CHAPTER IVWHISPERS OF WOMEN
Twodays passed, yet Stanley Audley did not return.
On the afternoon of the second day, old Mr. Humphreys spoke to me in confidence while we sat at tea, which is almost a religious ceremony in Mürren.
“Funny about that young fellow Audley,” he said. “Have you discovered anything further?”
“No,” I replied, “the fact is I don’t like to be too inquisitive.”
“Of course, but the girl is left in your charge, and you certainly have a right to know the truth,” declared the old invalid. “Personally, I don’t like the situation at all. I shall go back to London in a few days, but do let me know how you get on, for I am interested. You can always write to me, care of the Ottoman Bank in London.”
I promised, and finding Thelma, who had just come in from the rink, where there had been an ice-hockey match, I greeted her in the hall as she went downstairs to tea.
Later we went for a stroll together and as we passed out into the grey twilight, young Ruthen held open the door for us, bowing, but not speaking. Before me the pair posed as strangers.
“I don’t like that fellow!” I remarked, as we walked along the snowy road out of the village.
“Neither do I,” was her quick response.
“But, if I’m not mistaken, Mrs. Audley, you are acquainted with him,” I remarked.
“Well—yes—and no,” she said. “It is true that he thrusts himself upon me whenever he has the chance, and your back is turned. I’ve snubbed him a dozen times, but he is always lurking about.”
“Then you are not friendly with him?”
“On the contrary. I confess I don’t like him,” she answered quite frankly. Whereupon I resolved to try and catch him speaking with her and tell him what I thought of him.
“He’s a cad!” I declared. “He pretends to be a gentleman, but he does not behave like one.”
“You speak as though you are annoyed, Mr. Yelverton,” and she laughed lightly.
“I am. You are left in my care, Mrs. Audley. Your husband would be very angry if he knew that the fellow pestered you with his unwanted attentions, would he not?”
“I suppose he would,” she faltered.
“I wonder why we hear nothing from Stanley?”I said. “It is all very mysterious. Do you know that he is not employed by that electrical firm in Westminster? They know nothing of him!”
She halted, held her breath and stared at me.
“What!” she cried. “But surely he is at Gordon & Austin’s? I left him at their offices one day just before our marriage and he went in there.”
“They know nothing of him,” I assured her, telling her of their reply to my inquiry.
“I really can’t believe it,” she said in a voice of despair. “Stanley could not have lied to me like that.”
“Have you ever met his parents?”
“No. They are in India—at Lucknow.”
“But what do you know about him? Where did he live before you married him?”
“He had rooms in Half Moon Street. I went there once or twice,” and she told me the number.
“How long had you known him before you married?” I inquired.
“About six months, but he was mostly away in Paris, on business for his firm.”
“That is the story he told you, but it is now proved to be incorrect. The firm have no knowledge of him.”
“There must be some mistake,” she said, much puzzled.
“Did you introduce him to your mother?”
“Yes, he came home to Bexhill once and stayed the week-end at the Sackville. Mother liked him awfully, but at the same time she thought I was too young to marry.”
“Then during the time of your engagement he was mostly away—eh? Did you ever meet any of his relatives?”
“No,” she replied—rather hesitatingly. I thought then she endeavored to change the topic of our conversation.
I, however, pursued it. A suspicion forced itself on my mind that she really knew a good deal more than she would tell me. But though I persisted for some time she would tell me nothing more and naturally I began to be annoyed. I did not wish to think hardly of her, but it was impossible to stifle entirely the suspicions that insisted on forcing themselves upon my mind. Had I been caught in some carefully prepared trap or had I merely made a colossal fool of myself?
Ten minutes later, my companion, bursting into tears she could no longer control, blurted out—
“I’ve been foolish, Mr. Yelverton—so very foolish! The fact is I—I’ve married a man—a man—I did not know!”
“Did not know,” I gasped in turn. “Is that really the truth?”
“It is,” she said sobbing. “I—I believed all thathe told me, but now I have found out that what he said was false. And—and already he has deserted me!”
“But you love him,” I said, full of sympathy for her in her obviously genuine distress. “Perhaps, after all, we are misjudging him. Something has occurred which prevents his return. I will wire at once to Half Moon Street and see whether we can get any news.”
“Yes, do,” she urged. “Mr. Belton is the man who keeps the chambers. I recollect the name.”
So we turned back to the chalet post office whence I sent a reply-paid telegram. Next evening came the answer. “Mr. Audley left for abroad about two months ago—Belton.”
That was all. We had at least one person who knew him and who might place us in possession of more facts than we had at present.
After dinner that night Dr. Feng asked me to go with him to his room.
“I have had some telegrams from China,” he said, when he had established me comfortably in an easy chair with a whiskey and soda at my hand.
“Any news about Thelma?” I asked.
“Yes,” he replied: “it’s a very curious story. Of course, I have no details and I am afraid we shall never get any. But there is enough information to show, as I expected, that the crystal claw was sentto Mrs. Audley in recognition of services rendered by her father to a powerful member of the Thu-tseng. Have you ever heard of Sung-tchun?”
I nodded. “Wasn’t he the chap who escaped from Siberia under rather extraordinary circumstances in the early years of the war—about 1916 or 1917? There was a lot about him in the papers, I remember, but I never saw any reason given for his imprisonment.”
“No public explanation ever was given,” said Dr. Feng, “but, as a matter of fact, he was arrested on Russian territory north of China on a trumped-up charge. As a matter of fact his party stood in the way of certain Russian ambitions in China and he was quietly removed. Incidentally I can tell you that after his escape the Russian government paid very handsome compensation and apologized. But all that was kept private.
“Now the interest to us is this: Sung-tchun’s escape was planned and directed, from start to finish, by Mrs. Audley’s father. Of course, he was not actively engaged in the actual rescue: he could not leave his ship. But he organized and financed the whole thing. Sung-tchun was a really important figure in China—far more important than the outside world realized—and to have done them such a service would have been ample to earn the undying gratitude of the Thu-tseng, who never forget afriend or a foe. That is all the information my friends can get, and I fancy it is all we shall ever get. What Captain Shaylor’s motive was and how he was dragged into or embarked upon the affair and where he obtained the huge sums of money the rescue must have cost, we shall never know.”
“But why,” I cried, “has the crystal claw only just arrived? Thelma’s father died over a year ago.”
“That is one of the questions I asked,” replied Dr. Feng. “Sung-tchun died only last year and I imagine he must have kept very closely the secret of his escape. In all probability the sending of the claw was a kind of death-bed gift from him to the man who had helped him—or rather to his daughter. That would be quite in accordance with Sung-tchun’s known character.”
“Then the crystal claw does not imply a threat or any danger?” I exclaimed.
“Certainly not,” declared Dr. Feng. “It is an expression of the very utmost good will. Any member of the Thu-tseng would be bound by the most solemn obligation to help in every way in his power the owner of the crystal claw.”
“Well,” I said as I rose to say good-night, “at any rate, I am glad there is no danger about it. But I don’t see how the Thu-tseng can ever help Thelma.”
Old Feng gave me a queer look. “You can nevertell,” he said slowly. “Most people want help badly at some time in their lives. Mrs. Audley, for instance, is in a position of considerable difficulty at the moment and may be in a worse one very soon. And remember this, my boy—the Thu-tseng has an arm longer than you dream of.”
As the days slipped by I became more and more concerned about Thelma. Feng’s antagonism to herself and her husband became daily more apparent, and I was glad when, the day after old Humphreys had departed, he left for London. However, we parted good friends. He was going to London first and then to the Riviera and he gave me his solicitor’s address so that I might write to him.
Before he left I mentioned to him the effect the sight of the crystal claw had had on old Humphreys. “Doesheknow all about the crystal claw?” I asked, half banteringly.
Feng was not even mildly interested. “He spent some years in China, I know,” he remarked indifferently, “but I fancy you must have been mistaken. All his interests were in trade and finance—not in politics. Probably what you took for an expression of rage and fear was the result of the terrible spasms of pain that seize him occasionally.”
The explanation seemed so reasonable that I accepted it without hesitation. After all, it was extremely unlikely that old Humphreys could havebeen mixed up with the Thu-tseng and Feng, I thought, could hardly have been so unmoved had he really thought there was anything in my suspicions.
But I was to learn months later that the astute Chinese had completely hoodwinked me. I had made no mistake at all. The information I had given him was to prove of supreme importance in the game Dr. Feng was playing, so we learned when the final move had been played. The man must have had nerves of iron. He was off his guard when the crystal claw arrived, it is true, but the news—of tremendous import, as events showed—that Humphrey’s had good reason to fear the Thu-tseng did not cause even the quiver of an eyelash. There are few things in nature so utterly impassive as the face of the cultured Chinese!
Thelma passed day after day in tense anxiety for news of Stanley. To fill time we made frequent skiing excursions to the Schelthorn or theSeeling furenbut every evening at half-past five we were at the little shed-like station, breathlessly awaiting the train bringing up travelers from England.
And each evening we hurried away disappointed.
In the hotel, on the ski-fields, and on the bob-run the fun was fast and furious, but the laughter and the dance music jarred upon the nerves of both of us. And, to make matters worse, many visitorswere beginning to look askance at Thelma, now that young Audley did not return.
Questions were asked of Thelma on all sides, and to them she was compelled to give evasive, and sometimes, untrue, answers.
Ten days after young Audley should have returned, I had, late at night, left the ball-room at the Kürhaus opposite the hotel after a couple of hours of strenuous drumming in the jazz orchestra.
Thelma had retired early, and, though in no mood for gaiety, I had been compelled to help my brother amateur bandsmen. So at two o’clock we had closed down and the dancers were all crossing the snowy road back to the hotel.
The moon was shining brilliantly over the towering glaciers, transforming the silent snow-clad mountains and forests into a veritable fairyland. Such a clear, frosty night was inviting for a stroll and many couples wrapped in coats had put on their “gouties”—or snow-shoes—and were going for walks before turning in.
I turned into the hotel gardens where the trees were heavily laden with freshly fallen snow, and entered a path where the snow was piled six feet on either side. My footsteps fell noiselessly on the fresh snow and suddenly I heard voices in the path that ran parallel with mine—the voices of a man and a woman.
Instantly I recognized the woman’s voice as Thelma’s and I stood in surprise that she should be out of doors at such an hour.
“Now, for the last time I ask you, Thelma, where Stanley is,” I heard a man’s voice say. “You had a telegram from him today. Where is he? I want to see him very urgently.”
The voice, beyond any possibility of mistake was Ruthen’s. Thelma had assured me she disliked him, that he pestered her with unwelcome attentions. Yet here she was talking to him at two o’clock in the morning, three hours after she had said good-night and, apparently, gone to bed!
“I tell you it is no business of yours,” came her reply in a hard, resolute voice. “He is my husband and if he tells me to keep silence I shall do so.”
“Then you refuse to let me see the wire?” he asked. “I arranged ten days ago that I should know if you received a telegram. It was delivered to your room at five o’clock tonight—and you know where Stanley is, though to everybody, including that fool Yelverton, you pretend ignorance and shed crocodile’s tears!”
“Oh! let me get back,” cried the girl. “I won’t be insulted! Mr. Yelverton does not know the truth, but he is at least kind and considerate towards me.”
“And takes Stanley’s place in your heart—eh?”the fellow sneered. “Now, I ask you once again if you will tell me where I can find Stanley. Every hour is of the greatest importance to both of us. If you tell me, then your husband may be saved, after all!”
“Mr. Ruthen, if I could trust you, I would reply. But I don’t!” was her plain answer.
I held my breath as I listened to that strange conversation.
“But surely you know me well enough, Thelma, to know that I am acting only in your interest! Yelverton is a very good fellow, but happily he is in ignorance, and his devotion to his duty as your guardian makes it all the easier for us. Now, don’t be a little fool. Where can I get into communication with Stanley?” he asked.
“I refuse to tell you!” replied the girl. “I know a little more than you think, and I would rather trust Stanley than you—even though I have to make pretence of ignorance to Mr. Yelverton.”
“To fool him, you mean!” laughed the man superciliously.
“Well, and if I have to fool him, it is for my benefit, not yours,” she said defiantly.
“And suppose I told him all that I know?” said Ruthen. “I know that he is your admirer—that Stanley ought never to have left you in his charge, and—well it is patent to everybody that you arefonder of Rex Yelverton than of your newly-married husband.”
“How dare you say such a thing!” she cried in fierce anger.
“Because it is true, my dear young lady,” was the cool reply. “I did not come out here for nothing. Stanley has disappeared, and this afternoon you had a telegram from him telling you, in secret, of his hiding-place. I want to know it!”
“And I refuse to tell you. He has cut himself adrift from you forever.”
The man laughed jeeringly.
“That would be more difficult than you imagine,” he said. “You are treading upon very dangerous ground now, Thelma. Tell me what I want to know, and I will help both Stanley and yourself. You must know he is in serious danger.”
“I refuse!” she said. “I will not betray Stanley.”
“Betray him! It is not a case of betrayal. He is already betrayed. It is a matter of saving him.”
“From what?”
“You know. Don’t pretend ignorance, my dear Thelma! Surely we know each other well enough to be friends when Stan’s safety is concerned! He doesn’t know I’m here in Mürren, or he would have wired me his whereabouts, so that I could go straight to him.”
I listened amazed to this extraordinary conversation. I had never dreamed that the tall fair-haired young man who posed as a stranger to my temporary bride, was, after all, an intimate friend of her husband’s.
“Remember,” he went on. “Yelverton is highly inquisitive—and very naturally. He has been bamboozled from the very first. I wonder he hasn’t smelt a rat long ago. But, of course, he is your admirer. But we can’t waste time—we’ve been out here too long now. Tell me where I can find Stanley.”
“I refuse,” was her firmly repeated reply.
“In that case I shall act as I have already warned you.”
“I do not intend that you should meet him again. I know sufficient concerning your friendship—too much indeed,” she said determinedly. “I am not blind to the fact that you are my enemy and Stanley’s. He has hidden himself from his enemies, of whom you are one, and it is not likely I shall tell you,” she added.
“Very well, then—take the consequences. I shall tell what I know,” the man said.
“In which case I shall also tell what I know—which, I venture to think you will find a trifle awkward for yourself.So think it over,” she said defiantly in a low clear voice. “Good-night.”
Her footsteps were muffled in the soft snow as she made her way back to the hotel, alone. Ruthen followed a few minutes later: no one would have guessed that they had been out together.
I went to my room more puzzled than ever.