CHAPTER VIIMERIEL MAKES AN IMPRESSION
Captain Marven was certainly not at ease in his own mind in regard to the experience on his journey. He seemed to remember awaking, and seeing in Guy's possession the despatch box that he carried. Yet in view of the fact that it was still buckled to the strap, the suspicion seemed absurd. As soon as he was alone he carefully examined the despatch case. The seals were to all appearances intact. He missed none of his personal belongings, and was ashamed of the suspicion which prompted his hurried search through his pockets. Really he had no reason to suspect Guy Hora of any ulterior object in hypnotising him. He recalled all the circumstances. At his own invitation Guy had travelled with him, he himself had pressed his companion to make the experiment. He had lost consciousness while Guy was sitting opposite him, and when he had regained it, Guy was still opposite him, and certainly did not exhibit the slightest trace of trepidation. But what had happened in the forty minutes interval which had elapsed between the losing and regaining of consciousness. Guy had told him that they had alighted at Cambridge and had drunk a cup of coffee at the refreshment room. But was that all? He could not banish the thought of the dream which had come to him during that hypnotic slumber, thevision of Guy Hora bending over the despatch case doing something to the seals, and of himself standing powerless to interfere with him. Was it only a dream? Yet it were foolish to suppose otherwise. What could the despatches he carried contain of interest to the wealthy young man about town, who seemed to him so like what his own son might have been? It was a puzzle which he could not elucidate, though it engaged his attention during his long motor drive to the royal residence; it was present in his thoughts when he placed the case in the hands of the Secretary of State, who, warned by telegraph of his coming, was waiting up for him, and he could not escape it even when he himself sought repose. It was the first thought in his mind when he awoke the next morning.
If he had been gifted with clairvoyant powers, he would not have needed to flog his brains for a solution. Could he have seen Lynton Hora gloating over the transcription of the cypher telegram which had reached him that morning from Guy, Captain Marven would have had an inkling of the truth. Could he later have seen Lynton Hora sending off wires to brokers at Paris, Berlin, and New York, could he have heard Lynton Hora instructing his London stockbroker over the telephone, he would have been still nearer a solution. Finally, could he have heard the Foreign Secretary's remarks later in the day, when a detailed account of an unfortunate incident in the South Pacific, in which a German gunboat and a British cruiser were concerned, appeared in an evening paper, he would have known that in some mysterious manner the information contained in the despatches he had carried had become known to the world.
Yet, though he knew not, nor could have known, anyof these things, yet the vague uneasiness that there had been intention in Guy's presence on the train was not easily dispelled. It begot in him a still greater desire to learn something more of the young man whose face haunted his thoughts, and when he returned to town the next morning, carrying with him the answers to the stolen despatches, it was with the fixed intention of cultivating Guy's acquaintance, if the opportunity offered.
The chance he desired was not long presenting itself. A week had not elapsed before they met again. The meeting was a purely casual one. They recognised each other at the opera. Guy occupied a stall and the Captain was with his wife and niece in a box. At the end of the first act Guy left his seat. The Captain met him in the foyer.
"Been trying any more experiments in hypnotism?" was Marven's greeting.
Guy shook his head and laughed. "I haven't been upon any railway journeys with unbelievers," he replied jestingly. He met the Captain's glance fearlessly, and again Marven felt ashamed of his suspicions.
"I was just coming to pay my respects to Mrs. Marven and Miss Challys," continued Guy.
The Captain turned to accompany him. "You need not tell the ladies how easily you bowled me out," he remarked. "I have been so blatantly cynical on the subject always that I should never hear the last of it."
"Why, certainly not," answered Guy, smiling. The Captain's attitude dispelled the last chance of his being connected in any way with the acquisition of the information which, when it had been made public, had created the most intense excitement. Clearly the Captain wishedno one to know that he had allowed himself to be placed in an hypnotic trance while on duty, and Guy, for his own protection, was more than ready to fall in with the suggestion to keep silence concerning the episode.
"After all, it is a purely personal matter of absolutely no concern to anyone but our two selves," he added, as they reached the box.
Conveying his thanks with a nod, Marven opened the door, and, as Guy entered, all thought of the Captain passed from his mind. Only once previously had he met Meriel Challys, but the impression which she had produced upon him was one that would not easily be eradicated. He had first seen her floating towards him on some booby's arm at Lady Greyston's dance. Who the booby was and what the booby looked like Guy had not the faintest idea. He had no time to spare a glance for anyone else, once his eyes had rested on her face. But the man on whose arm she leaned so lightly must of necessity be a booby. Any mere man could be nothing but a booby in comparison with any personality so exquisitely ethereal as that given by nature to Meriel Challys. Guy had determined to take the place of that booby himself. He had enquired amongst his friends until he had obtained the introduction he desired. He had received one waltz and he had sat out one square dance in the plumbago bower at the end of the long gallery. He would never forget the fair picture she made, draped in maiden garb of white, her dazzling skin and hair framed in the tender blues of the drooping blossoms. It had been an effort for him to speak to so distractingly beautiful a subject, and it had been only the fear lest she should think himmoonstruck which had forced him to unlock his lips. No wonder that the despoiling of Mr. Flurscheim's treasure-house had been postponed. Indeed, had the treasures been spread before him at that moment, Guy would have passed them by unnoticed.
That first impression of instinctive reverence had not endured. A fervid disciple of Hora's cynical philosophy could not remain for long in a state of ecstatic adoration of one of the sex provided "for the relaxation of the warrior."
But now, entering again into her presence, his first impression was revived with redoubled intensity. Again he saw her coming towards him. He remembered the Tennysonian line which flashed into his memory at first sight of her:
"Robed in white samite, mystic, wonderful."
"Robed in white samite, mystic, wonderful."
"Robed in white samite, mystic, wonderful."
"Robed in white samite, mystic, wonderful."
No, that did not do justice to Meriel Challys, and yet it might, perchance, describe her in some moods, he thought; and though there was nothing mystic in her mood when Guy had been introduced, yet the swift impression was mayhap nearer the truth than the later one.
Mrs. Marven greeted him warmly. They chatted a little while, then, as Guy turned to the girl, she became a silent observer. The family likeness which her husband had observed in Guy was equally apparent to herself, but she had not given words to the vague thoughts which had risen up in her mind when she had first seen him at Lady Greyston's dance. Such thoughts were best crushed down at once—they only inviteddisillusionment. Not for worlds would she have suggested to her husband that the young man had awakened in her the crushed down maternal instinct. The mere hint would have made him uneasy. She even dreaded lest he should have recognised for himself certain physical resemblances which certainly existed between her husband and Guy. She had no idea that he had recognised them, and was as loth as her husband himself to give words to her imaginings, for precisely the same reasons which imposed silence upon him. Each in point of fact had felt the promptings of the parental instinct, and each in tenderness for the partner of his and of her sorrows and joys forebore to awaken by a word the memory of the great sorrow which had early cast its cloud over their married life.
Lynton Hora had always been hopelessly wrong when he had imagined that but for the rivalry of Marven he would have won the affection of Beatrice Challys. So far as he was concerned she had always been heart-whole. But from the day she had met Dick Marven there had only been one mate for her in the whole wide world. The affection had been mutually bestowed. Marven lived for his wife, even as she lived for him. In each of their thoughts the one object for consideration was theiralter ego. Marven would have sacrificed anything to save his wife a momentary pang, physical or mental. She would have inflicted any torture upon herself that he might be spared even momentary uneasiness. But this kindly consideration for each other's feelings did not always prove unexceptionable in practice. Impalpable, diaphanous, there was a barrier of reserve ever between them from the day their first born and only child had been mysteriously spirited away. In sofar Hora's scheme for revenge had been successful in action. It had shadowed the lives of both the parties upon whom his blow had fallen, and, though in tender consideration for each other, his action had brought them closer together, yet it had also operated in placing between them the barrier of a subject they dared not discuss.
The maternal instinct, deprived of its natural outlet, of necessity had found another vent. Robbed of her son, Mrs. Marven had taken to her heart a brother's child, who had been orphaned early in life. The girl had repaid the devotion lavished upon her, and, if Mrs. Marven could never quite banish the regret for her lost son, she would always have heartily admitted that Meriel Challys had brought sunshine again into her life. Meriel was all that a daughter could be, and a very tender sympathy existed between her and her aunt.
Naturally the latter could not have failed to observe the admiration which Guy Hora exhibited toward Meriel. It was patent in his every glance, and he made no effort to conceal it. He approached Meriel with the proud assurance of the man who feels that he has the right to lay the tribute of his admiration at the feet of the woman whom he admires, and is not ashamed of letting the whole world perceive upon whom his choice had fallen.
Mrs. Marven liked the attitude, which was so different to that of many of the admirers whom Meriel had already, in the course of her first season, gathered in her train. It awakened memories, too, of the days when Richard Marven had wooed her. His face had worn the same unconscious air of adoration. Almost Mrs. Marven's heart stood still, as she watched Guy's face as he stood leaning forward looking intoMeriel's eyes, answering her smiles with his own; the likeness was so vivid to the memory she bore in her heart. She would have liked to step forward and claim him. Her heart cried out "My son, my son," but the words died on her lips. She crushed them back, though the effort left her lips pale.
Meriel, looking towards her, noticed the pallor and with a hasty, "You are ill, Auntie," was at her side.
"I find the theatre a little close," murmured Mrs. Marven. "If we might have the door of the box open a little." She refused all suggestions that they should leave the opera house, and, before the attempts to persuade her were completed, the curtain was rung up, the lights were lowered, and the opera proceeded.
Guy remained in the box. Mrs. Marven sat back in the shadow studying his face intently. When the second act ended, she had regained full control of her emotions, and could make light of the supposed indisposition with which she had apparently been attacked. She pressed Guy to remain in the box for the remainder of the evening, and he was nothing loth to accept the invitation.
There, then, he remained, unconscious that he was the centre of interest to the two elder members of the party, unstirred by any instinctive emotion towards them, and with every thought, every faculty, strained to make the most of the flying minutes which gave him Meriel's company. He was unable to solace himself with the assurance that she responded to the emotions which were aroused in himself by her presence. She was purely natural, no spice of affectation spoiled her glance or her smile. Indeed, at times she seemed to be unconscious evenof his existence, enthralled in the melody of the music, responsive only to the rhythm of the throbbing strings. Guy could hardly understand her rapture. Romeo et Juliette, even with world-famed artists to sing the title rôles, had already ceased to awaken him to passionate wonder. The naïveté of the girl's enjoyment surprised him, and he wished that she might for once have forgotten the music for him.
Yet, if he had possessed the power to peer into the girl's heart, Guy would have found that his own image was already stamped there; that it was his presence which was the inspiration to enjoy; that, unknowingly, imperceptibly, the tiny seed of love had been planted in her maiden bosom, needing but the passage of the hours before it should spring up into the perfect plant of a pure woman's first love. But, though Meriel knew not of the implantation, she was conscious of the additional thrill in her delight. The whole world was now become perfect to her. She thought the sense of beatitude was the product of the sensuous melody of the opera.
There was no discordant note anywhere. The evening promised to pass in joy unalloyed. A fly dropped into the ointment. She looked up and met the glance of Hildebrand Flurscheim. To her it was at first the mere casual glance of a complete stranger from a near box. But there was something compelling in it. When she glanced in his direction again he was still gazing steadily at her. She drew herself back into the shadow. But the exhilaration of spirit had passed. She felt compelled to look again in the direction of the stranger. He was still watching. When the act was ended, she turned almost petulantly to Guy.
"Can you tell me who that man is? The Jew staringat us so persistently from the fifth box on the right?" she asked.
Guy glanced in the direction she indicated, but before he answered Captain Marven spoke:
"The fifth?" he said. "That's Flurscheim, the chap who lost the Greuze the other day. It's reported," he added meditatively, "that he has sworn that he will devote the whole of the rest of his life if necessary to tracking down the rascal who has robbed him of his picture."
There was a smile on Guy's face as he answered: "He doesn't expect to find it at Covent Garden, does he?"
Despite the smile, however, he was conscious of a vague sense of uneasiness at the persistent scrutiny which Flurscheim was bestowing upon the box. There are times when the fear of being found out bears a marvellous similarity to the prickings of conscience, and certain inward twitches which he felt made him supremely uncomfortable. Hitherto he had always been able to justify his actions by means of Lynton Hora's philosophy, but now he realised in a flash that he would not longer be satisfied by justification in his own eyes. Could he justify his deeds to the satisfaction of the pure-browed girl by whose side he stood? Would she accept the doctrine that since virtue consisted in a thirst for danger and a courage for the forbidden, the highest virtue was to be found in the breaking of laws? He knew instinctively that she would not, that in her eyes he would appear no heroic figure engaged in single combat against a host of enemies, but the despicable figure—a furtive, cringing, creeping figure—the despicable figure of a thief.
He left the box with his thoughts in a turmoil. He scarcely observed the particular warmth of the farewells with which both Mrs. Marven and Captain Marven took leave of him. He hardly noticed that Meriel's hand had lingered a moment in his grasp. He felt that he must be assured that Flurscheim had not been watching him.