CHAPTER XII.
The Fangs of the Wolf.
"Misfortune seems to be treading upon the heels of our friends more relentlessly this season than before." Doctor Bayard looked up from his salad with a sympathetic sigh. "Our poor dear Professor dying in Chicago, Mortimer dangerously ill, and yet another gone down under the strain of financial worries and cares."
Betty glanced quickly at his grave ascetic face crowned with its wealth of snowy hair and then her eyes wandered to her employer.
Mrs. Atterbury was sitting very straight in her chair, her expression as immobile as ever, but the girl fancied that a shade of weariness had clouded the glitter of the keen, black eyes and the fine lines had deepened about the firm, chiselled lips.
"Professor Blythe will recover." There was a finality in her tone which brooked no argument. "He has been in a far more critical condition than this and regained his health almost miraculously."
"But consider the attendant circumstances, my dear Marcia." Wolvert's voice, coolly ironical, intervened. "The previous illnesses must have weakened his constitution, and—er—complications may set in at any time."
"As a diagnostician, Jack, let me remind you that your conclusions have been erroneous more than once." Mrs. Atterbury raised her eyebrows significantly. "As for Mortie Dana, we have every reason to believe that he will pull through. The doctor's report is highly satisfactory, although of course he is likely to be quarantined for some time to come."
"That would seem to be a foregone conclusion." Wolvert was in no wise abashed by the snubbing he had received. "Louise is in no danger of contagion, however, and the change of air will do her good."
Betty could not repress a little gleam of interest. She had wondered why Mrs. Dana did not come again to the house, but had not previously heard of her departure from town.
"Personally, I shall be pleased if she remains away indefinitely." Madame Cimmino shrugged. "She gets upon one's nerves, with her hysterics. One never knows when she may make a scene."
"To say nothing of the possibility of contagion—" Wolvert caught his hostess' eye and turned in obvious haste to Doctor Bayard. "But of whom were you speaking just now, Doctor, who has gone to pieces?"
The doctor held his wineglass up to the light and gazed into its amber depths reflectively as he replies.
"My old friend—Cote. I had heard depressing reports of his mental condition, but I would not believe them until I had investigated personally." He shook his venerable head. "I returned only a few days ago from a visit to him and I seriously fear that his usefulness is passed. He is unable to handle his financial affairs and his permanent retirement is all that can be looked for."
"But surely the others in his firm will assume his obligations!" Wolvert's bantering tone had sharpened. "It is almost as vital to them that his affairs should be straightened out as it was to him. They must be made to understand the situation."
"You talk like a child!" exclaimed Madame Cimmino. "What is to prevent them from going into voluntary bankruptcy, now that he is incapacitated? Others have done that before, when driven to the wall."
Betty sat with downcast eyes and a politely detached air but her hands were clenched tightly in her lap and her breath came quickly. If those about her at the luncheon table remembered her presence they must have believed their conversation unintelligible to her, yet every word was fraught with meaning, and she waited with leaping pulses for the next disclosure.
"That would scarcely be possible in this instance." There was an implacable note in the old Doctor's measured tones. "His is not a corporation, you know; he has one silent partner who without doubt will carry out the contract entered into by my friend when he learns of it. Unfortunately, it will be necessary to locate this partner first and I have not the address."
"That can be arranged." Mrs. Atterbury rose. "Jack, come and play the new concerto for Doctor Bayard."
Betty had been granted permission to go out for an hour but her heart was heavy as she dressed. The discovery of the previous day that the supposed museum director was shadowing her had come with a shock which had benumbed her brain, but the reaction aroused all her faculties to the alert against this new threatened danger. Through the long hours of the night she lay in silent combat between the dictates of common sense and a strange, incomprehensible influence which sought to undermine her surer judgment and defy the evidence of her reason.
Herbert Ross a spy! It was unthinkable! His merry, candid eyes, his grave sympathetic manner, the latent boyishness and straightforward simplicity—all belied the possibility of such a role, and yet her coolly analytical mind forced her to the contemplation of hitherto unconsidered trifles which, viewed in the light of her discovery, assumed new and alarming proportions.
His confessed ignorance of Egyptiana in contradistinction to his avowed position of museum official; the readiness with which he had assigned the work of translation to her with no assurance of her qualifications, seeking only to learn her address; the personal questions he had later plied her with and his discovery that she no longer resided at the boarding house she had claimed as her home, all puzzled her and seemed to point at some ulterior motive in his conduct.
Could the advertisement itself have been a bait to draw her into his net? If so, from whom could he have learned of her penchant for Egyptology?
The grim, old woman whose unexpected presence in the neighborhood had so disconcerted her flashed across Betty's thoughts. Was Ross in her employ or was he in turn making a tool of the woman, using her knowledge to aid in snaring his prey for other and more desperate opponents?
Reason won in the unequal contest with the emotion which she could not name, and instinct warned her that no alternative remained but to sever all relations with the young man who had occupied her thoughts more than she realized until the decisive moment came.
With the completed translation secreted in her muff, she let herself out of the side door and proceeded to the gates from whence she chose a widely deviating course to the museum. In the maze of suspicion and distrust through which she walked she must guard herself on all sides and the knowledge that she might be trailed from the house at Wolvert's instigation or perhaps by the man on his own initiative led her to exercise all precaution.
Mr. Ross was absent when she reached the museum and to her inward dismay she was ushered into the study of Professor Carmody. The shrivelled little man greeted her with flattering warmth and reviewed the inscription from the Stele of Abu in glowing terms, but she felt his nearsighted eyes upon her in recurring perplexity and doubt and she longed to bring the interview to an end.
The tinkle of a telephone in an adjoining office interrupted her tentative move of departure and Professor Carmody returned from it rubbing his withered hands in obvious relief.
"That was our young friend, Ross," he announced in high feather. "He will be here directly and he begs that you will wait. In the meantime, I have here a genuine papyrus of rare antiquity, presented to me by Professor Mallory himself. It dates from the pre-dynastic period and some of the symbols, as you see, are Sammarian in form."
"But it has been restored!" Betty cried protestingly, resentment of the sacrilege overruling her caution. "What a pity! The word 'suten' or king, has been inserted here where the text would clearly indicate 'priest' and the whole tenor of the theme is changed. Surely Professor Mallory did not sanction such a desecration!"
"Then you have seen the papyrus before?" Professor Carmody spoke in quiet satisfaction as if a mooted question had been settled in his own mind. "I was under the impression that I had met you in Cairo, but your name had escaped me. You know the great man himself?"
"No. I studied with an associate of his, in this country," Betty stammered desperately. "I have never been in Cairo and I do not know Professor Mallory, but I have seen a copy of the papyrus before this attempt was made to restore it."
"I myself presented it to the museum here, and the restoration was done at another's suggestion, overruling my objection." The professor returned the ancient scroll to its glass case as he added, dryly: "I was not aware that a copy was in existence."
Betty writhed, but resolutely turned the conversation to some newly-discovered monoliths which had created a mild sensation in archeological circles, and the arrival of Ross on the heels of his message shortly brought the disquieting interview to a close.
The young man ushered Betty into his private office, but she declined the chair he indicated and stood before him with her grave eyes fastened upon his in cold disdain.
"There really was no need of my waiting to see you, Mr. Ross," she observed. "The translation is finished and approved by Professor Carmody and the matter is closed."
"I don't understand!" he exclaimed in haste, adding lamely: "I have other work for you, you know. There is more translating to be done—"
Betty shook her head decisively.
"I shall undertake no more at present." There was finality in her tone, and her expression had hardened. "As I have explained, my time is not at my own disposal and I am late now for an engagement. If you will permit me—"
"But surely you will not relinquish the work without a reason! If your other duties interfere, perhaps some arrangement can be made—"
"My other duties concern no one but myself!" Betty retorted, in a flash of temper which instantly subsided. "I do not wish, for reasons of my own, to continue with this work and nothing further remains to be said. Good afternoon, Mr. Ross."
"Wait, please." His tone was quiet, but there was a compelling quality in it which halted Betty against her will. "Something has occurred to annoy you and make the work distasteful. Won't you tell me what it is that I may take steps to remedy it? Surely you owe me an explanation."
"The work is not distasteful; it has merely ceased to interest me. In undertaking it I assumed no obligations to continue it indefinitely, Mr. Ross, and I do not feel that any explanation is due from me."
"Is it that meddling old fool Carmody?" Ross demanded. "Has he offended you in any way?"
"By no means. I am not offended in the least, I have simply changed my mind. My secretarial work is sufficient occupation."
"But you were so absorbed, so enthusiastic about the translation." His eyes narrowed and he leaned forward. "I cannot believe that it has ceased to interest you; it must be more suitable for a young woman of your attainments, more congenial than the task to which you have been assigned."
There was no mistaking the deliberate intent in his tone and Betty countered swiftly.
"Mr. Ross, may I ask why you are so solicitous in this matter? On my last interview with you, you asked me many irrelevant and highly personal questions. I responded to your advertisement, I came in good faith to accept the work if it were offered me. I did not anticipate a cross-examination, or interference with my private affairs." Resentment was fast getting the better of her discretion and she spoke with all the bitterness of a lost illusion. "I might ask you in turn how long you have been officially connected with this museum, and whether that advertisement was really inserted in good faith or with an ulterior motive. I would demand also to know why you have been following me about the streets, but the motive for your annoyance does not interest me. I decline absolutely to have anything further to do with this work, and I must request that you let me go at once."
Herbert Ross sprang from his chair and placed himself between her and the door.
"Miss Shaw, you shall not leave until one thing is plain to you. I have tried to be your friend. You have repelled every overture from me, but believe it or not as you please, my only desire is to protect you. If I have followed you in the street, it was from a motive far removed from any intention to annoy you." The young man, too, seemed in danger of losing his self-control. His face flushed and his voice grew hoarse. "Suppose I were to tell you that I have followed you because I could not help myself, because in spite of appearances, in spite of my certain knowledge, I believe in you, I want your friendship, your confidence, your—your liking—"
"I cannot suppose you would venture such an assertion, Mr. Ross; you are far too shrewd to insult my intelligence." Betty made as if to pass him but he suddenly laid his hands upon her shoulders and looked deep into her eyes.
"Will you at least try to believe this? I mean to be your friend whether you desire it or not. If the time ever comes when you need the help of a man, call me up here. Professor Carmody can reach me, and you will find me at your side."
His hands fell and he walked swiftly to the window where he stood with his shoulders turned to her and his head bowed.
Betty regarded him thoughtfully, a little soft gleam of compunction appearing unbidden in her eyes. She opened her lips to speak, but paused uncertainly and in another moment she had slipped silently from the room.
She stumbled down the steps of the museum and entered the park, her feet mechanically seeking the right path. The naked trees and clustering skeletons of shrubbery upon the brown patches of lawn were blurred and shapeless before her and she seemed to see again the face of Herbert Ross as he wistfully proffered his friendship, the stab of pain in his clear eyes when she refused it.
Once she hesitated and turned as if to go back, but the vague impulse died and she pressed resolutely on. He had found her by a trick, a mere subterfuge; perhaps his offer of friendship was another trap to gain her confidence now. He had sought her out, followed her, spied upon her, and for what purpose than to serve those who were working against her, who might even now be planning a coup which would mean the demolition of her own hopes and drag her down into the ruins?
Matters were in a state of armed truce now between them. When they met again—if they met—it must be open war.
Betty had taken no note of distance or direction and she came to a realization of her surroundings only when the roar of traffic sounded in her ears, and she found that she had traversed the park and was within a few blocks of the North Drive. As she hurried homeward she forced her thoughts resolutely to the future and the work which still lay to her hand, but the long hours of early evening loomed before her, robbed of the absorbing study which had proved such a stimulating relief from the continuous mental strain; and the days to come would be empty indeed with the budding friendship, which had come to mean so much to her, brought so swiftly to an end.
She was dispirited, tired in mind and body as she entered the gates of home, and her feet lagged wearily along the path. The house looked blank and forbidding, and the wind soughed dismally in the sagging branches of the trees.
Faintly the high-strung wailing note of a dog's whine reached her and she remembered her encounter with Demon when first she walked in the snowy garden. Would the dog know her again, if chance should deliver her to his mercy?
Memory returned to her also of that other encounter in the same hour when, unconscious of her presence, Wolvert had passed her place of concealment as if racing with the very fiends of darkness, cowardly fear stamped upon every lineament of his dark face. Why had he avoided her since their mutual surprise meeting in the library? Was he deliberately evading the issue or delaying it for some sinister purpose of his own?
She had reached the clump of trees through which the path wound, and even as her thoughts were centered on Wolvert the man himself stepped from the tangle of evergreens which had screened her on the former occasion, and confronted her. It was evident from his smile and air of easy assurance that he had lain in wait for her, and Betty's first feeling of dismay was superseded by a sensation of relief that the long anticipated moment had arrived and the contest between them at immediate issue.
"You have been long upon your foraging expedition, Little Mouse, and you have strayed far from your hiding place." He laid his hand upon her arm in an insolent assumption of familiarity. "Not so fast, my dear. The mistress you serve so conscientiously is not in need of your presence and the time has come for an understanding between us."
"I have nothing to say to you, Mr. Wolvert." She met his sneering smile with one of calm defiance. "I think we understand each other fairly well."
"Perhaps, but the knowledge has not yet accrued to our mutual advantage. We have been working at cross purposes and that means disaster. I warned you once that a friend at court is not to be despised, but as an enemy you would not find it advisable to cross swords with me. I do not underestimate your pluck and resourcefulness; sheer admiration for your audacity has stayed my hand against you so far. Your move in carrying the war into my camp by going to Mrs. Atterbury with your naïve little story was a bold one. Gad, you even explained away the evidence against you, the electric torch, better than I did later, I don't mind confessing; but do you suppose I could not have smashed your transparent subterfuge to atoms if I had wished?"
"Why did you not, in that case?" Betty asked coolly. "I am not in the least afraid of you or what you can do. Come now to Mrs. Atterbury if you care to; I will go with you to face her and she shall choose between us."
His grip upon her arm tightened.
"Do you think that I am imbecile enough to call your bluff?" he demanded. "When I find you seriously in my way I shall crush you like this! Until then, my dear, you will prove mildly amusing. You interest me as I never thought to be interested again in a woman. Your eyes, your smile are branded upon my brain even as that brand is upon your cheek like a hand reaching out for the unattainable. You might set a man's blood on fire, sear his very soul and drive him to madness, but you would never bore him. Little, quiet, inscrutable mouse, with you beside him there is nothing that a man who gambles with life might not win!"
"You talk in riddles, Mr. Wolvert." Betty disengaged her arm and stepped back from the savage light in his empassioned eyes. "Your opinion of me is flattering, but if you are detaining me for further expression of it, I must beg leave to continue on my way to the house."
"You may go when you have answered one question: what is your game? I knew from the moment I saw you that you were superior to the position you chose to occupy, but not until I encountered you in the library did I guess the truth. How much do you know? Are you a free lance or in someone's pay?"
"If I had an ulterior motive in entering Mrs. Atterbury's service, is it likely that I would make a confident of you whether you are her ally or a traitor?" Betty shrugged. "Your attitude is a matter of absolute indifference to me; why should I reply to your questions?"
"Because you may find me useful." He came close to her once more. "What is it you desire within those walls that you court danger to obtain? Perhaps I can get it for you. What is your purpose? It may be that I can aid in its accomplishment. Traitor or not, I am at your service!"
"But why?" A swift thrill of fear darted through her, and she glanced about, but the tall bushes ringed them on all sides and they seemed as isolated as in a wilderness. "Suppose that another purpose actuated me than to fulfill the duties for which I was engaged—and I do not for a moment admit that there is any truth in your wild assertion—why should you offer me your aid? Why should you, Mrs. Atterbury's guest and friend, conspire with one you profess to regard as a deceitful and dishonest servant?"
"Because you have driven me mad!" He seized her, dragging her into a half-savage embrace. "Because I want you as I've never wanted any other woman!"
"Let me go!" Betty panted struggling with all her strength, but her heart sank within her for no help could reach her from the house and her efforts to free herself were unavailing against the man's brute grasp.
He laughed exultantly and drew her closer.
"'Little Mouse,' I called you; Little Wild-Cat! But I'll tame you, or break you with my hands! What I want I take, and you're mine, do you understand; you're mine!"
All at once a new sound broke upon Betty's ears. The dog's continuous whine, of which she had been dimly aware like an undercurrent in the swift torrent of Wolvert's words, had changed suddenly to a deep, full-throated cry which seemed to her excited fancy to be drawing nearer and nearer. A swift thought like a prayer mounted in her brain and by a supreme effort she extricated her head from the stifling folds of her captor's coat where he had crushed her to his breast.
The cry came again and with it the soft rush of padded feet on moist yielding ground. Betty drew a deep breath and screamed with all the power of her pent-up fear.
"Demon! Here! Come here!"
With an oath, Wolvert's arms dropped from about her and he sprang backward as a huge, dark shape lunged through the undergrowth and sprang full at his throat. The force of the impact hurled Betty aside and when she had picked herself up she turned to find Wolvert stretched upon the ground, the great dog standing over him, with every hair a-bristle and yellow fangs bared in a snarl, as he hesitated at the sound of her voice.
"Demon!"
He turned his shaggy head obediently to glance up into her eyes, but one great paw remained planted upon Wolvert's breast.
"Guard him, Demon! If he moves, take him by the throat!" An inarticulate murmur issued from the lips of the prostrate man and the snarl changed to a growl of menace.
"Don't let him get away! Until your master comes. Demon, on guard!"
The dog's eyes answered her and he dropped his out-thrust jaw upon his paws, within an inch of Wolvert's throat.
Betty turned swiftly and walked off among the trees. As she neared the house a man came running from the direction of the garage and paused beside her, touching his cap.
"Excuse me, Miss, but did you see anything of a dog? He's broke loose, and he's that savage that he may hurt somebody."
Betty smiled and extracted a bill from her purse.
"You will find him in that knoll by the drive. He is standing over Mr. Wolvert, but he has not hurt him in the least. Understand, no matter what orders Mr. Wolvert gives, the dog is not to be ill-treated or punished. Demon and I are old friends and he was protecting me from annoyance. I called him to my aid. You understand, don't you? I do not wish to worry Mrs. Atterbury, but if Mr. Wolvert makes any trouble, I will tell the truth. I can rely on you to see that no harm comes to Demon?"
"That you can, Miss." The man pocketed his fee with added respect.
"He's no gentleman, that Mr. Wolvert, if you'll excuse me for saying so, and I'm glad the dog was loose. I'll see that he don't get hurt."
As she let herself in at the side door and mounted the stairs to her room a heavy sense of foreboding descended upon Betty's spirit. She had made two powerful enemies in one day, for Herbert Ross, in spite of his protestations, she felt to be a potential antagonist. Would she alone be able to stand against them, or would she go down to defeat with that for which she had entered the lists almost within her grasp?