect what I told you in your +own house up at Vardo?” + +“I do—perfectly,” replied the other in a strained voice quite unusual +to him. + +“Then why have you not heeded? If you had taken my advice long ago you +could have become a rich man, left your wretched northern tomb, and +lived away in the south in the sunshine and flowers, as I do.” + +“Thank you,” replied the old sailor. “I am perfectly happy as I am. +Thyra is returning with me—to live as we lived before.” + +“You’re mad, man. Do you actually intend to take the girl back to the +rough Arctic life in that most dismal hole on all our coast?” + +“She wishes it.” + +Sundt shrugged his shoulders in impatience, and drew heavily at his +cigar. + +“Then all I have to say, Jorgen, is that you are very foolish. She +would be far better in Christiania, or even in Paris. You have a sister +living there. I remember her when I was a boy.” + +“My child wishes to go north with me. Therefore I shall agree. Surely +her married life was brief enough, and fraught with sufficient +ill-fortune.” + +“Yes,” sighed the cod-liver oil manufacturer. “It was a most painful +and mysterious affair. I was at Havre at the time, and didn’t hear of +it until nearly a week later. The French papers are somehow always slow +in reporting events in Norway. As soon as I read about it I telegraphed +to you, and to her, my condolences.” + +“We received them,” replied the old harbour-master quietly. + +“My yacht took me from Vardo on the morning following my call upon you, +and I was fortunate in catching the mail boat south from Hammerfest. +Otherwise I suppose I should have travelled down by the _Mercur_ with +you all. But it must have been a most painful affair!” he declared with +a sigh. “Poor girl! she has no doubt felt it terribly—after only a few +hours of marriage.” + +“The mystery of it all is most puzzling,” declared the elder man. “You +read the details afterwards, I expect, in the Norwegian papers.” + +“I did. It was most extraordinary. Every feature of the case seemed +mysterious. Even Thyra did not, on that fatal afternoon, pay the visit +she was supposed to have made; or, at least, that is what one of the +papers, which assisted the police in their inquiries, declared.” + +“That fact is, I fear, correct,” answered Berentsen with a sigh. + +“And has your daughter ever told you the true story of her movements on +that fatal afternoon?” inquired the red-faced man with a curious look +in his searching eyes. + +“Unfortunately, she refuses. It is her own affair, she says. She +resents any inquisitiveness as to where she went during her absence +from her husband.” + +“Has it not struck you, my dear Jorgen, as somewhat curious that she +should, on the very first day of her marriage, make an excuse to her +husband, and go forth to keep some clandestine appointment—for that it +was, without a doubt?” + +“Whatever her movements were, they were in no way dishonourable, +Peter,” replied the bluff old man. “Thyra would never deceive the man +she loved.” + +“But, my dear friend, she did deceive him. Even you, her father, must +acknowledge that. She made an excuse to meet somebody. And she has kept +her secret from the police, and from everybody.” + +“You speak as though her secret, as you call it, were a guilty one!” +cried her father, reddening with anger. + +“My dear Jorgen, please do not misunderstand me! I have viewed the +whole of the tragic and mysterious circumstances from every standpoint, +and have arrived at one conclusion—the only one possible in the +circumstances—that Paul Grinevitch was murdered through jealousy. And +the man loved Thyra—still loves her, without a doubt. That man is the +assassin, depend upon it. The natural theory is that she consented +to meet him for the last time in Christiania that afternoon, to bid +adieu. They met. Then the lover, seized by a paroxysm of hatred towards +the bridegroom, hastened to the hotel, before she could reach it, and +struck him down.” + +“But the visitor—that woman in black! The sending of the blank message +to Nystrom, and the sudden decision to cross to London. Did they have +no connection whatever with the crime?” + +“None, I think,” Sundt replied slowly, twisting the diamond ring around +his finger. “The crime was undoubtedly committed by some man who was +passionately in love with your daughter, and who believed, by ridding +her of Grinevitch, he might eventually take the dead man’s place.” + +“No man will ever take Paul Grinevitch’s place in my child’s heart,” +declared the old harbour-master vehemently, as he sat staring straight +before him. “It is all so cruel and bitter! As though my poor girl had +not sufficient to bear, the gossips in Christiania spoke all sorts of +hard things of her, hinting at some love affair while she was still at +school there, and declaring, as you have just declared, that she had +a secret lover, by whose hand her husband had been struck down. Ah!” +he cried. “It is cruel—too cruel! Christiania is the most gossiping +place in all Europe. Why, some evil-natured person actually made an +allegation that my poor child was privy to her husband’s death—that she +went out purposely while the dastardly deed was accomplished!” + +“Yes, Jorgen, I, too, heard that same report,” remarked the great man +slowly. “Scandalous though it was to invent such a theory, yet——” + +“Yet what?” asked the grey-bearded man quickly. + +“Well, there are so many unsolved mysteries connected with the young +man’s death, that one does not know really where to commence. I think +I’m correct in saying that not a single one of those mysteries has yet +been elucidated—not even the identity of the young lady in mourning.” + +“The police bungled the inquiry from the very beginning. The +intelligence of our police of Norway cannot be compared with that of +even Denmark.” + +“To me it is very curious that a woman could have gone boldly to the +room of a man just married during his wife’s absence, remain there +in consultation for a considerable period, and be seen to the lift, +and then leave the hotel, and disappear completely off the face of +the earth,” declared the man with the pimply face. “It seems utterly +incredible. Either the Christiania police are utter blockheads, or else +the whole affair was a most marvellous conspiracy.” + +“The latter, I’m inclined to think, Peter. My own opinion is that +jealousy had nothing whatever to do with the death of Paul Grinevitch.” + +Peter Sundt smiled incredulously, blew some particles of tobacco ash +from his coat sleeve, and raised his eyes to the man before him. + +“Tell me, Jorgen,” he demanded at last. “What did you know about young +Grinevitch? What did he explain to you concerning himself?” + +The grey-bearded old sailor regarded his questioner uneasily. Then, +after some hesitation, he answered: + +“Well, the fact is, he told me very little, except what I had already +discovered. When he asked for my daughter’s hand, he explained that his +family was a highly influential and respected one in Moscow, that his +father’s estates were in the Government of Tula, that his mother was +dead, and that he had one sister living, married to the Governor in +Kiev.” + +Peter Sundt nodded with evident satisfaction. + +“But as regards his means?” + +“Beyond his pay as a lieutenant in the Imperial Guard, he had an +allowance from his father of twenty thousand kroners a year.” + +“H’m! A little over a thousand a year in English money,” remarked +Peter. “They might have lived comfortably upon that. Was there no other +source of income?” + +Old Jorgen started quickly, and looked the stock-fish millionaire +straight in the face. + +“What—what do you mean?” he inquired. + +“Paul Grinevitch told you the truth, I suppose? He surely would not +deceive the father of the woman he was about to make his wife.” + +“I have no reason to disbelieve anything that he told me.” + +“Then he explained to you something in confidence, eh?” + +“Well, he did,” admitted the elder man. + +“And yet you allowed him to marry Thyra,” observed the other +reproachfully. + +“They loved each other.” + +“Bosh! The fellow’s good looks attracted her. That was all. He was her +first love.” + +“Then you apparently know more of Grinevitch than you’ve ever admitted, +Peter,” Jorgen remarked at last. + +A dead silence fell. From without came the dull roar of the London +traffic in Piccadilly, with the occasional “honk” of the horns of +taxi-cabs. But within the luxurious room the two men sat on either side +of the fire, each knowing that the other was his bitterest enemy. + +Jorgen Berentsen had not forgotten the hard meaning words which Peter +Sundt had uttered on the last occasion when he had come to see him at +Vardo. Neither had Sundt forgotten the harbour-master’s open defiance. + +“Paul Grinevitch was not exactly what he represented himself to be, +eh?” Sundt declared decisively. + +“How do you know?” + +“Because I took the trouble to institute some inquiries in Russia. You +have told me that Thyra loved him. Well, if she did, then she may, +after all, congratulate herself upon her freedom.” + +“I don’t quite follow you.” + +“Then let me speak a little plainer, shall I? Let me point out one fact +which you, and everyone else, have overlooked; a fact that is patent, +and may possibly lead to a clue to the assassin.” + +“What is that?” + +“You will remember that on your journey south you had as +fellow-passengers two Englishmen—one a doctor named Odd, and the other +a man named Jervoise.” + +“Perfectly. Very pleasant young fellows.” + +“Both were very friendly with Thyra, were they not?” + +“I believe so. She used to chatter with them in English, and, moreover, +they came to the marriage feast, invited by Grinevitch.” + +“I am aware of that,” said the other. “I am aware, too, that they +travelled to Christiania by the same train as the pair, and that +Richard Jervoise was greatly attracted by Thyra. That Englishman loved +your daughter, Jorgen.” + +“And what of that? She is very beautiful, as you yourself have many +times acknowledged. Many men in various walks of life have been +attracted by her.” + +“None more so than this Richard Jervoise,” was the red-faced man’s hard +reply. “And there are certain facts which are, in themselves, very +remarkable.” + +“What facts?” + +“The two Englishmen were in Christiania together on the day of Paul’s +death,” Sundt said. “Well, yesterday I called upon Doctor Odd at his +surgery, and after some careful questioning, established the fact that +all the afternoon of the tragic affair Jervoise was absent from the +Grand Hotel.” + +“Well?” + +“Thyra was absent from her husband, and——” + +“What!” cried the old man, starting up angrily. “What, you insinuate +something against my daughter’s good name. You, who——” + +“I insinuate nothing, my dear Jorgen,” replied the man who supplied the +world with its cod-liver oil. “I merely point out two facts which are +indisputable. And I would add two others—namely, that it happens to be +within my own personal knowledge that Paul Grinevitch was not at all +the person he represented himself to be, and, secondly——” + +He paused, without concluding his sentence. + +“And secondly what?” demanded the old harbour-master with a frown. + +“Secondly, Richard Jervoise and Paul Grinevitch met several years ago, +and they were the bitterest of enemies. This man Jervoise found the +young Russian on the eve of marriage with the girl with whom he had so +suddenly fallen desperately in love. And—and,” he added. “Well, I leave +you, Jorgen, to form your own conclusions.” + +The old harbour-master sank back in his silken chair, as though he had +been smitten a staggering blow. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + +THYRA MAKES AN ADMISSION + + +That same afternoon Dick Jervoise had stood for a considerable time +watching at the long window of his sitting-room in that great block of +red-brick flats at Castelnau, on the Barnes side of Hammersmith Bridge. + +The view across the wide reservoirs and up the Thames beyond old-world +Chiswick and its Mall was one of the most extensive and picturesque +in the immediate environs of London. His were cosy quarters. He had +chosen them for two reasons; first to be near Owen, whose surgery was +in Bridge Avenue, just over the long suspension bridge, and second +because it was an open spot, with plenty of light and fresh air both +back and front. His rooms were not extensive, but quite sufficient +for the simple wants of a bachelor. The sitting-room was a square, +good-sized apartment papered a dark red, with well-filled book-cases, +a big, old-fashioned sideboard, whereon were two or three pieces of +antique silver, and in a corner a large, roll-top writing-desk with the +telephone instrument upon it. + +On the table in the centre stood a big epergne of sweet-smelling +mimosa, bringing with it a fragrance from the Riviera, and before the +bright fire stood two inviting armchairs. That room, as were also the +dining-room and the bedroom, was the very acme of bachelor comfort, for +he had furnished them with considerable taste in order to make cosy +quarters for himself when in London. + +One room beyond the kitchen was, indeed, piled with battered +travelling cases and the impedimenta he sometimes used on his longer +expeditions, the articles ranging from a tent to a luggage label. + +The titles of the books lining that well-warmed, little den were +sufficient index to the character of its owner. They were mostly works +on archæology or folk-lore, and many of them, being extremely rare, he +had purchased at high prices. + +Standing at the long French window which opened upon a narrow balcony, +where a row of variegated laurels flourished in long boxes, he stood +eagerly watching every vehicle as it crossed the bridge from the +Hammersmith side. + +His face was pale and serious, and it was apparent that his nerves were +at their highest tension. + +Time after time he glanced back anxiously at the Chippendale clock upon +the mantelshelf, and then stood breathlessly waiting. + +The roadway below was one of the chief highways out of the metropolis, +and led to Wimbledon, Richmond, Kingston-on-Thames, and the open +country beyond. Hence, as he watched, hundreds of motor cars and motor +’buses whirred along over the bridge, and away along the broad road +towards Barnes Common and Mortlake. + +Slowly the light faded. Already the lamps on the great bridge had +begun to glimmer, and lights were shining on the river bank across at +Chiswick. + +Suddenly a taxicab slowed up after it had crossed the bridge, and came +quietly towards the kerb. Dick caught sight of a face within, and next +instant dashed down the stairs. + +In the entrance he grasped the hand of the visitor he had been so +anxiously awaiting. + +It was Thyra. + +Together they ascended to the second floor, and he ushered her into his +sitting-room. She entered the flat timidly, for was not her visit a +clandestine one! + +Within, he helped her off with her fur coat and boa, and pulled one of +the big armchairs before the fire, saying: + +“I began to fear that you could not get away, or that you didn’t +receive my message.” + +“I was compelled to wait until my father went out. He had an +appointment with somebody.” + +“With whom?” + +“He did not tell me. As soon as he had gone I slipped out, hailed a +cab, and gave the driver your address. But oh! how utterly bewildering +is your great London! I have driven miles and miles. I had no idea that +London was so huge.” + +He smiled at her as, standing with his back to the fire, he gazed upon +her, noting how extremely handsome she was. Her neat mourning enhanced +her pale beauty, yet as she raised her great grey eyes to his, he saw +them shadowed, and full of weariness. + +He had not seen her since that grey afternoon when, four days after the +tragedy, he had called upon her in Christiania to wish her adieu. They +had written to each other several times until she had announced her +impending arrival in London, and he had sent her that urgent message to +come and see him. + +“I wanted to talk to you alone,” he stammered, after a painful pause. + +“And I, too, have been longing to see you, Mr. Jervoise,” she said. +“There were things I wished to speak about which I dare not write in +letters.” And instinctively she glanced at the closed door. + +“You need have no fear,” he assured her. “My man is out, and we are +entirely alone.” + +She glanced round the room with her great wide-open eyes, so full of +childish innocence. Everything English was so new to her, everything +interested or astonished her. She had regarded Christiania, with real +trees in its streets, as a terrestrial paradise, but London, with its +great parks, miles of streets, and bustling millions, was assuredly a +universe in itself. + +“Nobody must know that we have met,” she said in an anxious tone. +“Remember our secret!” + +“Your secret is entirely safe with me, Thyra—if I may be permitted to +call you by your Christian name,” he answered in a deep, earnest voice. + +“I know it is! I feel I can trust in you, Mr. Jervoise. You are indeed +my friend.” + +“Yes. I am your friend,” he repeated, looking straight into those eyes, +so wonderfully clear and yet wearing that strange, hunted look that he +had never before seen in them. + +“Nobody suspects?” she asked the next moment in a hoarse whisper, +bending forward in her chair towards him. + +“Nobody. Our secret is quite safe.” + +She stirred, and rearranged her skirts, his words having reassured her. + +London! When, three days ago, she had landed at Tilbury with her +father from Gothenburg, she had been filled with childish joy at the +mere thought that London was near. London! The long-dreamed-of city +of wonders, the world’s metropolis, the home of all splendours, all +delights—London, the home of Richard Jervoise. + +She had, however, dreaded that meeting. She knew that to see him +again was imperative, yet she anticipated the encounter with fear and +misgiving—nay, with something akin to horror. Nevertheless, on receipt +of his dreaded demand, she had braced herself up, and now faced the +ordeal unflinchingly. + +As Dick Jervoise stood still looking into those splendid eyes, he read +what was passing in her mind. + +“Thyra!” he said slowly, in a very low, impressive voice. “You are +apprehensive—far too apprehensive. You are unnerved, I fear. Pray calm +yourself, or your very attitude may excite suspicion.” + +“Ah!” she cried, putting her gloved hands out before her. “How can I +act otherwise? How can I remain calm with this terrible torture of +conscience upon my mind?” + +And she rose from her chair, tall and willowy, and stood before him, +her fair head bowed. + +“Come,” he said, placing his hand upon her slim shoulder tenderly, “you +must learn to conceal all these fears of yours if you would hide our +secret from the world.” + +“But somehow—well, somehow I cannot!” she declared wildly, her face now +pale and drawn. “Heaven knows what a struggle I constantly have with my +own heart—my own conscience!” + +“No, no!” he said, firmly yet gently. “Dismiss all that from your +mind. Nobody is aware of our meeting in Christiania on that fateful +afternoon, and——” + +“Ah! If I had only had the courage to refuse to keep that appointment +with you! It was not right—it was unjust—unjust to Paul.” + +“No,” he said quite frankly. “What I did was entirely in your +interests, Thyra. You have already admitted that. Our secret is +safe—therefore why need we trouble further?” + +“I had no proof of what you told me,” she protested quickly. “It was +a remarkable story, but you could not bring the slightest evidence to +substantiate a single word of it.” + +“You will have ample proof in due course,” he said. “I promise you +that.” + +“Somehow you never seem to realise our mutual danger,” she exclaimed. +“I am a woman, and perhaps I can see further ahead than you. Has it +never struck you that your friend Dr. Odd may have suspected our secret +meeting on that afternoon?” + +“And, pray, what if he does? The suspicion cannot be substantiated. I +have already taken very good care of that. The police are still making +inquiries,” he added with a grim smile. “They arrested some poor devil +of a waiter the other day, I hear, and had to release him after a few +hours’ detention.” + +“You laugh!” she cried, her eyes flashing in quick protest. “_You!_” + +“I laugh because you and I know he is innocent,” was his brief yet +indefinite answer. “But,” he added, “tell me one thing, Thyra. Did +Paul ever mention to you the name of a friend of his called Nicholas +Bourtzeff?” + +“Bourtzeff? No. I never heard him mention the name,” she responded, +shaking her head. + +“And he never mentioned any friend of his living in London—at that +address in Keppel Street, Bloomsbury, which he telegraphed to your +father?” + +“Never. I had not the slightest idea of his intention of coming to +London, or that he possessed any friend here.” + +Dick Jervoise smiled within himself when he recollected Alza’s dogged +tenaciousness to the clue which she believed she had discovered. When +the fire of vengeance once burns in a woman’s heart, it is indeed +unquenchable. + +It had grown quite dark now, and the room was only illuminated by the +uncertain flicker of the fire. + +“Are you positive that your friend, the doctor, is still unsuspicious?” +she asked him in a low, strained voice at last. + +“Of course. Whatever causes you such ridiculous apprehension?” + +“Because—well, because I am not convinced yet that our secret is +absolutely safe,” was her reply. “Suppose the truth were ever +discovered, the truth of what occurred that evening? Where should we +both be? You remember your words!” + +The man standing with her against the mantelshelf bit his lips, but he +remained silent. + +The shadow of a guilty secret was upon his brow. + +He held his breath, and the hand that sought hers trembled. + + + + +CHAPTER V + +THE BOND OF SILENCE + + +Two days later Dick Jervoise called upon Captain Berentsen and his +daughter at the house in Talbot Road, Bayswater, where they had +established themselves in apartments. The first-floor rooms of the +usual London lodging type had been recommended to them by some friends +in Christiania, and as Dick was shown up by the maid-of-all-work he +greeted Thyra, in pretence that they had not already met in secret. + +The old captain invited him to remain and have tea. They expected to +stay in London for a month at least, he said—indeed, until the long +Arctic night at Vardo had passed, when they would return to their +treeless coast again. + +In his thick, blue reefer suit, and with a distinctly nautical air, the +old fellow looked strangely out of place in a Bayswater lodging. He had +made no mention to Thyra of his visit to Peter Sundt. He was absent on +many occasions “doing business,” as he had explained to her. + +Dick offered to show London to Thyra, an offer which was gladly +accepted. Therefore, on the following day, he again called, and, +finding her alone, they went forth together. + +Her attitude towards him was at once friendly and mysterious. It seemed +as though, while she held him in distinct disfavour, in abhorrence, yet +somehow he exercised over her a power which was inexorable, as though, +almost, he held her beneath a spell. + +That her mind was full of the terrible tragedy of a few months before +was shown by the frequent sighs that would escape her, and by her +constant dread of their secret being suspected. + +In that dread secret between them lay the power and influence which +Dick Jervoise possessed over her. And, somehow, in those covert +glances of hers there was another and yet more curious expression—the +expression of admiration, even of devotion. + +How full of strange incoherence and contradiction is the soul of woman! + +Thyra was thankful to Dick for his offer to take her to see London. The +few days she had spent in that Bayswater lodging with her father absent +had been very dismal and dispiriting. It rained almost incessantly; +the sitting-room with the lace curtains, the cheap ornaments upon +the mantelshelf, and the strong-smelling apples upon the mahogany +sideboard, was oppressed the whole day long by a grey twilight. + +Occasional hansoms or tradesmen’s carts passed along the melancholy +street into the square beyond, and the tempestuous wind, which made +the room draughty, howled incessantly, the whole making on Thyra an +impression of unutterable dreariness. + +The splendid city of her dreams, the great and brilliant London, seemed +pervaded by this howling wind, that had followed her from the icy sea +at Vardo, through which sounded the roar of a thousand other voices, +the ceaseless roar of the traffic, the booming of toilsome life, dismal +under never-ending rain. + +With profound tenderness Dick Jervoise took her forth to show her +some of the principal “sights”—the Houses of Parliament, Buckingham +Palace, the National Gallery, and such-like institutions of which +London boasts, but of which the average Londoner knows nothing. The +first morning they spent in the British Museum, after which he gave her +luncheon at the Trocadero, where the life, movement, and music brought +back to her some of her old brightness. + +Many of her naive remarks filled him with amusement. On the night of +her arrival in London she had, it appeared, believed the asphalte +roadways to be polished; but now they were drying she had discovered +her mistake. + +The weather had cleared after luncheon, and they walked down Regent +Street and through the Strand to the law Courts, where for a few +moments they sat listening to counsel making an able defence in some +Chancery action. Then they took a motor-omnibus to Trafalgar Square, +where he showed her the lions and the Nelson monument, after which they +entered the National Gallery and took a cursory glance at some of the +art-treasures preserved there. + +She examined everything with the keen inquisitiveness of a child, while +he, on his part, took the greatest interest in showing and explaining +everything. + +The crowds and hustle of the Strand bewildered her. More than once, as +they passed along, he noticed men’s heads turned to admire her striking +beauty. But, all unconscious of the sensation she created, she walked +on at his side listening intently to his explanations. + +There was a bond between them—a bond that was unbreakable. She could +not disguise that fact from herself. Were it not for that one thought, +grim and terrible, she would have been happy, perhaps even been able to +forget the black shadow that had so suddenly fallen upon and clouded +her young life. + +Along Pall Mall they went, and up St. James’s Street. He pointed out +Marlborough House, St. James’s Palace, the various clubs—including his +own, a great, dark, smoke-blackened building close to Piccadilly. + +As they passed, the liveried hall-porter, who chanced to be standing +upon the steps, recognised and saluted him. + +She peered within the hall with curiosity, and inquired what the place +was like inside. She had never seen a club before. + +“It looks very old,” she declared, gazing at the sombre but handsome +exterior. + +“Over a century and a half ago it was opened,” he answered. “At that +time it was the principal gaming-club in London, and huge sums were +lost and won here every night. Nowadays it is a place where men dine +and smoke and chat, and into which no lady is ever allowed to set her +foot.” + +“Isn’t that rather selfish?” she laughed. + +But he explained to her that there were also ladies’ clubs, known to +the irreverent men as “catteries.” + +As they turned into Piccadilly she half closed her eyes, and before +her there arose a vision of the man so suddenly snatched from her. +Instantly she hated the tall Englishman striding along at her side. Her +depression reasserted itself. + +Twilight was falling. The people passed rapidly along the pavements, +umbrellas under their arms; here and there the lights were springing +up in the shops, and through the moist air strayed the odours of the +stream of motor-omnibuses and private cars with the confused noise that +dulled her senses. + +That man, walking by her side in silence, gave her a vague sensation of +terror. + +She fixed her great eyes upon the crowd, fascinated by the coming and +going, as by the flowing of a stream. Dick, the man who, with her, held +the secret, uttered some words, but she did not heed them. Casting her +eyes upward, she saw the network of telegraph wires hiding the grey +sky, and it renewed her oppression. + +The elegance of the women who passed her caused her envy. It was +impossible that there could be so many shapely or beautiful women in +London. They were all painted and padded and powdered, and some had +false hair. Oh, yes—she knew! Those London women were artificial, +unreal, “made up” by their hairdressers, their tailors and their maids. +They were women of falsity, corruption and hidden misery. + +And this was London! + +Dick fixed his enamoured eyes upon her, and seeing the strange +expression upon the beloved features, fell to wondering. + +He hailed a passing taxicab at the corner of Park Lane, and drove to +Westbourne Grove, for she had expressed a desire to look at the windows +of the drapers’ shops there. Besides, it was close to her home. + +For a long time she enjoyed the delights of the goods so temptingly +displayed in the windows. A hat she saw there—the latest French +creation—interested her far more than the Madonna of Raphael, while +over an evening gown in cream lace she went into ecstasies. How would +she herself look in it, she wondered? + +Before those gaily lit windows her oppression again vanished. + +“Look!” she cried in childish delight. “Look at that lovely lace. How +exquisite! And that _robe de chambre_—you call it tea-gown. Is it not a +lovely colour? It would suit a blonde to perfection. Ah! I have never +seen in Christiania such lovely things as these! Very costly. I suppose +they are—far too costly for me.” + +And she ran on in that strain, while her companion stood behind her, +much amused at her excitement and at her pretty broken English. + +At the side of one of the windows was a long mirror, in which she +examined herself from top to toe. He noticed it, and smiling, forgave +her the little feminine vanity. + +They turned down a dark street of private houses, and the moment they +had left the shops Thyra felt the weight of sadness again upon her soul. + +There arose that phantom of the past—the white face of the man +now lying in his grave. She shuddered, and went on down the dull, +melancholy street in silence. The man at her side was no longer the +tall, good-looking Englishman she had met at Vardo, but an evil shadow +that haunted her everywhere. + +Yet she could not evade him. How could she? + +“What if the world knew!” she reflected as she walked along at his +side. “What if the shameful truth ever became known? How would the +world judge her—and him?” + +In the cheaply furnished upstairs drawing-room in Talbot Road they +found that the Captain had not returned. Therefore Thyra rang for the +tea, while her companion stirred the fire and lit the gas. Then she +went into the next room to remove her hat. + +When alone, he stood staring blankly into the fire in deep reflection. +Was he not playing a very dangerous game? he asked himself. Were not +they both in equal peril? What if Owen discovered his visits, and that +he was her constant escort about the town? Already his friend, he knew, +entertained certain suspicions which might very easily be confirmed by +this too frequent companionship. + +And yet, when he thought over it all—when he came to reflect—how +could he keep apart from her? True, her husband had only been +dead a few brief months. Yet there were circumstances quite +exceptional—circumstances which none knew beside their own two selves. + +A few moments later, having taken off her hat and furs, she re-entered +the room and poured out his tea. + +He watched all her movements with eyes full of admiration. She had +sipped her tea in silence, her gaze fixed upon the flames. + +Then, of a sudden, she raised her face to his. He saw it was pale and +anxious. Upon her countenance the shadows had deepened, like a black, +impalpable cloud. She glanced across at the door, as though to reassure +herself that it was closed. + +Then, looking him in the face, she whispered: + +“I have just been thinking that if you are in my company too much, your +friend, Doctor Odd, might suspect!” + +He started. She had voiced his own thoughts of only a few moments +before. + +“Well—let him suspect,” her companion answered, laughing quietly. “Of +what can he accuse us?” + +She placed her white hand upon his; he felt it trembling. + +“Ah, no!” she whispered hoarsely. “Do not let us discuss it! Let us +both take every precaution. We are in peril—you have said so yourself. +We have enemies—both of us. Therefore it behoves us to beware!” + +“I know,” he said, placing his hand upon her shoulder reassuringly. +“But you are too apprehensive, Thyra. Leave all to me. No one knows the +truth—and no one shall ever learn it.” + +Thus, ignorant of Peter Sundt’s statement to the Captain—ignorant, +indeed, that the ruler of those northern settlements was in London, or +that he had discovered Dick’s previous knowledge of the dead man—the +pair remained conversing and exchanging confidences, Thyra receiving +from her companion certain instructions how to act. + +Notwithstanding all these precautions they were taking to avoid any +revelation of a ghastly truth, the pitfall—a secret and well-concealed +one—now lay open before them. + + + + +CHAPTER VI + +CONTAINS A PROBLEM + + +It was just past ten o’clock one bitterly cold night about ten days +later. + +Owen Odd was in his narrow, stuffy little surgery, bending over +a memorandum-book in which he was making some notes with his +fountain-pen. For four mortal hours—ever since six o’clock indeed—his +waiting-room had been crowded by lower-class patients, many of them in +receipt of medical relief from the parish of Hammersmith; others club +patients, mothers with peevish babies, and honest working men suffering +from various ills. + +Now, however, he had dismissed the last one, washed his hands, and was +putting down certain addresses to add to his visits next morning, prior +to eating his lonely evening meal in the shabby dining-room upstairs. + +The surgery was reached by a basement door at the side, over which +burned the red lamp. Dr. Maureward, his principal, lived over at +Chiswick, where he had another practice, while Odd occupied that small +and poky house in the centre of a street in which nearly every window +bore the legend “Apartments.” + +Owen was an indefatigable worker. He loved his profession, even though +the work among the poor was terribly fagging, and his daily visits +extended over a wide and populous area from the Hammersmith infirmary +over at Wormwood Scrubbs, away to private patients at West Kensington +and Barnes Common. + +He closed his book with a sigh, and was about to turn down the gas when +an elderly maidservant entered, saying: + +“You’re wanted, sir.” + +“Good Heavens!” he exclaimed irritably. “Am I never to have a moment’s +peace? Who is it now?” + +“A young woman, sir.” + +“Well, show her in; and, Margaret, keep my dinner warm—it may be +nothing.” + +The next minute a tidily dressed maidservant was ushered into the +surgery. Her white apron and cuffs showing beneath the jacket she was +wearing, and her hat somewhat awry, gave evidence of the haste with +which she had come. + +“Good-evening,” said Owen, rising. “What can I do for you, pray?” + +“Would you come at once, the missus says; the master has been taken bad +again very sudden.” + +“Ah! What’s the matter? And where does your master live?” + +“’Eart, I fancy it is. He went queer like all on a sudden, and can’t +get his wind. And our flat’s No. 2, Plevna Gardens, Shepherd’s Bush, +and will you come at once, please?” + +“Heart, is it? Well, I’ll come,” said Owen with a sigh, as the thought +of his delayed, and probably spoilt, dinner flashed across his mind. +“Tell your mistress I’ll be there almost as soon as you are,” opening +the surgery door for the girl. “By the bye, what is your master’s name?” + +“Major Gordon, please, sir.” + +“All right; I’ll come.” And, shutting the door, he turned to the +shelves that lined the surgery, and selected two or three phials +containing the drugs applicable to cases of “heart,” and placed them +in the brown leather hand-bag which so often accompanied him on his +professional rounds; and then, as he wrapped a comforter round his +throat and put on his thick overcoat, he called out some further +directions to Margaret anent his dinner, and left the house. + +He knew Plevna Gardens, a turning out of the Shepherd’s Bush Road, +though he never had had a patient there previously. The houses had +originally been private dwellings, but of recent years had been altered +into flats; and though the neighbourhood could not be regarded as +exactly aristocratic, they, in their new guise, had found a very good +class of tenants to whom the question of rent was of importance. + +No. 2 lay on the north side of the street, and entering the hall, he +found by the board that “Major Gordon” occupied the second floor. In +answer to his knock the door was opened instantly, as though someone +had been awaiting his advent. + +“Oh, doctor, how good of you to come so quickly! And yet I somehow felt +you would. Please come in. My father seems a little better now, I am +happy to say, but I’m very uneasy about him.” + +For a moment Owen found a difficulty in replying. He was startled +out of speech by the vision of beauty that stood before him. It was +no servant that had opened the door, but a lady whose right to the +designation was written on every line of her gloriously moulded +features. Never before had such a vision of radiant beauty dazzled him +and compelled him to silence. + +A wealth of light-brown hair, now somewhat in disorder, hung low over a +broad forehead, and the ripples and waves seemed to catch and imprison +the gleams that fell from the overhanging electric lamp. Her dark blue +eyes, gazing into his own, appeared unnaturally large owing to the +anxiety that pervaded them, and this same anxiety was indicated in +the lines of the little mouth, which struck Owen as being a perfect +representation of Cupid’s bow. + +“I’m delighted to hear it, Miss—Miss——” stammered Owen, for once shaken +out of his professional sang-froid. + +“Gordon,” replied the girl, for she was little more. “It is my father +who is ill.” + +“So I understood from your servant. May I ask is he liable to these +seizures?” + +“No; I can hardly say that, but he has had one before, more than a year +ago, and they always make me so nervous.” + +“Naturally—naturally,” said Owen, stepping into the small hall, and +rapidly recovering his professional air. “Perhaps I had better see him +at once, when I may be able to afford him some relief.” + +“Oh, yes; please come this way,” and the doctor, having removed his +wrap and coat, followed the girl to a bedroom situated at the end of a +rather narrow passage. There, lying on a couch, he found his patient, a +man of some fifty years of age, whose handsome face was white and drawn +with pain. His eyes were closed, and he was breathing heavily. + +“Father, here is Doctor Odd. Isn’t it good of him to have come so +quickly? Mary had hardly got back before he was here. We are both most +grateful to him, I am sure.” + +A faint smile flickered round the sick man’s mouth, and, opening his +eyes, he held out his hand to Owen, saying: + +“I’m much obliged to you, doctor, and am sorry to have had to give you +the trouble.” + +“Don’t mention it, major. We doctors don’t regard it as trouble when we +can be of use. I’m glad to hear you’re already feeling a little better.” + +“Thank you, yes. The sharpness of the pain has decreased. Amy, my +child, leave us for a little. We will call you if anything is wanted.” + +“Very well, papa. Now, mind and be a good patient,” with an attempt +at a smile. And then, turning to Owen, “I shall be in the next room, +doctor, and shall hear you if you call. You will see me before you +leave?” And as she spoke the anxious look took the place of the smile. + +Alone with the major, Owen made a thorough examination of his patient, +at the same time asking such questions as might help him in diagnosing +the case, and even as this was in progress he could mark a rapid +improvement. In the end he came to a conclusion in his own mind which +he had no hesitation in imparting to his patient. + +“Well, major,” he said, “I’m delighted to be able to tell you I don’t +think there is anything seriously amiss. Your heart is weak, certainly, +and you will have to be careful; but, beyond this, there is no organic +disease, and there is no reason why you should not be as strong as ever +again. You’ve been in India, I understood you to say?” + +“Yes, for some years.” + +“Ah! That terrible climate plays Old Harry with a good many men, and, +besides that, I fancy you have been worrying about something or other +lately. Eh?” + +At these words the major turned his head sharply, scanning Owen’s face +intently; and then, in a tone affecting indifference, “Well, perhaps I +have. We all have our little worries, doctor, don’t we?” + +“Oh, we do; but the less we make of them the better it is for us.” + +“Excellent advice, which we cannot always follow. However, in this case +I’m _going_ to follow it.” And the words were spoken with an air of +decision that struck Owen as peculiar. + +“Well, major,” he replied, “I’ll run in and see you again to-morrow, +and in the meantime will send you round some medicine. Get to bed +early, and don’t get up till I’ve seen you to-morrow morning. My +report to Miss Gordon, I’m sure, will give her satisfaction. I’ll see +her as I go out, and give her one or two small directions, and now, +good-night—and, above all, don’t worry.” + +“Good-night, doctor, and many thanks. I’m going to obey you. You’ll +find Amy in the dining-room. Good-night.” + +As Owen left the room Miss Gordon was waiting in the passage for him. +Silently she drew him into the dining-room, and it was not till the +door was shut that she uttered the one word, “Well?” + +“Miss Gordon, I am delighted to be able to say it _is_ well—or nearly +so. I mean there is nothing seriously amiss with your father beyond +a weakness of the heart, from which so many business men and others +suffer.” + +“Thank God for that, doctor. You don’t know what your words mean to +me.” And her eyes were brimming over with tears, the result of the +sudden relaxation of the strain she had undergone. And she laid her +hands on Owen’s arm as she continued: “I shall never be able to thank +you enough for what you have done for my father.” + +“Really, Miss Gordon, you are making far too much of my poor services. +I have done nothing. You must thank Nature and a good constitution; but +now it lies with you to help them both by taking care of your father +and keeping him from worrying—at any rate for a time.” But while he was +belittling his services Owen found the thanks of this lovely girl very +pleasant to his ears. + +“You may be sure, doctor, I shall do all in my power to carry out your +instructions.” But as she uttered these words her companion fancied he +could detect a tone of doubt that belied the assertion, which caused +him to continue: + +“Of course, Miss Gordon, I do not wish to appear inquisitive, but is +there anything that you know of that has been troubling your father of +late?” + +He put the question in as casual a way as he was capable of, but he did +not fail to detect the hesitance with which the girl answered “N-o, +nothing particular,” and, feeling that he was perhaps trespassing on +delicate ground, he continued: + +“Well, I prophesy that to-morrow will show a great improvement in our +patient.” It was a pleasure to make use of the word “our”; it seemed to +couple his companion and himself together in a way that he had perhaps +no right to do more openly. + +“So, doctor,” and a bright smile lit up the face before him, “you, too, +venture to prophesy at times?” + +“Certainly. But why do you say that?” + +“Oh, I don’t know. Only doctors are generally supposed to be so +matter-of-fact.” And the smile was still there. + +“Not always, Miss Gordon. They are only men, after all, and must relax +at times. But before I entirely lose my character, let me give you one +or two directions regarding your father and his diet.” And then, in the +most matter-of-fact way, Dr. Owen Odd proceeded to lay down certain +rules and regulations with regard to the patient, while Miss Gordon, +seated at a side table, made notes on a little tablet. + +At length he concluded with the words: “There, I think that is all I +have to say—nothing very appalling, is it?” + +“No, doctor. You may rely on your directions being carried out, at any +rate as long as I am here.” + +“Here? Then don’t you live here? Excuse me asking.” + +“Oh, yes, I live here, but I’m out a good deal; still, if it were +necessary I _would_ remain at home while my father was unwell.” + +The idea of this lovely girl going out to earn her living came rather +as a shock to Owen. It had not occurred to him that such could be the +case. The room he was in, and, indeed, the flat generally, so far as +he had seen, was furnished luxuriously, and gave no indication of lack +of means in the possessors. He glanced across at her, and there was +something in his look that caused her to burst into a merry laugh, as +she said: + +“I’m afraid, doctor, you take me for one of the butterflies that +neither work nor spin. If so, you’re quite wrong.” + +“I beg your pardon, Miss Gordon; I did not presume to think anything of +the kind—that would only be impertinence on my part.” + +“Not at all, doctor. Let me confess at once I earn my own living and, +in a measure, that of my father as well.” + +“And every credit is due to you, I’m sure. If more women only did the +same it would be a bad thing for the fashionable doctors. But in—excuse +me, I was forgetting myself.” + +“Don’t mention it, pray. You would say how do I earn it? I look at +hands.” + +“Ah! A manicurist?” + +“No. Not a manicurist. Something better than that.” And the eyes that +were regarding him were sparkling with fun. + +“Then, Miss Gordon, I confess I’m quite at sea.” + +“I wonder if you’ll be horrified when I tell you, for I hold with the +saying that one should be quite open with one’s lawyer and doctor.” + +“There could not be a truer saying, and whatever you may choose to tell +me, Miss Gordon, you may be quite sure will go no farther.” + +“Then, Doctor Odd, you see before you Madame Juliette!” + + + + +CHAPTER VII + +THE PROBLEM CONTINUED + + +“Madame Juliette!” gasped Odd, staring with fixed astonishment at the +graceful, girlish figure before him. + +“I thought I should astonish you, Doctor,” laughed Miss Gordon. “You +have never consulted her, I think?” + +“Never. But there must be some mistake. We cannot be alluding to the +same person.” + +“Oh, yes, we are.” + +For a moment or two Owen remained silent, lost in doubt, and then +continued: + +“The Madame Juliette I refer to is the woman who has taken all the West +End by storm by her wonderful exhibitions of clairvoyance and psychic +powers. Her rooms at 103A, Bond Street, are crowded daily by those who +go to consult her, and who come away in every case convinced of her +mysterious attributes. As I said, I have never been there myself, but +I know several who have, and they have given me a minute description +of what has taken place, and it certainly appears to me that she must +be gifted with some occult powers unknown to the generality of people. +The Madame Juliette I mean is undoubtedly a factor in London society of +to-day.” + +“Really, Dr. Odd, you are giving me a most flattering character—one I +am afraid I hardly deserve,” said Miss Gordon with a smile. + +“And you mean to tell me you are this person?” + +“Without a doubt.” + +“But, from the descriptions given me, she is stout, and +middle-aged—very unlike you, Miss Gordon,” continued Owen, still far +from being convinced. “And she poses as an Indian, and looks it—at +least, so my friends tell me.” + +“Your friends appear to be close observers with graphic powers of +description, for they have painted a very true picture of me in my +professional guise.” + +“You are not joking, Miss Gordon?” said Owen, with his eyes still fixed +on his companion’s face, for as yet he felt hardly able to believe +what he had just heard. The idea of this slim, graceful girl, with +the pink-and-white complexion of the Anglo-Saxon race, being able to +pose and take in the fashionable world as a dark-skinned, obese-bodied +Oriental, was more than he could momentarily grasp. + +The smile on the girl’s face showed how she was enjoying his +perplexity, and she continued: + +“I am afraid, doctor, you hardly grasp what can be done with judicious +padding, an artistic make-up, and suggestive surroundings. I can assure +you the native origin of Madame Juliette has never yet been questioned, +and all her clients are content to take her as they find her, and to +believe, more or less, in what she tells them.” + +“Well, Miss Gordon, I can only say you astound me, and yet, if it is +necessary that you should make money, the _role_ you have selected is +probably as good as any other, providing—well, providing that——” And +here Owen stammered, for he hesitated to finish the sentence he had +commenced. + +“Providing I am honest in my business, you intend to say—eh, doctor?” + +“Yes, that is what was in my mind, I confess,” replied Owen. + +“Naturally. It is the first idea that would occur to you, and I’m +glad you mentioned it. We have not known each other long, but when our +acquaintance is a little older, I am sure, doctor, you will not regard +me as a cheat and charlatan, as are so many of those who profess the +same powers as I do.” + +“My dear Miss Gordon, don’t imagine for a moment that I am presuming to +judge you. I have not the faintest right or groundwork on which to do +so. You startled me at first, I admit, and this must be my excuse for +saying what I did.” + +“Oh, I quite understand. But, you see, doctor, I spent a good many +years of my life in India, and as it happened, I had exceptional +opportunities of meeting and learning from one who was deeply versed in +the mysteries and secrets of—well, call it what you will, the science +of orientalism. It has been given to few to be favoured as I was, and +now, when occasion demands, I see no harm in putting my knowledge to +account.” + +“Certainly not, Miss Gordon. I now begin to understand a little more +clearly.” + +“The facts of the case are shortly these: my father was able to do a +kindness to a certain man in India, and he was much at our bungalow. +From the first he appeared to take a great fancy to me; I was but +a child at the time, and he endeavoured to show his gratitude by +instructing me in much that he knew himself, and is jealously guarded +from Europeans as a rule. This new path of knowledge took my youthful +fancy at once, and I gave more attention to it than I did to my +ordinary lessons. My memory is a good one, and I forgot nothing that +I was taught, and at the same time was ever eager to learn more. My +aptitude and diligence so pleased my teacher that there was no trouble +that he would not take to help me forward, till at last, I may say, +I knew nearly as much as he did himself, and even then he and I +continued to study together, for—like other sciences—there is no limit +to Oriental mysticism, and the more one learns the more there is to +know.” + +“And I can quite understand that you found it a most fascinating study, +Miss Gordon.” + +“I did indeed——But stop a moment, please; I think I hear my father +calling.” And as she rose from her chair Owen said: + +“Really, Miss Gordon, I ought not to have detained you talking in this +way. I’ll be going.” And he, too, rose. + +“No, doctor; if you don’t mind waiting a few minutes longer I should +like to tell you a little more, as I have commenced.” + +While she was absent Owen could not help marvelling at the incidents of +the last hour and a half. Previous to that he had little to engage his +thoughts beyond his practice and the matters connected with his friend +Jervoise; and now, in answer to an apparently casual summons, he found +himself chatting familiarly with, and listening to the confession of, +a girl who, besides being dowered with a beauty such as he had never +before had the fortune to come across, was armed with powers that had +won her one of the first places in the talk and tattle of the West +End drawing-rooms. It was all so strange and inexplicable. And then +the curious fact flashed across him that he should have been summoned +when there were a score of doctors nearer to Plevna Gardens than his +surgery. Everything this evening seemed more or less of a mystery and +with a shrug of his shoulders he left the matter there, just as the +door opened to admit his hostess. + +“You’ll forgive me, I know. My father has got into bed, and seems quite +comfortable and likely to sleep. He wished me to thank you for staying +with me for a little time, for he said he was sure I should be dull all +by myself.” + +“Oh, don’t mention it, Miss Gordon. I have been far too interested to +want to go.” + +“I must say you are an excellent listener, doctor. But what was I +saying when my father called? Oh, I know. Well, after a time my father +and mother and myself left India——” + +“Your mother? I was not aware that——” + +“She died some years ago,” said the girl in a saddened tone, and then +suddenly raising her eyes, she fixed them on Owen’s face with an +intensity that made him feel strangely ill at ease. He felt he could +not endure their penetrative power; it was as though she was viewing +his inmost thoughts, reading the secrets of his brain, and he dropped +his eyes till, with a faint sigh, she continued: + +“We resided for a time in the West of England, and, when my father had +retired, came to London. Here, owing to financial misfortunes, our +circumstances were not as comfortable as they had been, and then it +was that the thought occurred to me to make use of the knowledge I had +gathered while a girl in India.” + +“I had a little money of my own, and this I expended in taking and +fitting up in Oriental style a suite of rooms in Bond Street, and +in advertising pretty largely. At first my father was much against +my plan, and it was only on my undertaking to adopt a disguise that +he gave his consent. I was familiar with Hindustani, and it was no +difficulty to me to assume the character of a mysterious woman of the +East. Hence the appearance of Madame Juliette on the London stage. +And, Doctor Odd, you have no idea of the superstition, and love of +the mysterious and occult in the fashionable circles of to-day. It is +rampant, I assure you, and if I were to lower myself, and condescend to +tricks, my clients would swallow them without a grain of suspicion. But +that I will never do; I give them just what I am able to do honestly, +and no more, and with that they must be content.” + +“And now I think I have fulfilled my promise to make a full confession, +and have only to thank you for listening to me so patiently.” + +“My dear lady, the thanks are all due from me. You have interested me +more than I can tell you. Previous to this evening I regarded these +matters as pure humbug.” + +“But they’re not, I can assure you, doctor. There is a certain amount +of humbug mixed up with them in some cases, but the true practitioners +would ignore such subterfuges. At times we do employ ‘suggestion’ as +an aid to bring the client’s mind into a proper condition, but beyond +this—no, no.” + +“Oh, that is quite legitimate. We doctors are equally guilty in that +respect; indeed, ‘suggestion’ in some cases does more in effecting a +cure than all the drugs in the pharmacopœia could do. But there is one +thing I should like to ask you, Miss Gordon, if you will not think me +too inquisitive?” + +“Oh, no, no. Ask me what you like.” + +“Then what caused you to send for me this evening, when there were so +many doctors nearer you?” + +“Doctor, you’ve asked me a question I cannot answer, beyond saying that +something told me to send. I had seen your name on the brass plate, +but, as far as I know, previous to this evening my eyes had never +rested on you; and yet——” And once more, as the words came to an end, +the eyes of the girl became fixed on the face of the man before her +with an intensity that was startling. But it was only for a second or +two, and then, as on the previous occasion, with a little sigh she +became herself again. + +“It’s curious,” said Owen. “I don’t understand it.” + +“No more do I,” replied the girl. “But in occultism there is much +that in our normal condition we are not able to grasp. But if I cannot +satisfy your curiosity in this respect, I may perhaps in another. Would +you like me to look at your hand.” + +“By all means. It would be interesting.” And Owen drew his chair nearer +that of the girl, and held out his hand. + +She took it gently in her own, and, bending over it, examined it +intently. For a time she did not speak, and then, almost in a whisper, +muttered something in a language unfamiliar to him, breaking off to +look up with a bright smile saying: + +“Forgive me. I am so accustomed to this little trick of the trade, I +forgot you were in a sense behind the scenes, as it were. But do you +mind coming to the table; there is one point on which I am not quite +clear.” And while she spoke she moved across the room, and from a +cabinet took a shallow crystal dish, into which she poured some thick, +inky fluid from an Oriental clay vase, and set it on a table beneath +the electric light. + +“Kindly sit opposite me, and gaze intently into the fluid. You will see +nothing, but it will be an aid to me.” + +Owen did as he was bid, and for a few minutes there was silence, broken +at last by his companion’s voice: + +“Your early life was uneventful and happy. You did fairly well at +school and college. You have travelled far, and seen strange sights. +You have been in the company of criminals—yes, yes—more than one; and +yet this is not clear. There is something that betokens a murder. +Still, I—no, it is not clear even now.” + +At these words Owen gave a very palpable start as his suspicions of +his friend flashed across his mind. With an effort he pulled himself +together and his companion gave no sign of having observed his action, +but continued: + +“It is not clear. It is not clear.” And, passing her hand across her +eyes, she rose, saying, “Doctor, I can do no more to-night. I ought +not to have attempted even this much. I have had a hard day; and my +father’s attack has tried me more than I thought. You must excuse me, +please.” + +“Certainly—certainly. I’m sorry that I should have put you to this +trouble. It was very good of you.” + +“You must not judge me by this evening, doctor. As I say, I’m not +myself, and under these circumstances I never do myself justice.” + +“Oh, I don’t know. The first part was quite true, and as for the +criminals—well, I suppose we doctors do occasionally come in contact +with them. But the murder——” And Owen smiled, as though politely +contravening the suggestion. + +“Ah, don’t take any notice of that. It was there I may have failed. +I could not see clearly; everything was indistinct. Forget my words, +doctor. It would have been better if I had remained silent. What? Must +you be going?” + +“I really must, and am ashamed of having taken up so much of your time. +I’ll call in to-morrow morning, and after that I hope your father will +have no further need of my services.” + +“I trust not—professionally; but I am sure he will always be pleased to +see you as a friend, when you can find time to look in on him. You see, +I’m obliged to be a good deal away from him. Good-night, and once more +let me thank you for what you have done.” + +“Good-night, Miss Gordon, and please don’t mention it.” And Owen made +his way down the stairs and out into the night, while Amy Gordon +returned to the room they had just left, and, seating herself before +the fire, gave herself up to her thoughts. What they were none can +tell. At times a happy expression rested on her fair features, soon to +be chased away by a troubled look of perplexity, which in its turn gave +place to a smile. + +Meanwhile Owen was making his way back, to his solitary rooms, almost +unconscious of those who passed him or of those he passed. + +“Is it possible she can know anything?” he muttered. “It’s most +extraordinary! And yet—well, time will show.” + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +THE MAN BOURTZEFF + + +The next morning Owen called at Plevna Gardens, as he had promised, and +found his prognostication had proved true, and that the major had had a +good night and was practically himself again. Miss Gordon had waited to +see him before leaving for Bond Street, but she had little conversation +with him, and yet in the few sentences she uttered he thought he +noticed a change from the previous evening. She seemed more shy and +reserved, and yet at the same time cordial and friendly. + +After hearing his report she vanished for a few minutes, and, returning +dressed for outdoors, shook hands with him, saying: + +“I’m afraid you must excuse my not staying any longer, doctor. I’ve a +busy day before me—many appointments; but don’t hurry away if you can +spare a few minutes, for I am sure my father will be glad of a chat +with you. Good-morning.” And, kissing her father and telling him she +would be back as soon as she was free, she left the flat. + +Owen stayed talking for a short time, and then, at the major’s request, +promising he would look in again one evening shortly, left as he too +had a heavy day before him. + +It was two or three days after this, when he had finished his entries +and was about to go upstairs to supper, that old Margaret entered the +surgery saying: + +“Mr. Jervoise is in the dining-room, sir.” + +Owen pursed his lips. For a moment his brows contracted. + +Then he ascended at once to where his friend was awaiting him. + +“Halloa, old chap!” exclaimed Dick in his usual cheery manner. “I +haven’t seen anything of you for nearly a fortnight, so thought I’d +just run over and look you up.” + +“Good. Have a bit of supper,” exclaimed the doctor, blinking at his +friend through his gold-rimmed pince-nez. “I rang you up on the ’phone +several times, but got no reply. Suppose you were out.” + +“I’ve been out quite a lot of late,” answered Jervoise, though he did +not say that Thyra was in London, or that he had been almost daily in +her company. + +Jervoise could not conceal from himself the fact that his friend’s +manner was unusually strained. True, they sat down to the table +together and commenced the cold supper which had already been laid. Yet +there was not in the doctor’s greeting that old warmth of some months +ago. Why? + +Their conversation was mostly upon a topic in which both took a keen +interest—motor-racing. + +Presently, however, Owen, as he raised his glass of claret to his lips, +asked: + +“Have you heard any more of Alza?” + +“No. I believe, however, she’s still in England.” + +“Why?” + +Dick shrugged his shoulders, answering: + +“Her movements are usually mysterious, I fancy.” + +“A rather dangerous woman, I’ve heard.” + +“What—as far as good looks go, you mean?” Jervoise laughed. + +“In several ways—if what I hear be true.” + +“What do you hear?” + +“That she’s scarcely a person in whose company one should be seen.” + +Dick did not answer for a moment. He was reflecting upon the fact that +his friend had taken her out on several occasions, and yet he now +denounced her as an undesirable person. Had they quarrelled? + +“Well, old chap, didn’t I tell you something of the sort long ago?” + +“Yes, but you didn’t tell me all that you might have done concerning +her.” + +“A man never wishes to say hard things about a woman—especially if +she’s pretty,” Dick laughed. + +“Yes, but you might at least have told me what you knew.” + +“You admired her, my dear fellow, so I left you to find out for +yourself.” + +“She’s a very mysterious young person. What can have induced her to so +closely watch that house in Keppel Street?” + +“Nothing, except that I explained that that address was the one given +by Grinevitch immediately prior to his death.” + +“You know Alza well—eh?” + +“I have known her for several years, both here in London and in +Paris. I thought that perhaps, with her unique knowledge—and it is no +doubt unique—she might assist us in elucidating the reason why Paul +Grinevitch intended so suddenly to travel to London. I therefore told +her the whole of the strange story, as you are quite well aware. When +I had finished, some curious idea apparently occurred to her, though +she would explain nothing to me. But an hour later she embarked upon a +campaign of vigilant surveillance, which, I presume, she is pursuing at +this moment.” + +“But why?” + +“For her own ends. That’s my firm opinion.” + +“Then she’s not acting in your interests?” + +“Why should she? She has no motive in assisting me. Yet she may, of +course, have a personal motive in entertaining the suspicion which it +is now quite certain she does entertain.” + +Owen looked at his friend through his glasses with a glance of distinct +suspicion, and went on eating. + +Truth to tell, he had been charmed by the good-looking young +Frenchwoman to whom Dick had introduced him. He had found her bright +and vivacious, and it had been to him a distinct pleasure to take her +out to theatres on several evenings. But this was before his summons to +Plevna Gardens. + +Why she had been engaged in so closely watching that dark house in +Keppel Street was to him a complete mystery. She had told him that she +had acted on behalf of her “old friend M’sieur Jervoise,” yet Dick had +now declared that he had no claim upon her whatsoever. + +That curious telegram sent by Paul immediately prior to his death +had, of course, been the subject of inquiry, at the request of the +Christiania police, by Scotland Yard. But the detective-inspector who +had called at Keppel Street had admitted that he could make out nothing +from the landlord’s reply. It was true that he had received a telegram +from Norway, signed Paul Grinevitch, but as the name conveyed nothing +to him he had kept it a couple of days, and, hearing nothing further, +had destroyed it, and dismissed his expected arrival from his mind. + +People who let lodgings in London frequently receive telegrams and +letters from people who either change their minds at the last moment or +who do not arrive in the metropolis after all. + +Thus, when Scotland Yard’s cursory inquiry had failed, this bright-eyed +young Frenchwoman had openly declared her intention of ascertaining +the truth. Owen had himself visited that quiet street at night on more +than one occasion, and, though unnoticed by her, had seen her waiting +in the vicinity patiently watching. + +This action of hers had surprised him. It seemed as though she was +keeping that silent surveillance on Dick’s behalf. + +Suddenly Owen raised his eyes from his plate, and, looking straight at +his friend, asked: + +“Among your many acquaintances have you ever known a man named Nicholas +Bourtzeff?” + +Dick held his breath. Had Alza told him the truth, he wondered? + +“Yes,” he admitted. “I don’t know him very intimately. I met him in +Paris once.” + +“With Alza, I suppose?” + +“Why?” + +“Because he is, I hear, a friend of hers.” + +“And who is your informant?” + +“Alza herself.” + +“Well?” + +“The man is an undesirable, is he not?” asked Owen. + +“Perhaps so,” was his friend’s reply. “You see, I know so very little +of him that I can say nothing.” + +“Who is he?” + +“A Russian, as his name implies—a refugee who lives mostly in Paris, I +believe.” + +“Refugee is a synonym for revolutionist. Is he one?” + +“In his case I think it is an exception,” Dick replied. “As far +as I know, his flight from Russia had no connection whatever with +politics. He was persecuted by drastic police methods, and simply +left the country in order to obtain freedom. Ask any Russian, and he +will mention to you dozens of men who have left the country from the +same cause. To the public mind every Russian residing abroad must be +either a Nihilist or a spy, which is simply absurd. In certain of the +Governments of the Empire the police are so utterly unscrupulous in +making arrests nowadays that the better-class people prefer to obviate +disaster by residence abroad.” + +“Then this Bourtzeff is not a revolutionary?” asked the other quickly. + +“I know nothing against him,” was the other’s quick response. + +“And what is Alza?” + +“An artist. I daresay she has shown you some of her water-colours. She +often designs covers for some of the illustrated magazines.” + +“I asked what she is, not what she’s supposed to be.” + +“I repeat—an artist.” + +Owen Odd smiled incredulously, in a manner which showed Dick that he +was aware of something concerning the girl’s real profession. + +“Is it not a fact,” asked the fair-haired man in pince-nez, “that a +very curious story is told concerning this Alza Dresler?” + +Dick laughed. + +“Many stories are told of women which are cruel and untrue,” he +declared. “Why, my dear fellow, the penalty paid by a pretty woman is +the scandal talked of her. The more beautiful the girl the more bitter +the gossip.” + +“I know that,” said Owen impatiently. “But, Dick, I am simply asking +you a question. You introduced the girl to me, and I believed her to be +what you represented her—an artist.” + +“And so she is.” + +“Admitted. But she is something more,” he said. “I have discovered that +a very grave suspicion attaches to her, as being the associate—indeed, +the decoy, and at times the spy, of certain very dangerous characters—a +gang of swindlers well known to the police both in Paris and London.” + +Dick laughed again, even though his amusement was forced. + +“My dear fellow,” he cried, “whoever told you that romantic story?” + +“I was noticed in her company—as a matter of fact at the Gaiety +Theatre—by a sergeant of the Criminal Investigation Department who +lives in Brook Green Road, and whose wife happens to be a patient of +mine. He came here and warned me against her.” + +Dick suddenly grew thoughtful. + +“What did the detective say? If she’s such a dangerous character, why +didn’t he arrest her?” + +“He had no warrant, I understood. He explained that she was one of a +most dangerous gang of international thieves, who carry on their clever +depredations for the most part on the Continent.” + +“That’s extremely interesting,” Dick said. “I had no idea hers was +such a romantic story. Personally, I’ve never met any of these daring +friends of hers whom you mention. What strikes me as curious is that if +our little friend is known, as you declare, she has not been arrested +ere this.” + +“I said, my dear fellow, that grave suspicion attaches to her. Perhaps +there is insufficient evidence for the French police to demand her +extradition.” + +“Didn’t your friend the police officer make any further explanation?” + +“Well, he did. He stated that about twelve months ago, when she was +in London on the last occasion, she was with a young Frenchman, named +Laurillard, at supper at a small restaurant close to Leicester Square, +when my friend arrested her companion on a warrant from France, +charging him with obtaining a very large sum by blackmail from a +wealthy landowner near Toulon. The allegation afterwards was that the +girl had been used by the gang as decoy, and that the landowner in +question had proposed marriage to her. The Paris police telegraphed for +Alza’s arrest, but she had already left London.” + +“I don’t believe it!” declared Dick abruptly, pretending utter +unconcern. “Her whereabouts in Paris is well known. She lives in the +Rue Madame, and could be found almost instantly.” + +“The charge against her was afterwards withdrawn, I’m told. Her +companion, however, is now serving seven years.” + +“He was one of her associates, I suppose,” Dick remarked with perfect +calmness as he refilled his claret-glass. + +“Of course,” responded Owen. “And a further fact which I have +established is that this man Bourtzeff, whom she followed so closely, +is not a Russian gentleman, as you suppose, but a very clever +criminal who was long wanted by the police. He was once a member +of the association to which she belongs, but he denounced them and +their doings to Monsieur Hamard, of the Paris police, and came +over to England. She followed, and has discovered him. She intends +mischief—vengeance for the betrayal of herself and her friends.” + +Dick sat silent. It amazed him that Owen should have found out so much. +What else did he know, he wondered? + +“Now,” added the doctor, “does it not strike you as a most remarkable +coincidence that only one hour before Paul Grinevitch met his death he +should have sent a mysterious warning to the man Nystrom—who, it has +since been discovered, was a well known criminal wanted for a serious +crime—and should also have intended to seek refuge at that very same +house in Keppel Street where Nicholas Bourtzeff was living in hiding?” + +“Yes,” replied Jervoise in a strange, hard voice, twisting his cigar in +his hand, his eyes fixed upon it. “It is a problem which seems to admit +of no solution.” + + + + +CHAPTER IX + +AN INDISCREET FRIENDSHIP + + +“Dieu! Why are you here, M’sieur Dick? You are an imbecile! If you are +seen here, in Bournemouth, you may spoil everything.” + +“It was imperative, Alza, that I should come here,” Jervoise answered +in French. “I have come to give you warning.” + +“Warning!” cried the good-looking young Frenchwoman. “Of what, pray?” + +They were seated together in a corner of the winter-garden of the Royal +Bath Hotel at Bournemouth. + +Arriving from London half an hour before, he had found her lolling +lazily in one of the wicker armchairs, displaying a neat ankle and just +a suspicion of finest _lingerie_ for the admiration of a clean-shaven +young fellow in blue serge, who had the unmistakable bearing of a naval +officer. Dressed with quiet elegance in black, with a big black hat and +some fine sables around her neck, she presented a very ladylike and +refined appearance, her _chic_ being that of the true Parisienne. + +The meeting was quite unexpected on her part, yet Dick for the last +week, ever since that evening at Owen’s house, had been endeavouring +to trace her whereabouts. He had hastened next day down into Rutland, +only to discover that she had left for Edinburgh. North he went, and +on making inquiries at the Caledonian Hotel, learnt that, after a +week, she had gone to London, leaving an address at Baron’s Court, +Kensington, for letters to be forwarded. At this address, a house at +which she had lodged on one or two occasions, he had ascertained her +whereabouts at Bournemouth, and had that morning arrived in order to +consult her. + +There were several idlers in the winter-garden, including an old +Anglo-Indian and his wife; therefore Dick suggested that they might +walk out and talk where there were no eavesdroppers. None who chanced +to see that well-dressed and essentially refined young lady, who always +kept herself aloof from everybody, and who passed her lonely hours in +reading fiction or doing fancy needlework, would have for one moment +guessed that she was actually what Owen Odd had declared her to be. + +None, indeed, would believe that she was at that watering-place with a +fixed purpose, and that that purpose was an evil one. + +For the past ten days or so she had been at the hotel, living there +in the name of Duveen, and half the men were longing to make her +acquaintance. But she disregarded them all, and remained entirely apart +from everybody. The other guests noticed that she seldom went out, +but attributed it to the fact that the weather had turned bitterly +cold, and if she were weak-chested the East winds were the reverse of +beneficial. + +The advent of Dick Jervoise, therefore, surprised those tea-table +gossips, who spent the greater part of the day in the winter-garden, a +kind of great conservatory with palms, fishponds, and tropical birds. +Therefore, Alza, quick to note any impression upon her neighbours, +rose, fastened her furs, took up her muff, and they both passed out and +down the hill leading towards the pier. + +“Fortunately, he has gone motoring with two men to Salisbury +to-day,” she said as they went along. “Otherwise I dare not be seen +out—especially in your company.” + +“Then Bourtzeff is here—eh?” he asked quickly. + +“Of course—at the Grand. If he were not here I should not be. I prefer +my own Paris, cher M’sieur Dick, I assure you! This place—ugh!” and she +made a wry face and shuddered. + +Her companion laughed. + +“It must be very dull for you to be so much alone, of course.” + +“I need not be alone, but unfortunately I cannot afford to make +chance acquaintances. They always have a habit of turning up just at +the moment when one does not desire them. You know,” was her answer, +“I nearly met with complete disaster once, owing to an indiscreet +friendship.” + +“Ah! Alza,” he said as they passed the pier entrance and continued +along the cliffs. “You are an exceedingly clever woman.” + +“You have more than once made that remark before,” she replied, +smiling, at the same time drawing her furs closer about her throat; +for, though the day was bright, yet the winter wind was strong and +exceedingly cold. There were few people about, for on such a day +visitors prefer the shelter of the Invalid’s Walk to the rough wind of +the cliffs. + +“I have not come to seek you to pay you compliments, my dear +mademoiselle,” he said seriously when they had strolled some distance. +“As I have already said, I am here to warn you—to warn you seriously.” + +She turned her dark, luminous eyes towards him, and with an air of +careless merriment exclaimed: + +“Good! Tell me—what’s the danger now?” + +“My friend Odd has discovered who and what you are. He knows +practically everything!” + +She stared at him, a trifle paler, holding her breath. + +“Then I hope he is interested,” she said briefly. + +“But you do not seem to realise your danger!” he pointed out. “You were +seen in his company, and recognized by a detective. The officer told +him who you were.” + +She pursed her shapely lips, and twisted her skirt more tightly about +her shapely hips. + +“You think I ought not to remain in England—eh?” she asked in a hard +voice. + +“I certainly think there is a grave peril if you do,” he said. “Why are +you still watching Bourtzeff?” + +“For reasons of my own—personal reasons.” + +“He is your enemy, that I know. But if he discovers you will he not +again turn upon you—as he did once before?” + +“He will not have a chance,” responded the girl in a determined tone, +still speaking in French. “He gave information to the Prefecture of +Police which sent the man I love to Cayenne, remember! Because he +turned police informant he fancies himself safe. But he is unaware of +the fate that I—I, Alza Dresler—have marked out for him!” she cried, +her dark eyes flashing with a fire which plainly showed her hatred. + +“You are safe neither in England nor in France, Alza,” the man said +quietly. “You once did me a great service—one that I have never +forgotten, and have ever thanked you for. You——” + +“Oh! enough, mon cher Dick!” she declared, interrupting him and putting +up her black-gloved hand to stay his words. “You forget how deeply I +regard you for that great kindness, that generosity you showed to me. +You could have handed me over to the police, but you let me go free +because I was a woman. I know I’m bad—I can’t help it! My father was a +thief, and, as you know, I have lived among thieves all my life. My +whole existence has been one of fraud, subterfuge, and deception. My +friends are the worst and most unscrupulous in all Europe. I admit it +all—all. Yet how can I change it?” + +“I know, mademoiselle,” said Dick in a low, sympathetic voice. “I +entirely understand your position and appreciate your difficulty. +You are an associate of certain undesirable persons through no fault +of your own. You were born in criminal surroundings, and taught +dishonesty from childhood. Your intelligence has been sharpened by +long association with keen, clever men and women who live upon their +wits, until now you are as expert as they. You can assume refinement +and innocence so marvellously that your victims become as wax in your +hands. I know it all, mademoiselle, and no one more regrets your +position than I do myself.” + +A serious expression was upon her dark, handsome face. She had always +liked the tall Englishman, always respected him, and had ever been +ready to listen to his advice. + +At that moment there arose before her eyes the recollection of one +day, a few years before, when they had met at the Hotel du Parc, at +Vichy, and a month later at the Sudbahn Hotel, at Semmering in Austria; +of their long walks together in the mountains, and of the friendship +that sprang up between them. Then, of that fateful night when, at the +instigation of a certain man living in the hotel, she had managed to +step into the little _salon_ occupied by the pretty French actress, +and, on searching, had discovered the string of fine pearls she was +known to possess. + +Could she ever forget that moment? She had taken them from their velvet +case, and was holding them in her hand beneath the green-shaded lamp +when she heard a movement behind her, and, turning in alarm, saw the +tall Englishman, who happened to be a friend of the actress, standing +there! He knew the truth. He barred her passage, and charged her with +the theft. He had caught her red-handed! “Mademoiselle,” he said, “I +followed you here, and I have seen you take the pearls. Your friend is +that stout man in spectacles who speaks German, and who has been here +for the past fortnight, yet whom you have pretended not to know. He +is your accomplice. I have seen you meet in secret. I shall ring, and +hand you over to the police.” His finger was already upon the electric +button near the door, when she had dashed across, and, flinging herself +wildly upon her knees before him, begged forgiveness—begged his +silence, begged his protection—even though she were a thief. + +In those brief, exciting moments, as they now walked together, she +recollected his hesitation, his deep, earnest, reproachful words, and +how, taking her hand, he had assisted her to rise. He had taken the +pearls from her, returned them to their case, and, with a generosity +she had seldom found in men, had given her his word of honour to remain +silent. + +The next moment she slipped along the corridor to her room, and half +an hour later faced the actress in the big _salon_, smiling as though +nothing had happened. + +Her German-speaking friend was already at the station, on his hurried +departure for Vienna, while she, later that same night, had written +a brief note of heartfelt thanks to the Englishman, and, giving her +address in Paris, promised that if ever he wanted a friend he had but +to write to her. “All my friends are in future your friends,” she +wrote in that note. “We all owe you a deep debt of gratitude for your +generosity towards me.” + +As she walked along that broad, sandy pathway, with the grey sea +stretched deep below, she was wondering if he, too, were thinking of +the same strange, almost romantic circumstances—that startling incident +which had sealed their curious friendship. + +Had he denounced her that night, her fat friend, who was wanted on +half a dozen different charges of placing certain forged bonds into +circulation, would have also fallen into the drag-net of the police. +Ugly revelations would, no doubt, have ended, and the identity of the +various members of that circle of unscrupulous undesirables would have +been exposed. + +As it was, he had urged her to reform. Ah! she recollected too well +those deep, earnest words of his! How they had rung in her ears ever +since. They recurred to her now. And after that brief but bitter +reproach, he had allowed her to pass out. She owed her liberty to the +silence of Richard Jervoise. + +And now her present visit to England had been at his request. He had +written to her asking her to redeem her promise, and perform him a +service. The same day she had received his letter she had crossed the +Channel, and next morning called at his flat at Barnes. + +In his own snug den he had told her the story of the strange death of +Paul Grinevitch—a story to which she had listened with the deepest +interest. She had written down the address in Keppel Street, and, +having discovered that Nicholas Bourtzeff visited the house in +question, her vigilance had never for one instant been relaxed. + +Dick knew that this Russian was her bitterest enemy, yet it was by no +means plain why she should exercise that constant surveillance upon his +movements. That he had been travelling from place to place was clear +from her own erratic journeys, yet why she should be ever at his heels, +and why she should risk detection and betrayal, as she no doubt was +daily risking, remained to him a complete enigma. + +“My duty was to come here and warn you, mademoiselle,” he went +on as he strode at her side. “For aught you know, the police are +making inquiries concerning your whereabouts, now that you have been +recognized with Owen.” + +“And your friend the doctor, of course, believes what he has been told +concerning me,” she remarked very quietly. + +“Without a doubt. I have tried to cast disbelief upon the statements of +the police officer, but denial in the circumstances, is, as you see, +rather difficult.” + +“You need not deny it, M’sieur Jervoise,” she answered in a low, bitter +voice. “One day, ere long, I know I must find myself under arrest. I +have had many narrow escapes in my career; therefore I can’t always +hope for success.” And she smiled sadly, looking into his grave eyes. + +“But why run this risk?” he cried. “Surely it is unnecessary? Why +not slip away to Germany, Holland, Denmark—anywhere save here and in +France?” + +She was silent for a few moments. Then, halting and turning her eyes to +his, she said in a calm, thoughtful tone: + +“M’sieur Dick! Did you not ask me to perform for you a service? You +love the Norwegian lady, Thyra. Is not that so? Tell me the truth.” + +“Yes,” he stammered after a brief pause, the colour rising to his face. +“I do not hide the truth from you—my friend. Why should I? I love her.” + +“Then if you do,” she answered quickly, “if you do—then please allow +me to remain here—and act in your interests. I am your friend, as you +have declared—your sincere friend, M’sieur Dick, and one who owes her +liberty to you!” + + + + +CHAPTER X + +A CURIOUS TRUTH + + +The pair had walked on beyond Alum Chine, towards Canford Cliffs. + +For a long time the man had remained silent, while his well-dressed +companion, holding her skirts daintily with one hand, her sable muff +swinging in the other, strolled at his side. + +When in those warm summer days she had first met him, in that smart +hotel in Vichy, she had admired him with an admiration almost akin +to affection. But she had discovered that his heart belonged to that +pretty French singer whom she had followed to Semmering, and whose +pearls she had, at the instigation of her friends, attempted to secure. + +That theft had, she had afterwards admitted to herself, been prompted +a good deal by jealousy, for she saw the singer constantly in the +Englishman’s company, and had been told that they were lovers. + +The woman was beautiful, it was true. Her photographs were constantly +appearing in the illustrated Press. She was the idol of Paris, where +she reigned as queen of the variety stage, while in winter she lived +in her pretty white villa on those sheltered, olive-clad slopes above +Beaulieu—that quietest and most lovely spot on the whole of the Cote +d’Azur. + +More than once, indeed, Alza had shed silent tears because of the +Englishman’s infatuation for this woman. But she had always hidden the +secret of her heart. She had hidden it until now. + +He had told her—confessed to her—that he loved Thyra. + +What had really occurred on that afternoon in Christiania puzzled her, +and at the same time aroused her suspicion. She knew too well that Paul +Grinevitch and Richard Jervoise were bitter enemies. Had not Grinevitch +arrived suddenly at Semmering, and had she not overheard the quarrel +between them, from which she had learnt to her surprise that they were +rivals for the hand of the pretty French singer? + +What had occurred afterwards she knew not. The young Russian had left +suddenly for Italy next morning, while the singer still remained in her +apartments. Six months later she had heard a strange story, which she +could hardly believe. But Love is a purblind, and Justice a squinting +deity. + +It seemed that the two men had, by a strange vagary of circumstance, +again become rivals for the hand of the same woman. Grinevitch had +died. What more natural than by the hand of the tall Englishman? + +That thought had occurred to her more than once. Yet her suspicion was +not confirmed by the confession her friend had made regarding his love +for the fair-haired Norwegian. + +“Alza,” he exclaimed at last, “I do urge you to have a care of +yourself. If Bourtzeff discovers you he will certainly seek to protect +himself.” + +“He is your friend, M’sieur Dick,” she pointed out. “He knows that you +allowed him to escape from Semmering, where he was posing as Professor +Max Krause of Cologne, and has more than once referred to your +generosity to us both.” + +“That does not alter his attitude towards you, mademoiselle. He has +already turned police informant, and at any moment he may denounce you. +I suppose, if he chose, he could make some revelations—eh?” + +“Yes,” sighed the girl, “ugly ones. I have been, nay, am still, their +catspaw, as you know.” + +“Because of your good looks,” he remarked quietly. “Men admire you, +and——” + +“And afterwards regret the folly of falling in love with me,” she added +bitterly in French, at the same time sighing. “Ah, M’sieur Dick! How +can I help it—how can I avoid it? They hold me in bondage—a bondage +from which I can never free myself.” + +“Except by reforming—by becoming an honest woman,” he suggested very +quietly. + +“An honest woman,” she echoed, her gaze fixed blankly upon the grey, +wintry sea, her oval, purely French face pale and drawn. “How can +I ever become that? So habituated am I to a life of movement and +excitement that I could never exist without it.” + +“Unless you loved a man, and became his wife.” + +“And who, pray, would ever love me, or would respect me if they knew +the truth concerning my past?” she cried. “No, M’sieur Dick, that is +impossible—quite out of the question. I may love, but I can never be +loved in return. My future is hopeless—only shame and imprisonment. +I know it. Therefore I make the best of my liberty while I may. Ah!” +she went on, “you do not know how full of subterfuge and adventure +is my life; how, sometimes, I meet unexpectedly men who have much +bitter cause to recollect the day when they declared their love to me. +Sometimes I am threatened with exposure and prosecution; I am upbraided +and cursed by those who have fallen victims of those heartless +blackguards who, speaking a dozen languages and travelling everywhere, +direct my actions. Yet I am defiant, even though at heart I am full of +compassion, of compunction and regret.” + +“I know, Alza,” he said, still sympathetically. “Your position is a +tragic and regrettable one. You are a thief and an adventuress against +your will, against your better nature. Your father was a thief, and +you were trained to be one from your early youth. Not a woman in all +London, or in all Paris, is cleverer than you. You can gauge a man’s +intellect and read his thoughts, and you can exercise over him a power +almost hypnotic. I know it—I have seen it. And I know how, to you, +reform and honesty must seem well-nigh impossible.” + +“I loved—once,” she exclaimed hoarsely, “you know.” + +“Victor Laurillard.” + +“Yes—the man who, through Nicholas Bourtzeff, is now at hard labour in +Cayenne because, at Bourtzeff’s own direction, he assisted me!” she +said hoarsely. “I dare not appear at the Assize Court of the Seine to +give evidence in his defence.” + +“But why did Bourtzeff treat you thus? At Semmering all his craft and +cunning were directed towards assisting you. From what you afterwards +told me, I understood that the operations of the association of +criminals were directed by a man named Enderlein and himself.” + +“So they were. But Bourtzeff quarrelled with Enderlein—who is a +landowner and lives unsuspected on his estate near Cochen, on the +Moselle. The disagreement arose over the divisions of the proceeds of +a big hotel robbery at Cannes. Victor took sides with Enderlein, with +the result that Bourtzeff severed himself from us and gave information +to the police. Poor Victor was arrested for an affair at Toulon, and +condemned. And on the night of his sentence Bourtzeff came to my studio +and laughed in my face. I swore vengeance,” she added, with clenched +hands, “and I am here in England for that purpose!” + +“But are you perfectly confident of your own power?” asked Dick +seriously, fixing his eyes upon the girl, who, though an adventuress, +was nevertheless his friend. + +“If I go to prison he will go also,” she responded. “He is ignorant of +the true extent of my knowledge.” + +Jervoise was silent for a few moments. They had nearly arrived at the +new hotel on the summit of the Canford Cliffs. + +“And as regards the connection of Grinevitch with this man?” he asked +presently. “What is your surmise?” + +She looked at him quickly. The mention of Paul’s name reawakened all +those terrible suspicions within her heart. + +“How can I surmise anything?” she stammered, in an endeavour to evade +his question. + +“What connection had Grinevitch with Bourtzeff?” he asked. + +“They were both Russian,” she said, “and they were friends.” + +“How do you know that?” + +“Because, when Grinevitch arrived at Semmering, Bourtzeff recognised +him in the hotel garden, and coming to me quickly declared that +neither of us must be seen. Don’t you recollect that we both suddenly +disappeared from the hotel, and were absent four or five days? He +evidently did not wish to meet the new arrival.” + +“It seems much as though Grinevitch had made his peace with Bourtzeff, +and intended to join him.” + +“Certainly. That is my theory.” + +“You have no knowledge of the relations which previously existed +between the two men?” asked Jervoise, recollecting how vigilant had +been her watch upon the house in Keppel Street, and how, from the +first moment, she had been ready to assist him in prosecuting his +inquiry. + +She hesitated. On her part she was still suspicious that the story +he had told her regarding the events in Christiania was not exactly +the correct one. He loved Thyra, and had been the bitter enemy of +Grinevitch. + +Alza Dresler was a girl of exceptionally keen intellect. To practise +any deception upon her was, indeed, difficult, for her own life was +wholly a fraud and a deception. In Dick’s story she had from the very +first recognised a flaw. He had not told her everything, and that fact +piqued her; for was she not his friend, was she not acting wholly +and entirely in his interests, acting in disregard of her own peril, +performing for him a service in return for his own generosity when he +had caught her a thief red-handed? + +“Bourtzeff was evidently in fear lest your friend should recognise +him,” the girl remarked at last. Then, when they paused together in +their walk a few moments later, she turned her eyes to his again, +saying: + +“You were very devoted to Helene Marquet in those days, M’sieur +Dick. What happened afterwards? She no longer sings her song, ‘Ma +Fanchonnette,’ I suppose? Do you remember how fond you were of it?” + + “Ma Fanchonnette, + Svelte et simplette. + + Revets tes atours gracieux; + A la folie, + Fais-toi jolie, + Et le charme de tous les yeux.” + +And she glanced again into her companion’s troubled face. + +“Yes,” he answered, in a thick, husky voice. “I remember, alas! I +remember only too well.” + +“And you are recollecting—as I, alas! am recollecting—those moments +when you found me in her salon,” she said, in a slow, pensive voice. + +“No, Alza; I am not,” he protested. “No. That is a memory long past and +forgotten. I am thinking of something else—of what happened afterwards.” + +“And what did happen?” she inquired, recognising from his drawn +features that whatever was the memory it was a painful one. “I know +that you and Paul Grinevitch were rivals in Helene’s affections.” + +He started, staring at her. + +“How did you know that?” he gasped. + +“I overheard your quarrel in the hotel on the day I returned,” she +answered frankly. + +He stood rigid, as though turned to stone. Even she, the woman criminal +and a thief though she be, had become suspicious—she was reading in his +eyes the tragic truth! + +“Where is Helene?” repeated the girl, without affecting to notice his +agitation. + +“Surely you know? Why ask me?” he protested in the same hoarse voice. + +“I do not know. I have never seen her since you and she left Semmering.” + +He was silent, his face turned to the low-lying coast across Poole +Harbour. + +“Helene is dead,” he answered in a low tone scarce above a whisper. + +“Dead!” + +“Ah! yes, Alza!” he cried despairingly. “You knew her—you knew that she +was once my dearest friend; therefore you may know the end. That winter +she went to her villa on the hillside at Beaulieu, while I lived at the +Bristol, down on the bay. She went there to rest, prior to fulfilling +an engagement in New York. Well—how shall I explain it? Paul Grinevitch +came unexpectedly, and lied to her about me, as he had lied before. +In consequence I was dismissed. She, to whom I was devoted, gave me +my _conge_, and Paul usurped my place in her affections. He proved +heartless and cruel, like all his race, who would rule their women with +the knout. I know it, for she wrote me a pitiful letter of farewell, +and in it told me the painful truth. I have that letter now, Alza,” he +added, looking straight at the girl who stood facing him. “The hand +that penned it was, half an hour later, lifeless! She took her own +life with chloral, because Grinevitch—the accursed blackguard that he +was—had wrecked her life and afterwards deserted her!” + +“And that man,” remarked the girl in a slow voice, full of hidden +meaning, “has received his deserts! The debt is paid!” + + + + +CHAPTER XI + +ON THE RIPLEY ROAD + + +Owen Odd worked hard through the early part of March, for it was his +busiest season. An epidemic of influenza had again broken out, and in +all the districts of the metropolitan area that of Hammersmith was the +most affected. + +Therefore, being out both night and day, he saw but little of Dick, +who, seated in his high-up flat on the opposite side of the long +suspension bridge, pursued his studies. + +He ran up to Perthshire for a fortnight’s curling, and to play in a +match on Corsbreck, but returned earlier than he intended, for Thyra +was still in London, and he longed to be again beside her. + +Their constant association constituted in itself a grave danger. They +were both only too well aware of that. Yet somehow there existed a +magnetic attraction which drew them towards each other. Those grey eyes +held him in fascination now just as they had done on the first evening +they had met. + +Whatever suspicions had been aroused in the mind of Jorgen Berentsen by +Peter Sundt had apparently been allayed by Dick’s frank, open manner. +Only Jorgen knew of Sundt’s presence in London. The man, living at his +ease in the best suite at the Ritz, had extracted a solemn promise from +Jorgen to tell no one of his whereabouts, hinting as the reason that in +the City were some busy speculators who were worrying him to sell his +fishing interests in the north to a public company; and who, if they +knew him to be in London, would allow him no peace. + +Hence, old Jorgen kept the secret, and had not even told his widowed +daughter. + +There being a spell of dry, frosty weather, Dick had on a good many +occasions hired a motor car, and taken Thyra and her father for runs to +various places around London, such as Hitchin, St. Albans, Chelmsford, +Guilford, and down to the Metropole at Brighton. + +To the girl-widow, who had spent most of her days in the bleak Arctic, +motoring along those country roads was a new sensation in which she +delighted. Hitherto her only experience had been that of taxi-cabs, but +in a “forty” the run was so much more exciting and exhilarating. + +The old whaler, too, grew fond of travelling by car, and many pleasant +days they thus passed together. Father and daughter had decided to +remain on in London until the warmer weather, the old fellow having +obtained further leave of absence from his post as harbour-master. + +The character of the mysterious “business” upon which he was so often +absent from Talbot Road was never revealed. The truth was, however, +that, aided by Sundt, both financially and otherwise, he was making +diligent inquiries in Russia concerning the antecedents of Paul +Grinevitch. + +Peter had telegraphed to his agent at St. Petersburg, and in +consequence the man had duly arrived at the Ritz. Then, after several +interviews, at which Jorgen was present, the Russian had received +instructions to proceed to Tula, Kiev, and other places, and make +inquiries. The result of these both men were now awaiting. + +Notwithstanding the grave suspicion cast upon Richard Jervoise by +Peter, the old captain, nevertheless, liked him. He had taken to him +from the very first day when Martin had introduced him at Vardo. + +On several occasions, when he had arrived at Talbot Road with the car, +Dick had found that the Captain was unavoidably absent “on business,” +but Thyra was always there to welcome him warmly. Of late she had, it +seemed, grown fonder of his company than hitherto, though at times he +was quick to notice the slightly thoughtful frown which clouded her +white brow. + +One morning, when he called with the car, and found the Captain out, he +proposed that they should wait till his return after luncheon. But she +pointed out that it would be too late to go for a run of any length, +and suggested that they should travel down to Guilford and lunch +together at the inn where they had lunched a week previously. + +This they did, going by way of Kingston and Ripley, duly arriving at +the inn, where they had a pleasant _tete-a-tete_ meal, no one else +happening to be present. + +After a few sentences on indifferent matters when the waiter had left, +the pair had fallen silent. They exchanged glances, but Thyra spoke +within herself, as was her habit, and made note of a sudden and sad +discovery. Dick was changed! No; this time it really was not mere +fancy! He was changed. + +She became puzzled. What could it mean? She held her breath when she +recollected all the past—that bitter, never-to-be-forgotten past. + +She sighed for that free life at Vardo, with the fresh wind from the +ice-pack, those rolling, open seas, and the brilliant Northern lights +that so often lit the sky. Ah, how happy was her life there! How very +different from that stifled existence on a drawing-room floor at +Bayswater. + +And yet? She looked into her companion’s face, and her gaze wavered. +And yet, alas! there was that bond which she could not now break! + +He was proposing to take her father and herself to a play at the +Garrick on the following evening. But she said, almost mechanically: + +“Is it wise? Remember that you should not be seen with me so much! You +never know who may be watching.” + +He laughed—a scoffing laugh that was new to him. He was scornful. Was +it of herself? + +Fancies! Folly! Peril! + +“My dear Thyra,” he said, “you are so full of apprehension. What have +we to fear? Our secret is surely safe—as it always will be.” + +And he looked at her again with that strange, unusual gaze that caused +her to shudder. + +Half an hour later they were seated together in the closed car +travelling back over that well-kept, open road towards Ripley. + +Yes. He was changed, she thought, as she sat at his side, gazing at the +ever-winding road and bare trees rising straight before her. + +She had noticed how his expression had transformed. A woman is always +quick to read a man’s face, and certainly she was no exception. +Something gloomy, something deprecating, had come into his eyes. Had he +really lost faith in her? + +To remove all vestige of her fear she spoke to him again, a smile in +her great grey eyes as they fell upon his. Her heart thumped wildly, +for he did not answer. He remained plunged in thought, his mouth hard +and rigid, still regarding her fixedly. + +“Mr. Jervoise!” she exclaimed, as her gloved hand involuntarily fell +upon his and an unexplained anxiety took possession of her. It was +about as bad as the inexpressible terror of that night after the sudden +discovery of her widowhood. “Speak to me,” she urged. “What’s the +matter? At the inn you were defiant and scornful, yet now you seem just +as full of apprehension as I am.” + +“I was thinking,” he said, his eyes fixed upon hers. “Nothing,” he +added. “Don’t be alarmed.” + +“But——” + +She did not conclude her sentence. The car roared on through the grey, +threatening afternoon, and with a sudden swerve sped through the +village street of Ripley and out again into the country roads. + +“Why do you ask?” he murmured at last. His voice was hardly a breath, +but a breath in which Thyra felt the raging of a storm of resentment. + +Again she was afraid. + +She now became conscious of a mysterious transformation. Only a day, +nay, only an hour, previously it was her own soul which had escaped +that of Richard Jervoise, hiding itself behind a world of littleness, +of vanity, of vain desires and ambitions; now, on the contrary, it was +his soul which some occult, unseen, but violent, force was trying to +wrest away from her. She attempted to fathom the mystery. It was weird +and inexplicable. + +What is it? she asked herself. Does he mistrust—is he afraid of me? Why +is this? + +“Thyra,” he said at last, “you must explain to me what you intend to +do. You seem mysterious to-day.” + +“As soon as my father is ready we go back to Vardo,” she answered quite +simply. + +“Without further thought of me—eh?” he asked in a voice of reproach. + +“I did not say that. I shall always remember you as a very kind and +very dear friend of my father and myself,” she faltered, not quite +understanding the drift of his conversation. The car roared on. + +“Nothing else?” he asked hoarsely, his eyes fixed upon hers. + +Again she was silent. What, indeed, could she say? + +He repeated his question in a low, intense voice. + +“You know already,” was her answer at last. + +“I don’t—I don’t understand,” he exclaimed. + +But he could get no word from her lips. There was a whole gulf between +them, an immense expanse of cold, colourless water, perfidiously +silent, like that of the broad lake along the edge of which the car was +at that moment travelling. + +“Thyra,” he exclaimed suddenly, after another long silence, “yesterday, +as I was leaving the club, I saw a friend of your father’s coming down +St. James’s Street in a hansom.” + +“A friend of my father’s?” she echoed. “Whom?” + +“That stout, red-faced man to whom I was introduced in your house,” he +replied. + +“What, Peter Sundt!” she cried. “Why, he cannot possibly be in London. +He’s always at his villa at Ragusa all the winter!” + +“I’m quite certain it was the man. One cannot forget a pimply face like +his!” he laughed lightly. + +“No,” she declared. “But are you quite certain you were not mistaken?” + +“Absolutely.” + +“Then,” she said reflectively, “if he really is in London, my father’s +mysterious absences on business are easily accounted for. He goes to +see him.” + +“Why?” + +Her breast heaved slowly, and fell. + +“Well—I believe there is some secret between them. I’ve thought so +for months past. When you met him at Vardo he had come up there +expressly to consult my father upon some point. They held several long +consultations in private.” + +“What is the nature of their secret, do you imagine?” + +“How can I tell? Except——” And she hesitated, a slight flush rising +upon her pale cheeks. + +“Except what?” + +“Well,” she faltered, when he had repeated his question, “the secret is +mine alone. The fact is that we had met in Christiania before I left +school, and I had been invited to a garden fete he had given. My father +and he being very old friends, he used to send me pretty presents at +Christmas and on my birthday.” + +“Well?” + +She was again silent. The car, with horn sounding ever and anon, was +rushing onward towards London. + +“About a year ago he came to Vardo on his yacht, and stayed with us for +several days,” was her reply. “One afternoon, when we were out together +walking, he took my hand, and—and he declared that he loved me; and, +despite the great difference of our ages, that if I would consent he +would make me his wife.” + +“That man?” Dick gasped, staring at her in surprise. “He proposed to +you?” + +“Yes,” she answered blankly. “It was only a week before I met Paul. I +told him frankly that I could never marry a man whom I did not love. +But he refused to take my refusal for an answer, and said he hoped +that I would reconsider my decision. With the pride of the parvenu he +pointed out to me the social position I might occupy, and the means +that would be at my command, if only I became his wife. And further, he +promised that on my marriage he would place to my father’s credit such +an amount that would secure for him a competency, so as to allow him +to resign his appointment at Vardo and come to live somewhere in the +south.” + +“In fact, he wished your father to sell you to him just as though you +were a barrel of cod-liver oil—eh?” he asked grimly. + +“Yes—almost,” she laughed uneasily. + +“Was your father aware of this?” Dick quickly asked. + +“I told him. But he only replied that he would never wish to influence +me in any way regarding my marriage, and urged me not to marry until I +could honestly love. But——” + +“Well?” + +“My surmise is that the secret between Peter and my father is still in +regard to my marriage—as it has always been,” she replied in a strange +voice. + +“You think, then, that this rough, red-faced fisherman still desires to +marry you?” asked Dick, with quick resentment. + +“Yes,” she answered very slowly. “Though my father has never once +referred to the subject since, I somehow entertain a vague suspicion +that Peter has again approached him upon the subject. Marriage with +that man, with his fine house in Christiania, his villa on the +Adriatic, and his immense wealth, would be regarded by the world as a +splendid match I suppose,” she added, laughing bitterly. + +“But you surely will never marry him, Thyra!” he urged earnestly, +taking her hand tenderly in his. “You do not love him—do you?” + +“I do not,” was her prompt answer, as with a sudden movement she pushed +her hair back from her brow, as though its weight oppressed her. “But +who knows what the future may bring?” and she stared at the white, +winding road before her. + +“It will bring you happiness, I hope.” + +“Happiness!” she echoed hoarsely. “I married for love, alas!—for +happiness! But what did I receive in return? Ah! _You!_” she cried, +staring at him, and suddenly drawing herself away from his contact in +repulsion. “You—you speak to me of happiness—_you_—of all men!” + +And, unable to restrain herself longer, she burst into a flood of +bitter tears. + + + + +CHAPTER XII + +A HAMMERSMITH HERO + + +Owen Odd’s time seemed to him more occupied than ever since his summons +to Plevna Gardens that winter’s night. His practice was a large, if not +a very remunerative, one, and the patients, though they did not expect +to be charged large fees, looked for as much attention as if they paid +in guineas instead of shillings. Dr. Maureward’s assistant was not one +to neglect his duties; he was as attentive and considerate to the cases +where the fees were very doubtful as to those where he knew the bill +had only to be sent in to be paid at once. + +For one thing, it was his nature to do with all his might what his +hands found to do; and, beyond this, there was an incident in his past +that was ever present to his mind emphasising the dangers of duty +neglected. + +From the time of his becoming assistant to the Hammersmith practitioner +he had never found much time that he could honestly call his own in +which to mix with such friends as he had in London. Now that small +circle was enlarged by the occupants of the second floor flat at No. +2, Plevna Gardens, he was not inclined to forego the pleasure their +society gave him. + +His professional calls there had been followed by others of a purely +social nature. Both the major and his daughter had pressed him to come +in when he could spare the time in an evening, and smoke a pipe and +have a chat without any ceremony—invitations which he was only too +ready to accept, though it entailed more strenuous work earlier in the +day to obtain the necessary leisure. + +On further acquaintance Owen had found the major a most interesting +and amusing companion, well read and broad-minded, with whom it +was a pleasure to converse, and his stories of his Indian life and +adventures, in which his daughter, Amy, would often join, were always +worth listening to; so that those evenings, when the young doctor, +having worked at high pressure for the greater part of the day, found +himself free for an hour or two, were red-letter ones in his calendar. + +But Owen did not try to beguile himself into the belief that it was +the major’s society alone that drew him to Plevna Gardens. There was a +greater attraction than the old soldier’s stories, good as they were. + +Amy Gordon, the Madame Juliette of the West End, had taken up an +all-absorbing position in his life and thoughts. + +He loved this beautiful girl with all the passion of his nature. Since +that first evening she had been the one woman in the whole world for +him. She had come into his life in such an extraordinary and mysterious +way, in a way that even she herself could not account for, that he +saw in their acquaintance something more than lay upon the surface. +That it was preordained he had not a shadow of a doubt, and he read +in the fact a happy issue to what at the outset was nothing more than +a professional call. But at the moment he did not see how this was to +come about. He was a poor man, with nothing, as far as he knew, save +his work to depend upon; and in his present position that did not +promise much. The post of assistant in a second-rate practice never +meant affluence; and, beyond that, Amy Gordon was making money fast, +and he was not one to marry—as the saying is—for money: he would scorn +to be a hanger-on to his wife. No, when he married he must have an +income equal to that of the woman he sought as his life-long companion. +But for the moment he could afford to let matters drift. Outwardly they +were only acquaintances, and, as far as he could see, Amy regarded him +as nothing more. + +She always seemed pleased to see him, and, as visit followed visit, +grew to treat him more and more as a friend; but at times there was +something in her manner that he could not fathom. She might be talking +to him in the most natural and unconcerned way, and then suddenly she +would become utterly absent and oblivious of the present, with her gaze +fixed on space, and deaf to any remark he might make. + +He could not help noticing this only occurred in connection with +himself, and he one day taxed her with the fact. + +“Is that so, doctor? I’m very rude, I’m afraid; but you must forgive +me. I can’t help myself. It is the result of my life in India, I +expect. At times my thoughts seem to escape me, and wander off in a +manner that I cannot control.” + +“But this is never the case when you are talking to the major; it is +only with respect to me.” + +“Really? Doctor Odd, you must see I am not as other girls; there +is something strange about me. No, no; it is so,” as Owen made a +deprecatory movement. “I think I have told you before there are many +things about myself that puzzle me. I seem to possess a second nature, +over which I can exercise no control. It is something altogether beyond +me, and I can merely obey.” + +“If I might give you my professional opinion, I should say you were +working too hard up at Bond Street, and required rest and a change. You +are threatened with nerves, Miss Gordon. And nerves are nasty things +when they are thwarted or ignored.” + +“Yes, a change would be nice, no doubt, but it is out of the question +just now, with the season in full swing and one’s waiting-room crowded. +No, I must wait a little time for that.” + +“Then all I can say is, get as much rest as you can, Miss Gordon, +together with outdoor exercise. There’s nothing like fresh air, after +all.” And the major returning to the room just then the conversation +took a different turn. + +It was shortly after this, as Owen was returning one evening from +visiting a patient in New Street, near the Creek, that the laughter +and shouts of some children playing on the muddy, shelving bank of the +river attracted his notice, and he stopped to watch them. Not that he +could see much—the night was closing in, and objects in the distance +were becoming indistinct. His outdoor work was over for the day, and +taking his case from his pocket he committed the unprofessional act +of lighting a cigarette. He stood there, lazily smoking, when in a +moment the tone of the shouting changed from merriment to horror and +dismay, and he became aware of a small form rushing towards him, +bawling something he could not catch, and pointing towards the knot of +youngsters lower down. + +“What’s the matter, Tommy?” asked Owen, laying his hand on the boy’s +shoulder as he passed and stopping him. + +“Jem Blain’s in the water, and drowning,” screamed the boy; and would +have rushed on if Owen had not detained him. “’Ere, leave go, will yer? +I’m going to tell his mother,” with a further struggle to get free. + +“Where is he? Can you see him?” And Owen hurried down to the lad’s +companions at the water edge as his informant dashed off into the gloom. + +The tide was running out fast, and some twenty yards from the shore the +doctor could just make out something on the surface of the river, but +the next moment it had disappeared. + +“There he is! There he is! He’s been down once already, and he can’t +swim.” And the boys moved along the mud bank as the object was carried +down towards the bridge. + +Owen recognised that there was not a moment to delay—it was a case of +life or death within the next minute or two; and, tearing off his coat +and waistcoat as he ran, he dashed into the river somewhat in advance +of the drowning lad, hoping to be able to get far enough to intercept +him as he passed. + +He was a good swimmer, but he soon found that, weighted with the thick +clothes he was wearing, he had no easy task before him. Striking out as +rapidly as he was able, he reached the spot he had made for, only to +see the boy for a moment through the gloom some four or five yards from +him, nearer the center of the river. And then it was only an arm and +hand that caught his eye; the rest of the small body was submerged. + +And now it became a race, muscle against tide, and the owner of the +muscle _meant_ to win. + +During the next few moments Owen experienced all the fascination that +is felt by those engaged in a great struggle in which determination +comes to their aid. He had often fought death before, but it had been +in a quieter, though not less determined, manner. Then there had been +waiting, watching, and expectation. Now all this was compressed in one +gigantic effort—all he could do must be done at once, or it would be +useless. Death had got his grasp on his victim, and unless he could +tear him from his grip before his fingers tightened his opponent must +prevail. + +Owen swam as he had never swum before. Every ounce of his strength and +willpower he put into his strokes. He _would_ win, he would not be +beaten. The boy’s life was not so much to him—he hardly thought of that +as a life—it was the act of snatching it from destruction that filled +his mind through those moments of intense concentration. + +He was gaining. There was little to guide him now. All had disappeared +save one small hand. + +Half a dozen strokes and he would be up to it. He felt he had the +strength of three men as he cut through the muddy tide. + +He had been swimming on his side, using the powerful overhead stroke, +and now he turned his head to grasp his prize. + +The hand had disappeared. There was nothing before him but the rippled +surface of the river. He was too late, after all. + +“He’s just in front of yer, master. He’s gone under. Can’t yer grab +him?” came the shout from the bank from the drowning lad’s companions. + +Owen’s breath was almost gone, swimming as he had been had taxed him +to the uttermost; but he was not beaten yet. Taking a long breath, he +dived. He could see nothing beneath the surface—the light was too dim +and the water too thick. But if the sense of sight failed he still +retained that of touch, and he had not progressed more than a couple of +yards when he felt something in contact with his hand. He grabbed it, +and, coming to the surface, dragged it with him. + +As he shook the water from his eyes he could have shouted, had breath +remained, in exultation. He had got the boy! + +For the moment victory was with him, but the struggle was not over yet. + +The tide was running strongly, and each moment drew him farther from +the shore. It was useless to attempt to fight his way back—he had not +the strength. All he could do was to keep himself and his prize above +water. Fortunately, the boy was unconscious, and did not struggle. He +held him as he had learnt to hold a rescued person in the old days +of his swimming instruction, and trod water, suffering himself to be +carried on by the tide, and reserving his strength as much as possible. + +Meanwhile the shouts of the boys on the bank had given notice that +something was amiss, and attention had been called to the river, +so that by the time Owen and his burden drew near the bridge at +Hammersmith a fringe of excited watchers lined the up-river side, +peering into the gloom in the hope of catching sight of rescued +and rescuer; and as a small dark object could be made out, to all +appearance helplessly floating on the surface, a mighty cheer went up. +At the same time a boat shot out from the shadows on the Middlesex side. + +That cheer reached the ears of the swimmer and infused new courage +through his weary limbs. He had been feeling he could not hold out much +longer. He was chilled to the bone, and his legs and arms felt like +lead; his grasp on his prize was relaxing. But now he knew his position +was seen and that help was at hand. + +He would _not_ give in. Life was worth a further struggle. And during +those dark moments the face of Amy Gordon seemed to smile on him +through the gloom, and he felt brave and confident once more. + +But it was the final effort. The will was there, but the body was weak. +It had been taxed to the uttermost, and could do no more. + +Again he felt the remains of his strength vanishing, and this time he +knew it would not return. + +“Keep up! Keep up! There’s a boat coming!” rang the cry from overhead. +“Keep up!” And Owen almost smiled as it reached his ears. It was so +easy to shout directions from dry land. + +The boat _was_ coming. He had caught sight of it. Would it be in time? +It was a long way off yet, and he was so weary, so weary. One more +effort. He tried to make it. He could not. His arms and legs refused to +act. He was beaten at last, after all. It seemed hard, but——Darkness +came down on him, and he knew no more. + + * * * * * + +It was the evening following the events just related. + +Amy Gordon had entered the dining-room at Plevna Gardens to find her +father seated in front of the fire, with a paper in his hand. He looked +round as she approached to kiss him, as she always did first thing on +her return from business. + +“So you’ve got back all right, dear.” + +“Yes, father, and very glad I am to be home once more. I’ve had an +awfully busy day. They’ve been coming in in shoals. I could not see +them all, and disappointed a dozen or more by telling them they would +have to write for appointments.” + +“Then you’ve not seen the paper, I expect?” + +“Not I. Why, I had hardly time to swallow my lunch, much less amuse +myself by reading.” + +“Well, go and get ready for dinner, and afterwards I’ll show you +something that will interest you.” + +“Why, father, what secret have you got for me—eh?” + +“Never mind now. Go and do as I tell you,” and there was an amused +smile on the major’s face. + +Dinner was over and had been cleared away. The servant had placed the +decanters on the table at the end nearest the fire, and Amy and her +father had turned their chairs towards the blaze, when the girl said: + +“And now, father, for your wonderful secret.” + +“Look at that!” said the major, handing his daughter a copy of the +_Reflector_ of that day’s date. “What do you think of that? It seems we +number a hero among our friends.” + +Amy took the illustrated sheets, and was glancing at them carelessly +when her eyes suddenly became fixed on the representation of a man, in +ordinary professional costume, above the heading, “A Hammersmith Hero.” + +“Why, it’s Doctor Odd, surely?” she exclaimed. + +“Yes, it’s the doctor right enough, though it’s a precious bad +likeness. But read what they say about him. It was a plucky thing to +do.” + +Without answering, Amy rapidly read the glowingly worded description of +Owen’s adventure the previous evening. + +It gave a more or less accurate account of what had taken place, and +concluded as follows: + + “Jem Smith, the bargee, with his companion, forcing their boat + against the swiftly flowing tide, only managed to reach the gallant + rescuer just in time. The brave doctor was in the act of sinking, + and had already disappeared save for his head, when Smith, throwing + his oars aside, leant over the gunwale and grabbed him by the hair + with one hand, while with the other he seized the unconscious lad. + This was all he could do, and though his companion quickly came + to his aid, they were compelled to await the arrival of a second + boat before the doctor and the boy he had so gallantly risked his + life to save could be lifted from the water and brought to land. + Both were unconscious, and for a long time resisted all efforts to + restore animation; but at length these proved successful, and the + two recovered sufficiently to allow of their being removed to their + respective homes. On our representative calling later in the evening + he had the satisfaction of hearing both were going on as well as + could be expected, and that the gallant doctor would probably be + quite himself again in the course of a few hours.” + + “We congratulate Hammersmith on numbering among its inhabitants a + gentleman who, while giving his time and strength to the alleviation + of pain and suffering, does not hesitate to risk his life in the + cause of humanity. It is understood that the attention of the Royal + Humane Society will be called to the heroic action of Dr. Owen Odd.” + +“Well, Amy, what do you think of that, eh?” asked the major, as, +watching her eyes, he saw that she had reached the last line. + +“The doctor’s a brave man, father. It isn’t everyone who would have +done what he did.” + +“No, it isn’t. I think it would be nice if we sent round to ask how he +was getting on. What do you say, Amy?” + +“As you like, father. But I should fancy he will be coming very shortly +to see you. He hasn’t been for more than a week now.” + +“No, he hasn’t,” and while he was speaking the major had kept his eyes +on his daughter’s face, for resting on it was an expression he could +not understand. Her eyes had remained glued on the portrait of the +“Hammersmith Hero,” and yet they seemed to be looking _through_ it +rather than at it. + +Her father made one or two further remarks, which drew monosyllables +in reply, and, seeing she was lost in thought, he took up a book, and +silence reigned in the room. + +When at length his daughter spoke it was to make a remark on an +entirely different matter, and the subject of the doctor’s exploit was +not again referred to. + +On the major retiring at half-past ten, his usual hour, his daughter, +after seeing him to his room and that all his things were put out +ready, returned to the dining-room, and taking up the _Reflector_ +again, opened it, spread it out upon the table, and leaning her head +upon her hands, gazed at the illustration. + +Some minutes passed in this manner, and then, rising quickly, she +exclaimed in a tone ringing with conviction: + +“At last I have it. Of course it was _he_. I knew I should remember.” +And switching off the light she left the room. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + +ANOTHER PROBLEM + + +It was about ten days after the evening of which mention has been +made in the last chapter, and Amy was again seated by herself before +the fire in her cosy dining-room. In her hand she held a letter, the +writing and spelling of which left much to be desired. She had found it +on her arrival home that evening, and, having opened it, had said to +her father: + +“Oh, it’s from old Martha; she seems to have got another place, and +thinks it is going to suit her.” + +“I’m sure I hope it may. At her age she is not everyone’s servant. +Where has she gone to now?” + +“Chippenham, with one old lady, who has a small house where there are +few stairs, so it won’t be such a trial for her legs as at her last +place.” + +“Sounds better,” said the major, returning to his paper. “She isn’t +begging, I hope?” + +“Oh, no; old Martha would have to come very low indeed before she did +that, poor old soul! Even after Carry’s death, when she was so long out +of a place, she did not do so. I think she would almost starve before +her pride would allow her to ask for charity.” + +“Yes, yes; she’s a good old thing. You might do worse than have her +here with us.” + +“I have thought of that, but I’ve no fault to find with Mary, and when +we were wanting a servant Martha was engaged. So I hope things will +go on all right with her now.” And Amy left the room to change her +things, placing the letter in her pocket. She had only glanced at it +hurriedly, and it was not till her father had retired for the night, +and she had the dining-room to herself, that she read it carefully. +Ignoring the bad grammar and curious spelling, it ran as follows: + + “Spring Cottage, + Chippenham, + Tuesday. + + “DEAR MISS AMY,—I thank you for your letter, and hope this will find + you as it leaves me at present. I am in a comfortable place as above, + and few stairs, with a Miss Warnford, who has plenty of money, but + no legs, not to speak of, through rheumatism. Likewise her temper + is awkward at times when it’s bad. But I can put up with that, and + humouring her she soon comes round.” + + “You ask me about your cousin, Miss Carry Dean. As you will remember, + I was only with her a fortnight before she was taken bad for the + last time. It was very good of you to get me the place, and I should + have been very happy and comfortable there if things had gone right. + But it was not to be, and, poor soul, she’s gone, so I say nothing + against her. She was took bad one evening after her supper at seven + o’clock, and not liking the looks of her I ran to the cottage next + us, and sent Tom Harris, who lodged there, for her doctor, Mr. Duke, + who lived in the village. He was away at a case, and they did not + know when he would be back. Tom came and told me, and, Miss Carry + getting worse, I told him to get a horse or something and go to + Exeter and fetch one of the doctors there. He said he knew one what + had cured a mate of his—a Doctor Hodge, I think it was—so I told him + to fetch him. Off he goes, and Miss Carry was getting worse and + worse; and there was I awaiting and awaiting, till at last I heard + the horse outside. Tom had come back and no doctor. He’d seen him, he + said, and he would be here well-nigh as soon as he was. But he didn’t + come. I waited an hour or more, and my mistress getting worse and + worse; and then I was going down to see Tom and send him off again, + when she just gave a great sigh and was gone. And the strangest thing + was that when they came to call Tom next morning he was dead, too.” + + “When Mr. Duke came that morning he said nothing could have saved my + mistress, but that I did quite right to send Tom off to Exeter; but + he made a rare fuss about no doctor coming, but Tom being dead no + one knew what doctor he had been to. I thought Hodge was the name he + said, but being that flustered I couldn’t be sure; and then it turned + out there was no doctor of that name in the town. They didn’t have + an inquest, as Dr. Duke could sign for her, and everything went off + quietly, and I stayed and took care of the house till matters were + settled up; and then, as you know, Miss, I was out of a place for + some time, and that’s all I can tell you; but if you want to know + anything more, and will drop me a line, I’ll try and tell you. So no + more at present from—Yours respectful—MARTHA GREEN.” + +Having finished the perusal, Amy laid the two sheets in her lap and sat +motionless, staring into the fire. There was a hard look on her face, +and her brows were contracted into deep lines. She was thinking, and +her thoughts were not of the pleasantest. + +“I’m certain that picture in the _Reflector_ was taken from the +likeness I saw in the photographer’s in Exeter,” she muttered. “I had +completely forgotten it till I saw the reproduction in the paper, and +then it came to my mind in an instant. It’s curious that though I had +seen him several times, the fact that I had seen his photograph at +Exeter never occurred to me until I saw his portrait in the paper, and +that not a good one. And then—then if it were he. And yet I can’t—no, +I can’t—think that he would do such a thing. Still, what I saw in the +lines of his hand that first evening he came to see my father——” And +again there was silence, broken only by a deep sigh. + +Once again the girl spoke. She had a habit of talking to herself when +alone. It had commenced during her studies in the mystic in India, and +lately she had found it growing upon her. + +“It wouldn’t be fair to judge him on a supposition only; and yet I +cannot put the question to him, for, after all, it has nothing to +do with me. He would resent it, naturally. He has attended father +professionally, and has called once or twice since, but that is all.” +And she shrugged her shapely shoulders in a manner that conveyed much. + +Still she sat on, gazing into the fast dying fire. + +“Had this man, Tom, lived everything would have been explained, no +doubt; as it is, the uncertainty remains, and, considering the time +that has passed since then, it is not likely to be cleared up—at any +rate, down there.” She gave a little laugh as the idea of what some of +her clients would think of her powers did they know how uncertain and +ignorant she felt at that moment. And that laugh seemed to break the +thread of her cogitations for she rose and, switching off the light, +left the room. + +But she could not switch off her thoughts as easily as she did the +light, and for hours she lay awake, turning over and over in her mind a +problem that refused to be solved. + +It was with very mixed thoughts and a feeling of resentment against +herself that she rose the following morning, after a disturbed and +wakeful night. She was angry with herself at the interest she found she +was taking in this acquaintance she had formed with a young suburban +doctor, whose portrait, she was now convinced, she had first come +across a long time previously in a photographer’s shop during a casual +visit to Exeter. + +She had been strolling down the main street, and pausing to glance in +the window had been struck by a collection of portraits in a pierced +mount, in a single frame, and headed, “The Committee” of something or +other—she could not remember what. She had paid no particular attention +to it, and not one of the other likenesses remained in her mind; and +yet, directly she had seen the illustration in the _Reflector_, she had +felt sure she had seen somewhere the original portrait of which it was +a reproduction, and gradually it came to her that it was in the Exeter +shop. + +It was curious, inexplicable. + +There was something here that she could not fathom. When her father had +been taken ill, why had she selected as the doctor to be called in a +man whose name she had only seen on a brass plate some distance from +where they lived? And why had she felt so confident that he was the +_one_ man she ought to send for? And again, why, on that evening, when +her father was better, had she so far departed from her rule of strict +incognito when away from business as to reveal herself to him and +attempt to give him a specimen of her powers? Had she been prompted by +pride or a feeling of curiosity, and a wish to gather something of his +former life? + +These were questions she could not answer. All she knew was that there +was something at the back of her mind that was defying her and causing +her uneasiness. And, try as she would, she could not drive out thoughts +of the young doctor. + +That morning, before leaving Plevna Gardens for business, she did two +things. She looked out in an old album a portrait of her dead cousin, +Carry Dean, and, fitting it into a silver frame, from which she removed +the likeness of an old schoolfellow, placed it on a side table; and she +wrote the following note, to be posted on her way to Bond Street: + + “2, Plevna Gardens, W., + Thursday. + + “DEAR DOCTOR ODD,—It is now some time since we had the pleasure + of seeing you. Why is this? My father has often wondered when you + were coming to have a chat with him again, and both he and I are + anxious to have the chance of offering you our congratulations on the + performance of a very brave action, and of hearing further and fuller + details at first hand. As you know, we are almost invariably at home + in the evening, so come when most convenient to yourself. My father + unites with me in kind regards.—Sincerely yours,” + + “AMY GORDON.” + +She had just finished this, and was placing it in an envelope, when +her father entered the room. In walking round the table to take up the +paper his eye caught sight of the photo of his dead niece. + +“Why, my dear, what’s the meaning of this? What have you brought out +poor Carry for?” + +“Fancy, father, fancy. I thought I should like to have her there for a +time, at any rate.” + +“Very well, dear, by all means.” And taking up the frame and walking to +the window: “Poor thing, poor thing; she went very suddenly, didn’t +she? and only old Martha with her. Very sad, very sad, and she was such +a bright, merry girl when she was young;” and, replacing the frame, +“just off, dear? Well, take care of yourself. I think I shall run up to +the club this morning, it’s such a fine day.” + +“The very thing; it would do you good. By the bye, father, I’ve sent a +line to Dr. Odd, suggesting he should look us up when he has time.” + +“That’s right. I’m longing for a chat with him. He’s one of the best. +Good-bye, child, good-bye.” And with a kiss to her father Amy left the +room. + + * * * * * + +“And now you’re feeling none the worse for your efforts, eh, doctor?” +said the major. + +“No, thank you. I was a little stiff the next morning, but that was +all. If it had been ten years ago I don’t suppose I should have noticed +it. And really, I hate all the fuss that was made over it, for the fact +that I am a good swimmer—I don’t say this in self-praise—reduces my +action to nothing out of the ordinary.” + +“No, no; we don’t admit that, do we, Amy? It _was_ something very much +out of the ordinary, something that not one man in ten would have taken +on.” + +“Then more shame for the ten, either for not having learnt to swim, or, +having done so, being afraid to put their powers to a proper use.” + +“Well, well, I’m glad it was you and not I to whom the chance came.” + +Owen Odd had looked in on the major and his daughter, and the trio were +seated round the fire, for the evening was chilly, the two men enjoying +their pipes. + +“It was kind of you, Miss Gordon, to write to me, though without your +invitation I had meant to call; but I fear you are tired this evening, +are you not?” for the girl had spoken little. + +“Oh, no, nothing to speak about. I had rather a full day, certainly, +but I’m thankful to say I often have.” + +“Then I ought not to stay,” replied Owen, making a movement to rise. + +“No, no; don’t think of such a thing. Please go on talking; I was +anxious to hear all about it,” and a smile drove away the somewhat +constrained look that had rested on her face. + +“Oh, yes, doctor, sit still. Amy and I were quite excited about it. +But, tell me, you were precious near done when they got you out, were +you not?” + +“I was, I admit. You see, I haven’t had much practice of late, and +to keep oneself afloat in one’s clothes takes some exertion, to say +nothing of having to support the dead weight of a body as well. But one +does not think of that at the time. I don’t quite know what one does +think about, except there is the feeling that one won’t be beaten, and +you keep on going to the last gasp.” + +“And how is the boy you saved?” asked the girl. + +“Oh, I have called at his house since, and found him as well as ever, +the young rascal. And didn’t I give him a rare jacketing for all the +trouble he has caused?” + +“Was he duly penitent?” + +“Not as he ought to have been; he seemed to regard it as a joke, and +considered himself more of a hero than anything else. However, I think +he’ll be precious careful in future when playing on the banks.” + +“They certainly did not flatter you in the _Reflector_ portrait,” said +Amy, joining in the conversation once more. + +“No; wasn’t it awful. And how those journalistic folk manage to get +hold of the portraits they do is a puzzle to me. That one was from a +photo I had done in Exeter some years ago, and it was considered rather +a good one at the time.” + +“Oh, yes, I know it. At least, I’ve seen it before,” said the girl, +raising her eyes and looking Owen straight in the face. + +“You know it, Miss Gordon!” and Amy fancied she detected a look of +uneasiness as he uttered the words in a constrained tone. + +“Yes, I think I saw it in a shop in Exeter.” + +“Then you know the place?” + +“I can’t say I do, not really. I’ve been there once or twice, but it is +some time ago. I have no friends there.” + +“Ah, wasn’t the water cold that night!” said the doctor with a shudder, +changing the trend of the conversation abruptly. “It was that that +tried me as much as anything, I think.” + +“It must have been. I wonder you did not get the cramp. If you had——” + +“I should not be enjoying myself here to-night,” replied Owen with a +laugh. “But it is not a matter to joke about, and I’m most thankful +things turned out as they did, and that I was able to save a life that +in the end may do some good in the world.” + +“Yes; that must be a splendid feeling, and one you doctors have more +opportunities of experiencing than laymen,” said the major. “Speaking +as a military man, our object is to take life, while yours is to save +it. What a difference! And yet we are both doing our duty, in opposite +ways.” + +“It seems to me that the doctor’s feeling must be the higher of the +two, though as a soldier’s daughter perhaps I ought not to say so.” + +“I don’t know that, my dear,” replied the major. “Duty is duty in +whatever direction it may lie.” + +“And how many of us can truthfully say we have always performed it,” +said the girl, with her eyes still upon Owen. “By the bye, doctor, did +you know a practitioner in Exeter of the name of Hodge?” she continued. + +“Hodge, Hodge, not while I was there. But, of course, that was some +time ago,” and again Owen turned the conversation by some remarks to +the major, and for a time Amy remained silent. Nor did Owen try to draw +her into the conversation. He had a feeling that all was not right; +there was a cloud over the gathering that he had never noticed on +former occasions. In some way a barrier had arisen between the girl and +himself. Outwardly there was nothing that could be noticed, and yet it +was there, and he was convinced she was aware of it as well as himself. +He could not account for it, nor was it of his raising; therefore, it +must be her doing. It worried him, and he was ill at ease. + +For some time longer he sat talking to the major, but on his part the +conversation was forced, and he feared it might be noticed. + +At length, in connection with a remark that had been made respecting +some well known man, Miss Gordon said: + +“May I trouble you, doctor, to hand me ‘Who’s Who’? You’ll see it on +that side table.” + +Owen rose at once, and in order to take it had to move the photo that +Amy had recently placed there. She was watching him closely. A strong +light fell upon it, and as he moved it she saw him glance at it in a +casual way and put it aside, but without any sign of recognition or +interest. + +“That is a cousin of mine who died,” she said. “Do you see any likeness +to me in it?” + +He handed her the book, and, returning to the table, took up the frame +and brought it under the light, examining it closely. + +“Not the slightest, Miss Gordon. She looks very delicate,” and he +replaced it. He did not resume his seat, but, after talking for a +few minutes, shook hands with his host and hostess and bade them +“Good-night.” + +The major soon after this retired, leaving his daughter still sitting +before the fire. + +Again she was deep in thought. She had laid a little plot, and it had +not come off; or had there been no groundwork on which to construct it? +She was uncertain, and this it was that was exercising her mind. As she +thought over the events of the evening she grew angry with herself. + +She blamed herself for allowing her thoughts to dwell on a man she knew +so little of, and whose acquaintance she had so recently made, for she +could not hide from herself the fact that they certainly did circle +round one point in a way they had never done previously. + +Again and again, during her interviews with her clients in Bond Street, +she found his strong, virile features rising between her eyes and the +hand she was examining; and the fact lowered her self-esteem. In her +own mind she called it weakness, and determined to conquer it. He had +been kind to her father, and she liked him. His society made pleasant +break in their evenings _a deux_, but it should remain at this. She +would draw a line over which he should not pass. + +Every girl at a certain age has the intuitive knowledge when a man +finds in her something more than he finds in other girls, and Amy was +no exception to the rule. She knew that she had already become a very +important factor in the life of Owen Odd. In a measure the knowledge +gave her pleasure, yet, on the other hand, she was not sure that she +would allow matters thus to remain. Her character, owing to her +experiences in India, differed a good deal from that of a homebred +girl. She was accustomed to read more beneath the surface, and she +was convinced that there was something in the past connected with her +father’s friend that was hidden from the world; and this, in spite of +her Yogli training, she was unable to arrive at. + +On arriving at his rooms Owen was surprised to find Dick awaiting him. +The two friends had not met for some little time, for both had been +much engaged on their own affairs. + +“Hallo, my gallant Leander,” exclaimed Dick, rising from the armchair +in which he had been lounging. “I felt I must come and see if you had +wrung yourself dry again by now after your swim.” + +“Now, then, no chaff, Dick. That’s an old story, and, as far as I am +concerned had better be forgotten. I’m about sick of it. One can have +too much of a good thing.” + +“All right, old fellow; I quite understand. You always were so modest,” +and Dick laughed loudly as he slapped his friend on the back. “And, +apart from that little incident, how have things been going with you, +eh?” + +“Fairly well. I haven’t made a fortune yet, if that is what you mean. +They’re not to be picked up in Hammersmith—at least, not every day. And +you——?” + +“Oh, much the same as usual. I’ve been doing a bit of motoring now and +then, and knocking about generally. You know Thyra and her father are +in town, I suppose?” + +“No, I didn’t.” + +“Well they are, and Peter Sundt as well.” + +“Really, we only want one or two more, and the whole of our Arctic +Circle will have come south,” replied Owen, with a laugh. “I suppose +you’ve been showing them round?” + +“Some of them. But new friends don’t blot out old ones, there’s room in +my heart for both, and I want you to give me a little of your company +to-night.” + +“New friend. Great Scot! I didn’t know you placed that scarlet-faced +Sundt in that category.” + +“I don’t. The beast! I hate that fellow, Owen, hate him like poison. +Bah! it leaves a nasty taste in my mouth even to mention his name, so +let’s drop him. Keep your coat on, and let’s be off to more habitable +regions for an hour or two. I hate Hammersmith.” + +“You appear to have a wave of general hate flooding you this evening, +Dick. What’s the matter?” + +“I’m hanged if I know. I feel I’ve got the hump, but for no particular +reason. I do get like that sometimes, as you know. I tell you +what; we’ll take the Tube to Leicester Square and look in at the +Empire—there’s a turn I rather want to see. It may be rotten, but the +fellows are talking about it a bit, so I must see it. What do you say?” + +“I’m game, if you think we shall be in time. When does it come on?” + +“Ten forty-five.” + +“Then we can do it if we look sharp. The Empire will be a bit of +a change after this confounded place,” and, after giving some +instructions to Margaret, the two friends left the house and made their +way to the Tube station in the Broadway. + +During the journey their conversation was limited, for the “pipes” that +now riddle subterranean London do not tend to promote conversation; but +arriving towards the conclusion of the ballet, and having made their +way to the promenade, they were able to chat to their heart’s content, +and at the same time watch the show. + +The turn Dick was anxious to sample came on directly afterwards, and +neither of them was particularly struck with it. + +It merely exemplified the knots into which the female body may, by +early and consistent training, be tied and was more curious than +graceful. + +“Well,” exclaimed Dick, as the curtain hid the panting performer, “I +hope she’ll get something to eat now; she can’t have had much before +the show. What do you say, doctor?” + +“Probably not. These people must have hard lives. It’s wonderful what +some of us will do for money.” + +“It is, and there are many less honest ways of making it than the one +that girl follows.” + +Owen turned sharply at these words, and looked hard at Dick, but he was +lighting a cigarette at the moment, and did not notice the action of +his friend. “Have you had enough? Well, then, come on, and we’ll look +in at the club and have a drink before travelling West again.” + +“Right you are—an excellent programme. Let’s walk; I want a breath of +fresh air after all this smoke, and it isn’t far.” + +They had left the glare of the lights in front of the Empire behind +them, and were proceeding along Coventry Street, when Dick said: + +“Did you notice those two fellows we passed just now? One of them +seemed to know you, Owen.” + +“No. Where are they?” looking round. + +Dick also turned. “They’ve vanished. I thought as we passed them they +didn’t want to be seen. They’d a shifty, hang-dog look.” + +“Did you know them?” asked Owen. + +“Don’t think so; and yet I almost fancy I’ve seen one of them before +somewhere.” + +Several times, as they made their way through the Circus, either Dick +or his friend looked round, but noticed nothing unusual, and by the +time they reached the club they had forgotten the incident. + +They stayed there chatting till it was time to make their way to Dover +Street for the last train to Hammersmith, and then, as they were just +about to cross Piccadilly, Dick exclaimed: + +“There’s one of those fellows!” and dashed back, threading his way +quickly through the gaily bedizened throng that lingered on the +pavement. + +Owen was too startled to move for a moment, and had hardly turned to +follow his friend when he found him again at his side. + +“Missed him. He dodged me, and disappeared somewhere. I’m certain he +was following us, or he wouldn’t have bolted as he did when he saw he +was spotted. But come along, Owen, or it will mean a cab. We’ve only +got a minute or two.” And hurrying on, the friends just managed to +catch their train, and eventually parted in the Broadway. + +As Owen walked to his rooms he several times looked back over his +shoulder. He was fearful lest he should be followed. + + + + +CHAPTER XIV + +A WARNING IS UTTERED + + +A few evenings after Dick and Owen’s visit to the Empire, on the +latter’s return home at the end of his afternoon round, Margaret met +him in the surgery and handed him the slate with the names of the +callers during his absence. He glanced through it, making one or two +remarks, and then, as he laid it down, she pointed to a note lying on +the table. The envelope was dirty and thumb-stained. + +“Who brought this?” he inquired. + +“A little boy, sir. I asked him who it was from, and he didn’t seem to +know. He said a man had given it to him, and told him to leave it here.” + +“Oh, all right,” and the servant left the room as Owen tore open the +envelope. Inside was half a sheet of paper, as dirty and crumpled as +the cover, and on it, written in pencil, were the following lines: + + “OWEN ODD,—You seem to be getting on; I am not. I’m hard up. Meet me + this evening, at eight-thirty, under the third lamp-post on the south + side of Brook Green, and, for the sake of old times, bring some money + in your pocket. You will then recognise the writer.” + +“Infernal cheek!” muttered Owen, as he crumpled up the missive and +threw it into the fire, immediately afterwards making a grab at the +paper, but too late to save it. + +“Hang it! I never thought of that; I might have recognised the writing. +Well, it can’t be helped now, and, in any case, I shouldn’t have gone. +It was only a try on.” And he dismissed the matter from his mind, more +especially as the evening turned out a very busy one for him, and it +was late when he found himself finally disengaged. + +Some two or three days later another note arrived in the same manner, +but the tone of it was different. There was no formal commencement—it +began straight away: + + “You took no notice of my first letter. I give you another chance. Be + at the place I first mentioned at eight-thirty this evening. If you + cannot come then, come to-morrow night at the same time, and mind and + bring what I asked you for. If you fail me again I shall know how to + act. I am watching you daily. Be wise in time.” + +“Who in the name of wonder can have sent this?” muttered Owen, holding +the dirty paper under the gas and examining the writing. “A feigned +hand, I’m certain, and yet an educated hand. I don’t think it can +be one of my patients. Well, I shan’t go. But if this kind of thing +continues I shall have to stop it. I’m not going to be badgered and +threatened for nothing. But the police shall do it, not I,” and for the +second time he put the matter aside and did not allow it to worry him. +He, however, took the opportunity of running over to Barnes and showing +the last missive to his friend Dick. + +“Look here, Owen, do you think it can have anything to do with those +fellows we saw following us from the Empire the other evening?” said +Jervoise, after glancing over it. + +“I should think not; but then, you remember, I did not see them.” + +“No, you didn’t. If you should get another of these things you might +let me have it, and I’d keep the appointment and see what kind of a man +your correspondent is. It would be rather a joke.” + +“All right; the next one that comes I’ll send on to you, but it may be +only meant as a sell by some fellow who thinks himself devilish clever +and funny.” + +“Of course it may, there are such heaps of fools about. But now come +along with me; I’m going to run up to the club.” + +“Can’t, old fellow. Sorry, but I’m far too busy. I must be off,” and +the two friends parted. + +No more dirty notes arrived for Owen, and he had concluded he was right +in setting it down as a sell when one morning, just as he was preparing +to start on his round, the surgery bell rang, and on his opening the +door he found the major standing outside. + +“Ah, doctor, I’m glad I caught you. I was afraid you might have gone.” + +“You are only just in time, major. But what is it? Nothing wrong, I +hope?” + +“Not with me, I’m glad to say. But I wanted a word or two with you, if +you can give me a few minutes,” replied his visitor, entering. + +“Certainly. Come in and sit down.” + +“We shan’t be overheard here?” + +“Oh, no. The surgery is as secret as a confessional.” + +“Good. Well, I’ve received a most extraordinary communication referring +to you, and though I don’t believe a word of it I thought it was only +fair you should see it. Just glance your eye over that,” and the major +drew a letter from his pocket and passed it across the table. + +Owen smiled as he picked it up. A glance at the direction was +sufficient to convince him that it came from the same quarter as those +he himself had received. + +“Read it, doctor, read it,” said the major, closely watching Owen’s +face as he drew out the usual half sheet, containing the following +words: + + “MAJOR GORDON,—As a friend I warn you against Doctor Odd, who has + insinuated himself like a snake in the grass into your flat! He is + no fit companion for your daughter or yourself. You have merely to + ask him about Exeter, and my words will be proved. A doctor given to + drink is one to be avoided.” + +“This is getting beyond a joke!” exclaimed Owen hotly, as he finished +reading. “I shall place the matter in the hands of the police at once.” + +“Well, I really think you ought to, though, mind you, I don’t believe a +word of the insinuation in it. And I ask you nothing.” + +“Oh, for my own sake, I can’t leave it there, though I confess I am not +quite clear what the blackguard is driving at in mentioning Exeter. I’m +very glad you came round, major, and showed me this, for it is not the +first I have seen.” And Owen gave his visitor an account of the receipt +of the two previous notes, and then said: + +“About Exeter. I certainly was in practice there, and was grossly +deceived in my partner. It is true I did not pay much for my share of +the practice, because I was given to understand that it was a small +one, but that it only required working up. The books, such as they +were, seemed all right, and showed a certain amount of profit, but the +patients were anything but high class, save in one or two instances. +Still, as a young man, I had hope that by sticking to work I might +in the end make a good thing of it. But it was not long before I +discovered what kind of a man my partner was. He was more frequently +to be found in the public house than the surgery, and his character +was well known in the town. But when all right he was clever as an +operator. I had invested most of my capital in the venture, so I could +not well withdraw, and for some years I fought on. I have every reason +to believe that as far as I was concerned I was respected and liked, +and I obtained several public appointments. But in the end I found it +would not do. I should never be any better. My partner was a millstone +round my neck that I could not shake off, so I determined to ‘cut my +loss,’ and start once more. I dissolved the partnership, and for a time +took _locum tenens_, till I came here as assistant to Doctor Maureward.” + +“It seems hard on you, doctor, but I suppose you were not sufficiently +careful in making inquiries at first, eh?” + +“No, I was young and green, and too anxious to get to work and make +money, and I looked on people as honest till I found them the reverse.” + +“And what was your partner’s name, if it’s fair to ask?” + +“Jakes, Benjamin Jakes, and about as big a walking beer-barrel as +you’ll come across in a day’s march. But he soon came to the end of his +tether.” + +“I expect so.” + +“He had relied on me, and when I left him he rapidly went to utter +grief, was sold up, and, I heard, left the place; and since then I’ve +entirely lost sight of him.” + +“Did you part good friends? I expect not.” + +“Well, not exactly bad ones. He didn’t like my going, but he could not +stop me, and so had to make the best of it.” + +“And you’ve never heard of him since?” + +“Never.” + +“Do you think he is the sender of these letters?” + +“I can’t say. It is not his writing, but, at any rate, they are from +someone who is acquainted with Exeter.” + +“Well,” continued the major, rising, “you will take what steps you +think best, and the sooner you get hold of the blackguard the better. +I’m glad I came round to you first thing; and remember this, doctor, +what you have told me will make no difference in our relations, and +both my daughter and myself will always be glad to see you at our house +when you can spare the time to run in.” + +“Thank you, major, thank you. Will you mention this matter to Miss +Gordon?” as Owen remembered some words had fallen from her lips that +first evening he had been in her company, when she had been examining +his hand. + +“Just as you like.” And then, after a pause, “No, I don’t think I will. +Some girls are quick to get silly notions into their heads—not that Amy +does. Still, perhaps it would be better not,” and the two men left the +surgery together. + +On Owen’s return, some hours later, he had not been in the surgery many +minutes when the telephone bell rang. + +“Well?” he shouted, taking up the receiver. + +“Are you Doctor Odd?” + +“Yes. Who are you?” + +“Never mind. But you see I have kept my promise, and this is only the +commencement——” + +“You thundering scamp! I only wish I was at your end of the line for a +couple of minutes,” growled Owen, trembling with rage. + +A light laugh rang in the receiver by way of answer. “Don’t get raggy,” +continued the voice. “You know how you can put an end to it all. +To-night at the place and time I named, and mind and bring plenty with +you.” + +“I’m hanged if I do. You don’t get a penny from me.” + +“All right, old man; I shall have to try stronger measures. Ta-ta,” and +the speaker was cut off. + +Without moving from the instrument Owen rang and gave Dick’s number at +Barnes. He was at home, and his friend gave him a hurried account of +what had taken place. + +“This is better, old fellow. We shall get hold of the villain now, +or I’m a Dutchman,” answered Dick. “But who are this Miss and Major +Gordon? You have never mentioned them before.” + +Owen had somehow brought Amy’s name into the story without thinking, +and replied in as careless a way as he could assume: + +“Patients of mine.” + +“The former beautiful and the latter gallant, I’ll be sworn,” and Owen +could hear an amused chuckle as he replied, “Now, no fooling, Dick; +this is a serious matter.” + +“It is, my boy, it is, and I’m going to help you if you want me. I’ll +be with you about seven, if you’ll be in, and then I’ll take the job +on. Miss Gordon wouldn’t like you to run any risks, eh? But, I say, +what about the little Alza—what will she have to say?” + +“Shut up, and don’t be an ass. I’ll be in at seven, and show you this +last effusion. Good-bye,” and he rung off. + +Dick turned up punctually at the time mentioned, and the two friends +had a long conversation, when it was decided that Jervoise should go +alone to the rendezvous and see if he could recognise any one, Owen +remaining at home till his return. + +Brook Green is not a particularly lively spot at any time, and on +this exceptionally cold spring evening it attracted few loiterers. +One or two couples of lovers huddled close together on the seats, +but everyone else seemed more intent on getting along as quickly as +possible than lingering about. There was, of course, a stream of +pedestrians passing along the west side, where is the road leading from +Shepherd’s Bush to Hammersmith; but there was no lingering here either. + +Dick rather enjoyed the idea of doing some amateur detective work, and +set about it in what he considered the orthodox way. Making his way to +the north side he walked briskly along, stopping opposite the third +lamp-post on the other side the Green, presumably to light his pipe, +but at the same time taking a glance over the grass to see if there was +anyone waiting about. + +Beyond a man who was walking in the direction of London as quickly as +he himself had been he could see no one. + +He continued his pace, keeping level with this individual, until the +end of the Green was reached, and then saw him disappear down one of +the adjoining streets. + +Waiting a few moments, to ascertain if his actions were a blind, and +he would return, Dick crossed to the south side and made his way back +again. Three or four people passed him, but there was nothing about any +of them to call for attention, and he was fain to admit that he was at +a serious disadvantage, and with small hope of discovering anything, +unless the opening movement came from the other side. + +Again and again he passed the indicated lamp-post, and once, when a +man, about whom he had his doubts, overtook him there, he stopped him +and asked him for a light. His request was civilly complied with, but +nothing further came of it; and after an hour of this kind of work Dick +threw up the sponge and returned to the surgery. + +“Well, what luck?” was Owen’s greeting. + +“None; I’ve drawn blank. No one came, or else I was spotted and my +presence not appreciated,” and he proceeded to give his friend an +account of his wanderings. + +They had been talking some ten minutes when there was a rattle at the +letter box in the outer door, and Owen going to it found another of +the dirty thumb-stained envelopes. Returning with it, and scanning the +contents, he exclaimed: + +“Confound the fellow! Listen to this: + + “‘It’s no use your playing this fool-game. Old birds are not caught + with that kind of chaff. Either you come yourself or leave it alone. + Your friend, Dick Jervoise, is about as poor hand at aping a “tec” as + I’ve seen. I’ll try something stronger now, so look out, and then you + may hear from me again.’” + +“Umph! That’s pleasant,” growled Dick. “Not content with doing me he +chaffs me. By Jove! I should like to get at him.” + +“Oh, I’m not going to stand any more of this!” exclaimed Owen angrily. +“I’ll put it in the hands of the police at once. Come along, old man, +we won’t humbug about it any more,” and together the two friends made +their way to the Hammersmith police station. + + + + +CHAPTER XV + +THE VILLA SERGIO + + +Spring—April, the month of the flowers, on the blue, sunny Adriatic. + +Along that ruggedly beautiful coast, one of the most picturesque in +the whole world, with its green palm-clad islands, its winding inlets, +sharp, rocky promontories, and steep, brown cliffs, there is surely no +place more delightful nor more full of interest than grey, old-world +Ragusa. + +Back behind a long, green, rocky island, it nestles at the foot of the +steep slopes of Monte Sergio, once an important port in the days of the +Republic of Venice, but now silent and almost forgotten, save by those +who have recently begun to know and enjoy the glorious natural beauties +of the Adriatic, in preference to the gambling, landscape gardening, +and unhealthy life of the now played-out Mediterranean shore. + +Zara, whence comes the maraschino, Spalato, and Lussimpiccolo are +quaint, charming little places, rapidly gaining public favour with +Austrians and Hungarians, but are as yet practically unknown to English +people. Yet of them all Ragusa is assuredly the most pleasant and the +most interesting. + +Peaceful, undisturbed by traffic, and entirely mediæval, it reminds +the traveller who knows his Riviera of one of those old towns on the +Italian side—those unfashionable ones that you only visit if you chance +to motor from Monte Carlo along to Genoa. + +Difficult it is to realise that this sleepy, antique little place, +where everybody speaks Italian, was the port of the Balkan hinterland +in those brilliant days when Venice was queen of the sea. To-day, it is +a tiny decaying town of cyclopean walls, of narrow streets and queer +crooked byways. Across its dry moat and through its ponderous gateway +with the crumbling coat of arms carved in the stone, carriages are +unable to pass. Hence there is an absence of bustle which one finds +in other towns. Quaint Bosnian, Dalmatian and Montenegrin costumes +are worn by many of the people, the shops sell genuine antique +embroideries, old silver and old arms. While almost as soon as one +enters the main street by the Porta Pille or land-gate, one seems out +again at the water-gate. + +The stranger who strolls about those small piazzas, inspecting the +Duomo, the sixteenth century churches, with their long flights of steps +and their celebrated Madonnas, the fine Renaissance Rector’s Palace, +the splendid old mediæval fountain and the rest of the relics of an +age bygone, will be struck by the peaceful air of it all. The world +has progressed with rapid strides these last three centuries, but it +has passed Ragusa by unaltered. The same to-day as in the seventeenth +century, the town within its huge walls still remains, a place of deep +shadows with glimpses of bright blue sea at the ends of dark crooked +alleys. + +Here may the wandering Englishman linger and reflect, for is it not +full of historic associations; is not that beautiful, palm-clad island +of Lacroma opposite, the gem of the Adriatic, associated indisputably +with the heart of Richard Cœur de Lion? + +And if the traveller, retracing his steps along the Corso to the Porta +Pille and crossing the dried-up moat to the splendid avenue of mulberry +trees outside the walls—the quarter of the villas and hotels—chances +to glance upward at the green hillside behind, he will notice, +dominating the town, a huge white villa in Italian style, with red roof +and two long rows of green-painted sun-shutters standing embowered in +its palms, roses and tangles of climbing geraniums. By a single glance +it will be recognised as the finest villa on all that beautiful coast, +more palatial, indeed, than that of a certain royal personage which +stands on the mulberry-lined boulevard below. + +If inquiry be made of the owner’s name, the traveller will be told in +Italian that it belongs to a great foreign signore, a signore “molto +ricco”—the Cavaliere Sundt. + +The fine steam yacht, with its yellow funnel and white hull, lying +yonder beyond the molo and flying the bargee of the Royal Norwegian +Yacht Club, is his, while you will also hear stories of the Signor +Cavaliere’s colossal wealth and lavish hospitality to the great people +who sometimes stay at the Villa Sergio as his guests. Ragusa knows +nothing of the source of the great signore’s income, and cares less. + +That bright sunny afternoon Thyra, in a white gown girdled with pale +grey, was seated alone in a long wicker chair upon the marble terrace, +her sad eyes fixed away upon the green, picturesque island, and the +blue sea beyond, its calm surface ruffled only now and then by the +slight flower-scented zephyr from the land. + +How different were those surroundings—that glorious garden, with its +luxuriant vegetation, its agaves, cypresses and palms, its violets, +carnations and roses, and that calm sapphire sea—to those of her own +home in the far-off Arctic! Here, surely, was paradise itself. + +Yes, she lay back with her head upon the great cushion of pillow silk, +and gazed thoughtfully with half-closed eyes out to sea. She was +thinking—ever thinking. Her father had put to her a question three +days ago—a question which she had not yet answered. + +She sat there a prey to puerile terrors and unwholesome thought. She +was wrapped in frozen shadows; a mysterious force drove her towards +a glacial atmosphere where all was dizziness and grief. Her vision +clouded, she seemed suspended in a twilight heaven, wafted towards some +unknown land, like those little white, drifting clouds before her, the +grey birds migrating without hope of rest. + +Even this world of joy, of sunshine, of flowers, had become small, +melancholy, even tiresome. After a week its novelty had worn off; she +was no longer at her ease in it. She was thinking—thinking ever of the +tall Englishman who had raised her hand to his lips for the last time. +She was driven to confess herself a melancholy thing. It was not the +world that had changed. Ah, no; it was her own self. + +On that evening of her return from Guilford with Dick Jervoise she had +charged her father with concealing from her the fact that Peter Sundt +was in London, and he had been compelled to plead guilty. + +Next day, Peter had called upon them, and invited both father and +daughter to spend a week or two at Ragusa, and afterwards to return to +Christiania in the yacht, an invitation which, after some hesitation, +the girl-widow had accepted. + +Her acceptance was, as a matter of fact, only on the point of economy. +Her father had pointed out that the expense of remaining in London much +longer would be too great for his slender purse, while if they went as +Peter’s guests, they would not only see a part of the world which they +had always longed to see, but also get back to Norway when the bright +weather commenced. + +Therefore, two days later she had, in secret, taken a taxicab to Dick’s +flat, and there wished him farewell. + +The scene between them had been both painful and touching. The sweet +scent of those carnations growing in profusion about her, greeted her +nostrils, and stirred a bitter memory. Upon his table that afternoon +there had been a small bunch. He had placed them there in honour of her +visit. + +She recollected the strange, hopeless expression upon his face when +she announced her immediate departure. He had inquired whither she was +going, and she had told him. + +Then his chin had sunk upon his breast, and for a long time he had +remained silent. With a sigh he crossed the room and arranged some +papers upon his open writing-table. It was because she should not see +the expression of pain upon his features. That she knew quite well. + +At last he faced her and spoke frankly, his voice only faltering once. +She heard him to the end—to the bitter end. + +Yet did he speak the truth? Were his words sincere? He had spoken, but +what proof had he? He could give her none—none! His excuse was but a +lame one, after all; yes, one unsupported by any single vestige of +proof. And so, after half an hour—perhaps the most painful half-hour in +all her life—she had risen from that big armchair by the fire to take +leave of him. + +Now, as she sat alone staring at those slowly drifting clouds, she +remembered it all—the silence of that room at Barnes, unbroken save by +the whirr of a passing motor ’bus, the musical chimes of his clock, and +his hoarse earnestness when he had bent over her hand and kissed it for +the last time. + +She was a fool for ever revealing Peter Sundt’s proposal of marriage. +She saw it now, alas! that it was too late. She had seen in the eyes of +Richard Jervoise such flow of tenderness, of regret, of dream, that +she had at first not the heart to rob him of it. + +But the one dread thought had occurred to her—that same bitter thought +that had for so long oppressed her, that had held her apart from him +always. The words he had spoken were full of deep and tragic meaning. +Yet, in face of her better judgment, how could she believe him to be +in real earnest? No. She had effectually concealed her sadness and +disquiet, and in silence allowed him to kiss her hand in farewell. + +A shout of laughter from the mulberry avenue below filled the perfumed +silence, awakening her to a sense of her surroundings. + +Ah, yes. She recollected. His words had soothed her sick heart as a +balsam soothes a wound. And yet, a moment later, she had wished him +adieu, and passed down the stairs—and out of his life. + +Did he still recollect her? she was wondering. Did he think of her—did +he ever recall the past? + +These and other thoughts were fleeting through her mind when, of a +sudden, she heard a footstep, and turning saw her father approaching. + +“Why, my child!” he cried, “why are you sitting here alone? We’ve been +hunting everywhere for you!” + +“I thought you went out after luncheon, dad,” exclaimed the girl-widow, +rising to her feet with a slight sigh of weariness. + +“So I did. But I was only away half an hour. Run and get a thicker +dress on, child. The weather is so good that Peter has decided to take +us to Lesina on the yacht. We shall dine on board, and be back by +eleven o’clock, or so. It will be a full moon, too.” + +She hesitated. + +“I don’t think I’ll go, dad. I can amuse myself quite well here. Will +you make excuses for me; say I’m not well, or anything,” she urged. + +“But my dear child, why? It will be most enjoyable. You know how +pleasant it was when the yacht met us at Trieste and brought us down +here; you were delighted.” + +“Yes. But—well now it is different.” + +“Why? Tell me, child. Something is troubling you,” inquired the sturdy +old fellow. “Tell me what it is,” he added in a lower voice. + +She was silent, her white, hard-set face turned from his. + +“He has spoken to you again, eh?” asked the sturdy old fellow, in a +changed tone. + +She held her breath, but her silence was to him sufficient indication +of the truth. + + + + +CHAPTER XVI + +ON THE ADRIATIC + + +The evening light was falling. + +The freshness and sweetness of the calm sea ruffled only by the wake of +the vessel vivified the air; all was peace, transparence, purity. + +Thyra, in a perfect-fitting costume of blue serge with a blue beret, a +cap which always became her, leaned over the rail of the long, spotless +deck of the yacht with her back to the sunset, watching the sky grow +pale, diaphanous, tender green like a delicate crystal, flecked with +the night clouds now beginning to appear from over the land. + +After long persuasion by her father she had consented to embark, and +now they were hugging the broken coast, and threading their way in and +out among the many green islands, some of them with white lighthouses +standing high upon them. + +Peter, in a smart yachting suit and white shoes, had been lounging +at her side, pointing out the many objects of interest along that +picturesque route. First the mouth of the Ombla which comes down out +of Herzegovina, then the great bare rock rising sheer from the sea, +the Daksa, the tiny town of Malfi in its deep bay, and Valdinoce, a +picturesque cluster of houses among the olives and almonds on the green +mountain side. + +Beneath the great island of Calamotta they passed the incoming mail +steamer from Trieste, the big old red-funnelled _Graf Wurmbrand_, the +passengers of which crowded to the side to see the splendid yacht, and +to wonder who might be its owner. + +Thyra heard the man’s constant chatter in Norwegian, but to her it was +without interest. Only once, indeed, did she ask a question. + +They were passing what is known as the stag islands, the tiny islets of +Jaklan, Giuppana and Mezzo, when, between the last-named and Calamotta +he pointed out the narrow channel. + +On either side of the strait rose the land, beautifully wooded, with +here and there clumps of palms, and even from the yacht could be seen +profusions of flowers. + +“See, up there, yonder—that ruined fortress!” he was saying. “That’s +the ‘Scoglio Sant’Andrea’, where Margherita Spoletano’s lover was +imprisoned by the Ragusans.” + +“And who was she?” inquired the girl-widow, gazing at the ruined walls +perched high up on the cliff. + +“A woman who sacrificed her life for the man she loved,” was his reply. +“She lived on the island of Calamotta, and as her brothers forbade her +to row across to meet her lover and took their boats away, she nightly +swam across to visit him, and to take him news of what was transpiring +in old Dubrovnik, as Ragusa was called at that time.” + +“How romantic!” exclaimed the girl, glancing at the two islands and at +the strong, swirling current running between them. “She must have been +an expert swimmer.” + +“The story is quite authentic,” Peter exclaimed. “For many weeks she +swam to and fro, until one night she was discovered by her two brothers +who, on her attempting to land, hurled her back into the stream, and +she was carried away and drowned in the darkness.” + +“How sad,” Thyra had remarked, and then the yacht, suddenly altering +her course, steered to the Strait of Meleda, past the high lighthouse +at the end of the island, and the ruined tower became hidden from view. + +Within that belt of islands the water was almost as a millpond, while +from the stern of the vessel lay out a long, widening wake for a mile +or so behind. + +Peter Sundt, smoking his cigar, had left her side to join her father, +who was upon the bridge talking to the Norwegian captain. And now she +was again alone to reflect and to ponder. + +As the light fell over the land, the afterglow grew deeper. The ship’s +bell tolled the hour, after which she raised herself from the rail and +strolled slowly up and down the fine, long deck kept so spotless. + +The vessel was truly a palatial one. Ocean-going in every sense of the +word, with powerful engines and built for heavy seas, old Peter each +year sailed down from Christiania, across the Bay of Biscay, up the +Mediterranean, and through the Straits of Messina, returning north +when the spring had ended. Fitted with every luxury and kept up in +splendid style, he had purchased it five years before when its owner, a +royal prince, had died, and he had since crossed the Atlantic in it on +several occasions. + +Thyra had seen it lying at the quay at Christiania and at Vardo, but +had never been on board until at Trieste when they had descended +from the sleeping-car that had brought them through from Calais, and +embarked for Ragusa. + +The deck chairs with the monogram “P. S.” upon them, the shining +brasswork, the blue and gold deck saloon, with its flowers and silken +lounges, which she entered a moment later to get her jacket, all +betrayed immense wealth. The artistic taste had, of course, been that +of the previous owner, for what artistic temperament could be expected +of that ex-fisherman, who ruled the cod-liver oil and stock-fish market? + +Having obtained her jacket Thyra sighed as she went forth on deck +again. All that display of luxury, both on board the yacht and at the +Villa Sergio, only irritated her. Old Peter’s red face and rasping +voice jarred upon her. She wished she had been firm with her father, +and refused her host’s invitation. The evening cruise did not interest +her in the least. + +She wished to be alone—alone amid the flowers, amid the sweet scent of +those carnations in the garden, to think—and to reflect upon the past. + +Old Jorgen called to her in his loud, nautical voice, and she was +compelled to ascend to the bridge and join the two men who sat in deck +chairs in the full enjoyment of their cigars. + +They had run past Meleda, with its numerous chasms and gorges, and +had come to an island whereon stood a lonely monastery, which Peter +explained was the Benedictine house of Santa Maria, now turned into a +forester’s residence. + +Thence, with the girl leaning back against the rail, her hair blown +out upon the wind as she chatted with feigned merriment, the vessel’s +course lay through the narrow Canale di Curzola, between the fertile +islands of Curzola and Sabbioncello, and out again towards Lesina, +lying low and purple in the distance against the darkening afterglow. + +All was so silent, so peaceful, so beautiful; not a sound reached +the bridge save the low throbbing of the engines, as the vessel sped +through the unruffled waters, straight for that distant island. + +How different was the life on board the grimy old _Mercur_, and yet did +she not prefer Captain Martin’s round, cheery face and blue, kindly +eyes and those rough-and-ready days in the boisterous Arctic seas? + +A smart steward came to announce that dinner was served. Then, +descending to the saloon, they found the table laid with fine napery, +splendid silver, and bright with flowers. + +Carnations were among them. Their scent caused her to start—it brought +the past to her vision and to her mind. The remembrance of that +afternoon at Barnes when she had parted from the tall Englishman who +had been her friend. + +She was friendless now—utterly and completely friendless. + +She took off her beret and jacket, and casting them upon a lounge, took +the seat which the pimply-faced man offered her. She seated herself +just as mechanically as she ate her dinner—just as mechanically as she +joined in the conversation between her father and their wealthy host. + +The meal, delicate and well-cooked, was served with a quiet seriousness +that would have become the table of his royal highness, the previous +owner. Indeed, Peter congratulated himself that several of the men who +waited upon him had been royal servants who had afterwards entered his +service. On the plates the princely crown still remained, and probably +he was not at all anxious to remove it. + +While at table the twilight darkened into night, and the vessel’s +bows, when within a mile of Lissa, were turned and the return journey +began outside the island, the route taken by the Austrian Lloyd mail +boats. There was not much sea—not sufficient to cause either of those +case-hardened sailors, or even Thyra herself, to notice it. + +True, the vessel began to labour and roll a little ere they rose from +table, but Thyra, when she ascended to the deck, saw that the moon was +rising and that the night was one of those clear, brilliant ones so +often experienced in the Adriatic in the springtime. + +Old Jorgen and Peter sat in the fumoir, over their coffee and cigars, +while she obtained her fur-lined travelling coat which her father had +thoughtfully brought for her, and took a seat in one of the long chairs +upon the deck. + +She rested her chin upon her hand, and gazing straight across the +moonlit waters, recalled the past. It had become a habit with her now—a +habit that was gradually revealing itself traced upon her beautiful +face, causing a darkness beneath her eyes and an unusual pallor upon +her cheeks. + +Those last words—that last wild appeal of Richard Jervoise—was still +ringing in her ears. He loved her! Could she close her eyes to that +most patent of all facts? Could she say within her own heart that he +had lied to her? + +He had confessed his love that afternoon, at the moment when she had +told him of her departure. With her woman’s intuition she had guessed +his secret from the first. Those words of his were wild and uncurbed as +he had blurted forth the truth—words which had constantly recurred to +her ever since. + +Of Paul she was gradually ceasing to think. When she remembered him +it was not with love—only with regret that he had not lived to allow +her to discover the truth. She knew, alas! that he was not what he +had pretended to be—that he had deceived her! Something that had come +to her knowledge had in a single moment swept away her widow’s tears, +had caused her to remember him only as a mysterious person, and not as +lover or husband. + +True, she bore his name by law. That was all. Her marriage had been a +mere incident, which in a few hours had come to a termination. + +Richard Jervoise—Dick, the quiet, studious, slow-speaking Dick—had +come into her life at the very moment of her husband’s tragic death. +Sometimes she reproached herself with having allowed him to seek her +company so soon after widowhood. Yet was it not imperative—did he not +hold the strange secret which she shared with him? + +At first it had been mere friendship; now it was true, passionate +affection. He had confessed his love to her. But had she been just in +her disbelief? Had she been right in her refusal to hear him, knowing +what she did? + +Richard Jervoise loved her! He, of all men in the world! + +“What greater tragedy could befall a woman than this that has befallen +me!” she cried bitterly to herself, her great eyes fixed upon the +waters as they rippled past in the clear moonlight. “Dick—Dick loves +me! Do I love him? Ah!” she sighed. “Yet how could I ever marry that +man? No, never, never! I will not sell my soul to the devil for love. +Rather would I become the wife of this red-faced hog, who has invited +me into the gilded cage he has already prepared. Rather let me become +the chattel of this man older than my own father, than the wife of +Richard Jervoise, the man who——” + +She paused. Her face showed hard and white beneath the moonbeams. Her +small, delicate hands were clenched as she stared straight before her, +seated there rigid as a statue. + +“Do I love Richard?” she asked herself aloud, for there was none to +hear. “Ah! no!” she cried the next second. “I must not ask myself that +question. I loved once, but may not love again. The Devil tempted me in +London, and, thank Heaven! I had the strength to draw back. No, Dick +and I have parted for ever. I will never consent to see him again—never +in all my life! His wife! God! No; never could I become the wife of +that man, even though we may love each other. His love-kisses would +blister me.” + +“Ah! why is my future so black, so utterly hopeless? Why must I suffer +these agonies of conscience!” Then she paused for a moment, and added: +“My duty is plain. It now lies towards my dear old father. I must +protect myself from Richard Jervoise by—by consenting to marry the man +I do not love! It is imperative, hateful though it be. I will make the +sacrifice for my father’s sake, and also to save myself from Richard +Jervoise. I must become the wife of this man I despise and hate—the man +who, as Dick so very justly put it, will purchase my body and soul! How +strange it all is! Surely no other woman had ever found herself forced +to marry the man she detests, in order to save herself from the man she +loves! But I must”—she whispered to herself hoarsely—“I must. I can +never become the wife of Richard Jervoise. It would be too awful—an +offence before God!” + + + + +CHAPTER XVII + +A QUESTION IS ASKED + + +Thyra’s nature was a complex one. She was the embodiment of youth and +health. She was essentially an outdoor girl. She was very good to look +upon, and every man who saw her wished to see her oftener. + +In her soul she possessed that beautiful sense of reserve and personal +isolation which is innate in the best type of woman, an isolation +which she was not only prepared to surrender lavishly—when the time +came—but to surrender once and for all. She had the gold to give, +but she would not fritter away her treasure in the small change of +passing flirtations. A woman’s consciousness of isolation is her only +protection. No man dared to look into the big grey eyes of Thyra and +think for an instant of familiarity. The respect that women of her +character earn of men is their great reward. Man is a savage barbarian, +and has no “bloom” to knock off, but his homage is unbounded to the +beautiful woman who has many admirers, but who, without effort, stands +apart as something almost sacred. That homage is given to the woman who +keeps herself isolated and alone in the hidden chambers of her soul +until she meets the one man who holds for her “the key of darkness and +of morn.” + +Such a woman—sweet, lovable, and yet isolated—was Jorgen Berentsen’s +daughter. + +In the elegant little fumoir aft, a cabin hung with dark green silk, +with parquet flooring, and with a real fireplace where coal could be +burnt in winter, and cosy corners as though one were on land, Peter +Sundt and his guest were smoking. + +Jorgen Berentsen’s host had apparently been asking a serious question, +for he was seated in silence, his cigar between his teeth, his eyes +fixed upon the silk-panelled wall opposite, his big, hard hand stroking +his grey beard. + +“Whatever you may say, Jorgen,” exclaimed the red-faced man at last, +his gaze fixed upon the harbour-master of Vardo, “I shall go to her +to-night—now—to make one last appeal.” + +“My girl has views of her own upon marriage—especially so soon after +Paul’s death,” responded his friend. “Suppose she again refuses?” + +Old Sundt’s manner changed in an instant. + +“Refuses! She will not refuse this time. She will consent to marry +me—for her father’s sake,” he said meaningly. + +“You—you would tell her!” gasped the other, starting from his chair. + +“Jorgen,” said the other very quietly, “I love your daughter—and I +intend to marry her.” + +“You have said that before,” exclaimed the captain in a low tone of +distress. + +“You have never pleaded my cause!” snapped the ruler of the Arctic +fisheries. + +“I allow my daughter to act exactly as her heart dictates,” was his +slow but determined response. + +“Heart? Rubbish! Marriage is a mere matter of convenience. Would it not +be better for her to be my wife, and wealthy, than to live with you up +in that out-of-the-world corner, where she sees nobody except sailors +and fishermen? You—too—would be better off in the south, in a nice +house with a garden. There’s a little villa just outside Ragusa which +belongs to me, and in which you might live, so as to be close to us.” + +“Peter!” exclaimed the bluff old fellow, looking straight into his +face, “why tempt me like this? I have told you and I repeat my words, +that I will not attempt to use any influence with Thyra. She married +the man she loved—and tragedy was the result. Let her act now as +she thinks best. What affection can a girl in her present pitiable +circumstances have in her heart?” + +“I don’t want her affection now,” he declared; “that will come in due +course. You will remain here and give me permission to go and speak to +her.” + +“She will refuse. Why trouble her?” queried her father, who, be it +said, had no great love for this man who had risen from a common +fisherman to the position he now held. He knew, alas! the hundreds of +lives that had been sacrificed in those boiling seas in the gathering +of the harvest which had made old Peter Sundt the wealthy man he was. +He knew well, too, the hardness of the man’s heart, and how, times +without number, he had refused succour to the poor widows and little +children of the men who had been swallowed up by the sea in his +service. He was a callous man, whose one thought was money, and from +whose heart every spark of human sympathy had long ago been crushed +in his desperate fight for fortune. Sitting there at his ease, the +splendid diamond glistening upon his coarse, red hand, and his yachting +cap pulled over his eyes as he lay back smoking, he presented the +picture of the typical parvenu. + +“Why are you so certain of her refusal, Jorgen?” he asked, removing the +cigar from his hard mouth. “Her love match brought her only sorrow. +I can’t think what possessed you to allow her to marry that man. +Recollect what our inquiries have revealed!” + +“Yes,” sighed the captain; “but she loved him—therefore I gave my +consent.” + +“And brought about her unhappiness,” he added grimly. + +“I was not to know. It was not my fault.” + +“No; you were not to know that Paul Grinevitch had been met at Vardo by +a man who was his worst enemy, and that he would be followed by him to +Christiania,” he said bitterly. + +“Then you still maintain your theory?” asked Berentsen. “You still +think that the hand that struck down Grinevitch was the Englishman’s?” + +“There seems no doubt. The result of our inquiries all point to it +unmistakably.” + +“I confess I am not yet convinced.” + +“Recollect what his friend the doctor told me when I called upon him. +He was full of suspicion at the time. There is no doubt that on that +fatal afternoon Thyra met the Englishman, and—well, we may easily guess +the rest.” + +“Then you believe that Jervoise went in secret to the hotel and killed +his enemy?” + +“Yes, of that I feel confident,” exclaimed Peter Sundt. “He had a +double motive—first revenge, and secondly, by killing Thyra’s husband, +he removed the object of his jealousy. He was deeply in love with +her—he admitted that to Doctor Odd.” + +After a few moments’ silence, Jorgen said: + +“I don’t think we need discuss that painful affair any further, Peter. +The police have made every inquiry, but have failed to establish any +clue to the assassin.” + +“Because they are ignorant of many of the true facts—facts which we +ourselves have discovered. The police of Christiania are utterly +incompetent—a set of fools!” + +“If you are so confident that your theory is the correct one, why did +you not go to Scotland Yard when in London, and place your evidence +before them?” + +“And cause the arrest of Richard Jervoise?” + +“Yes.” + +“Because, my dear Jorgen, I wished to save you and Thyra from +disgrace,” was the man’s answer. “Cannot you see that by such a course +Thyra’s secret meeting with Jervoise would have been exposed—that her +conspiracy with the Englishman would have been revealed?” + +“What!” cried the captain; “do you actually accuse my daughter of +conniving at her husband’s death?” + +“Of course not, my dear friend. You quite misunderstand me. I only +point out what the world would naturally conclude from the facts,” he +answered. “But, as you wish, let’s drop the painful subject. Let us +commence afresh. I will go to her, and hear her decision.” + +“It will be as before,” declared the captain. “I spoke to her only this +afternoon before we came aboard.” + +“Well, what did she say?” + +“That her decision was irrevocable.” + +Peter Sundt slowly knocked the ash from his cigar, and then drained his +small glass of Benedictine. + +“A very foolish declaration, Jorgen—as far as you are concerned.” + +“Ah! Then you still throw the onus upon me, eh?” + +“Have I not told you a dozen times? Have you not had sufficient +opportunity? Remember, you tried once to evade me. I do not forget +that!” + +“You are as inexorable to-night as you ever were, then?” remarked +Berentsen in a deep, earnest voice. + +“Quite. I am not a man to depart from my word. You know me well +enough,” was the answer of the other. + +“Very well, go to her,” exclaimed the bluff old whaler. “Go and speak +to her if you wish. I am prepared to abide by my girl’s decision!” And +he set his teeth, and gazed out through the porthole upon the moonlit +sea. + +“But you say she will refuse,” the elder man exclaimed. “What then?” + +“Then act as you have already threatened,” he cried with a sudden +boldness. “Surely you cannot think that I will be a party to compelling +my child to marry you in order to save myself! No! I will never do +that, Peter, never! My girl shall choose her own husband.” + +“She chose before—and a pretty mess she made of it!” sneered the other. +“If she will marry me I’ll give her all the freedom and the means she +desires. She shall have a life of happiness and pleasure in whatever +circle of society she desires. Birth counts for nothing in these days, +when barons of ancient lineage have to earn their bread as waiters and +counts become hairdressers. No; it is men like myself who rule society, +and rule the world. The only thing that tells nowadays is hard cash. I, +who began life as a fisherboy, have entertained royalty on board this +very yacht, and more than one royal highness has dined at my table.” He +laughed. “And why? Merely because even those of royal blood bow down +before the golden calf and turn their backs upon the penniless portion +of their own aristocracy. Oh, life is an amusing game with men like +myself, I can assure you,” he added. + +“Amusing, because you hold men’s destinies in the hollow of your +hand—just as you hold mine!” Jorgen remarked in a hoarse voice of +bitter reproach. + +“Mine is a fair bargain, surely?” + +“In which either my child or myself pays the penalty!” + +“When a man commits a folly he must expect to bear the punishment,” was +Sundt’s abrupt reply, as he put down his cigar-end and rose, adding: “I +am going to her. If you wish to precede me, and to speak to her on my +behalf, you are at liberty to do so.” + +“I shall not,” Jorgen blurted forth. “I have already told you +that she will refuse, and that I am ready to accept the burden of +responsibility.” + +“Remember that there will be no drawing back,” said Peter in earnest +warning. “I gave you full opportunity.” + +“And I have not, and will not, avail myself of it. If you have marked +me out for ruin, as you seem to have done—well, so be it. My child +shall never be forced into marriage with you in order to effect my +escape.” + +“Good!” exclaimed the red-faced man, straightening his cravat before +the mirror. “Remember, Jorgen, that upon Thyra’s decision to-night +rests your own future.” + +And, with an expression of dark determination, he strode out upon +the deck, forward to where sat the girl-widow in the long chair, the +brilliant moonlight falling upon her, bright almost as day. + +At her side he halted, bent over her, and uttered a word. + +But she turned her white face from him, without response. + +So he straightened himself and stood in silence, his hand resting upon +the back of her chair. + +That moment was the crucial one of Thyra’s life. Her decision meant +either her own unhappiness or to her beloved father—even though she +were ignorant of it—disaster worse than death itself. + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + +FATHER AND DAUGHTER + + +It was past midnight. + +Thyra stood leaning upon the marble terrace of the Villa Sergio, still +gazing upon the moonlit sea. + +Below, a few lights twinkled in the town, while across on the headland +of the island of Lacroma shone out the warning beacon. The feathery +palms and bamboos above her whispered in the faint breeze, but the dead +silence of the night was over everything. + +Alone, standing there in silence, it seemed to her that some mysterious +being, black in the night shadows, had smitten her heart. She had +awakened from the evil stupor of the past few hours. She was making +a supreme effort to rid herself of the shadow, of the weight of the +incubus, or else she felt that she must fall beneath its weight, +crushed by the black shadow upon her. She must die. + +This hour of conflict she had dreaded. From day to day she had put it +from her like a bitter cup, but she had at last faced the ordeal—and it +was over. + +Yet she still felt a mysterious fear. What would Richard Jervoise +say—what would he do when he learnt the ghastly truth? She was in the +maze of an evil dream. + +A footstep sounded close to her. It was her father, come to her again +at that same spot where he had stood in the afternoon. + +“My child!” he said softly, placing his big hand upon her shoulder. +“Peter has told me. I—I have come to offer you my congratulations, +dearest.” + +“Thank you, dad,” she answered coldly, her face still turned from him. + +“You do not know, Thyra—you cannot know—all that I feel—all that your +marriage to Peter Sundt means to me,” he faltered in a low tone. “Ah! +my child, I hardly dared to hope that, after all, you would give him +your hand.” + +The girl turned suddenly, and, burying her face upon her father’s +shoulder, burst into tears. + +“I know! I know!” he exclaimed in a low, sympathetic voice, +endeavouring to comfort her. “I know all that you must feel—with the +man you loved only dead so short a time. But, child, you must forget +him—after all—he deceived you—he was worthless.” + +“Who told you that?” she asked suddenly, drying her tears and raising +her face to his. “Who makes any allegations against Paul?” + +Her father was silent. Her question was a distinctly awkward one. + +“Well,” he said uneasily, “there are curious rumours current, my dear. +They say that Paul Grinevitch was not an officer, as he declared, and +that his parentage was not what he made it out to be—that’s all.” + +“But do you think, even though it be so, that his memory is any the +less vivid to me, father?” she asked reproachfully. + +“No, I do not,” he answered. “Indeed, that is just why your decision +to-night was to me so unexpected—and so mysterious.” + +She did not speak. He held her around the waist, while her head fell +upon the shoulder of his thick pea-jacket, which, on landing, he had +not removed. + +“I have promised to marry Peter Sundt—to become mistress of this +place—for one single reason, father,” she said at last in a toneless +voice. + +“Go on.” + +His voice resounded in the silence of the night. + +“There is nothing more to say,” she declared. + +“Ah! I know, Thyra,” he whispered, holding her closer to him. “You have +done this for my sake, child—to save me!” + +“To save you, dad—I—I don’t understand!” she cried, looking into his +face, puzzled, white, and haggard in the moonlight. + +“Did Peter tell you nothing, then?” + +“Nothing, dad. He only asked me once again to become his wife—and—and I +consented.” + +Jorgen Berentsen held his breath. At least this man who had been +the friend of his youth had not betrayed him to his daughter. He +had threatened, it was true, but he had been too loyal to his old +friendship to carry out his threat. + +“I—I can only congratulate you, my dear child,” her father ejaculated +uneasily. + +“But what should he tell me?” she asked. “How could it be that I could +save you, dad? Please explain yourself.” + +“Oh, nothing, dear—really nothing,” he declared. “I only wondered +whether Peter had told you something—well, something that is +confidential between us, that’s all.” + +“Then if I am to be Peter’s wife I may surely know the secret?” she +said quickly, at once interested. That secret which she had guessed +long ago had, for months, caused her to ponder. + +“One day, perhaps,” he said, with an attempt to laugh; “at present +place your mind entirely at rest. It is nothing very serious, I assure +you.” + +But she was not satisfied. + +“Dad,” she exclaimed in a low, intense voice, “you and Peter have +had a secret together for a long time. I have known of your constant +consultations. Why did you go so often to see him at the Ritz in +London?” + +“I went to him often, it is true,” replied the sturdy old fellow, “but +it is not in connection with—with my secret,” he answered lamely. + +“Then why—why didn’t you tell me at the time that Peter was in London?” + +“Well, because he and I were engaged in making inquiries concerning +your dead husband.” + +“What interest had Peter in him, pray?” + +“Only because he loved you, I think.” + +“Love!” she echoed quickly, in a tone of disgust and reproach. “Please +do not utter that word again, dad.” + +“Then—then it is true,” the old man whispered in her ear, “you do not +love him, eh?” + +“I hate him, father!” was her frank response; “yet, though I hate him, +I must nevertheless marry him.” + +“Why?” + +“For reasons of my own. I loved once, remember—I cannot love again.” + +“Except one man,” he remarked very quietly as he bent to her ear. + +“Whom do you mean, father?” + +“Mr. Jervoise.” + +She drew a deep breath, but no word escaped her lips. Jorgen Berentsen +knew that he had spoken the truth. He had seen love in Dick Jervoise’s +eyes when he came to Bayswater. Sometimes he had been secretly glad +that his heart-broken daughter had won the affection of the clean, +long-limbed Englishman, yet a moment afterwards he would reflect +upon the admission Doctor Odd had made to Peter, and the proof that +Thyra and Jervoise had met clandestinely on the very first day of her +marriage. + +Why? Ah! that was the problem. A thousand times he had reflected upon +it—a thousand times, as he had sat with Dick at table, in the car, at +the theatre, he had tried to learn from his demeanour the true nature +of his secret accord with his daughter. But the Englishman, ever upon +his guard, had remained silent as the sphinx. + +The sweet breath of the flowers filled the night air where they stood. +The soft musical bell of the Convent of San Francesco came up from the +town below, followed by the deep-toned notes of those of the Duomo, of +San Biagio, and the Orologio; the slight zephyr from the sea stirred +the feathery branches above—a scented night of spring in beautiful +Dalmatia. + +On the left, the open French windows of the villa let forth a flood +of light across the splendid garden. But Peter Sundt remained in his +Arabesque fumoir at the further end of the house, for at his suggestion +had Jorgen gone forth to find his daughter. + +“Thyra,” exclaimed her father very tenderly, “I want to ask you one +question, dear. Now that the painful affair in Christiania is all of +the past and forgotten by everyone save yourself, perhaps, I think +that I have a right as your father—as a man who loves his daughter +devotedly—to know the truth.” + +“What truth, dad?” she asked, turning to him in quick surprise. + +“I know, child,” the man went on, his hand placed lovingly upon her +slim shoulder; “I know that what I am about to ask must cause you pain. +But I cannot avoid it—where the honour of you, my dear daughter, is at +stake!” + +“I don’t understand, father,” she ejaculated, turning her face to his. + +“Then, listen, child,” he said in a low, serious tone. “It is +alleged that you met Richard Jervoise on the afternoon of Paul’s +death—that—that you are aware of the identity of his assassin!” he +blurted forth. + +“Father!” gasped the girl, falling back as though she had been struck a +blow. “Who says this—who makes such an allegation?” + +“Your enemies, my child.” + +“Then if my enemies say this,” she answered, holding her breath, +“surely you, my father, should not heed them! Am I to have no peace of +mind?” she sobbed bitterly. “Is this the latest charge against me—that +I am an accessory to my husband’s murder?” + +“I do not believe it, my dear child,” he assured her. “How can you +think that I could ever believe any ill of you?” + +“Does—does this man Peter Sundt believe it?” she asked in a dry, hard +voice. + +“Why, of course not—or he would never have asked you to become his +wife,” was the man’s response, not, however, without just a moment’s +hesitation. Was it not Peter himself who had made the startling +allegations? he reflected. + +Father and daughter stood together in silence for a long time. At last +she said: + +“Peter has to-night told me something of which I was hitherto unaware, +father. He is, it seems, a widower.” + +Jorgen Berentsen drew a deep breath. + +“Ah! he has told you that, has he? Well, perhaps, child, it is better +for you to know now than afterwards that he has been married before.” + +“You, who have known Peter nearly all his life, knew his wife, of +course, dad. What was she like?” asked the girl with some curiosity. + +“Oh, it was so many years ago that I scarcely recollect her, save +that she was a pretty, dark-haired girl, Marguerite Meunier—a French +governess in the household of a prominent member of the Storthing. +That was, well, fully twenty-five years ago. They lived for about two +years in Tromso, for in those days Peter was not wealthy. Then the +rigours of the climate were too severe for her, and he took her to live +in Christiania, and afterwards, I think, to Copenhagen. She died of +phthisis, in Mentone, I believe, three years after her marriage. Peter +was devoted to her, and after her death was like a man demented.” + +“Did he treat her well?” asked the girl, gazing thoughtfully upon the +long line of the moon’s brilliance across the rippling sea. + +“He lived, it seemed, only for her,” declared her father. “I remember +how they used to be pointed out as a model pair, for both of them were +young and both were handsome. It was our climate of the north that +killed her, poor fragile little woman. She had been born and bred in +the south—in the Jura, I have heard.” + +“And she went back to France to die!” sighed the girl. + +“Since her death Peter has devoted his whole time and energies to the +amassing of wealth,” remarked her father. “His case is not unique. In +the past of many a man who is to-day hard and embittered will be found +a similar hidden episode. Look at myself, Thyra! I have never been +the same man since God thought fit to take your dear mother from me. +When I lost her, I, alas! lost everything that was dear to me in this +world—except you,” he sighed. “And now—and now you are to leave me!” +and he swallowed the big lump that rose in his throat. + +“Not of my own free will, dad,” she assured him, twining her long arms +about his neck and kissing him fondly. + +“Then what has induced you to consent to this marriage?” asked the +sturdy old man, much puzzled. “Why have you made—well, this sacrifice?” +he blurted forth again. + +“I have reasons—reasons that are mine alone,” was her ambiguous answer, +as her breast rose and fell slowly—“reasons rendered the stronger now +that I know the cruel allegations made against me and—and against——” +She could not finish the sentence. She burst again into tears. + +“And against the man you love, child,” he added very softly. “Ah, yes! +I know. I know all that you must feel—all that this must have cost you +to give your hand to this man. Believe me, I have tried to prevent it +all, but, alas! I have been powerless. I deeply regret, now, that we +ever accepted his invitation to come to this gilded palace of his.” + +“I do not. It is for the best undoubtedly. Marriage with Peter Sundt, +though he is older than you, my father, will perhaps save me from a +worse fate, now that love and happiness are in future utterly debarred +me.” + +“No, child; don’t speak so despondently. You are still young, with all +your life before you. Come, dry your dear eyes,” he urged, drawing her +tenderly to him. “It’s late; let me see you to your room.” + +She restrained her emotion, but in the light he saw that the expression +upon her face had entirely changed. She seemed years older. The +light of youth had faded from her lovely countenance; her eyes were +hard and stony, and upon her mouth was an expression which showed +the determination with which she had made her self-sacrifice, had +renounced her love, and with it all in the world she had held most dear. + +That night she did not close her eyes. Instead, she wrote a long letter +of many pages to Dick Jervoise. + + + + +CHAPTER XIX + +IN BLACK AND WHITE + + +We must return to London, and more particularly to Hammersmith. + +Owen’s action in placing the matter of the annoying letters in the +hands of the police had led to nothing, so far as the discovery of the +writer was concerned. He still remained unfound. And the authorities +owned themselves baffled. + +But there seemed to be one good result from his so doing: the letters +had ceased as suddenly as they had commenced. After the one that +arrived on the evening of Dick’s amateur effort at detective work, Owen +had received no more, and the annoyance was fading from his mind, the +more so as his friend was away in France, and he had no one with whom +to discuss the incident, as for certain reasons of his own he would not +revert to the matter with the major. + +At first he had worried himself a good deal over it, but when the +infliction ceased he grew to look on it as the work of some lunatic who +had wished to have a joke at his expense, and was satisfied with the +result. + +And there was another matter which occupied his mind a good deal. His +relations with the Gordons were not as pleasant as they had been at +first. Not that he could complain of anything on the part of the major; +he was always friendly and glad to see him. But with the daughter +it was different, and yet Owen could hardly say in what way the +difference lay, except that he appeared to be making no headway with +her. She was coolly polite when they met, and when he spent the evening +at their flat she would remain in the room working, but her share in +the conversation would be very slight. + +As he expressed it, “she suffered him,” and he could find nothing +definite in her manner with which to find fault, at least openly. Her +father did not seem to notice anything, so what could he say? Yet a +lover is more exigeant than a man in his right senses, and looks for +more. Owen was far from contented, the thing worried him, he felt there +was no reason for her thus to treat him, and that she was not dealing +fairly with him. + +He did not care to allude to the matter to the major; it was something +between Amy and himself, and between themselves it should remain. + +At last his mind was made up, and, having a few hours to spare, he took +the “Tube” up to Bond Street and paid a call on Madame Juliette. He +found the waiting-room unoccupied, and her attendant informed him that +she had a client with her, but that she would see him next. + +It was the first time he had paid a visit to her professional +apartments, and he was struck with the semi-oriental manner in which +they were furnished. All the luxuries and glamour of the East seemed +to be gathered there, and in the subdued light shed by the shaded +lamps—for the daylight was excluded by thick hangings over the +windows—it was easy to imagine he had been transported to the heart of +India. + +But he had not long to wait before he was summoned by the +silent-footed, dark-skinned boy to follow him along a short passage, +at the end of which he drew back a door, and, raising a thick curtain, +Owen found himself in the presence of Miss Gordon. She rose from a low +divan upon which she had been sitting and bowed, but did not offer her +hand. + +Owen took his cue from her, and, waiting till he heard the door close, +said: + +“I trust you will excuse my calling on you here, Miss Gordon, but +there is a matter on which I wished to have a few words with you, and +I thought we might find more privacy here than at Plevna Gardens.” Amy +made no reply, merely bowing again, and Owen continued: + +“It is impossible for me, Miss Gordon, to have failed to notice the +change in your manner towards me. When I had the honour of making your +acquaintance you were most kind and friendly, and I will not hide from +you the pleasure this gave me; but since then, from some cause, I know +not what, you have entirely changed, and, to speak honestly and openly, +I don’t think you are treating me fairly. I may have done something to +offend you, but, if so, it has been unwittingly, and I am entitled to +know what it is.” + +Beyond a slight increase in colour which showed plainly beneath the +stain with which her face was darkened, Amy had heard him apparently +unmoved, but now that he paused she said quietly: + +“What you say is quite true, Dr. Odd. For a time your acquaintance gave +me great pleasure, I admit; but does not your own conscience give you a +clue to the change you have remarked in me?” + +“Honestly and truthfully, it does not. I am utterly and completely +unable to account for it.” + +“I did not say anything to you,” she continued, “because the change +arose from a professional incident, which I felt in a sense no concern +of mine, and concerned you before we came to know you. Besides that, at +first it was only a conjecture on my part of which I had no proof.” + +“And now you have?” replied Owen. + +“I think so.” + +“Then I demand to know what it may be,” said Owen sternly. + +There was silence for a few moments while the girl was thinking deeply, +and then she continued: + +“You were in practice in Exeter?” + +“I was.” + +“And your practice had not a high reputation?” + +“I don’t think you have a right to say that, Miss Gordon. Unfortunately +my partner turned out far from what I had hoped, since he did not bear +the highest character for sobriety, but I don’t think anyone could say +anything against me.” + +The girl nodded, then said: “You knew a Miss Dean, I believe?” + +“I don’t recall the name.” + +“Miss Carry Dean.” + +“No, I think not.” + +“Think again, Dr. Odd. She died.” + +“No,” after a moment’s thought; “I’m sure I did not know her.” + +“It may be so. Yet you were called in by her.” + +“I think not.” + +“Did you ever go by the name of Hodge?” + +A smile flickered over Owen’s face at these words as he replied: + +“I have certainly been called by that name by some of my poorer +patients. You see, my own name is an uncommon one, and the other would +be more familiar to them. But what has this to do with it?” + +“Doctor, I have perhaps been hardly fair to you, and ought not to +have remained silent, but for my father’s sake I took a course which +I considered best, seeing he had made a friend of you, and your +society gave him pleasure. But now I will be quite open.” And Amy gave +her visitor a full account of her cousin’s sudden death between the +promised visit of the “Dr. Hodge” and the arrival of her own attendant, +continuing, “Since the letter I received from Martha Green, I have made +inquiries in Exeter, but the incident took place some time ago, and the +information I was able to gather was vague and unsatisfactory, and did +not serve to satisfy my mind.” + +“It would have been much more fair had you applied to me as the +fountain head in the first place, I think,” replied Owen hotly. + +“I see it now. It would have been. However, I did not. And lately I +have received from an unknown quarter a letter which went some way +further in confirming the suspicions that were in my mind.” + +“I demand to see that letter. You owe me that at least,” said Owen +sternly. And Amy had never liked the man so well as now, when, with +anger blazing in his eyes, he was fighting for his character and +reputation. Gazing at him she hesitated for a moment or two, and then, +going to a drawer in her bureau, took from it a sheet of paper, and +handed it to him. + +A single glance was sufficient. “Ah,” he exclaimed, “another of these +vile innuendos. I am sorry—very sorry, you should have allowed yourself +to be influenced by a thing of this kind. A stab in the back, given by +a coward.” + +The girl had no answer ready. Her conduct was now placed before her in +its true light, and she saw where she was miserably at fault. + +“But it shall not rest here,” continued Owen. “I have been traduced, +and you have sided with my traducer without giving me a chance of being +heard. Apart from my friendship with your father, this must be cleared +up. As a medical man I will not suffer this stain on my character to +go unchallenged. Now, Miss Gordon, putting aside all thoughts of the +friendship which I had hoped might perhaps in time have grown into +something stronger and closer between us, I ask from you the fullest +particulars regarding the death of your cousin, and my supposed summons +to her bedside.” + +The girl’s answer was a burst of passionate tears. The lawful +indignation, and the straightforward accusation against herself by the +man in whom she was taking a greater interest than she cared to admit, +was more than she could bear in silence, and she broke down miserably. + +Her tears gave Owen the sharpest pain, but he would not give way. She +had been unfair to him, and must take the consequences. He waited till +she had regained command over herself, and then quietly put to her +question after question till he was thoroughly conversant with all the +details. And then, as he was preparing to leave, he said: + +“And now, Miss Gordon, you must leave the matter with me. I shall not +hesitate to apply to you if I see that you can in any way assist me, +but till I can get to the bottom of this foul charge I shall not accept +either your or your father’s hospitality. I do not wish to appear hard +or cruel to you, but you must see the case in its true light, and how +it is absolutely essential that I should clear myself. Good afternoon,” +and he would have left the room; but Amy, holding out her hand to him, +said: + +“One moment, doctor. You have been far kinder to me than I deserve; +extend your kindness a little longer. Do not be too hard on me. As I +once told you, I am not like other girls, my training in the East has +made me suspicious and easily influenced. You will come to the truth, +ay, sooner than you think—I feel it, I know it——” + +“How do you know it?” asked Owen sharply. + +“I cannot tell, but I do know it. It is my mind.” + +“If you can _know_ these things, why did you not know that you were +thinking wrongly of me?” asked Owen, with a sneer, for which he was +sorry directly afterwards. “Forgive me,” he continued, “I should not +have said that. Till I have come on the truth I must keep away from +you,” and, hesitating no longer, he left the apartment. + +Taking the “Tube” to Shepherd’s Bush, he set out to walk from there to +his rooms. He wished to think. + +He had learnt something, he had learnt the secret of Amy’s behaviour +towards him. He thought he had learnt something more, namely that, +in spite of what passed, there was deep hidden in her heart a warmer +feeling towards him than she was disposed to admit even to herself. +And then came the thought that even if she were in time to return the +passion which, in spite of her conduct, he still felt towards her, how +could he, with his indefinite prospects and meagre resources, aspire to +her hand? But—well, “sufficient for the day,” etc., and he strode on. + +By the time he reached Hammersmith evening had fallen, and the electric +lamps were lit. He was approaching a poor side street when there +emerged from it a figure of a man, bent as though with weakness and +tottering in his steps. It caught Owen’s eye, and he was thinking +something must be amiss, when, after swaying a moment, the legs +collapsed, and the figure sank in a heap on the pavement. + +Owen hurried up, and, raising the head, from which the hat had fallen, +from the stone, exclaimed: + +“Good heavens! Jakes, it is you!” + +There was no answer. The man was unconscious. At first Owen thought him +dead, but, ascertaining his heart was still beating, he appealed to +some of the crowd that had quickly gathered to help to carry him to his +surgery, which was only a few yards distant. Laying him on the couch, +and having got rid of the helpers, with the exception of the policeman +who stayed for the doctor’s verdict, he applied restoratives, and soon +the colour began to return to his face, and his eyes slowly opened. + +“He’ll do now, constable. You can leave him with me; I’ll look after +him till he’s better. You might give me a call later to hear how he +gets on. But for the present what he requires is absolute quiet.” + +“Right, sir, I’ll look in on my way to the station on going off duty, +so that I can make my report. Good evening.” + +Left alone with his former partner, Owen sat by his side, watching +him carefully. The change in him was so great he had been startled at +first. The last time he had seen him he had been a stout man; now he +had shrunk away to almost nothing. His cheeks had fallen in, and his +eyes were hollow, while his skin, a sallow colour, hung in folds about +his jaws. + +It was some time before he was sufficiently recovered to speak, and +when he did it was in anything but a pleasant manner. + +“Odd! is that you? Curse you! What am I doing here? I’m not going to +let you——” and he made an effort to rise. + +“Lie still, old man,” said Owen, pushing him back. “It’s all right. I’m +looking after you. You’ve not been well, but you’ll soon be better. +Here, drink this,” handing him a glass. “It’s not whisky,” with a +smile. “You shall have some of that later on.” + +The sick man looked up doubtfully at the face that was bending over +him, and then, having taken the draught, sank back with a sigh and +closed his eyes. + +Owen waited patiently, for the man seemed to have fallen asleep. At +length the eyes opened once more. “Now you’re feeling a bit better, +aren’t you? Eh, old man?” + +“Yes; but what have you got to do with me? Where am I?” + +“In my surgery. You fainted in the street, and I was passing and had +you brought here. I’ll take care of you.” + +“I’ll be hanged if you do. I’m going,” and once more he tried to rise, +but sank back with a groan. + +“Don’t be a fool, Jakes. You’re not fit to move yet, and you’re all +right here.” + +“Honour bright? Is it all square?” + +“Rather. What do you take me for? Surely I can look after an old chum?” + +“You always were about as good as they make ’em, Odd, and I’ll take +your word.” + +“That’s right. You just trust me, and I’ll soon have you on your legs +again.” Though in his heart Owen much doubted his ability to do so. + +It was an hour later, and Jakes was sitting up. He was better, but far +from right. + +“Look here, Odd,” he was saying, “I can’t stand this—your doing all +this for me.” + +“Nonsense, man, you’re in my hands now, and, what’s more, you’re not +going to leave this place to-night. Where are you living. I’ll send +round for your things; I’ve got a spare room you can have, and then I +can keep my eye on you. Old fellow, you want tinkering up a bit. Where +am I to send?” + +Jakes gave vent to a bitter laugh. “You can send to 10, Milton Street, +but they won’t let you have anything of mine. I owe them a couple of +weeks’ rent, and, after all, I’ve got nothing but a pair of worn-out +boots and a shirt or two there. I’m on my beam ends, fair stony, Odd.” + +“All right, old chap, I can lend you what you want for the time, so +we won’t trouble them. My supper will be ready soon, and you’re going +to have a little soup then, and after that off to bed with you. A +good night’s rest will be everything,” and Owen left the room to give +directions to Margaret. + +He was away five minutes or more, and when he re-entered the surgery +it was to find his late partner leaning forward, with his head on his +hands, sobbing like a child. + +“Steady, old fellow, steady; this won’t do. Drink some of this at once. +You’re over-strained. Lie back again. We’ll have our supper here, and +then it will only be one move to your room.” + +Jakes did as he was told, and gradually regained command of himself. +Owen would not suffer him to talk much, but he could not stop him from +saying: + +“If you knew what an infernal cur I am, Odd, you wouldn’t be doing all +this for me; you’d kick me into the street, and I deserve it.” + +Owen looked at him sharply for a moment or two, and then said, with a +laugh: + +“Should I? Wait and see. But to-night I listen to nothing. To-morrow +will be soon enough to hear your story. And now, if you’ve finished, +I’ll help you to your room, and put you to bed, for I’ve got to go out +to a patient.” + +“Ah, you’re not one to neglect a summons; I remember that in the old +days.” + +“I hope not. Now come along,” and together the two men slowly made +their way to the upper storey. + +Owen’s call did not take him long, and when he got back he paid a visit +to his patient, and found him sleeping calmly. He returned to the +surgery to smoke his last pipe, and sat for a long time wondering and +thinking. + +Jakes spent a good night. Owen had been able to make a thorough +examination of him, but the result had not been satisfactory. In his +own mind, Jake’s fate was sealed. He was suffering badly from Bright’s +disease, and it was only a question of—it might be—days. + +Owen had broken the fact to him as kindly as he could, and Jakes had +been prepared for it. + +“Just what I expected,” he said. “A fellow couldn’t live as I’ve done +without something of this kind, and I’ve gone it pretty warmly since +you and I parted. I’ve been down on my luck for some time, and have +lived on drink, not _food_, when I’d anything to buy it with, and, damn +it, man, you’ve behaved like a trump to me, and I can’t keep it any +longer. It was I who sent you those letters, meaning to get something +out of you, but you weren’t to be drawn.” + +“You, Jakes?” + +“Yes, I. Now kick me out.” + +“Kick you out? Not I. No, I don’t treat an old friend like that, for +we _were_ friends in the old days; but there is one thing I am going +to do, and that is get you into a hospital, where you will be properly +looked after and nursed far better than you could be here.” + +“I’ll go, Odd. I shan’t be a burden to anyone long, but I’ll be none at +all to you; you’ve been too good to me as it is.” + +Owen made no answer; he was thinking. Suddenly he said: + +“Jakes, do you know a Miss Gordon?” + +“Yes, I do. Your Miss Gordon. I traced her out, and sent her a letter. +I’m going to hide nothing. I meant to queer your pitch there, to spite +you, and make you attend to my demands.” + +“Do you know who she is?” asked Owen, rising and pacing the room, for +he felt his temper was in danger of giving way. + +“Yes, a cousin of that Miss Carry Dean who sent for you, or, as the man +she sent called you, Dr. Hodge. I answered in your name, and promised +to go at once, but I’d had more than enough then, and forgot all about +it till the next morning; and then when I drove over to the village and +asked for her house and I was told she was dead, I saw the best thing +was to lie low and say nothing about it. I often wondered why there was +no row about that afterwards.” + +“The man who came for you died as soon as he got back, that’s why,” +said Owen. + +“What luck!” + +“But how was it I knew nothing about this?” + +“You were away in France, on that one holiday you took.” + +“Are you sure of this?” + +“Certain.” + +“Will you put it down in black and white?” + +After a moment’s hesitation: “Yes, I owe it to you; but make it as easy +for me as you can, Odd.” + +“It won’t be used against you, if you mean that. I only want to clear +myself.” + +“Get a sheet of paper and write what I dictate; I’ll sign it.” + +Owen readily did as requested, and within a few minutes was in +possession of a document that he felt sure would set him right in the +eyes of the girl he loved so passionately. + +As to the wreck of humanity, Jakes, the following day Owen was enabled +to gain him admission to an hospital where, after lingering for a week, +constantly visited by his former and forgiving partner, he died. + + * * * * * + +Once more Owen was in the sanctum of Madame Juliette, in Bond Street, +but with what different feelings from those he had experienced on the +former occasion! + +Miss Gordon was seated on the divan, with a paper in her hand which she +had been reading. + +“Forgive me, Doctor Odd. I can say no more,” she murmured, looking up, +her lovely eyes bright with unshed tears. + +“Your suspicions are at rest, Miss Gordon?” inquired Owen calmly. + +“Completely. They should never have arisen.” + +“They should not but, as they did, you should have applied to me at +once to allay them. But I will not say any more. We are all apt to make +mistakes, and that you of all people in the world should have done so +in the matter hurt me more than I can tell you. There, I have had my +say, and shall not refer to it again. We will bury the incident, and +try to forget it. And we are friends once more?” + +“If in your generosity you can really overlook what I have done, and +can accord me that privilege,” continued the girl, her countenance +showing plainly the emotion she was suffering. + +“My heart contains no dearer wish,” said Owen, taking the hand she had +all unconsciously held towards him. “And at some future time, should +Fortune smile more kindly on me than she has done in the past, it +may be that you will——But at present I have no right to ask anything +further. I must be content with what I already possess, to me a most +precious guerdon.” + +At these words the eyes of the girl fell, and a deeper colour suffused +her cheeks and neck, but she made no answer, only allowing her hand to +remain where it rested. They stood thus for some moments in absolute +silence, and then Owen said: + +“And now I may resume my visits as formerly?” + +“As often as you care to come. My father—and I—will always be delighted +to see you, you may be sure.” + +“Thank you, Miss Gordon, it will be a pleasure on my part that I have +sadly missed of late. I shall take advantage of your permission and +look in this evening. For the present Au revoir, Amy,” and without +another word Owen left the room, and the girl sank back on the divan +with a happy sigh that told of the lifting of a cloud that for some +time past had overshadowed her otherwise happy life. + + + + +CHAPTER XX + +A WOMAN’S HONOUR + + +London. London—the giant metropolis of the universe—in the month of May. + +London, the ever-moving, ever-extending, the smiling paradise of the +rich, the pitiless wilderness of the poor, the desolate world of +misfortune and disappointment of the struggling middle-class; the city +of broken hopes and of sudden fortunes, the shameless, wanton city +of blazing wealth, of sinful waste, and, alas! at the same time the +stony-hearted city of abject suffering, of pathetic self-sacrifice, and +of slow starvation. The city of sharp contrasts, where to retain life +one must possess money, where men purchase titles and honours as easily +as they do their dinners, where blackguards loll in the windows of the +best clubs, where notorious women cover their misdeeds by their titles, +and laugh behind their fans at the common world—the City of the Great +Sin. + +It was seven o’clock. A bright, pleasant evening, as Dick Jervoise +drove out of Charing Cross Station in an open taxicab, along Pall Mall, +and up St. James’s Street, where he called at his club for his letters. +Then he drove along Piccadilly and Knightsbridge to his flat at Barnes. + +He wore a grey travelling coat, and before him was a well-worn and +much-labelled suit-case, for he had just arrived from the Continent, +and was in haste to get home. As he went along he read the letters he +had just received, tearing them, one after the other, into fragments +which he cast to the winds. + +Carter, who opened the door to him, said: + +“Doctor Odd rang up an hour ago, and asked if you were home, sir. I +told him I would ask you to ring up when you came in.” + +“Very well, Carter. Anyone else rung or called?” + +“No one particular, sir. Only that young French lady. She came last +Tuesday week, I think it was, expecting that you had returned. She left +a note for you. It’s on your desk.” + +Dick, without removing hat or coat, entered his sitting-room and, +tearing open the note, read it. His face fell. For a second he +hesitated, then, tearing it up, dropped it into the waste-paper basket. + +“Carter, tell the doctor I’m back, and would like to see him if he can +run across,” he said. “I’m going to have a wash—for, by Jove! I want +one after three days and nights in that confounded wagon-lit!” + +The man went to the telephone as he was bid, while his master passed +into his dressing-room. + +A quarter of an hour later Owen Odd entered, greeted his friend, and +sank into the armchair beside the fireplace. + +“Well?” asked Dick, standing on the hearthrug with his hands deep in +his trousers pockets. + +“Well?” said the doctor, blinking at his friend through his pince-nez. +“What’s the result?” + +“Nothing.” + +“You’ve had a fruitless errand, eh?” + +“Entirely. I’ve been on the move these last six weeks, travelling +almost incessantly, but all, alas! to no purpose,” he sighed. + +“Sundt is back at the Ritz,” Owen remarked. “They arrived from Ragusa a +week ago. The captain and Thyra are at their old quarters in Bayswater. +I called there three days ago—to congratulate her.” + +“Well, what did she say? How did she look?” inquired Jervoise +listlessly. + +“She looked as bright as ever, but said very little regarding her +engagement, except that she was busy, ordering dresses and hats and +other fittings. I suppose you’ll call?” he added, watching him. + +“No, Owen; I don’t think I shall.” + +“She will expect to see you, surely?” + +“She won’t know I’m back in town.” + +“I told old Sundt of your impending arrival. I saw him yesterday.” + +“I wish you had left me out of the question, old chap,” exclaimed Dick. + +“He invited me to the Ritz—on purpose to inquire your whereabouts, it +seemed to me.” + +“Why, what do my movements concern him, pray?” + +“How should I know? He seems, however, to take an unusual interest in +you,” Owen answered. “Perhaps—perhaps he has guessed your affection for +Thyra.” + +“The old man can know nothing.” + +“Unless she has told him.” + +“Why should she tell him anything?” + +“Well,” said Owen, “whether she has made any statement to him or not, +he is in possession of some facts which are—well, to say the least, +extraordinary, and I tell you frankly, Dick, they have caused me +considerable surprise and misgiving.” + +Jervoise, for the first time, noticed the curious expression upon his +friend’s face. + +“Why? What has he been telling you?” + +“He has been questioning me again—concerning that afternoon when you +were absent from the hotel in Christiania.” + +“And what did you tell him?” + +“What could I tell him—except the truth? Look here, Dick,” added the +man in pince-nez, “I may as well tell you openly, and at once, that he, +and others too, apparently, entertain a grave suspicion of you.” + +“Of what?” + +Owen Odd was silent. At last, with an effort, he said: + +“Of being the murderer of Paul Grinevitch.” + +Dick’s face was blanched, his brows narrowed, and he bit his lip. + +“And you share that suspicion, eh?” he asked hoarsely. + +The doctor shrugged his shoulders. + +“Come,” his friend said, “you may just as well admit it. We are +friends, therefore I give you leave to speak quite frankly.” + +“Well, Dick, to be perfectly open, I do not consider your explanations +have been at all satisfactory. You’ve more than once contradicted +yourself, remember.” + +“I admit it,” was the other’s rather lame answer; “but I regret if you, +my friend, entertain any doubt concerning me.” + +“You declared to me on the morning of the wedding that Paul Grinevitch +was a scoundrel. Yet later, when I asked you if you had known him +before you met in Vardo, you evaded the question.” + +“I did so with an object.” + +“The object of revenge, it seems,” retorted his friend bitterly. + +“My dear fellow, both you and that man Sundt may make what allegations +you wish; charge me with being the assassin, if you will. I know well +that in your heart you believe me to be the murderer. Ever since our +return from the north you’ve shunned me, and made excuses for not +calling. Yet I am powerless to defend myself from such attacks.” + +“Why powerless? An innocent man can always prove his innocence!” + +“Except when the guilt cannot be established,” replied Dick boldly, +looking his friend straight in the face. + +“But surely you can make explanation, man, when this fellow Sundt is +working so diligently to bring you to justice?” + +“Justice!” he echoed, with a short laugh. “Let the man who has robbed +me of my love rob me of my liberty—my life, if he wishes; but he cannot +rob me of my honour, or my own self-respect.” + +“To tell you the truth, Dick, I fail to discern any motive in this +indefatigable inquiry which Peter Sundt has instituted. It seems that +he has sent detectives over half Russia to try to find out the truth +concerning the dead man’s past.” + +“I know. I, too, have just been over the same ground.” + +“What’s his motive?” + +“Hatred of me, no doubt,” he answered. “He probably knows that Thyra +loves me.” + +“She does love you, then?” asked his friend anxiously. + +“Of that there is no doubt. And I love her in return. Why should I +conceal the truth from you, my friend?” + +“From his conversation with me he has, it seems, established a point +which in any event is unfortunate, both for Thyra and for you. He has +discovered that on the fatal afternoon you met her in secret in the +Slotsparken, and were seen walking with her in the direction of the +Oscars Gade.” + +He started perceptibly. + +“Well,” he asked, “and what else?” He held his breath, as though in +sudden terror of what was to follow. + +“He reserves the full extent of his knowledge to himself, knowing that +I am your friend. Indeed, he tried to extract from me a promise to +make no mention of this matter to you.” + +“H’m! And he called you to the Ritz in order to try and ascertain +exactly where I was, eh?” + +“He called me to tell me that, in consequence of certain admissions +made by Thyra, he had caused further inquiries to be made in +Christiania, the result of which practically established your guilt.” + +Dick’s chin had fallen upon his chest, as he stood in silence before +the man who had been his friend. He made no remark. He neither sought +justification, nor did he make explanation. + +“And now,” Owen went on, “it surely is for you to relate the true facts +of what occurred that afternoon—or—or else I fear that this fresh +information will be placed before the police.” + +“My dear fellow, all these secret inquiries on the part of Peter Sundt +only go to prove one thing—how bitter is his hatred of myself.” + +“Admitted. Thyra may, I fear, have been slightly indiscreet,” he +replied. “Yet if she loves you, as you appear to think, is it not +very strange that she should consent to marriage with this coarse old +parvenu?” + +“I alone am aware of the reason, Owen,” he said very seriously. “On +the night she became engaged she wrote and told me all. I do not blame +her,” he cried bitterly. “Ah! I only pity her!” + +“Peter has apparently been employing someone to watch your movements,” +the doctor went on. “He asked me if I knew anything concerning your +little friend, Alza Dresler.” + +“You—you told him the truth, of course?” + +“I told him nothing; but he admitted to me that he had asked Thyra if +she knew her.” + +“He has asked Thyra!” gasped the unhappy man. “He has told Thyra of my +friendship with Alza!” he cried, white to the lips. + +“It seems so.” + +“Then she will believe——” + +“Believe what?” + +“Why, she will believe that I have lied to her—that I’ve betrayed her!” + +“Why don’t you make a clean breast of the whole affair, Dick? Surely it +would be best!” urged his friend, looking straight at him. + +“Owen,” he said, fixing his dark, serious eyes upon the doctor, “my +secret is hers. Cannot you see that in this a woman’s honour is at +stake—the honour of the woman I love!” + + + + +CHAPTER XXI + +TOWARDS THE TRUTH + + +Several days had passed—pleasant May days in London. + +Yes; Miss Berentsen was at home—for Thyra had again retaken her maiden +name soon after the tragic affair—and Richard Jervoise followed the +rather saucy maidservant up to the drawing-room in Talbot Road. + +The grey-eyed girl, seated near the window, reading, rose as he +entered, but her greeting was cold and strained. He was dressed in +frock coat, and carried his silk hat in his hand, for his visit there +was a formal one, and he had therefore dressed for formality. + +“I’ve called, Miss Berentsen, to offer you my—my congratulations,” he +stammered. “I have just heard of your return to London.” + +“Thank you very much,” she replied in a low voice. “Won’t you sit down?” + +He took the straight-backed chair she indicated, and began to inquire +how she had enjoyed herself on the Dalmatian coast. + +“I know Ragusa quite well,” he remarked. “I’ve stayed there twice on my +way down to Cattaro for Montenegro. It’s quite charming. I think I know +the Villa Sergio, too—a big white place on the hill. And so you are +very soon to be its mistress! Where does the wedding take place?” + +“In Christiania. Mr. Sundt leaves London to-morrow in order to make +the arrangements. Meanwhile”—she laughed uneasily—“look at all these +things that are continually arriving!” and she pointed to a pile of +dressmakers’ and milliners’ boxes at the further end of the room. + +“Well,” he sighed sadly, “I hope, Thyra, that you will be very, very +happy. I hesitated before I came to call upon you, but I felt that I +must at least bid farewell to you once again.” + +“Once again!” she echoed bitterly. “Do you recollect our farewell that +fatal afternoon in Christiania—and what occurred afterwards?” + +“Why recall it?” he faltered, raising his hand. “Why remember the past, +now that the future is so bright for you?” + +“Can I ever forget it?” she asked. “Can you ever forget it?” + +He shook his head in silence, his overburdened heart too full for +words. He loved her as he loved his own life. + +“Richard,” she said at length in a changed voice, “I think you really +ought not to have come here. You might at least have spared me this!” + +“I had no desire to offend you,” he assured her quickly. “I recollect +all that you wrote in your letter, and I thought——” + +“You thought that I was ignorant,” she exclaimed in sudden indignation, +interrupting him. “Since I wrote that letter, however, I have heard +of your intimate friendship with a woman—a certain Frenchwoman of bad +character, named Alza Dresler.” + +“Well?” + +“I hear that this woman who is such an intimate friend of yours is an +adventuress of the very worst type?” + +“She is undoubtedly judged by the world as such,” he said. + +“Then you defend the woman?” + +“She is my friend.” + +“You admit it—even—even while you have pretended to love me!” + +“Friendship and love are entirely different feelings,” he declared. +“The woman, though she may be what you allege, is nevertheless my +friend.” + +Thyra rose impatiently. Her heart was full of indignation that he +should admit friendship with a mere adventuress. + +She turned upon him quickly, and in a few forcible words expressed +surprise that he should have dared to declare his love for her on that +day prior to her departure for Ragusa. + +“I told you my heart’s secret, Thyra,” he answered in a low, hoarse +whisper, “because—because I could restrain the truth no longer.” + +“The truth!” she cried indignantly, her jealousy overcoming her. “Why, +at the same time you told me that, you were actually meeting this +Frenchwoman in secret!” + +“With an object,” he exclaimed. “With one distinct object, Thyra. If +you were aware of the whole of the facts you surely would never speak +thus to me.” + +“Then tell me the facts,” she urged. “Tell me the truth.” + +“Not from my lips shall you hear it—but from hers.” + +“From hers? What do you mean?” + +“I anticipated your misjudgment of my actions, therefore I have asked +the woman herself to call upon you.” + +“To call here—a person of her character? You must be mad!” + +“Whatever may be her character, Alza Dresler has a good heart. And, +further, let me tell you that though she has never met you, she is +nevertheless your friend.” + +“My friend? Why?” + +“Be patient, and you will see.” + +At that moment Captain Berentsen entered the room, surprised to find +Thyra’s visitor, yet eager to leave the pair alone. Too well he knew +the heart’s secret of his daughter, who had, alas! now sacrificed +herself. And yet did not that sacrifice mean his own salvation? + +Ah! the bitterness of it all. Many a night had that sturdy old whaler +spent in secret tears. He foresaw his daughter’s doom. What could be +expected of a loveless marriage between such a pair—the girl cultured +and refined, with artistic taste and artistic temperament; the man a +rough boor, bloated with the egotism begotten of great wealth. + +The suspicions sown in his mind by Peter Sundt regarding the tall +Englishman had caused him much reflection. Certain it was that his +daughter and Richard Jervoise were in secret accord. Was it not proved +by his visit there at that moment? + +As he had entered he saw that something had passed between them in the +nature of a secret. + +“Mr. Jervoise had called to congratulate me, dad,” the girl explained +rather lamely. + +“I heard you were abroad,” the captain exclaimed, addressing the +Englishman, who in his well-cut frock coat looked taller. “We have not +long been back from the Adriatic.” + +“So Thyra has just told me,” Dick replied. “But, captain, I called here +for a second purpose,” he added. “I called in order to introduce to you +and to your daughter a friend of mine—a lady.” + +“Oh! Who’s she?” inquired Jorgen quickly. Old salt that he was, he +rather prided himself upon his engaging ways with the fair sex. + +As he uttered the words the maid opened the door, announcing: + +“There’s a lady called to see you, Miss. Her name is Dresler.” + +Thyra held her breath. She had no desire to meet the woman, yet of +sheer necessity she gave orders for her to be shown up. + +A moment later Alza, neat in black, with a large feather boa about her +neck, entered, while behind her stood a man, a perfect stranger to them +all. + +“Ah, M’sieur Dick!” cried the pretty Frenchwoman. “I only arrived in +London this morning at five o’clock, and received your note. I went at +once to Barnes, but you were out, so I came on here as you desired.” + +“This is Miss Berentsen,” Dick said. “Allow me to introduce her, and +also Captain Berentsen.” + +Thyra bowed coldly. The woman was, she had been told, one of the most +clever and unscrupulous adventuresses in Europe. + +“This gentleman,” Alza explained in turn, indicating the rather +well-dressed man about thirty, tall, with a fair, somewhat bristly +moustache, “is a person of whom you have no doubt all heard in +connection with the unfortunate death of mademoiselle’s husband—Mr. +Oscar Nystrom.” + +“Nystrom!” echoed Dick. “Then, sir, you are the mysterious +correspondent of Paul Grinevitch?” + +“I am,” he answered in rather indifferent English, bowing courteously. +Alza explained that he was a Dane, and until that moment, because he +was wanted by the police, he had not dared to come forward. Indeed, he +had been in hiding in Seville, until she had, after long inquiry, found +him and induced him to risk a journey to London in order to explain +certain matters. + +“I told M’sieur Nystrom of your estrangement from Mr. Jervoise, +mademoiselle,” she explained, turning to Thyra, “and it was that which +induced him to place himself in his present peril.” + +“It is really extremely kind of him,” remarked Thyra rather coldly. + +“Ah, mademoiselle!” cried Alza, “you do not understand—you cannot +understand. You doubt my good intentions, because you have perhaps +heard what I am. But I tell you at once that M’sieur Dick is my good +friend. He was once very kind to me, and in consequence I owe him a +service, one which to-day I hope to repay.” + +“In what way, Alza?” he asked, for it was apparent that he had no idea +that the man Nystrom would accompany her on that visit. + +“Listen, and I will tell you,” she said. “You love mademoiselle—you +told me so,” she went on. “You sought my assistance, the assistance of +a bad woman. Oh, yes,” she laughed, turning towards Thyra, her dark +eyes dancing, “I know I am an adventuress—a woman of no character! +But in consequence I am enabled to move in quite a different circle +from yours, I can seek and obtain information in the undercurrents of +life that are unsuspected by respectable folk like yourselves. But I—I +was respectable once, as respectable as you yourself, mademoiselle,” +she faltered; “M’sieur Dick knows. Some day he may tell you my true +history—the history of an unfortunate woman!” + +“Mademoiselle!” cried Thyra, advancing towards her with sudden emotion +and taking her hand, “are you really my friend? Are you speaking the +truth?” + +“I am,” was the Frenchwoman’s reply. “Your friend—and his.” + +“Then forgive me, please forgive me,” pleaded the grey-eyed +girl. “Only a moment ago I uttered hard words concerning you, +because—because—well, perhaps I was jealous of you.” + +“Ah! then you do love M’sieur Dick still?” she inquired quickly. “You +have no love for Peter Sundt?” + +There was no reply. The girl’s chin had sunk upon her breast. Her +silence, however, was sufficiently indicative of the true state of her +mind. Her father had placed his hand tenderly on her shoulder. + +“Good!” Alza cried, her black-gloved hands held behind her back. “Then +I will tell you something which will probably surprise you all. M’sieur +Dick telegraphed to me in Paris long ago, and asked me to redeem the +promise I once made to him under rather strange circumstances. Well, I +have redeemed it. I have had more than one narrow escape of detection +and arrest, for, as you may probably guess, the police are anxious +for closer acquaintance with me. Nevertheless, though I may probably +be convicted and spend some years in prison, I have nevertheless the +satisfaction of knowing that I have at least done one good action in my +life in ascertaining the truth concerning the death of Paul Grinevitch, +the man who belonged to the same set as myself. The man who, like +myself, unfortunately, was a thief and a swindler.” + +“My husband—a thief!” gasped the unfortunate girl. “What are you +saying? What proof have you of this?” + +“My poor mademoiselle,” Alza exclaimed, “that man deceived you, as he +had deceived M’sieur Dick long ago. He told you a picturesque story as +to his antecedents and his high family connections, but I tell you he +was one of us. He was an adventurer, it seems, and, soon after poor +Helene’s death, became actively associated with us. The reason he went +north to Vardo was in order to be out of the way. Inquiries were being +made concerning certain forged French bonds, which had been printed +in London and had been placed in circulation in Cologne, as well as +the theft of the Countess de Magnan’s jewelry from the Gare de Lyon in +Paris. The fact was that he had been betrayed, together with my lover +and Oscar Nystrom here, by a man who was a member of our gang, but who +had turned police informant. My lover was arrested and sent to Cayenne, +but Paul managed to escape to the Arctic and get off scot-free, while +Oscar went to Russia. The man who denounced them both was a compatriot +of Paul’s, a man named Nicholas Bourtzeff.” + +“Quite true,” remarked the fair-moustached Dane, interrupting, “quite +true! Mademoiselle’s lover was sent to Cayenne by information furnished +by that accursed police-spy,” a statement which seemed to cause Thyra +to regard Alza with greater cordiality. + +“But what is the truth concerning my unfortunate husband’s death?” +asked the young widow, pale-faced and anxious, still half expecting +that this good-looking Frenchwoman was endeavouring to remove the +suspicion from Dick Jervoise. They were friends, old Jorgen also +reflected, and therefore the woman was not likely to implicate him. + +“Mademoiselle, the facts are extremely curious—amazing,” she answered. +“Only yesterday, very far from here—in the town of Orleans—did I learn +the one fact which gave me a clue to the remarkable truth. And I +hastened to London at once, to find M’sieur Dick, and to place before +you both the true and remarkable story. I have said that I am your +friend, as well as M’sieur Dick’s. Listen, and I will prove to you the +truth of my assertion. I do not ask you to believe me without absolute +proof, but I do ask you not to allow yourself to be prejudiced against +me merely because of the unfortunate fact that I am, alas!—what I am.” + +Dick and old Jorgen stood aside in silence and wonder. Both watched +that woman whom the world denounced as an adventuress—the woman who for +months had been ever active in the interests of the man to whom she +owed her liberty. + +“Speak, Alza,” Dick said in a quiet, intense tone, looking from her to +the man at her side. “Do not keep us in suspense longer. What discovery +have you made?” + +For answer she handed him a small, folded, yellow paper. + +He opened it, glanced at it for a few seconds, as though unable to +believe his eyes. + +Then he stood staring at her, speechless and rigid. + + + + +CHAPTER XXII + +ALZA MAKES A CONFESSION + + +Slowly refolding the paper, Dick Jervoise handed it back to the young +Frenchwoman, who, with her dark eyes fixed upon him, asked: “What does +that convey to you?” + +“Everything,” he answered. + +“Then you had better tell mademoiselle the truth.” + +“The truth! Who can prove it?” he cried. “I have been suspected—nay, I +am still suspected—of being the assassin of the man I hated.” + +“And really not without good cause, Mr. Jervoise,” the old whaler +remarked quietly. “Remember, it has been long ago proved that upon that +afternoon you met my daughter in secret.” + +“Proved by Peter Sundt—the man who is madly jealous of me!” declared +Dick with sarcasm. + +“But the fact remains, nevertheless,” remarked the captain slowly. + +“There need be no further concealment of it,” Thyra interrupted in a +low, pained voice. “It is quite true that, at Mr. Jervoise’s request, +I met him in secret that afternoon. He met me for two reasons—in order +to bid me adieu, and also to reveal to me something—something that both +astounded and horrified me.” + +“Horrified you? What was it?” gasped her father. + +“Mr. Jervoise told me the truth about my husband’s treatment of the +poor unfortunate cafe concert singer, Helene Marquet, who had committed +suicide after he had deserted her,” she went on. “He showed me a +cutting from the _Petit Nicois_ giving the facts of the tragedy. Ah! +imagine my feelings when I knew that I, in my ignorance, had married +such a man! He might soon treat me the same—desert me! For a long +time we walked together—how long I have no idea. Mr. Jervoise told me +the truth now, alas! that it was too late, that he had never had an +opportunity of previously warning me against Paul Grinevitch. He told +me the whole sad story of poor Helene Marquet. I became beside myself +with indignation and fear. I saw how he hated Paul, and with a just +hatred, too, for the man who was my husband had robbed him of the woman +he loved. At last I asked him to leave me. He went, but as he did so +he vowed a terrible vengeance upon the man who had caused the death of +poor Helene. I did not heed his words, so entirely was I wrapped in my +own thoughts. I wandered on and on until evening, when I returned to +the hotel—to charge my husband with the terrible allegation. And when +I entered the room,” she cried, “I—I saw that murder had been done. An +unknown hand had meted out to him his just deserts!” + +“And you naturally supposed, child, that the avenging hand was Mr. +Jervoise’s?” remarked her father. + +She nodded in the affirmative. + +“Just as Peter Sundt has supposed,” added Dick bitterly. “I admit that +the evidence against me was circumstantial and convincing. That’s the +reason why your daughter and myself have preserved the secret of our +meeting, for has not her own honour been at stake? What would the world +have thought of a woman who, on the first day of her marriage, had made +an assignation with another man?” + +“Ah! yes,” cried the girl. “I saw, immediately after I had consented +to meet you, that I was doing wrong, but my curiosity got the better of +me, and you promised to reveal something to me concerning Paul.” + +“Why did you not speak in Trondhjem—before the marriage?” inquired Alza. + +“Had I done so, my words would only have been regarded as the outcome +of jealousy, and, besides, I had another reason,” he replied. “I +was therefore compelled to wait till after the marriage, when my +denunciation and warning could be made without ulterior motive. Ah! I +assure you that my position throughout has been a most difficult one, +more especially because from the first my friend, Dr. Odd, suspected +me, and when Peter Sundt approached him he expressed his views very +strongly.” + +“Then it is not true, Richard!” cried Thyra wildly; “not true that when +you left me you went to the hotel—to——” + +“I tell you it is not true; I am not guilty of your husband’s murder,” +he replied in a firm, calm voice. “I admit that I had a motive in +committing such a crime—the avenging of the death of poor Helene; but, +thank God, I did not carry out my threat!” + +“Then who did—_who did_?” demanded the pale-faced girl, looking wildly +about her. “Cannot you see that, until we know the truth, suspicion +must still rest upon you, Richard, notwithstanding your denials?” + +“I know that full well,” was his answer. “Yet I can bear whatever +allegation may be made against me. Paul Grinevitch sinned before God, +and he received his punishment at the hand of man.” + +“At the hand of a man unknown,” added Captain Berentsen. + +“Pardon,” interrupted Nystrom; “unknown to you, but known to others.” + +“Known!” cried Thyra, turning to him and speaking in Norwegian. “Who +committed the crime? Tell me quickly. It was not Mr. Jervoise—speak!” + +“No, Miss Thyra,” answered the stranger. “Your friend is innocent.” + +“I would like to ask Captain Berentsen a question, M’sieur Dick,” Alza +interrupted. Then, turning to the old whaling captain, she asked him if +he had ever, many years ago, met a young Frenchwoman named Marguerite +Meunier, at the same time exchanging a significant glance with Dick. + +“Meunier!” repeated the old fellow. “The only lady named Meunier I +remember was the wife of Peter Sundt.” + +“She died fully twenty-five years ago, eh?” + +“I believe so. She died somewhere in France.” + +The Frenchwoman nodded, while her companion—the man wanted by the +police—whispered something to her in an undertone. + +“I don’t understand the reason of that question,” Thyra remarked. + +“Perhaps not,” replied Alza. “But first let me make a confession, +let me explain certain facts which are a mystery to you all, even to +M’sieur Dick himself. You will recollect that it was proved that at the +Hotel Victoria, in Christiania, a lady visited Paul Grinevitch shortly +before his death? Well, I was that visitor.” + +“You!” gasped Dick. “You never told me this!” + +“Because I deemed it best to withhold the information until I obtained +something tangible,” was her answer. “I did not come forward and make +any statement, for a very obvious reason. It was, I saw, quite within +the range of possibility that a woman of my character would at once be +suspected of the crime. So I slipped away to Paris on that same night, +as soon as I read of the startling discovery in the papers. Your +telegram, a week later, found me there. You asked me to assist you, and +I of course knew more concerning both the victim and the tragedy than +you did. I recognised in what direction to work if I would discover the +truth, and lost no time in instituting my secret inquiries, which, from +that moment until the present, I have never relaxed.” + +“Why did you call upon my husband during my absence?” inquired Thyra, +surprised. + +“I had business with him. Remember, he had been an associate of mine +in several rather crooked affairs. He had telegraphed to me, asking +me to come to Christiania to meet him, he having emerged from his +hiding-place in the north. I stayed at the Grand Hotel, and actually +passed M’sieur Dick in the entrance on that fatal day, though he did +not recognise me.” + +“But what was the nature of your business with Paul?” demanded his +widow. + +“Financial. He required funds for his immediate necessities and to +take him to England, where he intended to settle down amid respectable +surroundings, while at the same time preserving his connection with +us—to be our agent in Russia, as a matter of fact. At first we had +a few words regarding a little occurrence immediately prior to his +escape to the north. Afterwards he expressed regret at the arrest of +my lover, Victor Laurillard, and I told him at whose instigation the +arrest had been made, and warned him against the informer Bourtzeff. +Then, as agent of our principal, Herr Enderlein—who, by the way, is +never known in connection with us, though it is his active brain which +evolves our plans—I discussed ways and means with him. The amount he +wanted was larger than I had with me, therefore I telephoned to the +Norsk Credit Bank to ask how long it would take to obtain money by +telegram from Frankfort. The answer was that it could not be paid for +four days. What I had told him regarding Bourtzeff appeared to cause +him considerable thought, and must, after I left have induced him to +resolve to go to London and face the man who had turned informant. +That’s the only reason I can see for the despatch of that telegram to +Captain Berentsen.” Then she added: “Before I left he showed me your +photograph, mademoiselle, and declared that he was deeply in love with +you.” + +“Love!” cried Thyra indignantly. “How grossly he deceived me!” + +“Unfortunately he did,” sighed the dark-eyed Frenchwoman. “I expressed +surprise that he should have married, but he merely replied that he had +resolved upon that step as one towards respectability.” + +“But the hotel people stated that when you came down in the lift you +carried in your hand a letter.” + +“Certainly. He wrote that in order to make my visit appear one of +legitimate business, for we knew that the whole eyes of the hotel were +upon us, and he indeed expressed regret that he had not appointed our +meeting elsewhere.” + +“But what happened afterwards?” asked Thyra frantically. “What occurred +after your departure?” + +“He sent a telegram to his father-in-law, giving his address in London; +he burned a quantity of compromising papers he carried, including a +quantity of spurious French bonds, and he booked passages for himself +and his wife by the next Wilson steamer for Hull.” + +“But those letters which he addressed to persons in Russia?” asked +Dick. “They only contained blank sheets of paper.” + +“They were blank to the eyes,” laughed Alza, “but not to us. They were +messages announcing his impending arrival in St. Petersburg, written in +invisible ink.” + +“He wrote to me also,” added the stranger standing at Alza’s side, “but +I did not receive his letter. I had already left.” + +“What was that paper you showed Mr. Jervoise a few minutes ago?” +inquired Thyra of the neat-waisted Frenchwoman. + +Alza and Dick exchanged meaning glances, by which the others knew that +some further secret existed between them, and they felt that in that +secret was an amazing, yet unsuspected, truth. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII + +IN SOUND OF PICCADILLY + + +At the little writing-table set in the window at the Ritz Hotel, +overlooking the Park, the stout, pimply-faced man with a choice cigar +between his teeth sat scribbling letters with his fountain-pen. + +The evening gloom was falling, but he had not troubled to rise to +switch on the light. + +He had dressed early, for he was going forth to dine with a friend, a +Norwegian diplomat, at the Carlton Club, and a small glass of vodka, +his favourite spirit, stood at his elbow. + +The door opened, and, thinking it was his man, he snappishly gave +several orders regarding his clothes without deigning to look up. + +“Mr. Sundt,” exclaimed a firm, manly voice, “I make no apology for this +intrusion on your privacy. I am here to demand by what right you have +denounced me to Captain Berentsen and his daughter as a murderer!” + +Peter started, his brows contracted, and he rose indignantly to his +feet, recognising in his visitor Richard Jervoise. + +“And pray, sir, by what right do you force your way into my room like +this?” + +“To demand an apology,” said the tall Englishman, “an apology to myself +and to Miss Berentsen.” + +“To Miss Berentsen!” he echoed. “Are you mad, my dear sir?” + +“Mad! Perhaps I am; but, if I am, it is your blackguardly insinuations, +your cruel and unjust allegations that have made me so.” + +“Well, really, sir,” exclaimed the other pompously, “if your attitude +is so insulting, I must ask you to leave my rooms at once. You appear +to be labouring under some misunderstanding, that the suspicion upon +you as the assassin of Mr. Grinevitch is due to me.” + +“You have made that allegation! Can you deny it?” + +“I cannot deny it any more than you can deny that you met the man’s +wife in secret—that you, her lover, had an assignation with her on +the afternoon of the tragedy,” was his answer as he stood near the +fireplace, his hands thrust deep in the pockets of his trousers. + +“And you actually say this of the pure, good woman whom you have asked +to become your wife!” cried Dick, his blood boiling. + +“I merely repeat what is the truth. My dear sir, I always believe in +facing the truth unflinchingly.” + +Dick Jervoise laughed in the man’s face. + +“Good!” he said. “Then let me recall an incident which may, perhaps, +have passed from your mind. Do you recollect our first meeting that +evening up at Vardo? On that night you came to Captain Berentsen’s +house for a distinct purpose—to ask him for his daughter’s hand.” + +“And instead he gave her in marriage to a man who was a thief, and for +whom the police were searching,” observed the red-faced plutocrat. + +“Granted,” Dick said; “but do you recollect your conversation with +the harbour-master after we had all left? Do you remember how you +threatened him with exposure, nay, with ruin, if he refused to compel +his daughter to contract an odious marriage with you?” + +“What are you saying, sir? Have you taken leave of your senses?” + +“No, I’m telling you the plain truth,” was Jervoise’s answer. “Shall +I recall you something further? Well, I will. It was you who, by +your influence, obtained for Jorgen Berentsen his appointment as +harbour-master of Vardo. Why? Because you knew he would be a tool +in your hands to falsify the harbour accounts, and to cheat the +Government out of dues leviable on your fishing-fleet. For years you +have compelled him to do this, but of a sudden, you, knowing your +strong position, turned upon him and threatened him with exposure and +prosecution if he would not compel Thyra to marry you. For that reason, +in order to strengthen your hand, you contrived to compel him to sell +to an agent of the Russian Government at Monte Carlo a plan of the +defences of the harbour of Vardo.” + +“You’re a liar!” exclaimed the other with growing uneasiness. How, he +wondered, could this Englishman know that if Jorgen had not told him? + +“Listen,” Dick went on; “Captain Berentsen, determined to allow his +daughter to marry the man she loved, defied you, and you returned south +in your yacht to Havre.” + +“She married that scoundrel Grinevitch, and you were jealous of him! +Come, why don’t you admit it?” asked Sundt, his anger rising. He was +unused to be spoken to in so bold a manner. + +“You repeat your allegations, then?” cried Dick. “You assert that I was +her husband’s assassin?” + +“The evidence I have collected certainly points most conclusively to +that.” + +“And you, at the same time, cast evil report upon the very woman who +has given you her hand! Peter Sundt,” he cried, “you are as big a +blackguard as—nay, bigger than—Paul Grinevitch himself!” + +“You—you call me a blackguard?” cried the Norwegian in his rather +broken English. + +“I repeat my words. Your actions have already proved it.” + +“Bah! you are jealous that Miss Berentsen should marry me!” he sneered. +“Alas! it is the penalty of wealth for poor men to be jealous of one.” + +“I am not jealous of you, sir. I should be very sorry indeed to be +in your shoes—you who would, by such means, coerce a father into +compelling his daughter to enter into a marriage with the man she +hates.” + +“You lie! She does not hate me!” he cried fiercely. + +“I say she does, for to-day, Peter Sundt, she has learnt the truth.” + +“What truth?” + +“A truth which you will probably deny, of course. You were married +before—to a Frenchwoman, Marguerite Meunier.” + +“Well? Is it such an extraordinary thing that a man should be a +widower?” + +“You admit that the poor woman died, somewhere in the south of France, +of a slow wasting disease, but that she left a daughter?” + +“Why should I deny it?” + +“If you do it would be useless,” he said with a smile, “for here”—and +he produced the yellow paper which Alza had given him—“here I have the +copy of her certificate of birth.” + +The red-faced man bit his lip. The shadows had gathered in that blue +and gold room, but its occupier still did not switch on the light. He +had no desire to reveal his face to the young man who had so suddenly +arisen as his deadly enemy. + +The reason why Jorgen Berentsen had confessed the conspiracy to +defraud the Norwegian Government puzzled him. In that fact alone +he foresaw that the tables had already been turned upon him, +notwithstanding his great wealth and influence. + +“You having acknowledged the existence of your daughter, who must be a +grown woman by now, will perhaps extend the courtesy of a meeting with +an old friend—providing, of course, that I am not trespassing upon your +time,” he added with mock courtesy. + +“Friend!” he snapped. “What friend?” + +For answer he walked to the door, and, throwing it open, admitted Oscar +Nystrom. + +The man’s red face fell. He stared at the stranger as though he saw an +apparition, yet puzzled to recognise him. + +The Dane’s face broadened into a wide grin as, advancing into the room, +he exclaimed in Norwegian: + +“I did not expect to have the pleasure of meeting you again so soon.” + +“Again!” exclaimed Sundt. “Why? I do not recollect ever setting eyes +upon you before! For what reason do you claim acquaintanceship with me?” + +“In order to recall to you certain facts which you may have forgotten,” +was the other’s hard, distinct answer. + +“What facts?” + +“Facts concerning the death of my friend, Paul Grinevitch. My name is +Oscar Nystrom, the man to whom he wrote only half an hour before his +death.” + +“Nystrom!” cried Sundt, suddenly brightening. “Why, you are the man for +whom the police are in search! I—I’ll ring for the hotel people, and +give you into custody.” And he made a movement towards the electric +bell, adding, “I wish for no conversation with gaol-birds.” + +“Ring! Do!” laughed the Dane, urging him to raise the alarm. + +“Well,” Sundt asked roughly after a pause, staying his hand, “what do +you want? This is some blackmailing scheme or other, I suppose? It +won’t be the first time I’ve been bled. Every rich man is, more or +less,” he said, laughing harshly. + +“I am not here to bleed you, Mr. Sundt,” answered the Dane, speaking +in his indifferent English. “I am here to tell you something—something +that has apparently slipped your memory. Paul Grinevitch, thief though +he was, had one friend—and it was myself.” + +“Well?” + +“Turn up the light, and see if you recognise me!” + +“It is unnecessary. I don’t know you in the least,” snapped the other. + +“Then I’ll turn it up, and you shall have a better look,” replied +the man quickly, as next instant the pretty room was flooded with a +brilliant light. + +Sundt’s coarse, red face was livid. Dick saw plainly the effect that +Nystrom’s presence had had upon him. + +“Now,” exclaimed the Dane determinedly, “listen to what I have to say.” +He spoke again in Norwegian, but Dick could nevertheless follow, for +had he not previously related, in his broken English, the same facts +to that little assembly in Talbot Road? “You believed that your wealth +would place you, Peter Sundt, above suspicion, and at the same time, +by the possession of your private yacht, you were able to establish an +alibi that you were not in Christiania on the day in question.” + +“Alibi! What do you mean?” gasped the unhappy man, the colour fading +instantly from his fat, flabby face. + +“Just this, that one of my companions, a girl named Alza Dresler, has, +after long search and tedious inquiry, discovered certain facts, and +these, in conjunction with what I myself saw with my own eyes, are +sufficient to make plain the truth.” + +“What truth?” + +“Patience, and I will explain,” cried the man, looking him straight +in the face. “I had received a telegram from Grinevitch, dated from +Tromso, saying that he would be at the Hotel Victoria at Christiania +with his bride on a certain date. I wished to see him privately, and +therefore at once took train from Copenhagen and engaged a room at the +Victoria, as well as a room in a private lodging. Remember, I knew +the police were in search of me, and I took two lodgings, so that, if +watched at one, I could take refuge in the other. We do that sometimes, +when we know that watch may be set upon the railway stations. Well, on +the morning in question, seated in my room above theirs, I witnessed +the pair arrive with their trunks, but, not seeing Paul go out again, +I hesitated to intrude upon their privacy. All the afternoon I waited. +I saw Alza come, and I saw her leave. Then it struck me at last that +my friend must be alone. I dared not inquire of the waiter if madame +were out, as I did not wish my acquaintanceship with Paul to be known. +At last I resolved to slip down upon the floor below, and see if he +were alone. I tapped at the door of the sitting-room, but as I did +so I heard a scuffle. So I pushed it open, and I saw you—you—Peter +Sundt! You had a knife in your hand, and you were standing over Paul’s +prostrate body! _You had killed him!_” + +“It’s a lie!” cried the stout man, his face now blanched to the lips. +“I—why, you never saw me! It’s a lie! An absolute lie!” + +“In an instant I recognised the truth. Paul had been killed, yet what +could I do? If I raised the alarm I should only be compelled to tell +my story to the police, and so betray both the dead man and myself. +His poor widow, too! I recollected what a double blow it would be to +her if she learnt that the man whom she had married only the day +previously was an expert thief! Therefore I slipped back upstairs. +Nobody saw me—not even you, Peter Sundt; but I had met you face to face +in the corridor only an hour previously.” + +“And who, pray, will believe this absurd story of yours?” he asked with +well-feigned arrogance. + +“I need only tell you that a week ago Alza returned to the Hotel +Victoria at Christiania and showed your photograph to the hotel +servants. They have recognised you as the man who gave his name as +Stenersen, who represented himself as a commercial traveller, and who +occupied the room next to the little _salon_ where the tragedy was +enacted. Peter Sundt, it is proved up to the hilt that you, too, went +first to Havre in your yacht, and then travelled with all speed by +Frederikshavn and Gothenburg back to Christiania to await your victim. +The police of Christiania have already been informed. An agent of +police was with me only at ten o’clock this morning, and I made the +same statement to him as I have made to you.” + +The man with the pimply face, the plutocrat of the North, stood with +his hand resting unsteadily upon the back of the chair. His blanched +countenance at last broadened into a forced smile. + +“Utterly ridiculous, my dear sir!” he exclaimed in a hollow voice. +“What motive do you allege I had in killing this gaol-bird who was your +friend?” + +“Motive!” echoed the man Nystrom. “You had the strongest motive a man +could have—the motive of a fierce and bitter revenge.” + +Sundt made a gesture of quick impatience. + +“Then, if you deny it, hear my proof!” he went on. “You had, by +accident, discovered that Helene Marquet, the beautiful cafe-concert +singer who had been deserted by her lover and had in consequence +committed suicide before your eyes in the Cafe de Paris at Monte Carlo, +was your daughter. Your wife, because of your ill-treatment of her, had +placed her child with her sister, a poor woman living in a back street +in the Montmartre in Paris. Your daughter had become famous, and had +died without knowing that you were her father. But you found out the +name of the man who had been responsible for her death—you afterwards +discovered him in hiding in Vardo—and, with craft and cunning, you +followed him down to the capital and carried out your plan. You +took the man’s life for two reasons—one because he had caused your +daughter’s untimely end, and the other because he had married Thyra +Berentsen, whom you had intended should become your wife. Now,” he +added, looking the quivering man straight in the face, “do you deny it?” + +The accused hung his head in silence. What could he say? He tried to +utter some words—words of extenuation—but they froze upon his lips. + +The denunciation by the actual eye-witness was complete, admitting of +no defence, no argument, no forgiveness. + +Dick Jervoise stood watching the unhappy wretch, whose wild terror next +moment was, indeed, fearful to behold. He, however, remained silent. + +Enough surely had been said by Oscar Nystrom. + +The quiet was complete. The little clock ticked softly upon the +mantelshelf, the cab-bells tinkled outside in Piccadilly, and the +“honk!” of motorhorns mingled with the dull roar of the London traffic. + +But the man by whose hand Paul Grinevitch had fallen stood motionless, +staring as though he were already gazing into eternity. + + + + +CONCLUSION + + +On that fateful night, after Oscar Nystrom’s denunciation of the +assassin, Alza Dresler, accompanied by the fair-moustached Dane, sat +for a long time with Dick Jervoise and Owen Odd in the former’s flat +at Barnes, explaining how, while watching Nicholas Bourtzeff with evil +intent, it became apparent to her that Nystrom might possibly have met +Grinevitch in Christiania. From the letter sent to him by the victim +before his death, it was apparent that Paul knew of his friend’s +presence in the Norwegian capital. She had therefore spared no effort +to find the Dane, who had so successfully concealed himself from the +police, and had at last run him to earth in the south of Spain. She +knew long ago that poor Helene Marquet had committed suicide because of +Paul, and recollection of that fact set her wondering whether in that +could be any motive for revenge. + +At risk of her own liberty she approached Bourtzeff, explained her +theory, and sought his assistance. In consequence of the fact that his +compatriot had been killed so mysteriously, and that Dick Jervoise, his +friend, was suspected, he consented, and the pair thereupon made up +their differences. Bourtzeff went to Paris, and, after diligent inquiry +and search, was at Orleans rewarded by the discovery of Helene’s +parentage, and consequently the motive for the crime. + +Peter Sundt had acted throughout with the greatest foresight and that +marvellous cunning that had characterised his whole successful career. +Yet he had believed that the parentage of the beautiful singer who had +taken her own life was a secret from all save himself, and that the +terrible truth could never be discovered. + +“When you recognised Paul at Vardo, why didn’t you denounce him to the +Berentsens?” asked Odd of his friend. + +“Well, because I was not altogether certain of what might be the +result,” was Dick’s reply. “My motives might have been entirely +misjudged, and, besides, Paul Grinevitch, heartless scoundrel that +he was, had intercepted a letter which I wrote to poor Helene on the +Riviera only a few days before she took her life—a letter which I +feared that, if driven into a corner, he might attempt to make use of +to implicate me in the tragedy of her death and besmirch a dead woman’s +honour. And so I remained silent until—until at last I could no longer +keep my secret from Thyra, his latest victim; but, alas! it was then +too late!” Then, turning to Alza, he took her hand, saying in deep +earnestness: “To you, dear friend, both Thyra and myself owe a great +debt which we can never, never repay.” + +“It is already repaid,” replied the young woman, flushing slightly +and then hesitating. “And—and M’sieur Dick, I want to tell you both +something—something you suggested to me a long time ago. Do you +remember? Well, it is this. Oscar and myself have decided to have in +future nothing further to do with Enderlein and his friends. Yesterday +we agreed to marry, and try—if it is possible—to settle down to a +respectable and honest life.” + +“It is possible, I am sure it is!” declared Dick. “And I congratulate +you both. If at any time in the future, Alza, you want a friend, you +know there is at least one man who is ready and anxious to assist you.” + + * * * * * + +The others had gone, leaving Dick and his friend with the pince-nez +alone. + +“And so it’s all clear at last, and the sun seems likely to shine on +some of us once more. It’s not a bad old-world after all, is it, Owen?” +the former was saying. + +“In my eyes it’s turning out an infernally good world,” replied the +doctor, and there was a particularly merry and knowing smile gleaming +through the glittering gold ovals. + +“That’s right. You always were sympathetic, old boy, and could enter +into another fellow’s happiness as though it were your own.” + +“Think so! P’raps you’re right. When one is happy oneself one joins +more readily in the happiness of others.” + +“What do you mean, you old rascal? You’ve got something up your sleeve, +I expect.” + +“It hasn’t troubled you much lately if I have. You’re about as selfish +as they make them, Dick.” But the laughter in his eyes died away with +the sting of the last remark. + +“Oh, shut up, and tell me what you _do_ mean.” + +“Well, do you fancy you’re the only fellow in the world worthy of Dame +Fortune’s smiles? Aren’t there hundreds of others fifty times as good +as you who are entitled to a bit of luck now and then?” + +“Of course there are; but what the devil are you driving at? The +cryptic _role_ does not fit you, Owen. If you’ve got any news, out with +it, man. You’ll feel better afterwards,” and Dick laughed joyously. + +“Well, I didn’t mention the matter before because you were so full of +your own affairs that I doubted if you were capable of even taking +it in, or at any rate appreciating the full significance as regards +myself. The fact is, Dick, I’ve come in for a tidy bit of money.” + +“You have? Bravo! bravo! old chap. I’m delighted to hear it,” and Dick +sprang up and shook his friend’s hand till the latter winced. “You +deserve it, every penny of it. And I hope there are a good many of +them.” + +“A tidy few. How many are there in £15,000?” + +“Fifteen thousand! By Jove! that’s a piece of luck worth having. I +congratulate you, old man, ’pon my soul, I do. But where has it all +come from? Where is the patient blind enough to leave such a sum to the +man who has done his best to kill him?” + +“It was no patient, but my mother’s brother, my Uncle Roger, whom I +haven’t seen since he went to the Transvaal ten years ago. I always +liked him, and he seemed to take to me, and now he’s dead—poor old +fellow—he’s left me a pretty substantial proof of the fact.” + +“I should think he had, the old brick! He was something like an uncle. +There aren’t many of that kind knocking about, worse luck! Well, Owen, +the next thing you must do is to find a wife.” + +“I’ve found one.” + +“Great Scot! What next? Go gently; I can’t stand too much of this all +at once. Do you mean to tell me in cold blood you’re engaged to be +married?” + +“Something very like it,” replied Owen, smiling. + +“And you never gave me a hint, you mean beggar! I’m ashamed of you. But +who is it? A real good one, I hope, and worthy of one of the best?” And +again Dick made an onslaught on his friend’s hand. + +“Yes, Dick, she _is_ a good one. You won’t find another like Miss +Gordon in a long day’s march.” + +“Miss Gordon! By Jove! I remember now. You mentioned her name some time +ago. I’d forgotten all about her.” + +“Naturally; she’s English, not Norwegian.” + +“Now, then, drop it. No chaff. I want to hear your story. You know +mine.” + +And we will leave Owen to tell it. The two men were both deeply in +love, and we can imagine the nature of the conversation, which they +found a great deal more interesting than perhaps the reader would. + + * * * * * + +A brief telegram which appeared in the newspapers six days later +conveyed but little to the millions of newspaper-readers throughout the +United Kingdom, and yet, like so many other paragraphs in our daily +journals, it contained the last scene of a hidden life-drama. + +From Lloyd’s agent at Lisbon, the intelligence was to the effect +that the captain of the Italian cruiser _Livorno_ had put in there +to report that at night, while in a dense fog about eighteen miles +south-south-west of Cape Finisterre, he had come into collision with a +Norwegian steam yacht, belonging to Mr. Peter Sundt, of Christiania, +the owner on board. The vessel, cut in two, had foundered immediately, +and only four persons had been saved, the first officer and three +able seamen. The concluding words of the telegram were: “Mr. Sundt +controlled the cod-fishing industries of the Lofoden Islands and the +Arctic coast of Finmark.” + +Only at New Scotland Yard, at the Prefecture of Police in Paris, +in the bureau of the Pubblica Sicurezza in Rome, and in the police +headquarters of the other European capitals did the announcement convey +a true meaning. The hue and cry was cancelled, and the little folding +cards, with the photographs upon them, were placed among the “warrants +withdrawn.” + + * * * * * + +The fetters of black winter again lay heavily upon the Arctic coast. + +The fierce north-west wind swept dark clouds across the frozen land, +and the snow was drizzling down in small flakes. The mountains had +already thrown on their snow mantles, and the low ground of the immense +tundra, stretching away a thousand miles to the south, had put on its +garment of dazzling whiteness. + +It was white and frozen everywhere, save for that grey, bleak, +tempestuous sea which beat upon the ice-covered rocks where Thyra and +Dick Jervoise, wrapped to their eyes in their Lapp coats of reindeer +skin, stood together, hand in hand. + +At that self-same spot she had stood with Paul Grinevitch just over +a year ago. She had just recalled that fact to the man to whom, only +a month before, she had been wedded in London. They had accompanied +the captain on his last journey up there in the old _Mercur_, prior +to retiring to live in the south, and were again in those same bleak, +dismal surroundings wherein they had first met. + +That great grey sea, wreathed in its drifting white mists, was, +however, no longer to them the sea of despair as it once had been. On +the contrary, as they stood together, her fur-mittened hand gripped +warmly in his, and their gaze fixed on one another’s eyes, their true +hearts beat in unison with an all-absorbing affection. + +Surely no pair in the whole universe were happier than they! Standing +upon the very edge of the world, they faced the north, the great region +of the unknown, with the knowledge that the future held for them only +joy and brightness and perfect peace. + +The snow whirled about them, the keen frost made their faces tingle, +but they heeded not. A thin cloud swept over the white ground—formed by +the whirling snow. Then the wind suddenly became a tempest; the cloud +rose to heaven, bewildering even to those most weather-hardened, and +dangerous in the extreme to all things living—the snow-hurricane was +upon them. + +Bent against the tearing storm, themselves covered with snow, they with +difficulty made their way to a low stone hut—for they were fully half +a mile from Vardo—and beneath its wall sought shelter from the Arctic +blizzard. + +The long night was rapidly approaching, for the sky was dark, though it +was but midday. + +“My love,” he said, placing his arm tenderly about her, “as the storm +passes, so pass the dark, clouded days of our lives. Very near have we +both been to disaster and shipwreck upon the quicksands of life, but by +God’s grace we have both been spared to enjoy each other’s affection. +To-morrow we shall leave here for the blue skies and sunshine of the +distant south—for the little villa among the olives at Bordighera which +I have rented for the winter.” + +“Ah! Dick, my own dear Dick!” she cried, burying her face in his furs. +“You can never realise all that I suffered in those dark days of +distress and suspicion—those days when I loved you, and yet dared not +to show it. But”—she sobbed for joy—“it has all ended, now we are at +last man and wife. You fought a brave fight for me; you rescued me from +the hands of an assassin. I am yours to-day, for always—my husband—my +love—for ever!” + +He pressed her to his breast in silence, a silence far more eloquent +than mere words. + +And as they stood there the storm cleared quite suddenly, as do the +fierce blizzards of the Arctic, and they walked back through the snow +to the harbour-master’s wooden house, hand in hand, childishly blissful +in all the sweet ecstasy of each other’s perfect and abiding love. + + + + + Transcriber’s Notes + + pg 22 Changed: That he was a gentlmen + To: That he was a gentleman + + pg 23 Changed: The soft sweetness of her feaures + To: The soft sweetness of her features + + pg 29 Changed: equipment for the Antartic + To: equipment for the Antarctic + + pg 43 Changed: seated in his armchair, bent, pale, and tried + To: seated in his armchair, bent, pale, and tired + + pg 50 Changed: encased in leather mocassins + To: encased in leather moccasins + + pg 61 Changed: driving in one ricketty old vehicle + To: driving in one rickety old vehicle + + pg 68 Changed: fought the leements every day + To: fought the elements every day + + pg 117 Changed: who had been rather suprised + To: who had been rather surprised + + pg 117 Changed: back in the captial, where she had spent + To: back in the capital, where she had spent + + pg 193 Changed: Miss—Miss——” stammmered Owen + To: Miss—Miss——” stammered Owen + + pg 196 Changed: use of the word “our”; it semed + To: use of the word “our”; it seemed + + pg 213 Changed: Is is not a fact + To: Is it not a fact + + pg 215 Changed: Her wherabouts in Paris + To: Her whereabouts in Paris + + pg 228 Changed: I undestood that the operations of the association + To: I understood that the operations of the association + + pg 297 Changed: She choose before—and a pretty mess + To: She chose before—and a pretty mess + + pg 326 Changed: my life, it he wishes + To: my life, if he wishes + + pg 334 Changed: quite a different cricle from yours + To: quite a different circle from yours + + pg 336 Changed: theft of the Countess de Magnan’s jewelery + To: theft of the Countess de Magnan’s jewelry +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78920 *** diff --git a/78920-h/78920-h.htm b/78920-h/78920-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..f2e75db --- /dev/null +++ b/78920-h/78920-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,16104 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html> +<html lang="en"> +<head> + <meta charset="UTF-8"> + <title> + The Money-Spider | Project Gutenberg + </title> + <link rel="icon" href="images/cover.jpg" type="image/x-cover"> + <style> + +body { + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; +} + +p { + margin-top: .51em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .49em; + text-indent: 1em; +} + +hr { + width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: 33.5%; + margin-right: 33.5%; + clear: both; +} + +hr.tb {width: 45%; margin-left: 27.5%; margin-right: 27.5%;} +hr.chap {width: 65%; margin-left: 17.5%; margin-right: 17.5%;} + +div.chapter {page-break-before: always;} +h2.nobreak {page-break-before: avoid;} + +table { + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; +} +table.autotable { border-collapse: collapse; } + +.tdl {text-align: left;} +.tdr {text-align: right; padding-right: .5em;} +.tdc {text-align: center;} + +.pagenum { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */ + /* visibility: hidden; */ + position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: small; + text-align: right; + font-style: normal; + font-weight: normal; + font-variant: normal; + text-indent: 0; + color: #A9A9A9; +} /* page numbers */ + +blockquote { + margin-left: 5%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + +.center {text-align: center;} + +.right {text-align: right;} + +.smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + +/* Images */ + +img { + max-width: 100%; + height: auto; +} +img.w100 {width: 100%;} + + +.figcenter { + margin: auto; + text-align: center; + page-break-inside: avoid; + max-width: 100%; +} + +/* Poetry */ +/* uncomment the next line for centered poetry */ +.poetry-container {display: flex; justify-content: center;} +.poetry-container {text-align: center;} +.poetry {text-align: left; margin-left: 5%; margin-right: 5%;} +.poetry .stanza {margin: 1em auto;} +.poetry .verse {text-indent: -3em; padding-left: 3em;} + +/* Transcriber's notes */ +.transnote {background-color: #E6E6FA; + color: black; + font-size:small; + padding:0.5em; + margin-bottom:5em; + font-family:sans-serif, serif; +} + +.fs70 {font-size: 70%} +.fs80 {font-size: 80%} +.fs90 {font-size: 90%} +.fs150 {font-size: 150%} +.fs200 {font-size: 200%} + +.no-indent {text-indent: 0em;} +.bold {font-weight: bold;} +.wsp {word-spacing: 0.3em;} +.lh {line-height: 1.5em;} + +h2 {font-size: 130%; font-weight: normal; line-height: 1.6em; word-spacing: .3em;} + +/* Poetry indents */ +.poetry .indent0 {text-indent: -3.0em;} +.poetry .indent2 {text-indent: -2.0em;} +.poetry .indent4 {text-indent: -1.0em;} +.poetry .indent6 {text-indent: 0.0em;} +.poetry .indent8 {text-indent: 1.0em;} + + +/* Illustration classes */ +.illowp85 {width: 85%;} +.illowp20 {width: 20%;} + +.pageborder {width: 350px; border: 1px solid; padding: 10px; margin: auto;} + + </style> +</head> + +<body> +<div style='text-align:center'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78920 ***</div> + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 85%"> +<img src="images/cover.jpg" alt="" data-role="presentation"> +</div> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> +<h1> +THE MONEY-SPIDER +</h1> +</div> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> +<figure class="figcenter illowp85" id="frontispiece" style="max-width: 41.625em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/frontispiece.jpg" alt=""> + <figcaption> + “<em>For a second the pair stared into one another’s eyes. There + was defiance, even hatred, in the glance of both of them.</em>” + </figcaption> +</figure> +</div> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter pageborder"> +<p class="center no-indent"> + <span class="fs200">THE<br> + MONEY-SPIDER</span><br> + <br> + <span class="fs80">BY</span><br> + WILLIAM LE QUEUX<br> + <br> + <em><span class="fs70">Author of “The Great God Gold,” “The</span></em><br> + <em><span class="fs70">Red Room,” etc., etc.</span></em></p> + <br> + <br> + + <figure class="figcenter illowp20" id="title" style="max-width: 29.5625em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/title.jpg" alt=""> + </figure> + + <br> +<p class="center no-indent lh"> + RICHARD G. BADGER<br> + <span class="fs90">THE GORHAM PRESS</span><br> + <span class="fs90">BOSTON</span> +</p> +</div> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> +<p class="center no-indent fs80"> + <em>Copyright 1911 by William Le Queux</em><br> + <em>Entered at Stationer’s Hall</em><br> + <em>All Rights Reserved</em><br> + <br> + <br> + <em>The Gorham Press, Boston, U. S. A.</em> +</p> +</div> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> +<p class="center no-indent"><em>In this Life of many troubles,<br> +what pain is greater than this:<br> +Desire without ability, when<br> +that desire turneth not away?</em></p> +</div> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + <h2 class="nobreak" id="CONTENTS"> + CONTENTS + </h2> +</div> + +<table class="autotable lh"> +<tr> +<td class="tdc" colspan="3"> +<span class="smcap">Part I</span> +</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="tdl" colspan="2"> +<span class="smcap">Chapter</span> +</td> +<td class="tdr"> +<span class="smcap">Page</span> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr"> +1 +</td> +<td class="tdl"> +Introduces a Red-Faced Man +</td> +<td class="tdr"> +<a href="#Page_1">1</a> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr"> +2 +</td> +<td class="tdl"> +Concerns Certain Secrets +</td> +<td class="tdr"> +<a href="#Page_8">8</a> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr"> +3 +</td> +<td class="tdl"> +The End of the World +</td> +<td class="tdr"> +<a href="#Page_17">17</a> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr"> +4 +</td> +<td class="tdl"> +The Touchstone of Misfortune +</td> +<td class="tdr"> +<a href="#Page_27">27</a> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr"> +5 +</td> +<td class="tdl"> +An Allegation +</td> +<td class="tdr"> +<a href="#Page_35">35</a> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr"> +6 +</td> +<td class="tdl"> +Strange Matters of Fact +</td> +<td class="tdr"> +<a href="#Page_43">43</a> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr"> +7 +</td> +<td class="tdl"> +The Captain Makes a Suggestion +</td> +<td class="tdr"> +<a href="#Page_53">53</a> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr"> +8 +</td> +<td class="tdl"> +Reveals the Shadow +</td> +<td class="tdr"> +<a href="#Page_61">61</a> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr"> +9 +</td> +<td class="tdl"> +The Arctic Wilderness +</td> +<td class="tdr"> +<a href="#Page_66">66</a> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr"> +10 +</td> +<td class="tdl"> +Towards the Doom +</td> +<td class="tdr"> +<a href="#Page_72">72</a> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr"> +11 +</td> +<td class="tdl"> +Face to Face +</td> +<td class="tdr"> +<a href="#Page_82">82</a> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr"> +12 +</td> +<td class="tdl"> +Love’s Shadow +</td> +<td class="tdr"> +<a href="#Page_90">90</a> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr"> +13 +</td> +<td class="tdl"> +Faces in the Mist +</td> +<td class="tdr"> +<a href="#Page_97">97</a> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr"> +14 +</td> +<td class="tdl"> +Is In Several Ways Mysterious +</td> +<td class="tdr"> +<a href="#Page_107">107</a> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr"> +15 +</td> +<td class="tdl"> +Lifts the Veil +</td> +<td class="tdr"> +<a href="#Page_116">116</a> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr"> +16 +</td> +<td class="tdl"> +Bride and Lover +</td> +<td class="tdr"> +<a href="#Page_123">123</a> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr"> +17 +</td> +<td class="tdl"> +Some Amazing Facts +</td> +<td class="tdr"> +<a href="#Page_132">132</a> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr"> +18 +</td> +<td class="tdl"> +The Four Letters +</td> +<td class="tdr"> +<a href="#Page_141">141</a> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr"> + +</td> +<td class="tdl"> + +</td> +<td class="tdr"> + +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdc" colspan="3"> +<span class="smcap">Part II</span> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr"> +1 +</td> +<td class="tdl"> +Bide Tryst +</td> +<td class="tdr"> +<a href="#Page_149">149</a> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr"> +2 +</td> +<td class="tdl"> +The Peril of Dick Jervoise +</td> +<td class="tdr"> +<a href="#Page_158">158</a> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr"> +3 +</td> +<td class="tdl"> +Strangers in London +</td> +<td class="tdr"> +<a href="#Page_166">166</a> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr"> +4 +</td> +<td class="tdl"> +Thyra Makes an Admission +</td> +<td class="tdr"> +<a href="#Page_175">175</a> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr"> +5 +</td> +<td class="tdl"> +The Bond of Silence +</td> +<td class="tdr"> +<a href="#Page_182">182</a> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr"> +6 +</td> +<td class="tdl"> +Contains A Problem +</td> +<td class="tdr"> +<a href="#Page_190">190</a> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr"> +7 +</td> +<td class="tdl"> +The Problem Continued +</td> +<td class="tdr"> +<a href="#Page_199">199</a> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr"> +8 +</td> +<td class="tdl"> +The Man Bourtzeff +</td> +<td class="tdr"> +<a href="#Page_208">208</a> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr"> +9 +</td> +<td class="tdl"> +An Indiscreet Friendship +</td> +<td class="tdr"> +<a href="#Page_217">217</a> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr"> +10 +</td> +<td class="tdl"> +A Curious Truth +</td> +<td class="tdr"> +<a href="#Page_225">225</a> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr"> +11 +</td> +<td class="tdl"> +On the Ripley Road +</td> +<td class="tdr"> +<a href="#Page_233">233</a> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr"> +12 +</td> +<td class="tdl"> +A Hammersmith Hero +</td> +<td class="tdr"> +<a href="#Page_242">242</a> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr"> +13 +</td> +<td class="tdl"> +Another Problem +</td> +<td class="tdr"> +<a href="#Page_253">253</a> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr"> +14 +</td> +<td class="tdl"> +A Warning is Uttered +</td> +<td class="tdr"> +<a href="#Page_268">268</a> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr"> +15 +</td> +<td class="tdl"> +The Villa Sergio +</td> +<td class="tdr"> +<a href="#Page_277">277</a> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr"> +16 +</td> +<td class="tdl"> +On the Adriatic +</td> +<td class="tdr"> +<a href="#Page_284">284</a> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr"> +17 +</td> +<td class="tdl"> +A Question is Asked +</td> +<td class="tdr"> +<a href="#Page_292">292</a> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr"> +18 +</td> +<td class="tdl"> +Father and Daughter +</td> +<td class="tdr"> +<a href="#Page_299">299</a> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr"> +19 +</td> +<td class="tdl"> +In Black and White +</td> +<td class="tdr"> +<a href="#Page_308">308</a> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr"> +20 +</td> +<td class="tdl"> +A Woman’s Honour +</td> +<td class="tdr"> +<a href="#Page_322">322</a> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr"> +21 +</td> +<td class="tdl"> +Towards the Truth +</td> +<td class="tdr"> +<a href="#Page_329">329</a> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr"> +22 +</td> +<td class="tdl"> +Alza Makes a Confession +</td> +<td class="tdr"> +<a href="#Page_338">338</a> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr"> +23 +</td> +<td class="tdl"> +In Sound of Piccadilly +</td> +<td class="tdr"> +<a href="#Page_345">345</a> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr"> +</td> +<td class="tdl"> +Conclusion +</td> +<td class="tdr"> +<a href="#Page_354">354</a> +</td> +</tr> +</table> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_1">[Pg 1]</span></p> + + <p class="center no-indent fs150"> + THE MONEY-SPIDER + </p> +</div> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="PART_I"> + PART I + </h2> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_I"> + CHAPTER I + <br> + <span class="fs80">INTRODUCES A RED-FACED MAN</span> + </h2> + + +<p class="no-indent">“<span class="smcap">And</span> if the truth were ever exposed—what then?”</p> + +<p>“Bah! You never need fear that, my dear fellow. The +people we are dealing with are discreet—silent in their own +interests. This isn’t the first little piece of confidential +business I’ve had with them.”</p> + +<p>“Well, I don’t like it.”</p> + +<p>“But you want money!”</p> + +<p>“Not if I’m compelled to commit a crime to obtain it.”</p> + +<p>“Ah, my dear Jorgen, you’re becoming really too +scrupulous in your old age,” laughed the fat, pimply-faced +man in a well-cut yachting suit, as he drew heavily +at his cigar and lolled back in a long cane-chair on deck. +“You should recollect that in these modern days of ours +honesty spells poverty.”</p> + +<p>“Not always, Peter, not always,” protested the other, +a broad-shouldered, burly, grey-bearded man in a well-worn +suit of blue serge. “One can be honest and prosper, +even now.”</p> + +<p>“Seldom, my dear fellow, seldom. Men to become +millionaires must be unscrupulous,” replied Peter Sundt, +the owner of that fine steam yacht, the blustering, red-faced +man who had once been a fisherman, but who now +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_2">[Pg 2]</span>practically controlled the great cod-fishing industry of +Finmarken. For him hundreds of men toiled upon the +deep, reaping the harvest of the Arctic Ocean, while he, +wealthy and luxurious, lived in summer at his beautiful +home near Christiania, and in winter at his splendid white +villa among the palms at Ragusa, on the blue Adriatic.</p> + +<p>The man seated at his side, gazing thoughtfully across +at the broken coast of the French Riviera lying purple in +the spring sunset, was of an altogether different stamp. +Big, broad-shouldered, with a kind, merry, furrowed face +and a deep-toned voice, he was a typical sailor of the +bluff, hail-fellow-well-met type. Indeed, for forty years +he had sailed the Polar Sea in search of the whale, and in +the days before Sven Foyn invented his deadly cannon-harpoon, +he had had many thrilling adventures in the +frozen North—adventures which, if written, would assuredly +make a most fascinating book.</p> + +<p>Nowadays, however, he had given up whaling and had +settled down in a snug appointment as harbour-master at +Vardo, that far-off little town on the most northernly +point east of the North Cape, a place beyond the pale of +civilisation and where for many months each year the +inhabitants lived in the perpetual Arctic night.</p> + +<p>He had known Peter Sundt, the millionaire of stock-fish, +all his life, and had now sailed to the South with him on +his magnificent yacht in order to keep a certain appointment +at an obscure hotel—the Palmiers—at Monte Carlo.</p> + +<p>The cruise around the North Cape, past Hammerfest, +down the long, broken coast-line of Norway, through the +Straits of Dover, across the stormy bay and through +Gibraltar, had been a most pleasant one. It was years +since Berentsen had sailed a summer sea, nearly his whole +life having been spent on the edge of the ice-pack, therefore +he had greatly enjoyed his old friend’s hospitality.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_3">[Pg 3]</span></p> + +<p>Yet now they were off Villefranche, with Beaulieu lying +in its picturesque bay, and the Tete de Chien rising +against the clear sky, with the brown rock of Monaco +beyond, the old harbour-master had become suddenly +thoughtful and apprehensive.</p> + +<p>Besides the crew—a hardy set of Norwegians and +Danes—they were the only persons on board. Peter +Sundt was a widower, and in no way a lady’s man. From +small beginnings he had risen to become one of the wealthiest +and most influential men in Norway, while his friend, +Jorgen Berentsen, bluff old sailor that he was, had continued +his life of the sea until his friend had been able to +obtain for him the post of harbour-master of that far-away, +dismal town, which was the outpost of civilisation.</p> + +<p>Jorgen had been appointed to Vardo at his own request. +Born and bred within the Arctic Circle, he cared little for +the South, and the pleasures of Christiania or Trondhjem +had never held any attraction for him.</p> + +<p>Like most Norwegians, both men knew English, and, +indeed, had been conversing in that language.</p> + +<p>“The meeting is at ten to-night, isn’t it?” asked the +old harbour-master slowly, with a sigh, his deeply-furrowed +face bearing a thoughtful, apprehensive expression.</p> + +<p>“Yes. Our friend said so in the wire I received at +Marseilles,” replied his red-faced host.</p> + +<p>“I’m half inclined to withdraw, even now. I confess, +Peter, I don’t like the affair.”</p> + +<p>“And after all the trouble you’ve taken!” exclaimed +Sundt. “Why, you’ve planned every detail.”</p> + +<p>“I know; but I’m ready to sacrifice it all in order to +preserve my innocence, my own honour.”</p> + +<p>“Honour, be hanged!” laughed his wealthy friend. +“Who cares a jot for your honour except yourself? If I’d +prided myself upon my honour I’d to-day still have been a +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_4">[Pg 4]</span>fisherman. My advice to you, my dear Jorgen, is to get +money wherever you can. Never refuse a good thing. +You’ve taken my advice before, and you’ve profited, +haven’t you?”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” replied the other, with a deep pull at his cigar. +“I owe everything to you, Peter—everything. I’d still +have been at sea now had it not been for your kind offices.”</p> + +<p>“Well, we’ve struck a bargain, you and I; and we’ve +kept it. You’ve placed in your pocket a good many +thousand kroners which you otherwise would not have +had.”</p> + +<p>“And you also,” laughed Berentsen uneasily.</p> + +<p>“Certainly; and I hope we shall both make a good many +more thousands. We shall, providing you don’t continue +to suffer from these absurd fits of groundless apprehension. +Self-exposure would mean exposure of myself—and I +couldn’t afford that—as you well know!”</p> + +<p>“But to thus betray—”</p> + +<p>“Oh, rubbish!” laughed Sundt, interrupting him. “Let’s +talk of something else. You’ve never been to Monte +Carlo. You’ll be amused there, I can assure you.”</p> + +<p>“I’m thinking of Thyra. How would she judge me if +she knew the truth?” he remarked in a low, intense voice, +his bearded chin sunk upon his breast and a far-away +look in his deep-set eyes.</p> + +<p>“Thyra will marry one day, I suppose, and you’ll want +money to give her. Look at the practical side of life, +man! Get the money now it’s within your grasp.”</p> + +<p>“Thyra would disown me as her father,” said the thick-set, +old sea-captain in a strained tone.</p> + +<p>“As many another daughter would disown her father +if she knew all his business secrets,” remarked Sundt, +with a smile. “Ignorance is always bliss.”</p> + +<p>“Well, Peter, I don’t like it!” exclaimed old Jorgen, +jumping from his long cane-chair, and taking three paces +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</span>up the deck and three paces back again—his old habit of +the bridge. His face had grown pale and rigid.</p> + +<p>Peter Sundt cast a curiously crafty glance at him while +his back was turned. But the unusual expression only +rested upon his countenance for a moment. Next second +it had vanished, and with a smile full of forced bonhomie +the millionaire said:</p> + +<p>“My dear fellow, put all worry behind you, as I do. +Little Thyra believes you to be the most honest man in all +Norway, as every daughter believes her father to be. +Why should she ever be undeceived? All of us have one +skeleton in our cupboard. Why should we go out of our +way to exhibit it?”</p> + +<p>“But this mysterious person we are here to meet? What +guarantee have we of his good faith? He might blackmail +us!”</p> + +<p>“He will not do so. I’ll guarantee that.”</p> + +<p>“How can you stand guarantee for him?”</p> + +<p>“Well—I have had previous experience,” replied Pete, +rather slowly. “The reason why the appointment for +meeting is made here in Monte Carlo is to avoid suspicion. +The place is so cosmopolitan that even though we might +be watched, there would be nothing extraordinary in us +meeting a stranger here. Besides, I always come here +for a fortnight or so each Carnival, before going round to +Ragusa.”</p> + +<p>“I somehow scent danger,” declared the Captain, +halting and leaning with his back to the rail. “I don’t +think I shall meet the mysterious person, whoever he may +be or however much I may gain by the commission of the +crime!”</p> + +<p>“What!” cried the owner of the yacht, starting in +surprise and staring straight at his friend. “You surely +don’t wish to back out of the bargain now? This isn’t +like you, Jorgen.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</span></p> + +<p>“I see signs of a gathering storm,” he replied, heartily +wishing he had never accepted his host’s invitation.</p> + +<p>“Where?”</p> + +<p>But the old harbour-master only shrugged his broad +shoulders and, as he did so, cast his cigar-end into the +water.</p> + +<p>A smart French steward appeared with a tray upon +which was tea, and setting it near his master, retired.</p> + +<p>The two men did not speak. The silence of the sunset +hour was unbroken save for the jar of the engines and +the low swish of the calm, blue waters, as they steamed +straight to the long, low Cap d’Ail.</p> + +<p>They were close enough to the rocky shore to distinguish +the Corniche road, running like a white ribbon over the +olive-clad Monte Bastis, while in the centre of the picturesque +scene rose the ancient village of Eze, perched high-up +upon its conical hill, with the white flower-embowered +villas of the wealthy dotted everywhere over the sloping +mountain-sides.</p> + +<p>To old Captain Berentsen the scene was an unfamiliar +one. He knew the ice-bound coasts of Kolguev, Franz +Josef Land, Spitzbergen, Nova Zembla. He lived far +beyond the tree zone, in a dismal land of grey mists and +snow blizzards, where nothing grew save the Arctic mosses. +Therefore, the fairy-like scene before him was entrancing.</p> + +<p>Yet he gazed upon it all as a man gazes at his own open +grave.</p> + +<p>His hands were clenched upon the iron rail, and as he +looked seaward his teeth were set, his deep-lined brow +clouded. His face was turned away from that man who, +though his host, held him so irresistibly in his power. He +was poor, and his poverty had compelled him to become, +as he now was, the helpless puppet in that fat man’s +hands.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</span></p> + +<p>He was thinking of Thyra—his sweet-faced, neat-waisted +little daughter, whom he had left at home in that far-away +town, now plunged in the darkness of the long Arctic +night. He had sacrificed his own honour in order that +she should not want. What, however, would she, devoted +child that she was, say if she knew the real reason of his +present pleasure cruise with this coarse-handed, red-faced +millionaire—the object of the secret meeting which Sundt +had arranged for ten o’clock that night?</p> + +<p>“You’re a fool, Jorgen!” declared Peter Sundt, bluntly +at last, “and ungrateful, too! I point out to you a mode +by which money can be secured for Thyra and yourself, +and you’re disinclined to take advantage of it!”</p> + +<p>“If the truth were exposed,” declared the unhappy man +in a faltering voice, “I would never dare to look my +daughter in the face again!”</p> + +<p>Peter Sundt laughed.</p> + +<p>“And have your hands been so very clean in the past, +eh?”</p> + +<p>“That is just why I fear—why I fear always.”</p> + +<p>“You’re a coward, as well as a fool. You will never +become a rich man.”</p> + +<p>“I’d rather remain poor and honest.”</p> + +<p>Sundt laughed again.</p> + +<p>“Honest!” he sneered. “Isn’t it rather late in the +day, Jorgen, to talk of honesty? Rest assured that Thyra +will never know. So just calm yourself, and make hay +while the sun shines—as the English say.”</p> + +<p>But bluff old Jorgen Berentsen only buttoned his pilot-jacket +tightly and paced backward and forward on the +deck, his heart full of regret and poignant bitterness, yet +held fettered and bound by the great crime he was being +forced, against his will, to commit.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</span></p> + + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_II"> + CHAPTER II + <br> + <span class="fs80">CONCERNS CERTAIN SECRETS</span> + </h2> +</div> + +<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap">Monte Carlo</span> at night.</p> + +<p>You who know the Riviera know well the scene. It +never changes, the terrestrial paradise that is so near hell. +The garish, noisy cafes, the expensive restaurants, full to +overflowing with the smartest crowd in Europe, the +myriad-coloured lights, the waving palms, the beds of +sweet-smelling flowers, the well-dressed men, the pretty +women in wonderful toilettes, and the centre of it all, the +Casino with its red-carpeted steps, its wide portals, and its +uniformed attendants. It was just before Carnival, and +the place was crowded.</p> + +<p>The old harbour-master and his millionaire host had +dined at the Hotel de Paris, amid a scene of luxury unfamiliar +to Jorgen Berentsen. The artistically lit tables, the +flowers, the gay laughter of the pretty women, and the +soft strains of the Roumanian band, all combined to create +an impression upon the case-hardened old whaling captain, +who had spent the greater part of his adventurous life in +the desolation of the Arctic. To him civilisation of that +luxurious kind was a revelation.</p> + +<p>As they crossed the palm-lined Place to the Casino they +could see the long white yacht, with its many lights, lying +in the port, a magnificent craft that had been familiar to +habitués of the Riviera for several seasons past.</p> + +<p>Peter Sundt was well known to the officials in the +Casino, otherwise it is doubtful whether the entrance-card +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</span>would have been issued to his burly companion, who +carried with him so unmistakably the air of the Northern +sea.</p> + +<p>But the door at the end of the atrium swung over, and a +moment later the pair found themselves in the great +world-famous gaming-room, where the roulette tables +were already crowded by a smart, eager throng. It +happened to be a Saturday night, and that is the evening +of the week when the women dress well and put on their +jewels.</p> + +<p>“<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Rien ne va plus!</i>” The strident cries of the croupiers +were incessant, mingled with the fascinating jingle of gold, +the soft rustle of bank-notes, and the sharp click of the +little ivory ball which, each moment, brought many of +those standing by nearer to the verge of ruin.</p> + +<p>As Peter and Jorgen passed from table to table they +found at each crowds four or five deep, eager to stake their +money in the hope of the fickle goddess smiling upon them.</p> + +<p>Hot and close were the rooms, as they always are, with +that indescribable odour which ever pervades the place—that +fevered, fetid odour of mingled perspiration and +perfume.</p> + +<p>Sundt, while standing at one of the roulette tables, +handed a croupier a hundred-franc note to place upon the +last dozen. Then old Jorgen, following his example and +bitten by the contagious excitement, handed the same +croupier a louis to place on the zero.</p> + +<p>The game was made, the ball spun, and gradually losing +its impetus, it fell with a loud click.</p> + +<p>“Ze-r-ro!” announced the croupier.</p> + +<p>The old captain’s furrowed face brightened when a +moment later he was handed a small handful of golden +louis, which he at once pocketed, and then turned away, +with Peter congratulating him upon his stroke of luck.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</span></p> + +<p>But Jorgen smiled bitterly. He was dreading the fast-approaching +hour—ten o’clock.</p> + +<p>As they were passing on to the next table, a tall, slim, +dark-haired French girl, quite young, but most elegantly +dressed in pale pink chiffon, unmistakably a creation of +the Rue de la Paix, with a big black hat which suited her +admirably, and a collar of gleaming diamonds, swept past +them laughing gaily with an elderly woman in grey satin +who accompanied her. Into her golden chain purse she +was carelessly stuffing a number of thousand-franc notes, +which she had just won by a lucky coup.</p> + +<p>Peter Sundt halted and stared at her for a second. His +red cheeks had blanched, and he held his breath.</p> + +<p>She, however, had not noticed him, and passed on +towards the great swing doors.</p> + +<p>As she walked down the room, two young Frenchmen, +evidently Riviera loungers, bowed acquaintance with her, +and she smiled upon them. She was not more than +twenty, and her clear-cut, regular features were strikingly +handsome.</p> + +<p>Jorgen Berentsen noticed his friend’s sudden surprise, +but made no remark. He, however, wondered that the +sight of that butterfly of fashion, that elegant little Parisienne, +with her dark hair arranged in bandeaux across her +white brow, should have produced such a curious impression +upon him.</p> + +<p>The young girl went out, her skirts rustling as she +walked, leaving Peter Sundt standing in the great salon +gazing after her as though dumfounded.</p> + +<p>“Who’s that?” the Captain inquired a few moments +later.</p> + +<p>“That girl? Oh!—oh, well only somebody I know. +I am very surprised to meet her here, that’s all,” he +responded, somewhat confused.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</span></p> + +<p>“A friend of yours—eh?”</p> + +<p>“Well—no—not exactly,” replied the millionaire, now +thoroughly recovered from the evident shock that her +unexpected appearance had caused him.</p> + +<p>But the harbour-master saw plainly that the sight of +that young Parisienne, flushed with the excitement of +winning a large coup, had produced an extraordinary +change in his companion, and that he knew more of her +than he intended to admit.</p> + +<p>“Perhaps you’d like to follow and join her? If so, +I’ll stay here for a little,” said the burly old sailor.</p> + +<p>“Join her!” echoed his companion, staring at him. +“<em>Join her!</em> No, thank you,” he said, laughing grimly. +“No,” he added, with an apparent effort, as he braced +himself up. “Let’s go into yonder room, and watch the +<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">trente-et-quarante</i>.”</p> + +<p>And together they strolled in the great painted salon +adjoining, where only gold was being played, and where +the cards were being dealt in a quiet and serious manner.</p> + +<p>To the hardy old sea-captain gambling possessed little +attraction. He had won a zero, and was therefore perfectly +satisfied. Already he found the atmosphere stifling and +the thousand perfumes of the women nauseating. The +jingle of gold sounded everywhere, and above all the +voices of the croupiers inviting the company to play, or +declaring that no further stakes could be accepted, or +announcing the winning numbers.</p> + +<p>“I’m ready to go,” he said at last, with a deep-drawn +sigh as he looked at the big clock at the end of the great +gilded gaming-room.</p> + +<p>It wanted but fifteen minutes to ten—the hour of the +secret appointment which he had been so long dreading.</p> + +<p>At ten o’clock he was to commit a crime unpardonable!</p> + +<p>Together, they passed through the atrium, down the +red-carpeted steps, and out into the moonlit Place.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</span></p> + +<p>The manner of the red-faced man had changed. He +gazed swiftly on every side, and looked eagerly across to +the terrace of the Cafe de Paris, as though in search of +that laughing, dark-haired girl, the sight of whom had +caused him such great surprise.</p> + +<p>But she had gone; and upon his coarse face was a look +of bitter disappointment.</p> + +<p>As they re-crossed the Place and walked on beneath +the dark shadows of the palms, the old sea-captain, pale +and agitated, suddenly halted, exclaiming in a determined +voice:</p> + +<p>“No, Peter! I—I’ll not do this! I—I’ll go no further!”</p> + +<p>“What!” cried his companion, stopping aghast. “What +are you saying?”</p> + +<p>“I say what I mean,” replied the bluff old fellow +resolutely.</p> + +<p>“You can’t mean it! Why, it would be utterly absurd +to withdraw now,” declared Peter Sundt.</p> + +<p>“Better withdraw now than be guilty of such an offence,” +the Captain replied in the low, hoarse voice of a +man struggling with his own conscience.</p> + +<p>“I’ve arranged it all and brought you here, yet you +now go back upon your word, and make a fool of me!” +cried the other.</p> + +<p>“You brought me here, Peter, as your catspaw—just +as I have always been, ever since I took that first false +step!” remarked the old fellow, who owed his present +snug position to the man standing before him.</p> + +<p>“And what have you to complain of, pray? I’ve +assisted you, exercised my influence on your behalf, yet +this is how you thank me! You cast mud in my face!” +exclaimed the wealthy man in quick anger.</p> + +<p>“I shall not do this,” said Berentsen. “I have decided.”</p> + +<p>“You shall! Come, it’s just on ten o’clock. We shall +be late. Women are impatient creatures.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</span></p> + +<p>“Not a step further will I go in this dirty business, Peter—even +for you.”</p> + +<p>“But I say you shall!” was Sundt’s determined response. +“You’ve suddenly grown conscientious, a trait which in +you, my dear Jorgen, is unusual. Conscientiousness is a +very bad sign. No man who entertains such thoughts +can ever hope to prosper in these bright days, believe me!”</p> + +<p>“I—I’d rather starve than do this to-night,” declared +Jorgen, his eyes staring before him, as though confronted +by his own terrible doom.</p> + +<p>“You can’t afford to starve, my dear friend,” replied +the other with a short, harsh laugh. “Besides, think of +little Thyra!”</p> + +<p>“It is of her that I’m thinking,” he said. “What +would she say if she knew that her father was—was—a—— But +enough! Let us part, Peter. Let us part now. +I will get back to the north alone.”</p> + +<p>“Listen!” exclaimed the red-faced man angrily. “You +are not going to play the fool like this. Come,” and +he linked his arm in that of his friend. “Come, at +once, and don’t show the white feather. I never before +thought you were a coward, Jorgen.”</p> + +<p>“I’m no coward!” cried his companion fiercely. “No +man has ever called me that. But I refuse to commit this +crime at your bidding!”</p> + +<p>“You will act as I have arranged,” replied the other. +“If not—well, you know the consequences.”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said the old fellow in a low, strained voice, +“imprisonment for me—and ruin for the child!”</p> + +<p>“You have to choose one or the other,” the coarse-faced +man remarked. “As I told you not long ago, you +must choose between prosperity and ruin. None but an +imbecile would choose the latter—which must mean your +exposure to Thyra.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</span></p> + +<p>The man addressed bit his lip. His hard hands were +clenched. Within him a fierce struggle was taking place, +for he knew alas! too well, that this man, who had amassed +a huge fortune by his callous unscrupulousness, now held +him entirely in his power.</p> + +<p>He was thinking of Thyra—his own little Thyra, to +whom he was so entirely devoted.</p> + +<p>Peter Sundt, quick to notice his companion’s indecision, +linked his arm in his again, and drew him slowly forward, +saying:</p> + +<p>“Come, man. Don’t be a fool! You can’t draw back +now. Why discuss such an unpleasant subject further? +Come—or we shall be too late.”</p> + +<p>And the old harbour-master, his face pale, his eyes set +straight before him at the long dark vista of the palms, +allowed himself to be slowly led towards that fatal rendezvous, +knowing, alas! that to refuse at that, the eleventh, +hour would mean an exposure that he dare not face.</p> + +<p>He was as a fly in the web of the spider. The more he +struggled, the more inextricable became his position. So +he only sighed bitterly, and with set teeth bowed to the +inevitable.</p> + +<p>It was not long before they reached the obscure little +hotel, the Palmiers—a place in a narrow street which +make a speciality of cheap table d’hôte luncheons and +dinners. And into its small private entrance both men +entered, Jorgen Berentsen holding his breath, terrified at +the act which he was thus forced to commit.</p> + +<p>Five minutes afterwards Peter Sundt emerged alone, +and retracing his steps, sauntered slowly back to the Place +du Casino, where, beneath the dark shadow of the trees, +he halted, anxiously awaiting the man over whom he +exercised a baneful influence.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</span></p> + +<p>For a full twenty minutes he idled up and down, impatiently +smoking a cigar, until suddenly Jorgen’s big, +square figure loomed up in the darkness.</p> + +<p>“Well?” inquired Sundt anxiously.</p> + +<p>“It’s done!” answered the old fellow breathlessly, in a +low, hoarse voice. “Let’s get away from this horrible +place—away anywhere.”</p> + +<p>“First let’s go across to the Cafe de Paris yonder. You +want a drop of brandy, no doubt. Then we’ll go on board. +By eleven, we’ll weigh anchor and be away.”</p> + +<p>They crossed to the big, brilliantly-lit cafe, where, at +the small tables, many well-dressed men and women were +drinking in the interval of staking their money on the +tables of the Casino opposite.</p> + +<p>Upon the terrace outside Peter’s quick eye caught +sight of the sweet-faced young Parisienne in pale pink +chiffon and black hat, seated alone at a little table placed +in the shadow against the wall.</p> + +<p>He therefore turned, and walking along the terrace +both men took seats at a table near. So agitated was the +old harbour-master that he, at first, did not notice her.</p> + +<p>It was only when he followed the direction of his companion’s +eyes that he recognised the girl whom they had +encountered in the Rooms. He saw that she had turned +her head, and was staring straight at Peter Sundt with a +wild, fixed look, as though she had seen an apparition.</p> + +<p>With her dark eyes still upon him, she drained her tiny +liqueur glass. Then her pretty lips relaxed into a smile, +half of recognition, half of defiance.</p> + +<p>Peter Sundt raised his hat politely, and was in the act +of crossing to where she was seated in the shadow, when +she half-rose from her seat. Her face suddenly became +blanched and drawn, her jaws were fixed, and next instant, +even before he could reach her, she had collapsed upon +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</span>her chair and, reeling sideways, fell heavily upon the +stone flooring.</p> + +<p>In a moment both men dashed across to her, and all +became confusion, for there were many people seated in +the vicinity.</p> + +<p>The first belief was that she had merely fainted, but +next moment a terrible truth became evident. Upon the +little marble table lay a tiny phial about two inches long, +and empty. Jorgen took it up and smelt it. The odour was +that of almonds.</p> + +<p>In a few seconds two agents of police were on the spot, +not, however, before the old harbour-master had realized +the ghastly fact.</p> + +<p>The unfortunate girl, like many another butterfly whose +wings are singed in that gilded inferno opposite, had +deliberately swallowed a fatal draught!</p> + +<p>The police wrested her lifeless body from Peter Sundt, +who held it tenderly in his arms, and as they did so the +red-faced man, now pale as the poor girl herself, placed +his hand wildly to his brow, and shrieked aloud:</p> + +<p>“<em>Dead!</em> My God!—she’s dead! This, then, is my +punishment—the vengeance of Heaven!”</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</span></p> + + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_III"> + CHAPTER III + <br> + <span class="fs80">THE END OF THE WORLD</span> + </h2> +</div> + + +<p class="no-indent">“<span class="smcap">What</span> secret can father have with Peter Sundt? Poor +dad! He looked so scared and worried! What can have +happened, I wonder, to bring Peter so far up here again +to Vardo? It’s just seven months ago since dad went +south with him.”</p> + +<p>The sweet-faced girl of twenty, whose soft, fair hair +streamed out upon the icy wind, spoke thus to herself as, +resting upon a great brown boulder, she fixed her big grey, +wide-open eyes straight before her upon the limitless +expanse of stormy Arctic Ocean.</p> + +<p>That wide waste of grey, tempest-tossed waters, the +very edge of civilisation, were assuredly a sea of despair.</p> + +<p>Thyra Berentsen, the bright, merry girl of sweet, +almost child-like, beauty, lived amid surroundings which +were the most dismal and dispiriting in all that barren, +ice-bound, Arctic land of Finmarken.</p> + +<p>The month was August, yet she wore a thick blue beret, +a fur-lined coat of Astrakhan, and on her hands wool-lined +mitts of leather, for there, far east of the North Cape, the +thermometer was at freezing point.</p> + +<p>Upon a small rocky islet, bare of the slightest trace of +vegetation, swept constantly by the cutting blizzards, and +buffeted by the long, dark, oily-looking rollers of the Polar +Sea, stands a tiny town of low wooden houses, mostly +roofed by turf. Such is Vardo, the last post of civilisation +in the Far North, and the point of departure of many +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</span>Arctic explorers who have gone to their graves, and assuredly +the most wretched, lonely, and inhospitable spot of any +between the high, frowning Nordykn, standing sheer from +the glacial ocean, to the White Sea.</p> + +<p>On the one side, from the rolling waters, rise the high +grey cliffs of the mainland of Europe, while on the other +lies the wide, open ocean, where the long breakers roll in +from Nova Zembla, the ice-pack, and the unknown frozen +Land of the No Return. The wind, the tearing, icy wind, +swept that August afternoon straight from the unexplored +regions of the Farthest North, causing the girl to button +her fur coat tightly at the throat and thrust her mittened +hands into her pockets.</p> + +<p>“I wonder,” she repeated to herself, “I wonder what +it all means?”</p> + +<p>Ever and anon she glanced along the path in the direction +of the wretched little log-built town, as though in +expectation of someone whom she was awaiting.</p> + +<p>Behind her, across that narrow strait, lay the great +lone land, where even the stunted Arctic willow was +unable to take root, and where, indeed, nothing grew +save the carpet of a myriad different species of wild +flowers, the red cloud-berries, and the yellow reindeer-moss; +the dismal uninhabited wilderness of barren rock +and sky, of river and limitless tundra, snow-covered plains +in winter, but in summer a treacherous, mosquito-infested +morass.</p> + +<p>In all that wild Norrland beyond the Polar Circle no +spot is more bleak or more desolate, nor is the climate with +its grey fogs, its continuous blizzards and iron frosts, more +terrible anywhere than here. Hammerfest, on the western +coast, is the most northerly town in the world, but not +the coldest, for it is sheltered by the island of Soro opposite. +Vardo, on the contrary, standing out as it does in the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</span>Arctic Sea, is more open and exposed than any other +inhabited point along that terrible rock-bound coast. Its +community is, indeed, a hardy one of sturdy fisher-folk, +who year in, year out, battle fiercely with the elements +for their bare existence.</p> + +<p>Here, it is not the land, but the sea, that is ploughed. +Men do not sow and wield the scythe in summer, but reap +in mid-winter without having sowed. In the months in +which the long night holds its undisputed sway, when the +light of the sun has given place to that of the moon, and +the rosy flush of dawn and sunset to the glow of the +Northern Lights, then those dwellers in the Far North +gather in the rich harvest of the sea.</p> + +<p>Yet the sky there is ever low and grey, the sea ever +stormy, and the winds ever howling, while the temperature, +even in August, is that of December in our own much-maligned +England. The midnight sun which proves so +attractive to European tourists who go in comfortable +steamers, and entertained by string-bands, up as far as +the North Cape, gives its continuous light in summer; yet, +alas! is no compensation for those long months of the +Polar night, when God’s blessed sunlight is entirely withheld +from that dismal, grey, forgotten land.</p> + +<p>In such surroundings, and amid those rough, uncultured +toilers of the sea, Thyra—the only daughter of old Captain +Berentsen, the harbour-master—had been born, and +now lived.</p> + +<p>The bleak monotony and stern wildness of everything +was, alas! terribly gloomy. The tourist steamers never +went so far as Vardo.</p> + +<p>Notwithstanding those tempestuous winds, the very +air was polluted, for every now and then a breath of the +sickening effluvia of the fish-drying houses, the fish-guano +works, the whale boileries or the fish offal decaying everywhere +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</span>in the streets, reached the girl’s nostrils where she +sat.</p> + +<p>“I wonder why dear old dad is so troubled?” she +repeated to herself, sighing as she gazed blankly around +upon the cheerless scene, so colourless and so inhospitable. +Across her mind at that moment flashed the recollection of +Christiania, with all its brightness, its movement and its +civilisation; the capital in which she had been for some +years at school. But her schooldays being over, she had, +three years ago, returned home—returned to an exile’s +life among those rude, uncouth fisher-folk, an existence +terribly galling to a girl so accomplished and so refined.</p> + +<p>She thought of her old schoolfellows living their happy +lives, possessing friends and enjoying the sunshine of the +south.</p> + +<p>And she sighed again.</p> + +<p>Hers, alas! was a life of dreary loneliness and cramped +confinement upon that narrow, treeless islet, with its +eternal odour of decaying codfish. Her life was as monotonous +as the scene itself. All her day-dreams down in +Christiania had come to naught. Her mother had died +long ago, and her father’s household consisted only of +herself and Feyia, the old Lapp woman who acted as +housekeeper.</p> + +<p>In all Vardo there was no girl of similar age or similar +education with whom she could associate, for the simple +reason that no man would dwell with his family amid that +savage sea if he could possibly avoid it.</p> + +<p>Reflecting upon this, and still wondering why the red-faced +old Peter Sundt, the wealthy fish-exporter, had +come up from the south to see her father, she saw on +glancing towards the town the tall figure of a young man +striding towards her.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</span></p> + +<p>The quick flush of colour tinging her soft cheeks told its +own tale. He waved his hand, and, smiling, she waved +back to the man to whom she was secretly betrothed.</p> + +<p>“I am so sorry, darling, that I’m late!” he cried in +French, lifting his cap as he took her mittened hand. “I +hope you have not waited very long. The mail has just +landed, and I was compelled to reply to an important +letter.”</p> + +<p>“I have not been here long, Paul,” was her reply in the +same language. “Have any strangers arrived by the +mail boat?”</p> + +<p>“Only two Englishmen. They’ve come up from Tromso, +the captain told me. I haven’t seen them yet. Really,” +he added, “one is quite out-of-the-world up here, +with only a mail once a fortnight to create a little excitement +and to bring us news from the land of the sunshine.”</p> + +<p>They were standing together. He was looking into her +raised beautiful countenance with his dark eyes full of +passionate love, while the gaze of those blue unfathomable +eyes that held him so irresistibly beneath their spell was +fixed and unwavering.</p> + +<p>Paul Grinevitch was Russian. His knowledge of +Norwegian, or of Finnish, was not very extensive, therefore +they talked either in French or in English, both of which +languages Thyra spoke extremely well. About thirty, +tall, athletic, with a handsome, refined face and a small +dark moustache, its ends trained upwards in German +fashion, he was extremely courteous and gentlemanly, +while his bearing was undoubtedly military, though at +the moment he was wearing a suit of thick, rough tweeds.</p> + +<p>Six months before, he had landed one afternoon from +the mail-steamer which had come up from Tromso, and +becoming unaccountably attracted by the remoteness of +the place from civilisation, had taken up his quarters in +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</span>the turf-roofed house of an old fisherman, with whom he +had made many excursions in the neighbourhood in +search of sport.</p> + +<p>Any stranger landing at the little place is at once known +to everybody; therefore, within a few hours of his arrival, +Thyra had found herself introduced to him, and it had been, +on the part of both of them, a case of love at first sight.</p> + +<p>Paul Grinevitch had pretended that the reason his visit +had been so long protracted was because of the excellent +fishing and shooting which the neighbourhood afforded. +But truth to tell, the sole attraction was the beautiful +Thyra, from whom he was unable to tear himself away.</p> + +<p>They met—again and again. She had possessed the +young Russian, body and soul.</p> + +<p>He had told her little about himself, very little, save +that he had been at college in Moscow, and that his +parents lived away in the far south at Odessa. That he +was a gentleman, old Jorgen Berentsen had known instinctively +from the very first moment of their acquaintance +and that he was comfortably off was likewise apparent. +Letters came to him sometimes bearing on their envelopes +a golden coronet and cipher, and it was whispered in +Vardo that he was the son of a Russian Privy Councillor +in the Czar’s <em>entourage</em>.</p> + +<p>Indeed, on one occasion he had, for one of the fish +merchants, scribbled a note to the captain of the port of +Archangel, and the bearer of the note had returned and +told everybody how all-powerful the recommendation had +been, and with what respect the Russian official had treated +him.</p> + +<p>Therefore, all Vardo knew that Paul Grinevitch was a +gentleman, even though they regarded the reason of his +continued residence among them as something of a mystery. +It was known that he was frequently in Thyra’s +company—and everybody wondered.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</span></p> + +<p>They were, indeed, a handsome pair, as they stood +together at the edge of those cold, grim waters.</p> + +<p>He was in love with this beautiful daughter of the Arctic—in +love with her honestly, deeply, completely. Paul, to +whom the smartest salons of Petersburg, of Moscow, and +of Paris were ever open, loved the sweet-faced daughter +of the old weather-beaten sailor of the Polar seas.</p> + +<p>He had not released her hand, but stood with it held in +his own, gazing into those deep, child-like eyes that held +him ever in such fascination.</p> + +<p>“Thyra!” he exclaimed in a deep, low, earnest tone, as +a sigh escaped him.</p> + +<p>“Well?” she asked, looking up into his face as she +smiled mischievously, all trace of the troubled expression +upon her countenance having vanished.</p> + +<p>“Thyra—my own darling!” he cried. “I—I—I want +to tell you something, but—well, I—I can’t!” And he +sighed again and drew himself up, his passionate gaze still +fixed immovably upon her.</p> + +<p>“Why not?” she asked simply. “If it is a secret, +surely you can trust me? Am I not your betrothed?”</p> + +<p>“Ah, yes!” he cried hoarsely. “It is just because of +that—because we are to marry in a few weeks that I cannot +tell you.”</p> + +<p>The girl stared at her lover in blank surprise. She had +never before seen him so distressed. What could he +mean? Had the mail just in brought him bad news?</p> + +<p>A serious, apprehensive look overspread her beautiful +face—a face that was,—indeed, peerless in its perfection. +The soft sweetness of her features, so well-cut and so regular, +was such that it would assuredly have caused comment +even among the women of the <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">haut monde</i> in the Park or +in the Bois. Hers was a type of rare, delicate beauty, with +her unfathomable eyes, her well formed nose, her pointed +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</span>chin and dimpled cheeks; a beauty that was delightfully +innocent and child-like, without being insipid; a beauty +the more remarkable considering the rigour of that terrible +climate, and how soon, alas! the faces of the sturdy men +and women of the Finmarken coast—the end of the +civilised world—become hard, furrowed and weather-beaten.</p> + +<p>The long strands of fair hair blown out upon the wind +were soft as floss silk, and as she smiled she disclosed an +even row of pearly teeth behind dainty lips, bearing upon +them the true bow of Cupid, and made for kisses.</p> + +<p>Yes, Thyra was lovely. The young Russian told himself +that again, as indeed he had done a thousand times +within those past six months. Among the girls he had +met in Paris and in Petersburg, in Monte Carlo or in +Rome, he had never met one so beautiful, so dainty, so full +of inexpressible charm.</p> + +<p>And she was his—his very own. She had promised, +three weeks ago, to be his wife, and old Jorgen, the bluff +old retired Arctic sea-captain, had given his consent upon +one condition—that the strictest secrecy was to be observed +regarding the engagement.</p> + +<p>Why, they both wondered. What motive had the old +fellow in withholding the news from that tiny, gossiping, +rough-and-ready little world of Vardo?</p> + +<p>“Paul,” exclaimed the girl, slowly twining her soft arm +around her lover’s neck, regardless of the fact that they +might be observed. “Do tell me, dearest, what is troubling +you. Why does our forthcoming marriage prevent +you telling the truth to me—the woman who is to be your +wife?” she asked in English in a low, persuasive tone, +raising her lips to his and fondly kissing him with long, +clinging caress. That kiss itself was assuredly enough to +make any man’s head reel.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</span></p> + +<p>The young man sighed. She noticed his brow contract +as he bit his nether lip involuntarily.</p> + +<p>“Because, my darling—because it is a secret which, +though I long to confide it to you, I—I dare not. Indeed, +I must not. You are to be my wife—my own love—” +And he held her with trembling hands and kissed her with +the fierce passion of affection. “But there—I was a fool +to have mentioned it—to have aroused your apprehension, +my own dear heart. I so long to be able to tell you, and +yet—and yet—”</p> + +<p>“Yet what, Paul?”</p> + +<p>“I cannot. I—I dare not.”</p> + +<p>“Not when I, Thyra, ask you to tell me? Not when I +make an urgent request to you—the man who is to be my +husband?” she asked in a voice of quiet, earnest reproach.</p> + +<p>“No, no!” he cried, in quick distress, his gloved hand +clenched in desperation. “No, darling; don’t put it like +that. Forget, I beg of you; forget my unpardonable +foolishness in mentioning a matter which, after all, does +not concern you, and has naturally aroused within you +some grave forebodings. We love each other, surely that +is sufficient? Come, let us put all gloomy thoughts aside.”</p> + +<p>“Then your thoughts are actually gloomy ones?” she +exclaimed, in quick alarm. “Why do you try to conceal +the truth from me, Paul? This is not like you.”</p> + +<p>“Because, my darling, in this matter it is, for the +present, imperative that—that I should remain silent. +Silence is best for you, and for me,” answered the young +man. “One day you will know; but, Thyra, though I +regret deeply that I cannot explain matters, you must, for +the present, remain in ignorance. I cannot bring myself +to tell you. No, I will not, even though I could. You +love me, my own dear heart, therefore why should I bring +upon you sorrow, apprehension, perhaps a great bitterness +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</span>of heart? Let us live—let us be happy, even though our +bliss may be fleeting as your summer snows. You are +mine, my own sweet well-beloved—my own darling wife +that is to be!”</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</span></p> + + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_IV"> + CHAPTER IV + <br> + <span class="fs80">THE TOUCHSTONE OF MISFORTUNE</span> + </h2> +</div> + +<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap">Thyra’s</span> home was very plain and simple. Up there, +in the far-away North, they are all simple folk, honest, +hardy, strong of heart and strong of hand.</p> + +<p>The dismal little street of Vardo consisted of two rows +of low, wood-built, inartistic houses, mostly without an +upper floor, the majority being roofed with peat, upon +which grew a varied assortment of the Arctic mosses. One +or two of the houses were tiled, and one of these—one +somewhat superior to the others, inasmuch as it possessed +an upper storey, where curtains showed at the big, ugly +square windows—was occupied by old Captain Berentsen.</p> + +<p>On the same evening that Paul had made that inexplicable +declaration to Thyra the girl was seated in the upstairs +dining-room with her father, her head bent beneath the +lamp trying to read an English novel, while old Jorgen +himself lounged in his easy chair near the stove, smoking +his big Norwegian pipe.</p> + +<p>In Vardo those who possess a house of one storey live +upstairs because the deep snows of winter too frequently +shut out the light from the windows of the lower floor. +The room wherein sat the pretty girl and her grey-bearded, +weather-beaten father was not a particularly comfortable +one, if judged by our southern standard of luxury. The +floor was carpetless, the chairs were cane-bottomed, the +walls were of wood, and upon them were one or two cheap +Russian oleographs of brilliant colouring. Over the door +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</span>hung a small <em>ikon</em>, or holy picture, for Thyra’s mother had +been Russian, from Archangel.</p> + +<p>At one end of the room was the buffet of varnished pine, +while at the other was a cottage piano, one of the very few +in that most northerly point of Lapland. The windows +were double, to keep out the cold, and before them were +two or three sickly-looking flowers in pots.</p> + +<p>The pot-plant is the hobby of the people of Finmarken. +In almost every house one will find a wretched little +geranium or two, with their blooms dwarfed by the uncongenial +climate and surroundings, or a pet rose, stunted and +unhealthy, with its blossom drooping or its bud already +fading before it had opened.</p> + +<p>As nothing grew out of doors in that high latitude, +Thyra had brought up those plants with her from Christiania, +a thousand miles south, when she returned from +school, and she had carefully tended and nursed them +ever since.</p> + +<p>With her elbows upon the table, she was deeply absorbed +in the English sixpenny edition of a popular detective +story which one of her old schoolfellows had sent her. +In the zone of light from the small petroleum table-lamp +her face, now that her cap was removed, showed even more +perfect in its beauty, so sweet and so thoroughly feminine.</p> + +<p>Outside the storm howled fiercely, the tearing wind, its +force unbroken from the ice-pack, shaking the windows and +ever and anon causing the very house to tremble. But +was it not the usual condition of things in August? Therefore +neither father nor daughter made remark.</p> + +<p>Old Jorgen Berentsen, sitting there in the shadow +watching his daughter as he smoked, was assuredly a fine +figure of a man—a man of many adventures. On one +occasion his vessel had been wrecked on the barren coast +of Melville Land, in East Greenland, and after months +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</span>of suffering and starvation, during which all his companions +died except two, he had been rescued by another +whaling vessel. On a second occasion the ship he commanded +had foundered, and the crew managed to reach +land at the terrible delta of the Lena, in Northern Siberia, +near where De Long and the party of the <em>Jeannette</em> had +perished two years before.</p> + +<p>Little wonder was it, therefore, that his brow should be +so deeply furrowed, that his hair should be grey, that his +voice should be gruff, or that his strong hand should +possess such an iron grip.</p> + +<p>Forty years of navigating the Arctic Ocean, first high +up in the crow’s-nest and afterwards as captain, had +stirred within him the call of the Polar Mystery as it stirs +every man. Even now, retired as he was, with the +sinecure of harbour-master, and acting as vice-consul for +several foreign countries, he often closed his eyes and +imagined himself back again upon the bridge of his grimy, +evil-smelling whaler with the biting wind whistling through +the rigging and the brilliant aurora waving across the +northern sky.</p> + +<p>Living as he constantly had done in the land of the +Great Night, his aid and advice had been sought by almost +every Arctic explorer of the past twenty years. It was he +who had provided the sled-dogs for Nansen and for Jackson; +he who had given advice to Shackleton upon his +equipment for the Antarctic; he who had been consulted +by Peary, by the Duke of the Abruzzi, and by Wellman +of airship fame. To him the ice-bound coasts of Franz +Josef Land, of Nova Zembla, of Spitzbergen, and of +Greenland, with their steel-blue glaciers and snow-covered +bluffs, were all well known. Indeed, he knew far more of +Arctic life, Arctic conditions, and Arctic mysteries than +any Fellow of the Royal Geographical Society of England.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</span></p> + +<p>Nowadays, however, his adventures were all of the past. +His wife was dead and, with his daughter to bear him +company, he led a frugal, quiet, uneventful life, a life that +bored him somewhat in summer and became well-nigh +intolerable in the three months of perpetual night from +November to January. Those dead, dark, bitterly cold +days, when the lamp burned perpetually and when the +little town was silent as the grave, made him long for the +old activity at sea and the keen excitement of hunting the +leviathan of the deep.</p> + +<p>The last days before his retirement had been spent as +captain of a passenger vessel between Bergen and New +York, hence he had learned to speak English in addition +to his native Norwegian, and Finnish and French.</p> + +<p>A ring at the door-bell below aroused them. Thyra +raised her head from her book with a sigh. At that +moment she did not wish to be disturbed.</p> + +<p>“Oh, I quite forgot, my dear,” the old man exclaimed. +“The <em>Mercur</em> came in this afternoon, and I asked the +captain to come in and bring his two passengers, young +Englishmen. I met them on the quay. They seem to be +gentlemen.”</p> + +<p>Thyra frowned slightly as she heard old Freyia, the Lap +woman who acted as housekeeper and maid-of-all-work, +go to the door, and next instant came the cheery voice of +the captain of the <em>Mercur</em>, the black old cargo-boat which, +trading between Vardo and Hamburg, and calling at all +the ports down the Norwegian coast, brought them the +mail from the south.</p> + +<p>When each six or seven weeks the <em>Mercur</em>, with her +high black funnel and white bands, appeared through the +driving mists and entered the harbour it was always a day +of activity, for the captain was highly popular everywhere, +and with the visits of the <em>Mercur</em> came news of friends, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</span>and the stores without which the dwellers on that remote +little island could not exist.</p> + +<p>“Well, Miss Thyra,” exclaimed the captain cheerily as +he entered the room. “And how are you getting on up +here, after Christiania, eh?”</p> + +<p>He was a tall, rather good-looking, fair-moustached +man, well set-up, and extremely smart both in manner +and dress. Well known to all along the Norwegian coast +as something of a dandy, his uniform was always spotless, +the braid upon it was untarnished, and his boots always +well shined, even though he sailed those stormy seas. +Besides, though he was Norwegian born and bred, his +name, curiously enough was typically English—John +Martin.</p> + +<p>“Well, Captain Martin,” exclaimed the girl, with a +laugh, as she cast a furtive glance at the two strangers +behind him, “here it is scarcely so gay as in Christiania, +of course. Yet it is my duty to be here and look after dad, +so, of course, I must not grumble.”</p> + +<p>“Allow me to introduce two friends of mine,” the +captain said in fair English. Then, indicating the elder +of the pair of Englishmen, a good-looking, dark-haired, +merry-eyed fellow in a well-cut suit of blue serge, he said, +“This is Mr. Jervoise—Miss Thyra Berentsen.”</p> + +<p>The other, a short, rather thick-set man of thirty-two, +with a small moustache and wearing gold pince-nez, he +introduced as Doctor Owen Odd, adding, “These gentlemen +have been with me all the way from Bergen—my +only passengers this trip.”</p> + +<p>“And a most delightful time we’ve had, Miss Berentsen,” +declared Dick Jervoise. “Your friend the captain +has been untiring in his efforts to make us comfortable in +the heavy weather we ran into after rounding the North +Cape.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</span></p> + +<p>Thyra raised her eyes to his, and regarding him for a +second, saw honesty in his gaze. Then she smiled +answering:</p> + +<p>“Everybody knows how pleasant Captain Martin makes +a voyage. I’ve been with him twice down to the south.”</p> + +<p>“And I hope you’ll make many more trips with me, +Miss Thyra,” declared the fair-haired man who, ashore, had +exchanged his spotless uniform for thick grey tweeds.</p> + +<p>At old Jorgen’s invitation the trio sat down, the two +Englishmen delighted with their experience. It was +unique to be entertained in a house so far north—and by +such a delightful hostess, with her beautiful face and her +pretty broken English.</p> + +<p>The four men were soon chatting, while Thyra, instantly +at ease with her English visitors, busied herself in setting +out the little glasses for the vodka.</p> + +<p>Martin was explaining to his English friends the adventurous +career of the old man who sat there smoking his +long pipe with its carved meerschaum bowl, and they were +listening, entranced by the captain’s story.</p> + +<p>The old fellow, however, modestly disclaimed all title +to be classed among Arctic explorers.</p> + +<p>“I’m only a whaling skipper,” he declared, laughing. +“My explorations have been done out of necessity, and +were the outcome of mishap.”</p> + +<p>Dick Jervoise glanced around the small, plain room, +devoid of any cosiness. He noted the small, sickly looking +flowers, the double windows, the big stove roaring though +it was an August night. All was so strange, so unusual, so +extraordinary after the civilisation and luxury of London.</p> + +<p>He fixed his eyes upon the beautiful countenance of the +girl who offered him the Russian cigarettes. In all his +wide experience never had he seen a face so sweet, so +entirely perfect. And he noticed that Owen was also +gazing at her in wrapt admiration.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</span></p> + +<p>She raised her big grey eyes from the box suddenly, +and their gaze met.</p> + +<p>In the white lamplight Captain Martin saw the slight +flush rise to the girl’s cheeks. He smiled within himself +for, as a bachelor, he was never averse to a mild flirtation. +He knew well how much the girl had been admired down +in Christiania, and had heard how she might have made a +most excellent match with one of the richest men in Norway +if old Jorgen had not ordered her to return home to +that life of grey monotony which was surely sufficient to +crush all the gaiety and brightness out of any young girl’s +heart.</p> + +<p>For nearly an hour they sat together chatting, Thyra +explaining to the two visitors many interesting facts +concerning the nomad Laplanders and their habits—some +of whom, dressed in their reindeer skins, they had seen +that afternoon—while the pair sat listening, entranced by +the music of her voice.</p> + +<p>Presently the door-bell rang again, and a few seconds +later a short, stout, pompous man with a red, pimply face, +and a big diamond in his cravat, entered the room.</p> + +<p>It was Peter Sundt.</p> + +<p>Thyra held the man in distinct dislike. She had hated +him ever since she was a child.</p> + +<p>Of late he had seemed to hold some irresistible power +over her father, a power that was, to her, an entire and +complete mystery.</p> + +<p>As he entered she did not fail to notice how uneasily her +father stirred in his armchair, or that the greeting extended +to him was not that genuine, hearty one with which he +had met the captain of the <em>Mercur</em>.</p> + +<p>What secret was there between them?</p> + +<p>The Englishmen were introduced, and the coarse, red-faced, +loud-voiced man tossed off his vodka at a gulp, and +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</span>seemed to treat everybody with supreme disdain—even +Thyra herself.</p> + +<p>Her eyes again met those of Dick Jervoise, and in them +he discerned a mutely expressed disgust. To him it +seemed that society in Vardo was not very refined, and he +pitied her, compelled as she was to live amid such depressing, +soul-killing surroundings.</p> + +<p>At last Martin and his friends rose to go, and Jervoise, +promising to call again before the <em>Mercur</em> sailed, bowed +over the girl’s hand, followed by the doctor.</p> + +<p>She accompanied them downstairs to the door, leaving +her father alone with Peter Sundt.</p> + +<p>The instant she had left the room the coarse-featured +man rose, and approaching the grey-haired captain, bent +and asked in a low, hard voice:</p> + +<p>“Well, have you decided? I’ve come here for your +answer, remember.”</p> + +<p>The old man removed his pipe slowly from his lips and +looked straight into the other’s face.</p> + +<p>“I—I haven’t had sufficient time to consider. I—”</p> + +<p>“But you will decide to-night—now—before I leave this +house,” declared the man firmly. “If your answer is in +the negative you know well what the result will be.”</p> + +<p>“Ah! I see,” cried the other fiercely. “You—you now +hold the dagger at my throat, because you know that I am +utterly in your hands. Are you a man that you should +make this demand, Peter Sundt, or are you one of hell’s +fiends?”</p> + +<p>But Peter Sundt, quite unperturbed by his victim’s +outburst, coolly poured out another glass of vodka and +tossed it off, a smile of triumph upon his pimply face as +he did so.</p> + +<p>He knew that Jorgen Berentsen was as wax in his hands.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</span></p> + + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_V"> + CHAPTER V + <br> + <span class="fs80">AN ALLEGATION</span> + </h2> +</div> + +<p class="no-indent">“<span class="smcap">That’s</span> a very neat and dainty little girl, the harbour-master’s +daughter,” remarked the doctor to his friend +as, half an hour later, they were seated together in the +narrow little saloon of the <em>Mercur</em>, having a cigarette prior +to turning in. For a month the black old steamer, with +its odoriferous cargo of dried fish, whale oil, and cod liver +oil had been their home, and their stomachs had long ago +grown used to the flavour. To the uninitiated, however, +the effluvia was poisonous, especially in a rough sea.</p> + +<p>Dick Jervoise agreed, but remained unusually thoughtful. +Truth to tell, the sweet face of Thyra Berentsen had +so impressed him that he could think of nothing else. +Those soft grey eyes, that slim, dainty figure, and that +musical speech in three or four languages, had charmed +him. Was it not entirely and utterly unexpected to find +up there, so far north beyond civilisation, amid that +rough, hard-handed fisher-folk, a girl so perfectly beautiful, +so sweet and so child-like?</p> + +<p>“By Jove!” declared Owen Odd, “she’d make a sensation +even in the park in town! Fancy a girl like that +being doomed to live in this awful place, where codfish is +the sole and staple food and industry. When we started, +Dick, I never thought we’d get into so high a latitude as +this.”</p> + +<p>“Well, we’ve taken Martin’s advice,” replied his +friend. “He said if we rounded the North Cape we’d get +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</span>into a part of the world that, though bleak and rugged, +would interest us.”</p> + +<p>“It interests you, my dear fellow, because you’ve been +such a traveller; but for myself, who’ve had to stay at +home grinding at hospital for my degree, I confess I’d +prefer a warm climate with palms and oranges and girls +in black mantillas. You’re too <em>blase</em> for that, I know. +You spend every winter on the Riviera, or in the south of +Spain, while I’m forced to practise medicine among the +poor of Hammersmith.”</p> + +<p>Dick Jervoise was still staring straight before him, +hardly conscious of what his friend the young doctor was +saying.</p> + +<p>“Well,” he exclaimed at last, with a faint smile, “the +air up here is a bit fresher than in King Street, Hammersmith, +isn’t it? Why, they say that along this coast, +though the wind is so keen and the climate so terrible, +there are no cases of consumption.”</p> + +<p>“Because all the weaklings here die young, my dear old +chap. Only the tough ones can survive. Fancy spending +the winter here—three months of perpetual night—ugh!”</p> + +<p>Dick, his mind still fixed upon the girl to whom the +captain had that evening introduced him, said:</p> + +<p>“I don’t know, Owen, whether it struck you to-night +the same as myself, but somehow the face of Thyra Berentsen +is, to me, a face of tragedy.”</p> + +<p>“Tragedy!” laughed the young doctor from Hammersmith. +“I don’t quite follow you, Dick.”</p> + +<p>“Well, I scarcely know how to explain myself,” was +the other’s reply. “In the countenance of some people +I find their destiny portrayed quite distinctly. Perhaps +other people do not possess the same faculty of—well, +divination, shall we call it? But in the rare cases in which +I have discerned the future in a person’s face I have +seldom been in error.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</span></p> + +<p>“That’s curious,” exclaimed Odd, suddenly interested. +“And so you foretell tragedy and unhappiness for the +pretty Thyra, eh?”</p> + +<p>“Yes. I fear, alas! that unhappiness will be her lot, even +though she’s now so merry and light-hearted.”</p> + +<p>The young medical man shrugged his shoulders. He +was used to the quaint ideas, and sometimes rather eccentric +whims, of his old friend.</p> + +<p>To him it seemed a quaint conceit to be able to foretell +a girl’s future by her face. A woman’s past may often be +read in her eyes, but to divine the future was something +novel.</p> + +<p>Both men smoked on in silence.</p> + +<p>They had been at Eton together, and afterwards at +Oxford. Subsequently, however, their ways in life had +parted. Owen Odd, the fair-haired, thick-set young man, +had studied medicine at Edinburgh, where he had taken +his M. D. degree. He then expended what little capital +he had in the purchase of a partnership in Exeter, but this +did not turn out well. His partner bolted, and died +abroad, and Odd, until he could pull himself together, +had to be content with the not very lucrative post of +assistant to a doctor living in Bridge Avenue, Hammersmith.</p> + +<p>With Richard Jervoise it had been different. For him +life held all the sweets and but few of the sorrows. The +second son of Sir James Jervoise, Baronet, ex-Lord Mayor +of London and underwriter at Lloyd’s, his lot had always +been cast in pleasant places. When he was twenty-two +his father, who had amassed a fortune in the City, had +died, leaving the snug little Hertfordshire estate to Richard’s +elder brother James, who of course, also succeeded +to the baronetcy, and to him bequeathed property which +brought him in a clear two thousand a year.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</span></p> + +<p>It was not much, as money goes nowadays, but it had +enabled him to lead a life of easy luxury, travelling hither +and thither just where his fancy willed, and now, at thirty-five, +he found himself already a thorough-going cosmopolitan.</p> + +<p>He was of a quiet, studious nature, almost the exact +opposite to his elder brother, James, who had married a +vain, giddy little woman six years before and was generally +believed to have run through the greater portion of his +inheritance. In order to be near his friend Odd, Dick +Jervoise occupied a cosy little flat in Castelnau Mansions, +Barnes, that big red-brick building which lies just across +Hammersmith Bridge, commanding a wide sweep of the +Thames. When he was at home, but few evenings passed +that they did not sit together smoking and gossiping.</p> + +<p>Owen’s practice lay mostly among the struggling poor +in the back streets of Hammersmith, for his principal held +the post of parish doctor, and often when he would relate +some tale of distress—a sick widow with half a dozen +hungry little ones, or an ailing father with a motherless +family—Dick’s hand went instinctively to his pocket and +never withdrew without a little gift for them.</p> + +<p>Though of such a wandering, restless disposition, and +though he spent much of his time at the gay Continental +resorts, the dark-haired, good-looking man’s chief hobby +was the study of folk-lore, a book upon which he intended +one day to write.</p> + +<p>Owen and he had long planned a trip together, but the +absence of a doctor’s assistant for long periods is always +difficult. At last, however, it had been arranged, a <i lang="la" xml:lang="la">locum +tenens</i> had been provided, and already the pair had been +away from London seven weeks—weeks that had been +extremely enjoyable, even though they were sailing that +stormy Arctic sea.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</span></p> + +<p>If the truth were told, the fair-haired Thyra had charmed +both men, even though neither of them was very impressionable +where the fair sex were concerned. Both had +already had their little affairs of the heart long ago. That +of Dick Jervoise had been a somewhat painful one, and +in consequence he had, like so many other men before +him, made a solemn vow of celibacy. His friend knew +some of the facts though not all. They were unpleasant +facts, hence he never mentioned or recalled them. He +knew of the unfortunate affair and, with a true friend’s +solicitude, he was careful always to avoid any reference +whatsoever to the subject.</p> + +<p>He recollected Dick’s silent grief and unspoken bitterness; +he remembered the great change that had been +wrought in him by the now-buried episode.</p> + +<p>Thus were they smoking in silence when John Martin +entered the little saloon, and taking down his long Norwegian +pipe, slowly began to fill it, asking in his broken +English:</p> + +<p>“Well, what do you think of Vardo, eh?”</p> + +<p>“Interesting for half a day, captain,” Jervoise replied; +“but a terrible place.”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” admitted the captain, with a laugh. “Not much +amusement here, is there? Poor old Berentsen! He +must find it pretty dull, after his active life. But there, +he’s an Arctic sailor, body and soul.”</p> + +<p>“Pretty hard on his daughter, to be doomed to live +here,” the doctor remarked. “She told me she was at +school at Christiania, and finds it deadly dull after the +capital.”</p> + +<p>“I should think she does,” replied the captain as he +lit his big pipe. “You should be up here in the long night. +You’d never forget it.”</p> + +<p>“But what do the people do all the winter?” asked +Dick.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</span></p> + +<p>“Do? Well, they just manage to exist, and that’s +about all,” was Martin’s reply. “Of course, a good many +Lapps come down to the coast yonder, but beyond that +all is still, and the place, five or six feet deep in snow, is +silent as the grave.”</p> + +<p>“It’s really a shame that such a pretty girl should be +buried in such a hole as this!” declared Jervoise.</p> + +<p>Instantly a strange look crossed the fair-haired captain’s +face, and he stroked his yellow moustache. Then, a few +moments later, he said:</p> + +<p>“Well, perhaps she’s better here than down in Christiania, +after all. I’ve taken her backwards and forwards +several times, and we’ve had some merry music on that +piano. She’s a splendid player, you know.”</p> + +<p>“Why is she better here than in the capital, captain?” +inquired Owen, his curiosity aroused.</p> + +<p>“Oh, for certain reasons,” Martin answered, with a +smile. “After leaving school she lived with an aunt for +a year, and tasted the social delights of the capital.”</p> + +<p>“You’re growing mysterious,” laughed Jervoise. +“What’s the reason she is better here, in this awful place?”</p> + +<p>But the captain only puffed at his long pipe, while the +curl of his lip betrayed that he knew more than he intended +to tell.</p> + +<p>“Ah, a love affair, of course!” exclaimed Owen.</p> + +<p>“As an old friend of the family I happen to know the +truth,” replied the captain, suddenly growing serious; +“but I’m not permitted to tell you why she was not +allowed by her father to remain in Christiania.”</p> + +<p>“A secret!” exclaimed Dick, bending towards the +captain, very much interested. “Was it some schoolgirl +love affair?”</p> + +<p>“Mr. Jervoise,” replied the Arctic skipper, in a tone of +slight reproach, “that question is really not a fair one. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</span>Captain Berentsen and his daughter are my friends, +remember, and I have no right to discuss their private +affairs.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, pardon me,” Dick cried quickly. “I know +I’m too inquisitive, only—well, the fact is that she’s +delightful, and the mystery about her had only increased +our interest.”</p> + +<p>“Let the mystery rest, Mr. Jervoise. It’s far best, I +assure you,” declared Martin. “No good is ever served +by raking up the past, especially where a woman is concerned.”</p> + +<p>The two Englishmen exchanged swift glances. What +did the captain mean?</p> + +<p>The past? Surely that young girl with the grey eyes +and sweet, innocent face could not have had “a past!”</p> + +<p>“Well,” remarked Owen, “whatever may be the reason +of the girl’s recall from the south, certainly it’s very hard +upon her that she should be exiled in this dreadful hole.”</p> + +<p>“Best for her, doctor, best for her, I assure you,” +declared the captain emphatically, his pipe between his +teeth.</p> + +<p>“Why?”</p> + +<p>“For reasons which, as I have already told you, are +secret,” he replied, his face, still sphinx-like. “The +story is a curious one, I admit. I’m sorry I’m not permitted +to tell it to you. If I did it would certainly surprise +you both.”</p> + +<p>“Why don’t you tell us, captain?” urged Jervoise +persuasively. “You’re always so ready to explain everything. +And we will both regard what you tell us as a +confidence.”</p> + +<p>“No, I cannot tell you the reason of Thyra Berentsen’s +return to Vardo,” responded Martin firmly. “Please, +please don’t press your question. It’s a secret—you +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</span>understand—one that I am not permitted to divulge. +Captain Berentsen is one of my best friends.”</p> + +<p>Both the Englishmen were sadly disappointed. There +was a reason—some strong reason, they realised—why +the merry, easy-going Norwegian captain, who was +always so merry and careless of everything, had so suddenly +become obdurate, refusing to tell them anything.</p> + +<p>The secret concerning the pretty Thyra was—well, it +seemed that it was not altogether creditable. What, they +wondered, could it be?</p> + +<p>No explanation was forthcoming, therefore they both +wished the captain good night and went along to their +respective cabins.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</span></p> + + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_VI"> + CHAPTER VI + <br> + <span class="fs80">STRANGE MATTERS OF FACT</span> + </h2> +</div> + +<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap">When</span> Thyra, bright and fresh-looking, entered their own +small living-room on the following morning, she found +her father seated in his armchair, bent, pale, and tired.</p> + +<p>The room, the double windows of which were seldom, if +ever, opened, smelt strongly of the odour of overnight +tobacco; the dirty vodka glasses were still upon the table, +and as the grey, sunless light fell upon the rugged face of +the burly old whaler the girl saw that something serious +was amiss.</p> + +<p>The room with its wooden walls, its wooden ceiling, and +its gaudy oleographs, presented a strangely bizarre appearance +in the morning light, while it was at once apparent +to her that her father had not been to bed.</p> + +<p>“Why, dad,” she cried in alarm, falling upon her knees +before the seated man, “what’s the matter?”</p> + +<p>“Nothing, my child, nothing,” the burly old fellow +replied hoarsely, as his hand wandered to her white brow +and he tenderly stroked her fair hair.</p> + +<p>“But there is—I know there is!” she declared. “You +haven’t been to bed at all!”</p> + +<p>“No,” he replied. “I couldn’t sleep, so I went out.”</p> + +<p>“What, were you out in all that storm? Why, it shook +the house to its foundations.”</p> + +<p>“Yes; it blew hard in the night. It was fortunate for +Martin that he anchored inside the breakwater. If not, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</span>the <em>Mercur</em> would probably have dragged her anchor and +come ashore.”</p> + +<p>She glanced out of the window, and saw that the neighbouring +roofs were lightly covered with snow.</p> + +<p>“Now, dad,” the girl said, winding her soft arm about +his neck persuasively, “I demand to know why you’ve +been so upset these last two days. I’ve noticed a change +in you, you know.”</p> + +<p>“Change in me, dear!” he exclaimed, pulling himself +together with an effort at once. “Why, what change is +there in me? It’s only your fancy.”</p> + +<p>“No, it isn’t. Ever since Peter Sundt arrived yesterday +morning you’ve not been yourself. I’ve noticed it, so +you can’t deny it!”</p> + +<p>The old fellow’s weather-beaten face, now pale and +haggard, instantly changed. He bit his lip, but tried, +nevertheless, to look unconcerned. His hand trembled +nervously, and the girl detected in his deep-set eyes, with +their grey overhanging brows, an expression such as she +had never before seen there.</p> + +<p>Jorgen Berentsen was usually a deep-voiced, humorous, +open-hearted man, whose beaming face and iron-hand +grip were sufficient index to his honesty of character. But +as he sat there, bending over his kneeling daughter, he +presented the picture of a heart-broken, disappointed man.</p> + +<p>“I didn’t know that Peter’s landing had had any +extraordinary effect upon me, dear,” he said, with a vain +attempt to smile. “Perhaps I’m not very well,” he added +in faint excuse.</p> + +<p>“You are worried about something, dad. You must +tell me,” she urged.</p> + +<p>“It’s nothing, really nothing,” he assured her, stirring +in his chair. “Freyia is late. Why hasn’t she prepared +breakfast, I wonder.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</span></p> + +<p>“No, dad; it’s rather early. I got up because I intended +to go out for a walk.”</p> + +<p>“To meet Paul, eh, dear? Ah!” and the old man +sighed as his bony fingers entangled themselves in the +girl’s silken tresses.</p> + +<p>“Why do you sigh like that, dad?” she ventured to ask, +taking his other hand and raising it to her lips. “I love +Paul, and I’m sure—quite sure—that he loves me.”</p> + +<p>“I know that, my dear. I’ve seen quite enough to be +aware that you’re deeply in love with one another,” +remarked the old man. Then, after a pause, he added, +“I only wish—”</p> + +<p>“Wish what?”</p> + +<p>“I only wish, my dear, that we knew a little more about +Paul Grinevitch. He is always so silent concerning himself. +He has told me practically nothing.”</p> + +<p>“He is, at any rate, a gentleman, dad. And, further, +he has ample means. You told me that only the other day, +you know. Besides, what should I care if he hadn’t? I +love him.”</p> + +<p>“Love!” the old man echoed in a hard voice. “Ah! +yes, dear child, I know—I know, alas! what love means +to you both. I loved—once.”</p> + +<p>And he sighed deeply at some recollection of long ago +that stirred his memory to its depths. She was surprised, +for she had never seen her father in that strange and +somewhat sentimental mood before.</p> + +<p>More than ever was she convinced that some secret +existed between him and that red-faced parvenu, Peter +Sundt, the man who carried with him the odour of fish +into the salons of Christiania society.</p> + +<p>“Yes, dad,” she said, raising her soft white hand and +pushing his grey hair back from his brow. “You loved +my dear mother—just as Paul loves me.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</span></p> + +<p>The old man sat staring before him. All the natural +bonhomie had fled from his face. He was hard and silent, +as though his very nature had been frozen by the bitter +thoughts that now obsessed him.</p> + +<p>“Why don’t you try and induce him, my dear, to tell +you more about himself,” he urged in a hoarse voice. +“The fact is, Thyra, I don’t like you, my only child, +marrying a man about whom I know practically nothing, +and who, after all, may be only an adventurer.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, dad! you really shouldn’t talk of Paul like that!” +she exclaimed quickly, in a voice of reproach. “Within +your heart you know quite well he’s not an adventurer, +or you would never have given your consent to our secret +engagement.”</p> + +<p>“No, dear, I don’t say he is an adventurer. Personally, +I believe him to be a very honest fellow. And certainly +he would never remain here in Vardo were it not for you. +Who would stay here if they could get away?”</p> + +<p>The girl blushed slightly. She knew that her father +spoke the truth.</p> + +<p>“Then why may we not make our engagement public?” +she asked. “Only yesterday Paul expressed a hope that +you would soon allow us to make our love known.”</p> + +<p>But the lines in the old sailor’s brow grew perceptibly +deeper, and he only drew a long breath without answering.</p> + +<p>“I know how lonely you will be when I am married +and go south,” she said. “We shall live in Russia, I +expect. Paul talks of Moscow; but I would prefer Petersburg, +as in summer I could always come to Archangel by +rail, and get here by the mail to see you. And perhaps +after I’m married—perhaps you, dad, could get some +appointment farther south, where there are sunshine and +trees and flowers.”</p> + +<p>Her father shook his head sadly. Appointments as +harbour-master were few and far between. There were +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</span>always hundreds of applicants. For the office he held he +had been the lucky candidate out of nearly three hundred +retired seafaring men.</p> + +<p>“For myself, darling, I care nothing,” he said, looking +into her grey eyes fondly. “It is your own future I am +thinking of. I have lived my life, as hard a one as that +of any man. What matters now if I die up here? Besides +the hot summers of the south don’t suit me. I’ve lived +almost my whole life here in the Arctic.”</p> + +<p>“But though I love Paul, father, I don’t feel happy if +I have, after marriage, to leave you alone,” she said +quickly, her eyes fixed upon his.</p> + +<p>“My dear, though I know so little of your lover’s position +or of his past I’d—well,” he went on, with a strange +catch in his voice, “I’d rather that you married him +than—”</p> + +<p>“Than what?” she asked in quick surprise.</p> + +<p>“Oh—well, nothing, dear,” he declared. “I’m not +very well this morning, that’s all.”</p> + +<p>“Now, dad,” she cried reproachfully, “that really isn’t +fair. You have something upon your mind which you +won’t tell me. Peter Sundt stayed talking with you +for a long time last night after I went to bed. What has +he been saying to upset you?”</p> + +<p>“Why, nothing, dear!” her father laughed faintly. +“What ever caused you to imagine that? I’ve known +Peter a great many years; indeed, ever since he used to +live in a hut at Gamvik, behind the Sletnes, and go out +fishing for cod.”</p> + +<p>“I’m aware of that. But why would you rather see me +married? Tell me the reason,” she urged.</p> + +<p>“Well,” he laughed uneasily, “because you would, I +know, be far happier with a good husband than living up +in this dull place so full of the evil odours of decaying fish +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</span>and so far beyond the culture and refinement amid which +you were educated. I’ve always lived the rough life of the +sea. With you, child, it is different. You are unfitted +for this climate, its long darkness and its hardships. Surely +you can see what a sacrifice it will be to me to allow +your marriage, but——” and he paused. “Well, shall I +tell you the truth?” he asked, staring again straight before +him.</p> + +<p>“Yes, do, dear dad!” she cried suddenly, again flinging +her sinuous arms about his neck.</p> + +<p>“Well, all to-night I’ve been thinking and wondering—wondering +if I consented to your marriage with Paul at +an early date, would you make your father a firm and +definite promise?”</p> + +<p>“A promise! Why, of course, dad,” she declared, +kissing his wrinkled cheek. “But do you really mean +that I may marry Paul soon?” she asked excitedly.</p> + +<p>For a second the old fellow hesitated, almost as though +he had not the courage to make such a promise.</p> + +<p>“I have decided, dear Thyra,” he answered in a deep, +distinct voice, “that if Paul Grinevitch is willing, he may +marry you as soon as ever he wishes.”</p> + +<p>The girl sprang up in a veritable delirium of joy.</p> + +<p>“Oh, dad, you are really too good!” she cried, bending +and kissing him again and again. Then, on reflection, a +few moments later she saw that this sudden decision must +be due to some unexpected circumstance.</p> + +<p>What, she wondered, had happened to so change her +father’s usual character, to cause him to remember his +own love of long ago, and at the same time to induce him +to allow her immediate marriage with Paul?</p> + +<p>“I give my permission, dear, on this one condition,” he +said. “That you make a solemn promise to me—that +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</span>you promise——” he added hoarsely, without, however, +concluding his sentence.</p> + +<p>“Yes, dear dad; what am I to promise you?”</p> + +<p>Again he hesitated. It struck her curiously as though +he were ashamed to speak.</p> + +<p>“I—I want you, Thyra, to promise me one thing,” he +stammered. “Remember, I, your father, ask you to +grant me this. After your marriage there may be some +evil spoken of myself—a foul calumny spread by a blackguardly +liar!” he cried, his eyes flashing suddenly. “If +there is,” he said, looking straight at her with an almost +imploring expression, “if there is, promise me that you will +not believe one single word of it—promise me that you, +my own Thyra, will not misjudge me!”</p> + +<p>“Father,” she answered quite quietly, for she saw how +deadly earnest he was, “I promise you. Of course, I +would never believe any allegation against you, who have +been always so good and kind to me. When you brought +me back up here from Christiania, I fretted and thought +you unkind. But now I know different—you were cruel +to me in my own interests. But,” she added, taking both +his hard hands in hers, “tell me what is the nature of this +calumny—what evil do you anticipate that people may +say of you?”</p> + +<p>“It will be sufficient for you to know when you hear +it!” was the old fellow’s broken reply. “As long as you +close your ears to the lies of my enemy, then I do not fear. +The world may seek to crush, humiliate, and ruin me with +a disgraceful scandal which I am powerless to refute. Yet +I am still a man—and I will face them and bear the +indignity for your own dear sake, even though, at the same +time, it will mean the loss of you to me.”</p> + +<p>Then the bluff, broad-shouldered man in silence took +the girl’s soft hand in his own iron grip. And thus they +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</span>sat for a long time; she joyful yet full of curiosity at what +her father had hinted; he hard-mouthed, grave-faced, and +broken.</p> + +<p>She felt vaguely that that moment was the crisis of her +father’s life. He had an enemy who had threatened to +encompass his ruin. Yet she was powerless to act, save +to reassure him by repeating her promise of refusal to +believe any word that might be uttered against him.</p> + +<p>At what had her father hinted? Why, indeed, had he +so suddenly and so willingly given his consent to their +engagement being known, and their marriage taking place? +What had caused the change in him?</p> + +<p>These and a hundred other thoughts ran through her +puzzled brain as she sat at his feet in silence, her hands +in his, until they were at last interrupted by the entry of +the faithful, flat-faced, bead-eyed old Lapp woman whose +name, Freyia, meant in the Lapp tongue “the Goddess of +Love.”</p> + +<p>Though she had left her encampment many years to +take service in Vardo, Freyia still retained her national +dress, the long jacket of reindeer leather falling below her +knees, secured by a leather belt and edged with gay-coloured +red, yellow, and blue cloth, while her legs were +encased in leather moccasins. Many a time old Jorgen +had tried to induce her to adopt civilised garb, but she +had always refused. A Lapp, go wherever he or she may, +clings ever to the dress of his nomad clan.</p> + +<p>Thyra, when the old woman entered to prepare breakfast, +rose, and went to her own room to write a note to +Paul announcing the good news, while her father turned +to the window, and with hands clenched and teeth hard +set, held his breath as he looked out upon the snow-covered +roofs and the grey, stormy ocean beyond.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</span></p> + +<p>He had made that sacrifice for Thyra’s sake. For him, +in the evening of his days, the future held only a painful +scandal which he must now face, and which would, more +than probably, bring upon him ruin as well as disgrace.</p> + +<p>That same morning Dick Jervoise and his friend had, +on rising, packed some eatables together and taken one +of the big, high-prowed old boats out of the harbour and +across the rough sea to the mainland, being anxious to +ascertain what the bleak, treeless, inhospitable coast was +like.</p> + +<p>In a deep hollow they found a Lapp encampment—a +dozen or so miserable tents of reindeer skin, with their +quaintly-garbed tenants in their curious, four-cornered +caps stuffed with eider-down, and many of them in heavy +furs, even though it were summer. The Lapp is an +extremely friendly person, therefore they spent the morning +photographing, buying spoons and other articles of +reindeer horn, tobacco pouches, purses of skin and other +Arctic souvenirs, in turn being invited by the head-man +into his tent and given the place of honour beside the +ever-burning fire.</p> + +<p>At five o’clock in the afternoon they returned to the +ship to wash and make themselves respectable before +having dinner, intending to go ashore to Vardo afterwards.</p> + +<p>In the saloon they found Captain Martin in mufti, +taking his cup of tea and slice of lemon.</p> + +<p>“Well?” he asked cheerily. “And how have you fared +to-day among the Lapps?”</p> + +<p>They both declared that their outing had been full of +interest, whereupon the fair-moustached, dandified man +exclaimed:</p> + +<p>“I’ve got some interesting news for you. Vardo is +full of it.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</span></p> + +<p>“What’s that?” inquired the doctor. “We haven’t +seen a newspaper for a month.”</p> + +<p>“Thyra Berentsen—the girl you both admire so much—is +to be married.”</p> + +<p>“Married!” gasped Jervoise.</p> + +<p>“Yes. I’ve had orders this morning to go on to Archangel +for half a cargo, after calling at Vadso and Kirkanaes. +Therefore she and her father and the happy bridegroom +sail with us when we go south in a fortnight’s time.”</p> + +<p>“But who is she to marry? Surely not one of these +uncouth fishermen!”</p> + +<p>“No. He’s not at all uncouth. On the contrary, he’s +a very refined, good-looking and wealthy young gentleman—a +Russian from Moscow named Paul Grinevitch.”</p> + +<p>Jervoise stood staring at the captain, his mouth wide open.</p> + +<p>“Paul Grinevitch!” he echoed. “She has promised to +marry him?”</p> + +<p>“Yes. The announcement has set all Vardo agog. +Everybody is talking of it. Why?”</p> + +<p>The other’s teeth were clenched, his brows had contracted, +and his cheeks had gone pale. Odd, standing +with his back to him, did not notice the sudden change +in his friend.</p> + +<p>“Oh, for no reason!” he managed to reply. “I—well +I’m greatly surprised. Nobody told me that she was +engaged. That’s all.”</p> + +<p>But as he turned away he muttered some words below +his breath, though neither the captain nor the doctor +heard him.</p> + +<p>“Paul Grinevitch! So I was not mistaken after all, +when I thought I caught sight of you yesterday! You +are hiding here, at the end of the world, and you intend +to marry Thyra Berentsen! You—<em>you of all men</em>!”</p> + +<p>His blanched countenance grew rigid as he turned on +his heel and left the narrow little saloon.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</span></p> + + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_VII"> + CHAPTER VII + <br> + <span class="fs80">THE CAPTAIN MAKES A SUGGESTION</span> + </h2> +</div> + +<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap">When</span>, two days later, Dick Jervoise rose, dressed with +difficulty owing to the heavy sea, and ascended to the deck, +he found they were approaching a small bay where, through +the drifting fog could be distinguished a line of low wooden +houses, painted various colours, brown, white and blue, +behind which, upon a small eminence, stood a tiny white +church with pointed spire, while away on the horizon +showed a range of low bare hills.</p> + +<p>A dispiriting scene, ineffably sad. A grey, wintry sky, +a grey sea, a grey land, while so chill was the wind that +even though he wore a heavy leather-lined motor-coat, he +shivered. And it was the height of summer. They were +far away now from the haunts of the twenty-guinea midnight-sun +tourists—away in the great lone land.</p> + +<p>The <em>Mercur</em> was approaching the little fishing station +of Vadso, a lonely desolate little place on the Norwegian +and Russian frontier. On the bridge stood Captain +Martin, smart and spruce in his uniform, and without an +overcoat, chatting to the big-bearded Norseman who had +piloted them through the many dangerous channels beyond +the Nordkap, and who was now keeping a wary eye +upon the difficult course they were taking.</p> + +<p>For a ship to approach Vadso closely is impossible, +therefore, while still a mile from the long breakwater, the +pilot pulled three times at the cord of the siren, sounding +the Morse-code signal, and then drew over the engine-room +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</span>lever. The answering bell sounded, and the engines +suddenly stopped.</p> + +<p>A shout, and down plunged the anchor with whirr and +rattle.</p> + +<p>Owen had not yet risen. While Dick had remained on +board all the previous day, pleading a slight indisposition, +the young doctor and the Captain had been ashore at +Vardo and spent the evening with the Berentsens. They +had come on board again about four o’clock in the morning, +and sailed at once, eastward for Vadso.</p> + +<p>Before turning in, Owen had come into his friend’s +cabin to inquire how he was, and to explain how they had +spent the evening at the harbour-master’s hospitable +little house.</p> + +<p>“Thyra was there, of course?” asked Dick, suddenly +interrupting him.</p> + +<p>“Certainly. And the young Russian too. It appears +that their engagement was formally announced to-day, and +it has created as great a sensation among the fisher-folk +of Vardo as a similar announcement in the <cite>Morning Post</cite> +does in Mayfair. She’s being congratulated everywhere.”</p> + +<p>“And what sort of fellow is he?” inquired the man.</p> + +<p>“A gentleman, I believe,” replied the young doctor +carelessly. “Speaks English as well as most educated +Russians, is rather good-looking, but slightly disfigured +by a white scar against his left ear. He’s evidently devoted +to her, and seems quite a decent sort of fellow.”</p> + +<p>Dick turned over in his narrow berth without a word. +He only sighed. Truth to tell, however, he had turned +his head away lest his friend’s curiosity should be aroused +by the expression upon his countenance.</p> + +<p>“Well,” exclaimed Owen after a slight pause; “you’re +tired, old chap. I really ought not to have disturbed you, +only—well, I thought you’d like to know all the news.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</span></p> + +<p>“Thanks, old chap. I’m not disturbed. But I’ll +just have an hour or two longer.”</p> + +<p>“Right. We’re due off Vadso at nine,” Owen said +cheerily, and he left the cabin, closing the door after him, +and struggling unsteadily to his own berth, for the ship was +already on her way, rolling heavily outside the harbour.</p> + +<p>After that, Dick Jervoise had slept but little. So it +was really <em>the</em> Paul Grinevitch! The white scar that he +remembered so well—the mark of Cain upon him—proved +his identity.</p> + +<p>He was glad that after Martin had told him of Thyra’s +engagement, he had not set foot in Vardo again. Surely +he had pursued the only course possible?</p> + +<p>Yet the discovery had utterly staggered him.</p> + +<p>Even now, as he stood upon the black, greasy deck, +slippery with the cod-liver oil which oozed from the many +barrels lashed to the bulwarks, the strange and unexpected +truth filled his mind. The Captain, from the bridge +above, shouted a merry “Good-morning”; but he only +replied mechanically.</p> + +<p>He was thinking of Thyra, and that man, her lover—of +all men.</p> + +<p>Again he shivered, and even while half-frozen by that +biting wind he was at the same time asphyxiated by the +horrible effluvia wafted from the cod-curing and boiling-houses +and poisonous odours from guano factories.</p> + +<p>A big, high-prowed boat rowed by six Lapp fishermen +in furs with leather mitts upon their hands, came alongside, +and into it was flung the small, half-filled mail bag from +the south. Then the Captain, Dick and Owen Odd, +together with the two officers, the engineer and mail officer—the +same merry little company who had met there +every morning for the past month—assembled for breakfast.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</span></p> + +<p>“Well, Mr. Jervoise,” inquired the Captain cheerily +from the head of the table, “what have you decided? We +sail at ten to-night for Archangel. Shall you come with +us, or do you intend taking a trip inland for a fortnight, +and we’ll pick you up again at Kjelvik on our way south? +As I said yesterday, you’d have a most interesting journey +with the Lapps. Of course you’d perhaps be compelled to +rough it a little, but you, as a traveller, wouldn’t mind +that.”</p> + +<p>“I think it would be jolly good fun,” declared Odd +enthusiastically. “I’ve been looking up the route on the +map. Of course, Captain, you wouldn’t fail to call in for +us? We don’t want to be left up here all the winter,” he +added with a laugh.</p> + +<p>“We shall be at Kjelvik fifteen days from to-day,” +answered the Captain. “The voyage from here along the +Murman coast and up the White Sea is not at all interesting. +You’d find much more enjoyment in a journey across +country. Mr. Ackerman, your British consul here, would +no doubt find you a reliable Lapp guide, and you wouldn’t +have much trouble. The steward can give you some +tinned food, and I daresay you can buy a little cooking-stove +ashore. I did the journey once across to Kistrand, +on the Porsanger Fjord, and had a most excellent time.”</p> + +<p>“How far is it?” inquired Jervoise.</p> + +<p>“About four hundred kilometres—the last two hundred +through a magnificent mountain range. The country is +a very wild one, and quite unknown to travellers. But +you’ll find the Lapps exceedingly friendly,” the Captain +said. “There are two routes from here to Kistrand. +One is by road to a little place called Nyborg, across the +Tana River, and then due east by the track in the valley +of the Mats and over the Borgavarre to a tiny place called +Laxelven, at the extreme head of the Porsanger Fjord +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</span>and thence north for fifty kilometres to Kistrand. From +there you can go in a boat down the fjord to Kjelvik, where +we will pick you up. The other, which is longer, but more +interesting, is to ascend the Tana from Seida to Karasjok +in a Lapp boat for about two hundred kilometres, and +drive thence due north to Laxelven and on to Kistrand. +I should certainly recommend the latter route as less +tedious. The Tana, as you know, divides Norwegian +Lapland from that of Finland. Besides you’ll be able to +see the Laplander at home.”</p> + +<p>Captain Martin’s description appealed to the adventurous +spirit of Dick Jervoise. He had roughed it in +many odd corners of the world, and his main object in +going so far north now was in order to see the Lapps and +their mode of life, to study a people about whom scarcely +anything has ever been written.</p> + +<p>So there and then he and his friend decided to take the +Captain’s advice and go by the longer route of Karasjok +and up the Fjelma valley. The journey by road and river +would occupy them about thirteen days, the Captain +estimated. The <em>Mercur</em> could not be in the Magerosund—behind +the island of Magero on which the North Cape +is situated—for at least eighteen or nineteen days, being +compelled to call at all the tiny fishing stations between +Vardo and the North Cape, those clusters of wooden huts +sheltered beneath the bare rocks, such as Makur, Mehavn, +Gamvik and Finkongkjeilen. Therefore they would have +five or six days to spare, in case of untoward circumstances.</p> + +<p>The big map of Lapland was brought from the chart-room, +spread upon the table of the saloon, and eagerly +examined by the ship’s officers and the two Londoners. +Then, when the route was decided, the steward was interviewed, +and tinned provisions obtained from the store-room. +There being no fresh food in the north, all the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</span>victuals on board the <em>Mercur</em>, including the vegetables, +were preserved. The only thing fresh was the ever-present +codfish, the very smell of which permeated everything on +board.</p> + +<p>A couple of reindeer skin sleeping sacks were brought +out of the store-room, as well as a tea-kettle, a cooking-pot +or two, matches, a couple of drums of petroleum, and +other necessaries.</p> + +<p>For several hours Dick and his friend were thus occupied +in their preparations, packing warm clothing into two +canvas mail-sacks. After luncheon they went ashore to +interview the British consul, Mr. Ackerman, and to +purchase a cooking-stove.</p> + +<p>The doctor was delighted. It was his first experience +of travel upon an unbeaten track. Hammersmith and +Hammerfest were indeed widely separated. He recollected +the dust and stuffiness of King Street, Hammersmith, +with its working-class crowds, now, as he gazed upon the +quaint though evil-smelling little town of Vadso, so far +removed from the bustle of the world.</p> + +<p>On landing at the breakwater, the Captain accompanying +them, they found that the population of about a couple +of thousand were mostly Laplanders. The few Norwegians +occupied a central group of houses, one tiny street, +while all around, in the rows of ramshackle sheds built +of odds and ends of driftwood, old petroleum-tins and slabs +of stone, lived the Lapps, or Kvaen, as they call themselves.</p> + +<p>Alongside the water stood a row of little wooden houses +painted in bright colours, interspersed by old boats transformed +into various uses, and black wooden sheds for +the drying of the cod.</p> + +<p>In the centre of all was the little <em>torv</em>, or market, which +at the moment of their arrival presented quite a picturesque +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</span>scene. Around the stalls, where various wares were +displayed, notwithstanding the cutting wind, was an +unwashed crowd of all the races of the far North—Norwegian +fishermen, Russian sailors, Finns, Russian Lapps +in four-cornered caps, tunics of dark blue homespun ornamented +by heavy embroideries in red and yellow cloth, +Lapps of the Finmarken, short of stature, in ragged furs, +with knitted blue caps with scarlet tassels, and knives in +their belts, while Samoyeds from Archangel were distinguishable +by their long caftans of reindeer hide. Truly a +most remarkable crowd—a <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">melange</i> of a dozen different +languages and a dozen different costumes.</p> + +<p>Consul Ackerman proved to be a shipping-agent and +agent of the universal Lloyd’s. Upstairs, in his comfortable +wooden house, where stunted roses and geraniums +struggled for life behind the double windows, the two +Englishmen were introduced by the Captain, the usual +glass of vodka was offered as sign of the hospitality of the +North, and the conversation soon drifted to the ways and +means of the projected journey across the Kistrand.</p> + +<p>Mr. Ackerman, a pleasant middle-aged man who had +spent his life in the Arctic, and who had travelled in +various parts of Lapland and also out across the terrible +country of the Kola, sat for a full hour and gave +them a number of useful hints regarding their proposed +route.</p> + +<p>Eventually they descended to the ground floor, where a +funny, bead-eyed little man wearing ragged furs, and +whose face was of distinctly Mongol type, was introduced.</p> + +<p>“This is Henkela,” explained the consul. “You may +place every reliance in him. He is a Lapp of the Finmarken, +and has travelled your route several times. He +often does odd jobs for me, for he speaks Russian as well +as a little English.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</span></p> + +<p>At this, the brown-faced aborigine of those inhospitable +tundras of the North grinned, nodded, and exclaimed:</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>In Norwegian the consul explained the route which the +travellers desired to take, and to every word Henkela +listened most attentively. His age it was impossible to +guess, for the average Laplander begins to look old at +twenty-five.</p> + +<p>Both Dick and Owen noted that he was not particularly +clean-looking, but the consul had already warned them +that they must expect dirt in travelling so far from European +civilisation. Dick was used to it, and possessed the +practised traveller’s instinct of being able to keep himself +clean under almost any circumstances. Odd, as medical +man, however, regarded uncleanliness with horror.</p> + +<p>The remainder of that short grey day was occupied +mostly in preparations, the wizened-faced Henkela being +particularly active in adding to the stores various articles +of necessity which had been forgotten.</p> + +<p>On the road from Vadso to Nyborg reindeer are only +used with the sleds in winter, therefore Henkela obtained +horses with two very shaky vehicles, while at the general +store Dick and Owen each purchased, at the Lapp’s request, +pairs of leathern mitts, and from a house in the Lapp +town each a <em>pesk</em>, or huge coat of reindeer skin with the +fur outside.</p> + +<p>That evening the pair, together with the Captain, dined +with the consul, and afterwards Captain Martin bade +them farewell and went off in the ship’s boat, promising +to call for them at the little fishing station of Kjelvik +within eighteen days.</p> + +<p>Half an hour later the siren, echoing across the dark +fjord, announced the departure of the <em>Mercur</em> for Archangel.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</span></p> + + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_VIII"> + CHAPTER VIII + <br> + <span class="fs80">REVEALS THE SHADOW</span> + </h2> +</div> + + +<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap">The</span> only road in Northern Lapland worthy the name is +that which runs for fifty kilometres or so from Vadso, along +the edge of the desolate Varangerfjord to Seida, on the +broad Tana, one of the most noted salmon rivers in the +world.</p> + +<p>Next morning, soon after it became light, Jervoise and +his companion driving in one rickety old vehicle and the +little beady-eyed Henkela in his ragged furs seated on the +top of the impedimenta in the other, set forth upon the +journey, the consul shouting them a cheery adieu.</p> + +<p>The whole of the little Lapp town seemed to have been +made aware of the impending departure of the Englishmen, +for a hundred or so quaintly-garbed men and women, +mostly in leather or in furs, turned out to witness the +triumphant start of Henkela, who was evidently a most +popular person.</p> + +<p>During the night it had snowed, and the ground was +still covered to the depth of perhaps an inch. All around +the Varanger is a veritable wilderness. As they left Vadso +a tree two yards high, growing in a sheltered corner of the +town, was pointed out by Henkela to the two men in the +cart behind as a vegetable prodigy. And as they went out +upon the road, forth into that grey sad country of silence +and solitude, an inexpressible feeling of melancholy fell +upon them both.</p> + +<p>“How horribly depressing this place is!” Owen remarked +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</span>when they got beyond the town, the road running +close to the edge of the broad fjord, where, far across, +showed the misty mountains in Russian territory.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” answered Jervoise mechanically. He was driving, +but his thoughts were far from that scene of wintry +desolation—away in a different vista of palms and olives, +of sunshine and blue sky—a scene that was delightful to +the eye, but full, alas! of bitter tragedy.</p> + +<p>Before him, as he drove from the drifting mists of +morning, arose that peerless face of the fair-haired daughter +of the old Arctic whaler—the tall, graceful girl with the +grey eyes that had held him in such strange fascination—even +before he became aware of the identity of her lover.</p> + +<p>He was thinking of her—thinking as he had done a +hundred times during those past twenty-four hours—thinking, +too, of that man whom she had promised to +marry.</p> + +<p>And whenever he thought of him, whenever there +recurred to him that scene among the gnarled grey-green +olives of the south, he set hard his teeth, and his nails +drove themselves into his palms.</p> + +<p>Owen noticed his friend’s silence, but attributed it to +the impressive sadness of the scene. The road they were +travelling was the most northerly in Europe, and was +passable for wheeled vehicles only about three months in +the year. In the country of the Great Night the sled and +reindeer are the usual means of locomotion. The Laplander +uses a <em>pulk</em>, or boat-shaped sled in which he sits +and is drawn by reindeer, one of the most uncomfortable +modes of travelling in the whole world, for the bottom +of the <em>pulk</em> being rounded, and not being on runners like +the Russian sled, is constantly turning over, and its occupant +usually finds himself beneath it.</p> + +<p>Winter had not, however, yet set in in earnest. Nevertheless, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</span>the ground was lightly covered with snow until +the whole country, flanked on one side by the great grey +expanse of the fjord and on the other by the sloping treeless +waste, was the very acme of inhospitable desolation.</p> + +<p>Not a tree was visible, not a habitation—nothing but a +long, straight road through a desert of intense white snow +and grey water.</p> + +<p>The ravines were rich in polar flora, with a thousand +different varieties of mosses, as well as the dwarf cloud-berry +or “multebaer,” which, as every visitor to Scandinavia +knows, is so dear to the Norwegian palate. No plant +higher than a few inches, however, survived that terrible +climate of that Arctic desert.</p> + +<p>It was freezing hard, and even in their mitts and heavy +coats the two travellers soon began to be chilled to the bone. +Therefore, after about five miles, at Henkela’s suggestion +they pulled up and exchanged their motor-coats of European +civilisation for the big Lapp <em>pesks</em> of reindeer skin.</p> + +<p>Both laughed at the bulky figure each presented in that +unaccustomed garb.</p> + +<p>As they travelled westward the snow became less until +the stony road was only lightly powdered, the way, however, +still keeping along the edge of the broad fjord, until, +after five hours, they pulled up at a long, log-built house, +alone in that treeless region, which proved to be the post-house +of Bergeby.</p> + +<p>This, the most northerly skyds-station which the +Norwegian government maintains, proved to be a curious +little place. In the carpetless guest-room was a table and +some chairs. That was all. Travelers supplied their +own food and their own bedding.</p> + +<p>The post-house keeper produced his register for the +Englishmen to sign, and having done so, they “killed” a +tin of corned beef, off which they made a rough meal, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</span>handing the remainder to the faithful Henkela, who +devoured it without much ceremony.</p> + +<p>As they sat together in that lonely little house so far +removed from any human habitation, smoking cigarettes +while the fresh horses were put to amid the shouts of +Henkela, Owen remarked:</p> + +<p>“Well, old chap, when we set out from London we +never anticipated this journey, did we?”</p> + +<p>“No,” responded his friend reflectively. “We’ve met +with several unexpected incidents,” he added meaningly.</p> + +<p>Truth to tell, that journey did not interest Dick in the +least. Usually he loved the excitement of travel, but at +that moment it only bored him. He was on a route unfrequented +and unknown to all save the Lapps of that district +and the Finnish post-driver who passed along twice +each month. Yet the pale, tragic face with the grey eyes +was ever before his vision, blotting out every other thing +and every other interest.</p> + +<p>Owen Odd was puzzled. His companion’s almost +complete silence during that long drive had caused him +considerable reflection. Dick Jervoise was always so full +of dry humour that he began to wonder whether his +friend’s present attitude was due to any annoyance he +might have unwittingly caused him.</p> + +<p>“What’s the matter, Dick?” he ventured to ask at last.</p> + +<p>“Matter?” echoed the other, rousing himself suddenly. +“Nothing. Why?”</p> + +<p>“Well—because you’re not exactly yourself to-day, old +fellow. That’s all. I’m afraid you’re annoyed with me +for going ashore the night before last when you were +seedy.”</p> + +<p>“Annoyed, my dear Owen! What rubbish! Surely +we are good friends enough not to quarrel over any childish +disagreements,” he said, pulling himself together and +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</span>bracing himself up with an effort. “Forgive me,” he +added apologetically, “if I’m not quite as bright as usual. +I’m sorry.”</p> + +<p>“My dear fellow, don’t be so foolish,” laughed the other. +“As long as you’re not annoyed with me I don’t mind, I +assure you.”</p> + +<p>Dick Jervoise suppressed a sigh. What would Owen +think if he knew the truth? Yet he must never obtain +knowledge of it—never—<em>never</em>.</p> + +<p>Paul Grinevitch would be sailing with them on board +the <em>Mercur</em> for the south. He and his bride—his bride!—would +be traveling to Christiania to be united as man and +wife!</p> + +<p>On board the steamer they must meet. And then?</p> + +<p>Aye, and then?</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</span></p> + + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_IX"> + CHAPTER IX + <br> + <span class="fs80">THE ARCTIC WILDERNESS</span> + </h2> +</div> + +<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap">Leaving</span> the Varangerfjord just before darkness set in, +the travellers struck across the wide, rolling tundra, and +for many hours went forward, until about two o’clock in +the morning they drove into an enclosure in the centre of +which stood a small wooden hut, together with several +other ramshackle out-buildings.</p> + +<p>It was the last resthouse on the road. Indeed, the road, +or rather the track, ended there, for before it lay the +broad, swift-flowing Tana river. The stockade kept out +the wolves in winter, and the house itself, raised several +feet from the ground, showed the depth of the snows which +lay there for several months each year.</p> + +<p>Henkela banged loudly upon the wooden door, shouting +something in Lappish, while Dick and Owen descended from +the cart, cold and cramped, stamping their feet upon the +frozen ground to promote the circulation.</p> + +<p>A deep, guttural response came from within, and after +the lapse of five minutes or so, the door opened, and upon +the threshold before the lamplight stood a tall, fair-haired +Finnish Lapp, in his blouse of dark blue cloth heavily +embroidered with red, and long fur boots with upturned +toes.</p> + +<p>With a broad grin of amusement upon his fat face, he +stretched out both his big hands to wish the travellers +welcome, and a few moments later Dick and his friend +found themselves inside a good-sized wooden room, bare +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</span>and carpetless, of course, save for four truckle beds, an old +couch, some chairs, and a stove, the warmth of which was +indeed gratifying after the frosty night.</p> + +<p>“Senko, our host, asks whether the gentlemen would +like some coffee?” asked Henkela in his very indifferent +English, and at the same time there appeared a good-looking +Finnish girl of fourteen, who was introduced as Senko’s +daughter, and who busied herself in piling driftwood into +the stove.</p> + +<p>She was a fresh-looking, blue-eyed girl, all smiles and +bows. Her dress was typical of the civilised Lapp, fur +boots like her father’s, a short homespun skirt with heavy +blue ornamentation, and a Russian shawl of scarlet and +white plaid around her shoulders.</p> + +<p>Dick replied that coffee would be welcome; therefore +the girl at once retired into the back premises to prepare it. +Coffee is a speciality with the Lapps, and wherever one +may go, even among the half-civilised aborigines like +Henkela, it is always quite drinkable.</p> + +<p>“By Jove!” remarked Owen, spreading his hands to the +stove. “This is a weird place, isn’t it?”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” his friend answered. “We’re getting beyond +civilisation now. This is the last resthouse.”</p> + +<p>Henkela explained that for the next seven days or so +they would be compelled to throw themselves upon the +hospitality of the nomad Lapps for shelter in their huts, +while Senko, his big face beaming with pleasure at entertaining +strangers from that almost legendary land, England—the +first he had ever had—came forward and through +the guide, answered their eager interrogations.</p> + +<p>He was a fine specimen of a man, six feet two in height, +a perfect type of stalwart northerner. His blouse was +held by a wonderful girdle of chased brass, and in a repousse +sheath reposed the usual long knife used by the Lapp for +the slaughter of reindeer.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</span></p> + +<p>Henkela and Senko were in deep consultation, speaking +in Lappic, of course. The subject of their conversation +was the best means of getting up the river to Karasjok, +and presently Henkela turned to the pair, saying:</p> + +<p>“Senko has a boat which will just suit us. We shall +want three rowers, and he will get them from the encampment +down in the ravine, two miles away. He will send +there in the morning.”</p> + +<p>“Let us go, too,” suggested Owen. “We’ll then see +the kind of men we are getting.”</p> + +<p>So that was arranged. Coffee was brought by the +blue-eyed girl, who also bent and unlaced Dick’s boots, +and the whole party sat down to sip the comforting +beverage.</p> + +<p>“Well,” declared Owen, laughing, as he looked around, +“this is really most quaint!”</p> + +<p>True, it was a curious experience. But curious experiences +are of every day occurrence when one is travelling +beyond the zone of our modern civilisation. Those people +whom they were among were a race who fought the +elements every day in order to live; a race who had never +seen a tree or flower as we know them, who knew nothing +of trains, tramways, or modern locomotion, and who cared +not a jot how the world lived so long as they themselves +obtained sufficient for their daily wants.</p> + +<p>While the coffee was being drunk and all smoked the +cigarettes which Dick offered from his case, Senko entertained +them with an account of how a bear had been killed +close by on the previous day, concluding his narrative by +showing them the skin.</p> + +<p>All the while he slapped his leg and laughed merrily, as +though the arrival of two wandering Englishmen in the +middle of the night at that outpost of civilisation was the +greatest joke he could conceive.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</span></p> + +<p>At last, however, tired out, Dick, Owen and Henkela, +dressed just as they were, threw themselves down on the +beds, blew out the smoking lamp, and all slept soundly +until the dawn.</p> + +<p>After more coffee, and some ship-biscuits and ham from +their stores, the humorous giant, who at every turn slapped +the travellers heavily upon the back as a sign of good-fellowship, +conducted them to the Lapp encampment.</p> + +<p>It consisted, they found, of a dozen or so roughly constructed +conical-shaped huts covered with turf, a hole being +left in the roof to allow the egress of the smoke. Beside +each hut was a framework of sticks, upon which +were stretched reindeer skins in process of drying, antlers, +salmon from the river, and pieces of reindeer meat awaiting +consumption, all placed high out of the reach of the +many grey, wolf-like, Arctic dogs which barked vociferously +and snapped viciously at their approach.</p> + +<p>Senko stooped, and pretended to take up a stone, +whereupon the animals slunk away. It is the only method +of quieting the ever-barking dog of the Laplander.</p> + +<p>A shout from Senko, and a little undersized native in +ragged furs, wearing a cap similar to that worn by Henkela, +emerged from one of the huts and shouted back what was +evidently a welcome. Then the party entered the encampment, +Henkela explaining that to enter without +permission was, by his people, considered the gravest +form of insult.</p> + +<p>To receive assistance or hospitality from the Lapp the +traveller must always place himself in the position of being +helpless. He will then be most kindly and considerately +treated.</p> + +<p>They approached the hut of the head-man who had +greeted Senko, and as they entered the narrow but not +uncomfortable little dwelling, Henkela exclaimed:</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</span></p> + +<p>“<em>Rafthe vissui</em>” (Peace to your house).</p> + +<p>“<em>Ibmel addi</em>” (God grant it) was the man’s reply as, +by dumb signs, he motioned the two Englishmen to a +heap of furs placed on the right of the smouldering fire, +the place of honour.</p> + +<p>In a Lapp hut the master and his family sleep on the +skins spread on the right of the fire, and the servants on +the left.</p> + +<p>A wizened, brown-faced little woman in furs, wearing a +cap similar to the man, and dressed like him, was cleaning +a cooking-pot, quite undisturbed by the intrusion, while +the interior, with the suffocating smoke curling through +the hole in the roof, dimly lit by the light from the doorway, +presented a strange, unusual scene. Around the place +were heaps of reindeer and fox skins, in one spot the cooking +utensils, in another a heap of fur clothing, while close +to where Owen sat lay a child of six or seven, calmly +sleeping.</p> + +<p>A sharp-nosed dog rose, sniffed the two strangers +inquisitively, and then, satisfied with his investigations, +curled himself again before the fire.</p> + +<p>Henkela, a minute later, explained in his broken English +that the head-man, having heard what the pair required, +bade them welcome, and promised to let them have three +of his best men as rowers to Karasjok.</p> + +<p>Then Dick handed round his cigarette-case, and all +smoked, including the old woman. Presently the two +Englishmen were taken to the stockade, where a herd of +about eight hundred reindeer was enclosed against that +arch-enemy of the Lapp, the wolf.</p> + +<p>Upon his reindeer the lonely Laplander practically +subsists. He lives upon the flesh, he makes his tent and +his clothing of its skin, his thread of its sinews, his cheese +of its milk, his implements of its bones, and often his fire +of its offal. All this Henkela explained.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</span></p> + +<p>Dick, student that he was, soon discovered Henkela to +be a man of more than average intelligence. In his youth +he had been for some years at the government school at +Vadso, and, possessing a rather musical voice, he had, he +said, learned many of those ancient songs which for centuries +past have been produced and orally spread among the +Lapps—including many of the runes of the “Kalevala.”</p> + +<p>In a moment Dick Jervoise became interested. He had +long ago closely studied the various works of Russian and +Norwegian writers upon the traditional poetry of the Lapps +and Finns, and here was an opportunity to gather much +information at first hand which hitherto he had not been +able to obtain.</p> + +<p>Henkela’s English was, of course, not very clear, but it +was quite sufficient to act as a channel through which he +could obtain knowledge.</p> + +<p>He had gone deeply into the subject. In the cosy comfort +of his little flat at Barnes he had studied many translations +of the Finnish and Lappish runes, those heroic or +magic songs which have been handed down from the +remote ages. The song of the “Origin of the Kantele,” +those of the “Journey to Vipunen,” “Vainamoinen’s +Wound,” and the “Expedition for the Sampo” were all +well known to him; therefore, with much gesticulation +and not without difficulty, he discussed them with the +black-eyed little man in furs and knitted cap, as, after +making final arrangements with the three Lapps who came +forward as rowers, they walked back side by side to Senko’s +house.</p> + +<p>At last Dick Jervoise seemed to take a keen interest in +the journey; therefore Owen was gratified. Though the +story of the ancient runes or of the “Kalevala” did not +interest the doctor, yet he was delighted to see that in his +friend, student that he always was, a new interest had +been aroused.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</span></p> + + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_X"> + CHAPTER X + <br> + <span class="fs80">TOWARDS THE DOOM</span> + </h2> +</div> + +<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap">The</span> ascent of the broad Tana in that big old black boat +was slow, tedious, and terribly monotonous.</p> + +<p>For the most part the river, famous for its salmon and +the particles of gold the water contains, flowed across a +great, open, treeless tundra, and often the current was so +strong that the three rowers required the assistance of +Henkela, himself a fisherman, to keep her head to the +stream.</p> + +<p>The distance from Seida to Karasjok was nearly three +hundred kilometres, and most of the course lay due south +through a barren land entirely uninhabited save where +the Lapps had settled upon the banks to fish. And it was +in these huts, in every way similar to the huts of the encampment +near Seida, that each night they sought shelter +and slept.</p> + +<p>Landing several times each day to cook food and stretch +themselves was the only recreation they obtained; therefore +Dick, seated in the stern of the boat hour after hour +and day after day as they slowly ascended the stream, +turned his main attention to Henkela, in order to improve +his knowledge of the Lapp poetry.</p> + +<p>The weather was by no means propitious. Often they +would be delayed for hours by those dense white mists +which hung over the river each morning, and more than +once snow fell heavily. Still, even Owen, matter-of-fact +Londoner that he was, was compelled to admit that the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</span>journey was fraught with plenty of excitement and many +humorous episodes.</p> + +<p>To enliven the voyage, and to encourage the rowers to +their oars, Henkela, at Dick’s request, took to chanting +the old runes. Sometimes he would sing of the beautiful +Luonnotar, daughter of the air, of the supreme god, the +ancient of years, Ukko, or of Vainamoinen, the eternal +singer who was for thirty years imprisoned with his mother.</p> + +<p>Hour after hour, across those broad-flowing waters with +their rippling shallows, would the voice of the dark-faced +Lapp sound, with that soft sibillation peculiar to his own +unwritten tongue, musical almost as Italian.</p> + +<p>As well as he could he would, after chanting the runes, +explain what they meant in English.</p> + +<p>One day Henkela, as the rowers kept up the rhythm of +the oars, was explaining the rivalry in magic between the +Finns and Lapps which is so strongly marked in the magic +and epic runes.</p> + +<p>“Lapp magic is not poetical,” he was explaining as well +as he could in his somewhat indifferent English. “It is of +that damnable kind, called by the Norse <em>seidr</em>. This word +has not entered the Finnic tongue, but we Lapps have +taken it and applied it to formless or rude images of our +deities in wood, or in stone, because we used them years +ago in our magic operations. We Lapps all believe in +magic.”</p> + +<p>“But surely you are Christians!” Jervoise exclaimed.</p> + +<p>“We believe in magic, nevertheless,” Henkela declared. +“Each day when I go forth fishing I make my song of +prayer—my <em>rukouksia</em>. I say: ‘Vellamo, mistress of +waters, Queen of a hundred sea-caves, Arouse the scaly +crowd, Urge on the fish flocks. Forth from their hiding-place. +Forth from the muddy slime. Forth to this net-hauling. +To the weights of the hundred-meshed. Take +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</span>now thy beauteous shield. Shake the golden water-lily +with which the fish thou frighten’st. And driv’st them +towards the net. Beneath the plain so gloomy, Above +the boulders black.’”</p> + +<p>“Most interesting!” declared Odd, who had been listening +attentively.</p> + +<p>“Again,” exclaimed the Lapp with the sharp black +eyes, as he puffed at his long pipe, setting his gaze straight +towards the grey bank of mist before him. “Again, if I +am ill, and I take waters as a medicine, I repeat the words: +‘O pure water, O Lady of the waters, Now do thou make +me whole, Strong as before. For this I beg thee dearly, +And in offering I gave thee, Blood to appease thee, Salt +to propitiate thee.’”</p> + +<p>One morning, after passing an uncomfortable night in +the hut of some nomad Lapps near the dreary Finnish +settlement of Audagoski, they had been delayed from +starting for several hours by the dense fog which hung +over the river, and in which it was impossible to row.</p> + +<p>At length, however, about noon, they had made a +start, and at the suggestion of Jervoise, Henkela had +resumed his explanation of the land of Pohjola as being +the seat of evils and darkness. In all the Lapp songs Pohja, +or Pohjola, is conspicuous, and according to Henkela +that mythical country of the far north beyond the eternal +snows was inhabited by Lapps, and the lady of Pohjola +was Lady of the Lapps.</p> + +<p>This Lady is one of the principal types among the +heroines of the “Kalevala,” and from her mythic region, +ill-omened in character and harbourer of ills, come forth +all the evils that afflict the northern peoples, such as ice, +snow, cold winds, and the darkness of winter. It is a +remote region, existing they know not exactly where; but +in what direction is clearly shown by the icy breath of +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</span>Boreas which comes out of it. A country of fearsome +imagination, an outer land on the northern confines of the +earth (ulkomaa), essentially dark (pimea) and cold (kylma) +the country of Pakkanen (icy coldness), a wretched land, +fatal to men and heroes, where sun and moon are never +seen, but visible in the eternal night is the “coloured +cover” (kyrjokansi) or the star-studded vault of the sky.</p> + +<p>All this curious lore of a practically unknown people +Dick Jervoise found peculiarly fascinating, and by the +hour he sat chatting and learning from Henkela, whose +broken English daily became clearer to the pair.</p> + +<p>That morning the little brown-faced man had, at Jervoise’s +request, been chanting the “Kalevala,” the rowers +keeping time with the runes as they passed through that +dismal, depressing land. The quaint ancient poetry told +how the daughter of the air, tired of her long solitude, +came down from the vast untrodden regions of the air and +settled on the surface of the waters, where for seven +hundred years she floated hither and thither as Lady of +the Waters.</p> + +<p>The runes told how the egg of a duck fell into the sea +and broke, and the fragments underwent a transformation. +From the two halves of the shell arose the vault of the +sky, and the terrestrial hemisphere below it; from the +yolk the sun took form; from the white the moon; from +the more shining parts the stars; from the darker parts +the clouds. The story was told of how every tree grew, +save the oak, which Vainamoinen, the eternal rune-maker, +at last made grow by a fire lit by five sea-maidens; how it +rose so high as to darken the clouds, and how a giant was +called to cut it down and fling it into the waters, where it +was carried north to the shore of the dreaded land of +Pohjola.</p> + +<p>He sang those five hundred or so lines of the quaint +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</span>national song of ages long past in his curious plaintive +chant, the rowers straining at their long oars and keeping +time.</p> + +<p>And when he had concluded he translated portions of it +into his indifferent English. The conclusion the two +travellers understood to be as follows:—</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent4">Spake ancient Vainamoinen:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">“Come now, thou dame of Pohjola,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Go we to share the Sampo,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">To see the coloured cover,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">On the point of the misty headland,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">On the height of the fog-swathed island.”</div> + <div class="verse indent4">Says of Pohjola the lady:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">“I’ll not go to share the Sampo,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">To see the coloured cover.”</div> + <div class="verse indent4">Then ancient Vainamoinen</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Sieved mist within a sieve</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And around about fog sowed he</div> + <div class="verse indent0">At the foggy headland’s ending;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And thus in words then spake he:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">“Here ploughing and here sowing,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Here every kind of grain-crop</div> + <div class="verse indent0">For the wretched north country,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">For the widespread soil of Suomi.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Moons here, and here be suns,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Here stars be in the skies!”</div> + <div class="verse indent4">Says of Pohjola the lady:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">“To this I’ll find a hindrance;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">A wondrous thing have found I</div> + <div class="verse indent0">For thy ploughing, for thy sowing.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">I’ll create a hail of iron,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Of steel a raging rain-storm,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">To strike thy crops so tender,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">To scourge and waste thy field!”</div> +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</span> <div class="verse indent4">Spake ancient Vainamoinen:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">“Create thy hail of iron,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Yea, cause to fall thy steel storm,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Upon the land of Pohjola,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">On the crest of the cliff of clay.”</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p>The river mists had now lifted, disclosing the low, +treeless banks of the broad-flowing waters—a wide, dreary, +uninhabited wilderness. Here and there clumps of dwarf +silver-birch, the trees only four or five feet in height, +struggled for an existence. This was the edge of the tree +zone. Travelling south, it was the first sign of vegetation +in addition to the moss and lichen of the Arctic tundras.</p> + +<p>As next day and the next they continued their voyage +up-stream the birches grew thicker and higher, their grey +trunks adding to the general melancholy of the scene.</p> + +<p>At rare intervals they passed a few scattered Lapp huts +near the river bank, when the rowers would shout their +salutations, awakening a horde of dogs whose barking +made exchange of greetings difficult. Sometimes they +would land to allow the three rowers to rest, and receive +the hospitality of a Lapp hut, and in exchange make +presents to the chubby, brown-faced little children in furs.</p> + +<p>In that great lone, God-forgotten land, where fog and +stretches of snow intensified the gloom, and where the only +means of subsistence were the fish and the reindeer, those +fur-clad wanderers of the tundra, dwarfed of stature and +still savage of nature, only just managed to keep body and +soul together. Many of the men went, in winter, down +to the coast to work in the cod-fishing or in those strong-smelling +“hjelder,” the timber-built sheds where the fish +is dried for the European markets. The others remained +in their turf-built settlements, herding their reindeer and +awaiting the passing of the long night.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</span></p> + +<p>Henkela one afternoon ordered the rowers to halt at a +sharp bend of the river, now rapidly narrowing and more +wooded on its banks, and, landing, conducted Jervoise and +his friend to the “siedi,” or sacred oracle-stones of Lavvajok. +The same day they passed three dangerous rapids, +which roared and foamed, and as night closed in they +found themselves at the junction of the Karasjokka +(rapid river) with the Tana.</p> + +<p>Dick Jervoise had one thought, one fear. Each day, +each hour, brought him nearer a crisis of his life. And +that thought obsessed him during the whole journey +through the monotonous gloom.</p> + +<p>They found a Lapp hut, where they spent the night +wrapped in their furs, for it was snowing heavily and +intensely cold; and next morning ascended the swiftly-flowing +stream which ran through thick birch woods to +the little Lapp town of Karasjok, where their boat journey +ended.</p> + +<p>The time at their disposal was very limited, for they +had already taken a day and a half longer in ascending +the Tana than they had estimated, and now, in order to +catch the <em>Mercur</em>, they would be compelled to travel in +all haste due north again to the Porsanger Fjord.</p> + +<p>Though they found Karasjok and its three hundred or +so inhabitants intensely interesting, they could only +remain there six hours. Then, bidding adieu to their three +rowers, they with Henkela, mounted into two ramshackle +vehicles, each of which was driven by a Lapp in reindeer +<em>pesk</em>, fur boots, and four-cornered cap stuffed with eider-down, +and set their faces due north across the wide, rolling +tundra, upon which snow had already fallen, though not +so deeply as to enable them to use sleds.</p> + +<p>From Karasjok to Laxelven, at the extreme head of the +fjord, was a distance of about a hundred kilometres. But +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</span>progress was difficult owing to the bad state of the track. +The route is a winter way used by the Lapps in their boat-sleds. +Therefore, in autumn, before the heavy snow has +fallen, it is in places almost impassable.</p> + +<p>On the road there was neither resthouse nor even Lapp +huts, therefore the drivers were compelled to husband the +strength of their horses, and progress was consequently +very slow.</p> + +<p>Evening drew on with that curious steely light only +seen within the Polar circle, that bright greyness which +quite suddenly gives place to total darkness. They were +slowly plodding their way around the base of a bare, giant, +snow-covered mountain, known to the Lapps as the +Gvornik and for ages regarded as sacred, owing to its +form like a crouching man. The birches around were +stunted, and ever and anon could be heard the dismal +howling of the wolves which infest that district. Before +them in the cheerless gloom lay the grey waters of the +Lake of Igja, and Henkela explained that while in winter +the sleds traversed its frozen surface from end to end, it +was at that season necessary, in order to avoid the swamps, +to make a long detour.</p> + +<p>For the thousandth time Dick Jervoise cursed himself +that he had not continued in the <em>Mercur</em>, landed at Archangel, +and gone south to Petersburg. The journey they +were now completing must end in disaster. That was +inevitable!</p> + +<p>The tired horses stumbled over the rough way, and the +tearing wind in their teeth was bitingly cold. So sharp, +indeed, was it that Dick and his friend had their faces +half hidden by their big fur hoods and their hands in their +mitts. All were hungry; therefore, after consultation, it +was arranged to halt by the lakeside, light a fire, and have +a meal, while the horses rested.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</span></p> + +<p>In that lonely, dismal spot they remained, sheltered +from the tearing wind as well as they could by the two +Lapp carts, until about three o’clock in the morning, +when, all having snatched a brief sleep reclining before +the fire on their baggage, they struck camp and pushed +again onward.</p> + +<p>“If we don’t turn up in time at Kjelvik,” laughed +Dick, as he mounted into the rickety old vehicle, “then +Martin must go on with the mails and we’ll be left up here +to spend the winter! What would your patients in +Hammersmith do then, my dear fellow—eh?”</p> + +<p>“They’d have to die happily, without my aid,” exclaimed +the other, with grim humour.</p> + +<p>“Never fear,” interrupted the faithful Henkela, “you +will be in Kjelvik in time. We have yet two days. We +shall be at Laxelven to-morrow evening, and row down the +fjord fifty kilometres to Kistrand, and then by another +boat to Kjelvik.”</p> + +<p>“We leave it entirely to you, Henkela,” Jervoise said. +“We must catch the <em>Mercur</em> at all hazards. We couldn’t +spend the winter here with you. We have no proper +clothes or equipment, and could not, in consequence, +withstand the cold.”</p> + +<p>“You would have to wear the dress of our people and +live in our huts. You would not suffer,” answered the +Lapp simply. “Our life, though so rough to you, is very +healthful after all.”</p> + +<p>“We’ll return again next year—never fear,” Owen +promised.</p> + +<p>He was just as anxious to rejoin the ship as his friend +had been to leave it.</p> + +<p>Dick had grown more silent and thoughtful in the hours +which slowly passed as they pushed forward towards the +coast.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</span></p> + +<p>How much would he give if he could but avoid travelling +by the old <em>Mercur</em>? True, he could land in Hammerfest +after they had rounded the North Cape.</p> + +<p>But it would then, alas! be too late.</p> + +<p>On board that black steamer, with its eternal smell of +cod-liver oil, was Paul Grinevitch, the last man in the +whole world he desired to meet. Had not Captain Martin +told them he was to pick up Berentsen, Thyra, and the +young Russian on his way back from Archangel?</p> + +<p>Alone in that terrible land of darkness and desolation +all the winter it was impossible to remain.</p> + +<p>To meet that man to whom Thyra Berentsen was +engaged was now absolutely imperative. There was no +way by which to avoid him.</p> + +<p>On the morrow he must board the steamer; he must +meet Paul Grinevitch face to face!</p> + +<p>He shrank, yet he set his teeth hard and his brows +contracted at thought of what must ensue at that encounter.</p> + +<p>A name escaped his lips involuntarily, yet so low that +his friend seated beside him did not distinguish it.</p> + +<p>“Thyra! Thyra!”</p> + +<p>Yes. He must act—act even at risk of his own honour—for +her sake!</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</span></p> + + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XI"> + CHAPTER XI + <br> + <span class="fs80">FACE TO FACE</span> + </h2> +</div> + +<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap">Four</span> days later.</p> + +<p>A cold, cheerless morning with grey sky, drifting snow +and a biting wind.</p> + +<p>From Laxelven they had rowed the whole length of the +wide Porsanger Fjord, first to Kistrand and then on to +Kjelvik, the wretched little fishing station on the island +of Magero, just behind the North Cape.</p> + +<p>The <em>Mercur</em> was due that day.</p> + +<p>The fortnight of hard travel had fagged them both, +and now, resting in a bare and rather uncleanly little hut +belonging to a fisherman, the outlook over the grey narrow +Magerosund, with the high, brown rocks, rising sheer on +either side, was terribly dismal and dispiriting.</p> + +<p>Henkela had gone forth, and with the searching eyes of +the fisherman was scanning the horizon eastward for any +sign of the steamer. But there was none.</p> + +<p>A little cluster of miserable huts, together with the two +or three drying-sheds, comprised the most northerly +fishing station in Europe, being nearly one hundred kilometres +north of Hammerfest.</p> + +<p>The climate at that point, exposed to the open Polar +ocean, was even worse than at Vardo, while the stench +from the cod-liver boilery was dreadful. The dwellers +there, the hardy toilers of the sea, most of them Lapps, +knew not a bright day of sunshine as we of the south know +it, nor had they ever in their lives seen either tree or even +flower other than those upon the mosses of the tundra. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</span>Never a cornfield or an olive grove, a vineyard or a grass +pasture had they ever gazed upon. They knew of nothing +but those storm-tossed waters of the glacial sea, the +floating ice, the bare rocky land, and the bird-covered +bergs from which, even as the two Englishmen gazed, +countless thousands of gulls, penguins and auks came +forth darkening the sky in their flight.</p> + +<p>Dick Jervoise, still in his big reindeer coat and with a +fortnight’s growth of scrubby beard upon his chin, was +sitting on an upturned barrel calmly smoking a cigarette.</p> + +<p>The moment he had been dreading through all those +days of travel since they had left Vadso was now approaching.</p> + +<p>He was to meet Paul Grinevitch!</p> + +<p>Owen Odd, with an air of nonchalance, very different +from that calm attentive attitude he adopted in his +shabby little surgery in Hammersmith, was seated on a +box impatient for the arrival of the <em>Mercur</em>.</p> + +<p>“By Jove, Dick!” he was saying. “I’ll be glad to get +out of this stinking hole. It’s the worst place we’ve +struck in the whole journey. Only fancy being doomed +to live here and to work in the boilery yonder! Phew!” +and he held his nose against the sickening stench.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” laughed his friend. “This is, I admit, rather +different from other places—the perfume factory at +Grasse, and the otto-of-rose distillery at Kazanlik, for +instance. Yet surely ours is an experience never to be +forgotten, an experience of the hard conditions of life on +the edge of civilisation.”</p> + +<p>“This place, Henkela tells me, is one of the fishing +stations belonging to that fat, red-faced old man Sundt +whom we met at the Berentsen’s. He controls the fishing +and boiling here, at Mehavn, Finkongkjeilen, and lots of +other places.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</span></p> + +<p>“And is reputed to be a millionaire—eh?” added Dick.</p> + +<p>“They say so—and all out of cod-liver oil and stock-fish,” +Owen laughed. “The more consumptives there are +in the world, then the better for his pocket! Some men’s +fortunes actually depend upon the spread of disease.”</p> + +<p>“Doctors included,” remarked Dick, with a mischievous +smile.</p> + +<p>Whereat Odd laughed, and with impatience suggested +they should go outside and join Henkela to scan the +horizon for signs of the incoming <em>Mercur</em>.</p> + +<p>The whole of the wretched little colony of undersized +men, in furs and mitts, unclean men, with pale brown +faces of Mongol type, with small, narrow eyes, short, +scrubby beards, full lips, and blunt noses, was agog with +expectation. The rare visits of the steamer which brought +them stores and took away their barrels of oil and the +great packages of dried cod down to Hamburg, was always +a red-letter day. The few Norwegians and Russians who +worked there looked for letters and newspapers from the +civilised land they had known in their youth. The others, +the half-savage Lapps, loved the excitement of drawing +their big black boat alongside the steamer in the heavy +sea, and shipping their black, greasy barrels on board.</p> + +<p>The work was always very perilous, for the sea around +that great frowning cliff, called the Helnes, was never +calm, and the wind, straight from the ice, was always +rough, bleak, and bitter. Many a life had been lost in +the work of shipping the oil and the wind-dried fish, and +many, alas! in the work of gathering the scaly harvest of +the sea.</p> + +<p>The shingly beach, whereon the great breakers of the +Arctic were lashing themselves into a boiling foam, was +strewn with thousands of cod-heads and offal, while from +the boilery came forth a dark vapour, poisoning the +atmosphere for miles around.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</span></p> + +<p>Some Lapps, in their grey, ragged furs, their dirty red-tasselled +caps, and their fur boots, turned up at the toes, +were busy packing the last bales of dried fish, shouting +among themselves and hauling on the cords as they bound +four or five hundred cod together. A Norwegian, one of +Peter Sundt’s managers, in furs and mitts, stood by, +directing operations.</p> + +<p>Outside some of the huts the Lapps were mending nets, +others tarring and repairing their boats, while the flat-faced +women within were busy cooking meals and attending to +their household duties.</p> + +<p>Henkela, as they strolled along the shore, chatted here +and there in his own soft tongue with the fur-clad fishermen, +while as they passed the flag-staff the Norwegian +flag was run up as signal of the approach of the steamer.</p> + +<p>Away on the grey horizon could be seen the sharp, rocky +point of the Svoerholtklubben, standing out from the land +eastward, and from behind this Henkela pointed out, the +<em>Mercur</em> would first be distinguished.</p> + +<p>That little colony, which, through those months of the +great Arctic night, toiled and fished in a perpetual darkness, +only broken by the occasional aurora borealis, and in +snowstorms and blizzards almost continuous, was, Henkela +declared, enjoying a “fine” day! “Fine” meant that +there was no fog, no snow, and it was daylight.</p> + +<p>The eyes of the colony were even upon that far-off, +indistinct horizon, and were so for several hours, until +nearly midday, when a shout from a group of Lapps +attracted the two Englishmen; and they saw emerging +from behind the long, misty headland a thin trail of black +smoke.</p> + +<p>The heart of Dick Jervoise fell. He bit his lip, uttering +no word. Owen, however, set about packing their traps +together and seeing that they were carried down to the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</span>boat which Henkela had engaged. They had paid off +their faithful attendant, paid him well, and he had expressed +his delight in many ways.</p> + +<p>For the next four months there would be no steamer +to take him back to Vadso; therefore he explained that he +would return to Karasjok by the way they had come, +wait there until the Tana was frozen, and then travel in a +reindeer <em>pulk</em> over the surface of the river, and so back to +his own settlement.</p> + +<p>Dick had scribbled a note to Mr. Ackerman, explaining +how pleased they had been with the Lapp’s services, and +there now remained nothing but to leave that damp, +dreary, inhospitable land.</p> + +<p>The two friends stood watching the rapid approach of +the black, battered old steamer, with its high black funnel +bearing the three narrow white bands, the vessel that had +been their home for so many weeks, and was now to bear +them back to the civilisation and hustle of modern life.</p> + +<p>With the long trail from her smoke-stack, she steamed +direct for the shore, until, when about three miles away, +there sounded from the siren that well known warning +note, the Morse code signal of long and short blasts, +announcing its approach.</p> + +<p>Ashore all was bustle in the little place. Men, women, +and children ran down to the beach to watch the only link +they possessed with Europe, that unknown country of the +sun, the country whence came the flour without which +they must die—the country about which the men who had +seen it told such marvellous stories.</p> + +<p>The Laplander is ever a child in his vivid imagination, +and though he may be rough and uncouth he builds castles +in the air and imagines that he has seen that wonderful +city of which he had heard so much—the capital, Christiania, +where lives King Haakon.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</span></p> + +<p>At last the <em>Mercur</em> suddenly altered her course, dropping +anchor about half-a-mile from land, whereupon the +boats, already laden with barrels and bales of fish until +they appeared top-heavy, put off, followed by the boat +with the two Englishmen and their impedimenta, Henkela +insisting upon coming in order to see his charges safely +on board what he termed “the Hamburger.”</p> + +<p>The crucial moment for Dick Jervoise had arrived. He +knew that among the passengers on deck watching the +arrival of the cargo would be Paul Grinevitch.</p> + +<p>In a few moments, too, he would bow over the white +hand of Thyra Berentsen, the girl with the grey, child-like +eyes, that he so admired—the eyes that now ever haunted +him.</p> + +<p>The approach was difficult on account of the tremendous +sea running, but at last Dick found himself on board, +shaking hands with Captain Martin, who, smart in his +well-kept uniform, was greeting the pair.</p> + +<p>“Well, how did you get on? Had a good journey—eh?” +he inquired.</p> + +<p>“Excellent!” Owen declared. “It was all most interesting. +And you?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, pretty bad weather in the White Sea; quite unusual +at this season,” responded the captain. “But,” +he added, “we have on board our friends from Vardo, the +captain, his daughter, and the Russian gentleman. They +go down with us to Trondhjem for the wedding. You will +land there and go on to Christiania by train, I suppose?” +he asked of Jervoise.</p> + +<p>“I—well, I really don’t know,” Dick replied, almost +mechanically. “I may get off at Hammerfest or Tromso.”</p> + +<p>“Better not,” advised the captain. “The summer +season is over now, you know, and winter is setting in. +Up here it is not place in winter for you people from the +south.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</span></p> + +<p>“Well,” declared Odd, “I’ll have to get back to Christiania +and across to Hull as soon as I can, even though +you stay here, Dick. I’ve my practice to return to, +remember.”</p> + +<p>“We’ll discuss it all later on,” Dick said; and as he +turned he found a burly man in yachting cap and thick +blue pilot-jacket standing behind him. It was Jorgen +Berentsen, whose face beamed with good-humour as they +grasped hands.</p> + +<p>“I’m going down to Trondhjem,” he explained, “I go +to be present at my daughter’s wedding. You land at +Trondhjem, too, of course. I hope you and your friend +the doctor will accept our invitation to the ceremony. +You,” he added, addressing Owen, “have met Monsieur +Grinevitch. You met him the night before you sailed.”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” replied the young doctor. “But my friend +Jervoise has not yet done so.”</p> + +<p>“He’s on the upper deck, I believe, with Thyra. Of +course they are inseparable!” he laughed merrily.</p> + +<p>Inseparable! Would they be, thought Dick Jervoise, +if father and daughter knew the shameful truth.</p> + +<p>Above their heads rang out a peal of merry, girlish +laughter.</p> + +<p>She was leaning upon the rail just over them. He could +hear the man’s voice—a voice which he had, alas! bitter +cause to remember.</p> + +<p>Her lover made a remark, whereat she laughed again.</p> + +<p>Dick Jervoise overheard what the man had uttered. +His brows contracted, and, smiling a hard, tight-lipped +smile, he turned away.</p> + +<p>Jorgen Berentsen held him, however, in conversation +for a few moments longer, while Owen had already gone +below to wash and make himself presentable.</p> + +<p>Then, just as he turned to descend to his cabin, he came +face to face with Thyra and her lover.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</span></p> + +<p>Dressed in neat blue serge, with a long seal jacket, a +fine blue foxskin around her neck, and a small fur toque, +she presented a delightfully dainty figure, as her grey +eyes shone with delight at meeting the Englishman.</p> + +<p>“Ah, Mr. Jervoise!” she cried, holding out to him her +hand in its leather mitt. “Here you are at last! We’ve +been wondering ever since we left Vardo whether you +would get across here in time.”</p> + +<p>“We arrived only this morning, Miss Thyra,” he +answered, bending over her hand with his cosmopolitan +courtliness. “It took us much longer to ascend the Tana +than we had anticipated, and it seems we very nearly lost +the steamer.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, Captain Martin intended to wait twenty-four +hours for you,” she declared. “We could never have +left you and Doctor Odd in this awful place all the winter! +Allow me to introduce Mr. Grinevitch, my future husband—Mr. +Richard Jervoise.”</p> + +<p>The Russian, in a suit of rough homespun, and wearing +a thick, grey, half-military overcoat, reaching to his +heels, and a golf cap, turned from gazing across at the land +and faced him.</p> + +<p>For a second the pair stared into one another’s eyes. +There was defiance, even hatred, in the glance of both of +them.</p> + +<p>Thyra, however, did not detect Paul’s expression. Her +usually quick intelligence had now become blinded by her +intense and all-absorbing love for him.</p> + +<p>She did not notice that quick flash of anger, so cold and +metallic.</p> + +<p>The two men bowed stiffly in silence. Neither uttered +a word.</p> + +<p>Dick Jervoise, with an excuse that he was unpresentable, +passed by them and went straight downstairs.</p> + +<p>The strife had begun. How would it end?</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</span></p> + + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XII"> + CHAPTER XII + <br> + <span class="fs80">LOVE’S SHADOW</span> + </h2> +</div> + +<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap">Evening</span> fell rapidly; the shadows deepened into black, +impalpable clouds.</p> + +<p>Slowly the <em>Mercur</em> steamed up the narrow Magerosund +behind the bare, rocky island of Magero, on which stands +the North Cape. On either side rose, sheer from the +rolling waters, the dark, black, inaccessible rocks, the +home of thousands of sea-birds.</p> + +<p>As daylight faded the scene became inexpressibly grand. +The merry little company had assembled below in the +shabby little saloon, where somebody was playing the old +piano. Only Paul and Thyra were on deck, standing +near the chart-room, hand in hand, and watching the +northern twilight fast deepening into night.</p> + +<p>Thyra, for the first time since leaving Vardo, felt a +weight of sadness upon her soul. What was it? The +gloom, the oppression of twilight in that remote and +barren place through which destiny was carrying her; or +was it the mere reflection of Paul’s unwonted seriousness?</p> + +<p>She spoke, raising her beautiful eyes to his, but he +remained silent, his cigarette between his teeth, his gaze +fixed straight before him.</p> + +<p>The light was being run up to the mast-head, the music +ceased, and the only sound was the rhythmic throbbing of +the engines and the hiss of the angry sea. An infinite +sadness, a mystery of fearful shadow fell blacker and +blacker from the heavens.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</span></p> + +<p>Why had her father so suddenly and inexplicably allowed +her marriage to Paul? This thought again recurred to her +as she stood leaning upon the rail in silence. It was +certainly most generous of him to make that sacrifice—to +allow her to marry and leave him to lead his life alone in +that dismal settlement of the Far North. Yet she felt +that there was a reason—some strong reason—of which +she was being kept in ignorance.</p> + +<p>True, she loved Paul with all her heart. Yet, somehow, +when she came to analyse her feelings, she regarded the +future, the embarrassments of the first days of marriage, +with just the slightest trepidation.</p> + +<p>Surely her soul was becoming involved in the shadows +darkening her!</p> + +<p>Together they paced the slippery deck, sometimes with +difficulty, owing to the heavy roll of the Polar Sea. Her +lover buttoned her coat tightly at the throat, and tightened +the splendid blue fox around her throat, for the wind was +biting.</p> + +<p>The ship’s bell clanged out the time of day, and the +mast-head light showed brighter in the darkness.</p> + +<p>A strange sense of oppression had fallen upon her. She +was not guilty of folly in action, but certainly her words +were strange. Paul found them amusing, yet they distressed +him.</p> + +<p>Though seemingly calm, Thyra could not hide that +she was under the dominion of some fixed idea. What was +she thinking about?</p> + +<p>He halted, and at a point secluded from the view of any +sailor who might be on deck, he embraced her tenderly, +imprinting a fond kiss upon her soft, white cheek. And +yet, even as he held her in his arms, he felt her far, immeasurably +far, away from him.</p> + +<p>What could it mean?</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</span></p> + +<p>“Aren’t you happy, my darling?” he asked at last.</p> + +<p>Paul’s searching question had its echo in her soul also. +What was it that they lacked? They were both of them +strong and young, the girl told herself. Paul loved her +ardently, blindly; he lived only for her; and he was so +good-looking. His fine, passionate eyes, his soft white +hands, his clear-cut features possessed a magic which +intoxicated her.</p> + +<p>Since leaving Vardo, three days before, they had been +skirting that northern iron-bound coast, spending greater +part of their time on deck, standing or sitting hand in +hand. The stern grandeur of the scenery was everywhere +impressive; the gloom of that silent coast alternated with +the gaiety of Captain Martin and his officers, and the +merry strains of the old piano below. True, the sea was +rough, but was she not essentially a child of the sea?</p> + +<p>As they steamed along in the gathering gloom, black +masses of rock reared themselves perpendicularly out of +the waters, rising directly from the deeply cut fjords, and, +riven and cleft, towered precipitously upwards or leaned +threateningly over. On their heads lay masses of ice +stretching for miles, covering whole districts and scaring +away all life save the torrents to which they themselves +gave birth.</p> + +<p>The midsummer sun had disappeared. No longer at +midnight it stood large and blood-red on the horizon, its +veiled brilliance reflected alike from the ice-covered +mountains and from the ocean, as Dick and Owen had +witnessed it, for the brief summer in that dread wilderness +of rock and icy sea had passed.</p> + +<p>There is a bewildering, overwhelming charm about that +northern latitude—that region of silence and mystery—a +charm that is unlike any in the whole wide world. It is +a charm that grips the heart unconsciously, and yet so +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</span>firmly that all who have sailed the Arctic seas, or travelled +on those barren lands of the far north, strangely enough, +are ever eager and ever long to return once again to those +islands and skerries and that maze of bays, sounds and +straits of the northern coast of Lapland, which possesses +for the southerner an attraction as magnetic as they do +for the compass of the mariner.</p> + +<p>As the darkness deepened, the steamer slowly passed +beneath a high black cliff rising sheer from the water, +which, the girl pointed out to her lover, was one of the +largest bird-covered bergs of the district, the home of +millions of eider-duck.</p> + +<p>“How strange it is,” she remarked for want of something +to say, for she saw that he seemed troubled, “that +only two causes can move the sea-birds—the eider-ducks, +auks, gulls, terns, oyster-catchers, and the rest—to visit +the land: the joyous springtime sense of new-awakening +love, and the mournful foreboding of approaching death.”</p> + +<p>“I was not aware of that,” he said, gazing up at the +towering wall of black rock. “You have studied the birds, +I suppose?”</p> + +<p>“A little,” she laughed. “It’s curious that not even +winter, with its long night, its cold, and its storms, can +drive them to the land; they are proof to all the terrors +of the North. They may alight, but only for a short +time, often on a solitary island in the sea to oil their +feathers more thoroughly than can be done in the water. +But when with the sun’s first brightness love stirs in +their breasts, all—young and old alike—though they may +have thousands of miles to swim and fly, strive to reach +the place where they themselves first saw the light of day. +And if, in mid-winter, months after the breeding-places +have been left desolate, a sea-bird feels death in his heart, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</span>he hastens, as long as his strength holds out, that he may, +if possible, die in the place where he was cradled.”</p> + +<p>“It is surely much the same with us,” he said, holding +her hand. “We would all of us, if we could, die in the +place where we were born.”</p> + +<p>He spoke mechanically. The truth was that his +thoughts were far away from that gloomy solitude. Before +him had arisen a vision of the past—a recollection of +sunshine and brightness, of sweet-smelling violets and +carnations, of pretty women and well-dressed men; of a +land where man had enhanced the beauties of nature until +it seemed almost a terrestrial Paradise. And as he gazed +upon the scene he saw two faces—a man’s and a woman’s—faces +that he had believed until an hour ago he would +never again recall.</p> + +<p>The man—that man who alone knew the terrible truth—had +risen against him, risen as though from the sea! +He had come on board, and had met him face to face!</p> + +<p>Thyra, in ignorance of the reason of her lover’s silence, +stood by his side in uneasiness.</p> + +<p>Try how she would, she could not account for that +strange feeling of oppressive sadness, precursory of evil. +Something was not right. Of that she felt convinced.</p> + +<p>And yet what could it be? Her father, devoted as he +was to her, was taking her to her aunt’s in Trondhjem, +where she was to be married to Paul. Afterwards they +were to live in St. Petersburg. They had decided upon +the Russian capital in preference to Moscow. Before +they had left Vardo, Paul and her father had spent some +hours together, and what her lover had said had apparently +entirely satisfied the old captain.</p> + +<p>“Soon,” Paul was saying, as with her soft hand in his +they both fixed their gaze upon the dark waters, “soon +you will be mine, my own dear wife. Then we shall be +happy—so happy,” he added in a strange voice.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</span></p> + +<p>“Aren’t we supremely happy now, Paul?” she asked. +“Surely this journey should be the happiest in all our +lives!”</p> + +<p>He bit his lip. But in the darkness she could not see +the hard expression upon his countenance.</p> + +<p>“It is. Of course it is,” he assured her with an uneasy +laugh. Yet his thoughts were all of that man. Richard +Jervoise, in the saloon below, the man with whom he must +sit and eat at the same table in half an hour. Then a +moment later he said: “I never anticipated, dearest, that +we should be traveling south so soon. All this seems a +dream, Thyra—a dream too sweet to be a reality.” And +his fingers closed tightly upon hers.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” she declared, turning her face, half buried as it +was in her furs, towards his with a passionate look in her +eyes, filled with the light of unshed tears. “I know, Paul, +how fondly you love me. Need I say that I love you, +dearest, just as fervently, and that I am very, very happy?”</p> + +<p>“Are you?” he cried quickly. “Do you know that +from your attitude to-day I began to suspect that you +had been filled by some grave apprehensions—that something +had caused you uneasiness.”</p> + +<p>“Did you?” she laughed with well-feigned carelessness. +“How absurd! Why, Paul, I’m the happiest girl in all +the world. I have your love. What more can I desire?”</p> + +<p>“That’s right,” he exclaimed cheerily. “Love, peace, +happiness—all that makes life worth living lie before us. +Therefore why let these dispirited surroundings influence +our thoughts? In Petersburg my friends will welcome +you warmly, and you will soon be mistress of your own +home.”</p> + +<p>“And you, dear heart,” she said, clinging to him, “will +be my husband. Ah! Paul, my Paul, I want nothing else +in all the world—only you.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</span></p> + +<p>He bent until his lips touched hers.</p> + +<p>Yet as she returned his passionate caress his conscience +smote him. What would she, who trusted him so entirely +and implicitly, she so innocent of the world and its pleasures +and its pitfalls, think of him if she knew the shameful +truth?</p> + +<p>She clung to him, for where they stood no one could +witness their embrace. He loved her, yet he feared—feared +that tall, athletic, straight-eyed Englishman who +had once before crossed his path in that far-off southern +land, and who now, at the very moment of his triumph, +had risen a living witness of his dishonour!</p> + +<p>As he held her slim form close to his breast, covering +her dainty mouth with his kisses, yet standing unsteadily +on the slippery deck owing to the long roll of the sea, he +reflected. His brain was awhirl. True, Dick Jervoise +could, if he chose, tell a strange and bitter truth. Yet was +not that hateful Englishman utterly in his power, after +all?</p> + +<p>Could he not, if he so wished, crush him so completely +that any word he uttered in retaliation would be disbelieved?</p> + +<p>And his lips tightened into a hard smile, even as he +pressed them again to those of the sweet, innocent girl +whose pure soul he possessed and whose intense love was +all-consuming.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</span></p> + + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XIII"> + CHAPTER XIII + <br> + <span class="fs80">FACES IN THE MIST</span> + </h2> +</div> + +<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap">The</span> evening meal in the small saloon of the <em>Mercur</em> was +bright and pleasant, even though it consisted of tinned +provisions and many varieties of cheese in Norwegian +style.</p> + +<p>Captain Martin, his uniform carefully brushed, his +linen spotless, and his fair moustache carefully curled, sat +at the head of the table smiling brightly, while Berentsen, +the bluff old whaler, and Owen Odd were the life and soul +of the little party.</p> + +<p>Paul Grinevitch had been allotted a place opposite +Jervoise, but as he seated himself the Englishman had +smiled affably and remarked that it was the first civilised +meal he and his companion had enjoyed since leaving +Vadso. The Russian having replied with equal affability, +none of the party guessed that the two men had met on a +previous occasion in circumstances both remarkable and +tragic.</p> + +<p>Indeed, Thyra, her lover, and Dick Jervoise were soon +in animated conversation, the last-named describing their +journey to Karasjok and relating many of the humorous +incidents of the road.</p> + +<p>Now and then the two men exchanged glances—quick, +covert glances—each wondering what was passing at the +back of the other’s mind, while Owen was laughing heartily +with Martin and the grey-bearded harbour-master, the +hunchback mail officer and the engineer joining in the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</span>hilarious chorus. Captain Berentsen’s broad smile lighting +his weather-beaten face, told of unruffled good humour, +that easy-going good-fellowship of the true-born sailor. +Full of amusing anecdote and possessor of a keen sense of +humour, he kept the little company in fits of laughter as +he related to them some of the ludicrous experiences +during his whaling days. He had, just before his appointment +as harbour-master, been second in command of the +copy of the Viking ship built by the Norwegian Government +and sent over for exhibition at the World’s Fair in +Chicago.</p> + +<p>The voyage of the weird-looking craft across the Atlantic +and the sensation it caused aboard the various vessels +met on the way, he described most humorously. Some +skippers, discovering it looming up on the horizon, believed +that Noah’s Ark was still afloat, while others +fancied it was one of the Armada vessels risen from the +deep, or the Flying Dutchman himself.</p> + +<p>“You should have been on board with me!” he was +saying in English. “We had the greatest fun, I assure +you. We would refuse to answer signals, and they would +heave-to and come on board to see who and what we really +were. The crews of some craft were evidently frightened, +for they stood away directly they sighted us. They +believed Old Nick himself to be aboard.”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” remarked Captain Martin; “no doubt it was a +most unusual looking vessel, and must have given a good +many people a turn! One doesn’t meet Viking ships on +the high seas very often in one’s life.”</p> + +<p>“Well, we, of course, acted suspiciously in order to +puzzle every ship we met,” laughed Berentsen. “And in +mid-Atlantic we experienced some very bad weather into +the bargain.”</p> + +<p>The meal was enlivened throughout by nautical and +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</span>other reminiscences, and afterwards, at Dick’s request, +Thyra went to the piano and, smiling sweetly, sang one +or two of the gay French songs she had learned from a +book, called “Les Chansons de Paris,” which Captain +Martin had brought her up from the south a year before.</p> + +<p>The first she sang was “Heures d’Ivresse,” the popular +ditty which Leontine Deschamps sang for so long at the +Folies Bergere, and the refrain of which was:—</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Veux-tu, toi que j’adore,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Me dire encore, encore,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Ces mots voluptueux,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Tendrement amoureux?</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Ces phrases si grisantes,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Si folles, si troublantes.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Viens me les dire encore,</div> + <div class="verse indent4">Toi que j’adore!</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p>This she followed by the dainty chansonette of Denoisy, +“Les Refrains du Printemps”:—</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Quand le printemps dans les buissons</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Met un bouquet de fleurs nouvelles,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Il apporte aussi des chansons,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Dedans le coeur des demoiselles;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Les p’tits jeun’s gens sont plus legers,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Et trottinant, l’amour en tete,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Ils chantent d’un air degage.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Un gai refrain de chansonette:</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent8">Titine,</div> + <div class="verse indent8">Mutine,</div> + <div class="verse indent4">N’a pas dix-huit ans,</div> + <div class="verse indent8">Et chante,</div> + <div class="verse indent8">Contente,</div> + <div class="verse indent4">Voici le printemps!</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</span></p> + +<p>Sweetly she sang, with a tuneful verve and a pronunciation +full of charm, and when she had ended all the party +applauded her again and again, bringing a slight flush of +embarrassment to her soft cheeks.</p> + +<p>Captain Berentsen, a fine burly, grey-bearded figure +as he stood at the table, his body swaying easily with the +motion of the ship as became the sailor, gave a humorous +recitation in Norwegian, while Dick Jervoise, now thoroughly +reassured by the Russian’s attitude of pretended +disregard of the past, gave one of the Ingoldsby Legends.</p> + +<p>Thus passed the first evening of the southward voyage, +Martin and Berentsen smoking their long, Norwegian +pipes with the huge bowls, and everyone contributing to +the general entertainment. Captain Martin had but +little to do with the navigation of the ship, for so dangerous +are the channels and fjords right down to Bergen that the +vessel was constantly in charge of the two pilots which +she always carried to and from the North.</p> + +<p>Paul Grinevitch’s turn came. He seated himself at +the piano and, with a quick glance at Jervoise first, ran +his fingers over the yellow keys, and then, in a rather +good tenor voice, began:—</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">On la nomme la Fanchonnette,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Elle est blondes, comme les bles,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Elle a la voix d’une fauvette,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Les yeux noirs, les cheveux boucles;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Elle est frele, mignonne et blanche,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Exhale un parfum embaume;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Nous nous connumes un dimanche,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Et depuis mon coeur fut charme.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent8">Ma Fanchonnette</div> + <div class="verse indent8">Svelte et simplette</div> +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</span> <div class="verse indent4">Revets tes atours gracieux;</div> + <div class="verse indent8">A la folie,</div> + <div class="verse indent8">Fais-toi jolie,</div> + <div class="verse indent4">Et le charme de tous les yeux</div> + <div class="verse indent8">Ma favorite</div> + <div class="verse indent8">Profitons vite</div> + <div class="verse indent4">Car les beaux jours n’auront qu’un temps,</div> + <div class="verse indent8">Et dans la fete</div> + <div class="verse indent8">Des amourettes</div> + <div class="verse indent4">Sachons depenser nos vingt ans,</div> + <div class="verse indent8">Ma Fanchonnette!</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p>Fanchonnette! Those words, that haunting refrain +of the cafe concerts, brought back to the eyes of Dick +Jervoise the vision that he would fain forget—the vision +of that sweet-faced girl with whom he had walked in the +olive groves at sundown and in the bright moonlight by +the tideless southern sea! He tried to close his ears to +the words, but, alas! it was impossible. He sat rigid, +staring towards that man seated at the piano, that man +who was taunting him, torturing him with a refinement of +cruelty of which those about them never dreamed.</p> + +<p>It was a pretty song. Ah! yes; but they knew not the +tragic memories which that tune awakened within the heart +of the tall Englishman. Before him rose a grey mist, and +from it a woman’s face gazed forth, at first with a look of +bitter reproach in her big, blue eyes, to be succeeded a +moment later by an expression of terrible haunting horror, +the face of a woman who was gazing into eternity.</p> + +<p>Once, while singing, Paul Grinevitch, turned from the +instrument and again glanced at Jervoise. Their eyes +met. The singer recognised by the Englishman’s countenance +the effect of the song upon him, and, after a pause, +commenced the last verse.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</span></p> + +<p>It was <em>her</em> song! Had not they both sat and witnessed +her triumphs; had they not both joined their plaudits +with those of the after-dinner crowds at the Alcazar d’Ete, +the Ambassadeurs, Olympia, the Parisiana, and that +gilded casino beside the Mediterranean? Ah! yes. It +was her song—the one he remembered so well, the one +she had sung at his request on that last never-to-be-forgotten +night.</p> + +<p>His nails drove themselves into his palms and the +perspiration stood upon his brow at thought of it all. +There was a grim fatality, surely, that he should meet +Paul Grinevitch face to face—that Grinevitch himself +should sing that song out upon that chill Arctic sea!</p> + +<p>He sat staring straight before him, not moving a muscle. +His attitude, though none noticed him save the Russian, +was that of a man fascinated by a peep into the +future.</p> + +<p>Strange how a simple song, the scent of some common +flower, the mention of a name, recalls in both men and +women after long years the vivid recollection of a tender +affection of a forgotten love. For one brief moment the +heart strings are touched, and respond in sympathy. Then, +disregarding the present, we live again for a short space +beside the one we loved and, more often than not, drink +our fill of the tragedy of the past.</p> + +<p>Fanchonnette! The very name caused a big lump to +rise in the throat of Dick Jervoise. The torture of it all +was beyond endurance. He could have risen and struck +down that grinning man who, singing her song, knew that +he was cutting deeply into his enemy’s heart more cruelly +and relentlessly than by a knife thrust. Scenes, some +sweet and tender, some—alas! tragic and terrible, arose +in quick succession before his clouded vision. In all he +saw her countenance—that pale, wan face, with the shadow +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</span>of death upon it—that face upon which he had, alas! +looked for the last time!</p> + +<p>Ah! it was cruel—too cruel of Grinevitch to sing that +song. It was inhuman to thus torture him, well knowing +that he dare not raise his voice in complaint.</p> + +<p>At last the singer sang the concluding refrain, and then +turned to his victim. But the latter dare not raise his +gaze. He was sitting pale and erect, glaring before him +at that hideous ghost of the past.</p> + +<p>“What a charming little song!” Thyra declared; and +as her lover rose from the piano and rejoined her she gazed +into his eyes with an expression of fervent devotion.</p> + +<p>As soon as he could, Dick Jervoise escaped from the +saloon and, followed by Owen, ascended to the deck. The +night was now dark, with a tearing wind straight from the +ice-pack, causing the vessel to labour heavily in the long +rollers, for they were now out in the open Polar Sea again, +and would remain so until they reached Hammerfest.</p> + +<p>Behind the canvas wind-screen on the bridge the pilot, +in heavy fur coat and mitts, paced up and down, his keen, +deep-set eyes ever upon his difficult course. From the +high funnel sparks flew out far across the angry waters, +while ever and anon a huge wave would strike the bows, +causing the ship to shiver from stem to stern.</p> + +<p>“Ah!” cried Dick to his companion, as he bared his +head to the wind, “it is more pleasant up here than down +there in that stuffy saloon.”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” answered the Doctor, “I noticed just now that +you were a bit pale, Dick. What’s the matter?”</p> + +<p>“Nothing, my dear fellow—nothing,” laughed the +other. “I’m tired, perhaps.”</p> + +<p>“Better turn in early to-night,” the doctor suggested. +“But, I say, the young couple seem most devoted, don’t +they? Thyra has been engaged to the Russian for quite +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</span>a long time, I hear, though the secret, for some reason or +other, hasn’t been allowed to leak out. Then, all at once, +it is announced, and the marriage hurried on as quickly as +possible. Rather strange, isn’t it?”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” responded Jervoise, as they walked together +towards the stern, careful to avoid stumbling against the +piles of miscellaneous deck cargo. “You said, I think, +that the Russian has been staying in Vardo for some time. +What took him up to such an out-of-the-world place, I +wonder?”</p> + +<p>“Who knows? What took us there, for example? +Only just our wanderings. Same with him, I suppose. +He met her, and fell in love with her—just as you or I +would probably have done had we been first on the scene. +Myself, I have no hesitation in saying that she’s one of +the most charming and intelligent girls I’ve ever met.”</p> + +<p>“We were agreed on that point on the first evening we +went to the harbour-master’s house,” said Dick slowly. +“What do you think of the man?”</p> + +<p>“Well, rather a good sort, I should call him,” was Owen’s +deliberate reply. “I know there’s a prejudice against +Russians all the world over. People believe they treat +their wives badly. But I can’t imagine him treating +Thyra—or, in fact, any woman—badly. He’s completely +devoted to her, that’s quite apparent, and she has eyes +only for him. They make a very smart pair.”</p> + +<p>Dick Jervoise smiled.</p> + +<p>“Love-making is always amusing and sometimes +ludicrous—when you are only a witness,” he said. “The +lover always puts on his best behavior before his enchantress. +It is certainly so in this case. Paul Grinevitch is, +I admit, good-looking, courteous, well-spoken, and essentially +a ladies’ man; but——” And he paused. His +mouth shut with a snap.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</span></p> + +<p>“But what? Don’t you think he’ll make a good +husband for our little Thyra? I call her ours because we +seem to have discovered her.”</p> + +<p>“Husband!” echoed his companion quickly. “Thyra +would be better off in her grave than to marry such a man.”</p> + +<p>“Why do you anticipate unhappiness for her?” asked +Owen in quick suspicion.</p> + +<p>“Because that man, like most of his race, conceals the +claws within the velvet paw. When powerless, he is +humble and humiliated; but give him power over a woman +and he will tire of her and crush the heart—nay, the very +life—from her. Ah! you don’t know, old chap—you +don’t know.”</p> + +<p>“Why, what’s the matter with you to-night, Dick?” +inquired his friend. “You don’t seem to have a very +good opinion of Paul Grinevitch.”</p> + +<p>“No,” Jervoise snapped, “I have not. Thyra will +regret the day of her marriage to that man—depend upon +it.”</p> + +<p>“Don’t you think your condemnation—well, rather +premature, old fellow? You’ve only been with him a few +hours.”</p> + +<p>“I’ve seen sufficient to know the truth,” was the other’s +hard response.</p> + +<p>Could it be that Dick was jealous of the Russian, his +friend wondered. He had noticed his curious pre-occupied +demeanour all through their journey across from Vadso. +Prior to their meeting with Thyra he had been his sane, +rollicking, easy-going, cosmopolitan self. Could it mean +that Dick had fallen desperately in love with the daughter +of the harbour-master, and now, discovering that she +already had a secret lover, he hated him?</p> + +<p>That was the only solution of the problem. Dick, dear +old Dick Jervoise—who was to him almost as a brother—was +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</span>deeply in love! This Russian, with his courtly airs +and piercing eyes so full of passionate glances, was his +rival for the hand of the beautiful Thyra.</p> + +<p>Owen Odd was silent. The position was both painful +and difficult. He had never suspected it, for he had long +ago believed Dick to be proof against a woman’s smiles, +case-hardened against feminine blandishments, as most +men who lead cosmopolitan lives at last become. But +his words were sufficient proof of the hatred and bitterness +in his heart.</p> + +<p>“You don’t appear to like Paul Grinevitch, eh?” he +repeated a few moments later.</p> + +<p>“Like him!” cried Dick. “I—I hate him.”</p> + +<p>“Because she loves him?” slowly suggested Owen in a +softer voice.</p> + +<p>“Not for one reason alone I hate him,” declared Dick +frankly, “but for many.”</p> + +<p>At that moment he would have given worlds to have +been able to unburden his heart to his friend. But, alas! +it was quite impossible.</p> + +<p>Fanchonnette! Fanchonnette! That name, the haunting +music, the face of that man seated at the piano was +still before him, until he almost cried aloud to the wind in +agony of soul.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</span></p> + + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XIV"> + CHAPTER XIV + <br> + <span class="fs80">IS IN SEVERAL WAYS MYSTERIOUS</span> + </h2> +</div> + +<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap">Owen</span> and Dick spent a pleasant hour on deck next +morning with the dainty grey-eyed girl, while Paul and +Captain Berentsen smoked and chatted in the deck-house.</p> + +<p>In her neat serge gown, long sealskin travelling coat, +and fur toque she was a delightful little companion. +Anticipation of the coming event in Trondhjem filled her +with intense, almost childish, excitement, and she had +already made both the Englishmen promise to remain to +be present at the marriage feast. To Paul—her Paul—she +was utterly and entirely devoted. She spoke of him +almost with every breath.</p> + +<p>Leaning against the rail on the upper deck, she chatted +merrily in English with the two men, always piquante and +always amusing, as the ship rounded the high rocky headland +of the Island of Kyalo. Suddenly, pointing with her +mittened hand to the grey distance, she exclaimed:</p> + +<p>“Look! There’s Hammerfest—the most northerly +town in the world. You saw it on your journey north, of +course.”</p> + +<p>“We didn’t land,” Dick replied. “We put in there at +night and left at dawn. Captain Martin said there was +very little to see, and promised us a longer stay on our +return.”</p> + +<p>“I heard him say this morning that we’ll remain six +hours there,” she replied. “I know the place quite well. +I have an uncle who owns one of the boileries yonder.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</span></p> + +<p>“And his factory contributes to the unpleasant effluvia, +of course,” laughed Owen.</p> + +<p>“I suppose so,” she answered. “But all these places +must really seem very terrible to both of you after the +sunshine and warmth and trees and flowers of your +southern land. I love Christiania. Everything there is +so bright and gay—and life altogether so very different.”</p> + +<p>“You ought to see London,” Dick remarked. “There’s +far more movement and bustle there than in Christiania.”</p> + +<p>“Ah! yes. I have read so much of your great London, +where the railways run underground. I would love to +see it. Paul has promised to take me there some day.”</p> + +<p>Jervoise held his breath. Paul! She spoke ever of +that man. In her ignorance and inexperience she believed +in him; believed all the lies he had told her. She worshipped +him as a god.</p> + +<p>Gradually they approached the small bay where the +northernmost little wood-built town nestled at the foot +of its stony hill. In the harbour were moored rows of +small Russian schooners, which had come round from the +White Sea for fish, together with some whalers, distinguishable +by the white crow’s-nest upon their mast. +Along the shore stood a row of wooden drying-houses and +boileries for making cod-liver oil, all of them emitting an +effluvia that already caused them to hold their noses. +Above the other roofs rose the pointed wooden spire of +the church against the rocky background. There, as at +Vardo, Thyra explained, the sun never set from the middle +of May until the end of July, and never rose from the +middle of November until the end of January. On going +ashore they found it a quaint and very interesting little +place, notwithstanding the noxious odour of boiling cod +that pervaded everything. In the Gronnevold Gaden +were a number of stores and shops, and from the post +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</span>office—built high from the ground on account of the deep +snows experienced for so many months each year—the +two Englishmen obtained their mail, which had been +lying there for some weeks, together with a London +newspaper or two, the most recent a month old.</p> + +<p>Captain Berentsen, with Thyra, took Paul to introduce +him to his brother-in-law, and not until a few moments +before sailing did they scramble back on board.</p> + +<p>Then, in the grey evening light, the vessel stood south +for the Loppen Sea.</p> + +<p>During that week’s voyage south to Tromso, and +eventually to Trondhjem, calling at Lodingen, on the +Lofoden Islands, at the rocky little island of Skjervo, +threading the narrow Raftsund and the dangerous channels +between the thousand islands north of Bodo, obtaining +glimpses of the great pale-green glaciers of the Svartisen, +they passed through the finest fjord scenery of Norway, +and as each day succeeded day the air grew perceptibly +warmer. They were returning to the European summer.</p> + +<p>One afternoon, not long after leaving Bodo, with its +background of irregular snow-capped mountains, they +crossed the Polar Circle, their small signal-gun being fired +to mark the event, while in the saloon a bottle of champagne +was opened, and the future prosperity was wished +to the happy pair now so soon to become man and wife.</p> + +<p>Paul Grinevitch curiously enough, displayed no further +animosity towards the Englishman. Ever since singing +that song of Fanchonnette he had, indeed, showed a +marked cordiality towards his fellow passenger, frequently +chatting with him, and even on one or two occasions taking +a hand at bridge. It was as though he had thrown down +the gauntlet, and now stood defiant and triumphant.</p> + +<p>Two passengers, bearded Norwegian merchants, had +joined the ship at Tromso, and as they skirted the rocky +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</span>coast, a grand panorama day after day, the merriment +grew greater. The oppression of that terrible desolation +of the bleak Nordland was being lifted from them all now +that upon the land, right down to the sea shore, grew the +firs and pines, while the houses and smiling villages of +civilisation nestled beneath the brown rocks.</p> + +<p>They were entering the Norway of the tourist, the +picturesque fjords of the twelve-guinea-yachting-folk and +the fjields of the tweed-attired personally-conducted. +But the season was over. The last tourist steamer had +gone south, and even though it was early September, +winter was creeping on; in those latitudes there is no +autumn.</p> + +<p>Thyra’s gay, rippling laughter rang everywhere throughout +the vessel as one afternoon they steamed up the beautiful +Trondhjem Fjord towards the busy Northern port. All +was excitement and bustle, and the deck was heaped with +baggage. The girl had, in her lover’s presence, repeated +the invitation to the two Englishmen to remain in Trondhjem +and be present at the wedding, and as Grinevitch +had added his cordial request with hers, Dick and Owen +both accepted. Captain Martin, whom Berentsen and his +daughter pressed to remain, had promised to do his best +to anchor for three days before proceeding down to Hamburg.</p> + +<p>Owen Odd was still sorely puzzled. He could not for +the life of him decide whether, after all, Dick was really +in love with Thyra or whether his friend, by some extraordinary +intuition, believed Paul Grinevitch unfitted to +be her husband.</p> + +<p>Many times during walks along the oily deck with his +friend he had reverted to the subject, but Dick had always +declined to discuss the matter.</p> + +<p>“I hope she will be very happy,” was all he would say. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</span>Never once did he again betray his animosity towards +the man who was to be her husband. It was that very +fact which mystified the doctor so completely.</p> + +<p>Thyra and her lover had spent most of their time +together seated in cosy corners out of the wind, chatting +and discussing the future. When he was nigh the love-look +was ever in her eyes—that expression which in a +woman is so unmistakable.</p> + +<p>On landing at last Dick and Owen took up their +quarters at the Britannia Hotel, Paul having announced +his intention of going to the Grand, where he had stayed +on a previous occasion. Thyra went at once with her +father to her aunt, the widow of a Government official, +who occupied a large house facing the fjord, about a mile +from the town. The house Thyra had pointed out to +Jervoise as they approached the landing stage.</p> + +<p>Trondhjem, surrounded by its green hills, proved to the +travellers a pleasant little place with fine main streets +broadly built in order to diminish the danger of fire, even +though they were perhaps a little too full of shops of false +curios and those rubbishy souvenirs prepared for English +and German tourists who land there, and purchase articles +of reindeer-horn, Lapp “skaller,” knives and caps, and +make believe they have visited the North.</p> + +<p>As at Hammerfest, on their journey north they had +put in at night and sailed at dawn; therefore, after so +much knocking about in the Arctic, Dick and his companion +were glad to bid adieu to their rather narrow +quarters on the storm-battered old <em>Mercur</em>, to sleep again +in a civilised bed, and eat food that had not been tinned. +A few days’ sojourn there, they resolved, would prepare +them for the journey home. Therefore in the hotel they +took their ease and waited for the wedding feast.</p> + +<p>Martin they frequently met in mufti in the streets, but +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</span>Paul Grinevitch, it appeared, was mostly with Thyra out +at her aunt’s house. At first it had been uncertain +whether the necessary formalities prior to the marriage +could be completed within the three days at Martin’s +disposal, but a note from old Jorgen Berentsen delivered +at the hotel told them that all was in order, and that the +wedding, which was to be of the quietest nature, was to +take place in the quaint old cathedral of Trondhjem, +wherein repose the relics of St. Olaf, and which is probably +familiar in photographs to many readers of this drama of +the Arctic seas.</p> + +<p>That same evening the two Englishmen met Paul +emerging from a jeweller’s in the Dronningens Gaden. +At first the Russian endeavoured to avoid them, and +seemed a trifle flurried at the encounter.</p> + +<p>“No,” laughed Owen good-humouredly. “Now you +might just as well confess! You’ve been to buy your +bride a present. May we not be allowed to see it?”</p> + +<p>With some reluctance the Russian at last handed the +doctor a leather case, which, on being opened, disclosed +a pretty hair-ornament in diamonds of chaste design in the +form of three ears of barley.</p> + +<p>The keen eyes of Grinevitch met Dick’s. In them was +that same look of bold defiance and of triumph.</p> + +<p>The Englishman lowered his gaze, made a remark of +admiration of the present, and then spoke of something +else.</p> + +<p>“Well,” exclaimed the Russian presently, “you will be +at the church, both of you, to-morrow at twelve.” And +he rushed off, for he had, he said, to visit his <em>fiancee</em>.</p> + +<p>“You hate that man, Dick—and he hates you!” Owen +declared the instant Paul was out of hearing. “I saw it in +the fellow’s eyes.”</p> + +<p>Jervoise started at his friend’s words. Then he had +noticed!</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</span></p> + +<p>“Yes,” he replied, with a feeble attempt to laugh it off. +“I—well, I suppose he’s jealous of me. Yet I can assure +you he has not the slightest cause.”</p> + +<p>Next day was bright and brilliant as Dick Jervoise +passed from the warm sunlight into the grey, sombre +interior of the great cathedral with its wonderful windows. +That day he acted as though in a dream.</p> + +<p>He saw the little group in the shadow before the altar, +the pair kneeling, the pastor speaking in low, impressive +tones in the Norwegian tongue. Not more than a dozen +people were present in that vast edifice and all seemed +attired in black. Owen whispered something, but he sat +unheeding his friend’s words. Then there was a short +prayer, and Thyra Berentsen and Paul Grinevitch rose +from their knees man and wife. He saw the passionate +love-look in her eyes, as arm in arm they walked out. Yes. +She loved him entirely and devotedly; she believed in him +as other women had believed! Ah! it was all tragic—horrible.</p> + +<p>Dick drove to the Hotel Angleterre, where the feast +was to be held and where he stood to congratulate the +bride and bridegroom, though his words almost froze +upon his lips. The food he afterwards took almost choked +him. He had been compelled to stand by and see that +sweet-faced innocent girl, so full of plans for the future, +sacrificed to that man whom he dare not rise up and +denounce—that man who had sung “Fanchonnette,” +and who stood triumphant.</p> + +<p>At the feast there was much merriment. Old Jorgen, +beaming with good-fellowship and satisfaction at the +match made by his daughter, related some of his best +stories, throwing his sister-in-law and the other guests +into fits of laughter, while on every hand the bride and +bridegroom received congratulations and toasts in their +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</span>honour until Dick Jervoise could no longer bear it. He +rose, making an excuse that he must send a telegram, and, +going out, did not return.</p> + +<p>That night at seven he and Owen took their seats in the +express for Christiania, his intention being to cut himself +adrift in future from the newly-wedded pair. That man’s +presence was to him a perpetual torture. His evil, crafty +face brought back all the bitter past. Owen was aware of +the deadly hatred existing between the men, but of course +believed it to be owing to jealousy. He suspected that +his friend loved the beautiful Thyra.</p> + +<p>Dick had sent a hurried note to the Grand, wishing +Paul Grinevitch a cold adieu, and was greatly surprised, +while he and Owen were seated together in their compartment +at the moment of departure, to see Paul and his bride +upon the platform, followed by old Jorgen and Captain +Martin, the latter more spruce and dandified than ever.</p> + +<p>“Why, of course, I quite forgot!” cried Owen. “They +go to the capital to spend their honeymoon! I didn’t +expect, however, they’d be travelling by our train.”</p> + +<p>A compartment at the rear had been reserved for the +pair; therefore the two Englishmen descended, and, +having greeted them, promised to see them on their arrival +in Christiania next morning.</p> + +<p>Then the train moved off, and through the brilliant, +moonlit night wound due southward among those fertile +valleys of the Hedenmark, until, at ten o’clock next +morning, the travellers found themselves in the Norwegian +capital.</p> + +<p>On alighting, the Englishmen greeted the happy pair, +Paul promising to send his address in Petersburg to Dick’s +club in London. They had, he said, decided to go to the +Hotel Victoria, at the corner of the Raadhus-Gaden, for a +few days, as Thyra wished to visit her relations and one +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</span>or two of her old schoolfellows. The Englishmen, in +reply, said they were putting up at the Grand.</p> + +<p>“We may perhaps meet again before you leave Christiania,” +the young wife exclaimed merrily as she held out +her hand, and Dick Jervoise bent over it gallantly.</p> + +<p>As he did so he whispered:</p> + +<p>“Remember your promise! Make excuses to him to +get away, for I shall be awaiting you. Be careful to arouse +no suspicion.”</p> + +<p>Then, with a quick, meaning glance, a glance of bitter +hatred at her husband, who was standing near, he raised +his hat, and, turning upon his heel, walked across to the +fiacre, whereon the baggage was already piled.</p> + +<p>“Well, Dick, old chap,” remarked Owen, with a slight +sigh, as they drove together out of the station, “that little +incident of our lives has, I suppose, ended. By Jove! +how lovely she looks!”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” responded his friend hoarsely, “it has ended—but +badly for her, poor little girl, I fear—very badly.”</p> + +<p>“You seem to know something, Dick!”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” replied his friend, “I do; I could tell a story +that would amaze you.”</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</span></p> + + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XV"> + CHAPTER XV + <br> + <span class="fs80">LIFTS THE VEIL</span> + </h2> +</div> + +<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap">Husband</span> and wife drove at once to the Hotel Victoria, +situated near the harbour.</p> + +<p>Thyra felt happy again at Paul’s side, squeezed in the +corner of the fiacre. Yes, certainly, Christiania was the +dream-city, full of gardens, fountains, grand buildings; +a city great and splendid by day and by night! She felt +joyous, as if she had drunk wine; she chattered with feverish +animation. Never afterwards did she succeed in remembering +what she said in that first hour of arrival; she did +remember, however, that her pleasure was marred by the +strange thoughtful look upon Paul’s face, a look she had +never noticed there before.</p> + +<p>They reached the hotel at last. The manager came +forth, bowing, and Thyra was impressed by the grand +entrance-hall and the marble staircase, which seemed a +continuation of the splendours of the street.</p> + +<p>The suite of rooms reserved for them was on the first +floor, a pretty sitting-room, two bedrooms, a dressing-room, +and bath-room, and when their baggage was deposited +and the porters and chambermaid had left, +Grinevitch clasped his wife in his arms and fondly kissed +her.</p> + +<p>“Paul,” she said, “you don’t, somehow, seem your old +self to-day. How is it?”</p> + +<p>“I don’t know,” he laughed. “I wasn’t aware that I +was unusually uninteresting.” And he assumed an air +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</span>of gaiety which she, with her woman’s quick perception, +detected was forced and false.</p> + +<p>She took off her hat and cloak; her little face, all eyes +and lips, seemed suddenly pale and frightened under the +waves of her abundant hair.</p> + +<p>He grasped her hand and raised it tenderly to his lips, +saying:</p> + +<p>“Tell me, little one, what’s the matter? You, who +seemed so very happy as we drove from the station, are +now worried and pale.”</p> + +<p>“Why, I’m sure I’m not, Paul!” she protested. “I’m +so delighted to be back again in Christiania. I want this +afternoon to go and see my old schoolfellow, Aslang +Anderson, if you’ll let me. I sent her a postcard from +Trondhjem.”</p> + +<p>“Of course, dearest, go and see her, if you wish. I +have letters to write, so I’ll remain in after luncheon.”</p> + +<p>Thyra, who had sought permission to be absent not +without some apprehension, breathed more freely when +her husband gave his consent. Would he have done so +so readily, she wondered, if he had known her real intention?</p> + +<p>When she had washed and redressed her pretty hair, +they sat down to <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">dejeuner</i> in their little salon, both laughing +merrily while they ate their meal.</p> + +<p>Paul, who had been rather surprised at her change of +manner, attributed it to her excitement at again finding +herself back in the capital, where she had spent so many +happy days of her girlhood.</p> + +<p>“My friend has no idea I’m here,” she was saying. “I +did not telegraph to her, as I want to give her a surprise. +She doesn’t even know I’m married.”</p> + +<p>But Paul listened to her chatter only mechanically. +His mind was full of other things. A cloud had arisen +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</span>upon the horizon, and he was now wondering if it would +pass over, as so many clouds had passed over, or if it +would burst.</p> + +<p>If it did, what then? Well, he would be instantly overwhelmed. +The truth would be out! He held his breath +at the mere thought of such ugly contretemps.</p> + +<p>Their marriage had been a strange one, it was true, but +its result was foredoomed to be stranger, with a <em>denouement</em> +undreamed of.</p> + +<p>About two o’clock Thyra put on her furs, and for the +first time since her marriage wished her husband “Au +revoir!” promising to be back in a couple of hours at +most. She knew her way well about the capital; therefore, +before leaving Paul, she kissed him and begged him +not to be apprehensive on her behalf.</p> + +<p>“Get through all your horrid letters, dearest,” she +urged, “and we will go out to the theatre this evening. +It will be such a great treat to me, you know.”</p> + +<p>So he promised her, and, with a ripple of light, happy +laughter, she left him, and disappeared with a frou-frou +of her skirts down the great staircase.</p> + +<p>From the window he watched her turn the corner out +of sight, for she preferred not to take a cab. She loved to +walk in Christiania, she declared.</p> + +<p>Then, when she had gone, the man drew a long breath, +and, as he stood in the centre of the room, he gasped:</p> + +<p>“My God! if she knew! Ah! if she knew, what would +she think? But she must never know the truth—never!”</p> + +<p>He lit a cigar to steady his nerves, and then passed out +upon the balcony, where he seated himself, staring moodily +down into the street.</p> + +<p>Afterwards, agitated and unnerved, he rose and, returning +to the room, sat at the writing-table for a short time. +The three letters he had written with a fountain-pen, he +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</span>took in his hand, and, descending to the bureau, asked +that they might be sent to the post office to be registered. +He also remarked to the manager that any visitor who +should chance to call should be shown to his room at once.</p> + +<p>Then he re-ascended the broad staircase and paced the +room in quick agitation. The expression upon his countenance +showed that he dreaded something—that a dark +cloud overwhelmed him.</p> + +<p>Shortly before half-past three a waiter tapped at the +door of the sitting-room and ushered in a tall, slim young +woman in deep mourning, and wearing a veil.</p> + +<p>“Well, Paul,” she exclaimed in a hard voice, the moment +the man had gone, “this is a curious situation, is it not? +So you are married!”</p> + +<p>She spoke in Russian, though by her dress and manner +she presented the appearance of a Frenchwoman. She +was dark, and, when she raised her veil, revealed well-cut +regular features.</p> + +<p>He had risen, but had scarcely greeted her. Indeed, +he had not even offered her a chair.</p> + +<p>“Ah!” she laughed, “I see that my presence here is not +altogether welcome, eh? You are devoted to your bride +from the snows, of course,” she added with a sneer.</p> + +<p>“Cannot we leave Thyra out of this discussion?” he +asked coldly, indicating a chair, in which she seated herself.</p> + +<p>“It seems that she’s gone out and left you. Have you +quarrelled already?”</p> + +<p>“It was fortunate, perhaps, that she wished to go and +visit an old schoolfellow.”</p> + +<p>“Fortunate for you. She would not have approved of +this meeting.”</p> + +<p>“I can’t think why you assume this attitude, Alza,” +he cried angrily. “Surely it is only to torture me that +you recall the past?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</span></p> + +<p>She laughed triumphantly.</p> + +<p>“Is the past so very bitter, then? I did not know you +possessed a memory. I don’t.” She laughed airily. +“It was not always so. You have tasted the sweets, you +now have the dregs.”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” he said, in a hoarse, bitter voice, “I know, alas! +And you are carrying out your threat. You intend to +expose me—to tell Thyra the truth.”</p> + +<p>“I am here to do so,” was the woman’s calm response. +“It is only right that she should be informed. She little +knows whom she has married, poor girl.”</p> + +<p>“And you!” he cried fiercely, advancing a few paces +towards her. “You! What if I tell the truth—that you +are the woman who——”</p> + +<p>“My dear friend!” she exclaimed, interrupting him, +“you are perfectly at liberty to make whatever charge +you like against me. I am quite capable of taking care of +myself.”</p> + +<p>“Not always. Remember what you owe to that white-livered +Englishman!”</p> + +<p>“He was at least a gentleman, Paul,” she declared, “and, +if he had chosen, he could have made matters very awkward +for both of us.”</p> + +<p>“If we had allowed him.”</p> + +<p>“We could not have prevented it. I was caught like a +rat in a trap.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, I know,” laughed Paul Grinevitch, “but isn’t it +best to drop the subject? Why are you here in Christiania—on +the old game, I suppose?”</p> + +<p>“My business here is my own affair,” she replied with +an air of defiance. “You and I are not friends, so it is +scarcely probable that I shall tell my secrets to my enemy, +is it?” Then, suddenly catching sight of Thyra’s photograph +on the writing-table, she crossed and took it up. +It was a cabinet portrait in a plain silver frame.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</span></p> + +<p>For some time she regarded it in silence, then she replaced +it with just a suspicion of a sigh. It was a pretty +picture, one which Paul had himself taken up at Vardo, +showing the girl in furs standing beside one of the high-prowed +fishing-boats.</p> + +<p>Afterwards, when she turned again to the man at her +side, there was a curious hard expression in her eyes. It +was evident that she held him in distrust. She had come +there at his invitation, but, nevertheless, in order to make +a statement to the woman who was now his wife.</p> + +<p>“Well?” he asked; “don’t you think it’s time you +left? Thyra may return at any moment.”</p> + +<p>“I thought you wished to see me?”</p> + +<p>“I did. I believed that you were better disposed +towards me than you are. I wanted to ask you a favour.”</p> + +<p>“A favour of me—eh?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, Alza,” he said in an earnest, altered voice, “since +that scoundrel Bourtzeff has spoken we are both sailing +in the same boat. You know my position—penniless.”</p> + +<p>“You’ve married Thyra, and haven’t a sou!”</p> + +<p>“That is unfortunately true. I’ve been a fool, an +absolute fool, but I loved her. I went too far, and I +couldn’t draw back.”</p> + +<p>“Well?”</p> + +<p>“I want money—money to take us to England. You +have plenty, I know. That last little affair with the +French bonds must have brought you at least a hundred +thousand francs. Will you lend me some?”</p> + +<p>The well-dressed young woman sighed slightly, her dark +eyes still fixed upon him.</p> + +<p>“You want me to assist you to carry this grim comedy +of marriage still further?”</p> + +<p>“Yes. Why expose me? It would break the girl’s +heart. You yourself have suffered sufficiently, I know; +at least spare her—I beg of you.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</span></p> + +<p>She hesitated for a few moments.</p> + +<p>“Yes, Paul, as you appeal on the girl’s behalf, I’ll +remain silent, and I will help you, only on one condition.”</p> + +<p>“What’s that?”</p> + +<p>“You will resume your friendship with me—your +business friendship, if we may so put it,” she said, her +eyes still upon his.</p> + +<p>“But, Alza—I—could never do that! It wouldn’t be +fair to Thyra.”</p> + +<p>“Fair or not,” replied the young woman with determination, +“if I help you, then you must in return give me +your assistance.”</p> + +<p>“And run the risk of arrest?”</p> + +<p>“Are you not doing so now—each hour since Bourtzeff +has betrayed us? Come, you will write a letter to Enderlein, +agreeing to assist us again, and I will telephone to +the Norsk Credit Bank for funds for you.”</p> + +<p>“But I—I really can’t. I’ve done with that kind of +thing—done with it for ever.”</p> + +<p>“Very well,” she laughed, “then we, on our part, have +done with you, and shall regard you still as an enemy.”</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</span></p> + + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XVI"> + CHAPTER XVI + <br> + <span class="fs80">BRIDE AND LOVER</span> + </h2> +</div> + + +<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap">Owen</span> and Dick, on their arrival after the night journey +from Trondhjem, idled about the Grand Hotel and took a +stroll up the broad Karl-Johans-Gaden, smoking and +inspecting the shops.</p> + +<p>The young doctor did not fail to notice that, with +Thyra’s departure, Dick’s manner had entirely changed. +He had now become listless and careless, and once or +twice had remarked, with a deep sigh, upon the tragedy +of the girl’s union with the young Russian.</p> + +<p>The life and movement of the capital was pleasant +enough after their long sojourn in the silent north, yet +both men were now anxious to get back to London.</p> + +<p>As Dick strolled at his friend’s side up the principal +street his mind was full of Thyra, and of apprehensions +regarding her future. His blood boiled when he realised +the full consequence of her marriage to Paul Grinevitch. +That she should have married that man—of all others!</p> + +<p>Through his brain surged a thousand bitter thoughts. +The past arose before him, hideous as a bad dream. He +saw nothing of the scene before him. His thoughts were +far away in the south—away in another land. The face +of another woman—one almost as fair as Thyra—arose +before him—the woman who had loved the Russian better +than her own life.</p> + +<p>He bit his lip, and tried to brace himself up. Beneath +his breath he uttered a fierce imprecation.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</span></p> + +<p>“What’s the matter, old chap?” inquired Owen. And +only then Dick realised that he was making a fool of himself +before his friend.</p> + +<p>They lunched together in the big restaurant of the +hotel, and, soon afterwards, Dick, with a somewhat lame +excuse that he wanted a little exercise—for they had not +been able to get any during the past month or so—put on +his overcoat and went out.</p> + +<p>Owen, not in walking mood, preferred to lounge about +with a new Tauchnitz he had bought earlier in the morning.</p> + +<p>“I’ll be back in time for dinner,” Jervoise said as he +left the hotel, and then, passing up the street for some +distance, he took from his pocket the plan of the city +which he had torn from his Baedeker, and, having studied +it for a few moments, continued his walk right up to the +royal palace, situate, as it is, on an eminence, in the +centre of a pretty park. Then, taking the road through +the royal grounds to the right, he emerged into the suburb +of Homansby.</p> + +<p>Walking some distance, he found himself in a small, +rather secluded square, the name of which he noted upon +it, and there he halted, lit a cigarette, and waited in +expectation.</p> + +<p>His countenance was pale, and his eager apprehension +was apparent. Not a soul was to be seen in the vicinity, +therefore the spot was eminently adapted as a place of +rendezvous. A full quarter of an hour he waited, until at +last around the corner came a smart, slim, female figure +in furs—that of Thyra, the newly-wedded bride.</p> + +<p>He raised his hat as he advanced, while her sweet countenance +lit in a glad smile of welcome.</p> + +<p>“I—I’m so glad you were able to get away,” he exclaimed +quickly. “Where can we go, so that we may +talk? I have something very important to say to you.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</span></p> + +<p>“It is very wrong of me to have done this, Mr. Jervoise,” +she said. “I was compelled to tell my husband +an untruth—that I was going to visit an old schoolfellow.”</p> + +<p>“You can go to see her afterwards,” laughed the +Englishman. “Shall we go back into the park? We +shall not be disturbed there.”</p> + +<p>“As you wish,” was her reply, and, strolling at her +side, they turned and retraced their steps along the +Holbergs-Gade into the well-wooded royal demesne which +nowadays is thrown open to the public.</p> + +<p>“Doctor Odd does not suspect that you are meeting +me, I hope?” she asked apprehensively.</p> + +<p>“Certainly not. Our meeting must be kept a most +profound secret—at all costs, and for several reasons.”</p> + +<p>“I, on my part, shall never admit having seen you,” +she smiled.</p> + +<p>“Nor I. You may depend upon that.”</p> + +<p>“But if you wished to speak to me, Mr. Jervoise, why +didn’t you do so when we were on board the <em>Mercur</em>?” +she asked, puzzled.</p> + +<p>“There were reasons why I could not,” he said, rather +evasively. And as they walked on in silence he glanced +at her face, and could not help remarking her striking +beauty. She, the sweet, pale-faced, innocent Thyra, +was the victim of that man who was now her husband!</p> + +<p>The very thought caused his nails to press themselves +deeply into his palms.</p> + +<p>At last, after entering the park and traversing one of +the byways, they found a seat away from the more frequented +paths. Then, when they were seated side by +side, he turned to her, and, looking very seriously into +her face, he said:</p> + +<p>“Madame Grinevitch—for I suppose I must now call +you by that name——”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</span></p> + +<p>“No,” she said; “Thyra to you, Mr. Jervoise—always +Thyra,” and she smiled.</p> + +<p>“Very well, then,” he said, “I will continue to call you +Thyra. I first want you to forgive me for daring to +presume to speak to you upon a subject which is—well, +very painful to me.”</p> + +<p>She stared at the Englishman in wonder. She did not +follow his meaning.</p> + +<p>“I—I think it was ill-advised for me to have met you,” +she said, stirring uneasily. “What would Paul say if he +knew?”</p> + +<p>“Paul will never know—nobody must ever know. Understand +that!” he cried. “I have my own honour, my +own safety, at stake—as well as yours.”</p> + +<p>“Your safety!” she echoed. “What do you mean?”</p> + +<p>“I mean that if the secret of this meeting were ever +betrayed, it might prove disastrous for us both. You do +not know Paul Grinevitch as well as I do.”</p> + +<p>“You surely do not insinuate anything against my +husband!” she exclaimed, looking straight at him.</p> + +<p>“I—oh, no!—well, I mean this,” he stammered. “But +of course, it would not be my place to make any remark. +Paul Grinevitch is your husband, after all.”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” she said, and in a slow, distinct voice she added, +“And I love him.”</p> + +<p>Dick Jervoise drew a deep breath. He wanted to +speak to her, but could not find a way. He realised that +in asking her to that secret rendezvous he was only making +a fool of himself.</p> + +<p>“‘Love is blind’ is an old and true saying, Thyra,” he +remarked.</p> + +<p>“And you think I am blind—eh?” she asked quickly.</p> + +<p>“Certainly not—except towards myself.”</p> + +<p>“How?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</span></p> + +<p>“You do not realise that in asking you to meet me here—for +the last time—that I wish to act sincerely in your +interests, but—but, unfortunately, am debarred from so +doing.”</p> + +<p>“Please explain further,” she urged with a slight frown +of thoughtfulness.</p> + +<p>“I intended to speak to you, but—well, Thyra, I—I +haven’t the courage! You are married now. Therefore +it is, alas! too late.”</p> + +<p>He was longing to warn her against the man whose wife +she had become, but she, unfortunately, misunderstood +his words. She believed that his intention had been a +declaration of love.</p> + +<p>“Yes, Mr. Jervoise,” she said with a slight sigh. “It +is, as you say, too late. I am already Paul’s wife.”</p> + +<p>“Ah, that is the cruel tragedy of it all!” he cried, starting +up suddenly. “If—if I only dared to tell you the +truth—to speak openly. But I see that I was wrong in +asking you here, in attempting to tell you the truth. If +I did, you would never believe me.”</p> + +<p>“I think, Mr. Jervoise, it would be better if I left you,” +she said quietly. “This interview is as painful to me as +to you.”</p> + +<p>“Thyra!” he said. “You are in ignorance of the tragedy +that lies before you—ignorant of the past of Paul Grinevitch. +If you but knew, you would hate him with as deep +and fierce a hatred as I do!”</p> + +<p>In an instant her cheeks flushed crimson with anger.</p> + +<p>“How dare you ask me here in order to make vague +allegations against my husband!” she demanded resentfully.</p> + +<p>“I want to tell you the truth, but you will not allow +me,” he answered quickly. “Ah! do not misunderstand +me, Thyra. I am acting in your interests, because, even +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</span>though you are now married to this man, I—I still hold +you in sincerest regard. If—if I cannot be your husband—I +can at least stand your friend!” he blurted forth.</p> + +<p>“My husband should be my best friend,” she said, her +eyes downcast, for she saw in this speech of the Englishman’s +a covert declaration of love.</p> + +<p>“Your husband!” he cried. “Go to him, and ask him +if he knows poor Helene Marquet.”</p> + +<p>She turned and faced him with a strange look in her +wide-open eyes. For a moment she held her breath in +surprise.</p> + +<p>“What is it—what do you really allege against Paul?”</p> + +<p>“I allege,” he said, “that he is not what he represents +himself to you to be. I have tried to remain silent, Thyra, +for your sake. But I cannot any longer. I know that I +ought to have spoken before, but—well, I did not wish to +destroy your confidence in that man, lest you should think +that I did it for my own personal ends and in order that I +might take his place in your heart. But now it can no +longer be alleged that I have any ulterior motive, except +to warn you against him; I have met you here to speak +with you and place you upon your guard.”</p> + +<p>She was silent. His words had confused her. What +could he mean?</p> + +<p>“Tell me, Mr. Jervoise,” she asked in a hard strained +voice, “who is this woman Marquet?”</p> + +<p>“Ask him,” was Dick’s response. “Go back to him, +and tell him that you know a friend of Helene Marquet’s, +and that this friend has told Nicholas Bourtzeff of his +whereabouts. Then watch the effect of your words upon +him.”</p> + +<p>“And this on the first day of my marriage!”</p> + +<p>“Better to-day than later—when you are numbered +among his victims,” was Dick’s earnest reply. “Only I +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</span>beg of you to regard the source of your information as a +secret one.”</p> + +<p>“Then you fear Paul?”</p> + +<p>“Fear him!” cried Dick in furious anger. “I do not +fear him! He fears me, rather. I hate him, and if ever +we meet again I—I’ll crush the life from him with as +little compunction as I’d kill a viper!”</p> + +<p>“You would kill Paul?” she gasped.</p> + +<p>“It would only be what he richly deserves—and, alas! +Thyra, you will agree with me some day—when you know +the truth!”</p> + +<p>The girl was silent. What the Englishman had told +her caused her to reflect deeply. Could it really be true +that Paul—her Paul—her husband—was only an adventurer +after all?</p> + +<p>No. It could not be. She refused to believe. What +proof had she against him? She was his wife, and it was +not just to him that she should listen to such calumny.</p> + +<p>Who was Helene Marquet? At least she would know +that, and would demand a reply from his own lips. Oh! +why, she thought, had not the Englishman told her this +before her marriage, instead of waiting until it was too +late?</p> + +<p>No word was spoken between the pair for a full five +minutes. Then, suddenly stirring herself, she said, rising +from her seat:</p> + +<p>“I wish to go, Mr. Jervoise.”</p> + +<p>“Why so quickly?”</p> + +<p>“I have got my girl friend to call upon, in order to +justify my absence.”</p> + +<p>“Ah! You fear your husband,” he remarked bitterly. +“But it will not be for long, I venture to think.”</p> + +<p>She noticed the strangeness of his manners, and wondered.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</span></p> + +<p>Then she bowed, her eyes filled with tears, and refusing +to remain longer with him wished him adieu, and hurrying +away down the path was quickly lost to sight.</p> + +<p>A few minutes later Dick, with his pale drawn face +hard set, turned upon his heel and walked in the opposite +direction.</p> + +<p>“At any rate,” he muttered between his teeth, “I’ve +told her the truth and unmasked the scoundrel!”</p> + +<p>And he strode along, not knowing whither his footsteps +led him.</p> + +<p>About three hours later he returned to the hotel, distrait +and thoughtful, and slowly dressed for dinner. The +latter was not by any means a cheerful meal, and Owen +noticed how gloomy his friend had become.</p> + +<p>In order to liven him up a little he suggested a music-hall, +and not until midnight did they return to the Grand.</p> + +<p>About half-past twelve, just as they were leaving the +big, noisy cafe which occupied the ground floor of their +hotel, to ascend to their rooms, a page-boy approached +them asking for Mr. Jervoise, and saying that a gentleman +was in the bureau desiring to see him instantly.</p> + +<p>Filled with curiosity as to who his visitor might be at +that hour, Dick found a tall, thin-faced, elderly man, who, +speaking in fairly good English, said:</p> + +<p>“I have been sent, sir, by Madame Grinevitch, at the +Hotel Victoria. Would you kindly go to her at once.—She +is in greatest distress, poor young lady!”</p> + +<p>“Distress at what?” he gasped, his face in an instant +pale as death.</p> + +<p>“Ah! then you have not heard—you have not read the +newspaper this evening?” said the man. “You are +unaware of the mysterious occurrence. Madame’s husband +is dead!”</p> + +<p>“Dead!” the two gasped in one breath, staring at each +other.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</span></p> + +<p>Dick’s face was blanched to the lips. Owen noted +how his hands were trembling, and how his eyes seemed +starting from his head.</p> + +<p>“Ah, gentlemen!” exclaimed the thin man who stood +before them holding up his hands. “It is indeed a most +annoying matter for our hotel, and calculated to greatly +injure us. Poor little Madame! She has been out alone +all the afternoon, and returning a little after six found her +newly-wedded husband lying dead upon the floor of their +sitting-room—<em>murdered</em>!”</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</span></p> + + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XVII"> + CHAPTER XVII + <br> + <span class="fs80">SOME AMAZING FACTS</span> + </h2> +</div> + +<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap">The</span> announcement electrified them.</p> + +<p>“What can have happened?” gasped the doctor, staring +at his friend, who, standing rigid, could utter no word. +“We must go at once to her.”</p> + +<p>Dick Jervoise hesitated. He was trembling like a leaf. +He tried to articulate some words, but his tongue clave to +the roof of his mouth.</p> + +<p>“The matter is already in the hands of the police,” +exclaimed the thin-faced Norwegian, who explained that +he was manager of the hotel. “The poor lady is distracted. +For nearly two hours she remained unconscious. Then +she only sat moaning her dead husband’s name—Paul—Paul! +Afterwards she asked me to find Mr. Jervoise, and +to inform him of the terrible tragedy. Ah! gentlemen,” +the man added, “it is most unfortunate for my brother’s +hotel. Business is bad enough just now, without this +damaging occurrence.”</p> + +<p>“Is it an entire mystery?” asked Jervoise. “Is nobody +suspected?” he managed to inquire.</p> + +<p>“Nobody,” was the reply. “But, gentlemen, we are +wasting time,” added the man. “I have a fiacre; let us +go to her.”</p> + +<p>Outside it had been raining for the past three hours. +Christiania was drowned in mire and gloom. As the +rickety fly rumbled over the stones up the broad Karl-Johans-Gaden, +the principal street of the city, to where +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</span>the great arc lamps of the station shed their cold white +brilliance, Dick Jervoise sat as a man in a dream. The +announcement had staggered him. Why had she sent +for him. Why had she dared to do that? There was a +danger, a peril to her and to him. He knew that it would +now require all his self-possession, all the cunning he +possessed, in order to avert suspicion of the truth.</p> + +<p>She had loved that man who was now dead—the man +struck down by an unsuspected hand.</p> + +<p>His teeth were tightly clenched, and he held his breath. +It was fate. In her presence he had felt the burning, the +fragrant, the intoxicating whirlwind of life. She was +everything his youth, his instinct, his soul had yearned for +of maddest and sweetest. How many years had he not +travelled and dreamed of that one pale, sweet face—the +one woman who would fill the void within his heart! The +delicious expectation was already beginning to be shrouded +in his cosmopolitan world, weariness was beginning to +seem altogether gone when she had appeared in that out-of-the-world +place.</p> + +<p>And then—and then——</p> + +<p>He bit his lip as the vehicle, with the rain pelting against +the closed windows, turned from the zone of brilliant light +around the station into one of the long, narrow, ill-lit +streets on the right, the Dronningens-Gaden, and presently +they drew up before the hotel-entrance.</p> + +<p>They found the dead man’s bride huddled up in a chair +in a small sitting-room on the first floor, a pale, pathetic +little figure whose face, turned towards them as they +entered, had strangely changed.</p> + +<p>Jervoise crossed to her, and, bending, spoke softly, +humbly, almost sweetly, but with that sweetness one +employs towards a sick and fractious child.</p> + +<p>For a moment it seemed that Thyra was unconscious of +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</span>his presence, but next instant, with a curious haunted +look in her fine eyes, she shrank from him.</p> + +<p>A grave-faced, elderly man was standing at her side—the +doctor who had been summoned to her when she had +fallen unconscious beneath the blow. To both Englishmen +it was apparent that the unfortunate girl’s mind had +become slightly unbalanced by that sudden shattering of +all her hopes, of all her love—that love born of dreams +and enchantments.</p> + +<p>Dick Jervoise still stood before her in silence, his eyes +fixed upon hers, as though he read into her very soul. +Why, if she had called him, did she now shrink from him?</p> + +<p>Owen looked from the sweet, wan face with the dishevelled +hair, to that of his friend. The attitude of the +pair puzzled him. Why did she, who on board the steamer +had been so friendly with Dick, now glance at him with +eyes so full of dread and terror?</p> + +<p>“Madame,” he exclaimed at last, “we are here to assist +you. We have heard the terrible, appalling news. What +can we do?”</p> + +<p>“Do!” she answered hoarsely, raising her pointed chin +from her breast. “Do! Why, find the man who, in my +absence, killed my Paul!”</p> + +<p>And Owen noticed that, as she spoke, she fixed her eyes +upon those of his friend.</p> + +<p>The scene was indeed a sadly pathetic one—the slim, +white-faced girl-wife, seated in that small, rather shabbily +furnished room to which she had been moved after the +tragedy, the man who loved her so intensely standing +before her, bowed and undecided.</p> + +<p>Owen Odd saw that, for some unaccountable reason, +Dick feared her just as much as she feared him. What, +he wondered, had really occurred? In a flash the recollection +of his friend’s long absence that afternoon crossed +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</span>his mind. She, too, had been absent from her husband—out +making a call upon one of her old schoolfellows, it was +said. Had Thyra and Dick met—and spoken?</p> + +<p>Suspicions—dark, grave suspicions—arose within him, +but, being Dick’s friend, he resolutely put them aside. +Yet he could not conceal from himself his friend’s bitter +hatred of the man now dead; nor could he forget that +Dick himself, in a moment of anger, had denounced the +murdered man.</p> + +<p>“Paul! Paul!” cried the poor girl suddenly in English, +lifting her white arms into space, now believing in her +delirium that her husband still stood before her. “Ah! +you are still sad!” she went on. “You think it a mere +passing caprice. If you could only know the truth—how +many days, how many weeks, how many months +even, I had thought it over, examined it all, tortured my +conscience with it! If you knew how many times I have +tried to express in words what I want to tell you.... +I have never found it possible to speak; some tyrannous +force has always prevented me from opening my heart to +you. And now you are my husband, dearest, we two, by +ourselves, far from every molesting voice, we two alone, +shall decide our destiny. Hear me! I will try and explain.... +More than ever, at this moment, I love +you. I am united to you for my whole life—and for the +life beyond. I—I was crying, and I fancied I saw your +eyes clouded too; it was at that moment I realised that I +loved you above everything in the world, and I decided +then to make the sacrifice for you. I—I——”</p> + +<p>Her rambling sentences were too painful to the listeners—painful +to Dick most of all.</p> + +<p>The grey-bearded man standing by her motioned to +them, and they left the room, feeling themselves powerless +to assist. Even Owen, a medical man himself, recognised +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</span>that the case was better left in the hands of a doctor of her +own people.</p> + +<p>In the corridor outside they met the thin-faced Norwegian +who had conducted them there, and another rather +stout, fair-haired man, whom the other introduced as a +commissary of police.</p> + +<p>“The whole affair is a complete mystery,” explained +the thin-faced hotel manager in English. “Yonder is the +room in which the tragedy occurred—if you care to see +it.”</p> + +<p>And he conducted them along the passage to the farther +end, where, on opening a door, they found themselves in a +good-sized salon, rather well furnished with two long +French windows overlooking the small, tree-lined square +and the harbour beyond.</p> + +<p>As the electric light was switched on, they saw at one +end of the room a high carved sideboard, and on the walls +each side long gilt mirrors. Across near the windows was +a restful-looking couch with a big yellow silk cushion, in +the centre a square table, and in a corner, set cross-wise, +a small escritoire.</p> + +<p>On the table, in a big vase, was the splendid bouquet +of white flowers which Captain Martin had presented to +the bride as she had entered the train on the previous +night, the odour of them heavy and oppressive, now that +they were drooped and fading.</p> + +<p>Jervoise tried to blot the scene from his vision. Had +he dared, he would have refused to enter there.</p> + +<p>Those words of Thyra’s, as in her delirium she believed +that her husband still lived, haunted him. His, indeed, +was an agony of soul.</p> + +<p>Her sacrifice—what had been her sacrifice?</p> + +<p>“See!” exclaimed the commissary of police in Norwegian, +pointing to the dark green carpet behind the table.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</span></p> + +<p>Owen bent, and upon it saw a large brown patch, still +damp—the life-blood of Paul Grinevitch. On the yellow +silk cushion which the official turned over was another +ugly stain, and again upon the couch, to which it was +apparent the unfortunate man had crawled after receiving +the mortal wound.</p> + +<p>“Explain to us all that is known concerning the affair,” +urged the young doctor, turning to the hotel proprietor’s +brother.</p> + +<p>The other shrugged his shoulders, exchanged a few +words in Norwegian with the stout police official, and +then answered:</p> + +<p>“There are several very remarkable features about the +case, the commissary says. As far as we in the hotel +know, what happened was this: The young gentleman +sent a telegram last night from Trondhjem, engaging a +suite of rooms for himself and wife. When they arrived +we at once saw they were newly-wedded, and gave them +this suite, the best in the hotel. They took their <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">dejeuner</i> +up here at eleven, after which, according to the waiter who +served them, it seemed as though the young lady had been +crying bitterly. At two o’clock the chambermaid, who +was called to button the young lady’s blouse, heard her +say that she was going over to the Hegdehaugen quarter to +visit a friend, while he declared that he would remain in +and write some important letters. He sat down and +wrote three. Then he lounged in a chair in the balcony +and smoked for some time. Afterwards he descended to +the bureau, bringing his letters, asking me to have them +registered, and telling me that if anyone called they were +to be shown up to his room directly. At half-past three, +or thereabouts, a young lady in deep mourning, wearing a +veil and speaking with a distinctly foreign accent, called, +and inquired for Monsieur Grinevitch. She held in her +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</span>hand a letter, as though a letter of introduction, and was +at once taken up in the lift and ushered into the salon.”</p> + +<p>“A woman!” gasped Dick Jervoise, interrupting. +“Was she French?”</p> + +<p>“We cannot tell,” the man went on. “All we know is +a statement by the waiter who, a few moments afterwards, +heard voices raised in anger. The pair were speaking in +some foreign tongue—probably Russian. The lady went +to the telephone yonder and rang up somebody—whom +we don’t know. The communication is direct with the +exchange, which, unfortunately, does not keep a note of +the numbers inquired for. The waiter heard her speaking +for some time—the gentleman prompting her what to say. +Then she rang off, and seemed to be persuading the gentleman +to act somewhat against his inclination. Eventually +he sat down at the table, scribbled a letter, which he sealed +with wax, using the gold seal upon his watch-chain. Then, +their disagreement having apparently ended, she laughed +merrily, wished him adieu, and the gentleman saw her +along to the lift.”</p> + +<p>“Then there are people who saw this woman!” Dick +demanded eagerly. “They could recognise her again, I +mean?”</p> + +<p>“They say so. I did not see her.”</p> + +<p>“She wore a veil,” remarked Owen. “She therefore +evidently meant to conceal her identity.”</p> + +<p>“No doubt. Is that to be wondered at, with the bride’s +absence in view?” remarked the brother of the hotel +proprietor, the latter, they understood, being absent in +the Telemarken.</p> + +<p>“And what occurred afterwards?” demanded Jervoise +quickly, now breathless in curiosity.</p> + +<p>“His actions afterwards were most mysterious. The +lady having left, he called the waiter, and, announcing +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</span>his departure by the Wilson steamer which sailed at ten +to-night for Hull, order his bill to be prepared. He then +called the hotel messenger-boy, and, writing a note, told +him to take it to an address behind the Royal Park, and +there wait for a reply. The note was addressed to a man +named Nystrom, who chanced to be out; therefore the +boy waited there for hours, until this evening, when he +returned, having failed to deliver the note.”</p> + +<p>The stout police officer, who evidently understood +English, like so many officials in Norway, interrupted the +hotel manager with some rapid words.</p> + +<p>“These gentlemen,” the other explained, “are intimate +friends of the poor young lady.”</p> + +<p>“And also of the dead man,” added Doctor Odd. +“Therefore we wish to know the most complete details, +in order, if possible, to throw some light upon them.”</p> + +<p>“The authorities are entirely puzzled,” declared the +thin-faced man. “They do not suspect anybody—at +present.”</p> + +<p>“But what happened after the unfortunate man had +sent the boy on the message?” Dick inquired.</p> + +<p>“He wrote a telegram addressed to Captain Berentsen, +in Trondhjem, announcing his immediate departure for +England, and giving his address in London at 108, Keppel +Street, Russell Square.”</p> + +<p>“Did he give no reason for his sudden departure?” +asked Owen.</p> + +<p>“None. His wife, remember, was not aware of this +decision, which we think must have been arrived at in +consequence of the unwelcome visit of the lady in black.”</p> + +<p>“But apparently he expected her,” said Dick.</p> + +<p>“No. I understood him in the bureau to say that a +gentleman would call.”</p> + +<p>“Ah!” remarked Owen. “Then the lady called and +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</span>found him unawares. She, however, knew Madame was +absent, or she would scarcely have dared to visit him, I +think.”</p> + +<p>“But the assassination!” exclaimed Jervoise anxiously. +“What led to it?”</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</span></p> + + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XVIII"> + CHAPTER XVIII + <br> + <span class="fs80">THE FOUR LETTERS</span> + </h2> +</div> + +<p class="no-indent">“<span class="smcap">How</span> can we tell?” asked the Norwegian as he stood +beside that ugly stain upon the carpet.</p> + +<p>“It could not have been suicide?” suggested Owen Odd.</p> + +<p>“Impossible. Both doctors have unhesitatingly pronounced +it a case of murder. The victim was struck +down from behind, they declare, and very considerable +force must have been used,” was the reply. “After the +despatch of the telegram it is probable that the young +Russian destroyed a quantity of papers, for, as you see, +in the stove yonder there has been a fire, and there still +remains a quantity of tinder, all of which will to-morrow +be carefully examined by the police.”</p> + +<p>Both Englishmen turned, and saw inside the open door +of the high, tiled stove a quantity of burnt paper.</p> + +<p>“It is as though he wanted to get rid of some documents +that were incriminating,” declared the doctor to his +friend.</p> + +<p>“Exactly. Yet what had he possibly to fear? He was +crossing to England in a few hours,” Dick said.</p> + +<p>“He probably did not wish to take them to London. +He no doubt had reason.”</p> + +<p>The round-faced official interrupted, whereupon the +hotel manager added:</p> + +<p>“The police theory is that the documents were burned +by the assassin.”</p> + +<p>“Most probably,” exclaimed Jervoise.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</span></p> + +<p>“Yet shortly afterwards, when he ordered some tea, +the waiter says that in the room there was a strong smell +of burning paper, combined with a curious choking odour, +like some chemical—which he had never before smelt in +all his life.”</p> + +<p>“Then that would surely lend colour to the theory that +he himself destroyed the papers,” remarked Owen.</p> + +<p>The fat commissary elevated his broad shoulders with +an expression of stupefaction.</p> + +<p>“A chambermaid, passing along the corridor about +five o’clock, declares that she heard voices in this room,” +went on the hotel manager, “and believed that Madame +had returned. One voice, she asserts, was a female one. +But,” he added, “the servants are scared, and therefore +one cannot believe all the statements that have been +made.”</p> + +<p>“Was that the last known of Mr. Grinevitch?” inquired +Owen.</p> + +<p>“Yes, except that he again descended to the bureau, +and, obtaining a copy of the <cite>Petit Parisien</cite>, returned to his +room.”</p> + +<p>“After the lady’s voice was heard there?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, ten minutes afterwards. That is why we disbelieve +the chambermaid. The police have closely questioned +her, and now discount her allegation. She is not +now certain whether it was a woman or only the young +gentleman speaking aloud to himself. At any rate, when +he came down for the newspaper, I spoke to him, and he +was perfectly calm. ‘I may be out when my wife returns,’ +he said. ‘If I am, kindly tell her I have only gone along +to the telegraph office and will be back immediately.’ +He ascended again in the lift, and that was the last I saw +of him alive.”</p> + +<p>“What else is known?” anxiously inquired Dick, his +blanched face drawn and haggard.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</span></p> + +<p>“Nothing—or practically nothing,” was the prompt +reply. “Madame returned in a fiacre just after six. As +she passed through the hall I noticed that she seemed very +flurried, and anxious to get upstairs. I spoke to her, +giving her her husband’s message, but she scarcely heeded +me, and flew upstairs without waiting for the lift. She +dashed along the corridor and opened the door. Then a +loud, piercing shriek alarmed us, and the terrible truth was +quickly apparent. I was called instantly, and on entering +here my eyes met a ghastly scene. The poor fellow was +lying beside the couch over there, with life extinct, while +on the floor beside him his girl-bride had fallen in a dead +swoon.”</p> + +<p>“And was no stranger seen to enter or leave the hotel?” +asked Owen with knit brows.</p> + +<p>“Absolutely nobody.”</p> + +<p>“How many entrances are there here?”</p> + +<p>“Only one—by the main hall. There is, of course, a +kitchen entrance, but it is shut off from the visitors by a +locked door, the key of which hangs in my office. The door +has been examined, and has not been unlocked.”</p> + +<p>“And the only visitor was the young lady in mourning?”</p> + +<p>“She was the only visitor. Of that we are quite certain.”</p> + +<p>“Then who committed the crime?” asked Jervoise.</p> + +<p>“Ah! that is an absolute and complete mystery—one +which is rendered even the more remarkable by certain +extraordinary facts which have been discovered since the +grim occurrence.”</p> + +<p>“And what are they?” demanded the young Hammersmith +doctor.</p> + +<p>“Several,” replied the hotel manager. “One is, perhaps, +more curious than all the rest. You will recollect +that the deceased gentleman, before his death, sent our +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</span>messenger with a note to a certain person named Nystrom. +That note was not delivered. But the police have just +ascertained that the man in question is an adventurer +who is wanted in Copenhagen on a very serious charge, +and whose arrest was only this afternoon applied for by +telegram by the Danish police.”</p> + +<p>“Curious.”</p> + +<p>“The authorities believe that the note sent by the +unfortunate man was a preconcerted signal, or warning.”</p> + +<p>At that moment two police officers in uniform entered +the room, and handed to the commissary several letters.</p> + +<p>“Ah! here are the letters I sent to the post office to be +registered this evening—the letters which Mr. Grinevitch +brought down to me after his wife’s departure!” exclaimed +the manager. “See, they are all addressed to persons in +Russia. It is fortunate that they had not been despatched.”</p> + +<p>The fat commissary laid the three sealed letters upon +the table, and, taking his penknife, slit them all open, +being eagerly watched by all assembled.</p> + +<p>“Zo!” he ejaculated as he took out the contents of the +first.</p> + +<p>“Extraordinary! The same as the mysterious letter to +Nystrom!” exclaimed the hotel manager.</p> + +<p>And to the two Englishmen were exhibited three sheets +of the hotel notepaper—blank!</p> + +<p>“Most curious!” declared Odd, turning again to his +friend. “What can they all mean?”</p> + +<p>“Who knows?” replied Jervoise in a hoarse, inert voice. +“That there’s no suspicion against anyone is also very +strange. The destroying of papers, the sudden resolve to +cross to England, and the unwelcome visit of the woman +in black, all point to suicide. And yet——”</p> + +<p>“It was murder—crafty and deliberate murder, I tell +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</span>you,” the manager declared. “The poor young man was, +according to both doctors and police, struck treacherously +in the back as he was seated at the little escritoire over +there. He rose, reeled across to the spot where that stain +appears on the carpet, and in his dying agony dragged +himself here to the sofa. It is their belief that in his dying +moments he was trying to reach the window in order to +call for assistance.”</p> + +<p>“I see no sign of any struggle,” Owen Odd said, glancing +around the scene of the tragedy.</p> + +<p>“There was none,” answered the Norwegian. “He +was struck down before he could turn to defend himself. +He probably never even saw his assailant.”</p> + +<p>Dick Jervoise pursed his hot lips. There was a strange, +stony look upon his countenance—a look which his friend +Odd had never seen there before. Was it possible that he +knew something more about the tragedy than the police +knew? Was it possible that he had, on that same afternoon, +met Thyra in secret?</p> + +<p>He recollected the strange glance in the girl’s eyes when +he had entered to where she sat—that look of undisguised +terror—of abhorrence.</p> + +<p>Yes. Dick was concealing from him some facts which, +if divulged, would place that amazing affair in a very +different light. Of that he felt convinced.</p> + +<p>Knowing his friend so well, and being acquainted with +his every mood, he saw quite plainly that he was strenuously +endeavouring to conceal some knowledge which he +possessed.</p> + +<p>Was he shielding the woman with those wonderful grey +eyes? Or was he withholding, for his own purposes, a +guilty secret?</p> + +<p>The pale cheeks with just a spot of colour in the centre, +the dry, half-parted lips, the contracted brows, the haggard +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</span>deep-set eyes, were all most unusual to Richard Jervoise. +Besides, had he not been absent from the Grand Hotel +during the whole time of the bride’s absence from her +husband?</p> + +<p>But why should he sit in judgment upon his friend—his +oldest, his dearest friend, he reflected. No. A thousand +times no. He would believe nothing against him, even if +the suspicion were so strong—even if, after the first shock, +it was Dick whom the bereaved bride had summoned.</p> + +<p>He set his teeth, steeling himself against all that horrible +suspicion. Within himself he declared that Dick could +in no way be an accessory to the fact of that most terrible +and mysterious crime.</p> + +<p>“And what is now being done?” asked Owen of the +hotel manager.</p> + +<p>“Everything that is possible,” he replied. “The police +have removed the body. The scene was a most painful +and tragic one. When the poor young lady recovered +consciousness after the shock, she returned to the body of +her husband and refused to leave him. She believed him +to be still alive, and, kneeling by him, made all sorts of +strange and wild statements.”</p> + +<p>“What did she say?” gasped Dick in breathless anxiety.</p> + +<p>“Oh, all sorts of curious things. She made an allegation +against some man, but would not name him. She said she +knew now who was her husband’s enemy.”</p> + +<p>“Then the police are in possession of some suspicious +fact?” exclaimed Owen with a side glance at his friend.</p> + +<p>“The doctors did not consider her in a fit state to be +questioned. Her statements were so very contradictory.”</p> + +<p>Jervoise breathed again. He longed to get away from +that room where the floor still bore traces of the horrible +crime.</p> + +<p>“But,” the young doctor went on, “what are the police +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</span>doing? Surely it is known by what means the assassin +gained access to Grinevitch’s room?”</p> + +<p>“We cannot tell,” answered the thin-faced Norwegian. +“The hall-porter saw no stranger enter or leave, though +he was at his post the whole time. Neither did the servants +see anyone go into the room, even though several +of them, their curiosity aroused by the happenings of the +previous couple of hours, were almost constantly on the +watch. There were whispers among the servants that +the bridal pair had quarrelled; hence the whole staff on +this floor had become instantly inquisitive, as was but +natural. Yet the assassination was committed swiftly +and surely by invisible hands.”</p> + +<p>“Could anyone have climbed up from the street—or +come along the balcony?” Owen suggested.</p> + +<p>“See for yourself,” replied the other, throwing open one +of the long windows.</p> + +<p>Both men, followed by Dick, stepped out upon the +spacious balcony into the rain. But at a glance all saw +that entrance by the window was entirely out of the +question.</p> + +<p>“No,” Owen said, reassured. “The assassin must have +entered by yonder door, for if the victim had been sitting +writing, then the murderer could have crept across the +carpet noiselessly and struck the blow ere the other could +realise his danger.”</p> + +<p>“That is exactly the police theory. They are doing all +in their power to obtain some clue. Already they have +taken away certain things—the door knobs, as you see, +and other small articles—in the hope of finding fingerprints. +The whole of the Christiania detective force are +at this moment engaged in trying to solve the mystery, +and endeavouring to trace Nystrom and the dead man’s +unknown visitor. You can do nothing, gentlemen, I fear—nothing +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</span>except to try and console the poor young lady. +Let us return to her.” And the hotel manager led the +way back to the room where Thyra was still sitting silent, +crushed, lifeless.</p> + +<p>The grey-bearded doctor stood near the window, looking +out gloomily upon the wet night.</p> + +<p>As they entered he held up a warning finger. They +halted.</p> + +<p>In the slim girl-widow’s grey eyes they detected a +strange, wild expression as her gaze fell upon Dick Jervoise.</p> + +<p>“Ah!” she gasped with sudden surprise, stretching +forth both her thin, white hands. “You—Mr. Jervoise! +I—I must speak to you—alone! Come in for a few moments, +and send all these people away. I—I want to +speak with you—alone!”</p> + +<p>Owen and Dick exchanged glances. Then the grave-faced +doctor, who had been watching her, spoke something +in Norwegian, and all withdrew—all save Richard Jervoise.</p> + +<p>They closed the door softly, leaving the pair alone. The +Englishman stood in the centre of the room trembling, +staring, pale as death, his chin sunk upon his breast. To +her he dare not lift his stony eyes; he dare not utter a +single word.</p> + +<p>For several moments there was dead unbroken silence.</p> + +<p>Then, bending forward and looking straight at him +with those great, wide-open eyes, she said in a hard, +distinct voice:</p> + +<p>“Mr. Jervoise, you lied to me! <em>I know the truth!</em>”</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</span></p> + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="PART_II"> + PART II + </h2> +</div> + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_I_1"> + CHAPTER I + <br> + <span class="fs80">BIDE TRYST</span> + </h2> + +<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap">The</span> grey light of the brief December afternoon had +deepened into darkness.</p> + +<p>The Woodland Pytchley had enjoyed a splendid day +across South Rutland. Meeting at Stockerston Hall, +they had found in Great Easton Park, and after a sharp +run across Holyoaks Lodge, the fox had crossed the Eye +brook to the Uppingham road, where the kill had taken +place.</p> + +<p>Another brush had been secured in that long little +spinney behind Seaton Grange after a hard chase, and a +third, an old dog-fox, had been given to the hounds in +Laxton Park.</p> + +<p>The smart crowd of men and women who had followed—people +who hunted with the Quorn, with Lord Exeter’s, +or with the Fitzwilliam three or four days a week—had +agreed that it had been the best run of the season. Then, +after mutual adieux, they had, in the falling light, all +separated to ride home, each his own way, some for many +a weary mile.</p> + +<p>Dick Jervoise’s road back to Ingarsby Hall, his aunt’s +splendid old place, lay by bridle-paths which he knew +well, paths which he had ridden ever since a boy. That +morning he had gone to the meet with his cousin Harry, a +young Yorkshire landowner, but the latter had been +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</span>thrown out at a spot north of Uppingham, where he had +had a spill in a brook, and Dick had not seen him since. +Therefore he rode on alone, his tired bay mare stumbling +ever and anon, and causing him to utter language scarcely +suited to a drawing-room.</p> + +<p>His way lay across bare ploughed lands, and through +Harrington Wood, leafless and dismal in the fading light, +until close to the old mansion of Kirby, gaunt and grim in +its loveliness and decay, he was compelled to dismount +and lead the mare.</p> + +<p>Thus he trudged onward for nearly five miles, sometimes +across ploughed land, or over broad pastures and +along muddy lanes, every inch being known to him. The +shortest cut is not always the easiest, for on his way he +found a brook so swollen that he had to remount in order +to cross it.</p> + +<p>Fox-hunting ran in Dick Jervoise’s blood. His father +had been one of the most noted followers to hounds in the +grass country, and one of the fastest cross-country riders +of his day. Before his death he had been M. F. H., and +more than once had received tempting offers to write his +reminiscences of the Belvoir and the Grafton. In the +hunting season Dick frequently stayed with the Dowager +Countess of Corby at Ingarsby, and rode with both the +Woodland Pytchley and Mr. Fernie’s.</p> + +<p>In his well-worn hunting pink he looked a fine athletic +fellow, an ideal English sportsman, as indeed he was. +Though a student who loved to pore over his dry-as-dust +books in his little flat overlooking the river at Hammersmith +Bridge, yet no sooner had cub-hunting commenced +than he was down at Ingarsby and up and out at four +o’clock in the morning, riding with the huntsman and his +pack through the mists before daybreak.</p> + +<p>“A chip of the old block,” old hunting-men had dubbed +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</span>him long ago. In his teens he had earned his laurels by +breaking his collar-bone in a bad fall over at Cold Overton, +and even other accidents of minor count had never deterred +him from enjoying hot runs over that ideal country north +of his late uncle’s fine ancestral domain.</p> + +<p>As he entered the great old-world stableyard, Chapman, +the groom, touched his cap, and, glancing at the mare, +exclaimed:</p> + +<p>“Gone lame, sir—eh?”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” Dick replied, handing over his mount. “We’ve +had a pretty hard day, but we killed three times, so we +mustn’t grumble.” And he entered a door, traversing +many stone corridors of the magnificent old Tudor +mansion, worn hollow by the feet of many generations, +until he passed into the great hall, with its high windows +of stained glass, its oaken roof, its rich carpets, stands of +armour of bygone Corbys, and the splendid old Gibbons +carvings.</p> + +<p>Before the wide, open hearth, where blazed huge logs, +the tea-table had been set, and around it, with the well-preserved, +white-haired Countess presiding, were several +gay, gossiping young men and women of the house-party.</p> + +<p>Dick’s entry was hailed with delight, and news of the +run eagerly demanded.</p> + +<p>“And where’s Harry?” inquired her ladyship, pouring +out Dick’s tea from the silver pot.</p> + +<p>“Don’t know, aunt,” replied her nephew airily. “Last +I saw of him was in a ditch, looking a bit muddy and rather +the worse for his fall. I saw he wasn’t hurt, and rode on.”</p> + +<p>“You hunting men are really extremely selfish,” declared +the old lady, when at the same moment Burton, +the elderly butler, handed Dick a telegram on a salver, +saying:</p> + +<p>“It came for you, sir, about twelve o’clock.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</span></p> + +<p>Jervoise tore it open, read its contents, and thrust it +carelessly into the pocket of his scarlet coat. Then, +turning to a pretty girl in blue, the daughter of a Yorkshire +banker, he began to chaff her regarding something +he had heard in the hunting-field that day anent her +latest swain. The girl blushed, declaring that what he +said was both cruel and untrue.</p> + +<p>“Well, that’s what Teddie Mills told me to-day as we +rode together. And he’s your cousin, isn’t he?” asked +Dick, good-humouredly.</p> + +<p>Ingarsby was a splendid old Tudor place, with battlemented +towers, turrets, buttressed walls, and noble oriel +windows originally glazed with beryl, and imposing +structures with numerous shields of arms and heraldic +devices upon the masonry. On the painted glass of the +high mullioned windows of the hall beneath where Dick +stood were emblazoned the shields of the various families +with whom the Earls of Corby had intermarried; and +straight before him, at the rear of that great, open fireplace +with its shining dogs, was a secret chamber, in which +twenty persons could comfortably dine, as well as the +entrance to a subterranean passage to a house three miles +distant.</p> + +<p>The white-haired Countess had led a lonely widowhood +in that beautiful old place for twenty odd years, dividing +her life between there and her snug, little house in Curzon +Street. She was a very charming, well-preserved woman, +essentially aristocratic in bearing, whose “turn out” was +always one of the smartest in the park, whose hospitality +was unbounded, and who at Ingarsby delighted in surrounding +herself with young people, for there was plenty +of hunting and some of the finest shooting in the Midlands.</p> + +<p>Sir James Kingwell, first Earl of Corby, who died three +years after the Restoration, was a typical old cavalier, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</span>who spent twenty years of his life as a prisoner in the +Tower. Many of the portraits in the hall, in the dining-room, +and in the splendid ball-room were historical, +among them being the picture of the Earl of Shrewsbury, +who was slain in the notorious duel by the second Duke of +Buckingham. Indeed, the old place was full of interesting +relics, but practically unknown because her ladyship, +preferring privacy, had closed her doors rigorously to all +sightseers, prying archæologists, or photographers of the +illustrated papers.</p> + +<p>There was much merry chatter over the tea cups around +the huge, blazing logs. About a dozen young men and +women had assembled, and were discussing in anticipation +the ball which Lady Exeter was giving at Burghley on the +following night, and to which the house-party had been +invited.</p> + +<p>Dick, however, managed to slip away up to his room, +the great, old-fashioned apartment which he always +occupied, and was known as Henry VII’s room, as that +monarch, when Earl of Richmond, was said to have +ridden from Bosworth Field to seek refuge at Ingarsby, +then a monastery. It was a quaint, old-world room, the +mullioned windows of which looked out across the terrace, +the monks’ fish ponds, and the great park beyond. In +the centre was an old, carved, four-poster bed, the counterpane +of which was of silk embroidered by hands dead +three centuries ago.</p> + +<p>So frequent a visitor was he at his aunt’s that he kept +some books there, and the big writing-table in the corner +Burton had provided for him specially.</p> + +<p>Entering his room, he threw off his hunting coat, drew +off his riding boots, and then re-read the telegram which +had been handed to him in the hall.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</span></p> + +<p>“I wonder!” he exclaimed to himself aloud, as he +crushed the message in his hand, standing staring at the +fire, the light of which illuminated the room. “I wonder +if I dare?”</p> + +<p>He drew a long breath, standing in indecision.</p> + +<p>“By Jove!” he went on. “If it’s not dangerous—then +I may, after all, see her again. I may——”</p> + +<p>But he did not finish his sentence, for a second later, +with sudden impetuosity, he tossed the telegram into the +flames, and with a changed expression on his face lit a +cigarette, and flung himself into the big, cretonne-covered +armchair to think.</p> + +<p>“No!” he cried aloud at last. “She was a fool—an +absolute fool. Her words aroused suspicion. Owen +suspects—everybody suspects!” And he gave vent to a +harsh, bitter laugh as he leaned back in his shirt sleeves +and blew a cloud of smoke from his lips.</p> + +<p>Presently, after half an hour, his man Carter, a smart, +clean-shaven man, entered to arrange his master’s evening +clothes. Without a word the servant crossed to the +wardrobe, and busied himself in getting out the suit and +spreading it, with the dress-shirt, collar and tie, upon the +bed.</p> + +<p>“Shall you dress now, sir?” he inquired at last.</p> + +<p>“No, Carter,” was his master’s reply. “Perhaps I +shan’t dress at all this evening. At eight I want you to +send word to her ladyship that I’m not very well—caught +a chill out hunting to-day—and ask her to excuse me from +coming down to dinner. Pretend I’m in bed, and have +some food brought up here. I’m going out this evening, +and I don’t want anyone to know I’ve been absent. You +understand?”</p> + +<p>“Exactly, sir,” answered the well-trained man.</p> + +<p>“I don’t know when I’ll be back—before the house is +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</span>closed, I hope. If I’m not, watch Burton to bed, and then +go down to the ball-room, and leave one of those two end +windows unfastened for me. I shall go out that way—as +I went once before.”</p> + +<p>“Very well, sir.”</p> + +<p>“And if my cousin Harry or anyone wants to see the +invalid, say I’m asleep, and have told you I didn’t wish +to be disturbed. You’ll stay on duty up here all the +evening, and eat my dinner for me.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir.” And the man stood awaiting further +commands, without moving a muscle of his aquiline face.</p> + +<p>“Remember, not a soul must know of my absence. A +lady’s good name may perhaps be at stake. If I’m back +early I may dress and join the men in the billiard-room. +I don’t know yet. Be discreet, that’s all.”</p> + +<p>“I shall be, sir. No one shall know you are absent.”</p> + +<p>Then Dick Jervoise exchanged his hunting breeches for +a rough suit of country tweeds, and, putting on a golf cap +and taking a stick, he glanced at the little silver travelling +clock upon the dressing-table. It was, he saw, nearly +seven.</p> + +<p>He felt in his hip pocket, as though to reassure himself +that he had something there. Then, with parting instructions +to his man, he left the room, descending by the +stairs at the end of the corridor, and by an intricate route +threaded those endless stone passages and reached the +great ball-room.</p> + +<p>It was in darkness, but in order to make sure he was +alone he touched the electric switch, and next second the +magnificent room with its polished floor and splendid +portraits, the scene of so many brilliant gatherings, was +flooded with a bright light from a dozen crystal electroliers. +After a hasty glance around, he extinguished the hundreds +of lamps, and then, walking to the further end of the huge +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</span>apartment, opened one of the long, lead-paned windows, +and, climbing through it, dropped softly upon the grass +outside.</p> + +<p>Then, keeping in the shadow as much as possible, he +slipped across the stone bridge that spanned the lake in +front of the house—the ancient fish pond of the Carthusian +brothers—and struck out straight across the park to the +dark woods beyond.</p> + +<p>The night was moonless, with heavy clouds precursory +of rain; but the way being known to him, he walked on +without hesitation, and was soon within the wood, taking +a narrow footpath, which, in twenty minutes or so, brought +him out into a ploughed field, which he skirted, passing in +turn across a wide pasture, and at length gaining a narrow +lane full of deep cart ruts, where walking in the darkness +was somewhat difficult.</p> + +<p>Presently, however, he came out upon a broad highway, +the many telegraph lines beside which denoted that it was +a main road, and, turning to the left, walked along for a +full half-hour, passing on his way a small hamlet consisting +of half a dozen or so tiny cottages with dormer windows +peeping forth from their thatch.</p> + +<p>By the light from one of the windows he glanced at his +watch, and seeing that he was late, quickened his pace up +a long hill. A big motor car with a long bonnet and a +single searchlight glaring in front, came swiftly down, +and, passing him, bespattered him with mud from head +to foot. He recognised that it was the Ingarsby car—the +six cylinder—which was conveying an arrival guest, the +Honourable Walter Bryant, a friend of his, from Ashley +station, on the Market Harborough line, to the Hall.</p> + +<p>Rockingham Hill, one of the steepest in the Midlands, +he climbed, and presently turned into a road by the left, +which at length brought him in sight of the lighted windows +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</span>of a village. He avoided the village street, for, passing +the inn on the outskirts, he turned again into a dark, +muddy lane on the left.</p> + +<p>Walking still farther for about a quarter of a mile, he +halted against a gate standing white in the darkness, and +next moment a figure loomed up out of the night.</p> + +<p>It was a woman—a woman who uttered his name in +greeting.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</span></p> + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_II_1"> + CHAPTER II + <br> + <span class="fs80">THE PERIL OF DICK JERVOISE</span> + </h2> +</div> + +<p class="no-indent">“<span class="smcap">You</span> sent me no reply, therefore I feared lest you might +not come,” exclaimed the woman, speaking rapidly in +French, with an accent purely Parisian.</p> + +<p>Her voice was soft and refined, yet so dark was it that +her features were scarcely distinguishable. That she was +young and rather handsome, with a somewhat oval face, +was, however, apparent; and wearing a short fur bolero +and neat, felt travelling hat, she presented quite the +average <em>chic</em> appearance of the Frenchwoman.</p> + +<p>“Well,” he asked as he leaned upon the gate, “why do +you wish to see me so urgently after our last meeting in +London?”</p> + +<p>“To tell you something, <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">mon cher ami</i>—something +curious which I have discovered.”</p> + +<p>“Well, and what’s your latest discovery, eh?” he asked +in a half-mused tone.</p> + +<p>“That he is living in hiding in this neighbourhood.”</p> + +<p>“Whom?”</p> + +<p>“Bourtzeff.”</p> + +<p>“Bourtzeff!” echoed Jervoise in amazement. “Bourtzeff +here? Impossible!”</p> + +<p>“I tell you he lives in Great Easton,” she responded +calmly. “I’ve been lodging near by for the past ten +days—watching. Something serious is in progress. Of +that I am absolutely convinced.”</p> + +<p>“But is it not dangerous for you, of all women, to be +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</span>here, in the vicinity, and alone? Remember he’s not a +man to stick at trifles!”</p> + +<p>“Bah! I do not fear him, monsieur,” laughed the +young woman defiantly.</p> + +<p>“But how did you trace him?”</p> + +<p>“By patience,” she replied. “You know how he fled +from Keppel Street the instant the news became known. +At that time we were not even aware of his identity. We +had no suspicion—nothing but a mere address in London +to guide us. We commenced investigations, you and I. +I admired your careful methods, but you relinquished +the inquiry too early—you were, my dear friend, just a +trifle too impatient. I waited and watched, day by day, +week by week, for I knew that the landlord of that house +was a consummate liar, and that he was endeavouring to +shield some mysterious person whom he had sheltered. +The matter was difficult, because of your friend Doctor +Odd’s constant inquisitiveness. I don’t like that man, +for he has, I feel confident, strong suspicions.”</p> + +<p>“And surely not exactly unnaturally?” he remarked in +a strained voice.</p> + +<p>“Ah, yes!” she snapped impatiently. “I know you +believe him to be your friend. But mark me, M’sieur +Dick, that man will prove your enemy.”</p> + +<p>“You always say so, I know. But I venture to think +you entertain a rather unfair prejudice against him,” +Jervoise said.</p> + +<p>“Time will prove that,” replied his companion. “At +present it is sufficient to know that I waited in patience +until, late one evening, about a fortnight ago, I was +watching the house in Keppel Street, more out of curiosity +than anything else, when a hansom drew up, and from it +alighted a man, who ascended to the door and quickly let +himself in with a latch-key. It was Nicholas Bourtzeff! +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</span>From that moment until now I have never lost sight of +him.”</p> + +<p>“And he does not suspect?”</p> + +<p>“Not in the least.”</p> + +<p>“You say he is in hiding over in Great Easton. I know +the place quite well—about a couple of miles from here.”</p> + +<p>“He is the guest of a certain Doctor Larcombe, who +lives in a house at the extreme end of the village.”</p> + +<p>“I know him,” Jervoise said, much surprised. “Larcombe +rides to hounds sometimes.”</p> + +<p>“He is apparently living there as a paying guest in the +name of Siegler.”</p> + +<p>“Are you sure it is Bourtzeff?”</p> + +<p>“Absolutely. I have seen him a dozen times or more. +I know him rather too well, alas!” replied the woman.</p> + +<p>“Bourtzeff! Bourtzeff!” he repeated to himself.</p> + +<p>“Then what is your theory?” he asked.</p> + +<p>“Theory!” she exclaimed, speaking still in French. +“I have none, my dear m’sieur. I regard his movements, +as strange, very strange—that is all. Paul Grinevitch +telegraphed to Jorgen Berentsen that he intended to leave +Christiania at once, and go direct to 108, Keppel Street, +Russell Square. An hour later he was killed. Then when +inquiries are made at the address in question, a mysterious +lodger, who only returned that day, instantly disappears. +Now this mysterious person turns out to be Nicholas +Bourtzeff who had gone into hiding in the name of Siegler. +Surely there is an object—and that object is fear of something. +But what it is, how can we tell?”</p> + +<p>“Be careful that he doesn’t discover you, mademoiselle.”</p> + +<p>“I shall take very good care of that,” was her reply. “I +have taken lodgings with a good woman in Middleton +village, and am supposed to be a governess waiting for a +family to return from India. Yesterday I had news from +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</span>Christiania. The police have made an arrest—the fools! +They’ve thrown one of the hotel waiters into prison.”</p> + +<p>Dick Jervoise was silent. What mademoiselle had told +him caused him the greatest surprise. Why had Nicholas +Bourtzeff fled from one hiding-place to the other on hearing +the news of Paul’s death? What connection, indeed, +could the two men have had, except that they were compatriots?</p> + +<p>“But he was in London at the time of the affair?” +remarked Dick, after a long pause.</p> + +<p>“Ah! That is just the point,” replied mademoiselle +quickly. “He was not at Keppel Street on that day, nor +did he return there until four days after the tragedy.”</p> + +<p>Jervoise was again silent. The circumstance was +suspicious.</p> + +<p>The woman who stood there—a woman who was in +many ways remarkable—had become his friend. His +acquaintance with her was a clandestine one, it was true. +She was not a person in whose company he would care to +be seen publicly; but though unscrupulous and full of +clever subterfuge, yet she was, nevertheless, acting in his +interests.</p> + +<p>More than a month ago she had called at his flat overlooking +the river beyond Hammersmith Bridge, and for +several hours they had been engaged in earnest conversation. +It was then that Dick Jervoise had told the young, +dark-eyed, foreign lady, Alza Dresler, of the remarkable +death of Paul Grinevitch, and she had started to her feet +on hearing the amazing story.</p> + +<p>She had placed her black-gloved hand in Dick’s as sign +of friendship, and from that moment to the present had, +alone and quite unaided, been pursuing a somewhat +erratic course.</p> + +<p>She was one of those women whose age it was quite +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</span>impossible to determine, and whose exact nationality was +as equally uncertain. In certain circles in London and +in Paris she was well known as a struggling artist, with +sufficient private means to support herself. In her own +artistic set she was extremely popular. Until two years +before she had occupied a studio high up in the roof of one +of those old houses in the Rue Madame, in Paris, but of +late her headquarters had been in a shabby house in a +mean street off the Tottenham Court Road. She travelled +a good deal, notwithstanding her limited means, and outside +her artistic set she had quite a wide acquaintance in +both capitals.</p> + +<p>Good-looking, always neatly dressed, and quite ladylike +and refined, she was at home in almost any grade of society. +Yet Dick Jervoise, who in common with certain others +who knew the truth concerning her, always avoided being +seen with her in public.</p> + +<p>Owen Odd, on the other hand, had been attracted +towards her from the first moment of her introduction by +Dick, and, notwithstanding the latter’s veiled warnings, +he had managed to snatch two or three evenings away from +his practice to take her to theatres. He found the romance +surrounding her particularly fascinating, for was she not +to the world a mystery?</p> + +<p>“The affair becomes more complicated, Alza,” Dick +exclaimed at last. “Somehow I can’t quite conceive that +Bourtzeff has ever had any dealings with Paul.”</p> + +<p>“That remains to be seen,” she said. “You know +Bourtzeff almost as well as I do.”</p> + +<p>“And for that reason I do not think it wise for you to +live here alone and watch him. Remember he has spies +ever about him.”</p> + +<p>“My dear M’sieur Jervoise, I am quite capable of taking +care of myself,” she cried, laughing his fears to scorn. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</span>“Already I am trying to ascertain why Grinevitch decided +to come to London, and I hope soon to learn something.”</p> + +<p>“Ah! Yes. It will be interesting,” said the man. +“But do you suspect Bourtzeff?”</p> + +<p>“At present I suspect nobody. First, let me discover +the reason of Paul Grinevitch’s sudden decision. Then, +perhaps, we can form some theory. At present, I can +only watch.”</p> + +<p>“Rather dull for you in Middleton,” he laughed. “The +place is never very exciting even in summer, but at this +time of year it must be pretty quiet.”</p> + +<p>“As an artist, my dear m’sieur, I can adapt myself to +any mode of life,” she declared with a light laugh. “In +this affair I have an object, you will recollect—a personal +interest.”</p> + +<p>“A personal vengeance,” he said, correcting her, in a +low, meaning voice.</p> + +<p>“Well, if you choose to put it so,” she said in a changed +voice. Then she added: “Though you were unaware of +my presence, I’ve seen you in the neighbourhood of Ingarsby +on two or three occasions. I saw you walking with two +young ladies on the Bulwick road one afternoon, and twice +you’ve passed me in a motor car without recognising me.”</p> + +<p>“Ah! you wore a veil, I suppose!”</p> + +<p>“Certainly. Mourning always suits me well, you +know!” she laughed.</p> + +<p>“And how does this Siegler pass his time?” he inquired. +“The doctor, of course, has no idea of his identity?”</p> + +<p>“No. Everyone believes him to be a German professor +of botany. He is friendly with several people in the +neighbourhood. In fact, he’s dining out this evening at +a house about two miles from here. When I leave you, +I’m going across there to try and discover something concerning +these friends of his.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</span></p> + +<p>“What’s their name?”</p> + +<p>“Sedgwick, I believe it is. They are a father, mother, +and two daughters, and live in a big, old-fashioned, ivy-covered +house lying back from the road not far from a +place called the Holy Well. Some fine cedars stand on the +lawn.”</p> + +<p>“Sedgwick!” exclaimed Dick Jervoise. “I happen to +know the Sedgwicks, of Blaston! Does he know them?”</p> + +<p>“He went there to dine this evening, I tell you. He +and the doctor drove over in the dog-cart. They passed +me on this road.”</p> + +<p>“My dear Alza, you’re a very remarkable woman!” he +ejaculated. “By Jove! nothing seems to escape you.”</p> + +<p>“When my mind is set upon accomplishing something, +no power on earth turns me against it. You know me +well enough,” was her answer. “In this affair I have an +object in view—a distinct object. Whether I remain here +for a day, or for a year, it is, to me, immaterial. I shall +accomplish it. You asked me for advice—you asked my +assistance. As for advice, I urge you once again to +beware of that man who calls himself your friend—Doctor +Odd.”</p> + +<p>“But why? I don’t understand.”</p> + +<p>“I need not go into details, M’sieur Dick,” answered +the woman, standing there in the darkness. “Indeed, +that is not my habit. I am working in your interests—in +those of Thyra; and also—well, I do not deny it; why +should I?—in my own. Since I saw you last, sixteen days +ago, I have again seen your friend the doctor. Oh! he +was very charming. He took me to the play, and to the +Savoy to supper afterwards. I accepted his invitation +that evening for one reason alone. I wanted to ascertain +something.”</p> + +<p>“Well?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</span></p> + +<p>“I was successful. I discovered what I wanted to +know. I discovered that he was not your friend.”</p> + +<p>“Not my friend? How can you tell that?”</p> + +<p>“He has seen Thyra,” was her slow reply. “He slipped +across the Channel to meet her—to tell her of his suspicions, +I expect.”</p> + +<p>“You think so?” gasped Jervoise, standing rigid before +her. “He suspects me!”</p> + +<p>“Yes. That is my surmise. But I had one truth—from +his own lips—that he loves her!”</p> + +<p>“Loves her!” echoed her companion in a hollow voice. +“Why, he has always given me to understand——”</p> + +<p>“My dear M’sieur Dick,” interrupted the mysterious +woman, whose face he could only indistinctly distinguish. +“That’s just it! You are so very confiding, so easily +misled. It is your failing, if I may be forgiven for saying +so. That man loves Thyra; hence he is no longer your +friend, but rather your most bitter enemy! Ah! yes. +You will discover the truth ere long. He loves her—<em>loves +her</em>!”</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</span></p> + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_III_1"> + CHAPTER III + <br> + <span class="fs80">STRANGERS IN LONDON</span> + </h2> +</div> + +<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap">In</span> one of the luxurious pale blue and white sitting-rooms +in the Hotel Ritz in Piccadilly, Peter Sundt, the millionaire +of stock-fish, lounged lazily by the fire, smoking an expensive +cigar.</p> + +<p>His well-cut frock coat, smart fancy vest, carefully-trimmed +moustache, and hair arranged with care, gave him +a somewhat gentlemanly appearance, though his red and +rather pimply face was coarse, his hands rough, and his +manner betrayed his plebeian birth and the struggles of +his fisher days.</p> + +<p>The man for whom thousands were at that moment +netting those cold, dark icy seas, whose nauseous-smelling +boileries supplied three parts of the whole world’s produce +of that boon to the consumptive, cod-liver oil, whose fishing +fleets were spread all across the Arctic seas, and whose +influence in Norway was almost equal to that of the +Prime Minister himself, sat regarding his visitor with +narrowed brows.</p> + +<p>Upon the hand holding his cigar a fine diamond flashed +in the firelight, and removing his gaze from the pale, +drawn face of the man seated opposite him, he thoughtfully +contemplated the ash, waiting for a reply to his question.</p> + +<p>His visitor was the grey-bearded, bluff old sailor, Jorgen +Berentsen.</p> + +<p>Outside in Piccadilly the short, grey, January afternoon +was drawing to a close. The great arc lamps were +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</span>already lit, though it was not yet dark, and the roar of the +traffic reached the two men, notwithstanding the double +windows. One window of the room looked away across +the Green Park towards Buckingham Palace, the other +upon the life and movement of Piccadilly itself.</p> + +<p>“Well?” asked Sundt at last, speaking in Norwegian. +“I invited you to come here because I want to know the +truth, Jorgen. You know it. Come, tell me.”</p> + +<p>“I have already replied. I do not know the truth.”</p> + +<p>“You mean that you refuse to tell me!” cried the red-faced +man, his dark eyes flashing angrily. “Do you +recollect what I told you in your own house up at Vardo?”</p> + +<p>“I do—perfectly,” replied the other in a strained voice +quite unusual to him.</p> + +<p>“Then why have you not heeded? If you had taken +my advice long ago you could have become a rich man, +left your wretched northern tomb, and lived away in the +south in the sunshine and flowers, as I do.”</p> + +<p>“Thank you,” replied the old sailor. “I am perfectly +happy as I am. Thyra is returning with me—to live as +we lived before.”</p> + +<p>“You’re mad, man. Do you actually intend to take +the girl back to the rough Arctic life in that most dismal +hole on all our coast?”</p> + +<p>“She wishes it.”</p> + +<p>Sundt shrugged his shoulders in impatience, and drew +heavily at his cigar.</p> + +<p>“Then all I have to say, Jorgen, is that you are very +foolish. She would be far better in Christiania, or even +in Paris. You have a sister living there. I remember +her when I was a boy.”</p> + +<p>“My child wishes to go north with me. Therefore I +shall agree. Surely her married life was brief enough, +and fraught with sufficient ill-fortune.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</span></p> + +<p>“Yes,” sighed the cod-liver oil manufacturer. “It was +a most painful and mysterious affair. I was at Havre at +the time, and didn’t hear of it until nearly a week later. +The French papers are somehow always slow in reporting +events in Norway. As soon as I read about it I telegraphed +to you, and to her, my condolences.”</p> + +<p>“We received them,” replied the old harbour-master +quietly.</p> + +<p>“My yacht took me from Vardo on the morning following +my call upon you, and I was fortunate in catching the +mail boat south from Hammerfest. Otherwise I suppose +I should have travelled down by the <em>Mercur</em> with you all. +But it must have been a most painful affair!” he declared +with a sigh. “Poor girl! she has no doubt felt it terribly—after +only a few hours of marriage.”</p> + +<p>“The mystery of it all is most puzzling,” declared the +elder man. “You read the details afterwards, I expect, +in the Norwegian papers.”</p> + +<p>“I did. It was most extraordinary. Every feature +of the case seemed mysterious. Even Thyra did not, on +that fatal afternoon, pay the visit she was supposed to +have made; or, at least, that is what one of the papers, +which assisted the police in their inquiries, declared.”</p> + +<p>“That fact is, I fear, correct,” answered Berentsen with +a sigh.</p> + +<p>“And has your daughter ever told you the true story +of her movements on that fatal afternoon?” inquired the +red-faced man with a curious look in his searching eyes.</p> + +<p>“Unfortunately, she refuses. It is her own affair, she +says. She resents any inquisitiveness as to where she +went during her absence from her husband.”</p> + +<p>“Has it not struck you, my dear Jorgen, as somewhat +curious that she should, on the very first day of her marriage, +make an excuse to her husband, and go forth to keep +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</span>some clandestine appointment—for that it was, without a +doubt?”</p> + +<p>“Whatever her movements were, they were in no way +dishonourable, Peter,” replied the bluff old man. “Thyra +would never deceive the man she loved.”</p> + +<p>“But, my dear friend, she did deceive him. Even you, +her father, must acknowledge that. She made an excuse +to meet somebody. And she has kept her secret from the +police, and from everybody.”</p> + +<p>“You speak as though her secret, as you call it, were a +guilty one!” cried her father, reddening with anger.</p> + +<p>“My dear Jorgen, please do not misunderstand me! I +have viewed the whole of the tragic and mysterious circumstances +from every standpoint, and have arrived at +one conclusion—the only one possible in the circumstances—that +Paul Grinevitch was murdered through jealousy. +And the man loved Thyra—still loves her, without a doubt. +That man is the assassin, depend upon it. The natural +theory is that she consented to meet him for the last time +in Christiania that afternoon, to bid adieu. They met. +Then the lover, seized by a paroxysm of hatred towards +the bridegroom, hastened to the hotel, before she could +reach it, and struck him down.”</p> + +<p>“But the visitor—that woman in black! The sending +of the blank message to Nystrom, and the sudden decision +to cross to London. Did they have no connection whatever +with the crime?”</p> + +<p>“None, I think,” Sundt replied slowly, twisting the +diamond ring around his finger. “The crime was undoubtedly +committed by some man who was passionately +in love with your daughter, and who believed, by ridding +her of Grinevitch, he might eventually take the dead man’s +place.”</p> + +<p>“No man will ever take Paul Grinevitch’s place in my +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</span>child’s heart,” declared the old harbour-master vehemently, +as he sat staring straight before him. “It is all so +cruel and bitter! As though my poor girl had not sufficient +to bear, the gossips in Christiania spoke all sorts of hard +things of her, hinting at some love affair while she was +still at school there, and declaring, as you have just +declared, that she had a secret lover, by whose hand her +husband had been struck down. Ah!” he cried. “It is +cruel—too cruel! Christiania is the most gossiping place +in all Europe. Why, some evil-natured person actually +made an allegation that my poor child was privy to her +husband’s death—that she went out purposely while the +dastardly deed was accomplished!”</p> + +<p>“Yes, Jorgen, I, too, heard that same report,” remarked +the great man slowly. “Scandalous though it was to +invent such a theory, yet——”</p> + +<p>“Yet what?” asked the grey-bearded man quickly.</p> + +<p>“Well, there are so many unsolved mysteries connected +with the young man’s death, that one does not know +really where to commence. I think I’m correct in saying +that not a single one of those mysteries has yet been +elucidated—not even the identity of the young lady in +mourning.”</p> + +<p>“The police bungled the inquiry from the very beginning. +The intelligence of our police of Norway cannot be compared +with that of even Denmark.”</p> + +<p>“To me it is very curious that a woman could have gone +boldly to the room of a man just married during his wife’s +absence, remain there in consultation for a considerable +period, and be seen to the lift, and then leave the hotel, +and disappear completely off the face of the earth,” +declared the man with the pimply face. “It seems +utterly incredible. Either the Christiania police are utter +blockheads, or else the whole affair was a most marvellous +conspiracy.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</span></p> + +<p>“The latter, I’m inclined to think, Peter. My own +opinion is that jealousy had nothing whatever to do with +the death of Paul Grinevitch.”</p> + +<p>Peter Sundt smiled incredulously, blew some particles +of tobacco ash from his coat sleeve, and raised his eyes to +the man before him.</p> + +<p>“Tell me, Jorgen,” he demanded at last. “What did +you know about young Grinevitch? What did he explain +to you concerning himself?”</p> + +<p>The grey-bearded old sailor regarded his questioner +uneasily. Then, after some hesitation, he answered:</p> + +<p>“Well, the fact is, he told me very little, except what +I had already discovered. When he asked for my daughter’s +hand, he explained that his family was a highly +influential and respected one in Moscow, that his father’s +estates were in the Government of Tula, that his mother +was dead, and that he had one sister living, married to +the Governor in Kiev.”</p> + +<p>Peter Sundt nodded with evident satisfaction.</p> + +<p>“But as regards his means?”</p> + +<p>“Beyond his pay as a lieutenant in the Imperial Guard, +he had an allowance from his father of twenty thousand +kroners a year.”</p> + +<p>“H’m! A little over a thousand a year in English +money,” remarked Peter. “They might have lived +comfortably upon that. Was there no other source of +income?”</p> + +<p>Old Jorgen started quickly, and looked the stock-fish +millionaire straight in the face.</p> + +<p>“What—what do you mean?” he inquired.</p> + +<p>“Paul Grinevitch told you the truth, I suppose? He +surely would not deceive the father of the woman he was +about to make his wife.”</p> + +<p>“I have no reason to disbelieve anything that he told me.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</span></p> + +<p>“Then he explained to you something in confidence, +eh?”</p> + +<p>“Well, he did,” admitted the elder man.</p> + +<p>“And yet you allowed him to marry Thyra,” observed +the other reproachfully.</p> + +<p>“They loved each other.”</p> + +<p>“Bosh! The fellow’s good looks attracted her. That +was all. He was her first love.”</p> + +<p>“Then you apparently know more of Grinevitch than +you’ve ever admitted, Peter,” Jorgen remarked at last.</p> + +<p>A dead silence fell. From without came the dull roar +of the London traffic in Piccadilly, with the occasional +“honk” of the horns of taxi-cabs. But within the luxurious +room the two men sat on either side of the fire, each +knowing that the other was his bitterest enemy.</p> + +<p>Jorgen Berentsen had not forgotten the hard meaning +words which Peter Sundt had uttered on the last occasion +when he had come to see him at Vardo. Neither had +Sundt forgotten the harbour-master’s open defiance.</p> + +<p>“Paul Grinevitch was not exactly what he represented +himself to be, eh?” Sundt declared decisively.</p> + +<p>“How do you know?”</p> + +<p>“Because I took the trouble to institute some inquiries +in Russia. You have told me that Thyra loved him. +Well, if she did, then she may, after all, congratulate +herself upon her freedom.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t quite follow you.”</p> + +<p>“Then let me speak a little plainer, shall I? Let me +point out one fact which you, and everyone else, have +overlooked; a fact that is patent, and may possibly lead +to a clue to the assassin.”</p> + +<p>“What is that?”</p> + +<p>“You will remember that on your journey south you +had as fellow-passengers two Englishmen—one a doctor +named Odd, and the other a man named Jervoise.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</span></p> + +<p>“Perfectly. Very pleasant young fellows.”</p> + +<p>“Both were very friendly with Thyra, were they not?”</p> + +<p>“I believe so. She used to chatter with them in English, +and, moreover, they came to the marriage feast, +invited by Grinevitch.”</p> + +<p>“I am aware of that,” said the other. “I am aware, +too, that they travelled to Christiania by the same train +as the pair, and that Richard Jervoise was greatly attracted +by Thyra. That Englishman loved your daughter, Jorgen.”</p> + +<p>“And what of that? She is very beautiful, as you +yourself have many times acknowledged. Many men in +various walks of life have been attracted by her.”</p> + +<p>“None more so than this Richard Jervoise,” was the +red-faced man’s hard reply. “And there are certain +facts which are, in themselves, very remarkable.”</p> + +<p>“What facts?”</p> + +<p>“The two Englishmen were in Christiania together on +the day of Paul’s death,” Sundt said. “Well, yesterday +I called upon Doctor Odd at his surgery, and after some +careful questioning, established the fact that all the afternoon +of the tragic affair Jervoise was absent from the +Grand Hotel.”</p> + +<p>“Well?”</p> + +<p>“Thyra was absent from her husband, and——”</p> + +<p>“What!” cried the old man, starting up angrily. “What, +you insinuate something against my daughter’s good +name. You, who——”</p> + +<p>“I insinuate nothing, my dear Jorgen,” replied the +man who supplied the world with its cod-liver oil. “I +merely point out two facts which are indisputable. And +I would add two others—namely, that it happens to be +within my own personal knowledge that Paul Grinevitch +was not at all the person he represented himself to be, +and, secondly——”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</span></p> + +<p>He paused, without concluding his sentence.</p> + +<p>“And secondly what?” demanded the old harbour-master +with a frown.</p> + +<p>“Secondly, Richard Jervoise and Paul Grinevitch met +several years ago, and they were the bitterest of enemies. +This man Jervoise found the young Russian on the eve of +marriage with the girl with whom he had so suddenly +fallen desperately in love. And—and,” he added. “Well, +I leave you, Jorgen, to form your own conclusions.”</p> + +<p>The old harbour-master sank back in his silken chair, +as though he had been smitten a staggering blow.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</span></p> + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_IV_1"> + CHAPTER IV + <br> + <span class="fs80">THYRA MAKES AN ADMISSION</span> + </h2> +</div> + +<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap">That</span> same afternoon Dick Jervoise had stood for a considerable +time watching at the long window of his sitting-room +in that great block of red-brick flats at Castelnau, +on the Barnes side of Hammersmith Bridge.</p> + +<p>The view across the wide reservoirs and up the Thames +beyond old-world Chiswick and its Mall was one of the +most extensive and picturesque in the immediate environs +of London. His were cosy quarters. He had chosen +them for two reasons; first to be near Owen, whose surgery +was in Bridge Avenue, just over the long suspension bridge, +and second because it was an open spot, with plenty of +light and fresh air both back and front. His rooms were +not extensive, but quite sufficient for the simple wants of a +bachelor. The sitting-room was a square, good-sized +apartment papered a dark red, with well-filled book-cases, +a big, old-fashioned sideboard, whereon were two or three +pieces of antique silver, and in a corner a large, roll-top +writing-desk with the telephone instrument upon it.</p> + +<p>On the table in the centre stood a big epergne of sweet-smelling +mimosa, bringing with it a fragrance from the +Riviera, and before the bright fire stood two inviting armchairs. +That room, as were also the dining-room and the +bedroom, was the very acme of bachelor comfort, for he +had furnished them with considerable taste in order to +make cosy quarters for himself when in London.</p> + +<p>One room beyond the kitchen was, indeed, piled with +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</span>battered travelling cases and the impedimenta he sometimes +used on his longer expeditions, the articles ranging +from a tent to a luggage label.</p> + +<p>The titles of the books lining that well-warmed, little +den were sufficient index to the character of its owner. +They were mostly works on archæology or folk-lore, and +many of them, being extremely rare, he had purchased at +high prices.</p> + +<p>Standing at the long French window which opened +upon a narrow balcony, where a row of variegated laurels +flourished in long boxes, he stood eagerly watching every +vehicle as it crossed the bridge from the Hammersmith +side.</p> + +<p>His face was pale and serious, and it was apparent that +his nerves were at their highest tension.</p> + +<p>Time after time he glanced back anxiously at the +Chippendale clock upon the mantelshelf, and then stood +breathlessly waiting.</p> + +<p>The roadway below was one of the chief highways out +of the metropolis, and led to Wimbledon, Richmond, +Kingston-on-Thames, and the open country beyond. +Hence, as he watched, hundreds of motor cars and motor +’buses whirred along over the bridge, and away along the +broad road towards Barnes Common and Mortlake.</p> + +<p>Slowly the light faded. Already the lamps on the +great bridge had begun to glimmer, and lights were shining +on the river bank across at Chiswick.</p> + +<p>Suddenly a taxicab slowed up after it had crossed the +bridge, and came quietly towards the kerb. Dick caught +sight of a face within, and next instant dashed down the +stairs.</p> + +<p>In the entrance he grasped the hand of the visitor he +had been so anxiously awaiting.</p> + +<p>It was Thyra.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</span></p> + +<p>Together they ascended to the second floor, and he +ushered her into his sitting-room. She entered the flat +timidly, for was not her visit a clandestine one!</p> + +<p>Within, he helped her off with her fur coat and boa, +and pulled one of the big armchairs before the fire, saying:</p> + +<p>“I began to fear that you could not get away, or that +you didn’t receive my message.”</p> + +<p>“I was compelled to wait until my father went out. He +had an appointment with somebody.”</p> + +<p>“With whom?”</p> + +<p>“He did not tell me. As soon as he had gone I slipped +out, hailed a cab, and gave the driver your address. But +oh! how utterly bewildering is your great London! I have +driven miles and miles. I had no idea that London was +so huge.”</p> + +<p>He smiled at her as, standing with his back to the fire, +he gazed upon her, noting how extremely handsome she +was. Her neat mourning enhanced her pale beauty, yet +as she raised her great grey eyes to his, he saw them +shadowed, and full of weariness.</p> + +<p>He had not seen her since that grey afternoon when, +four days after the tragedy, he had called upon her in +Christiania to wish her adieu. They had written to each +other several times until she had announced her impending +arrival in London, and he had sent her that urgent message +to come and see him.</p> + +<p>“I wanted to talk to you alone,” he stammered, after a +painful pause.</p> + +<p>“And I, too, have been longing to see you, Mr. Jervoise,” +she said. “There were things I wished to speak about +which I dare not write in letters.” And instinctively she +glanced at the closed door.</p> + +<p>“You need have no fear,” he assured her. “My man +is out, and we are entirely alone.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</span></p> + +<p>She glanced round the room with her great wide-open +eyes, so full of childish innocence. Everything English +was so new to her, everything interested or astonished her. +She had regarded Christiania, with real trees in its streets, +as a terrestrial paradise, but London, with its great parks, +miles of streets, and bustling millions, was assuredly a +universe in itself.</p> + +<p>“Nobody must know that we have met,” she said in an +anxious tone. “Remember our secret!”</p> + +<p>“Your secret is entirely safe with me, Thyra—if I may +be permitted to call you by your Christian name,” he +answered in a deep, earnest voice.</p> + +<p>“I know it is! I feel I can trust in you, Mr. Jervoise. +You are indeed my friend.”</p> + +<p>“Yes. I am your friend,” he repeated, looking straight +into those eyes, so wonderfully clear and yet wearing that +strange, hunted look that he had never before seen in +them.</p> + +<p>“Nobody suspects?” she asked the next moment in a +hoarse whisper, bending forward in her chair towards him.</p> + +<p>“Nobody. Our secret is quite safe.”</p> + +<p>She stirred, and rearranged her skirts, his words having +reassured her.</p> + +<p>London! When, three days ago, she had landed at +Tilbury with her father from Gothenburg, she had been +filled with childish joy at the mere thought that London +was near. London! The long-dreamed-of city of wonders, +the world’s metropolis, the home of all splendours, +all delights—London, the home of Richard Jervoise.</p> + +<p>She had, however, dreaded that meeting. She knew +that to see him again was imperative, yet she anticipated +the encounter with fear and misgiving—nay, with something +akin to horror. Nevertheless, on receipt of his +dreaded demand, she had braced herself up, and now +faced the ordeal unflinchingly.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</span></p> + +<p>As Dick Jervoise stood still looking into those splendid +eyes, he read what was passing in her mind.</p> + +<p>“Thyra!” he said slowly, in a very low, impressive +voice. “You are apprehensive—far too apprehensive. +You are unnerved, I fear. Pray calm yourself, or your +very attitude may excite suspicion.”</p> + +<p>“Ah!” she cried, putting her gloved hands out before +her. “How can I act otherwise? How can I remain calm +with this terrible torture of conscience upon my mind?”</p> + +<p>And she rose from her chair, tall and willowy, and stood +before him, her fair head bowed.</p> + +<p>“Come,” he said, placing his hand upon her slim +shoulder tenderly, “you must learn to conceal all these +fears of yours if you would hide our secret from the world.”</p> + +<p>“But somehow—well, somehow I cannot!” she declared +wildly, her face now pale and drawn. “Heaven knows +what a struggle I constantly have with my own heart—my +own conscience!”</p> + +<p>“No, no!” he said, firmly yet gently. “Dismiss all +that from your mind. Nobody is aware of our meeting +in Christiania on that fateful afternoon, and——”</p> + +<p>“Ah! If I had only had the courage to refuse to keep +that appointment with you! It was not right—it was +unjust—unjust to Paul.”</p> + +<p>“No,” he said quite frankly. “What I did was entirely +in your interests, Thyra. You have already admitted +that. Our secret is safe—therefore why need we trouble +further?”</p> + +<p>“I had no proof of what you told me,” she protested +quickly. “It was a remarkable story, but you could not +bring the slightest evidence to substantiate a single word +of it.”</p> + +<p>“You will have ample proof in due course,” he said. +“I promise you that.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</span></p> + +<p>“Somehow you never seem to realise our mutual danger,” +she exclaimed. “I am a woman, and perhaps I can +see further ahead than you. Has it never struck you that +your friend Dr. Odd may have suspected our secret meeting +on that afternoon?”</p> + +<p>“And, pray, what if he does? The suspicion cannot be +substantiated. I have already taken very good care of +that. The police are still making inquiries,” he added +with a grim smile. “They arrested some poor devil of a +waiter the other day, I hear, and had to release him after +a few hours’ detention.”</p> + +<p>“You laugh!” she cried, her eyes flashing in quick protest. +“<em>You!</em>”</p> + +<p>“I laugh because you and I know he is innocent,” was +his brief yet indefinite answer. “But,” he added, “tell +me one thing, Thyra. Did Paul ever mention to you the +name of a friend of his called Nicholas Bourtzeff?”</p> + +<p>“Bourtzeff? No. I never heard him mention the +name,” she responded, shaking her head.</p> + +<p>“And he never mentioned any friend of his living in +London—at that address in Keppel Street, Bloomsbury, +which he telegraphed to your father?”</p> + +<p>“Never. I had not the slightest idea of his intention +of coming to London, or that he possessed any friend here.”</p> + +<p>Dick Jervoise smiled within himself when he recollected +Alza’s dogged tenaciousness to the clue which she believed +she had discovered. When the fire of vengeance once +burns in a woman’s heart, it is indeed unquenchable.</p> + +<p>It had grown quite dark now, and the room was only +illuminated by the uncertain flicker of the fire.</p> + +<p>“Are you positive that your friend, the doctor, is still +unsuspicious?” she asked him in a low, strained voice at last.</p> + +<p>“Of course. Whatever causes you such ridiculous +apprehension?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</span></p> + +<p>“Because—well, because I am not convinced yet that +our secret is absolutely safe,” was her reply. “Suppose +the truth were ever discovered, the truth of what occurred +that evening? Where should we both be? You remember +your words!”</p> + +<p>The man standing with her against the mantelshelf bit +his lips, but he remained silent.</p> + +<p>The shadow of a guilty secret was upon his brow.</p> + +<p>He held his breath, and the hand that sought hers +trembled.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</span></p> + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_V_1"> + CHAPTER V + <br> + <span class="fs80">THE BOND OF SILENCE</span> + </h2> +</div> + +<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap">Two</span> days later Dick Jervoise called upon Captain Berentsen +and his daughter at the house in Talbot Road, Bayswater, +where they had established themselves in apartments. +The first-floor rooms of the usual London lodging +type had been recommended to them by some friends in +Christiania, and as Dick was shown up by the maid-of-all-work +he greeted Thyra, in pretence that they had not +already met in secret.</p> + +<p>The old captain invited him to remain and have tea. +They expected to stay in London for a month at least, he +said—indeed, until the long Arctic night at Vardo had +passed, when they would return to their treeless coast +again.</p> + +<p>In his thick, blue reefer suit, and with a distinctly +nautical air, the old fellow looked strangely out of place +in a Bayswater lodging. He had made no mention to +Thyra of his visit to Peter Sundt. He was absent on +many occasions “doing business,” as he had explained to +her.</p> + +<p>Dick offered to show London to Thyra, an offer which +was gladly accepted. Therefore, on the following day, +he again called, and, finding her alone, they went forth +together.</p> + +<p>Her attitude towards him was at once friendly and +mysterious. It seemed as though, while she held him in +distinct disfavour, in abhorrence, yet somehow he exercised +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</span>over her a power which was inexorable, as though, almost, +he held her beneath a spell.</p> + +<p>That her mind was full of the terrible tragedy of a few +months before was shown by the frequent sighs that +would escape her, and by her constant dread of their +secret being suspected.</p> + +<p>In that dread secret between them lay the power and +influence which Dick Jervoise possessed over her. And, +somehow, in those covert glances of hers there was another +and yet more curious expression—the expression of +admiration, even of devotion.</p> + +<p>How full of strange incoherence and contradiction is +the soul of woman!</p> + +<p>Thyra was thankful to Dick for his offer to take her to +see London. The few days she had spent in that Bayswater +lodging with her father absent had been very dismal +and dispiriting. It rained almost incessantly; the sitting-room +with the lace curtains, the cheap ornaments upon the +mantelshelf, and the strong-smelling apples upon the +mahogany sideboard, was oppressed the whole day long +by a grey twilight.</p> + +<p>Occasional hansoms or tradesmen’s carts passed along +the melancholy street into the square beyond, and the +tempestuous wind, which made the room draughty, howled +incessantly, the whole making on Thyra an impression of +unutterable dreariness.</p> + +<p>The splendid city of her dreams, the great and brilliant +London, seemed pervaded by this howling wind, that had +followed her from the icy sea at Vardo, through which +sounded the roar of a thousand other voices, the ceaseless +roar of the traffic, the booming of toilsome life, dismal +under never-ending rain.</p> + +<p>With profound tenderness Dick Jervoise took her forth +to show her some of the principal “sights”—the Houses +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</span>of Parliament, Buckingham Palace, the National Gallery, +and such-like institutions of which London boasts, but of +which the average Londoner knows nothing. The first +morning they spent in the British Museum, after which +he gave her luncheon at the Trocadero, where the life, +movement, and music brought back to her some of her +old brightness.</p> + +<p>Many of her naive remarks filled him with amusement. +On the night of her arrival in London she had, it appeared, +believed the asphalte roadways to be polished; but now +they were drying she had discovered her mistake.</p> + +<p>The weather had cleared after luncheon, and they +walked down Regent Street and through the Strand to +the law Courts, where for a few moments they sat listening +to counsel making an able defence in some Chancery action. +Then they took a motor-omnibus to Trafalgar Square, +where he showed her the lions and the Nelson monument, +after which they entered the National Gallery and took a +cursory glance at some of the art-treasures preserved +there.</p> + +<p>She examined everything with the keen inquisitiveness +of a child, while he, on his part, took the greatest interest +in showing and explaining everything.</p> + +<p>The crowds and hustle of the Strand bewildered her. +More than once, as they passed along, he noticed men’s +heads turned to admire her striking beauty. But, all +unconscious of the sensation she created, she walked on at +his side listening intently to his explanations.</p> + +<p>There was a bond between them—a bond that was +unbreakable. She could not disguise that fact from +herself. Were it not for that one thought, grim and terrible, +she would have been happy, perhaps even been able +to forget the black shadow that had so suddenly fallen +upon and clouded her young life.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</span></p> + +<p>Along Pall Mall they went, and up St. James’s Street. +He pointed out Marlborough House, St. James’s Palace, +the various clubs—including his own, a great, dark, smoke-blackened +building close to Piccadilly.</p> + +<p>As they passed, the liveried hall-porter, who chanced +to be standing upon the steps, recognised and saluted him.</p> + +<p>She peered within the hall with curiosity, and inquired +what the place was like inside. She had never seen a +club before.</p> + +<p>“It looks very old,” she declared, gazing at the sombre +but handsome exterior.</p> + +<p>“Over a century and a half ago it was opened,” he +answered. “At that time it was the principal gaming-club +in London, and huge sums were lost and won here +every night. Nowadays it is a place where men dine and +smoke and chat, and into which no lady is ever allowed to +set her foot.”</p> + +<p>“Isn’t that rather selfish?” she laughed.</p> + +<p>But he explained to her that there were also ladies’ +clubs, known to the irreverent men as “catteries.”</p> + +<p>As they turned into Piccadilly she half closed her eyes, +and before her there arose a vision of the man so suddenly +snatched from her. Instantly she hated the tall Englishman +striding along at her side. Her depression reasserted +itself.</p> + +<p>Twilight was falling. The people passed rapidly along +the pavements, umbrellas under their arms; here and there +the lights were springing up in the shops, and through the +moist air strayed the odours of the stream of motor-omnibuses +and private cars with the confused noise that +dulled her senses.</p> + +<p>That man, walking by her side in silence, gave her a +vague sensation of terror.</p> + +<p>She fixed her great eyes upon the crowd, fascinated by +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_186">[Pg 186]</span>the coming and going, as by the flowing of a stream. +Dick, the man who, with her, held the secret, uttered +some words, but she did not heed them. Casting her eyes +upward, she saw the network of telegraph wires hiding +the grey sky, and it renewed her oppression.</p> + +<p>The elegance of the women who passed her caused her +envy. It was impossible that there could be so many +shapely or beautiful women in London. They were all +painted and padded and powdered, and some had false +hair. Oh, yes—she knew! Those London women were +artificial, unreal, “made up” by their hairdressers, their +tailors and their maids. They were women of falsity, +corruption and hidden misery.</p> + +<p>And this was London!</p> + +<p>Dick fixed his enamoured eyes upon her, and seeing the +strange expression upon the beloved features, fell to +wondering.</p> + +<p>He hailed a passing taxicab at the corner of Park Lane, +and drove to Westbourne Grove, for she had expressed a +desire to look at the windows of the drapers’ shops there. +Besides, it was close to her home.</p> + +<p>For a long time she enjoyed the delights of the goods so +temptingly displayed in the windows. A hat she saw +there—the latest French creation—interested her far +more than the Madonna of Raphael, while over an evening +gown in cream lace she went into ecstasies. How would +she herself look in it, she wondered?</p> + +<p>Before those gaily lit windows her oppression again +vanished.</p> + +<p>“Look!” she cried in childish delight. “Look at that +lovely lace. How exquisite! And that <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">robe de chambre</i>—you +call it tea-gown. Is it not a lovely colour? It would +suit a blonde to perfection. Ah! I have never seen in +Christiania such lovely things as these! Very costly. +I suppose they are—far too costly for me.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_187">[Pg 187]</span></p> + +<p>And she ran on in that strain, while her companion +stood behind her, much amused at her excitement and at +her pretty broken English.</p> + +<p>At the side of one of the windows was a long mirror, in +which she examined herself from top to toe. He noticed +it, and smiling, forgave her the little feminine vanity.</p> + +<p>They turned down a dark street of private houses, and +the moment they had left the shops Thyra felt the weight +of sadness again upon her soul.</p> + +<p>There arose that phantom of the past—the white face +of the man now lying in his grave. She shuddered, and +went on down the dull, melancholy street in silence. The +man at her side was no longer the tall, good-looking +Englishman she had met at Vardo, but an evil shadow +that haunted her everywhere.</p> + +<p>Yet she could not evade him. How could she?</p> + +<p>“What if the world knew!” she reflected as she walked +along at his side. “What if the shameful truth ever +became known? How would the world judge her—and +him?”</p> + +<p>In the cheaply furnished upstairs drawing-room in +Talbot Road they found that the Captain had not returned. +Therefore Thyra rang for the tea, while her companion +stirred the fire and lit the gas. Then she went into the +next room to remove her hat.</p> + +<p>When alone, he stood staring blankly into the fire in +deep reflection. Was he not playing a very dangerous +game? he asked himself. Were not they both in equal +peril? What if Owen discovered his visits, and that he +was her constant escort about the town? Already his +friend, he knew, entertained certain suspicions which +might very easily be confirmed by this too frequent +companionship.</p> + +<p>And yet, when he thought over it all—when he came to +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_188">[Pg 188]</span>reflect—how could he keep apart from her? True, her +husband had only been dead a few brief months. Yet +there were circumstances quite exceptional—circumstances +which none knew beside their own two selves.</p> + +<p>A few moments later, having taken off her hat and furs, +she re-entered the room and poured out his tea.</p> + +<p>He watched all her movements with eyes full of admiration. +She had sipped her tea in silence, her gaze fixed +upon the flames.</p> + +<p>Then, of a sudden, she raised her face to his. He saw +it was pale and anxious. Upon her countenance the +shadows had deepened, like a black, impalpable cloud. +She glanced across at the door, as though to reassure +herself that it was closed.</p> + +<p>Then, looking him in the face, she whispered:</p> + +<p>“I have just been thinking that if you are in my company +too much, your friend, Doctor Odd, might suspect!”</p> + +<p>He started. She had voiced his own thoughts of only +a few moments before.</p> + +<p>“Well—let him suspect,” her companion answered, +laughing quietly. “Of what can he accuse us?”</p> + +<p>She placed her white hand upon his; he felt it trembling.</p> + +<p>“Ah, no!” she whispered hoarsely. “Do not let us +discuss it! Let us both take every precaution. We are +in peril—you have said so yourself. We have enemies—both +of us. Therefore it behoves us to beware!”</p> + +<p>“I know,” he said, placing his hand upon her shoulder +reassuringly. “But you are too apprehensive, Thyra. +Leave all to me. No one knows the truth—and no one +shall ever learn it.”</p> + +<p>Thus, ignorant of Peter Sundt’s statement to the Captain—ignorant, +indeed, that the ruler of those northern +settlements was in London, or that he had discovered +Dick’s previous knowledge of the dead man—the pair +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_189">[Pg 189]</span>remained conversing and exchanging confidences, Thyra +receiving from her companion certain instructions how to +act.</p> + +<p>Notwithstanding all these precautions they were taking +to avoid any revelation of a ghastly truth, the pitfall—a +secret and well-concealed one—now lay open before +them.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_190">[Pg 190]</span></p> + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_VI_1"> + CHAPTER VI + <br> + <span class="fs80">CONTAINS A PROBLEM</span> + </h2> +</div> + +<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap">It</span> was just past ten o’clock one bitterly cold night about +ten days later.</p> + +<p>Owen Odd was in his narrow, stuffy little surgery, bending +over a memorandum-book in which he was making +some notes with his fountain-pen. For four mortal hours—ever +since six o’clock indeed—his waiting-room had +been crowded by lower-class patients, many of them in +receipt of medical relief from the parish of Hammersmith; +others club patients, mothers with peevish babies, and +honest working men suffering from various ills.</p> + +<p>Now, however, he had dismissed the last one, washed +his hands, and was putting down certain addresses to add +to his visits next morning, prior to eating his lonely +evening meal in the shabby dining-room upstairs.</p> + +<p>The surgery was reached by a basement door at the +side, over which burned the red lamp. Dr. Maureward, +his principal, lived over at Chiswick, where he had another +practice, while Odd occupied that small and poky house +in the centre of a street in which nearly every window +bore the legend “Apartments.”</p> + +<p>Owen was an indefatigable worker. He loved his +profession, even though the work among the poor was +terribly fagging, and his daily visits extended over a wide +and populous area from the Hammersmith infirmary over +at Wormwood Scrubbs, away to private patients at West +Kensington and Barnes Common.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_191">[Pg 191]</span></p> + +<p>He closed his book with a sigh, and was about to turn +down the gas when an elderly maidservant entered, +saying:</p> + +<p>“You’re wanted, sir.”</p> + +<p>“Good Heavens!” he exclaimed irritably. “Am I +never to have a moment’s peace? Who is it now?”</p> + +<p>“A young woman, sir.”</p> + +<p>“Well, show her in; and, Margaret, keep my dinner +warm—it may be nothing.”</p> + +<p>The next minute a tidily dressed maidservant was +ushered into the surgery. Her white apron and cuffs +showing beneath the jacket she was wearing, and her hat +somewhat awry, gave evidence of the haste with which +she had come.</p> + +<p>“Good-evening,” said Owen, rising. “What can I do +for you, pray?”</p> + +<p>“Would you come at once, the missus says; the master +has been taken bad again very sudden.”</p> + +<p>“Ah! What’s the matter? And where does your +master live?”</p> + +<p>“’Eart, I fancy it is. He went queer like all on a +sudden, and can’t get his wind. And our flat’s No. 2, +Plevna Gardens, Shepherd’s Bush, and will you come at +once, please?”</p> + +<p>“Heart, is it? Well, I’ll come,” said Owen with a sigh, +as the thought of his delayed, and probably spoilt, dinner +flashed across his mind. “Tell your mistress I’ll be there +almost as soon as you are,” opening the surgery door for +the girl. “By the bye, what is your master’s name?”</p> + +<p>“Major Gordon, please, sir.”</p> + +<p>“All right; I’ll come.” And, shutting the door, he +turned to the shelves that lined the surgery, and selected +two or three phials containing the drugs applicable to +cases of “heart,” and placed them in the brown leather +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_192">[Pg 192]</span>hand-bag which so often accompanied him on his professional +rounds; and then, as he wrapped a comforter round +his throat and put on his thick overcoat, he called out +some further directions to Margaret anent his dinner, and +left the house.</p> + +<p>He knew Plevna Gardens, a turning out of the Shepherd’s +Bush Road, though he never had had a patient +there previously. The houses had originally been private +dwellings, but of recent years had been altered into flats; +and though the neighbourhood could not be regarded as +exactly aristocratic, they, in their new guise, had found a +very good class of tenants to whom the question of rent +was of importance.</p> + +<p>No. 2 lay on the north side of the street, and entering +the hall, he found by the board that “Major Gordon” +occupied the second floor. In answer to his knock the +door was opened instantly, as though someone had been +awaiting his advent.</p> + +<p>“Oh, doctor, how good of you to come so quickly! And +yet I somehow felt you would. Please come in. My +father seems a little better now, I am happy to say, but I’m +very uneasy about him.”</p> + +<p>For a moment Owen found a difficulty in replying. He +was startled out of speech by the vision of beauty that +stood before him. It was no servant that had opened the +door, but a lady whose right to the designation was written +on every line of her gloriously moulded features. Never +before had such a vision of radiant beauty dazzled him +and compelled him to silence.</p> + +<p>A wealth of light-brown hair, now somewhat in disorder, +hung low over a broad forehead, and the ripples and waves +seemed to catch and imprison the gleams that fell from +the overhanging electric lamp. Her dark blue eyes, +gazing into his own, appeared unnaturally large owing to +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_193">[Pg 193]</span>the anxiety that pervaded them, and this same anxiety +was indicated in the lines of the little mouth, which struck +Owen as being a perfect representation of Cupid’s bow.</p> + +<p>“I’m delighted to hear it, Miss—Miss——” stammered +Owen, for once shaken out of his professional sang-froid.</p> + +<p>“Gordon,” replied the girl, for she was little more. “It +is my father who is ill.”</p> + +<p>“So I understood from your servant. May I ask is he +liable to these seizures?”</p> + +<p>“No; I can hardly say that, but he has had one before, +more than a year ago, and they always make me so nervous.”</p> + +<p>“Naturally—naturally,” said Owen, stepping into the +small hall, and rapidly recovering his professional air. +“Perhaps I had better see him at once, when I may be +able to afford him some relief.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes; please come this way,” and the doctor, having +removed his wrap and coat, followed the girl to a bedroom +situated at the end of a rather narrow passage. There, +lying on a couch, he found his patient, a man of some fifty +years of age, whose handsome face was white and drawn +with pain. His eyes were closed, and he was breathing +heavily.</p> + +<p>“Father, here is Doctor Odd. Isn’t it good of him to +have come so quickly? Mary had hardly got back before +he was here. We are both most grateful to him, I am +sure.”</p> + +<p>A faint smile flickered round the sick man’s mouth, and, +opening his eyes, he held out his hand to Owen, saying:</p> + +<p>“I’m much obliged to you, doctor, and am sorry to +have had to give you the trouble.”</p> + +<p>“Don’t mention it, major. We doctors don’t regard +it as trouble when we can be of use. I’m glad to hear +you’re already feeling a little better.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_194">[Pg 194]</span></p> + +<p>“Thank you, yes. The sharpness of the pain has +decreased. Amy, my child, leave us for a little. We will +call you if anything is wanted.”</p> + +<p>“Very well, papa. Now, mind and be a good patient,” +with an attempt at a smile. And then, turning to Owen, +“I shall be in the next room, doctor, and shall hear you if +you call. You will see me before you leave?” And as +she spoke the anxious look took the place of the smile.</p> + +<p>Alone with the major, Owen made a thorough examination +of his patient, at the same time asking such questions +as might help him in diagnosing the case, and even as +this was in progress he could mark a rapid improvement. +In the end he came to a conclusion in his own mind which +he had no hesitation in imparting to his patient.</p> + +<p>“Well, major,” he said, “I’m delighted to be able to +tell you I don’t think there is anything seriously amiss. +Your heart is weak, certainly, and you will have to be +careful; but, beyond this, there is no organic disease, and +there is no reason why you should not be as strong as ever +again. You’ve been in India, I understood you to say?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, for some years.”</p> + +<p>“Ah! That terrible climate plays Old Harry with a +good many men, and, besides that, I fancy you have been +worrying about something or other lately. Eh?”</p> + +<p>At these words the major turned his head sharply, +scanning Owen’s face intently; and then, in a tone affecting +indifference, “Well, perhaps I have. We all have our +little worries, doctor, don’t we?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, we do; but the less we make of them the better it is +for us.”</p> + +<p>“Excellent advice, which we cannot always follow. +However, in this case I’m <em>going</em> to follow it.” And the +words were spoken with an air of decision that struck +Owen as peculiar.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_195">[Pg 195]</span></p> + +<p>“Well, major,” he replied, “I’ll run in and see you +again to-morrow, and in the meantime will send you round +some medicine. Get to bed early, and don’t get up till +I’ve seen you to-morrow morning. My report to Miss +Gordon, I’m sure, will give her satisfaction. I’ll see her +as I go out, and give her one or two small directions, and +now, good-night—and, above all, don’t worry.”</p> + +<p>“Good-night, doctor, and many thanks. I’m going to +obey you. You’ll find Amy in the dining-room. Good-night.”</p> + +<p>As Owen left the room Miss Gordon was waiting in the +passage for him. Silently she drew him into the dining-room, +and it was not till the door was shut that she uttered +the one word, “Well?”</p> + +<p>“Miss Gordon, I am delighted to be able to say it <em>is</em> +well—or nearly so. I mean there is nothing seriously +amiss with your father beyond a weakness of the heart, +from which so many business men and others suffer.”</p> + +<p>“Thank God for that, doctor. You don’t know what +your words mean to me.” And her eyes were brimming +over with tears, the result of the sudden relaxation of the +strain she had undergone. And she laid her hands on +Owen’s arm as she continued: “I shall never be able to +thank you enough for what you have done for my father.”</p> + +<p>“Really, Miss Gordon, you are making far too much of +my poor services. I have done nothing. You must +thank Nature and a good constitution; but now it lies with +you to help them both by taking care of your father and +keeping him from worrying—at any rate for a time.” +But while he was belittling his services Owen found the +thanks of this lovely girl very pleasant to his ears.</p> + +<p>“You may be sure, doctor, I shall do all in my power +to carry out your instructions.” But as she uttered these +words her companion fancied he could detect a tone of +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_196">[Pg 196]</span>doubt that belied the assertion, which caused him to +continue:</p> + +<p>“Of course, Miss Gordon, I do not wish to appear +inquisitive, but is there anything that you know of that +has been troubling your father of late?”</p> + +<p>He put the question in as casual a way as he was capable +of, but he did not fail to detect the hesitance with which +the girl answered “N-o, nothing particular,” and, feeling +that he was perhaps trespassing on delicate ground, he +continued:</p> + +<p>“Well, I prophesy that to-morrow will show a great +improvement in our patient.” It was a pleasure to make +use of the word “our”; it seemed to couple his companion +and himself together in a way that he had perhaps no +right to do more openly.</p> + +<p>“So, doctor,” and a bright smile lit up the face before +him, “you, too, venture to prophesy at times?”</p> + +<p>“Certainly. But why do you say that?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, I don’t know. Only doctors are generally supposed +to be so matter-of-fact.” And the smile was still +there.</p> + +<p>“Not always, Miss Gordon. They are only men, after +all, and must relax at times. But before I entirely lose +my character, let me give you one or two directions regarding +your father and his diet.” And then, in the most +matter-of-fact way, Dr. Owen Odd proceeded to lay down +certain rules and regulations with regard to the patient, +while Miss Gordon, seated at a side table, made notes on a +little tablet.</p> + +<p>At length he concluded with the words: “There, I +think that is all I have to say—nothing very appalling, is +it?”</p> + +<p>“No, doctor. You may rely on your directions being +carried out, at any rate as long as I am here.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_197">[Pg 197]</span></p> + +<p>“Here? Then don’t you live here? Excuse me asking.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes, I live here, but I’m out a good deal; still, if +it were necessary I <em>would</em> remain at home while my father +was unwell.”</p> + +<p>The idea of this lovely girl going out to earn her living +came rather as a shock to Owen. It had not occurred to +him that such could be the case. The room he was in, +and, indeed, the flat generally, so far as he had seen, was +furnished luxuriously, and gave no indication of lack of +means in the possessors. He glanced across at her, and +there was something in his look that caused her to burst +into a merry laugh, as she said:</p> + +<p>“I’m afraid, doctor, you take me for one of the butterflies +that neither work nor spin. If so, you’re quite +wrong.”</p> + +<p>“I beg your pardon, Miss Gordon; I did not presume +to think anything of the kind—that would only be impertinence +on my part.”</p> + +<p>“Not at all, doctor. Let me confess at once I earn my +own living and, in a measure, that of my father as well.”</p> + +<p>“And every credit is due to you, I’m sure. If more +women only did the same it would be a bad thing for the +fashionable doctors. But in—excuse me, I was forgetting +myself.”</p> + +<p>“Don’t mention it, pray. You would say how do I +earn it? I look at hands.”</p> + +<p>“Ah! A manicurist?”</p> + +<p>“No. Not a manicurist. Something better than +that.” And the eyes that were regarding him were +sparkling with fun.</p> + +<p>“Then, Miss Gordon, I confess I’m quite at sea.”</p> + +<p>“I wonder if you’ll be horrified when I tell you, for I +hold with the saying that one should be quite open with +one’s lawyer and doctor.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_198">[Pg 198]</span></p> + +<p>“There could not be a truer saying, and whatever you +may choose to tell me, Miss Gordon, you may be quite +sure will go no farther.”</p> + +<p>“Then, Doctor Odd, you see before you Madame +Juliette!”</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_199">[Pg 199]</span></p> + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_VII_1"> + CHAPTER VII + <br> + <span class="fs80">THE PROBLEM CONTINUED</span> + </h2> +</div> + +<p class="no-indent">“<span class="smcap">Madame Juliette</span>!” gasped Odd, staring with fixed +astonishment at the graceful, girlish figure before him.</p> + +<p>“I thought I should astonish you, Doctor,” laughed +Miss Gordon. “You have never consulted her, I think?”</p> + +<p>“Never. But there must be some mistake. We +cannot be alluding to the same person.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes, we are.”</p> + +<p>For a moment or two Owen remained silent, lost in +doubt, and then continued:</p> + +<p>“The Madame Juliette I refer to is the woman who has +taken all the West End by storm by her wonderful exhibitions +of clairvoyance and psychic powers. Her rooms at +103A, Bond Street, are crowded daily by those who go to +consult her, and who come away in every case convinced +of her mysterious attributes. As I said, I have never been +there myself, but I know several who have, and they have +given me a minute description of what has taken place, +and it certainly appears to me that she must be gifted +with some occult powers unknown to the generality of +people. The Madame Juliette I mean is undoubtedly a +factor in London society of to-day.”</p> + +<p>“Really, Dr. Odd, you are giving me a most flattering +character—one I am afraid I hardly deserve,” said Miss +Gordon with a smile.</p> + +<p>“And you mean to tell me you are this person?”</p> + +<p>“Without a doubt.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_200">[Pg 200]</span></p> + +<p>“But, from the descriptions given me, she is stout, and +middle-aged—very unlike you, Miss Gordon,” continued +Owen, still far from being convinced. “And she poses as +an Indian, and looks it—at least, so my friends tell me.”</p> + +<p>“Your friends appear to be close observers with graphic +powers of description, for they have painted a very true +picture of me in my professional guise.”</p> + +<p>“You are not joking, Miss Gordon?” said Owen, with +his eyes still fixed on his companion’s face, for as yet he +felt hardly able to believe what he had just heard. The +idea of this slim, graceful girl, with the pink-and-white +complexion of the Anglo-Saxon race, being able to pose +and take in the fashionable world as a dark-skinned, obese-bodied +Oriental, was more than he could momentarily +grasp.</p> + +<p>The smile on the girl’s face showed how she was enjoying +his perplexity, and she continued:</p> + +<p>“I am afraid, doctor, you hardly grasp what can be +done with judicious padding, an artistic make-up, and +suggestive surroundings. I can assure you the native +origin of Madame Juliette has never yet been questioned, +and all her clients are content to take her as they find her, +and to believe, more or less, in what she tells them.”</p> + +<p>“Well, Miss Gordon, I can only say you astound me, +and yet, if it is necessary that you should make money, +the <em>role</em> you have selected is probably as good as any other, +providing—well, providing that——” And here Owen +stammered, for he hesitated to finish the sentence he had +commenced.</p> + +<p>“Providing I am honest in my business, you intend to +say—eh, doctor?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, that is what was in my mind, I confess,” replied +Owen.</p> + +<p>“Naturally. It is the first idea that would occur to +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_201">[Pg 201]</span>you, and I’m glad you mentioned it. We have not known +each other long, but when our acquaintance is a little +older, I am sure, doctor, you will not regard me as a cheat +and charlatan, as are so many of those who profess the +same powers as I do.”</p> + +<p>“My dear Miss Gordon, don’t imagine for a moment +that I am presuming to judge you. I have not the faintest +right or groundwork on which to do so. You startled +me at first, I admit, and this must be my excuse for saying +what I did.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, I quite understand. But, you see, doctor, I spent +a good many years of my life in India, and as it happened, +I had exceptional opportunities of meeting and learning +from one who was deeply versed in the mysteries and +secrets of—well, call it what you will, the science of +orientalism. It has been given to few to be favoured as I +was, and now, when occasion demands, I see no harm in +putting my knowledge to account.”</p> + +<p>“Certainly not, Miss Gordon. I now begin to understand +a little more clearly.”</p> + +<p>“The facts of the case are shortly these: my father was +able to do a kindness to a certain man in India, and he was +much at our bungalow. From the first he appeared to +take a great fancy to me; I was but a child at the time, +and he endeavoured to show his gratitude by instructing +me in much that he knew himself, and is jealously guarded +from Europeans as a rule. This new path of knowledge +took my youthful fancy at once, and I gave more attention +to it than I did to my ordinary lessons. My memory is a +good one, and I forgot nothing that I was taught, and at +the same time was ever eager to learn more. My aptitude +and diligence so pleased my teacher that there was no +trouble that he would not take to help me forward, till at +last, I may say, I knew nearly as much as he did himself, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_202">[Pg 202]</span>and even then he and I continued to study together, for—like +other sciences—there is no limit to Oriental mysticism, +and the more one learns the more there is to know.”</p> + +<p>“And I can quite understand that you found it a most +fascinating study, Miss Gordon.”</p> + +<p>“I did indeed——But stop a moment, please; I think +I hear my father calling.” And as she rose from her chair +Owen said:</p> + +<p>“Really, Miss Gordon, I ought not to have detained you +talking in this way. I’ll be going.” And he, too, rose.</p> + +<p>“No, doctor; if you don’t mind waiting a few minutes +longer I should like to tell you a little more, as I have +commenced.”</p> + +<p>While she was absent Owen could not help marvelling +at the incidents of the last hour and a half. Previous to +that he had little to engage his thoughts beyond his +practice and the matters connected with his friend Jervoise; +and now, in answer to an apparently casual summons, he +found himself chatting familiarly with, and listening to +the confession of, a girl who, besides being dowered with +a beauty such as he had never before had the fortune to +come across, was armed with powers that had won her one +of the first places in the talk and tattle of the West End +drawing-rooms. It was all so strange and inexplicable. +And then the curious fact flashed across him that he +should have been summoned when there were a score of +doctors nearer to Plevna Gardens than his surgery. +Everything this evening seemed more or less of a mystery +and with a shrug of his shoulders he left the matter there, +just as the door opened to admit his hostess.</p> + +<p>“You’ll forgive me, I know. My father has got into +bed, and seems quite comfortable and likely to sleep. +He wished me to thank you for staying with me for a little +time, for he said he was sure I should be dull all by myself.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_203">[Pg 203]</span></p> + +<p>“Oh, don’t mention it, Miss Gordon. I have been +far too interested to want to go.”</p> + +<p>“I must say you are an excellent listener, doctor. But +what was I saying when my father called? Oh, I know. +Well, after a time my father and mother and myself left +India——”</p> + +<p>“Your mother? I was not aware that——”</p> + +<p>“She died some years ago,” said the girl in a saddened +tone, and then suddenly raising her eyes, she fixed them +on Owen’s face with an intensity that made him feel +strangely ill at ease. He felt he could not endure their +penetrative power; it was as though she was viewing his +inmost thoughts, reading the secrets of his brain, and he +dropped his eyes till, with a faint sigh, she continued:</p> + +<p>“We resided for a time in the West of England, and, +when my father had retired, came to London. Here, +owing to financial misfortunes, our circumstances were +not as comfortable as they had been, and then it was that +the thought occurred to me to make use of the knowledge +I had gathered while a girl in India.”</p> + +<p>“I had a little money of my own, and this I expended +in taking and fitting up in Oriental style a suite of rooms +in Bond Street, and in advertising pretty largely. At +first my father was much against my plan, and it was only +on my undertaking to adopt a disguise that he gave his +consent. I was familiar with Hindustani, and it was no +difficulty to me to assume the character of a mysterious +woman of the East. Hence the appearance of Madame +Juliette on the London stage. And, Doctor Odd, you +have no idea of the superstition, and love of the mysterious +and occult in the fashionable circles of to-day. It is +rampant, I assure you, and if I were to lower myself, and +condescend to tricks, my clients would swallow them +without a grain of suspicion. But that I will never do; +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_204">[Pg 204]</span>I give them just what I am able to do honestly, and no +more, and with that they must be content.”</p> + +<p>“And now I think I have fulfilled my promise to make +a full confession, and have only to thank you for listening +to me so patiently.”</p> + +<p>“My dear lady, the thanks are all due from me. You +have interested me more than I can tell you. Previous to +this evening I regarded these matters as pure humbug.”</p> + +<p>“But they’re not, I can assure you, doctor. There is a +certain amount of humbug mixed up with them in some +cases, but the true practitioners would ignore such subterfuges. +At times we do employ ‘suggestion’ as an aid to +bring the client’s mind into a proper condition, but beyond +this—no, no.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, that is quite legitimate. We doctors are equally +guilty in that respect; indeed, ‘suggestion’ in some cases +does more in effecting a cure than all the drugs in the +pharmacopœia could do. But there is one thing I should +like to ask you, Miss Gordon, if you will not think me too +inquisitive?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, no, no. Ask me what you like.”</p> + +<p>“Then what caused you to send for me this evening, +when there were so many doctors nearer you?”</p> + +<p>“Doctor, you’ve asked me a question I cannot answer, +beyond saying that something told me to send. I had +seen your name on the brass plate, but, as far as I know, +previous to this evening my eyes had never rested on you; +and yet——” And once more, as the words came to an +end, the eyes of the girl became fixed on the face of the +man before her with an intensity that was startling. But +it was only for a second or two, and then, as on the previous +occasion, with a little sigh she became herself again.</p> + +<p>“It’s curious,” said Owen. “I don’t understand it.”</p> + +<p>“No more do I,” replied the girl. “But in occultism +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_205">[Pg 205]</span>there is much that in our normal condition we are not +able to grasp. But if I cannot satisfy your curiosity in +this respect, I may perhaps in another. Would you like +me to look at your hand.”</p> + +<p>“By all means. It would be interesting.” And Owen +drew his chair nearer that of the girl, and held out his hand.</p> + +<p>She took it gently in her own, and, bending over it, +examined it intently. For a time she did not speak, and +then, almost in a whisper, muttered something in a +language unfamiliar to him, breaking off to look up with a +bright smile saying:</p> + +<p>“Forgive me. I am so accustomed to this little trick +of the trade, I forgot you were in a sense behind the +scenes, as it were. But do you mind coming to the table; +there is one point on which I am not quite clear.” And +while she spoke she moved across the room, and from a +cabinet took a shallow crystal dish, into which she poured +some thick, inky fluid from an Oriental clay vase, and set +it on a table beneath the electric light.</p> + +<p>“Kindly sit opposite me, and gaze intently into the +fluid. You will see nothing, but it will be an aid to me.”</p> + +<p>Owen did as he was bid, and for a few minutes there was +silence, broken at last by his companion’s voice:</p> + +<p>“Your early life was uneventful and happy. You did +fairly well at school and college. You have travelled far, +and seen strange sights. You have been in the company of +criminals—yes, yes—more than one; and yet this is not +clear. There is something that betokens a murder. Still, +I—no, it is not clear even now.”</p> + +<p>At these words Owen gave a very palpable start as his +suspicions of his friend flashed across his mind. With an +effort he pulled himself together and his companion gave +no sign of having observed his action, but continued:</p> + +<p>“It is not clear. It is not clear.” And, passing her +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_206">[Pg 206]</span>hand across her eyes, she rose, saying, “Doctor, I can +do no more to-night. I ought not to have attempted even +this much. I have had a hard day; and my father’s attack +has tried me more than I thought. You must +excuse me, please.”</p> + +<p>“Certainly—certainly. I’m sorry that I should have +put you to this trouble. It was very good of you.”</p> + +<p>“You must not judge me by this evening, doctor. As +I say, I’m not myself, and under these circumstances I +never do myself justice.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, I don’t know. The first part was quite true, and +as for the criminals—well, I suppose we doctors do occasionally +come in contact with them. But the murder——” +And Owen smiled, as though politely contravening the +suggestion.</p> + +<p>“Ah, don’t take any notice of that. It was there I +may have failed. I could not see clearly; everything was +indistinct. Forget my words, doctor. It would have been +better if I had remained silent. What? Must you be +going?”</p> + +<p>“I really must, and am ashamed of having taken up so +much of your time. I’ll call in to-morrow morning, and +after that I hope your father will have no further need of +my services.”</p> + +<p>“I trust not—professionally; but I am sure he will +always be pleased to see you as a friend, when you can +find time to look in on him. You see, I’m obliged to be a +good deal away from him. Good-night, and once more +let me thank you for what you have done.”</p> + +<p>“Good-night, Miss Gordon, and please don’t mention +it.” And Owen made his way down the stairs and out +into the night, while Amy Gordon returned to the room +they had just left, and, seating herself before the fire, +gave herself up to her thoughts. What they were none +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_207">[Pg 207]</span>can tell. At times a happy expression rested on her fair +features, soon to be chased away by a troubled look of +perplexity, which in its turn gave place to a smile.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile Owen was making his way back, to his solitary +rooms, almost unconscious of those who passed him or of +those he passed.</p> + +<p>“Is it possible she can know anything?” he muttered. +“It’s most extraordinary! And yet—well, time will +show.”</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_208">[Pg 208]</span></p> + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_VIII_1"> + CHAPTER VIII + <br> + <span class="fs80">THE MAN BOURTZEFF</span> + </h2> +</div> + +<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap">The</span> next morning Owen called at Plevna Gardens, as he +had promised, and found his prognostication had proved +true, and that the major had had a good night and was +practically himself again. Miss Gordon had waited to see +him before leaving for Bond Street, but she had little +conversation with him, and yet in the few sentences she +uttered he thought he noticed a change from the previous +evening. She seemed more shy and reserved, and yet at +the same time cordial and friendly.</p> + +<p>After hearing his report she vanished for a few minutes, +and, returning dressed for outdoors, shook hands with him, +saying:</p> + +<p>“I’m afraid you must excuse my not staying any longer, +doctor. I’ve a busy day before me—many appointments; +but don’t hurry away if you can spare a few minutes, +for I am sure my father will be glad of a chat with you. +Good-morning.” And, kissing her father and telling him +she would be back as soon as she was free, she left the flat.</p> + +<p>Owen stayed talking for a short time, and then, at the +major’s request, promising he would look in again one +evening shortly, left as he too had a heavy day before him.</p> + +<p>It was two or three days after this, when he had finished +his entries and was about to go upstairs to supper, that +old Margaret entered the surgery saying:</p> + +<p>“Mr. Jervoise is in the dining-room, sir.”</p> + +<p>Owen pursed his lips. For a moment his brows contracted.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_209">[Pg 209]</span></p> + +<p>Then he ascended at once to where his friend was awaiting +him.</p> + +<p>“Halloa, old chap!” exclaimed Dick in his usual cheery +manner. “I haven’t seen anything of you for nearly a +fortnight, so thought I’d just run over and look you up.”</p> + +<p>“Good. Have a bit of supper,” exclaimed the doctor, +blinking at his friend through his gold-rimmed pince-nez. +“I rang you up on the ’phone several times, but got no +reply. Suppose you were out.”</p> + +<p>“I’ve been out quite a lot of late,” answered Jervoise, +though he did not say that Thyra was in London, or that +he had been almost daily in her company.</p> + +<p>Jervoise could not conceal from himself the fact that +his friend’s manner was unusually strained. True, they +sat down to the table together and commenced the cold +supper which had already been laid. Yet there was not +in the doctor’s greeting that old warmth of some months +ago. Why?</p> + +<p>Their conversation was mostly upon a topic in which +both took a keen interest—motor-racing.</p> + +<p>Presently, however, Owen, as he raised his glass of +claret to his lips, asked:</p> + +<p>“Have you heard any more of Alza?”</p> + +<p>“No. I believe, however, she’s still in England.”</p> + +<p>“Why?”</p> + +<p>Dick shrugged his shoulders, answering:</p> + +<p>“Her movements are usually mysterious, I fancy.”</p> + +<p>“A rather dangerous woman, I’ve heard.”</p> + +<p>“What—as far as good looks go, you mean?” Jervoise +laughed.</p> + +<p>“In several ways—if what I hear be true.”</p> + +<p>“What do you hear?”</p> + +<p>“That she’s scarcely a person in whose company one +should be seen.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_210">[Pg 210]</span></p> + +<p>Dick did not answer for a moment. He was reflecting +upon the fact that his friend had taken her out on several +occasions, and yet he now denounced her as an undesirable +person. Had they quarrelled?</p> + +<p>“Well, old chap, didn’t I tell you something of the sort +long ago?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, but you didn’t tell me all that you might have +done concerning her.”</p> + +<p>“A man never wishes to say hard things about a woman—especially +if she’s pretty,” Dick laughed.</p> + +<p>“Yes, but you might at least have told me what you +knew.”</p> + +<p>“You admired her, my dear fellow, so I left you to find +out for yourself.”</p> + +<p>“She’s a very mysterious young person. What can +have induced her to so closely watch that house in Keppel +Street?”</p> + +<p>“Nothing, except that I explained that that address +was the one given by Grinevitch immediately prior to his +death.”</p> + +<p>“You know Alza well—eh?”</p> + +<p>“I have known her for several years, both here in London +and in Paris. I thought that perhaps, with her +unique knowledge—and it is no doubt unique—she might +assist us in elucidating the reason why Paul Grinevitch +intended so suddenly to travel to London. I therefore +told her the whole of the strange story, as you are quite +well aware. When I had finished, some curious idea +apparently occurred to her, though she would explain +nothing to me. But an hour later she embarked upon a +campaign of vigilant surveillance, which, I presume, she +is pursuing at this moment.”</p> + +<p>“But why?”</p> + +<p>“For her own ends. That’s my firm opinion.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_211">[Pg 211]</span></p> + +<p>“Then she’s not acting in your interests?”</p> + +<p>“Why should she? She has no motive in assisting me. +Yet she may, of course, have a personal motive in entertaining +the suspicion which it is now quite certain she does +entertain.”</p> + +<p>Owen looked at his friend through his glasses with a +glance of distinct suspicion, and went on eating.</p> + +<p>Truth to tell, he had been charmed by the good-looking +young Frenchwoman to whom Dick had introduced him. +He had found her bright and vivacious, and it had been +to him a distinct pleasure to take her out to theatres on +several evenings. But this was before his summons to +Plevna Gardens.</p> + +<p>Why she had been engaged in so closely watching that +dark house in Keppel Street was to him a complete +mystery. She had told him that she had acted on behalf +of her “old friend M’sieur Jervoise,” yet Dick had now +declared that he had no claim upon her whatsoever.</p> + +<p>That curious telegram sent by Paul immediately prior +to his death had, of course, been the subject of inquiry, +at the request of the Christiania police, by Scotland Yard. +But the detective-inspector who had called at Keppel +Street had admitted that he could make out nothing from +the landlord’s reply. It was true that he had received a +telegram from Norway, signed Paul Grinevitch, but as +the name conveyed nothing to him he had kept it a +couple of days, and, hearing nothing further, had destroyed +it, and dismissed his expected arrival from his mind.</p> + +<p>People who let lodgings in London frequently receive +telegrams and letters from people who either change their +minds at the last moment or who do not arrive in the +metropolis after all.</p> + +<p>Thus, when Scotland Yard’s cursory inquiry had failed, +this bright-eyed young Frenchwoman had openly declared +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_212">[Pg 212]</span>her intention of ascertaining the truth. Owen had himself +visited that quiet street at night on more than one occasion, +and, though unnoticed by her, had seen her waiting in the +vicinity patiently watching.</p> + +<p>This action of hers had surprised him. It seemed as +though she was keeping that silent surveillance on Dick’s +behalf.</p> + +<p>Suddenly Owen raised his eyes from his plate, and, +looking straight at his friend, asked:</p> + +<p>“Among your many acquaintances have you ever +known a man named Nicholas Bourtzeff?”</p> + +<p>Dick held his breath. Had Alza told him the truth, he +wondered?</p> + +<p>“Yes,” he admitted. “I don’t know him very intimately. +I met him in Paris once.”</p> + +<p>“With Alza, I suppose?”</p> + +<p>“Why?”</p> + +<p>“Because he is, I hear, a friend of hers.”</p> + +<p>“And who is your informant?”</p> + +<p>“Alza herself.”</p> + +<p>“Well?”</p> + +<p>“The man is an undesirable, is he not?” asked Owen.</p> + +<p>“Perhaps so,” was his friend’s reply. “You see, I +know so very little of him that I can say nothing.”</p> + +<p>“Who is he?”</p> + +<p>“A Russian, as his name implies—a refugee who lives +mostly in Paris, I believe.”</p> + +<p>“Refugee is a synonym for revolutionist. Is he one?”</p> + +<p>“In his case I think it is an exception,” Dick replied. +“As far as I know, his flight from Russia had no connection +whatever with politics. He was persecuted by drastic +police methods, and simply left the country in order to +obtain freedom. Ask any Russian, and he will mention +to you dozens of men who have left the country from the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_213">[Pg 213]</span>same cause. To the public mind every Russian residing +abroad must be either a Nihilist or a spy, which is simply +absurd. In certain of the Governments of the Empire +the police are so utterly unscrupulous in making arrests +nowadays that the better-class people prefer to obviate +disaster by residence abroad.”</p> + +<p>“Then this Bourtzeff is not a revolutionary?” asked +the other quickly.</p> + +<p>“I know nothing against him,” was the other’s quick +response.</p> + +<p>“And what is Alza?”</p> + +<p>“An artist. I daresay she has shown you some of her +water-colours. She often designs covers for some of the +illustrated magazines.”</p> + +<p>“I asked what she is, not what she’s supposed to be.”</p> + +<p>“I repeat—an artist.”</p> + +<p>Owen Odd smiled incredulously, in a manner which +showed Dick that he was aware of something concerning +the girl’s real profession.</p> + +<p>“Is it not a fact,” asked the fair-haired man in pince-nez, +“that a very curious story is told concerning this +Alza Dresler?”</p> + +<p>Dick laughed.</p> + +<p>“Many stories are told of women which are cruel and +untrue,” he declared. “Why, my dear fellow, the penalty +paid by a pretty woman is the scandal talked of her. The +more beautiful the girl the more bitter the gossip.”</p> + +<p>“I know that,” said Owen impatiently. “But, Dick, +I am simply asking you a question. You introduced the +girl to me, and I believed her to be what you represented +her—an artist.”</p> + +<p>“And so she is.”</p> + +<p>“Admitted. But she is something more,” he said. +“I have discovered that a very grave suspicion attaches +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_214">[Pg 214]</span>to her, as being the associate—indeed, the decoy, and at +times the spy, of certain very dangerous characters—a +gang of swindlers well known to the police both in Paris +and London.”</p> + +<p>Dick laughed again, even though his amusement was +forced.</p> + +<p>“My dear fellow,” he cried, “whoever told you that +romantic story?”</p> + +<p>“I was noticed in her company—as a matter of fact at +the Gaiety Theatre—by a sergeant of the Criminal Investigation +Department who lives in Brook Green Road, and +whose wife happens to be a patient of mine. He came +here and warned me against her.”</p> + +<p>Dick suddenly grew thoughtful.</p> + +<p>“What did the detective say? If she’s such a dangerous +character, why didn’t he arrest her?”</p> + +<p>“He had no warrant, I understood. He explained +that she was one of a most dangerous gang of international +thieves, who carry on their clever depredations for the +most part on the Continent.”</p> + +<p>“That’s extremely interesting,” Dick said. “I had +no idea hers was such a romantic story. Personally, I’ve +never met any of these daring friends of hers whom you +mention. What strikes me as curious is that if our little +friend is known, as you declare, she has not been arrested +ere this.”</p> + +<p>“I said, my dear fellow, that grave suspicion attaches +to her. Perhaps there is insufficient evidence for the +French police to demand her extradition.”</p> + +<p>“Didn’t your friend the police officer make any further +explanation?”</p> + +<p>“Well, he did. He stated that about twelve months +ago, when she was in London on the last occasion, she +was with a young Frenchman, named Laurillard, at +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_215">[Pg 215]</span>supper at a small restaurant close to Leicester Square, +when my friend arrested her companion on a warrant +from France, charging him with obtaining a very large +sum by blackmail from a wealthy landowner near Toulon. +The allegation afterwards was that the girl had been used +by the gang as decoy, and that the landowner in question +had proposed marriage to her. The Paris police telegraphed +for Alza’s arrest, but she had already left London.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t believe it!” declared Dick abruptly, pretending +utter unconcern. “Her whereabouts in Paris is well +known. She lives in the Rue Madame, and could be +found almost instantly.”</p> + +<p>“The charge against her was afterwards withdrawn, +I’m told. Her companion, however, is now serving seven +years.”</p> + +<p>“He was one of her associates, I suppose,” Dick remarked +with perfect calmness as he refilled his claret-glass.</p> + +<p>“Of course,” responded Owen. “And a further fact +which I have established is that this man Bourtzeff, +whom she followed so closely, is not a Russian gentleman, +as you suppose, but a very clever criminal who was long +wanted by the police. He was once a member of the +association to which she belongs, but he denounced them +and their doings to Monsieur Hamard, of the Paris police, +and came over to England. She followed, and has discovered +him. She intends mischief—vengeance for the +betrayal of herself and her friends.”</p> + +<p>Dick sat silent. It amazed him that Owen should have +found out so much. What else did he know, he wondered?</p> + +<p>“Now,” added the doctor, “does it not strike you as a +most remarkable coincidence that only one hour before +Paul Grinevitch met his death he should have sent a +mysterious warning to the man Nystrom—who, it has +since been discovered, was a well known criminal wanted +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_216">[Pg 216]</span>for a serious crime—and should also have intended to seek +refuge at that very same house in Keppel Street where +Nicholas Bourtzeff was living in hiding?”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” replied Jervoise in a strange, hard voice, twisting +his cigar in his hand, his eyes fixed upon it. “It is a +problem which seems to admit of no solution.”</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_217">[Pg 217]</span></p> + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_IX_1"> + CHAPTER IX + <br> + <span class="fs80">AN INDISCREET FRIENDSHIP</span> + </h2> +</div> + +<p class="no-indent">“<span class="smcap">Dieu</span>! Why are you here, M’sieur Dick? You are an +imbecile! If you are seen here, in Bournemouth, you may +spoil everything.”</p> + +<p>“It was imperative, Alza, that I should come here,” +Jervoise answered in French. “I have come to give you +warning.”</p> + +<p>“Warning!” cried the good-looking young Frenchwoman. +“Of what, pray?”</p> + +<p>They were seated together in a corner of the winter-garden +of the Royal Bath Hotel at Bournemouth.</p> + +<p>Arriving from London half an hour before, he had +found her lolling lazily in one of the wicker armchairs, +displaying a neat ankle and just a suspicion of finest +<em>lingerie</em> for the admiration of a clean-shaven young fellow +in blue serge, who had the unmistakable bearing of a naval +officer. Dressed with quiet elegance in black, with a big +black hat and some fine sables around her neck, she presented +a very ladylike and refined appearance, her <em>chic</em> +being that of the true Parisienne.</p> + +<p>The meeting was quite unexpected on her part, yet +Dick for the last week, ever since that evening at Owen’s +house, had been endeavouring to trace her whereabouts. +He had hastened next day down into Rutland, only to +discover that she had left for Edinburgh. North he went, +and on making inquiries at the Caledonian Hotel, learnt +that, after a week, she had gone to London, leaving an +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_218">[Pg 218]</span>address at Baron’s Court, Kensington, for letters to be +forwarded. At this address, a house at which she had +lodged on one or two occasions, he had ascertained her +whereabouts at Bournemouth, and had that morning +arrived in order to consult her.</p> + +<p>There were several idlers in the winter-garden, including +an old Anglo-Indian and his wife; therefore Dick suggested +that they might walk out and talk where there were no +eavesdroppers. None who chanced to see that well-dressed +and essentially refined young lady, who always +kept herself aloof from everybody, and who passed her +lonely hours in reading fiction or doing fancy needlework, +would have for one moment guessed that she was actually +what Owen Odd had declared her to be.</p> + +<p>None, indeed, would believe that she was at that watering-place +with a fixed purpose, and that that purpose was +an evil one.</p> + +<p>For the past ten days or so she had been at the hotel, +living there in the name of Duveen, and half the men were +longing to make her acquaintance. But she disregarded +them all, and remained entirely apart from everybody. +The other guests noticed that she seldom went out, but +attributed it to the fact that the weather had turned bitterly +cold, and if she were weak-chested the East winds were +the reverse of beneficial.</p> + +<p>The advent of Dick Jervoise, therefore, surprised those +tea-table gossips, who spent the greater part of the day in +the winter-garden, a kind of great conservatory with +palms, fishponds, and tropical birds. Therefore, Alza, +quick to note any impression upon her neighbours, rose, +fastened her furs, took up her muff, and they both passed +out and down the hill leading towards the pier.</p> + +<p>“Fortunately, he has gone motoring with two men to +Salisbury to-day,” she said as they went along. “Otherwise +I dare not be seen out—especially in your company.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_219">[Pg 219]</span></p> + +<p>“Then Bourtzeff is here—eh?” he asked quickly.</p> + +<p>“Of course—at the Grand. If he were not here I +should not be. I prefer my own Paris, cher M’sieur Dick, +I assure you! This place—ugh!” and she made a wry +face and shuddered.</p> + +<p>Her companion laughed.</p> + +<p>“It must be very dull for you to be so much alone, of +course.”</p> + +<p>“I need not be alone, but unfortunately I cannot afford +to make chance acquaintances. They always have a +habit of turning up just at the moment when one does not +desire them. You know,” was her answer, “I nearly met +with complete disaster once, owing to an indiscreet friendship.”</p> + +<p>“Ah! Alza,” he said as they passed the pier entrance +and continued along the cliffs. “You are an exceedingly +clever woman.”</p> + +<p>“You have more than once made that remark before,” +she replied, smiling, at the same time drawing her furs +closer about her throat; for, though the day was bright, +yet the winter wind was strong and exceedingly cold. +There were few people about, for on such a day visitors +prefer the shelter of the Invalid’s Walk to the rough +wind of the cliffs.</p> + +<p>“I have not come to seek you to pay you compliments, +my dear mademoiselle,” he said seriously when they had +strolled some distance. “As I have already said, I am +here to warn you—to warn you seriously.”</p> + +<p>She turned her dark, luminous eyes towards him, and +with an air of careless merriment exclaimed:</p> + +<p>“Good! Tell me—what’s the danger now?”</p> + +<p>“My friend Odd has discovered who and what you are. +He knows practically everything!”</p> + +<p>She stared at him, a trifle paler, holding her breath.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_220">[Pg 220]</span></p> + +<p>“Then I hope he is interested,” she said briefly.</p> + +<p>“But you do not seem to realise your danger!” he +pointed out. “You were seen in his company, and +recognized by a detective. The officer told him who you +were.”</p> + +<p>She pursed her shapely lips, and twisted her skirt more +tightly about her shapely hips.</p> + +<p>“You think I ought not to remain in England—eh?” +she asked in a hard voice.</p> + +<p>“I certainly think there is a grave peril if you do,” he +said. “Why are you still watching Bourtzeff?”</p> + +<p>“For reasons of my own—personal reasons.”</p> + +<p>“He is your enemy, that I know. But if he discovers +you will he not again turn upon you—as he did once +before?”</p> + +<p>“He will not have a chance,” responded the girl in a +determined tone, still speaking in French. “He gave +information to the Prefecture of Police which sent the +man I love to Cayenne, remember! Because he turned +police informant he fancies himself safe. But he is +unaware of the fate that I—I, Alza Dresler—have marked +out for him!” she cried, her dark eyes flashing with a fire +which plainly showed her hatred.</p> + +<p>“You are safe neither in England nor in France, Alza,” +the man said quietly. “You once did me a great service—one +that I have never forgotten, and have ever thanked +you for. You——”</p> + +<p>“Oh! enough, mon cher Dick!” she declared, interrupting +him and putting up her black-gloved hand to stay his +words. “You forget how deeply I regard you for that +great kindness, that generosity you showed to me. You +could have handed me over to the police, but you let me +go free because I was a woman. I know I’m bad—I +can’t help it! My father was a thief, and, as you know, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_221">[Pg 221]</span>I have lived among thieves all my life. My whole existence +has been one of fraud, subterfuge, and deception. My +friends are the worst and most unscrupulous in all Europe. +I admit it all—all. Yet how can I change it?”</p> + +<p>“I know, mademoiselle,” said Dick in a low, sympathetic +voice. “I entirely understand your position and +appreciate your difficulty. You are an associate of certain +undesirable persons through no fault of your own. +You were born in criminal surroundings, and taught +dishonesty from childhood. Your intelligence has been +sharpened by long association with keen, clever men and +women who live upon their wits, until now you are as +expert as they. You can assume refinement and innocence +so marvellously that your victims become as wax +in your hands. I know it all, mademoiselle, and no one +more regrets your position than I do myself.”</p> + +<p>A serious expression was upon her dark, handsome face. +She had always liked the tall Englishman, always respected +him, and had ever been ready to listen to his advice.</p> + +<p>At that moment there arose before her eyes the recollection +of one day, a few years before, when they had met +at the Hotel du Parc, at Vichy, and a month later at the +Sudbahn Hotel, at Semmering in Austria; of their long +walks together in the mountains, and of the friendship +that sprang up between them. Then, of that fateful +night when, at the instigation of a certain man living in +the hotel, she had managed to step into the little <em>salon</em> +occupied by the pretty French actress, and, on searching, +had discovered the string of fine pearls she was known to +possess.</p> + +<p>Could she ever forget that moment? She had taken +them from their velvet case, and was holding them in her +hand beneath the green-shaded lamp when she heard a +movement behind her, and, turning in alarm, saw the tall +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_222">[Pg 222]</span>Englishman, who happened to be a friend of the actress, +standing there! He knew the truth. He barred her +passage, and charged her with the theft. He had caught +her red-handed! “Mademoiselle,” he said, “I followed +you here, and I have seen you take the pearls. Your +friend is that stout man in spectacles who speaks German, +and who has been here for the past fortnight, yet whom +you have pretended not to know. He is your accomplice. +I have seen you meet in secret. I shall ring, and hand +you over to the police.” His finger was already upon +the electric button near the door, when she had dashed +across, and, flinging herself wildly upon her knees before +him, begged forgiveness—begged his silence, begged his +protection—even though she were a thief.</p> + +<p>In those brief, exciting moments, as they now walked +together, she recollected his hesitation, his deep, earnest, +reproachful words, and how, taking her hand, he had +assisted her to rise. He had taken the pearls from her, +returned them to their case, and, with a generosity she +had seldom found in men, had given her his word of +honour to remain silent.</p> + +<p>The next moment she slipped along the corridor to her +room, and half an hour later faced the actress in the big +<em>salon</em>, smiling as though nothing had happened.</p> + +<p>Her German-speaking friend was already at the station, +on his hurried departure for Vienna, while she, later that +same night, had written a brief note of heartfelt thanks +to the Englishman, and, giving her address in Paris, +promised that if ever he wanted a friend he had but to +write to her. “All my friends are in future your friends,” +she wrote in that note. “We all owe you a deep debt of +gratitude for your generosity towards me.”</p> + +<p>As she walked along that broad, sandy pathway, with +the grey sea stretched deep below, she was wondering if he, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_223">[Pg 223]</span>too, were thinking of the same strange, almost romantic +circumstances—that startling incident which had sealed +their curious friendship.</p> + +<p>Had he denounced her that night, her fat friend, who was +wanted on half a dozen different charges of placing certain +forged bonds into circulation, would have also fallen into +the drag-net of the police. Ugly revelations would, no +doubt, have ended, and the identity of the various members +of that circle of unscrupulous undesirables would +have been exposed.</p> + +<p>As it was, he had urged her to reform. Ah! she recollected +too well those deep, earnest words of his! How +they had rung in her ears ever since. They recurred to +her now. And after that brief but bitter reproach, he +had allowed her to pass out. She owed her liberty to the +silence of Richard Jervoise.</p> + +<p>And now her present visit to England had been at his +request. He had written to her asking her to redeem her +promise, and perform him a service. The same day she +had received his letter she had crossed the Channel, and +next morning called at his flat at Barnes.</p> + +<p>In his own snug den he had told her the story of the +strange death of Paul Grinevitch—a story to which she +had listened with the deepest interest. She had written +down the address in Keppel Street, and, having discovered +that Nicholas Bourtzeff visited the house in question, her +vigilance had never for one instant been relaxed.</p> + +<p>Dick knew that this Russian was her bitterest enemy, +yet it was by no means plain why she should exercise that +constant surveillance upon his movements. That he had +been travelling from place to place was clear from her own +erratic journeys, yet why she should be ever at his heels, +and why she should risk detection and betrayal, as she no +doubt was daily risking, remained to him a complete enigma.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_224">[Pg 224]</span></p> + +<p>“My duty was to come here and warn you, mademoiselle,” +he went on as he strode at her side. “For aught +you know, the police are making inquiries concerning your +whereabouts, now that you have been recognized with +Owen.”</p> + +<p>“And your friend the doctor, of course, believes what +he has been told concerning me,” she remarked very +quietly.</p> + +<p>“Without a doubt. I have tried to cast disbelief upon +the statements of the police officer, but denial in the +circumstances, is, as you see, rather difficult.”</p> + +<p>“You need not deny it, M’sieur Jervoise,” she answered +in a low, bitter voice. “One day, ere long, I know I must +find myself under arrest. I have had many narrow escapes +in my career; therefore I can’t always hope for success.” +And she smiled sadly, looking into his grave eyes.</p> + +<p>“But why run this risk?” he cried. “Surely it is unnecessary? +Why not slip away to Germany, Holland, +Denmark—anywhere save here and in France?”</p> + +<p>She was silent for a few moments. Then, halting and +turning her eyes to his, she said in a calm, thoughtful +tone:</p> + +<p>“M’sieur Dick! Did you not ask me to perform for +you a service? You love the Norwegian lady, Thyra. +Is not that so? Tell me the truth.”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” he stammered after a brief pause, the colour +rising to his face. “I do not hide the truth from you—my +friend. Why should I? I love her.”</p> + +<p>“Then if you do,” she answered quickly, “if you do—then +please allow me to remain here—and act in your +interests. I am your friend, as you have declared—your +sincere friend, M’sieur Dick, and one who owes her +liberty to you!”</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_225">[Pg 225]</span></p> + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_X_1"> + CHAPTER X + <br> + <span class="fs80">A CURIOUS TRUTH</span> + </h2> +</div> + +<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap">The</span> pair had walked on beyond Alum Chine, towards +Canford Cliffs.</p> + +<p>For a long time the man had remained silent, while his +well-dressed companion, holding her skirts daintily with +one hand, her sable muff swinging in the other, strolled at +his side.</p> + +<p>When in those warm summer days she had first met +him, in that smart hotel in Vichy, she had admired him +with an admiration almost akin to affection. But she +had discovered that his heart belonged to that pretty +French singer whom she had followed to Semmering, and +whose pearls she had, at the instigation of her friends, +attempted to secure.</p> + +<p>That theft had, she had afterwards admitted to herself, +been prompted a good deal by jealousy, for she saw the +singer constantly in the Englishman’s company, and had +been told that they were lovers.</p> + +<p>The woman was beautiful, it was true. Her photographs +were constantly appearing in the illustrated Press. +She was the idol of Paris, where she reigned as queen of +the variety stage, while in winter she lived in her pretty +white villa on those sheltered, olive-clad slopes above +Beaulieu—that quietest and most lovely spot on the whole +of the Cote d’Azur.</p> + +<p>More than once, indeed, Alza had shed silent tears +because of the Englishman’s infatuation for this woman. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_226">[Pg 226]</span>But she had always hidden the secret of her heart. She +had hidden it until now.</p> + +<p>He had told her—confessed to her—that he loved Thyra.</p> + +<p>What had really occurred on that afternoon in Christiania +puzzled her, and at the same time aroused her +suspicion. She knew too well that Paul Grinevitch and +Richard Jervoise were bitter enemies. Had not Grinevitch +arrived suddenly at Semmering, and had she not +overheard the quarrel between them, from which she had +learnt to her surprise that they were rivals for the hand of +the pretty French singer?</p> + +<p>What had occurred afterwards she knew not. The +young Russian had left suddenly for Italy next morning, +while the singer still remained in her apartments. Six +months later she had heard a strange story, which she +could hardly believe. But Love is a purblind, and Justice +a squinting deity.</p> + +<p>It seemed that the two men had, by a strange vagary +of circumstance, again become rivals for the hand of the +same woman. Grinevitch had died. What more natural +than by the hand of the tall Englishman?</p> + +<p>That thought had occurred to her more than once. +Yet her suspicion was not confirmed by the confession her +friend had made regarding his love for the fair-haired +Norwegian.</p> + +<p>“Alza,” he exclaimed at last, “I do urge you to have a +care of yourself. If Bourtzeff discovers you he will certainly +seek to protect himself.”</p> + +<p>“He is your friend, M’sieur Dick,” she pointed out. +“He knows that you allowed him to escape from Semmering, +where he was posing as Professor Max Krause of +Cologne, and has more than once referred to your generosity +to us both.”</p> + +<p>“That does not alter his attitude towards you, mademoiselle. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_227">[Pg 227]</span>He has already turned police informant, and at any +moment he may denounce you. I suppose, if he chose, he +could make some revelations—eh?”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” sighed the girl, “ugly ones. I have been, nay, +am still, their catspaw, as you know.”</p> + +<p>“Because of your good looks,” he remarked quietly. +“Men admire you, and——”</p> + +<p>“And afterwards regret the folly of falling in love with +me,” she added bitterly in French, at the same time +sighing. “Ah, M’sieur Dick! How can I help it—how +can I avoid it? They hold me in bondage—a bondage +from which I can never free myself.”</p> + +<p>“Except by reforming—by becoming an honest woman,” +he suggested very quietly.</p> + +<p>“An honest woman,” she echoed, her gaze fixed blankly +upon the grey, wintry sea, her oval, purely French face +pale and drawn. “How can I ever become that? So +habituated am I to a life of movement and excitement +that I could never exist without it.”</p> + +<p>“Unless you loved a man, and became his wife.”</p> + +<p>“And who, pray, would ever love me, or would respect +me if they knew the truth concerning my past?” she cried. +“No, M’sieur Dick, that is impossible—quite out of the +question. I may love, but I can never be loved in return. +My future is hopeless—only shame and imprisonment. +I know it. Therefore I make the best of my liberty while +I may. Ah!” she went on, “you do not know how full of +subterfuge and adventure is my life; how, sometimes, I +meet unexpectedly men who have much bitter cause to +recollect the day when they declared their love to me. +Sometimes I am threatened with exposure and prosecution; +I am upbraided and cursed by those who have fallen +victims of those heartless blackguards who, speaking a +dozen languages and travelling everywhere, direct my +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_228">[Pg 228]</span>actions. Yet I am defiant, even though at heart I am +full of compassion, of compunction and regret.”</p> + +<p>“I know, Alza,” he said, still sympathetically. “Your +position is a tragic and regrettable one. You are a thief +and an adventuress against your will, against your better +nature. Your father was a thief, and you were trained to +be one from your early youth. Not a woman in all London, +or in all Paris, is cleverer than you. You can gauge +a man’s intellect and read his thoughts, and you can +exercise over him a power almost hypnotic. I know it—I +have seen it. And I know how, to you, reform and +honesty must seem well-nigh impossible.”</p> + +<p>“I loved—once,” she exclaimed hoarsely, “you know.”</p> + +<p>“Victor Laurillard.”</p> + +<p>“Yes—the man who, through Nicholas Bourtzeff, is +now at hard labour in Cayenne because, at Bourtzeff’s +own direction, he assisted me!” she said hoarsely. “I +dare not appear at the Assize Court of the Seine to give +evidence in his defence.”</p> + +<p>“But why did Bourtzeff treat you thus? At Semmering +all his craft and cunning were directed towards assisting +you. From what you afterwards told me, I understood that +the operations of the association of criminals were directed +by a man named Enderlein and himself.”</p> + +<p>“So they were. But Bourtzeff quarrelled with Enderlein—who +is a landowner and lives unsuspected on his +estate near Cochen, on the Moselle. The disagreement +arose over the divisions of the proceeds of a big hotel +robbery at Cannes. Victor took sides with Enderlein, +with the result that Bourtzeff severed himself from us and +gave information to the police. Poor Victor was arrested +for an affair at Toulon, and condemned. And on the +night of his sentence Bourtzeff came to my studio and +laughed in my face. I swore vengeance,” she added, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_229">[Pg 229]</span>with clenched hands, “and I am here in England for that +purpose!”</p> + +<p>“But are you perfectly confident of your own power?” +asked Dick seriously, fixing his eyes upon the girl, who, +though an adventuress, was nevertheless his friend.</p> + +<p>“If I go to prison he will go also,” she responded. “He +is ignorant of the true extent of my knowledge.”</p> + +<p>Jervoise was silent for a few moments. They had +nearly arrived at the new hotel on the summit of the +Canford Cliffs.</p> + +<p>“And as regards the connection of Grinevitch with this +man?” he asked presently. “What is your surmise?”</p> + +<p>She looked at him quickly. The mention of Paul’s +name reawakened all those terrible suspicions within her +heart.</p> + +<p>“How can I surmise anything?” she stammered, in an +endeavour to evade his question.</p> + +<p>“What connection had Grinevitch with Bourtzeff?” +he asked.</p> + +<p>“They were both Russian,” she said, “and they were +friends.”</p> + +<p>“How do you know that?”</p> + +<p>“Because, when Grinevitch arrived at Semmering, +Bourtzeff recognised him in the hotel garden, and coming +to me quickly declared that neither of us must be seen. +Don’t you recollect that we both suddenly disappeared +from the hotel, and were absent four or five days? He +evidently did not wish to meet the new arrival.”</p> + +<p>“It seems much as though Grinevitch had made his +peace with Bourtzeff, and intended to join him.”</p> + +<p>“Certainly. That is my theory.”</p> + +<p>“You have no knowledge of the relations which previously +existed between the two men?” asked Jervoise, recollecting +how vigilant had been her watch upon the house +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_230">[Pg 230]</span>in Keppel Street, and how, from the first moment, she had +been ready to assist him in prosecuting his inquiry.</p> + +<p>She hesitated. On her part she was still suspicious that +the story he had told her regarding the events in Christiania +was not exactly the correct one. He loved Thyra, +and had been the bitter enemy of Grinevitch.</p> + +<p>Alza Dresler was a girl of exceptionally keen intellect. +To practise any deception upon her was, indeed, difficult, +for her own life was wholly a fraud and a deception. In +Dick’s story she had from the very first recognised a flaw. +He had not told her everything, and that fact piqued her; +for was she not his friend, was she not acting wholly and +entirely in his interests, acting in disregard of her own +peril, performing for him a service in return for his own +generosity when he had caught her a thief red-handed?</p> + +<p>“Bourtzeff was evidently in fear lest your friend should +recognise him,” the girl remarked at last. Then, when +they paused together in their walk a few moments later, +she turned her eyes to his again, saying:</p> + +<p>“You were very devoted to Helene Marquet in those +days, M’sieur Dick. What happened afterwards? She +no longer sings her song, ‘Ma Fanchonnette,’ I suppose? +Do you remember how fond you were of it?”</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent4">“Ma Fanchonnette,</div> + <div class="verse indent4">Svelte et simplette.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Revets tes atours gracieux;</div> + <div class="verse indent6">A la folie,</div> + <div class="verse indent6">Fais-toi jolie,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Et le charme de tous les yeux.”</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p>And she glanced again into her companion’s troubled +face.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_231">[Pg 231]</span></p> + +<p>“Yes,” he answered, in a thick, husky voice. “I remember, +alas! I remember only too well.”</p> + +<p>“And you are recollecting—as I, alas! am recollecting—those +moments when you found me in her salon,” she +said, in a slow, pensive voice.</p> + +<p>“No, Alza; I am not,” he protested. “No. That is a +memory long past and forgotten. I am thinking of +something else—of what happened afterwards.”</p> + +<p>“And what did happen?” she inquired, recognising from +his drawn features that whatever was the memory it was +a painful one. “I know that you and Paul Grinevitch +were rivals in Helene’s affections.”</p> + +<p>He started, staring at her.</p> + +<p>“How did you know that?” he gasped.</p> + +<p>“I overheard your quarrel in the hotel on the day I +returned,” she answered frankly.</p> + +<p>He stood rigid, as though turned to stone. Even she, +the woman criminal and a thief though she be, had become +suspicious—she was reading in his eyes the tragic truth!</p> + +<p>“Where is Helene?” repeated the girl, without affecting +to notice his agitation.</p> + +<p>“Surely you know? Why ask me?” he protested in +the same hoarse voice.</p> + +<p>“I do not know. I have never seen her since you and +she left Semmering.”</p> + +<p>He was silent, his face turned to the low-lying coast +across Poole Harbour.</p> + +<p>“Helene is dead,” he answered in a low tone scarce +above a whisper.</p> + +<p>“Dead!”</p> + +<p>“Ah! yes, Alza!” he cried despairingly. “You knew +her—you knew that she was once my dearest friend; +therefore you may know the end. That winter she went +to her villa on the hillside at Beaulieu, while I lived at the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_232">[Pg 232]</span>Bristol, down on the bay. She went there to rest, prior to +fulfilling an engagement in New York. Well—how shall +I explain it? Paul Grinevitch came unexpectedly, and +lied to her about me, as he had lied before. In consequence +I was dismissed. She, to whom I was devoted, gave me +my <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">conge</i>, and Paul usurped my place in her affections. +He proved heartless and cruel, like all his race, who would +rule their women with the knout. I know it, for she +wrote me a pitiful letter of farewell, and in it told me the +painful truth. I have that letter now, Alza,” he added, +looking straight at the girl who stood facing him. “The +hand that penned it was, half an hour later, lifeless! +She took her own life with chloral, because Grinevitch—the +accursed blackguard that he was—had wrecked her +life and afterwards deserted her!”</p> + +<p>“And that man,” remarked the girl in a slow voice, full +of hidden meaning, “has received his deserts! The debt +is paid!”</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_233">[Pg 233]</span></p> + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XI_1"> + CHAPTER XI + <br> + <span class="fs80">ON THE RIPLEY ROAD</span> + </h2> +</div> + +<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap">Owen Odd</span> worked hard through the early part of March, +for it was his busiest season. An epidemic of influenza +had again broken out, and in all the districts of the metropolitan +area that of Hammersmith was the most affected.</p> + +<p>Therefore, being out both night and day, he saw but +little of Dick, who, seated in his high-up flat on the +opposite side of the long suspension bridge, pursued his +studies.</p> + +<p>He ran up to Perthshire for a fortnight’s curling, and +to play in a match on Corsbreck, but returned earlier +than he intended, for Thyra was still in London, and he +longed to be again beside her.</p> + +<p>Their constant association constituted in itself a grave +danger. They were both only too well aware of that. +Yet somehow there existed a magnetic attraction which +drew them towards each other. Those grey eyes held +him in fascination now just as they had done on the first +evening they had met.</p> + +<p>Whatever suspicions had been aroused in the mind of +Jorgen Berentsen by Peter Sundt had apparently been +allayed by Dick’s frank, open manner. Only Jorgen +knew of Sundt’s presence in London. The man, living +at his ease in the best suite at the Ritz, had extracted a +solemn promise from Jorgen to tell no one of his whereabouts, +hinting as the reason that in the City were some +busy speculators who were worrying him to sell his fishing +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_234">[Pg 234]</span>interests in the north to a public company; and who, if +they knew him to be in London, would allow him no peace.</p> + +<p>Hence, old Jorgen kept the secret, and had not even +told his widowed daughter.</p> + +<p>There being a spell of dry, frosty weather, Dick had on +a good many occasions hired a motor car, and taken Thyra +and her father for runs to various places around London, +such as Hitchin, St. Albans, Chelmsford, Guilford, and +down to the Metropole at Brighton.</p> + +<p>To the girl-widow, who had spent most of her days in +the bleak Arctic, motoring along those country roads was +a new sensation in which she delighted. Hitherto her +only experience had been that of taxi-cabs, but in a +“forty” the run was so much more exciting and exhilarating.</p> + +<p>The old whaler, too, grew fond of travelling by car, and +many pleasant days they thus passed together. Father +and daughter had decided to remain on in London until +the warmer weather, the old fellow having obtained further +leave of absence from his post as harbour-master.</p> + +<p>The character of the mysterious “business” upon which +he was so often absent from Talbot Road was never +revealed. The truth was, however, that, aided by Sundt, +both financially and otherwise, he was making diligent +inquiries in Russia concerning the antecedents of Paul +Grinevitch.</p> + +<p>Peter had telegraphed to his agent at St. Petersburg, +and in consequence the man had duly arrived at the Ritz. +Then, after several interviews, at which Jorgen was +present, the Russian had received instructions to proceed +to Tula, Kiev, and other places, and make inquiries. +The result of these both men were now awaiting.</p> + +<p>Notwithstanding the grave suspicion cast upon Richard +Jervoise by Peter, the old captain, nevertheless, liked him. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_235">[Pg 235]</span>He had taken to him from the very first day when Martin +had introduced him at Vardo.</p> + +<p>On several occasions, when he had arrived at Talbot +Road with the car, Dick had found that the Captain was +unavoidably absent “on business,” but Thyra was always +there to welcome him warmly. Of late she had, it seemed, +grown fonder of his company than hitherto, though at +times he was quick to notice the slightly thoughtful frown +which clouded her white brow.</p> + +<p>One morning, when he called with the car, and found +the Captain out, he proposed that they should wait till +his return after luncheon. But she pointed out that it +would be too late to go for a run of any length, and suggested +that they should travel down to Guilford and +lunch together at the inn where they had lunched a week +previously.</p> + +<p>This they did, going by way of Kingston and Ripley, +duly arriving at the inn, where they had a pleasant <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">tete-a-tete</i> +meal, no one else happening to be present.</p> + +<p>After a few sentences on indifferent matters when the +waiter had left, the pair had fallen silent. They exchanged +glances, but Thyra spoke within herself, as was +her habit, and made note of a sudden and sad discovery. +Dick was changed! No; this time it really was not mere +fancy! He was changed.</p> + +<p>She became puzzled. What could it mean? She held +her breath when she recollected all the past—that bitter, +never-to-be-forgotten past.</p> + +<p>She sighed for that free life at Vardo, with the fresh +wind from the ice-pack, those rolling, open seas, and the +brilliant Northern lights that so often lit the sky. Ah, +how happy was her life there! How very different from +that stifled existence on a drawing-room floor at Bayswater.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_236">[Pg 236]</span></p> + +<p>And yet? She looked into her companion’s face, and +her gaze wavered. And yet, alas! there was that bond +which she could not now break!</p> + +<p>He was proposing to take her father and herself to a +play at the Garrick on the following evening. But she +said, almost mechanically:</p> + +<p>“Is it wise? Remember that you should not be seen +with me so much! You never know who may be watching.”</p> + +<p>He laughed—a scoffing laugh that was new to him. +He was scornful. Was it of herself?</p> + +<p>Fancies! Folly! Peril!</p> + +<p>“My dear Thyra,” he said, “you are so full of apprehension. +What have we to fear? Our secret is surely +safe—as it always will be.”</p> + +<p>And he looked at her again with that strange, unusual +gaze that caused her to shudder.</p> + +<p>Half an hour later they were seated together in the +closed car travelling back over that well-kept, open road +towards Ripley.</p> + +<p>Yes. He was changed, she thought, as she sat at his +side, gazing at the ever-winding road and bare trees rising +straight before her.</p> + +<p>She had noticed how his expression had transformed. +A woman is always quick to read a man’s face, and certainly +she was no exception. Something gloomy, something +deprecating, had come into his eyes. Had he really +lost faith in her?</p> + +<p>To remove all vestige of her fear she spoke to him again, +a smile in her great grey eyes as they fell upon his. Her +heart thumped wildly, for he did not answer. He remained +plunged in thought, his mouth hard and rigid, +still regarding her fixedly.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Jervoise!” she exclaimed, as her gloved hand +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_237">[Pg 237]</span>involuntarily fell upon his and an unexplained anxiety +took possession of her. It was about as bad as the inexpressible +terror of that night after the sudden discovery +of her widowhood. “Speak to me,” she urged. “What’s +the matter? At the inn you were defiant and scornful, +yet now you seem just as full of apprehension as I am.”</p> + +<p>“I was thinking,” he said, his eyes fixed upon hers. +“Nothing,” he added. “Don’t be alarmed.”</p> + +<p>“But——”</p> + +<p>She did not conclude her sentence. The car roared on +through the grey, threatening afternoon, and with a +sudden swerve sped through the village street of Ripley +and out again into the country roads.</p> + +<p>“Why do you ask?” he murmured at last. His voice +was hardly a breath, but a breath in which Thyra felt +the raging of a storm of resentment.</p> + +<p>Again she was afraid.</p> + +<p>She now became conscious of a mysterious transformation. +Only a day, nay, only an hour, previously it was +her own soul which had escaped that of Richard Jervoise, +hiding itself behind a world of littleness, of vanity, of +vain desires and ambitions; now, on the contrary, it was +his soul which some occult, unseen, but violent, force was +trying to wrest away from her. She attempted to fathom +the mystery. It was weird and inexplicable.</p> + +<p>What is it? she asked herself. Does he mistrust—is he +afraid of me? Why is this?</p> + +<p>“Thyra,” he said at last, “you must explain to me +what you intend to do. You seem mysterious to-day.”</p> + +<p>“As soon as my father is ready we go back to Vardo,” +she answered quite simply.</p> + +<p>“Without further thought of me—eh?” he asked in a +voice of reproach.</p> + +<p>“I did not say that. I shall always remember you as a +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_238">[Pg 238]</span>very kind and very dear friend of my father and myself,” +she faltered, not quite understanding the drift of his +conversation. The car roared on.</p> + +<p>“Nothing else?” he asked hoarsely, his eyes fixed upon +hers.</p> + +<p>Again she was silent. What, indeed, could she say?</p> + +<p>He repeated his question in a low, intense voice.</p> + +<p>“You know already,” was her answer at last.</p> + +<p>“I don’t—I don’t understand,” he exclaimed.</p> + +<p>But he could get no word from her lips. There was a +whole gulf between them, an immense expanse of cold, +colourless water, perfidiously silent, like that of the broad +lake along the edge of which the car was at that moment +travelling.</p> + +<p>“Thyra,” he exclaimed suddenly, after another long +silence, “yesterday, as I was leaving the club, I saw a +friend of your father’s coming down St. James’s Street +in a hansom.”</p> + +<p>“A friend of my father’s?” she echoed. “Whom?”</p> + +<p>“That stout, red-faced man to whom I was introduced +in your house,” he replied.</p> + +<p>“What, Peter Sundt!” she cried. “Why, he cannot +possibly be in London. He’s always at his villa at Ragusa +all the winter!”</p> + +<p>“I’m quite certain it was the man. One cannot forget +a pimply face like his!” he laughed lightly.</p> + +<p>“No,” she declared. “But are you quite certain you +were not mistaken?”</p> + +<p>“Absolutely.”</p> + +<p>“Then,” she said reflectively, “if he really is in London, +my father’s mysterious absences on business are easily +accounted for. He goes to see him.”</p> + +<p>“Why?”</p> + +<p>Her breast heaved slowly, and fell.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_239">[Pg 239]</span></p> + +<p>“Well—I believe there is some secret between them. +I’ve thought so for months past. When you met him at +Vardo he had come up there expressly to consult my father +upon some point. They held several long consultations +in private.”</p> + +<p>“What is the nature of their secret, do you imagine?”</p> + +<p>“How can I tell? Except——” And she hesitated, a +slight flush rising upon her pale cheeks.</p> + +<p>“Except what?”</p> + +<p>“Well,” she faltered, when he had repeated his question, +“the secret is mine alone. The fact is that we had met +in Christiania before I left school, and I had been invited +to a garden fete he had given. My father and he being +very old friends, he used to send me pretty presents at +Christmas and on my birthday.”</p> + +<p>“Well?”</p> + +<p>She was again silent. The car, with horn sounding ever +and anon, was rushing onward towards London.</p> + +<p>“About a year ago he came to Vardo on his yacht, and +stayed with us for several days,” was her reply. “One +afternoon, when we were out together walking, he took +my hand, and—and he declared that he loved me; and, +despite the great difference of our ages, that if I would +consent he would make me his wife.”</p> + +<p>“That man?” Dick gasped, staring at her in surprise. +“He proposed to you?”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” she answered blankly. “It was only a week +before I met Paul. I told him frankly that I could never +marry a man whom I did not love. But he refused to +take my refusal for an answer, and said he hoped that I +would reconsider my decision. With the pride of the +parvenu he pointed out to me the social position I might +occupy, and the means that would be at my command, +if only I became his wife. And further, he promised that +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_240">[Pg 240]</span>on my marriage he would place to my father’s credit +such an amount that would secure for him a competency, +so as to allow him to resign his appointment at Vardo and +come to live somewhere in the south.”</p> + +<p>“In fact, he wished your father to sell you to him just +as though you were a barrel of cod-liver oil—eh?” he +asked grimly.</p> + +<p>“Yes—almost,” she laughed uneasily.</p> + +<p>“Was your father aware of this?” Dick quickly asked.</p> + +<p>“I told him. But he only replied that he would never +wish to influence me in any way regarding my marriage, +and urged me not to marry until I could honestly love. +But——”</p> + +<p>“Well?”</p> + +<p>“My surmise is that the secret between Peter and my +father is still in regard to my marriage—as it has always +been,” she replied in a strange voice.</p> + +<p>“You think, then, that this rough, red-faced fisherman +still desires to marry you?” asked Dick, with quick +resentment.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” she answered very slowly. “Though my +father has never once referred to the subject since, I +somehow entertain a vague suspicion that Peter has again +approached him upon the subject. Marriage with that +man, with his fine house in Christiania, his villa on the +Adriatic, and his immense wealth, would be regarded by +the world as a splendid match I suppose,” she added, +laughing bitterly.</p> + +<p>“But you surely will never marry him, Thyra!” he +urged earnestly, taking her hand tenderly in his. “You +do not love him—do you?”</p> + +<p>“I do not,” was her prompt answer, as with a sudden +movement she pushed her hair back from her brow, as +though its weight oppressed her. “But who knows what +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_241">[Pg 241]</span>the future may bring?” and she stared at the white, winding +road before her.</p> + +<p>“It will bring you happiness, I hope.”</p> + +<p>“Happiness!” she echoed hoarsely. “I married for +love, alas!—for happiness! But what did I receive in +return? Ah! <em>You!</em>” she cried, staring at him, and +suddenly drawing herself away from his contact in repulsion. +“You—you speak to me of happiness—<em>you</em>—of all +men!”</p> + +<p>And, unable to restrain herself longer, she burst into a +flood of bitter tears.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_242">[Pg 242]</span></p> + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XII_1"> + CHAPTER XII + <br> + <span class="fs80">A HAMMERSMITH HERO</span> + </h2> +</div> + +<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap">Owen Odd’s</span> time seemed to him more occupied than +ever since his summons to Plevna Gardens that winter’s +night. His practice was a large, if not a very remunerative, +one, and the patients, though they did not expect to +be charged large fees, looked for as much attention as if +they paid in guineas instead of shillings. Dr. Maureward’s +assistant was not one to neglect his duties; he was +as attentive and considerate to the cases where the fees +were very doubtful as to those where he knew the bill had +only to be sent in to be paid at once.</p> + +<p>For one thing, it was his nature to do with all his might +what his hands found to do; and, beyond this, there was an +incident in his past that was ever present to his mind +emphasising the dangers of duty neglected.</p> + +<p>From the time of his becoming assistant to the Hammersmith +practitioner he had never found much time that he +could honestly call his own in which to mix with such +friends as he had in London. Now that small circle was +enlarged by the occupants of the second floor flat at No. 2, +Plevna Gardens, he was not inclined to forego the pleasure +their society gave him.</p> + +<p>His professional calls there had been followed by others +of a purely social nature. Both the major and his daughter +had pressed him to come in when he could spare the +time in an evening, and smoke a pipe and have a chat +without any ceremony—invitations which he was only too +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_243">[Pg 243]</span>ready to accept, though it entailed more strenuous work +earlier in the day to obtain the necessary leisure.</p> + +<p>On further acquaintance Owen had found the major a +most interesting and amusing companion, well read and +broad-minded, with whom it was a pleasure to converse, +and his stories of his Indian life and adventures, in which +his daughter, Amy, would often join, were always worth +listening to; so that those evenings, when the young +doctor, having worked at high pressure for the greater +part of the day, found himself free for an hour or two, were +red-letter ones in his calendar.</p> + +<p>But Owen did not try to beguile himself into the belief +that it was the major’s society alone that drew him to +Plevna Gardens. There was a greater attraction than +the old soldier’s stories, good as they were.</p> + +<p>Amy Gordon, the Madame Juliette of the West End, +had taken up an all-absorbing position in his life and +thoughts.</p> + +<p>He loved this beautiful girl with all the passion of his +nature. Since that first evening she had been the one +woman in the whole world for him. She had come into +his life in such an extraordinary and mysterious way, in a +way that even she herself could not account for, that he +saw in their acquaintance something more than lay upon +the surface. That it was preordained he had not a shadow +of a doubt, and he read in the fact a happy issue to what +at the outset was nothing more than a professional call. +But at the moment he did not see how this was to come +about. He was a poor man, with nothing, as far as he +knew, save his work to depend upon; and in his present +position that did not promise much. The post of assistant +in a second-rate practice never meant affluence; and, +beyond that, Amy Gordon was making money fast, and +he was not one to marry—as the saying is—for money: he +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_244">[Pg 244]</span>would scorn to be a hanger-on to his wife. No, when he +married he must have an income equal to that of the +woman he sought as his life-long companion. But for the +moment he could afford to let matters drift. Outwardly +they were only acquaintances, and, as far as he could see, +Amy regarded him as nothing more.</p> + +<p>She always seemed pleased to see him, and, as visit +followed visit, grew to treat him more and more as a +friend; but at times there was something in her manner +that he could not fathom. She might be talking to him +in the most natural and unconcerned way, and then +suddenly she would become utterly absent and oblivious +of the present, with her gaze fixed on space, and deaf to +any remark he might make.</p> + +<p>He could not help noticing this only occurred in connection +with himself, and he one day taxed her with the +fact.</p> + +<p>“Is that so, doctor? I’m very rude, I’m afraid; but +you must forgive me. I can’t help myself. It is the +result of my life in India, I expect. At times my thoughts +seem to escape me, and wander off in a manner that I +cannot control.”</p> + +<p>“But this is never the case when you are talking to the +major; it is only with respect to me.”</p> + +<p>“Really? Doctor Odd, you must see I am not as other +girls; there is something strange about me. No, no; it is +so,” as Owen made a deprecatory movement. “I think I +have told you before there are many things about myself +that puzzle me. I seem to possess a second nature, over +which I can exercise no control. It is something altogether +beyond me, and I can merely obey.”</p> + +<p>“If I might give you my professional opinion, I should +say you were working too hard up at Bond Street, and +required rest and a change. You are threatened with +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_245">[Pg 245]</span>nerves, Miss Gordon. And nerves are nasty things when +they are thwarted or ignored.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, a change would be nice, no doubt, but it is out of +the question just now, with the season in full swing and +one’s waiting-room crowded. No, I must wait a little +time for that.”</p> + +<p>“Then all I can say is, get as much rest as you can, +Miss Gordon, together with outdoor exercise. There’s +nothing like fresh air, after all.” And the major returning +to the room just then the conversation took a different turn.</p> + +<p>It was shortly after this, as Owen was returning one +evening from visiting a patient in New Street, near the +Creek, that the laughter and shouts of some children +playing on the muddy, shelving bank of the river attracted +his notice, and he stopped to watch them. Not that he +could see much—the night was closing in, and objects in +the distance were becoming indistinct. His outdoor work +was over for the day, and taking his case from his pocket +he committed the unprofessional act of lighting a cigarette. +He stood there, lazily smoking, when in a moment the tone +of the shouting changed from merriment to horror and +dismay, and he became aware of a small form rushing +towards him, bawling something he could not catch, and +pointing towards the knot of youngsters lower down.</p> + +<p>“What’s the matter, Tommy?” asked Owen, laying +his hand on the boy’s shoulder as he passed and stopping +him.</p> + +<p>“Jem Blain’s in the water, and drowning,” screamed +the boy; and would have rushed on if Owen had not detained +him. “’Ere, leave go, will yer? I’m going to +tell his mother,” with a further struggle to get free.</p> + +<p>“Where is he? Can you see him?” And Owen hurried +down to the lad’s companions at the water edge as his +informant dashed off into the gloom.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_246">[Pg 246]</span></p> + +<p>The tide was running out fast, and some twenty yards +from the shore the doctor could just make out something +on the surface of the river, but the next moment it had +disappeared.</p> + +<p>“There he is! There he is! He’s been down once +already, and he can’t swim.” And the boys moved along +the mud bank as the object was carried down towards +the bridge.</p> + +<p>Owen recognised that there was not a moment to delay—it +was a case of life or death within the next minute or +two; and, tearing off his coat and waistcoat as he ran, he +dashed into the river somewhat in advance of the drowning +lad, hoping to be able to get far enough to intercept him +as he passed.</p> + +<p>He was a good swimmer, but he soon found that, +weighted with the thick clothes he was wearing, he had no +easy task before him. Striking out as rapidly as he was +able, he reached the spot he had made for, only to see the +boy for a moment through the gloom some four or five +yards from him, nearer the center of the river. And then +it was only an arm and hand that caught his eye; the rest +of the small body was submerged.</p> + +<p>And now it became a race, muscle against tide, and the +owner of the muscle <em>meant</em> to win.</p> + +<p>During the next few moments Owen experienced all +the fascination that is felt by those engaged in a great +struggle in which determination comes to their aid. He +had often fought death before, but it had been in a quieter, +though not less determined, manner. Then there had been +waiting, watching, and expectation. Now all this was +compressed in one gigantic effort—all he could do must be +done at once, or it would be useless. Death had got his +grasp on his victim, and unless he could tear him from his +grip before his fingers tightened his opponent must prevail.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_247">[Pg 247]</span></p> + +<p>Owen swam as he had never swum before. Every +ounce of his strength and willpower he put into his strokes. +He <em>would</em> win, he would not be beaten. The boy’s life +was not so much to him—he hardly thought of that as a +life—it was the act of snatching it from destruction that +filled his mind through those moments of intense concentration.</p> + +<p>He was gaining. There was little to guide him now. +All had disappeared save one small hand.</p> + +<p>Half a dozen strokes and he would be up to it. He felt +he had the strength of three men as he cut through the +muddy tide.</p> + +<p>He had been swimming on his side, using the powerful +overhead stroke, and now he turned his head to grasp his +prize.</p> + +<p>The hand had disappeared. There was nothing before +him but the rippled surface of the river. He was too +late, after all.</p> + +<p>“He’s just in front of yer, master. He’s gone under. +Can’t yer grab him?” came the shout from the bank from +the drowning lad’s companions.</p> + +<p>Owen’s breath was almost gone, swimming as he had +been had taxed him to the uttermost; but he was not +beaten yet. Taking a long breath, he dived. He could +see nothing beneath the surface—the light was too dim +and the water too thick. But if the sense of sight failed +he still retained that of touch, and he had not progressed +more than a couple of yards when he felt something in +contact with his hand. He grabbed it, and, coming to +the surface, dragged it with him.</p> + +<p>As he shook the water from his eyes he could have +shouted, had breath remained, in exultation. He had +got the boy!</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_248">[Pg 248]</span></p> + +<p>For the moment victory was with him, but the struggle +was not over yet.</p> + +<p>The tide was running strongly, and each moment drew +him farther from the shore. It was useless to attempt to +fight his way back—he had not the strength. All he +could do was to keep himself and his prize above water. +Fortunately, the boy was unconscious, and did not struggle. +He held him as he had learnt to hold a rescued person in +the old days of his swimming instruction, and trod water, +suffering himself to be carried on by the tide, and reserving +his strength as much as possible.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile the shouts of the boys on the bank had +given notice that something was amiss, and attention had +been called to the river, so that by the time Owen and his +burden drew near the bridge at Hammersmith a fringe of +excited watchers lined the up-river side, peering into the +gloom in the hope of catching sight of rescued and rescuer; +and as a small dark object could be made out, to all +appearance helplessly floating on the surface, a mighty +cheer went up. At the same time a boat shot out from +the shadows on the Middlesex side.</p> + +<p>That cheer reached the ears of the swimmer and infused +new courage through his weary limbs. He had been +feeling he could not hold out much longer. He was +chilled to the bone, and his legs and arms felt like lead; +his grasp on his prize was relaxing. But now he knew his +position was seen and that help was at hand.</p> + +<p>He would <em>not</em> give in. Life was worth a further struggle. +And during those dark moments the face of Amy Gordon +seemed to smile on him through the gloom, and he felt +brave and confident once more.</p> + +<p>But it was the final effort. The will was there, but the +body was weak. It had been taxed to the uttermost, and +could do no more.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_249">[Pg 249]</span></p> + +<p>Again he felt the remains of his strength vanishing, and +this time he knew it would not return.</p> + +<p>“Keep up! Keep up! There’s a boat coming!” rang +the cry from overhead. “Keep up!” And Owen almost +smiled as it reached his ears. It was so easy to shout +directions from dry land.</p> + +<p>The boat <em>was</em> coming. He had caught sight of it. +Would it be in time? It was a long way off yet, and +he was so weary, so weary. One more effort. He tried to +make it. He could not. His arms and legs refused to +act. He was beaten at last, after all. It seemed hard, +but——Darkness came down on him, and he knew no +more.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>It was the evening following the events just related.</p> + +<p>Amy Gordon had entered the dining-room at Plevna +Gardens to find her father seated in front of the fire, with +a paper in his hand. He looked round as she approached +to kiss him, as she always did first thing on her return from +business.</p> + +<p>“So you’ve got back all right, dear.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, father, and very glad I am to be home once more. +I’ve had an awfully busy day. They’ve been coming in +in shoals. I could not see them all, and disappointed a +dozen or more by telling them they would have to write +for appointments.”</p> + +<p>“Then you’ve not seen the paper, I expect?”</p> + +<p>“Not I. Why, I had hardly time to swallow my lunch, +much less amuse myself by reading.”</p> + +<p>“Well, go and get ready for dinner, and afterwards I’ll +show you something that will interest you.”</p> + +<p>“Why, father, what secret have you got for me—eh?”</p> + +<p>“Never mind now. Go and do as I tell you,” and there +was an amused smile on the major’s face.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_250">[Pg 250]</span></p> + +<p>Dinner was over and had been cleared away. The +servant had placed the decanters on the table at the end +nearest the fire, and Amy and her father had turned their +chairs towards the blaze, when the girl said:</p> + +<p>“And now, father, for your wonderful secret.”</p> + +<p>“Look at that!” said the major, handing his daughter a +copy of the <cite>Reflector</cite> of that day’s date. “What do you +think of that? It seems we number a hero among our +friends.”</p> + +<p>Amy took the illustrated sheets, and was glancing at +them carelessly when her eyes suddenly became fixed on +the representation of a man, in ordinary professional +costume, above the heading, “A Hammersmith Hero.”</p> + +<p>“Why, it’s Doctor Odd, surely?” she exclaimed.</p> + +<p>“Yes, it’s the doctor right enough, though it’s a precious +bad likeness. But read what they say about him. +It was a plucky thing to do.”</p> + +<p>Without answering, Amy rapidly read the glowingly +worded description of Owen’s adventure the previous +evening.</p> + +<p>It gave a more or less accurate account of what had +taken place, and concluded as follows:</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>“Jem Smith, the bargee, with his companion, forcing +their boat against the swiftly flowing tide, only managed +to reach the gallant rescuer just in time. The brave +doctor was in the act of sinking, and had already disappeared +save for his head, when Smith, throwing his +oars aside, leant over the gunwale and grabbed him by +the hair with one hand, while with the other he seized +the unconscious lad. This was all he could do, and +though his companion quickly came to his aid, they were +compelled to await the arrival of a second boat before +the doctor and the boy he had so gallantly risked his +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_251">[Pg 251]</span>life to save could be lifted from the water and brought +to land. Both were unconscious, and for a long time +resisted all efforts to restore animation; but at length +these proved successful, and the two recovered sufficiently +to allow of their being removed to their respective +homes. On our representative calling later in the +evening he had the satisfaction of hearing both were +going on as well as could be expected, and that the +gallant doctor would probably be quite himself again +in the course of a few hours.”</p> + +<p>“We congratulate Hammersmith on numbering among +its inhabitants a gentleman who, while giving his time and +strength to the alleviation of pain and suffering, does not +hesitate to risk his life in the cause of humanity. It is +understood that the attention of the Royal Humane +Society will be called to the heroic action of Dr. Owen +Odd.”</p> +</blockquote> + +<p>“Well, Amy, what do you think of that, eh?” asked +the major, as, watching her eyes, he saw that she had +reached the last line.</p> + +<p>“The doctor’s a brave man, father. It isn’t everyone +who would have done what he did.”</p> + +<p>“No, it isn’t. I think it would be nice if we sent round +to ask how he was getting on. What do you say, Amy?”</p> + +<p>“As you like, father. But I should fancy he will be +coming very shortly to see you. He hasn’t been for more +than a week now.”</p> + +<p>“No, he hasn’t,” and while he was speaking the major +had kept his eyes on his daughter’s face, for resting on it +was an expression he could not understand. Her eyes +had remained glued on the portrait of the “Hammersmith +Hero,” and yet they seemed to be looking <em>through</em> it rather +than at it.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_252">[Pg 252]</span></p> + +<p>Her father made one or two further remarks, which +drew monosyllables in reply, and, seeing she was lost in +thought, he took up a book, and silence reigned in the +room.</p> + +<p>When at length his daughter spoke it was to make a +remark on an entirely different matter, and the subject +of the doctor’s exploit was not again referred to.</p> + +<p>On the major retiring at half-past ten, his usual hour, +his daughter, after seeing him to his room and that all his +things were put out ready, returned to the dining-room, +and taking up the <cite>Reflector</cite> again, opened it, spread it out +upon the table, and leaning her head upon her hands, +gazed at the illustration.</p> + +<p>Some minutes passed in this manner, and then, rising +quickly, she exclaimed in a tone ringing with conviction:</p> + +<p>“At last I have it. Of course it was <em>he</em>. I knew I +should remember.” And switching off the light she left +the room.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_253">[Pg 253]</span></p> + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XIII_1"> + CHAPTER XIII + <br> + <span class="fs80">ANOTHER PROBLEM</span> + </h2> +</div> + +<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap">It</span> was about ten days after the evening of which mention +has been made in the last chapter, and Amy was again +seated by herself before the fire in her cosy dining-room. +In her hand she held a letter, the writing and spelling of +which left much to be desired. She had found it on her +arrival home that evening, and, having opened it, had said +to her father:</p> + +<p>“Oh, it’s from old Martha; she seems to have got +another place, and thinks it is going to suit her.”</p> + +<p>“I’m sure I hope it may. At her age she is not everyone’s +servant. Where has she gone to now?”</p> + +<p>“Chippenham, with one old lady, who has a small +house where there are few stairs, so it won’t be such a trial +for her legs as at her last place.”</p> + +<p>“Sounds better,” said the major, returning to his paper. +“She isn’t begging, I hope?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, no; old Martha would have to come very low +indeed before she did that, poor old soul! Even after +Carry’s death, when she was so long out of a place, she +did not do so. I think she would almost starve before +her pride would allow her to ask for charity.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, yes; she’s a good old thing. You might do +worse than have her here with us.”</p> + +<p>“I have thought of that, but I’ve no fault to find with +Mary, and when we were wanting a servant Martha was +engaged. So I hope things will go on all right with her +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_254">[Pg 254]</span>now.” And Amy left the room to change her things, +placing the letter in her pocket. She had only glanced at +it hurriedly, and it was not till her father had retired for +the night, and she had the dining-room to herself, that she +read it carefully. Ignoring the bad grammar and curious +spelling, it ran as follows:</p> + +<blockquote> +<p class="right"> + <span style="padding-right: 3em">“Spring Cottage,</span><br> + <span style="padding-right: 2em">Chippenham,</span><br> + <span style="padding-right: 1em">Tuesday.</span> +</p> + +<p>“<span class="smcap">Dear Miss Amy</span>,—I thank you for your letter, and +hope this will find you as it leaves me at present. I am +in a comfortable place as above, and few stairs, with a +Miss Warnford, who has plenty of money, but no legs, +not to speak of, through rheumatism. Likewise her +temper is awkward at times when it’s bad. But I can +put up with that, and humouring her she soon comes +round.”</p> + +<p>“You ask me about your cousin, Miss Carry Dean. +As you will remember, I was only with her a fortnight +before she was taken bad for the last time. It was very +good of you to get me the place, and I should have been +very happy and comfortable there if things had gone +right. But it was not to be, and, poor soul, she’s gone, +so I say nothing against her. She was took bad one +evening after her supper at seven o’clock, and not liking +the looks of her I ran to the cottage next us, and sent +Tom Harris, who lodged there, for her doctor, Mr. +Duke, who lived in the village. He was away at a case, +and they did not know when he would be back. Tom +came and told me, and, Miss Carry getting worse, I told +him to get a horse or something and go to Exeter and +fetch one of the doctors there. He said he knew one +what had cured a mate of his—a Doctor Hodge, I think +it was—so I told him to fetch him. Off he goes, and Miss +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_255">[Pg 255]</span>Carry was getting worse and worse; and there was I +awaiting and awaiting, till at last I heard the horse +outside. Tom had come back and no doctor. He’d +seen him, he said, and he would be here well-nigh as +soon as he was. But he didn’t come. I waited an +hour or more, and my mistress getting worse and worse; +and then I was going down to see Tom and send him off +again, when she just gave a great sigh and was gone. +And the strangest thing was that when they came to +call Tom next morning he was dead, too.”</p> + +<p>“When Mr. Duke came that morning he said nothing +could have saved my mistress, but that I did quite +right to send Tom off to Exeter; but he made a rare fuss +about no doctor coming, but Tom being dead no one +knew what doctor he had been to. I thought Hodge +was the name he said, but being that flustered I couldn’t +be sure; and then it turned out there was no doctor of +that name in the town. They didn’t have an inquest, as +Dr. Duke could sign for her, and everything went off +quietly, and I stayed and took care of the house till +matters were settled up; and then, as you know, Miss, +I was out of a place for some time, and that’s all I can +tell you; but if you want to know anything more, and +will drop me a line, I’ll try and tell you. So no more +at present from—Yours respectful—<span class="smcap">Martha Green</span>.”</p> +</blockquote> + +<p>Having finished the perusal, Amy laid the two sheets in +her lap and sat motionless, staring into the fire. There +was a hard look on her face, and her brows were contracted +into deep lines. She was thinking, and her thoughts were +not of the pleasantest.</p> + +<p>“I’m certain that picture in the <cite>Reflector</cite> was taken +from the likeness I saw in the photographer’s in Exeter,” +she muttered. “I had completely forgotten it till I saw +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_256">[Pg 256]</span>the reproduction in the paper, and then it came to my +mind in an instant. It’s curious that though I had seen +him several times, the fact that I had seen his photograph +at Exeter never occurred to me until I saw his portrait in +the paper, and that not a good one. And then—then if +it were he. And yet I can’t—no, I can’t—think that +he would do such a thing. Still, what I saw in the lines +of his hand that first evening he came to see my father——” +And again there was silence, broken only by a deep +sigh.</p> + +<p>Once again the girl spoke. She had a habit of talking +to herself when alone. It had commenced during her +studies in the mystic in India, and lately she had found +it growing upon her.</p> + +<p>“It wouldn’t be fair to judge him on a supposition only; +and yet I cannot put the question to him, for, after all, it +has nothing to do with me. He would resent it, naturally. +He has attended father professionally, and has called once +or twice since, but that is all.” And she shrugged her +shapely shoulders in a manner that conveyed much.</p> + +<p>Still she sat on, gazing into the fast dying fire.</p> + +<p>“Had this man, Tom, lived everything would have +been explained, no doubt; as it is, the uncertainty remains, +and, considering the time that has passed since then, it is +not likely to be cleared up—at any rate, down there.” +She gave a little laugh as the idea of what some of her +clients would think of her powers did they know how +uncertain and ignorant she felt at that moment. And +that laugh seemed to break the thread of her cogitations +for she rose and, switching off the light, left the room.</p> + +<p>But she could not switch off her thoughts as easily as +she did the light, and for hours she lay awake, turning +over and over in her mind a problem that refused to be +solved.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_257">[Pg 257]</span></p> + +<p>It was with very mixed thoughts and a feeling of resentment +against herself that she rose the following morning, +after a disturbed and wakeful night. She was angry with +herself at the interest she found she was taking in this +acquaintance she had formed with a young suburban +doctor, whose portrait, she was now convinced, she had +first come across a long time previously in a photographer’s +shop during a casual visit to Exeter.</p> + +<p>She had been strolling down the main street, and +pausing to glance in the window had been struck by a +collection of portraits in a pierced mount, in a single +frame, and headed, “The Committee” of something or +other—she could not remember what. She had paid no +particular attention to it, and not one of the other likenesses +remained in her mind; and yet, directly she had +seen the illustration in the <cite>Reflector</cite>, she had felt sure she +had seen somewhere the original portrait of which it was a +reproduction, and gradually it came to her that it was in +the Exeter shop.</p> + +<p>It was curious, inexplicable.</p> + +<p>There was something here that she could not fathom. +When her father had been taken ill, why had she selected +as the doctor to be called in a man whose name she had +only seen on a brass plate some distance from where they +lived? And why had she felt so confident that he was the +<em>one</em> man she ought to send for? And again, why, on that +evening, when her father was better, had she so far departed +from her rule of strict incognito when away from +business as to reveal herself to him and attempt to give +him a specimen of her powers? Had she been prompted +by pride or a feeling of curiosity, and a wish to gather +something of his former life?</p> + +<p>These were questions she could not answer. All she +knew was that there was something at the back of her +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_258">[Pg 258]</span>mind that was defying her and causing her uneasiness. +And, try as she would, she could not drive out thoughts +of the young doctor.</p> + +<p>That morning, before leaving Plevna Gardens for +business, she did two things. She looked out in an old +album a portrait of her dead cousin, Carry Dean, and, +fitting it into a silver frame, from which she removed the +likeness of an old schoolfellow, placed it on a side table; +and she wrote the following note, to be posted on her way +to Bond Street:</p> + +<blockquote> +<p class="right"> + “2, Plevna Gardens, W.,<br> + <span style="padding-right: 2em">Thursday.</span> +</p> + +<p>“<span class="smcap">Dear Doctor Odd</span>,—It is now some time since we +had the pleasure of seeing you. Why is this? My +father has often wondered when you were coming to +have a chat with him again, and both he and I are +anxious to have the chance of offering you our congratulations +on the performance of a very brave action, and +of hearing further and fuller details at first hand. As +you know, we are almost invariably at home in the +evening, so come when most convenient to yourself. +My father unites with me in kind regards.—Sincerely +yours,”</p> + +<p class="right"> + “<span class="smcap">Amy Gordon</span>.” +</p> +</blockquote> + +<p>She had just finished this, and was placing it in an +envelope, when her father entered the room. In walking +round the table to take up the paper his eye caught sight +of the photo of his dead niece.</p> + +<p>“Why, my dear, what’s the meaning of this? What +have you brought out poor Carry for?”</p> + +<p>“Fancy, father, fancy. I thought I should like to have +her there for a time, at any rate.”</p> + +<p>“Very well, dear, by all means.” And taking up the +frame and walking to the window: “Poor thing, poor +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_259">[Pg 259]</span>thing; she went very suddenly, didn’t she? and only old +Martha with her. Very sad, very sad, and she was such +a bright, merry girl when she was young;” and, replacing +the frame, “just off, dear? Well, take care of yourself. +I think I shall run up to the club this morning, it’s such a +fine day.”</p> + +<p>“The very thing; it would do you good. By the bye, +father, I’ve sent a line to Dr. Odd, suggesting he should +look us up when he has time.”</p> + +<p>“That’s right. I’m longing for a chat with him. He’s +one of the best. Good-bye, child, good-bye.” And with +a kiss to her father Amy left the room.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>“And now you’re feeling none the worse for your +efforts, eh, doctor?” said the major.</p> + +<p>“No, thank you. I was a little stiff the next morning, +but that was all. If it had been ten years ago I don’t +suppose I should have noticed it. And really, I hate all +the fuss that was made over it, for the fact that I am a +good swimmer—I don’t say this in self-praise—reduces +my action to nothing out of the ordinary.”</p> + +<p>“No, no; we don’t admit that, do we, Amy? It <em>was</em> +something very much out of the ordinary, something that +not one man in ten would have taken on.”</p> + +<p>“Then more shame for the ten, either for not having +learnt to swim, or, having done so, being afraid to put +their powers to a proper use.”</p> + +<p>“Well, well, I’m glad it was you and not I to whom the +chance came.”</p> + +<p>Owen Odd had looked in on the major and his daughter, +and the trio were seated round the fire, for the evening +was chilly, the two men enjoying their pipes.</p> + +<p>“It was kind of you, Miss Gordon, to write to me, +though without your invitation I had meant to call; but +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_260">[Pg 260]</span>I fear you are tired this evening, are you not?” for the girl +had spoken little.</p> + +<p>“Oh, no, nothing to speak about. I had rather a full +day, certainly, but I’m thankful to say I often have.”</p> + +<p>“Then I ought not to stay,” replied Owen, making a +movement to rise.</p> + +<p>“No, no; don’t think of such a thing. Please go on +talking; I was anxious to hear all about it,” and a smile +drove away the somewhat constrained look that had +rested on her face.</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes, doctor, sit still. Amy and I were quite +excited about it. But, tell me, you were precious near +done when they got you out, were you not?”</p> + +<p>“I was, I admit. You see, I haven’t had much practice +of late, and to keep oneself afloat in one’s clothes takes +some exertion, to say nothing of having to support the +dead weight of a body as well. But one does not think of +that at the time. I don’t quite know what one does think +about, except there is the feeling that one won’t be beaten, +and you keep on going to the last gasp.”</p> + +<p>“And how is the boy you saved?” asked the girl.</p> + +<p>“Oh, I have called at his house since, and found him as +well as ever, the young rascal. And didn’t I give him a +rare jacketing for all the trouble he has caused?”</p> + +<p>“Was he duly penitent?”</p> + +<p>“Not as he ought to have been; he seemed to regard it +as a joke, and considered himself more of a hero than +anything else. However, I think he’ll be precious careful +in future when playing on the banks.”</p> + +<p>“They certainly did not flatter you in the <cite>Reflector</cite> +portrait,” said Amy, joining in the conversation once +more.</p> + +<p>“No; wasn’t it awful. And how those journalistic +folk manage to get hold of the portraits they do is a puzzle +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_261">[Pg 261]</span>to me. That one was from a photo I had done in Exeter +some years ago, and it was considered rather a good one +at the time.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes, I know it. At least, I’ve seen it before,” +said the girl, raising her eyes and looking Owen straight +in the face.</p> + +<p>“You know it, Miss Gordon!” and Amy fancied she +detected a look of uneasiness as he uttered the words in a +constrained tone.</p> + +<p>“Yes, I think I saw it in a shop in Exeter.”</p> + +<p>“Then you know the place?”</p> + +<p>“I can’t say I do, not really. I’ve been there once +or twice, but it is some time ago. I have no friends +there.”</p> + +<p>“Ah, wasn’t the water cold that night!” said the +doctor with a shudder, changing the trend of the conversation +abruptly. “It was that that tried me as much +as anything, I think.”</p> + +<p>“It must have been. I wonder you did not get the +cramp. If you had——”</p> + +<p>“I should not be enjoying myself here to-night,” replied +Owen with a laugh. “But it is not a matter to joke +about, and I’m most thankful things turned out as they +did, and that I was able to save a life that in the end may +do some good in the world.”</p> + +<p>“Yes; that must be a splendid feeling, and one you +doctors have more opportunities of experiencing than +laymen,” said the major. “Speaking as a military man, +our object is to take life, while yours is to save it. What +a difference! And yet we are both doing our duty, in +opposite ways.”</p> + +<p>“It seems to me that the doctor’s feeling must be the +higher of the two, though as a soldier’s daughter perhaps +I ought not to say so.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_262">[Pg 262]</span></p> + +<p>“I don’t know that, my dear,” replied the major. +“Duty is duty in whatever direction it may lie.”</p> + +<p>“And how many of us can truthfully say we have always +performed it,” said the girl, with her eyes still upon +Owen. “By the bye, doctor, did you know a practitioner +in Exeter of the name of Hodge?” she continued.</p> + +<p>“Hodge, Hodge, not while I was there. But, of course, +that was some time ago,” and again Owen turned +the conversation by some remarks to the major, and +for a time Amy remained silent. Nor did Owen try +to draw her into the conversation. He had a feeling that +all was not right; there was a cloud over the gathering +that he had never noticed on former occasions. In some +way a barrier had arisen between the girl and himself. +Outwardly there was nothing that could be noticed, and +yet it was there, and he was convinced she was aware of it +as well as himself. He could not account for it, nor was +it of his raising; therefore, it must be her doing. It worried +him, and he was ill at ease.</p> + +<p>For some time longer he sat talking to the major, but +on his part the conversation was forced, and he feared it +might be noticed.</p> + +<p>At length, in connection with a remark that had been +made respecting some well known man, Miss Gordon said:</p> + +<p>“May I trouble you, doctor, to hand me ‘Who’s Who’? +You’ll see it on that side table.”</p> + +<p>Owen rose at once, and in order to take it had to move +the photo that Amy had recently placed there. She was +watching him closely. A strong light fell upon it, and as +he moved it she saw him glance at it in a casual way and +put it aside, but without any sign of recognition or interest.</p> + +<p>“That is a cousin of mine who died,” she said. “Do +you see any likeness to me in it?”</p> + +<p>He handed her the book, and, returning to the table, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_263">[Pg 263]</span>took up the frame and brought it under the light, examining +it closely.</p> + +<p>“Not the slightest, Miss Gordon. She looks very +delicate,” and he replaced it. He did not resume his +seat, but, after talking for a few minutes, shook hands +with his host and hostess and bade them “Good-night.”</p> + +<p>The major soon after this retired, leaving his daughter +still sitting before the fire.</p> + +<p>Again she was deep in thought. She had laid a little +plot, and it had not come off; or had there been no groundwork +on which to construct it? She was uncertain, and +this it was that was exercising her mind. As she thought +over the events of the evening she grew angry with herself.</p> + +<p>She blamed herself for allowing her thoughts to dwell +on a man she knew so little of, and whose acquaintance +she had so recently made, for she could not hide from +herself the fact that they certainly did circle round one +point in a way they had never done previously.</p> + +<p>Again and again, during her interviews with her clients +in Bond Street, she found his strong, virile features rising +between her eyes and the hand she was examining; and +the fact lowered her self-esteem. In her own mind she +called it weakness, and determined to conquer it. He had +been kind to her father, and she liked him. His society +made pleasant break in their evenings <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">a deux</i>, but it should +remain at this. She would draw a line over which he +should not pass.</p> + +<p>Every girl at a certain age has the intuitive knowledge +when a man finds in her something more than he finds in +other girls, and Amy was no exception to the rule. She +knew that she had already become a very important factor +in the life of Owen Odd. In a measure the knowledge +gave her pleasure, yet, on the other hand, she was not sure +that she would allow matters thus to remain. Her character, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_264">[Pg 264]</span>owing to her experiences in India, differed a good deal +from that of a homebred girl. She was accustomed to +read more beneath the surface, and she was convinced that +there was something in the past connected with her +father’s friend that was hidden from the world; and this, +in spite of her Yogli training, she was unable to arrive at.</p> + +<p>On arriving at his rooms Owen was surprised to find +Dick awaiting him. The two friends had not met for some +little time, for both had been much engaged on their own +affairs.</p> + +<p>“Hallo, my gallant Leander,” exclaimed Dick, rising +from the armchair in which he had been lounging. “I +felt I must come and see if you had wrung yourself dry +again by now after your swim.”</p> + +<p>“Now, then, no chaff, Dick. That’s an old story, and, +as far as I am concerned had better be forgotten. I’m +about sick of it. One can have too much of a good +thing.”</p> + +<p>“All right, old fellow; I quite understand. You always +were so modest,” and Dick laughed loudly as he slapped +his friend on the back. “And, apart from that little +incident, how have things been going with you, eh?”</p> + +<p>“Fairly well. I haven’t made a fortune yet, if that is +what you mean. They’re not to be picked up in Hammersmith—at +least, not every day. And you——?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, much the same as usual. I’ve been doing a bit +of motoring now and then, and knocking about generally. +You know Thyra and her father are in town, I suppose?”</p> + +<p>“No, I didn’t.”</p> + +<p>“Well they are, and Peter Sundt as well.”</p> + +<p>“Really, we only want one or two more, and the whole +of our Arctic Circle will have come south,” replied Owen, +with a laugh. “I suppose you’ve been showing them +round?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_265">[Pg 265]</span></p> + +<p>“Some of them. But new friends don’t blot out old +ones, there’s room in my heart for both, and I want you +to give me a little of your company to-night.”</p> + +<p>“New friend. Great Scot! I didn’t know you placed +that scarlet-faced Sundt in that category.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t. The beast! I hate that fellow, Owen, hate +him like poison. Bah! it leaves a nasty taste in my +mouth even to mention his name, so let’s drop him. +Keep your coat on, and let’s be off to more habitable +regions for an hour or two. I hate Hammersmith.”</p> + +<p>“You appear to have a wave of general hate flooding +you this evening, Dick. What’s the matter?”</p> + +<p>“I’m hanged if I know. I feel I’ve got the hump, but +for no particular reason. I do get like that sometimes, as +you know. I tell you what; we’ll take the Tube to Leicester +Square and look in at the Empire—there’s a turn +I rather want to see. It may be rotten, but the fellows +are talking about it a bit, so I must see it. What do you +say?”</p> + +<p>“I’m game, if you think we shall be in time. When +does it come on?”</p> + +<p>“Ten forty-five.”</p> + +<p>“Then we can do it if we look sharp. The Empire will +be a bit of a change after this confounded place,” and, +after giving some instructions to Margaret, the two friends +left the house and made their way to the Tube station in +the Broadway.</p> + +<p>During the journey their conversation was limited, for +the “pipes” that now riddle subterranean London do not +tend to promote conversation; but arriving towards the +conclusion of the ballet, and having made their way to +the promenade, they were able to chat to their heart’s +content, and at the same time watch the show.</p> + +<p>The turn Dick was anxious to sample came on directly +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_266">[Pg 266]</span>afterwards, and neither of them was particularly struck +with it.</p> + +<p>It merely exemplified the knots into which the female +body may, by early and consistent training, be tied and +was more curious than graceful.</p> + +<p>“Well,” exclaimed Dick, as the curtain hid the panting +performer, “I hope she’ll get something to eat now; she +can’t have had much before the show. What do you say, +doctor?”</p> + +<p>“Probably not. These people must have hard lives. +It’s wonderful what some of us will do for money.”</p> + +<p>“It is, and there are many less honest ways of making +it than the one that girl follows.”</p> + +<p>Owen turned sharply at these words, and looked hard at +Dick, but he was lighting a cigarette at the moment, and +did not notice the action of his friend. “Have you had +enough? Well, then, come on, and we’ll look in at the +club and have a drink before travelling West again.”</p> + +<p>“Right you are—an excellent programme. Let’s walk; +I want a breath of fresh air after all this smoke, and it +isn’t far.”</p> + +<p>They had left the glare of the lights in front of the +Empire behind them, and were proceeding along Coventry +Street, when Dick said:</p> + +<p>“Did you notice those two fellows we passed just now? +One of them seemed to know you, Owen.”</p> + +<p>“No. Where are they?” looking round.</p> + +<p>Dick also turned. “They’ve vanished. I thought as +we passed them they didn’t want to be seen. They’d a +shifty, hang-dog look.”</p> + +<p>“Did you know them?” asked Owen.</p> + +<p>“Don’t think so; and yet I almost fancy I’ve seen one +of them before somewhere.”</p> + +<p>Several times, as they made their way through the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_267">[Pg 267]</span>Circus, either Dick or his friend looked round, but noticed +nothing unusual, and by the time they reached the club +they had forgotten the incident.</p> + +<p>They stayed there chatting till it was time to make +their way to Dover Street for the last train to Hammersmith, +and then, as they were just about to cross Piccadilly, +Dick exclaimed:</p> + +<p>“There’s one of those fellows!” and dashed back, +threading his way quickly through the gaily bedizened +throng that lingered on the pavement.</p> + +<p>Owen was too startled to move for a moment, and had +hardly turned to follow his friend when he found him +again at his side.</p> + +<p>“Missed him. He dodged me, and disappeared somewhere. +I’m certain he was following us, or he wouldn’t +have bolted as he did when he saw he was spotted. But +come along, Owen, or it will mean a cab. We’ve only +got a minute or two.” And hurrying on, the friends just +managed to catch their train, and eventually parted in +the Broadway.</p> + +<p>As Owen walked to his rooms he several times looked +back over his shoulder. He was fearful lest he should be +followed.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_268">[Pg 268]</span></p> + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XIV_1"> + CHAPTER XIV + <br> + <span class="fs80">A WARNING IS UTTERED</span> + </h2> +</div> + +<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap">A few</span> evenings after Dick and Owen’s visit to the Empire, +on the latter’s return home at the end of his afternoon +round, Margaret met him in the surgery and handed him +the slate with the names of the callers during his absence. +He glanced through it, making one or two remarks, and +then, as he laid it down, she pointed to a note lying on the +table. The envelope was dirty and thumb-stained.</p> + +<p>“Who brought this?” he inquired.</p> + +<p>“A little boy, sir. I asked him who it was from, and he +didn’t seem to know. He said a man had given it to him, +and told him to leave it here.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, all right,” and the servant left the room as Owen +tore open the envelope. Inside was half a sheet of paper, +as dirty and crumpled as the cover, and on it, written in +pencil, were the following lines:</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>“<span class="smcap">Owen Odd</span>,—You seem to be getting on; I am not. +I’m hard up. Meet me this evening, at eight-thirty, +under the third lamp-post on the south side of Brook +Green, and, for the sake of old times, bring some money +in your pocket. You will then recognise the writer.”</p> +</blockquote> + +<p>“Infernal cheek!” muttered Owen, as he crumpled up +the missive and threw it into the fire, immediately afterwards +making a grab at the paper, but too late to +save it.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_269">[Pg 269]</span></p> + +<p>“Hang it! I never thought of that; I might have +recognised the writing. Well, it can’t be helped now, +and, in any case, I shouldn’t have gone. It was only a +try on.” And he dismissed the matter from his mind, +more especially as the evening turned out a very busy +one for him, and it was late when he found himself finally +disengaged.</p> + +<p>Some two or three days later another note arrived in +the same manner, but the tone of it was different. There +was no formal commencement—it began straight away:</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>“You took no notice of my first letter. I give you +another chance. Be at the place I first mentioned at +eight-thirty this evening. If you cannot come then, +come to-morrow night at the same time, and mind and +bring what I asked you for. If you fail me again I +shall know how to act. I am watching you daily. Be +wise in time.”</p> +</blockquote> + +<p>“Who in the name of wonder can have sent this?” +muttered Owen, holding the dirty paper under the gas +and examining the writing. “A feigned hand, I’m certain, +and yet an educated hand. I don’t think it can be +one of my patients. Well, I shan’t go. But if this kind +of thing continues I shall have to stop it. I’m not going to +be badgered and threatened for nothing. But the police +shall do it, not I,” and for the second time he put the +matter aside and did not allow it to worry him. He, +however, took the opportunity of running over to Barnes +and showing the last missive to his friend Dick.</p> + +<p>“Look here, Owen, do you think it can have anything +to do with those fellows we saw following us from the +Empire the other evening?” said Jervoise, after glancing +over it.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_270">[Pg 270]</span></p> + +<p>“I should think not; but then, you remember, I did not +see them.”</p> + +<p>“No, you didn’t. If you should get another of these +things you might let me have it, and I’d keep the appointment +and see what kind of a man your correspondent is. +It would be rather a joke.”</p> + +<p>“All right; the next one that comes I’ll send on to you, +but it may be only meant as a sell by some fellow who +thinks himself devilish clever and funny.”</p> + +<p>“Of course it may, there are such heaps of fools about. +But now come along with me; I’m going to run up to the +club.”</p> + +<p>“Can’t, old fellow. Sorry, but I’m far too busy. I +must be off,” and the two friends parted.</p> + +<p>No more dirty notes arrived for Owen, and he had +concluded he was right in setting it down as a sell when +one morning, just as he was preparing to start on his +round, the surgery bell rang, and on his opening the door +he found the major standing outside.</p> + +<p>“Ah, doctor, I’m glad I caught you. I was afraid you +might have gone.”</p> + +<p>“You are only just in time, major. But what is it? +Nothing wrong, I hope?”</p> + +<p>“Not with me, I’m glad to say. But I wanted a word +or two with you, if you can give me a few minutes,” +replied his visitor, entering.</p> + +<p>“Certainly. Come in and sit down.”</p> + +<p>“We shan’t be overheard here?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, no. The surgery is as secret as a confessional.”</p> + +<p>“Good. Well, I’ve received a most extraordinary +communication referring to you, and though I don’t +believe a word of it I thought it was only fair you should +see it. Just glance your eye over that,” and the major +drew a letter from his pocket and passed it across the table.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_271">[Pg 271]</span></p> + +<p>Owen smiled as he picked it up. A glance at the direction +was sufficient to convince him that it came from the +same quarter as those he himself had received.</p> + +<p>“Read it, doctor, read it,” said the major, closely +watching Owen’s face as he drew out the usual half sheet, +containing the following words:</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>“<span class="smcap">Major Gordon</span>,—As a friend I warn you against +Doctor Odd, who has insinuated himself like a snake +in the grass into your flat! He is no fit companion for +your daughter or yourself. You have merely to ask +him about Exeter, and my words will be proved. A +doctor given to drink is one to be avoided.”</p> +</blockquote> + +<p>“This is getting beyond a joke!” exclaimed Owen +hotly, as he finished reading. “I shall place the matter +in the hands of the police at once.”</p> + +<p>“Well, I really think you ought to, though, mind you, +I don’t believe a word of the insinuation in it. And I ask +you nothing.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, for my own sake, I can’t leave it there, though I +confess I am not quite clear what the blackguard is +driving at in mentioning Exeter. I’m very glad you came +round, major, and showed me this, for it is not the first I +have seen.” And Owen gave his visitor an account of +the receipt of the two previous notes, and then said:</p> + +<p>“About Exeter. I certainly was in practice there, and +was grossly deceived in my partner. It is true I did not +pay much for my share of the practice, because I was +given to understand that it was a small one, but that it +only required working up. The books, such as they were, +seemed all right, and showed a certain amount of profit, +but the patients were anything but high class, save in one +or two instances. Still, as a young man, I had hope that +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_272">[Pg 272]</span>by sticking to work I might in the end make a good thing +of it. But it was not long before I discovered what kind +of a man my partner was. He was more frequently to be +found in the public house than the surgery, and his +character was well known in the town. But when all +right he was clever as an operator. I had invested most +of my capital in the venture, so I could not well withdraw, +and for some years I fought on. I have every reason to +believe that as far as I was concerned I was respected and +liked, and I obtained several public appointments. But +in the end I found it would not do. I should never be any +better. My partner was a millstone round my neck that +I could not shake off, so I determined to ‘cut my loss,’ +and start once more. I dissolved the partnership, and +for a time took <i lang="la" xml:lang="la">locum tenens</i>, till I came here as assistant +to Doctor Maureward.”</p> + +<p>“It seems hard on you, doctor, but I suppose you were +not sufficiently careful in making inquiries at first, eh?”</p> + +<p>“No, I was young and green, and too anxious to get to +work and make money, and I looked on people as honest +till I found them the reverse.”</p> + +<p>“And what was your partner’s name, if it’s fair to ask?”</p> + +<p>“Jakes, Benjamin Jakes, and about as big a walking +beer-barrel as you’ll come across in a day’s march. But +he soon came to the end of his tether.”</p> + +<p>“I expect so.”</p> + +<p>“He had relied on me, and when I left him he rapidly +went to utter grief, was sold up, and, I heard, left the +place; and since then I’ve entirely lost sight of him.”</p> + +<p>“Did you part good friends? I expect not.”</p> + +<p>“Well, not exactly bad ones. He didn’t like my +going, but he could not stop me, and so had to make the +best of it.”</p> + +<p>“And you’ve never heard of him since?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_273">[Pg 273]</span></p> + +<p>“Never.”</p> + +<p>“Do you think he is the sender of these letters?”</p> + +<p>“I can’t say. It is not his writing, but, at any rate, +they are from someone who is acquainted with Exeter.”</p> + +<p>“Well,” continued the major, rising, “you will take +what steps you think best, and the sooner you get hold +of the blackguard the better. I’m glad I came round to +you first thing; and remember this, doctor, what you have +told me will make no difference in our relations, and both +my daughter and myself will always be glad to see you at +our house when you can spare the time to run in.”</p> + +<p>“Thank you, major, thank you. Will you mention +this matter to Miss Gordon?” as Owen remembered some +words had fallen from her lips that first evening he had +been in her company, when she had been examining his +hand.</p> + +<p>“Just as you like.” And then, after a pause, “No, I +don’t think I will. Some girls are quick to get silly +notions into their heads—not that Amy does. Still, +perhaps it would be better not,” and the two men left +the surgery together.</p> + +<p>On Owen’s return, some hours later, he had not been +in the surgery many minutes when the telephone bell +rang.</p> + +<p>“Well?” he shouted, taking up the receiver.</p> + +<p>“Are you Doctor Odd?”</p> + +<p>“Yes. Who are you?”</p> + +<p>“Never mind. But you see I have kept my promise, +and this is only the commencement——”</p> + +<p>“You thundering scamp! I only wish I was at your +end of the line for a couple of minutes,” growled Owen, +trembling with rage.</p> + +<p>A light laugh rang in the receiver by way of answer. +“Don’t get raggy,” continued the voice. “You know +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_274">[Pg 274]</span>how you can put an end to it all. To-night at the place and +time I named, and mind and bring plenty with you.”</p> + +<p>“I’m hanged if I do. You don’t get a penny from me.”</p> + +<p>“All right, old man; I shall have to try stronger measures. +Ta-ta,” and the speaker was cut off.</p> + +<p>Without moving from the instrument Owen rang and +gave Dick’s number at Barnes. He was at home, and his +friend gave him a hurried account of what had taken place.</p> + +<p>“This is better, old fellow. We shall get hold of the +villain now, or I’m a Dutchman,” answered Dick. “But +who are this Miss and Major Gordon? You have never +mentioned them before.”</p> + +<p>Owen had somehow brought Amy’s name into the story +without thinking, and replied in as careless a way as he +could assume:</p> + +<p>“Patients of mine.”</p> + +<p>“The former beautiful and the latter gallant, I’ll be +sworn,” and Owen could hear an amused chuckle as he +replied, “Now, no fooling, Dick; this is a serious matter.”</p> + +<p>“It is, my boy, it is, and I’m going to help you if you +want me. I’ll be with you about seven, if you’ll be in, +and then I’ll take the job on. Miss Gordon wouldn’t +like you to run any risks, eh? But, I say, what about +the little Alza—what will she have to say?”</p> + +<p>“Shut up, and don’t be an ass. I’ll be in at seven, and +show you this last effusion. Good-bye,” and he rung off.</p> + +<p>Dick turned up punctually at the time mentioned, and +the two friends had a long conversation, when it was +decided that Jervoise should go alone to the rendezvous and +see if he could recognise any one, Owen remaining at home +till his return.</p> + +<p>Brook Green is not a particularly lively spot at any +time, and on this exceptionally cold spring evening it +attracted few loiterers. One or two couples of lovers +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_275">[Pg 275]</span>huddled close together on the seats, but everyone else +seemed more intent on getting along as quickly as possible +than lingering about. There was, of course, a stream of +pedestrians passing along the west side, where is the road +leading from Shepherd’s Bush to Hammersmith; but there +was no lingering here either.</p> + +<p>Dick rather enjoyed the idea of doing some amateur +detective work, and set about it in what he considered the +orthodox way. Making his way to the north side he +walked briskly along, stopping opposite the third lamp-post +on the other side the Green, presumably to light his +pipe, but at the same time taking a glance over the grass +to see if there was anyone waiting about.</p> + +<p>Beyond a man who was walking in the direction of +London as quickly as he himself had been he could see no +one.</p> + +<p>He continued his pace, keeping level with this individual, +until the end of the Green was reached, and then saw him +disappear down one of the adjoining streets.</p> + +<p>Waiting a few moments, to ascertain if his actions were +a blind, and he would return, Dick crossed to the south +side and made his way back again. Three or four people +passed him, but there was nothing about any of them to +call for attention, and he was fain to admit that he was at +a serious disadvantage, and with small hope of discovering +anything, unless the opening movement came from the +other side.</p> + +<p>Again and again he passed the indicated lamp-post, +and once, when a man, about whom he had his doubts, overtook +him there, he stopped him and asked him for a light. +His request was civilly complied with, but nothing further +came of it; and after an hour of this kind of work Dick +threw up the sponge and returned to the surgery.</p> + +<p>“Well, what luck?” was Owen’s greeting.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_276">[Pg 276]</span></p> + +<p>“None; I’ve drawn blank. No one came, or else I was +spotted and my presence not appreciated,” and he proceeded +to give his friend an account of his wanderings.</p> + +<p>They had been talking some ten minutes when there was +a rattle at the letter box in the outer door, and Owen +going to it found another of the dirty thumb-stained +envelopes. Returning with it, and scanning the contents, +he exclaimed:</p> + +<p>“Confound the fellow! Listen to this:</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>“‘It’s no use your playing this fool-game. Old +birds are not caught with that kind of chaff. Either +you come yourself or leave it alone. Your friend, Dick +Jervoise, is about as poor hand at aping a “tec” as I’ve +seen. I’ll try something stronger now, so look out, +and then you may hear from me again.’”</p> +</blockquote> + +<p>“Umph! That’s pleasant,” growled Dick. “Not content +with doing me he chaffs me. By Jove! I should like +to get at him.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, I’m not going to stand any more of this!” exclaimed +Owen angrily. “I’ll put it in the hands of the +police at once. Come along, old man, we won’t humbug +about it any more,” and together the two friends made +their way to the Hammersmith police station.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_277">[Pg 277]</span></p> + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XV_1"> + CHAPTER XV + <br> + <span class="fs80">THE VILLA SERGIO</span> + </h2> +</div> + +<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap">Spring</span>—April, the month of the flowers, on the blue, +sunny Adriatic.</p> + +<p>Along that ruggedly beautiful coast, one of the most +picturesque in the whole world, with its green palm-clad +islands, its winding inlets, sharp, rocky promontories, and +steep, brown cliffs, there is surely no place more delightful +nor more full of interest than grey, old-world Ragusa.</p> + +<p>Back behind a long, green, rocky island, it nestles at +the foot of the steep slopes of Monte Sergio, once an +important port in the days of the Republic of Venice, but +now silent and almost forgotten, save by those who have +recently begun to know and enjoy the glorious natural +beauties of the Adriatic, in preference to the gambling, +landscape gardening, and unhealthy life of the now played-out +Mediterranean shore.</p> + +<p>Zara, whence comes the maraschino, Spalato, and +Lussimpiccolo are quaint, charming little places, rapidly +gaining public favour with Austrians and Hungarians, +but are as yet practically unknown to English people. +Yet of them all Ragusa is assuredly the most pleasant and +the most interesting.</p> + +<p>Peaceful, undisturbed by traffic, and entirely mediæval, +it reminds the traveller who knows his Riviera of one of +those old towns on the Italian side—those unfashionable +ones that you only visit if you chance to motor from +Monte Carlo along to Genoa.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_278">[Pg 278]</span></p> + +<p>Difficult it is to realise that this sleepy, antique little +place, where everybody speaks Italian, was the port of +the Balkan hinterland in those brilliant days when Venice +was queen of the sea. To-day, it is a tiny decaying town +of cyclopean walls, of narrow streets and queer crooked +byways. Across its dry moat and through its ponderous +gateway with the crumbling coat of arms carved in the +stone, carriages are unable to pass. Hence there is an +absence of bustle which one finds in other towns. Quaint +Bosnian, Dalmatian and Montenegrin costumes are worn +by many of the people, the shops sell genuine antique +embroideries, old silver and old arms. While almost as +soon as one enters the main street by the Porta Pille or +land-gate, one seems out again at the water-gate.</p> + +<p>The stranger who strolls about those small piazzas, +inspecting the Duomo, the sixteenth century churches, +with their long flights of steps and their celebrated Madonnas, +the fine Renaissance Rector’s Palace, the splendid +old mediæval fountain and the rest of the relics of an age +bygone, will be struck by the peaceful air of it all. The +world has progressed with rapid strides these last three +centuries, but it has passed Ragusa by unaltered. The +same to-day as in the seventeenth century, the town within +its huge walls still remains, a place of deep shadows with +glimpses of bright blue sea at the ends of dark crooked +alleys.</p> + +<p>Here may the wandering Englishman linger and reflect, +for is it not full of historic associations; is not that beautiful, +palm-clad island of Lacroma opposite, the gem of the +Adriatic, associated indisputably with the heart of Richard +Cœur de Lion?</p> + +<p>And if the traveller, retracing his steps along the Corso +to the Porta Pille and crossing the dried-up moat to the +splendid avenue of mulberry trees outside the walls—the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_279">[Pg 279]</span>quarter of the villas and hotels—chances to glance +upward at the green hillside behind, he will notice, dominating +the town, a huge white villa in Italian style, with +red roof and two long rows of green-painted sun-shutters +standing embowered in its palms, roses and tangles of +climbing geraniums. By a single glance it will be recognised +as the finest villa on all that beautiful coast, more +palatial, indeed, than that of a certain royal personage +which stands on the mulberry-lined boulevard below.</p> + +<p>If inquiry be made of the owner’s name, the traveller +will be told in Italian that it belongs to a great foreign +signore, a signore “molto ricco”—the Cavaliere Sundt.</p> + +<p>The fine steam yacht, with its yellow funnel and white +hull, lying yonder beyond the molo and flying the bargee +of the Royal Norwegian Yacht Club, is his, while you will +also hear stories of the Signor Cavaliere’s colossal wealth +and lavish hospitality to the great people who sometimes +stay at the Villa Sergio as his guests. Ragusa knows nothing +of the source of the great signore’s income, and cares +less.</p> + +<p>That bright sunny afternoon Thyra, in a white gown +girdled with pale grey, was seated alone in a long wicker +chair upon the marble terrace, her sad eyes fixed away +upon the green, picturesque island, and the blue sea +beyond, its calm surface ruffled only now and then by +the slight flower-scented zephyr from the land.</p> + +<p>How different were those surroundings—that glorious +garden, with its luxuriant vegetation, its agaves, cypresses +and palms, its violets, carnations and roses, and that calm +sapphire sea—to those of her own home in the far-off +Arctic! Here, surely, was paradise itself.</p> + +<p>Yes, she lay back with her head upon the great cushion +of pillow silk, and gazed thoughtfully with half-closed +eyes out to sea. She was thinking—ever thinking. Her +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_280">[Pg 280]</span>father had put to her a question three days ago—a question +which she had not yet answered.</p> + +<p>She sat there a prey to puerile terrors and unwholesome +thought. She was wrapped in frozen shadows; a mysterious +force drove her towards a glacial atmosphere where +all was dizziness and grief. Her vision clouded, she seemed +suspended in a twilight heaven, wafted towards some +unknown land, like those little white, drifting clouds before +her, the grey birds migrating without hope of rest.</p> + +<p>Even this world of joy, of sunshine, of flowers, had +become small, melancholy, even tiresome. After a week +its novelty had worn off; she was no longer at her ease in it. +She was thinking—thinking ever of the tall Englishman +who had raised her hand to his lips for the last time. She +was driven to confess herself a melancholy thing. It was +not the world that had changed. Ah, no; it was her own self.</p> + +<p>On that evening of her return from Guilford with Dick +Jervoise she had charged her father with concealing from +her the fact that Peter Sundt was in London, and he had +been compelled to plead guilty.</p> + +<p>Next day, Peter had called upon them, and invited both +father and daughter to spend a week or two at Ragusa, +and afterwards to return to Christiania in the yacht, an +invitation which, after some hesitation, the girl-widow +had accepted.</p> + +<p>Her acceptance was, as a matter of fact, only on the +point of economy. Her father had pointed out that the +expense of remaining in London much longer would be too +great for his slender purse, while if they went as Peter’s +guests, they would not only see a part of the world which +they had always longed to see, but also get back to Norway +when the bright weather commenced.</p> + +<p>Therefore, two days later she had, in secret, taken a +taxicab to Dick’s flat, and there wished him farewell.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_281">[Pg 281]</span></p> + +<p>The scene between them had been both painful and +touching. The sweet scent of those carnations growing +in profusion about her, greeted her nostrils, and stirred a +bitter memory. Upon his table that afternoon there had +been a small bunch. He had placed them there in honour +of her visit.</p> + +<p>She recollected the strange, hopeless expression upon +his face when she announced her immediate departure. +He had inquired whither she was going, and she had told +him.</p> + +<p>Then his chin had sunk upon his breast, and for a long +time he had remained silent. With a sigh he crossed the +room and arranged some papers upon his open writing-table. +It was because she should not see the expression +of pain upon his features. That she knew quite well.</p> + +<p>At last he faced her and spoke frankly, his voice only +faltering once. She heard him to the end—to the bitter +end.</p> + +<p>Yet did he speak the truth? Were his words sincere? +He had spoken, but what proof had he? He could give her +none—none! His excuse was but a lame one, after all; +yes, one unsupported by any single vestige of proof. And +so, after half an hour—perhaps the most painful half-hour +in all her life—she had risen from that big armchair +by the fire to take leave of him.</p> + +<p>Now, as she sat alone staring at those slowly drifting +clouds, she remembered it all—the silence of that room at +Barnes, unbroken save by the whirr of a passing motor +’bus, the musical chimes of his clock, and his hoarse +earnestness when he had bent over her hand and kissed +it for the last time.</p> + +<p>She was a fool for ever revealing Peter Sundt’s proposal +of marriage. She saw it now, alas! that it was too late. +She had seen in the eyes of Richard Jervoise such flow of +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_282">[Pg 282]</span>tenderness, of regret, of dream, that she had at first not +the heart to rob him of it.</p> + +<p>But the one dread thought had occurred to her—that +same bitter thought that had for so long oppressed her, +that had held her apart from him always. The words +he had spoken were full of deep and tragic meaning. Yet, +in face of her better judgment, how could she believe him +to be in real earnest? No. She had effectually concealed +her sadness and disquiet, and in silence allowed him to +kiss her hand in farewell.</p> + +<p>A shout of laughter from the mulberry avenue below +filled the perfumed silence, awakening her to a sense of +her surroundings.</p> + +<p>Ah, yes. She recollected. His words had soothed her +sick heart as a balsam soothes a wound. And yet, a moment +later, she had wished him adieu, and passed down +the stairs—and out of his life.</p> + +<p>Did he still recollect her? she was wondering. Did he +think of her—did he ever recall the past?</p> + +<p>These and other thoughts were fleeting through her +mind when, of a sudden, she heard a footstep, and turning +saw her father approaching.</p> + +<p>“Why, my child!” he cried, “why are you sitting here +alone? We’ve been hunting everywhere for you!”</p> + +<p>“I thought you went out after luncheon, dad,” exclaimed +the girl-widow, rising to her feet with a slight sigh of weariness.</p> + +<p>“So I did. But I was only away half an hour. Run +and get a thicker dress on, child. The weather is so good +that Peter has decided to take us to Lesina on the yacht. +We shall dine on board, and be back by eleven o’clock, +or so. It will be a full moon, too.”</p> + +<p>She hesitated.</p> + +<p>“I don’t think I’ll go, dad. I can amuse myself quite +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_283">[Pg 283]</span>well here. Will you make excuses for me; say I’m not +well, or anything,” she urged.</p> + +<p>“But my dear child, why? It will be most enjoyable. +You know how pleasant it was when the yacht met us at +Trieste and brought us down here; you were delighted.”</p> + +<p>“Yes. But—well now it is different.”</p> + +<p>“Why? Tell me, child. Something is troubling you,” +inquired the sturdy old fellow. “Tell me what it is,” he +added in a lower voice.</p> + +<p>She was silent, her white, hard-set face turned from his.</p> + +<p>“He has spoken to you again, eh?” asked the sturdy old +fellow, in a changed tone.</p> + +<p>She held her breath, but her silence was to him sufficient +indication of the truth.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_284">[Pg 284]</span></p> + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XVI_1"> + CHAPTER XVI + <br> + <span class="fs80">ON THE ADRIATIC</span> + </h2> +</div> + +<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap">The</span> evening light was falling.</p> + +<p>The freshness and sweetness of the calm sea ruffled +only by the wake of the vessel vivified the air; all was +peace, transparence, purity.</p> + +<p>Thyra, in a perfect-fitting costume of blue serge with a +blue beret, a cap which always became her, leaned over +the rail of the long, spotless deck of the yacht with her +back to the sunset, watching the sky grow pale, diaphanous, +tender green like a delicate crystal, flecked with the night +clouds now beginning to appear from over the land.</p> + +<p>After long persuasion by her father she had consented +to embark, and now they were hugging the broken coast, +and threading their way in and out among the many green +islands, some of them with white lighthouses standing +high upon them.</p> + +<p>Peter, in a smart yachting suit and white shoes, had +been lounging at her side, pointing out the many objects +of interest along that picturesque route. First the mouth +of the Ombla which comes down out of Herzegovina, then +the great bare rock rising sheer from the sea, the Daksa, +the tiny town of Malfi in its deep bay, and Valdinoce, a +picturesque cluster of houses among the olives and almonds +on the green mountain side.</p> + +<p>Beneath the great island of Calamotta they passed the +incoming mail steamer from Trieste, the big old red-funnelled +<em>Graf Wurmbrand</em>, the passengers of which +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_285">[Pg 285]</span>crowded to the side to see the splendid yacht, and to +wonder who might be its owner.</p> + +<p>Thyra heard the man’s constant chatter in Norwegian, +but to her it was without interest. Only once, indeed, +did she ask a question.</p> + +<p>They were passing what is known as the stag islands, +the tiny islets of Jaklan, Giuppana and Mezzo, when, +between the last-named and Calamotta he pointed out the +narrow channel.</p> + +<p>On either side of the strait rose the land, beautifully +wooded, with here and there clumps of palms, and even +from the yacht could be seen profusions of flowers.</p> + +<p>“See, up there, yonder—that ruined fortress!” he was +saying. “That’s the ‘Scoglio Sant’Andrea’, where +Margherita Spoletano’s lover was imprisoned by the +Ragusans.”</p> + +<p>“And who was she?” inquired the girl-widow, gazing +at the ruined walls perched high up on the cliff.</p> + +<p>“A woman who sacrificed her life for the man she +loved,” was his reply. “She lived on the island of Calamotta, +and as her brothers forbade her to row across to +meet her lover and took their boats away, she nightly +swam across to visit him, and to take him news of what +was transpiring in old Dubrovnik, as Ragusa was called at +that time.”</p> + +<p>“How romantic!” exclaimed the girl, glancing at the +two islands and at the strong, swirling current running +between them. “She must have been an expert swimmer.”</p> + +<p>“The story is quite authentic,” Peter exclaimed. “For +many weeks she swam to and fro, until one night she was +discovered by her two brothers who, on her attempting +to land, hurled her back into the stream, and she was +carried away and drowned in the darkness.”</p> + +<p>“How sad,” Thyra had remarked, and then the yacht, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_286">[Pg 286]</span>suddenly altering her course, steered to the Strait of +Meleda, past the high lighthouse at the end of the island, +and the ruined tower became hidden from view.</p> + +<p>Within that belt of islands the water was almost as a +millpond, while from the stern of the vessel lay out a long, +widening wake for a mile or so behind.</p> + +<p>Peter Sundt, smoking his cigar, had left her side to join +her father, who was upon the bridge talking to the Norwegian +captain. And now she was again alone to reflect +and to ponder.</p> + +<p>As the light fell over the land, the afterglow grew deeper. +The ship’s bell tolled the hour, after which she raised +herself from the rail and strolled slowly up and down the +fine, long deck kept so spotless.</p> + +<p>The vessel was truly a palatial one. Ocean-going in +every sense of the word, with powerful engines and built +for heavy seas, old Peter each year sailed down from +Christiania, across the Bay of Biscay, up the Mediterranean, +and through the Straits of Messina, returning +north when the spring had ended. Fitted with every +luxury and kept up in splendid style, he had purchased it +five years before when its owner, a royal prince, had died, +and he had since crossed the Atlantic in it on several +occasions.</p> + +<p>Thyra had seen it lying at the quay at Christiania and +at Vardo, but had never been on board until at Trieste when +they had descended from the sleeping-car that had brought +them through from Calais, and embarked for Ragusa.</p> + +<p>The deck chairs with the monogram “P. S.” upon +them, the shining brasswork, the blue and gold deck +saloon, with its flowers and silken lounges, which she +entered a moment later to get her jacket, all betrayed +immense wealth. The artistic taste had, of course, been +that of the previous owner, for what artistic temperament +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_287">[Pg 287]</span>could be expected of that ex-fisherman, who ruled the +cod-liver oil and stock-fish market?</p> + +<p>Having obtained her jacket Thyra sighed as she went +forth on deck again. All that display of luxury, both on +board the yacht and at the Villa Sergio, only irritated her. +Old Peter’s red face and rasping voice jarred upon her. +She wished she had been firm with her father, and refused +her host’s invitation. The evening cruise did not interest +her in the least.</p> + +<p>She wished to be alone—alone amid the flowers, amid +the sweet scent of those carnations in the garden, to think—and +to reflect upon the past.</p> + +<p>Old Jorgen called to her in his loud, nautical voice, and +she was compelled to ascend to the bridge and join the +two men who sat in deck chairs in the full enjoyment of +their cigars.</p> + +<p>They had run past Meleda, with its numerous chasms +and gorges, and had come to an island whereon stood a +lonely monastery, which Peter explained was the Benedictine +house of Santa Maria, now turned into a forester’s +residence.</p> + +<p>Thence, with the girl leaning back against the rail, her +hair blown out upon the wind as she chatted with feigned +merriment, the vessel’s course lay through the narrow +Canale di Curzola, between the fertile islands of Curzola +and Sabbioncello, and out again towards Lesina, lying +low and purple in the distance against the darkening +afterglow.</p> + +<p>All was so silent, so peaceful, so beautiful; not a sound +reached the bridge save the low throbbing of the engines, +as the vessel sped through the unruffled waters, straight +for that distant island.</p> + +<p>How different was the life on board the grimy old +<em>Mercur</em>, and yet did she not prefer Captain Martin’s +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_288">[Pg 288]</span>round, cheery face and blue, kindly eyes and those rough-and-ready +days in the boisterous Arctic seas?</p> + +<p>A smart steward came to announce that dinner was +served. Then, descending to the saloon, they found the +table laid with fine napery, splendid silver, and bright +with flowers.</p> + +<p>Carnations were among them. Their scent caused her +to start—it brought the past to her vision and to her +mind. The remembrance of that afternoon at Barnes +when she had parted from the tall Englishman who had +been her friend.</p> + +<p>She was friendless now—utterly and completely friendless.</p> + +<p>She took off her beret and jacket, and casting them +upon a lounge, took the seat which the pimply-faced man +offered her. She seated herself just as mechanically as +she ate her dinner—just as mechanically as she joined in +the conversation between her father and their wealthy +host.</p> + +<p>The meal, delicate and well-cooked, was served with a +quiet seriousness that would have become the table of his +royal highness, the previous owner. Indeed, Peter +congratulated himself that several of the men who waited +upon him had been royal servants who had afterwards +entered his service. On the plates the princely crown +still remained, and probably he was not at all anxious to +remove it.</p> + +<p>While at table the twilight darkened into night, and +the vessel’s bows, when within a mile of Lissa, were turned +and the return journey began outside the island, the route +taken by the Austrian Lloyd mail boats. There was not +much sea—not sufficient to cause either of those case-hardened +sailors, or even Thyra herself, to notice it.</p> + +<p>True, the vessel began to labour and roll a little ere +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_289">[Pg 289]</span>they rose from table, but Thyra, when she ascended to +the deck, saw that the moon was rising and that the night +was one of those clear, brilliant ones so often experienced +in the Adriatic in the springtime.</p> + +<p>Old Jorgen and Peter sat in the fumoir, over their +coffee and cigars, while she obtained her fur-lined travelling +coat which her father had thoughtfully brought for her, +and took a seat in one of the long chairs upon the deck.</p> + +<p>She rested her chin upon her hand, and gazing straight +across the moonlit waters, recalled the past. It had +become a habit with her now—a habit that was gradually +revealing itself traced upon her beautiful face, causing a +darkness beneath her eyes and an unusual pallor upon +her cheeks.</p> + +<p>Those last words—that last wild appeal of Richard +Jervoise—was still ringing in her ears. He loved her! +Could she close her eyes to that most patent of all facts? +Could she say within her own heart that he had lied to +her?</p> + +<p>He had confessed his love that afternoon, at the moment +when she had told him of her departure. With her +woman’s intuition she had guessed his secret from the +first. Those words of his were wild and uncurbed as he +had blurted forth the truth—words which had constantly +recurred to her ever since.</p> + +<p>Of Paul she was gradually ceasing to think. When she +remembered him it was not with love—only with regret +that he had not lived to allow her to discover the truth. +She knew, alas! that he was not what he had pretended to +be—that he had deceived her! Something that had come +to her knowledge had in a single moment swept away her +widow’s tears, had caused her to remember him only as a +mysterious person, and not as lover or husband.</p> + +<p>True, she bore his name by law. That was all. Her +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_290">[Pg 290]</span>marriage had been a mere incident, which in a few hours +had come to a termination.</p> + +<p>Richard Jervoise—Dick, the quiet, studious, slow-speaking +Dick—had come into her life at the very moment +of her husband’s tragic death. Sometimes she reproached +herself with having allowed him to seek her company so +soon after widowhood. Yet was it not imperative—did +he not hold the strange secret which she shared with him?</p> + +<p>At first it had been mere friendship; now it was true, +passionate affection. He had confessed his love to her. +But had she been just in her disbelief? Had she been +right in her refusal to hear him, knowing what she did?</p> + +<p>Richard Jervoise loved her! He, of all men in the +world!</p> + +<p>“What greater tragedy could befall a woman than this +that has befallen me!” she cried bitterly to herself, her +great eyes fixed upon the waters as they rippled past in +the clear moonlight. “Dick—Dick loves me! Do I love +him? Ah!” she sighed. “Yet how could I ever marry +that man? No, never, never! I will not sell my soul to +the devil for love. Rather would I become the wife of +this red-faced hog, who has invited me into the gilded +cage he has already prepared. Rather let me become +the chattel of this man older than my own father, than +the wife of Richard Jervoise, the man who——”</p> + +<p>She paused. Her face showed hard and white beneath +the moonbeams. Her small, delicate hands were clenched +as she stared straight before her, seated there rigid as a +statue.</p> + +<p>“Do I love Richard?” she asked herself aloud, for +there was none to hear. “Ah! no!” she cried the next +second. “I must not ask myself that question. I loved +once, but may not love again. The Devil tempted me in +London, and, thank Heaven! I had the strength to draw +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_291">[Pg 291]</span>back. No, Dick and I have parted for ever. I will never +consent to see him again—never in all my life! His wife! +God! No; never could I become the wife of that man, +even though we may love each other. His love-kisses +would blister me.”</p> + +<p>“Ah! why is my future so black, so utterly hopeless? +Why must I suffer these agonies of conscience!” Then +she paused for a moment, and added: “My duty is plain. +It now lies towards my dear old father. I must protect +myself from Richard Jervoise by—by consenting to marry +the man I do not love! It is imperative, hateful though it +be. I will make the sacrifice for my father’s sake, and also +to save myself from Richard Jervoise. I must become +the wife of this man I despise and hate—the man who, +as Dick so very justly put it, will purchase my body and +soul! How strange it all is! Surely no other woman had +ever found herself forced to marry the man she detests, +in order to save herself from the man she loves! But I +must”—she whispered to herself hoarsely—“I must. +I can never become the wife of Richard Jervoise. It +would be too awful—an offence before God!”</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_292">[Pg 292]</span></p> + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XVII_1"> + CHAPTER XVII + <br> + <span class="fs80">A QUESTION IS ASKED</span> + </h2> +</div> + +<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap">Thyra’s</span> nature was a complex one. She was the embodiment +of youth and health. She was essentially an outdoor +girl. She was very good to look upon, and every +man who saw her wished to see her oftener.</p> + +<p>In her soul she possessed that beautiful sense of reserve +and personal isolation which is innate in the best type of +woman, an isolation which she was not only prepared to +surrender lavishly—when the time came—but to surrender +once and for all. She had the gold to give, but she would +not fritter away her treasure in the small change of passing +flirtations. A woman’s consciousness of isolation is her +only protection. No man dared to look into the big grey +eyes of Thyra and think for an instant of familiarity. The +respect that women of her character earn of men is their +great reward. Man is a savage barbarian, and has no +“bloom” to knock off, but his homage is unbounded to +the beautiful woman who has many admirers, but who, +without effort, stands apart as something almost sacred. +That homage is given to the woman who keeps herself +isolated and alone in the hidden chambers of her soul +until she meets the one man who holds for her “the key +of darkness and of morn.”</p> + +<p>Such a woman—sweet, lovable, and yet isolated—was +Jorgen Berentsen’s daughter.</p> + +<p>In the elegant little fumoir aft, a cabin hung with dark +green silk, with parquet flooring, and with a real fireplace +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_293">[Pg 293]</span>where coal could be burnt in winter, and cosy corners as +though one were on land, Peter Sundt and his guest were +smoking.</p> + +<p>Jorgen Berentsen’s host had apparently been asking a +serious question, for he was seated in silence, his cigar +between his teeth, his eyes fixed upon the silk-panelled +wall opposite, his big, hard hand stroking his grey beard.</p> + +<p>“Whatever you may say, Jorgen,” exclaimed the red-faced +man at last, his gaze fixed upon the harbour-master +of Vardo, “I shall go to her to-night—now—to make one +last appeal.”</p> + +<p>“My girl has views of her own upon marriage—especially +so soon after Paul’s death,” responded his friend. +“Suppose she again refuses?”</p> + +<p>Old Sundt’s manner changed in an instant.</p> + +<p>“Refuses! She will not refuse this time. She will +consent to marry me—for her father’s sake,” he said +meaningly.</p> + +<p>“You—you would tell her!” gasped the other, starting +from his chair.</p> + +<p>“Jorgen,” said the other very quietly, “I love your +daughter—and I intend to marry her.”</p> + +<p>“You have said that before,” exclaimed the captain +in a low tone of distress.</p> + +<p>“You have never pleaded my cause!” snapped the ruler +of the Arctic fisheries.</p> + +<p>“I allow my daughter to act exactly as her heart dictates,” +was his slow but determined response.</p> + +<p>“Heart? Rubbish! Marriage is a mere matter of +convenience. Would it not be better for her to be my +wife, and wealthy, than to live with you up in that out-of-the-world +corner, where she sees nobody except sailors +and fishermen? You—too—would be better off in the +south, in a nice house with a garden. There’s a little +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_294">[Pg 294]</span>villa just outside Ragusa which belongs to me, and in +which you might live, so as to be close to us.”</p> + +<p>“Peter!” exclaimed the bluff old fellow, looking straight +into his face, “why tempt me like this? I have told +you and I repeat my words, that I will not attempt to use +any influence with Thyra. She married the man she +loved—and tragedy was the result. Let her act now as +she thinks best. What affection can a girl in her present +pitiable circumstances have in her heart?”</p> + +<p>“I don’t want her affection now,” he declared; “that +will come in due course. You will remain here and give me +permission to go and speak to her.”</p> + +<p>“She will refuse. Why trouble her?” queried her +father, who, be it said, had no great love for this man who +had risen from a common fisherman to the position he now +held. He knew, alas! the hundreds of lives that had been +sacrificed in those boiling seas in the gathering of the +harvest which had made old Peter Sundt the wealthy man +he was. He knew well, too, the hardness of the man’s +heart, and how, times without number, he had refused +succour to the poor widows and little children of the men +who had been swallowed up by the sea in his service. He +was a callous man, whose one thought was money, and +from whose heart every spark of human sympathy had +long ago been crushed in his desperate fight for fortune. +Sitting there at his ease, the splendid diamond glistening +upon his coarse, red hand, and his yachting cap pulled +over his eyes as he lay back smoking, he presented the +picture of the typical parvenu.</p> + +<p>“Why are you so certain of her refusal, Jorgen?” he +asked, removing the cigar from his hard mouth. “Her +love match brought her only sorrow. I can’t think what +possessed you to allow her to marry that man. Recollect +what our inquiries have revealed!”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_295">[Pg 295]</span></p> + +<p>“Yes,” sighed the captain; “but she loved him—therefore +I gave my consent.”</p> + +<p>“And brought about her unhappiness,” he added grimly.</p> + +<p>“I was not to know. It was not my fault.”</p> + +<p>“No; you were not to know that Paul Grinevitch had +been met at Vardo by a man who was his worst enemy, +and that he would be followed by him to Christiania,” +he said bitterly.</p> + +<p>“Then you still maintain your theory?” asked Berentsen. +“You still think that the hand that struck down +Grinevitch was the Englishman’s?”</p> + +<p>“There seems no doubt. The result of our inquiries +all point to it unmistakably.”</p> + +<p>“I confess I am not yet convinced.”</p> + +<p>“Recollect what his friend the doctor told me when I +called upon him. He was full of suspicion at the time. +There is no doubt that on that fatal afternoon Thyra met +the Englishman, and—well, we may easily guess the +rest.”</p> + +<p>“Then you believe that Jervoise went in secret to the +hotel and killed his enemy?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, of that I feel confident,” exclaimed Peter Sundt. +“He had a double motive—first revenge, and secondly, +by killing Thyra’s husband, he removed the object of his +jealousy. He was deeply in love with her—he admitted +that to Doctor Odd.”</p> + +<p>After a few moments’ silence, Jorgen said:</p> + +<p>“I don’t think we need discuss that painful affair any +further, Peter. The police have made every inquiry, but +have failed to establish any clue to the assassin.”</p> + +<p>“Because they are ignorant of many of the true facts—facts +which we ourselves have discovered. The police of +Christiania are utterly incompetent—a set of fools!”</p> + +<p>“If you are so confident that your theory is the correct +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_296">[Pg 296]</span>one, why did you not go to Scotland Yard when in +London, and place your evidence before them?”</p> + +<p>“And cause the arrest of Richard Jervoise?”</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>“Because, my dear Jorgen, I wished to save you and +Thyra from disgrace,” was the man’s answer. “Cannot +you see that by such a course Thyra’s secret meeting with +Jervoise would have been exposed—that her conspiracy +with the Englishman would have been revealed?”</p> + +<p>“What!” cried the captain; “do you actually accuse +my daughter of conniving at her husband’s death?”</p> + +<p>“Of course not, my dear friend. You quite misunderstand +me. I only point out what the world would naturally +conclude from the facts,” he answered. “But, as +you wish, let’s drop the painful subject. Let us commence +afresh. I will go to her, and hear her decision.”</p> + +<p>“It will be as before,” declared the captain. “I spoke +to her only this afternoon before we came aboard.”</p> + +<p>“Well, what did she say?”</p> + +<p>“That her decision was irrevocable.”</p> + +<p>Peter Sundt slowly knocked the ash from his cigar, and +then drained his small glass of Benedictine.</p> + +<p>“A very foolish declaration, Jorgen—as far as you are +concerned.”</p> + +<p>“Ah! Then you still throw the onus upon me, eh?”</p> + +<p>“Have I not told you a dozen times? Have you not +had sufficient opportunity? Remember, you tried once +to evade me. I do not forget that!”</p> + +<p>“You are as inexorable to-night as you ever were, then?” +remarked Berentsen in a deep, earnest voice.</p> + +<p>“Quite. I am not a man to depart from my word. +You know me well enough,” was the answer of the other.</p> + +<p>“Very well, go to her,” exclaimed the bluff old whaler. +“Go and speak to her if you wish. I am prepared to abide +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_297">[Pg 297]</span>by my girl’s decision!” And he set his teeth, and gazed +out through the porthole upon the moonlit sea.</p> + +<p>“But you say she will refuse,” the elder man exclaimed. +“What then?”</p> + +<p>“Then act as you have already threatened,” he cried +with a sudden boldness. “Surely you cannot think that +I will be a party to compelling my child to marry you in +order to save myself! No! I will never do that, Peter, +never! My girl shall choose her own husband.”</p> + +<p>“She chose before—and a pretty mess she made of it!” +sneered the other. “If she will marry me I’ll give her all +the freedom and the means she desires. She shall have a +life of happiness and pleasure in whatever circle of society +she desires. Birth counts for nothing in these days, when +barons of ancient lineage have to earn their bread as +waiters and counts become hairdressers. No; it is men +like myself who rule society, and rule the world. The +only thing that tells nowadays is hard cash. I, who +began life as a fisherboy, have entertained royalty on +board this very yacht, and more than one royal highness +has dined at my table.” He laughed. “And why? +Merely because even those of royal blood bow down +before the golden calf and turn their backs upon the +penniless portion of their own aristocracy. Oh, life is an +amusing game with men like myself, I can assure you,” +he added.</p> + +<p>“Amusing, because you hold men’s destinies in the +hollow of your hand—just as you hold mine!” Jorgen +remarked in a hoarse voice of bitter reproach.</p> + +<p>“Mine is a fair bargain, surely?”</p> + +<p>“In which either my child or myself pays the penalty!”</p> + +<p>“When a man commits a folly he must expect to bear +the punishment,” was Sundt’s abrupt reply, as he put +down his cigar-end and rose, adding: “I am going to her. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_298">[Pg 298]</span>If you wish to precede me, and to speak to her on my +behalf, you are at liberty to do so.”</p> + +<p>“I shall not,” Jorgen blurted forth. “I have already +told you that she will refuse, and that I am ready to accept +the burden of responsibility.”</p> + +<p>“Remember that there will be no drawing back,” said +Peter in earnest warning. “I gave you full opportunity.”</p> + +<p>“And I have not, and will not, avail myself of it. If +you have marked me out for ruin, as you seem to have +done—well, so be it. My child shall never be forced into +marriage with you in order to effect my escape.”</p> + +<p>“Good!” exclaimed the red-faced man, straightening +his cravat before the mirror. “Remember, Jorgen, that +upon Thyra’s decision to-night rests your own future.”</p> + +<p>And, with an expression of dark determination, he +strode out upon the deck, forward to where sat the girl-widow +in the long chair, the brilliant moonlight falling +upon her, bright almost as day.</p> + +<p>At her side he halted, bent over her, and uttered a word.</p> + +<p>But she turned her white face from him, without +response.</p> + +<p>So he straightened himself and stood in silence, his +hand resting upon the back of her chair.</p> + +<p>That moment was the crucial one of Thyra’s life. Her +decision meant either her own unhappiness or to her +beloved father—even though she were ignorant of it—disaster +worse than death itself.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_299">[Pg 299]</span></p> + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XVIII_1"> + CHAPTER XVIII + <br> + <span class="fs80">FATHER AND DAUGHTER</span> + </h2> +</div> + +<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap">It</span> was past midnight.</p> + +<p>Thyra stood leaning upon the marble terrace of the +Villa Sergio, still gazing upon the moonlit sea.</p> + +<p>Below, a few lights twinkled in the town, while across +on the headland of the island of Lacroma shone out the +warning beacon. The feathery palms and bamboos +above her whispered in the faint breeze, but the dead +silence of the night was over everything.</p> + +<p>Alone, standing there in silence, it seemed to her that +some mysterious being, black in the night shadows, had +smitten her heart. She had awakened from the evil +stupor of the past few hours. She was making a supreme +effort to rid herself of the shadow, of the weight of the +incubus, or else she felt that she must fall beneath its +weight, crushed by the black shadow upon her. She +must die.</p> + +<p>This hour of conflict she had dreaded. From day to +day she had put it from her like a bitter cup, but she had +at last faced the ordeal—and it was over.</p> + +<p>Yet she still felt a mysterious fear. What would +Richard Jervoise say—what would he do when he learnt +the ghastly truth? She was in the maze of an evil dream.</p> + +<p>A footstep sounded close to her. It was her father, +come to her again at that same spot where he had stood +in the afternoon.</p> + +<p>“My child!” he said softly, placing his big hand upon +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_300">[Pg 300]</span>her shoulder. “Peter has told me. I—I have come to +offer you my congratulations, dearest.”</p> + +<p>“Thank you, dad,” she answered coldly, her face still +turned from him.</p> + +<p>“You do not know, Thyra—you cannot know—all that +I feel—all that your marriage to Peter Sundt means to me,” +he faltered in a low tone. “Ah! my child, I hardly dared +to hope that, after all, you would give him your hand.”</p> + +<p>The girl turned suddenly, and, burying her face upon +her father’s shoulder, burst into tears.</p> + +<p>“I know! I know!” he exclaimed in a low, sympathetic +voice, endeavouring to comfort her. “I know all that you +must feel—with the man you loved only dead so short a +time. But, child, you must forget him—after all—he +deceived you—he was worthless.”</p> + +<p>“Who told you that?” she asked suddenly, drying her +tears and raising her face to his. “Who makes any +allegations against Paul?”</p> + +<p>Her father was silent. Her question was a distinctly +awkward one.</p> + +<p>“Well,” he said uneasily, “there are curious rumours +current, my dear. They say that Paul Grinevitch was +not an officer, as he declared, and that his parentage was +not what he made it out to be—that’s all.”</p> + +<p>“But do you think, even though it be so, that his +memory is any the less vivid to me, father?” she asked +reproachfully.</p> + +<p>“No, I do not,” he answered. “Indeed, that is just +why your decision to-night was to me so unexpected—and +so mysterious.”</p> + +<p>She did not speak. He held her around the waist, +while her head fell upon the shoulder of his thick pea-jacket, +which, on landing, he had not removed.</p> + +<p>“I have promised to marry Peter Sundt—to become +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_301">[Pg 301]</span>mistress of this place—for one single reason, father,” +she said at last in a toneless voice.</p> + +<p>“Go on.”</p> + +<p>His voice resounded in the silence of the night.</p> + +<p>“There is nothing more to say,” she declared.</p> + +<p>“Ah! I know, Thyra,” he whispered, holding her closer +to him. “You have done this for my sake, child—to +save me!”</p> + +<p>“To save you, dad—I—I don’t understand!” she +cried, looking into his face, puzzled, white, and haggard +in the moonlight.</p> + +<p>“Did Peter tell you nothing, then?”</p> + +<p>“Nothing, dad. He only asked me once again to +become his wife—and—and I consented.”</p> + +<p>Jorgen Berentsen held his breath. At least this man +who had been the friend of his youth had not betrayed +him to his daughter. He had threatened, it was true, +but he had been too loyal to his old friendship to carry +out his threat.</p> + +<p>“I—I can only congratulate you, my dear child,” her +father ejaculated uneasily.</p> + +<p>“But what should he tell me?” she asked. “How +could it be that I could save you, dad? Please explain +yourself.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, nothing, dear—really nothing,” he declared. “I +only wondered whether Peter had told you something—well, +something that is confidential between us, that’s all.”</p> + +<p>“Then if I am to be Peter’s wife I may surely know the +secret?” she said quickly, at once interested. That +secret which she had guessed long ago had, for months, +caused her to ponder.</p> + +<p>“One day, perhaps,” he said, with an attempt to laugh; +“at present place your mind entirely at rest. It is nothing +very serious, I assure you.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_302">[Pg 302]</span></p> + +<p>But she was not satisfied.</p> + +<p>“Dad,” she exclaimed in a low, intense voice, “you +and Peter have had a secret together for a long time. I +have known of your constant consultations. Why did +you go so often to see him at the Ritz in London?”</p> + +<p>“I went to him often, it is true,” replied the sturdy +old fellow, “but it is not in connection with—with my +secret,” he answered lamely.</p> + +<p>“Then why—why didn’t you tell me at the time that +Peter was in London?”</p> + +<p>“Well, because he and I were engaged in making inquiries +concerning your dead husband.”</p> + +<p>“What interest had Peter in him, pray?”</p> + +<p>“Only because he loved you, I think.”</p> + +<p>“Love!” she echoed quickly, in a tone of disgust and +reproach. “Please do not utter that word again, +dad.”</p> + +<p>“Then—then it is true,” the old man whispered in her +ear, “you do not love him, eh?”</p> + +<p>“I hate him, father!” was her frank response; “yet, +though I hate him, I must nevertheless marry him.”</p> + +<p>“Why?”</p> + +<p>“For reasons of my own. I loved once, remember—I +cannot love again.”</p> + +<p>“Except one man,” he remarked very quietly as he bent +to her ear.</p> + +<p>“Whom do you mean, father?”</p> + +<p>“Mr. Jervoise.”</p> + +<p>She drew a deep breath, but no word escaped her lips. +Jorgen Berentsen knew that he had spoken the truth. +He had seen love in Dick Jervoise’s eyes when he came to +Bayswater. Sometimes he had been secretly glad that +his heart-broken daughter had won the affection of the +clean, long-limbed Englishman, yet a moment afterwards +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_303">[Pg 303]</span>he would reflect upon the admission Doctor Odd had made +to Peter, and the proof that Thyra and Jervoise had met +clandestinely on the very first day of her marriage.</p> + +<p>Why? Ah! that was the problem. A thousand times +he had reflected upon it—a thousand times, as he had +sat with Dick at table, in the car, at the theatre, he had +tried to learn from his demeanour the true nature of his +secret accord with his daughter. But the Englishman, +ever upon his guard, had remained silent as the sphinx.</p> + +<p>The sweet breath of the flowers filled the night air +where they stood. The soft musical bell of the Convent +of San Francesco came up from the town below, followed +by the deep-toned notes of those of the Duomo, of San +Biagio, and the Orologio; the slight zephyr from the sea +stirred the feathery branches above—a scented night of +spring in beautiful Dalmatia.</p> + +<p>On the left, the open French windows of the villa let +forth a flood of light across the splendid garden. But +Peter Sundt remained in his Arabesque fumoir at the +further end of the house, for at his suggestion had Jorgen +gone forth to find his daughter.</p> + +<p>“Thyra,” exclaimed her father very tenderly, “I want +to ask you one question, dear. Now that the painful +affair in Christiania is all of the past and forgotten by +everyone save yourself, perhaps, I think that I have a +right as your father—as a man who loves his daughter +devotedly—to know the truth.”</p> + +<p>“What truth, dad?” she asked, turning to him in quick +surprise.</p> + +<p>“I know, child,” the man went on, his hand placed +lovingly upon her slim shoulder; “I know that what I am +about to ask must cause you pain. But I cannot avoid +it—where the honour of you, my dear daughter, is at +stake!”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_304">[Pg 304]</span></p> + +<p>“I don’t understand, father,” she ejaculated, turning +her face to his.</p> + +<p>“Then, listen, child,” he said in a low, serious tone. +“It is alleged that you met Richard Jervoise on the afternoon +of Paul’s death—that—that you are aware of the +identity of his assassin!” he blurted forth.</p> + +<p>“Father!” gasped the girl, falling back as though she +had been struck a blow. “Who says this—who makes +such an allegation?”</p> + +<p>“Your enemies, my child.”</p> + +<p>“Then if my enemies say this,” she answered, holding +her breath, “surely you, my father, should not heed them! +Am I to have no peace of mind?” she sobbed bitterly. +“Is this the latest charge against me—that I am an +accessory to my husband’s murder?”</p> + +<p>“I do not believe it, my dear child,” he assured her. +“How can you think that I could ever believe any ill of +you?”</p> + +<p>“Does—does this man Peter Sundt believe it?” she +asked in a dry, hard voice.</p> + +<p>“Why, of course not—or he would never have asked you +to become his wife,” was the man’s response, not, however, +without just a moment’s hesitation. Was it not +Peter himself who had made the startling allegations? he +reflected.</p> + +<p>Father and daughter stood together in silence for a +long time. At last she said:</p> + +<p>“Peter has to-night told me something of which I was +hitherto unaware, father. He is, it seems, a widower.”</p> + +<p>Jorgen Berentsen drew a deep breath.</p> + +<p>“Ah! he has told you that, has he? Well, perhaps, +child, it is better for you to know now than afterwards +that he has been married before.”</p> + +<p>“You, who have known Peter nearly all his life, knew +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_305">[Pg 305]</span>his wife, of course, dad. What was she like?” asked the +girl with some curiosity.</p> + +<p>“Oh, it was so many years ago that I scarcely recollect +her, save that she was a pretty, dark-haired girl, Marguerite +Meunier—a French governess in the household of a +prominent member of the Storthing. That was, well, +fully twenty-five years ago. They lived for about two +years in Tromso, for in those days Peter was not wealthy. +Then the rigours of the climate were too severe for her, +and he took her to live in Christiania, and afterwards, I +think, to Copenhagen. She died of phthisis, in Mentone, +I believe, three years after her marriage. Peter +was devoted to her, and after her death was like a man +demented.”</p> + +<p>“Did he treat her well?” asked the girl, gazing thoughtfully +upon the long line of the moon’s brilliance across +the rippling sea.</p> + +<p>“He lived, it seemed, only for her,” declared her father. +“I remember how they used to be pointed out as a model +pair, for both of them were young and both were handsome. +It was our climate of the north that killed her, +poor fragile little woman. She had been born and bred +in the south—in the Jura, I have heard.”</p> + +<p>“And she went back to France to die!” sighed the girl.</p> + +<p>“Since her death Peter has devoted his whole time and +energies to the amassing of wealth,” remarked her father. +“His case is not unique. In the past of many a man who +is to-day hard and embittered will be found a similar +hidden episode. Look at myself, Thyra! I have never +been the same man since God thought fit to take your +dear mother from me. When I lost her, I, alas! lost +everything that was dear to me in this world—except you,” +he sighed. “And now—and now you are to leave me!” +and he swallowed the big lump that rose in his throat.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_306">[Pg 306]</span></p> + +<p>“Not of my own free will, dad,” she assured him, +twining her long arms about his neck and kissing him +fondly.</p> + +<p>“Then what has induced you to consent to this marriage?” +asked the sturdy old man, much puzzled. “Why +have you made—well, this sacrifice?” he blurted forth +again.</p> + +<p>“I have reasons—reasons that are mine alone,” was +her ambiguous answer, as her breast rose and fell slowly—“reasons +rendered the stronger now that I know the +cruel allegations made against me and—and against——” +She could not finish the sentence. She burst again into +tears.</p> + +<p>“And against the man you love, child,” he added very +softly. “Ah, yes! I know. I know all that you must +feel—all that this must have cost you to give your hand +to this man. Believe me, I have tried to prevent it all, +but, alas! I have been powerless. I deeply regret, now, +that we ever accepted his invitation to come to this gilded +palace of his.”</p> + +<p>“I do not. It is for the best undoubtedly. Marriage +with Peter Sundt, though he is older than you, my father, +will perhaps save me from a worse fate, now that love and +happiness are in future utterly debarred me.”</p> + +<p>“No, child; don’t speak so despondently. You are +still young, with all your life before you. Come, dry your +dear eyes,” he urged, drawing her tenderly to him. “It’s +late; let me see you to your room.”</p> + +<p>She restrained her emotion, but in the light he saw +that the expression upon her face had entirely changed. +She seemed years older. The light of youth had faded +from her lovely countenance; her eyes were hard and stony, +and upon her mouth was an expression which showed the +determination with which she had made her self-sacrifice, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_307">[Pg 307]</span>had renounced her love, and with it all in the world she +had held most dear.</p> + +<p>That night she did not close her eyes. Instead, she +wrote a long letter of many pages to Dick Jervoise.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_308">[Pg 308]</span></p> + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XIX"> + CHAPTER XIX + <br> + <span class="fs80">IN BLACK AND WHITE</span> + </h2> +</div> + +<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap">We</span> must return to London, and more particularly to +Hammersmith.</p> + +<p>Owen’s action in placing the matter of the annoying +letters in the hands of the police had led to nothing, so far +as the discovery of the writer was concerned. He still +remained unfound. And the authorities owned themselves +baffled.</p> + +<p>But there seemed to be one good result from his so +doing: the letters had ceased as suddenly as they had +commenced. After the one that arrived on the evening +of Dick’s amateur effort at detective work, Owen had +received no more, and the annoyance was fading from his +mind, the more so as his friend was away in France, and +he had no one with whom to discuss the incident, as for +certain reasons of his own he would not revert to the matter +with the major.</p> + +<p>At first he had worried himself a good deal over it, but +when the infliction ceased he grew to look on it as the +work of some lunatic who had wished to have a joke at his +expense, and was satisfied with the result.</p> + +<p>And there was another matter which occupied his mind +a good deal. His relations with the Gordons were not as +pleasant as they had been at first. Not that he could +complain of anything on the part of the major; he was +always friendly and glad to see him. But with the daughter +it was different, and yet Owen could hardly say in +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_309">[Pg 309]</span>what way the difference lay, except that he appeared to +be making no headway with her. She was coolly polite +when they met, and when he spent the evening at their +flat she would remain in the room working, but her share +in the conversation would be very slight.</p> + +<p>As he expressed it, “she suffered him,” and he could +find nothing definite in her manner with which to find +fault, at least openly. Her father did not seem to notice +anything, so what could he say? Yet a lover is more +exigeant than a man in his right senses, and looks for +more. Owen was far from contented, the thing worried +him, he felt there was no reason for her thus to treat him, +and that she was not dealing fairly with him.</p> + +<p>He did not care to allude to the matter to the major; +it was something between Amy and himself, and between +themselves it should remain.</p> + +<p>At last his mind was made up, and, having a few hours +to spare, he took the “Tube” up to Bond Street and paid +a call on Madame Juliette. He found the waiting-room +unoccupied, and her attendant informed him that she +had a client with her, but that she would see him next.</p> + +<p>It was the first time he had paid a visit to her professional +apartments, and he was struck with the semi-oriental +manner in which they were furnished. All the luxuries +and glamour of the East seemed to be gathered there, and +in the subdued light shed by the shaded lamps—for the +daylight was excluded by thick hangings over the windows—it +was easy to imagine he had been transported to the +heart of India.</p> + +<p>But he had not long to wait before he was summoned +by the silent-footed, dark-skinned boy to follow him along +a short passage, at the end of which he drew back a door, +and, raising a thick curtain, Owen found himself in the +presence of Miss Gordon. She rose from a low divan +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_310">[Pg 310]</span>upon which she had been sitting and bowed, but did not +offer her hand.</p> + +<p>Owen took his cue from her, and, waiting till he heard +the door close, said:</p> + +<p>“I trust you will excuse my calling on you here, Miss +Gordon, but there is a matter on which I wished to have a +few words with you, and I thought we might find more +privacy here than at Plevna Gardens.” Amy made no +reply, merely bowing again, and Owen continued:</p> + +<p>“It is impossible for me, Miss Gordon, to have failed +to notice the change in your manner towards me. When +I had the honour of making your acquaintance you were +most kind and friendly, and I will not hide from you the +pleasure this gave me; but since then, from some cause, I +know not what, you have entirely changed, and, to speak +honestly and openly, I don’t think you are treating me +fairly. I may have done something to offend you, but, +if so, it has been unwittingly, and I am entitled to know +what it is.”</p> + +<p>Beyond a slight increase in colour which showed plainly +beneath the stain with which her face was darkened, Amy +had heard him apparently unmoved, but now that he +paused she said quietly:</p> + +<p>“What you say is quite true, Dr. Odd. For a time +your acquaintance gave me great pleasure, I admit; but +does not your own conscience give you a clue to the change +you have remarked in me?”</p> + +<p>“Honestly and truthfully, it does not. I am utterly +and completely unable to account for it.”</p> + +<p>“I did not say anything to you,” she continued, “because +the change arose from a professional incident, which +I felt in a sense no concern of mine, and concerned you +before we came to know you. Besides that, at first it was +only a conjecture on my part of which I had no proof.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_311">[Pg 311]</span></p> + +<p>“And now you have?” replied Owen.</p> + +<p>“I think so.”</p> + +<p>“Then I demand to know what it may be,” said Owen +sternly.</p> + +<p>There was silence for a few moments while the girl was +thinking deeply, and then she continued:</p> + +<p>“You were in practice in Exeter?”</p> + +<p>“I was.”</p> + +<p>“And your practice had not a high reputation?”</p> + +<p>“I don’t think you have a right to say that, Miss +Gordon. Unfortunately my partner turned out far from +what I had hoped, since he did not bear the highest +character for sobriety, but I don’t think anyone could say +anything against me.”</p> + +<p>The girl nodded, then said: “You knew a Miss Dean, +I believe?”</p> + +<p>“I don’t recall the name.”</p> + +<p>“Miss Carry Dean.”</p> + +<p>“No, I think not.”</p> + +<p>“Think again, Dr. Odd. She died.”</p> + +<p>“No,” after a moment’s thought; “I’m sure I did not +know her.”</p> + +<p>“It may be so. Yet you were called in by her.”</p> + +<p>“I think not.”</p> + +<p>“Did you ever go by the name of Hodge?”</p> + +<p>A smile flickered over Owen’s face at these words as he +replied:</p> + +<p>“I have certainly been called by that name by some of +my poorer patients. You see, my own name is an uncommon +one, and the other would be more familiar to +them. But what has this to do with it?”</p> + +<p>“Doctor, I have perhaps been hardly fair to you, and +ought not to have remained silent, but for my father’s +sake I took a course which I considered best, seeing he had +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_312">[Pg 312]</span>made a friend of you, and your society gave him pleasure. +But now I will be quite open.” And Amy gave her visitor a +full account of her cousin’s sudden death between the +promised visit of the “Dr. Hodge” and the arrival of her +own attendant, continuing, “Since the letter I received +from Martha Green, I have made inquiries in Exeter, but +the incident took place some time ago, and the information +I was able to gather was vague and unsatisfactory, and did +not serve to satisfy my mind.”</p> + +<p>“It would have been much more fair had you applied +to me as the fountain head in the first place, I think,” +replied Owen hotly.</p> + +<p>“I see it now. It would have been. However, I did +not. And lately I have received from an unknown quarter +a letter which went some way further in confirming +the suspicions that were in my mind.”</p> + +<p>“I demand to see that letter. You owe me that at +least,” said Owen sternly. And Amy had never liked +the man so well as now, when, with anger blazing in his +eyes, he was fighting for his character and reputation. +Gazing at him she hesitated for a moment or two, and +then, going to a drawer in her bureau, took from it a sheet +of paper, and handed it to him.</p> + +<p>A single glance was sufficient. “Ah,” he exclaimed, +“another of these vile innuendos. I am sorry—very +sorry, you should have allowed yourself to be influenced +by a thing of this kind. A stab in the back, given by a +coward.”</p> + +<p>The girl had no answer ready. Her conduct was now +placed before her in its true light, and she saw where she +was miserably at fault.</p> + +<p>“But it shall not rest here,” continued Owen. “I have +been traduced, and you have sided with my traducer +without giving me a chance of being heard. Apart from +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_313">[Pg 313]</span>my friendship with your father, this must be cleared up. +As a medical man I will not suffer this stain on my character +to go unchallenged. Now, Miss Gordon, putting aside +all thoughts of the friendship which I had hoped might +perhaps in time have grown into something stronger and +closer between us, I ask from you the fullest particulars +regarding the death of your cousin, and my supposed +summons to her bedside.”</p> + +<p>The girl’s answer was a burst of passionate tears. The +lawful indignation, and the straightforward accusation +against herself by the man in whom she was taking a +greater interest than she cared to admit, was more than +she could bear in silence, and she broke down miserably.</p> + +<p>Her tears gave Owen the sharpest pain, but he would +not give way. She had been unfair to him, and must +take the consequences. He waited till she had regained +command over herself, and then quietly put to her question +after question till he was thoroughly conversant with +all the details. And then, as he was preparing to leave, +he said:</p> + +<p>“And now, Miss Gordon, you must leave the matter +with me. I shall not hesitate to apply to you if I see that +you can in any way assist me, but till I can get to the +bottom of this foul charge I shall not accept either your or +your father’s hospitality. I do not wish to appear hard +or cruel to you, but you must see the case in its true light, +and how it is absolutely essential that I should clear myself. +Good afternoon,” and he would have left the room; but +Amy, holding out her hand to him, said:</p> + +<p>“One moment, doctor. You have been far kinder to +me than I deserve; extend your kindness a little longer. +Do not be too hard on me. As I once told you, I am not +like other girls, my training in the East has made me +suspicious and easily influenced. You will come to the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_314">[Pg 314]</span>truth, ay, sooner than you think—I feel it, I know +it——”</p> + +<p>“How do you know it?” asked Owen sharply.</p> + +<p>“I cannot tell, but I do know it. It is my mind.”</p> + +<p>“If you can <em>know</em> these things, why did you not know +that you were thinking wrongly of me?” asked Owen, +with a sneer, for which he was sorry directly afterwards. +“Forgive me,” he continued, “I should not have said +that. Till I have come on the truth I must keep away +from you,” and, hesitating no longer, he left the apartment.</p> + +<p>Taking the “Tube” to Shepherd’s Bush, he set out to +walk from there to his rooms. He wished to think.</p> + +<p>He had learnt something, he had learnt the secret of +Amy’s behaviour towards him. He thought he had learnt +something more, namely that, in spite of what passed, +there was deep hidden in her heart a warmer feeling +towards him than she was disposed to admit even to +herself. And then came the thought that even if she were +in time to return the passion which, in spite of her conduct, +he still felt towards her, how could he, with his indefinite +prospects and meagre resources, aspire to her hand? But—well, +“sufficient for the day,” etc., and he strode on.</p> + +<p>By the time he reached Hammersmith evening had +fallen, and the electric lamps were lit. He was approaching +a poor side street when there emerged from it a figure of a +man, bent as though with weakness and tottering in his +steps. It caught Owen’s eye, and he was thinking something +must be amiss, when, after swaying a moment, the +legs collapsed, and the figure sank in a heap on the pavement.</p> + +<p>Owen hurried up, and, raising the head, from which +the hat had fallen, from the stone, exclaimed:</p> + +<p>“Good heavens! Jakes, it is you!”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_315">[Pg 315]</span></p> + +<p>There was no answer. The man was unconscious. At +first Owen thought him dead, but, ascertaining his heart +was still beating, he appealed to some of the crowd that +had quickly gathered to help to carry him to his surgery, +which was only a few yards distant. Laying him on the +couch, and having got rid of the helpers, with the exception +of the policeman who stayed for the doctor’s verdict, +he applied restoratives, and soon the colour began to +return to his face, and his eyes slowly opened.</p> + +<p>“He’ll do now, constable. You can leave him with me; +I’ll look after him till he’s better. You might give me a +call later to hear how he gets on. But for the present +what he requires is absolute quiet.”</p> + +<p>“Right, sir, I’ll look in on my way to the station on +going off duty, so that I can make my report. Good +evening.”</p> + +<p>Left alone with his former partner, Owen sat by his +side, watching him carefully. The change in him was so +great he had been startled at first. The last time he had +seen him he had been a stout man; now he had shrunk +away to almost nothing. His cheeks had fallen in, and +his eyes were hollow, while his skin, a sallow colour, +hung in folds about his jaws.</p> + +<p>It was some time before he was sufficiently recovered +to speak, and when he did it was in anything but a pleasant +manner.</p> + +<p>“Odd! is that you? Curse you! What am I doing here? +I’m not going to let you——” and he made an effort to +rise.</p> + +<p>“Lie still, old man,” said Owen, pushing him back. +“It’s all right. I’m looking after you. You’ve not been +well, but you’ll soon be better. Here, drink this,” +handing him a glass. “It’s not whisky,” with a smile. +“You shall have some of that later on.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_316">[Pg 316]</span></p> + +<p>The sick man looked up doubtfully at the face that +was bending over him, and then, having taken the draught, +sank back with a sigh and closed his eyes.</p> + +<p>Owen waited patiently, for the man seemed to have +fallen asleep. At length the eyes opened once more. +“Now you’re feeling a bit better, aren’t you? Eh, old +man?”</p> + +<p>“Yes; but what have you got to do with me? Where +am I?”</p> + +<p>“In my surgery. You fainted in the street, and I was +passing and had you brought here. I’ll take care of you.”</p> + +<p>“I’ll be hanged if you do. I’m going,” and once more +he tried to rise, but sank back with a groan.</p> + +<p>“Don’t be a fool, Jakes. You’re not fit to move yet, +and you’re all right here.”</p> + +<p>“Honour bright? Is it all square?”</p> + +<p>“Rather. What do you take me for? Surely I can +look after an old chum?”</p> + +<p>“You always were about as good as they make ’em, +Odd, and I’ll take your word.”</p> + +<p>“That’s right. You just trust me, and I’ll soon have +you on your legs again.” Though in his heart Owen +much doubted his ability to do so.</p> + +<p>It was an hour later, and Jakes was sitting up. He +was better, but far from right.</p> + +<p>“Look here, Odd,” he was saying, “I can’t stand this—your +doing all this for me.”</p> + +<p>“Nonsense, man, you’re in my hands now, and, what’s +more, you’re not going to leave this place to-night. Where +are you living. I’ll send round for your things; I’ve got +a spare room you can have, and then I can keep my eye +on you. Old fellow, you want tinkering up a bit. Where +am I to send?”</p> + +<p>Jakes gave vent to a bitter laugh. “You can send to +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_317">[Pg 317]</span>10, Milton Street, but they won’t let you have anything +of mine. I owe them a couple of weeks’ rent, and, after +all, I’ve got nothing but a pair of worn-out boots and a +shirt or two there. I’m on my beam ends, fair stony, Odd.”</p> + +<p>“All right, old chap, I can lend you what you want +for the time, so we won’t trouble them. My supper will +be ready soon, and you’re going to have a little soup then, +and after that off to bed with you. A good night’s rest +will be everything,” and Owen left the room to give +directions to Margaret.</p> + +<p>He was away five minutes or more, and when he re-entered +the surgery it was to find his late partner leaning +forward, with his head on his hands, sobbing like a child.</p> + +<p>“Steady, old fellow, steady; this won’t do. Drink +some of this at once. You’re over-strained. Lie back +again. We’ll have our supper here, and then it will only +be one move to your room.”</p> + +<p>Jakes did as he was told, and gradually regained command +of himself. Owen would not suffer him to talk +much, but he could not stop him from saying:</p> + +<p>“If you knew what an infernal cur I am, Odd, you +wouldn’t be doing all this for me; you’d kick me into the +street, and I deserve it.”</p> + +<p>Owen looked at him sharply for a moment or two, and +then said, with a laugh:</p> + +<p>“Should I? Wait and see. But to-night I listen to +nothing. To-morrow will be soon enough to hear your +story. And now, if you’ve finished, I’ll help you to your +room, and put you to bed, for I’ve got to go out to a +patient.”</p> + +<p>“Ah, you’re not one to neglect a summons; I remember +that in the old days.”</p> + +<p>“I hope not. Now come along,” and together the two +men slowly made their way to the upper storey.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_318">[Pg 318]</span></p> + +<p>Owen’s call did not take him long, and when he got +back he paid a visit to his patient, and found him sleeping +calmly. He returned to the surgery to smoke his last +pipe, and sat for a long time wondering and thinking.</p> + +<p>Jakes spent a good night. Owen had been able to +make a thorough examination of him, but the result had +not been satisfactory. In his own mind, Jake’s fate was +sealed. He was suffering badly from Bright’s disease, +and it was only a question of—it might be—days.</p> + +<p>Owen had broken the fact to him as kindly as he could, +and Jakes had been prepared for it.</p> + +<p>“Just what I expected,” he said. “A fellow couldn’t +live as I’ve done without something of this kind, and I’ve +gone it pretty warmly since you and I parted. I’ve been +down on my luck for some time, and have lived on drink, +not <em>food</em>, when I’d anything to buy it with, and, damn it, +man, you’ve behaved like a trump to me, and I can’t keep +it any longer. It was I who sent you those letters, meaning +to get something out of you, but you weren’t to be +drawn.”</p> + +<p>“You, Jakes?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, I. Now kick me out.”</p> + +<p>“Kick you out? Not I. No, I don’t treat an old friend +like that, for we <em>were</em> friends in the old days; but there is +one thing I am going to do, and that is get you into a +hospital, where you will be properly looked after and +nursed far better than you could be here.”</p> + +<p>“I’ll go, Odd. I shan’t be a burden to anyone long, +but I’ll be none at all to you; you’ve been too good to me +as it is.”</p> + +<p>Owen made no answer; he was thinking. Suddenly he +said:</p> + +<p>“Jakes, do you know a Miss Gordon?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, I do. Your Miss Gordon. I traced her out, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_319">[Pg 319]</span>and sent her a letter. I’m going to hide nothing. I meant +to queer your pitch there, to spite you, and make you +attend to my demands.”</p> + +<p>“Do you know who she is?” asked Owen, rising and +pacing the room, for he felt his temper was in danger of +giving way.</p> + +<p>“Yes, a cousin of that Miss Carry Dean who sent for +you, or, as the man she sent called you, Dr. Hodge. I +answered in your name, and promised to go at once, but +I’d had more than enough then, and forgot all about it +till the next morning; and then when I drove over to the +village and asked for her house and I was told she was +dead, I saw the best thing was to lie low and say nothing +about it. I often wondered why there was no row about +that afterwards.”</p> + +<p>“The man who came for you died as soon as he got back, +that’s why,” said Owen.</p> + +<p>“What luck!”</p> + +<p>“But how was it I knew nothing about this?”</p> + +<p>“You were away in France, on that one holiday you +took.”</p> + +<p>“Are you sure of this?”</p> + +<p>“Certain.”</p> + +<p>“Will you put it down in black and white?”</p> + +<p>After a moment’s hesitation: “Yes, I owe it to you; +but make it as easy for me as you can, Odd.”</p> + +<p>“It won’t be used against you, if you mean that. I +only want to clear myself.”</p> + +<p>“Get a sheet of paper and write what I dictate; I’ll +sign it.”</p> + +<p>Owen readily did as requested, and within a few minutes +was in possession of a document that he felt sure would set +him right in the eyes of the girl he loved so passionately.</p> + +<p>As to the wreck of humanity, Jakes, the following day +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_320">[Pg 320]</span>Owen was enabled to gain him admission to an hospital +where, after lingering for a week, constantly visited by +his former and forgiving partner, he died.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>Once more Owen was in the sanctum of Madame +Juliette, in Bond Street, but with what different feelings +from those he had experienced on the former occasion!</p> + +<p>Miss Gordon was seated on the divan, with a paper in +her hand which she had been reading.</p> + +<p>“Forgive me, Doctor Odd. I can say no more,” she +murmured, looking up, her lovely eyes bright with unshed +tears.</p> + +<p>“Your suspicions are at rest, Miss Gordon?” inquired +Owen calmly.</p> + +<p>“Completely. They should never have arisen.”</p> + +<p>“They should not but, as they did, you should have +applied to me at once to allay them. But I will not say +any more. We are all apt to make mistakes, and that +you of all people in the world should have done so in the +matter hurt me more than I can tell you. There, I have +had my say, and shall not refer to it again. We will bury +the incident, and try to forget it. And we are friends once +more?”</p> + +<p>“If in your generosity you can really overlook what I +have done, and can accord me that privilege,” continued +the girl, her countenance showing plainly the emotion +she was suffering.</p> + +<p>“My heart contains no dearer wish,” said Owen, taking +the hand she had all unconsciously held towards him. +“And at some future time, should Fortune smile more +kindly on me than she has done in the past, it may be that +you will——But at present I have no right to ask +anything further. I must be content with what I already +possess, to me a most precious guerdon.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_321">[Pg 321]</span></p> + +<p>At these words the eyes of the girl fell, and a deeper +colour suffused her cheeks and neck, but she made no +answer, only allowing her hand to remain where it rested. +They stood thus for some moments in absolute silence, +and then Owen said:</p> + +<p>“And now I may resume my visits as formerly?”</p> + +<p>“As often as you care to come. My father—and I—will +always be delighted to see you, you may be sure.”</p> + +<p>“Thank you, Miss Gordon, it will be a pleasure on my +part that I have sadly missed of late. I shall take advantage +of your permission and look in this evening. For +the present Au revoir, Amy,” and without another word +Owen left the room, and the girl sank back on the divan +with a happy sigh that told of the lifting of a cloud that +for some time past had overshadowed her otherwise happy +life.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_322">[Pg 322]</span></p> + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XX"> + CHAPTER XX + <br> + <span class="fs80">A WOMAN’S HONOUR</span> + </h2> +</div> + +<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap">London</span>. London—the giant metropolis of the universe—in +the month of May.</p> + +<p>London, the ever-moving, ever-extending, the smiling +paradise of the rich, the pitiless wilderness of the poor, +the desolate world of misfortune and disappointment of +the struggling middle-class; the city of broken hopes and +of sudden fortunes, the shameless, wanton city of blazing +wealth, of sinful waste, and, alas! at the same time the +stony-hearted city of abject suffering, of pathetic self-sacrifice, +and of slow starvation. The city of sharp +contrasts, where to retain life one must possess money, +where men purchase titles and honours as easily as they +do their dinners, where blackguards loll in the windows of +the best clubs, where notorious women cover their misdeeds +by their titles, and laugh behind their fans at the +common world—the City of the Great Sin.</p> + +<p>It was seven o’clock. A bright, pleasant evening, as +Dick Jervoise drove out of Charing Cross Station in an +open taxicab, along Pall Mall, and up St. James’s Street, +where he called at his club for his letters. Then he drove +along Piccadilly and Knightsbridge to his flat at Barnes.</p> + +<p>He wore a grey travelling coat, and before him was a +well-worn and much-labelled suit-case, for he had just +arrived from the Continent, and was in haste to get home. +As he went along he read the letters he had just received, +tearing them, one after the other, into fragments which +he cast to the winds.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_323">[Pg 323]</span></p> + +<p>Carter, who opened the door to him, said:</p> + +<p>“Doctor Odd rang up an hour ago, and asked if you +were home, sir. I told him I would ask you to ring up +when you came in.”</p> + +<p>“Very well, Carter. Anyone else rung or called?”</p> + +<p>“No one particular, sir. Only that young French lady. +She came last Tuesday week, I think it was, expecting +that you had returned. She left a note for you. It’s on +your desk.”</p> + +<p>Dick, without removing hat or coat, entered his sitting-room +and, tearing open the note, read it. His face fell. +For a second he hesitated, then, tearing it up, dropped it +into the waste-paper basket.</p> + +<p>“Carter, tell the doctor I’m back, and would like to see +him if he can run across,” he said. “I’m going to have +a wash—for, by Jove! I want one after three days and +nights in that confounded wagon-lit!”</p> + +<p>The man went to the telephone as he was bid, while his +master passed into his dressing-room.</p> + +<p>A quarter of an hour later Owen Odd entered, greeted +his friend, and sank into the armchair beside the fireplace.</p> + +<p>“Well?” asked Dick, standing on the hearthrug with +his hands deep in his trousers pockets.</p> + +<p>“Well?” said the doctor, blinking at his friend through +his pince-nez. “What’s the result?”</p> + +<p>“Nothing.”</p> + +<p>“You’ve had a fruitless errand, eh?”</p> + +<p>“Entirely. I’ve been on the move these last six weeks, +travelling almost incessantly, but all, alas! to no purpose,” +he sighed.</p> + +<p>“Sundt is back at the Ritz,” Owen remarked. “They +arrived from Ragusa a week ago. The captain and Thyra +are at their old quarters in Bayswater. I called there +three days ago—to congratulate her.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_324">[Pg 324]</span></p> + +<p>“Well, what did she say? How did she look?” inquired +Jervoise listlessly.</p> + +<p>“She looked as bright as ever, but said very little +regarding her engagement, except that she was busy, +ordering dresses and hats and other fittings. I suppose +you’ll call?” he added, watching him.</p> + +<p>“No, Owen; I don’t think I shall.”</p> + +<p>“She will expect to see you, surely?”</p> + +<p>“She won’t know I’m back in town.”</p> + +<p>“I told old Sundt of your impending arrival. I saw +him yesterday.”</p> + +<p>“I wish you had left me out of the question, old chap,” +exclaimed Dick.</p> + +<p>“He invited me to the Ritz—on purpose to inquire +your whereabouts, it seemed to me.”</p> + +<p>“Why, what do my movements concern him, pray?”</p> + +<p>“How should I know? He seems, however, to take an +unusual interest in you,” Owen answered. “Perhaps—perhaps +he has guessed your affection for Thyra.”</p> + +<p>“The old man can know nothing.”</p> + +<p>“Unless she has told him.”</p> + +<p>“Why should she tell him anything?”</p> + +<p>“Well,” said Owen, “whether she has made any statement +to him or not, he is in possession of some facts which +are—well, to say the least, extraordinary, and I tell you +frankly, Dick, they have caused me considerable surprise +and misgiving.”</p> + +<p>Jervoise, for the first time, noticed the curious expression +upon his friend’s face.</p> + +<p>“Why? What has he been telling you?”</p> + +<p>“He has been questioning me again—concerning that +afternoon when you were absent from the hotel in Christiania.”</p> + +<p>“And what did you tell him?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_325">[Pg 325]</span></p> + +<p>“What could I tell him—except the truth? Look here, +Dick,” added the man in pince-nez, “I may as well tell +you openly, and at once, that he, and others too, apparently, +entertain a grave suspicion of you.”</p> + +<p>“Of what?”</p> + +<p>Owen Odd was silent. At last, with an effort, he said:</p> + +<p>“Of being the murderer of Paul Grinevitch.”</p> + +<p>Dick’s face was blanched, his brows narrowed, and he +bit his lip.</p> + +<p>“And you share that suspicion, eh?” he asked hoarsely.</p> + +<p>The doctor shrugged his shoulders.</p> + +<p>“Come,” his friend said, “you may just as well admit +it. We are friends, therefore I give you leave to speak +quite frankly.”</p> + +<p>“Well, Dick, to be perfectly open, I do not consider +your explanations have been at all satisfactory. You’ve +more than once contradicted yourself, remember.”</p> + +<p>“I admit it,” was the other’s rather lame answer; “but +I regret if you, my friend, entertain any doubt concerning +me.”</p> + +<p>“You declared to me on the morning of the wedding +that Paul Grinevitch was a scoundrel. Yet later, when +I asked you if you had known him before you met in +Vardo, you evaded the question.”</p> + +<p>“I did so with an object.”</p> + +<p>“The object of revenge, it seems,” retorted his friend +bitterly.</p> + +<p>“My dear fellow, both you and that man Sundt may +make what allegations you wish; charge me with being the +assassin, if you will. I know well that in your heart you +believe me to be the murderer. Ever since our return +from the north you’ve shunned me, and made excuses for +not calling. Yet I am powerless to defend myself from +such attacks.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_326">[Pg 326]</span></p> + +<p>“Why powerless? An innocent man can always prove +his innocence!”</p> + +<p>“Except when the guilt cannot be established,” replied +Dick boldly, looking his friend straight in the face.</p> + +<p>“But surely you can make explanation, man, when +this fellow Sundt is working so diligently to bring you to +justice?”</p> + +<p>“Justice!” he echoed, with a short laugh. “Let the +man who has robbed me of my love rob me of my liberty—my +life, if he wishes; but he cannot rob me of my +honour, or my own self-respect.”</p> + +<p>“To tell you the truth, Dick, I fail to discern any motive +in this indefatigable inquiry which Peter Sundt has +instituted. It seems that he has sent detectives over +half Russia to try to find out the truth concerning the +dead man’s past.”</p> + +<p>“I know. I, too, have just been over the same ground.”</p> + +<p>“What’s his motive?”</p> + +<p>“Hatred of me, no doubt,” he answered. “He probably +knows that Thyra loves me.”</p> + +<p>“She does love you, then?” asked his friend anxiously.</p> + +<p>“Of that there is no doubt. And I love her in return. +Why should I conceal the truth from you, my friend?”</p> + +<p>“From his conversation with me he has, it seems, +established a point which in any event is unfortunate, +both for Thyra and for you. He has discovered that on +the fatal afternoon you met her in secret in the Slotsparken, +and were seen walking with her in the direction of the +Oscars Gade.”</p> + +<p>He started perceptibly.</p> + +<p>“Well,” he asked, “and what else?” He held his +breath, as though in sudden terror of what was to follow.</p> + +<p>“He reserves the full extent of his knowledge to himself, +knowing that I am your friend. Indeed, he tried to +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_327">[Pg 327]</span>extract from me a promise to make no mention of this +matter to you.”</p> + +<p>“H’m! And he called you to the Ritz in order to try +and ascertain exactly where I was, eh?”</p> + +<p>“He called me to tell me that, in consequence of certain +admissions made by Thyra, he had caused further inquiries +to be made in Christiania, the result of which practically +established your guilt.”</p> + +<p>Dick’s chin had fallen upon his chest, as he stood in +silence before the man who had been his friend. He made +no remark. He neither sought justification, nor did he +make explanation.</p> + +<p>“And now,” Owen went on, “it surely is for you to relate +the true facts of what occurred that afternoon—or—or +else I fear that this fresh information will be placed before +the police.”</p> + +<p>“My dear fellow, all these secret inquiries on the part +of Peter Sundt only go to prove one thing—how bitter +is his hatred of myself.”</p> + +<p>“Admitted. Thyra may, I fear, have been slightly +indiscreet,” he replied. “Yet if she loves you, as you +appear to think, is it not very strange that she should +consent to marriage with this coarse old parvenu?”</p> + +<p>“I alone am aware of the reason, Owen,” he said very +seriously. “On the night she became engaged she wrote +and told me all. I do not blame her,” he cried bitterly. +“Ah! I only pity her!”</p> + +<p>“Peter has apparently been employing someone to +watch your movements,” the doctor went on. “He +asked me if I knew anything concerning your little friend, +Alza Dresler.”</p> + +<p>“You—you told him the truth, of course?”</p> + +<p>“I told him nothing; but he admitted to me that he +had asked Thyra if she knew her.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_328">[Pg 328]</span></p> + +<p>“He has asked Thyra!” gasped the unhappy man. “He +has told Thyra of my friendship with Alza!” he cried, +white to the lips.</p> + +<p>“It seems so.”</p> + +<p>“Then she will believe——”</p> + +<p>“Believe what?”</p> + +<p>“Why, she will believe that I have lied to her—that +I’ve betrayed her!”</p> + +<p>“Why don’t you make a clean breast of the whole +affair, Dick? Surely it would be best!” urged his friend, +looking straight at him.</p> + +<p>“Owen,” he said, fixing his dark, serious eyes upon the +doctor, “my secret is hers. Cannot you see that in this a +woman’s honour is at stake—the honour of the woman I +love!”</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_329">[Pg 329]</span></p> + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXI"> + CHAPTER XXI + <br> + <span class="fs80">TOWARDS THE TRUTH</span> + </h2> +</div> + +<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap">Several</span> days had passed—pleasant May days in London.</p> + +<p>Yes; Miss Berentsen was at home—for Thyra had again +retaken her maiden name soon after the tragic affair—and +Richard Jervoise followed the rather saucy maidservant +up to the drawing-room in Talbot Road.</p> + +<p>The grey-eyed girl, seated near the window, reading, +rose as he entered, but her greeting was cold and strained. +He was dressed in frock coat, and carried his silk hat in +his hand, for his visit there was a formal one, and he had +therefore dressed for formality.</p> + +<p>“I’ve called, Miss Berentsen, to offer you my—my +congratulations,” he stammered. “I have just heard of +your return to London.”</p> + +<p>“Thank you very much,” she replied in a low voice. +“Won’t you sit down?”</p> + +<p>He took the straight-backed chair she indicated, and +began to inquire how she had enjoyed herself on the +Dalmatian coast.</p> + +<p>“I know Ragusa quite well,” he remarked. “I’ve +stayed there twice on my way down to Cattaro for Montenegro. +It’s quite charming. I think I know the Villa +Sergio, too—a big white place on the hill. And so you +are very soon to be its mistress! Where does the wedding +take place?”</p> + +<p>“In Christiania. Mr. Sundt leaves London to-morrow +in order to make the arrangements. Meanwhile”—she +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_330">[Pg 330]</span>laughed uneasily—“look at all these things that are +continually arriving!” and she pointed to a pile of dressmakers’ +and milliners’ boxes at the further end of the +room.</p> + +<p>“Well,” he sighed sadly, “I hope, Thyra, that you will +be very, very happy. I hesitated before I came to call +upon you, but I felt that I must at least bid farewell to +you once again.”</p> + +<p>“Once again!” she echoed bitterly. “Do you recollect +our farewell that fatal afternoon in Christiania—and what +occurred afterwards?”</p> + +<p>“Why recall it?” he faltered, raising his hand. “Why +remember the past, now that the future is so bright for +you?”</p> + +<p>“Can I ever forget it?” she asked. “Can you ever +forget it?”</p> + +<p>He shook his head in silence, his overburdened heart +too full for words. He loved her as he loved his own life.</p> + +<p>“Richard,” she said at length in a changed voice, “I +think you really ought not to have come here. You might +at least have spared me this!”</p> + +<p>“I had no desire to offend you,” he assured her quickly. +“I recollect all that you wrote in your letter, and I thought——”</p> + +<p>“You thought that I was ignorant,” she exclaimed in +sudden indignation, interrupting him. “Since I wrote +that letter, however, I have heard of your intimate friendship +with a woman—a certain Frenchwoman of bad +character, named Alza Dresler.”</p> + +<p>“Well?”</p> + +<p>“I hear that this woman who is such an intimate friend +of yours is an adventuress of the very worst type?”</p> + +<p>“She is undoubtedly judged by the world as such,” he +said.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_331">[Pg 331]</span></p> + +<p>“Then you defend the woman?”</p> + +<p>“She is my friend.”</p> + +<p>“You admit it—even—even while you have pretended +to love me!”</p> + +<p>“Friendship and love are entirely different feelings,” +he declared. “The woman, though she may be what you +allege, is nevertheless my friend.”</p> + +<p>Thyra rose impatiently. Her heart was full of indignation +that he should admit friendship with a mere adventuress.</p> + +<p>She turned upon him quickly, and in a few forcible +words expressed surprise that he should have dared to +declare his love for her on that day prior to her departure +for Ragusa.</p> + +<p>“I told you my heart’s secret, Thyra,” he answered in a +low, hoarse whisper, “because—because I could restrain +the truth no longer.”</p> + +<p>“The truth!” she cried indignantly, her jealousy overcoming +her. “Why, at the same time you told me that, +you were actually meeting this Frenchwoman in secret!”</p> + +<p>“With an object,” he exclaimed. “With one distinct +object, Thyra. If you were aware of the whole of the +facts you surely would never speak thus to me.”</p> + +<p>“Then tell me the facts,” she urged. “Tell me the +truth.”</p> + +<p>“Not from my lips shall you hear it—but from hers.”</p> + +<p>“From hers? What do you mean?”</p> + +<p>“I anticipated your misjudgment of my actions, therefore +I have asked the woman herself to call upon you.”</p> + +<p>“To call here—a person of her character? You must +be mad!”</p> + +<p>“Whatever may be her character, Alza Dresler has a +good heart. And, further, let me tell you that though +she has never met you, she is nevertheless your friend.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_332">[Pg 332]</span></p> + +<p>“My friend? Why?”</p> + +<p>“Be patient, and you will see.”</p> + +<p>At that moment Captain Berentsen entered the room, +surprised to find Thyra’s visitor, yet eager to leave the +pair alone. Too well he knew the heart’s secret of his +daughter, who had, alas! now sacrificed herself. And +yet did not that sacrifice mean his own salvation?</p> + +<p>Ah! the bitterness of it all. Many a night had that +sturdy old whaler spent in secret tears. He foresaw his +daughter’s doom. What could be expected of a loveless +marriage between such a pair—the girl cultured and refined, +with artistic taste and artistic temperament; the man a +rough boor, bloated with the egotism begotten of great +wealth.</p> + +<p>The suspicions sown in his mind by Peter Sundt regarding +the tall Englishman had caused him much reflection. +Certain it was that his daughter and Richard Jervoise were +in secret accord. Was it not proved by his visit there at +that moment?</p> + +<p>As he had entered he saw that something had passed +between them in the nature of a secret.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Jervoise had called to congratulate me, dad,” +the girl explained rather lamely.</p> + +<p>“I heard you were abroad,” the captain exclaimed, +addressing the Englishman, who in his well-cut frock coat +looked taller. “We have not long been back from the +Adriatic.”</p> + +<p>“So Thyra has just told me,” Dick replied. “But, +captain, I called here for a second purpose,” he added. +“I called in order to introduce to you and to your daughter +a friend of mine—a lady.”</p> + +<p>“Oh! Who’s she?” inquired Jorgen quickly. Old salt +that he was, he rather prided himself upon his engaging +ways with the fair sex.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_333">[Pg 333]</span></p> + +<p>As he uttered the words the maid opened the door, +announcing:</p> + +<p>“There’s a lady called to see you, Miss. Her name is +Dresler.”</p> + +<p>Thyra held her breath. She had no desire to meet the +woman, yet of sheer necessity she gave orders for her to +be shown up.</p> + +<p>A moment later Alza, neat in black, with a large feather +boa about her neck, entered, while behind her stood a +man, a perfect stranger to them all.</p> + +<p>“Ah, M’sieur Dick!” cried the pretty Frenchwoman. +“I only arrived in London this morning at five o’clock, +and received your note. I went at once to Barnes, but +you were out, so I came on here as you desired.”</p> + +<p>“This is Miss Berentsen,” Dick said. “Allow me to +introduce her, and also Captain Berentsen.”</p> + +<p>Thyra bowed coldly. The woman was, she had been +told, one of the most clever and unscrupulous adventuresses +in Europe.</p> + +<p>“This gentleman,” Alza explained in turn, indicating +the rather well-dressed man about thirty, tall, with a fair, +somewhat bristly moustache, “is a person of whom you +have no doubt all heard in connection with the unfortunate +death of mademoiselle’s husband—Mr. Oscar Nystrom.”</p> + +<p>“Nystrom!” echoed Dick. “Then, sir, you are the +mysterious correspondent of Paul Grinevitch?”</p> + +<p>“I am,” he answered in rather indifferent English, +bowing courteously. Alza explained that he was a Dane, +and until that moment, because he was wanted by the +police, he had not dared to come forward. Indeed, he +had been in hiding in Seville, until she had, after long +inquiry, found him and induced him to risk a journey to +London in order to explain certain matters.</p> + +<p>“I told M’sieur Nystrom of your estrangement from +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_334">[Pg 334]</span>Mr. Jervoise, mademoiselle,” she explained, turning to +Thyra, “and it was that which induced him to place +himself in his present peril.”</p> + +<p>“It is really extremely kind of him,” remarked Thyra +rather coldly.</p> + +<p>“Ah, mademoiselle!” cried Alza, “you do not understand—you +cannot understand. You doubt my good +intentions, because you have perhaps heard what I am. +But I tell you at once that M’sieur Dick is my good +friend. He was once very kind to me, and in consequence +I owe him a service, one which to-day I hope to repay.”</p> + +<p>“In what way, Alza?” he asked, for it was apparent +that he had no idea that the man Nystrom would accompany +her on that visit.</p> + +<p>“Listen, and I will tell you,” she said. “You love +mademoiselle—you told me so,” she went on. “You +sought my assistance, the assistance of a bad woman. Oh, +yes,” she laughed, turning towards Thyra, her dark eyes +dancing, “I know I am an adventuress—a woman of no +character! But in consequence I am enabled to move in +quite a different circle from yours, I can seek and obtain +information in the undercurrents of life that are unsuspected +by respectable folk like yourselves. But I—I was +respectable once, as respectable as you yourself, mademoiselle,” +she faltered; “M’sieur Dick knows. Some day he +may tell you my true history—the history of an unfortunate +woman!”</p> + +<p>“Mademoiselle!” cried Thyra, advancing towards her +with sudden emotion and taking her hand, “are you really +my friend? Are you speaking the truth?”</p> + +<p>“I am,” was the Frenchwoman’s reply. “Your friend—and +his.”</p> + +<p>“Then forgive me, please forgive me,” pleaded the +grey-eyed girl. “Only a moment ago I uttered hard +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_335">[Pg 335]</span>words concerning you, because—because—well, perhaps +I was jealous of you.”</p> + +<p>“Ah! then you do love M’sieur Dick still?” she inquired +quickly. “You have no love for Peter Sundt?”</p> + +<p>There was no reply. The girl’s chin had sunk upon her +breast. Her silence, however, was sufficiently indicative +of the true state of her mind. Her father had placed his +hand tenderly on her shoulder.</p> + +<p>“Good!” Alza cried, her black-gloved hands held +behind her back. “Then I will tell you something which +will probably surprise you all. M’sieur Dick telegraphed +to me in Paris long ago, and asked me to redeem the +promise I once made to him under rather strange circumstances. +Well, I have redeemed it. I have had more +than one narrow escape of detection and arrest, for, as +you may probably guess, the police are anxious for closer +acquaintance with me. Nevertheless, though I may +probably be convicted and spend some years in prison, I +have nevertheless the satisfaction of knowing that I have +at least done one good action in my life in ascertaining +the truth concerning the death of Paul Grinevitch, the +man who belonged to the same set as myself. The man +who, like myself, unfortunately, was a thief and a swindler.”</p> + +<p>“My husband—a thief!” gasped the unfortunate girl. +“What are you saying? What proof have you of this?”</p> + +<p>“My poor mademoiselle,” Alza exclaimed, “that man +deceived you, as he had deceived M’sieur Dick long ago. +He told you a picturesque story as to his antecedents and +his high family connections, but I tell you he was one of +us. He was an adventurer, it seems, and, soon after poor +Helene’s death, became actively associated with us. The +reason he went north to Vardo was in order to be out of +the way. Inquiries were being made concerning certain +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_336">[Pg 336]</span>forged French bonds, which had been printed in London +and had been placed in circulation in Cologne, as well as +the theft of the Countess de Magnan’s jewelry from the +Gare de Lyon in Paris. The fact was that he had been +betrayed, together with my lover and Oscar Nystrom +here, by a man who was a member of our gang, but who +had turned police informant. My lover was arrested and +sent to Cayenne, but Paul managed to escape to the Arctic +and get off scot-free, while Oscar went to Russia. The +man who denounced them both was a compatriot of Paul’s, +a man named Nicholas Bourtzeff.”</p> + +<p>“Quite true,” remarked the fair-moustached Dane, +interrupting, “quite true! Mademoiselle’s lover was +sent to Cayenne by information furnished by that accursed +police-spy,” a statement which seemed to cause Thyra +to regard Alza with greater cordiality.</p> + +<p>“But what is the truth concerning my unfortunate +husband’s death?” asked the young widow, pale-faced +and anxious, still half expecting that this good-looking +Frenchwoman was endeavouring to remove the suspicion +from Dick Jervoise. They were friends, old Jorgen also +reflected, and therefore the woman was not likely to +implicate him.</p> + +<p>“Mademoiselle, the facts are extremely curious—amazing,” +she answered. “Only yesterday, very far +from here—in the town of Orleans—did I learn the one +fact which gave me a clue to the remarkable truth. And +I hastened to London at once, to find M’sieur Dick, and +to place before you both the true and remarkable story. +I have said that I am your friend, as well as M’sieur Dick’s. +Listen, and I will prove to you the truth of my assertion. +I do not ask you to believe me without absolute proof, +but I do ask you not to allow yourself to be prejudiced +against me merely because of the unfortunate fact that I +am, alas!—what I am.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_337">[Pg 337]</span></p> + +<p>Dick and old Jorgen stood aside in silence and wonder. +Both watched that woman whom the world denounced as +an adventuress—the woman who for months had been +ever active in the interests of the man to whom she owed +her liberty.</p> + +<p>“Speak, Alza,” Dick said in a quiet, intense tone, +looking from her to the man at her side. “Do not keep +us in suspense longer. What discovery have you made?”</p> + +<p>For answer she handed him a small, folded, yellow +paper.</p> + +<p>He opened it, glanced at it for a few seconds, as though +unable to believe his eyes.</p> + +<p>Then he stood staring at her, speechless and rigid.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_338">[Pg 338]</span></p> + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXII"> + CHAPTER XXII + <br> + <span class="fs80">ALZA MAKES A CONFESSION</span> + </h2> +</div> + +<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap">Slowly</span> refolding the paper, Dick Jervoise handed it back +to the young Frenchwoman, who, with her dark eyes +fixed upon him, asked: “What does that convey to you?”</p> + +<p>“Everything,” he answered.</p> + +<p>“Then you had better tell mademoiselle the truth.”</p> + +<p>“The truth! Who can prove it?” he cried. “I have +been suspected—nay, I am still suspected—of being the +assassin of the man I hated.”</p> + +<p>“And really not without good cause, Mr. Jervoise,” +the old whaler remarked quietly. “Remember, it has +been long ago proved that upon that afternoon you met +my daughter in secret.”</p> + +<p>“Proved by Peter Sundt—the man who is madly +jealous of me!” declared Dick with sarcasm.</p> + +<p>“But the fact remains, nevertheless,” remarked the +captain slowly.</p> + +<p>“There need be no further concealment of it,” Thyra +interrupted in a low, pained voice. “It is quite true that, +at Mr. Jervoise’s request, I met him in secret that afternoon. +He met me for two reasons—in order to bid me +adieu, and also to reveal to me something—something that +both astounded and horrified me.”</p> + +<p>“Horrified you? What was it?” gasped her father.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Jervoise told me the truth about my husband’s +treatment of the poor unfortunate cafe concert singer, +Helene Marquet, who had committed suicide after he had +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_339">[Pg 339]</span>deserted her,” she went on. “He showed me a cutting +from the <cite>Petit Nicois</cite> giving the facts of the tragedy. Ah! +imagine my feelings when I knew that I, in my ignorance, +had married such a man! He might soon treat me the +same—desert me! For a long time we walked together—how +long I have no idea. Mr. Jervoise told me the truth +now, alas! that it was too late, that he had never had an +opportunity of previously warning me against Paul +Grinevitch. He told me the whole sad story of poor +Helene Marquet. I became beside myself with indignation +and fear. I saw how he hated Paul, and with a just +hatred, too, for the man who was my husband had robbed +him of the woman he loved. At last I asked him to leave +me. He went, but as he did so he vowed a terrible +vengeance upon the man who had caused the death of +poor Helene. I did not heed his words, so entirely was I +wrapped in my own thoughts. I wandered on and on +until evening, when I returned to the hotel—to charge my +husband with the terrible allegation. And when I entered +the room,” she cried, “I—I saw that murder had been +done. An unknown hand had meted out to him his just +deserts!”</p> + +<p>“And you naturally supposed, child, that the avenging +hand was Mr. Jervoise’s?” remarked her father.</p> + +<p>She nodded in the affirmative.</p> + +<p>“Just as Peter Sundt has supposed,” added Dick +bitterly. “I admit that the evidence against me was +circumstantial and convincing. That’s the reason why +your daughter and myself have preserved the secret of +our meeting, for has not her own honour been at stake? +What would the world have thought of a woman who, on +the first day of her marriage, had made an assignation +with another man?”</p> + +<p>“Ah! yes,” cried the girl. “I saw, immediately after +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_340">[Pg 340]</span>I had consented to meet you, that I was doing wrong, +but my curiosity got the better of me, and you promised +to reveal something to me concerning Paul.”</p> + +<p>“Why did you not speak in Trondhjem—before the +marriage?” inquired Alza.</p> + +<p>“Had I done so, my words would only have been +regarded as the outcome of jealousy, and, besides, I had +another reason,” he replied. “I was therefore compelled +to wait till after the marriage, when my denunciation and +warning could be made without ulterior motive. Ah! I +assure you that my position throughout has been a most +difficult one, more especially because from the first my +friend, Dr. Odd, suspected me, and when Peter Sundt +approached him he expressed his views very strongly.”</p> + +<p>“Then it is not true, Richard!” cried Thyra wildly; +“not true that when you left me you went to the hotel—to——”</p> + +<p>“I tell you it is not true; I am not guilty of your husband’s +murder,” he replied in a firm, calm voice. “I +admit that I had a motive in committing such a crime—the +avenging of the death of poor Helene; but, thank +God, I did not carry out my threat!”</p> + +<p>“Then who did—<em>who did</em>?” demanded the pale-faced +girl, looking wildly about her. “Cannot you see that, +until we know the truth, suspicion must still rest upon you, +Richard, notwithstanding your denials?”</p> + +<p>“I know that full well,” was his answer. “Yet I can +bear whatever allegation may be made against me. Paul +Grinevitch sinned before God, and he received his punishment +at the hand of man.”</p> + +<p>“At the hand of a man unknown,” added Captain +Berentsen.</p> + +<p>“Pardon,” interrupted Nystrom; “unknown to you, +but known to others.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_341">[Pg 341]</span></p> + +<p>“Known!” cried Thyra, turning to him and speaking +in Norwegian. “Who committed the crime? Tell me +quickly. It was not Mr. Jervoise—speak!”</p> + +<p>“No, Miss Thyra,” answered the stranger. “Your +friend is innocent.”</p> + +<p>“I would like to ask Captain Berentsen a question, +M’sieur Dick,” Alza interrupted. Then, turning to the +old whaling captain, she asked him if he had ever, many +years ago, met a young Frenchwoman named Marguerite +Meunier, at the same time exchanging a significant +glance with Dick.</p> + +<p>“Meunier!” repeated the old fellow. “The only lady +named Meunier I remember was the wife of Peter Sundt.”</p> + +<p>“She died fully twenty-five years ago, eh?”</p> + +<p>“I believe so. She died somewhere in France.”</p> + +<p>The Frenchwoman nodded, while her companion—the +man wanted by the police—whispered something to her +in an undertone.</p> + +<p>“I don’t understand the reason of that question,” +Thyra remarked.</p> + +<p>“Perhaps not,” replied Alza. “But first let me make a +confession, let me explain certain facts which are a mystery +to you all, even to M’sieur Dick himself. You will recollect +that it was proved that at the Hotel Victoria, in +Christiania, a lady visited Paul Grinevitch shortly before +his death? Well, I was that visitor.”</p> + +<p>“You!” gasped Dick. “You never told me this!”</p> + +<p>“Because I deemed it best to withhold the information +until I obtained something tangible,” was her answer. +“I did not come forward and make any statement, for a +very obvious reason. It was, I saw, quite within the +range of possibility that a woman of my character would +at once be suspected of the crime. So I slipped away to +Paris on that same night, as soon as I read of the startling +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_342">[Pg 342]</span>discovery in the papers. Your telegram, a week later, +found me there. You asked me to assist you, and I of +course knew more concerning both the victim and the +tragedy than you did. I recognised in what direction to +work if I would discover the truth, and lost no time in +instituting my secret inquiries, which, from that moment +until the present, I have never relaxed.”</p> + +<p>“Why did you call upon my husband during my absence?” +inquired Thyra, surprised.</p> + +<p>“I had business with him. Remember, he had been +an associate of mine in several rather crooked affairs. He +had telegraphed to me, asking me to come to Christiania +to meet him, he having emerged from his hiding-place in +the north. I stayed at the Grand Hotel, and actually +passed M’sieur Dick in the entrance on that fatal day, +though he did not recognise me.”</p> + +<p>“But what was the nature of your business with Paul?” +demanded his widow.</p> + +<p>“Financial. He required funds for his immediate +necessities and to take him to England, where he intended +to settle down amid respectable surroundings, while at +the same time preserving his connection with us—to be our +agent in Russia, as a matter of fact. At first we had a few +words regarding a little occurrence immediately prior to +his escape to the north. Afterwards he expressed regret +at the arrest of my lover, Victor Laurillard, and I told him +at whose instigation the arrest had been made, and warned +him against the informer Bourtzeff. Then, as agent of +our principal, Herr Enderlein—who, by the way, is never +known in connection with us, though it is his active brain +which evolves our plans—I discussed ways and means with +him. The amount he wanted was larger than I had with +me, therefore I telephoned to the Norsk Credit Bank to +ask how long it would take to obtain money by telegram +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_343">[Pg 343]</span>from Frankfort. The answer was that it could not be paid +for four days. What I had told him regarding Bourtzeff +appeared to cause him considerable thought, and must, +after I left have induced him to resolve to go to London +and face the man who had turned informant. That’s the +only reason I can see for the despatch of that telegram to +Captain Berentsen.” Then she added: “Before I left he +showed me your photograph, mademoiselle, and declared +that he was deeply in love with you.”</p> + +<p>“Love!” cried Thyra indignantly. “How grossly he +deceived me!”</p> + +<p>“Unfortunately he did,” sighed the dark-eyed Frenchwoman. +“I expressed surprise that he should have +married, but he merely replied that he had resolved upon +that step as one towards respectability.”</p> + +<p>“But the hotel people stated that when you came down +in the lift you carried in your hand a letter.”</p> + +<p>“Certainly. He wrote that in order to make my visit +appear one of legitimate business, for we knew that the +whole eyes of the hotel were upon us, and he indeed +expressed regret that he had not appointed our meeting +elsewhere.”</p> + +<p>“But what happened afterwards?” asked Thyra frantically. +“What occurred after your departure?”</p> + +<p>“He sent a telegram to his father-in-law, giving his +address in London; he burned a quantity of compromising +papers he carried, including a quantity of spurious French +bonds, and he booked passages for himself and his wife +by the next Wilson steamer for Hull.”</p> + +<p>“But those letters which he addressed to persons in +Russia?” asked Dick. “They only contained blank sheets +of paper.”</p> + +<p>“They were blank to the eyes,” laughed Alza, “but not +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_344">[Pg 344]</span>to us. They were messages announcing his impending +arrival in St. Petersburg, written in invisible ink.”</p> + +<p>“He wrote to me also,” added the stranger standing at +Alza’s side, “but I did not receive his letter. I had +already left.”</p> + +<p>“What was that paper you showed Mr. Jervoise a few +minutes ago?” inquired Thyra of the neat-waisted Frenchwoman.</p> + +<p>Alza and Dick exchanged meaning glances, by which +the others knew that some further secret existed between +them, and they felt that in that secret was an amazing, +yet unsuspected, truth.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_345">[Pg 345]</span></p> + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXIII"> + CHAPTER XXIII + <br> + <span class="fs80">IN SOUND OF PICCADILLY</span> + </h2> +</div> + +<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap">At</span> the little writing-table set in the window at the Ritz +Hotel, overlooking the Park, the stout, pimply-faced man +with a choice cigar between his teeth sat scribbling letters +with his fountain-pen.</p> + +<p>The evening gloom was falling, but he had not troubled +to rise to switch on the light.</p> + +<p>He had dressed early, for he was going forth to dine with +a friend, a Norwegian diplomat, at the Carlton Club, and +a small glass of vodka, his favourite spirit, stood at his +elbow.</p> + +<p>The door opened, and, thinking it was his man, he +snappishly gave several orders regarding his clothes without +deigning to look up.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Sundt,” exclaimed a firm, manly voice, “I make +no apology for this intrusion on your privacy. I am here +to demand by what right you have denounced me to +Captain Berentsen and his daughter as a murderer!”</p> + +<p>Peter started, his brows contracted, and he rose indignantly +to his feet, recognising in his visitor Richard Jervoise.</p> + +<p>“And pray, sir, by what right do you force your way +into my room like this?”</p> + +<p>“To demand an apology,” said the tall Englishman, +“an apology to myself and to Miss Berentsen.”</p> + +<p>“To Miss Berentsen!” he echoed. “Are you mad, my +dear sir?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_346">[Pg 346]</span></p> + +<p>“Mad! Perhaps I am; but, if I am, it is your blackguardly +insinuations, your cruel and unjust allegations +that have made me so.”</p> + +<p>“Well, really, sir,” exclaimed the other pompously, +“if your attitude is so insulting, I must ask you to leave +my rooms at once. You appear to be labouring under +some misunderstanding, that the suspicion upon you as +the assassin of Mr. Grinevitch is due to me.”</p> + +<p>“You have made that allegation! Can you deny it?”</p> + +<p>“I cannot deny it any more than you can deny that you +met the man’s wife in secret—that you, her lover, had an +assignation with her on the afternoon of the tragedy,” +was his answer as he stood near the fireplace, his hands +thrust deep in the pockets of his trousers.</p> + +<p>“And you actually say this of the pure, good woman +whom you have asked to become your wife!” cried Dick, +his blood boiling.</p> + +<p>“I merely repeat what is the truth. My dear sir, I +always believe in facing the truth unflinchingly.”</p> + +<p>Dick Jervoise laughed in the man’s face.</p> + +<p>“Good!” he said. “Then let me recall an incident which +may, perhaps, have passed from your mind. Do you +recollect our first meeting that evening up at Vardo? On +that night you came to Captain Berentsen’s house for a +distinct purpose—to ask him for his daughter’s hand.”</p> + +<p>“And instead he gave her in marriage to a man who +was a thief, and for whom the police were searching,” +observed the red-faced plutocrat.</p> + +<p>“Granted,” Dick said; “but do you recollect your +conversation with the harbour-master after we had all +left? Do you remember how you threatened him with +exposure, nay, with ruin, if he refused to compel his +daughter to contract an odious marriage with you?”</p> + +<p>“What are you saying, sir? Have you taken leave of +your senses?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_347">[Pg 347]</span></p> + +<p>“No, I’m telling you the plain truth,” was Jervoise’s +answer. “Shall I recall you something further? Well, I +will. It was you who, by your influence, obtained for +Jorgen Berentsen his appointment as harbour-master of +Vardo. Why? Because you knew he would be a tool +in your hands to falsify the harbour accounts, and to +cheat the Government out of dues leviable on your fishing-fleet. +For years you have compelled him to do this, but +of a sudden, you, knowing your strong position, turned +upon him and threatened him with exposure and prosecution +if he would not compel Thyra to marry you. For that +reason, in order to strengthen your hand, you contrived +to compel him to sell to an agent of the Russian Government +at Monte Carlo a plan of the defences of the harbour +of Vardo.”</p> + +<p>“You’re a liar!” exclaimed the other with growing +uneasiness. How, he wondered, could this Englishman +know that if Jorgen had not told him?</p> + +<p>“Listen,” Dick went on; “Captain Berentsen, determined +to allow his daughter to marry the man she loved, +defied you, and you returned south in your yacht to +Havre.”</p> + +<p>“She married that scoundrel Grinevitch, and you were +jealous of him! Come, why don’t you admit it?” asked +Sundt, his anger rising. He was unused to be spoken to +in so bold a manner.</p> + +<p>“You repeat your allegations, then?” cried Dick. “You +assert that I was her husband’s assassin?”</p> + +<p>“The evidence I have collected certainly points most +conclusively to that.”</p> + +<p>“And you, at the same time, cast evil report upon the +very woman who has given you her hand! Peter Sundt,” +he cried, “you are as big a blackguard as—nay, bigger +than—Paul Grinevitch himself!”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_348">[Pg 348]</span></p> + +<p>“You—you call me a blackguard?” cried the Norwegian +in his rather broken English.</p> + +<p>“I repeat my words. Your actions have already proved +it.”</p> + +<p>“Bah! you are jealous that Miss Berentsen should +marry me!” he sneered. “Alas! it is the penalty of +wealth for poor men to be jealous of one.”</p> + +<p>“I am not jealous of you, sir. I should be very sorry +indeed to be in your shoes—you who would, by such +means, coerce a father into compelling his daughter to +enter into a marriage with the man she hates.”</p> + +<p>“You lie! She does not hate me!” he cried fiercely.</p> + +<p>“I say she does, for to-day, Peter Sundt, she has learnt +the truth.”</p> + +<p>“What truth?”</p> + +<p>“A truth which you will probably deny, of course. +You were married before—to a Frenchwoman, Marguerite +Meunier.”</p> + +<p>“Well? Is it such an extraordinary thing that a man +should be a widower?”</p> + +<p>“You admit that the poor woman died, somewhere in +the south of France, of a slow wasting disease, but that +she left a daughter?”</p> + +<p>“Why should I deny it?”</p> + +<p>“If you do it would be useless,” he said with a smile, +“for here”—and he produced the yellow paper which +Alza had given him—“here I have the copy of her certificate +of birth.”</p> + +<p>The red-faced man bit his lip. The shadows had +gathered in that blue and gold room, but its occupier still +did not switch on the light. He had no desire to reveal +his face to the young man who had so suddenly arisen as +his deadly enemy.</p> + +<p>The reason why Jorgen Berentsen had confessed the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_349">[Pg 349]</span>conspiracy to defraud the Norwegian Government puzzled +him. In that fact alone he foresaw that the tables had +already been turned upon him, notwithstanding his great +wealth and influence.</p> + +<p>“You having acknowledged the existence of your +daughter, who must be a grown woman by now, will +perhaps extend the courtesy of a meeting with an old +friend—providing, of course, that I am not trespassing +upon your time,” he added with mock courtesy.</p> + +<p>“Friend!” he snapped. “What friend?”</p> + +<p>For answer he walked to the door, and, throwing it +open, admitted Oscar Nystrom.</p> + +<p>The man’s red face fell. He stared at the stranger as +though he saw an apparition, yet puzzled to recognise him.</p> + +<p>The Dane’s face broadened into a wide grin as, advancing +into the room, he exclaimed in Norwegian:</p> + +<p>“I did not expect to have the pleasure of meeting you +again so soon.”</p> + +<p>“Again!” exclaimed Sundt. “Why? I do not recollect +ever setting eyes upon you before! For what reason do +you claim acquaintanceship with me?”</p> + +<p>“In order to recall to you certain facts which you may +have forgotten,” was the other’s hard, distinct answer.</p> + +<p>“What facts?”</p> + +<p>“Facts concerning the death of my friend, Paul Grinevitch. +My name is Oscar Nystrom, the man to whom he +wrote only half an hour before his death.”</p> + +<p>“Nystrom!” cried Sundt, suddenly brightening. “Why, +you are the man for whom the police are in search! I—I’ll +ring for the hotel people, and give you into custody.” +And he made a movement towards the electric bell, +adding, “I wish for no conversation with gaol-birds.”</p> + +<p>“Ring! Do!” laughed the Dane, urging him to raise +the alarm.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_350">[Pg 350]</span></p> + +<p>“Well,” Sundt asked roughly after a pause, staying his +hand, “what do you want? This is some blackmailing +scheme or other, I suppose? It won’t be the first time +I’ve been bled. Every rich man is, more or less,” he said, +laughing harshly.</p> + +<p>“I am not here to bleed you, Mr. Sundt,” answered the +Dane, speaking in his indifferent English. “I am here to +tell you something—something that has apparently +slipped your memory. Paul Grinevitch, thief though he +was, had one friend—and it was myself.”</p> + +<p>“Well?”</p> + +<p>“Turn up the light, and see if you recognise me!”</p> + +<p>“It is unnecessary. I don’t know you in the least,” +snapped the other.</p> + +<p>“Then I’ll turn it up, and you shall have a better look,” +replied the man quickly, as next instant the pretty room +was flooded with a brilliant light.</p> + +<p>Sundt’s coarse, red face was livid. Dick saw plainly +the effect that Nystrom’s presence had had upon him.</p> + +<p>“Now,” exclaimed the Dane determinedly, “listen to +what I have to say.” He spoke again in Norwegian, but +Dick could nevertheless follow, for had he not previously +related, in his broken English, the same facts to that little +assembly in Talbot Road? “You believed that your +wealth would place you, Peter Sundt, above suspicion, and +at the same time, by the possession of your private yacht, +you were able to establish an alibi that you were not in +Christiania on the day in question.”</p> + +<p>“Alibi! What do you mean?” gasped the unhappy +man, the colour fading instantly from his fat, flabby face.</p> + +<p>“Just this, that one of my companions, a girl named +Alza Dresler, has, after long search and tedious inquiry, +discovered certain facts, and these, in conjunction with +what I myself saw with my own eyes, are sufficient to +make plain the truth.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_351">[Pg 351]</span></p> + +<p>“What truth?”</p> + +<p>“Patience, and I will explain,” cried the man, looking +him straight in the face. “I had received a telegram from +Grinevitch, dated from Tromso, saying that he would be +at the Hotel Victoria at Christiania with his bride on a +certain date. I wished to see him privately, and therefore +at once took train from Copenhagen and engaged a room +at the Victoria, as well as a room in a private lodging. +Remember, I knew the police were in search of me, and I +took two lodgings, so that, if watched at one, I could take +refuge in the other. We do that sometimes, when we +know that watch may be set upon the railway stations. +Well, on the morning in question, seated in my room above +theirs, I witnessed the pair arrive with their trunks, but, +not seeing Paul go out again, I hesitated to intrude upon +their privacy. All the afternoon I waited. I saw Alza +come, and I saw her leave. Then it struck me at last that +my friend must be alone. I dared not inquire of the +waiter if madame were out, as I did not wish my acquaintanceship +with Paul to be known. At last I resolved to +slip down upon the floor below, and see if he were alone. +I tapped at the door of the sitting-room, but as I did so +I heard a scuffle. So I pushed it open, and I saw you—you—Peter +Sundt! You had a knife in your hand, and +you were standing over Paul’s prostrate body! <em>You had +killed him!</em>”</p> + +<p>“It’s a lie!” cried the stout man, his face now blanched +to the lips. “I—why, you never saw me! It’s a lie! An +absolute lie!”</p> + +<p>“In an instant I recognised the truth. Paul had been +killed, yet what could I do? If I raised the alarm I should +only be compelled to tell my story to the police, and so +betray both the dead man and myself. His poor widow, +too! I recollected what a double blow it would be to her +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_352">[Pg 352]</span>if she learnt that the man whom she had married only the +day previously was an expert thief! Therefore I slipped +back upstairs. Nobody saw me—not even you, Peter +Sundt; but I had met you face to face in the corridor only +an hour previously.”</p> + +<p>“And who, pray, will believe this absurd story of yours?” +he asked with well-feigned arrogance.</p> + +<p>“I need only tell you that a week ago Alza returned to +the Hotel Victoria at Christiania and showed your photograph +to the hotel servants. They have recognised you +as the man who gave his name as Stenersen, who represented +himself as a commercial traveller, and who occupied +the room next to the little <em>salon</em> where the tragedy was +enacted. Peter Sundt, it is proved up to the hilt that +you, too, went first to Havre in your yacht, and then +travelled with all speed by Frederikshavn and Gothenburg +back to Christiania to await your victim. The police of +Christiania have already been informed. An agent of +police was with me only at ten o’clock this morning, and +I made the same statement to him as I have made to you.”</p> + +<p>The man with the pimply face, the plutocrat of the +North, stood with his hand resting unsteadily upon the +back of the chair. His blanched countenance at last +broadened into a forced smile.</p> + +<p>“Utterly ridiculous, my dear sir!” he exclaimed in a +hollow voice. “What motive do you allege I had in +killing this gaol-bird who was your friend?”</p> + +<p>“Motive!” echoed the man Nystrom. “You had the +strongest motive a man could have—the motive of a fierce +and bitter revenge.”</p> + +<p>Sundt made a gesture of quick impatience.</p> + +<p>“Then, if you deny it, hear my proof!” he went on. +“You had, by accident, discovered that Helene Marquet, +the beautiful cafe-concert singer who had been deserted +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_353">[Pg 353]</span>by her lover and had in consequence committed suicide +before your eyes in the Cafe de Paris at Monte Carlo, was +your daughter. Your wife, because of your ill-treatment +of her, had placed her child with her sister, a poor woman +living in a back street in the Montmartre in Paris. Your +daughter had become famous, and had died without +knowing that you were her father. But you found out +the name of the man who had been responsible for her +death—you afterwards discovered him in hiding in +Vardo—and, with craft and cunning, you followed +him down to the capital and carried out your plan. You +took the man’s life for two reasons—one because he had +caused your daughter’s untimely end, and the other +because he had married Thyra Berentsen, whom you had +intended should become your wife. Now,” he added, +looking the quivering man straight in the face, “do you +deny it?”</p> + +<p>The accused hung his head in silence. What could he +say? He tried to utter some words—words of extenuation—but +they froze upon his lips.</p> + +<p>The denunciation by the actual eye-witness was complete, +admitting of no defence, no argument, no forgiveness.</p> + +<p>Dick Jervoise stood watching the unhappy wretch, +whose wild terror next moment was, indeed, fearful to +behold. He, however, remained silent.</p> + +<p>Enough surely had been said by Oscar Nystrom.</p> + +<p>The quiet was complete. The little clock ticked softly +upon the mantelshelf, the cab-bells tinkled outside in +Piccadilly, and the “honk!” of motorhorns mingled with +the dull roar of the London traffic.</p> + +<p>But the man by whose hand Paul Grinevitch had fallen +stood motionless, staring as though he were already gazing +into eternity.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_354">[Pg 354]</span></p> + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="CONCLUSION"> + CONCLUSION + </h2> +</div> + +<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap">On</span> that fateful night, after Oscar Nystrom’s denunciation +of the assassin, Alza Dresler, accompanied by the fair-moustached +Dane, sat for a long time with Dick Jervoise +and Owen Odd in the former’s flat at Barnes, explaining +how, while watching Nicholas Bourtzeff with evil intent, +it became apparent to her that Nystrom might possibly +have met Grinevitch in Christiania. From the letter sent +to him by the victim before his death, it was apparent that +Paul knew of his friend’s presence in the Norwegian +capital. She had therefore spared no effort to find the +Dane, who had so successfully concealed himself from the +police, and had at last run him to earth in the south of +Spain. She knew long ago that poor Helene Marquet +had committed suicide because of Paul, and recollection +of that fact set her wondering whether in that could be +any motive for revenge.</p> + +<p>At risk of her own liberty she approached Bourtzeff, +explained her theory, and sought his assistance. In consequence +of the fact that his compatriot had been killed +so mysteriously, and that Dick Jervoise, his friend, was +suspected, he consented, and the pair thereupon made +up their differences. Bourtzeff went to Paris, and, after +diligent inquiry and search, was at Orleans rewarded by +the discovery of Helene’s parentage, and consequently +the motive for the crime.</p> + +<p>Peter Sundt had acted throughout with the greatest +foresight and that marvellous cunning that had characterised +his whole successful career. Yet he had believed +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_355">[Pg 355]</span>that the parentage of the beautiful singer who had taken +her own life was a secret from all save himself, and that +the terrible truth could never be discovered.</p> + +<p>“When you recognised Paul at Vardo, why didn’t you +denounce him to the Berentsens?” asked Odd of his +friend.</p> + +<p>“Well, because I was not altogether certain of what +might be the result,” was Dick’s reply. “My motives +might have been entirely misjudged, and, besides, Paul +Grinevitch, heartless scoundrel that he was, had intercepted +a letter which I wrote to poor Helene on the +Riviera only a few days before she took her life—a letter +which I feared that, if driven into a corner, he might +attempt to make use of to implicate me in the tragedy of +her death and besmirch a dead woman’s honour. And so +I remained silent until—until at last I could no longer +keep my secret from Thyra, his latest victim; but, alas! +it was then too late!” Then, turning to Alza, he took +her hand, saying in deep earnestness: “To you, dear +friend, both Thyra and myself owe a great debt which we +can never, never repay.”</p> + +<p>“It is already repaid,” replied the young woman, flushing +slightly and then hesitating. “And—and M’sieur +Dick, I want to tell you both something—something you +suggested to me a long time ago. Do you remember? +Well, it is this. Oscar and myself have decided to have +in future nothing further to do with Enderlein and his +friends. Yesterday we agreed to marry, and try—if it is +possible—to settle down to a respectable and honest life.”</p> + +<p>“It is possible, I am sure it is!” declared Dick. “And +I congratulate you both. If at any time in the future, +Alza, you want a friend, you know there is at least one +man who is ready and anxious to assist you.”</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_356">[Pg 356]</span></p> + +<p>The others had gone, leaving Dick and his friend with +the pince-nez alone.</p> + +<p>“And so it’s all clear at last, and the sun seems likely +to shine on some of us once more. It’s not a bad old-world +after all, is it, Owen?” the former was saying.</p> + +<p>“In my eyes it’s turning out an infernally good world,” +replied the doctor, and there was a particularly merry +and knowing smile gleaming through the glittering gold +ovals.</p> + +<p>“That’s right. You always were sympathetic, old boy, +and could enter into another fellow’s happiness as though +it were your own.”</p> + +<p>“Think so! P’raps you’re right. When one is happy +oneself one joins more readily in the happiness of others.”</p> + +<p>“What do you mean, you old rascal? You’ve got +something up your sleeve, I expect.”</p> + +<p>“It hasn’t troubled you much lately if I have. You’re +about as selfish as they make them, Dick.” But the +laughter in his eyes died away with the sting of the last +remark.</p> + +<p>“Oh, shut up, and tell me what you <em>do</em> mean.”</p> + +<p>“Well, do you fancy you’re the only fellow in the +world worthy of Dame Fortune’s smiles? Aren’t there +hundreds of others fifty times as good as you who are +entitled to a bit of luck now and then?”</p> + +<p>“Of course there are; but what the devil are you driving +at? The cryptic <em>role</em> does not fit you, Owen. If you’ve +got any news, out with it, man. You’ll feel better afterwards,” +and Dick laughed joyously.</p> + +<p>“Well, I didn’t mention the matter before because you +were so full of your own affairs that I doubted if you were +capable of even taking it in, or at any rate appreciating +the full significance as regards myself. The fact is, Dick, +I’ve come in for a tidy bit of money.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_357">[Pg 357]</span></p> + +<p>“You have? Bravo! bravo! old chap. I’m delighted +to hear it,” and Dick sprang up and shook his friend’s +hand till the latter winced. “You deserve it, every +penny of it. And I hope there are a good many of them.”</p> + +<p>“A tidy few. How many are there in £15,000?”</p> + +<p>“Fifteen thousand! By Jove! that’s a piece of luck +worth having. I congratulate you, old man, ’pon my +soul, I do. But where has it all come from? Where is +the patient blind enough to leave such a sum to the man +who has done his best to kill him?”</p> + +<p>“It was no patient, but my mother’s brother, my +Uncle Roger, whom I haven’t seen since he went to the +Transvaal ten years ago. I always liked him, and he +seemed to take to me, and now he’s dead—poor old +fellow—he’s left me a pretty substantial proof of the fact.”</p> + +<p>“I should think he had, the old brick! He was something +like an uncle. There aren’t many of that kind +knocking about, worse luck! Well, Owen, the next thing +you must do is to find a wife.”</p> + +<p>“I’ve found one.”</p> + +<p>“Great Scot! What next? Go gently; I can’t stand +too much of this all at once. Do you mean to tell me in +cold blood you’re engaged to be married?”</p> + +<p>“Something very like it,” replied Owen, smiling.</p> + +<p>“And you never gave me a hint, you mean beggar! +I’m ashamed of you. But who is it? A real good one, +I hope, and worthy of one of the best?” And again Dick +made an onslaught on his friend’s hand.</p> + +<p>“Yes, Dick, she <em>is</em> a good one. You won’t find another +like Miss Gordon in a long day’s march.”</p> + +<p>“Miss Gordon! By Jove! I remember now. You +mentioned her name some time ago. I’d forgotten all +about her.”</p> + +<p>“Naturally; she’s English, not Norwegian.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_358">[Pg 358]</span></p> + +<p>“Now, then, drop it. No chaff. I want to hear your +story. You know mine.”</p> + +<p>And we will leave Owen to tell it. The two men were +both deeply in love, and we can imagine the nature of the +conversation, which they found a great deal more interesting +than perhaps the reader would.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>A brief telegram which appeared in the newspapers six +days later conveyed but little to the millions of newspaper-readers +throughout the United Kingdom, and yet, like so +many other paragraphs in our daily journals, it contained +the last scene of a hidden life-drama.</p> + +<p>From Lloyd’s agent at Lisbon, the intelligence was to +the effect that the captain of the Italian cruiser <em>Livorno</em> +had put in there to report that at night, while in a dense +fog about eighteen miles south-south-west of Cape Finisterre, +he had come into collision with a Norwegian steam yacht, +belonging to Mr. Peter Sundt, of Christiania, the +owner on board. The vessel, cut in two, had foundered +immediately, and only four persons had been saved, the +first officer and three able seamen. The concluding words +of the telegram were: “Mr. Sundt controlled the cod-fishing +industries of the Lofoden Islands and the Arctic +coast of Finmark.”</p> + +<p>Only at New Scotland Yard, at the Prefecture of Police +in Paris, in the bureau of the Pubblica Sicurezza in Rome, +and in the police headquarters of the other European +capitals did the announcement convey a true meaning. +The hue and cry was cancelled, and the little folding cards, +with the photographs upon them, were placed among the +“warrants withdrawn.”</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>The fetters of black winter again lay heavily upon the +Arctic coast.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_359">[Pg 359]</span></p> + +<p>The fierce north-west wind swept dark clouds across +the frozen land, and the snow was drizzling down in small +flakes. The mountains had already thrown on their +snow mantles, and the low ground of the immense tundra, +stretching away a thousand miles to the south, had put +on its garment of dazzling whiteness.</p> + +<p>It was white and frozen everywhere, save for that grey, +bleak, tempestuous sea which beat upon the ice-covered +rocks where Thyra and Dick Jervoise, wrapped to their +eyes in their Lapp coats of reindeer skin, stood together, +hand in hand.</p> + +<p>At that self-same spot she had stood with Paul Grinevitch +just over a year ago. She had just recalled that fact +to the man to whom, only a month before, she had been +wedded in London. They had accompanied the captain +on his last journey up there in the old <em>Mercur</em>, prior to +retiring to live in the south, and were again in those same +bleak, dismal surroundings wherein they had first met.</p> + +<p>That great grey sea, wreathed in its drifting white +mists, was, however, no longer to them the sea of despair +as it once had been. On the contrary, as they stood together, +her fur-mittened hand gripped warmly in his, and +their gaze fixed on one another’s eyes, their true hearts +beat in unison with an all-absorbing affection.</p> + +<p>Surely no pair in the whole universe were happier than +they! Standing upon the very edge of the world, they +faced the north, the great region of the unknown, with the +knowledge that the future held for them only joy and +brightness and perfect peace.</p> + +<p>The snow whirled about them, the keen frost made +their faces tingle, but they heeded not. A thin cloud +swept over the white ground—formed by the whirling +snow. Then the wind suddenly became a tempest; the +cloud rose to heaven, bewildering even to those most +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_360">[Pg 360]</span>weather-hardened, and dangerous in the extreme to all +things living—the snow-hurricane was upon them.</p> + +<p>Bent against the tearing storm, themselves covered +with snow, they with difficulty made their way to a low +stone hut—for they were fully half a mile from Vardo—and +beneath its wall sought shelter from the Arctic blizzard.</p> + +<p>The long night was rapidly approaching, for the sky +was dark, though it was but midday.</p> + +<p>“My love,” he said, placing his arm tenderly about +her, “as the storm passes, so pass the dark, clouded days +of our lives. Very near have we both been to disaster and +shipwreck upon the quicksands of life, but by God’s grace +we have both been spared to enjoy each other’s affection. +To-morrow we shall leave here for the blue skies and +sunshine of the distant south—for the little villa among +the olives at Bordighera which I have rented for the +winter.”</p> + +<p>“Ah! Dick, my own dear Dick!” she cried, burying +her face in his furs. “You can never realise all that I +suffered in those dark days of distress and suspicion—those +days when I loved you, and yet dared not to show +it. But”—she sobbed for joy—“it has all ended, now we +are at last man and wife. You fought a brave fight for +me; you rescued me from the hands of an assassin. I am +yours to-day, for always—my husband—my love—for +ever!”</p> + +<p>He pressed her to his breast in silence, a silence far more +eloquent than mere words.</p> + +<p>And as they stood there the storm cleared quite suddenly, +as do the fierce blizzards of the Arctic, and they walked +back through the snow to the harbour-master’s wooden +house, hand in hand, childishly blissful in all the sweet +ecstasy of each other’s perfect and abiding love.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter transnote"> + +<h2 class="bold fs150 wsp">Transcriber’s Notes</h2> + +<table class="autotable"> +<tr> +<td class="tdr"> +pg 22 Changed: +</td> +<td class="tdl"> +That he was a gentlmen +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr"> +To: +</td> +<td class="tdl"> +That he was a gentleman +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr"> + +</td> +<td class="tdl"> + +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr"> +pg 23 Changed: +</td> +<td class="tdl"> +The soft sweetness of her feaures +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr"> +To: +</td> +<td class="tdl"> +The soft sweetness of her features +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr"> + +</td> +<td class="tdl"> + +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr"> +pg 29 Changed: +</td> +<td class="tdl"> +equipment for the Antartic +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr"> +To: +</td> +<td class="tdl"> +equipment for the Antarctic +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr"> + +</td> +<td class="tdl"> + +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr"> +pg 43 Changed: +</td> +<td class="tdl"> +seated in his armchair, bent, pale, and tried +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr"> +To: +</td> +<td class="tdl"> +seated in his armchair, bent, pale, and tired +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr"> + +</td> +<td class="tdl"> + +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr"> +pg 50 Changed: +</td> +<td class="tdl"> +encased in leather mocassins +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr"> +To: +</td> +<td class="tdl"> +encased in leather moccasins +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr"> + +</td> +<td class="tdl"> + +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr"> +pg 61 Changed: +</td> +<td class="tdl"> +driving in one ricketty old vehicle +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr"> +To: +</td> +<td class="tdl"> +driving in one rickety old vehicle +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr"> + +</td> +<td class="tdl"> + +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr"> +pg 68 Changed: +</td> +<td class="tdl"> +fought the leements every day +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr"> +To: +</td> +<td class="tdl"> +fought the elements every day +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr"> + +</td> +<td class="tdl"> + +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr"> +pg 117 Changed: +</td> +<td class="tdl"> +who had been rather suprised +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr"> +To: +</td> +<td class="tdl"> +who had been rather surprised +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr"> + +</td> +<td class="tdl"> + +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr"> +pg 117 Changed: +</td> +<td class="tdl"> +back in the captial, where she had spent +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr"> +To: +</td> +<td class="tdl"> +back in the capital, where she had spent +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr"> + +</td> +<td class="tdl"> + +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr"> +pg 193 Changed: +</td> +<td class="tdl"> +Miss—Miss——” stammmered Owen +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr"> +To: +</td> +<td class="tdl"> +Miss—Miss——” stammered Owen +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr"> + +</td> +<td class="tdl"> + +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr"> +pg 196 Changed: +</td> +<td class="tdl"> +use of the word “our”; it semed +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr"> +To: +</td> +<td class="tdl"> +use of the word “our”; it seemed +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr"> + +</td> +<td class="tdl"> + +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr"> +pg 213 Changed: +</td> +<td class="tdl"> +Is is not a fact +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr"> +To: +</td> +<td class="tdl"> +Is it not a fact +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr"> + +</td> +<td class="tdl"> + +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr"> +pg 215 Changed: +</td> +<td class="tdl"> +Her wherabouts in Paris +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr"> +To: +</td> +<td class="tdl"> +Her whereabouts in Paris +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr"> + +</td> +<td class="tdl"> + +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr"> +pg 228 Changed: +</td> +<td class="tdl"> +I undestood that the operations of the association +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr"> +To: +</td> +<td class="tdl"> +I understood that the operations of the association +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr"> + +</td> +<td class="tdl"> + +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr"> +pg 297 Changed: +</td> +<td class="tdl"> +She choose before—and a pretty mess +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr"> +To: +</td> +<td class="tdl"> +She chose before—and a pretty mess +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr"> + +</td> +<td class="tdl"> + +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr"> +pg 326 Changed: +</td> +<td class="tdl"> +my life, it he wishes +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr"> +To: +</td> +<td class="tdl"> +my life, if he wishes +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr"> + +</td> +<td class="tdl"> + +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr"> +pg 334 Changed: +</td> +<td class="tdl"> +quite a different cricle from yours +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr"> +To: +</td> +<td class="tdl"> +quite a different circle from yours +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr"> + +</td> +<td class="tdl"> + +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr"> +pg 336 Changed: +</td> +<td class="tdl"> +theft of the Countess de Magnan’s jewelery +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr"> +To: +</td> +<td class="tdl"> +theft of the Countess de Magnan’s jewelry +</td> +</tr> +</table> + +</div> +<div style='text-align:center'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78920 ***</div> +</body> +</html> diff --git a/78920-h/images/cover.jpg b/78920-h/images/cover.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..ff74d37 --- /dev/null +++ b/78920-h/images/cover.jpg diff --git a/78920-h/images/frontispiece.jpg b/78920-h/images/frontispiece.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..b2d80a0 --- /dev/null +++ b/78920-h/images/frontispiece.jpg diff --git a/78920-h/images/title.jpg b/78920-h/images/title.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..8fdcb20 --- /dev/null +++ b/78920-h/images/title.jpg diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6c72794 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This book, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..dec1c39 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1 @@ +[Project Gutenberg](https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for eBook [#78920](https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/78920) |
