The Vanished Messenger Read online

  CHAPTER IX

  Mr. Fentolin, surrounded by his satellites, was seated in his chairbefore the writing-table. There were present in the room most of thepeople important to him in his somewhat singular life. A few feet away,in characteristic attitude, stood Meekins. Doctor Sarson, with his handsbehind him, was looking out of the window. At the further end of thetable stood a confidential telegraph clerk, who was just departing witha little sheaf of messages. By his side, with a notebook in her hand,stood Mr. Fentolin's private secretary--a white-haired woman, witha strangely transparent skin and light brown eyes, dressed in somberblack, a woman who might have been of any age from thirty to fifty.Behind her was a middle-aged man whose position in the household no onewas quite sure about--a clean-shaven man whose name was Ryan, andwho might very well have been once an actor or a clergyman. In thebackground stood Henderson, the perfect butler.

  "It is perhaps opportune," Mr. Fentolin said quietly, "that you all whomI trust should be present here together. I wish you to understand onething. You have, I believe, in my employ learned the gift of silence. Itis to be exercised with regard to a certain visitor brought here by mynephew, a visitor whom I regret to say is now lying seriously ill."

  There was absolute silence. Doctor Sarson alone turned from the windowas though about to speak, but met Mr. Fentolin's eye and at once resumedhis position.

  "I rely upon you all," Mr. Fentolin continued softly. "Henderson, you,perhaps, have the most difficult task, for you have the servants tocontrol. Nevertheless, I rely upon you, also. If one word of thisvisitor's presence here leaks out even so far as the village, out theygo, every one of them. I will not have a servant in the place who doesnot respect my wishes. You can give any reason you like for my orders.It is a whim. I have whims, and I choose to pay for them. You are allbetter paid than any man breathing could pay you. In return I ask onlyfor your implicit obedience."

  He stretched out his hand and took a cigarette from a curiously carvedivory box which stood by his side. He tapped it gently upon the tableand looked up.

  "I think, sir," Henderson said respectfully, "that I can answer for theservants. Being mostly foreigners, they see little or nothing of thevillage people."

  No one else made any remark. It was strange to see how dominated theyall were by that queer little fragment of humanity, whose head scarcelyreached a foot above the table before which he sat. They departedsilently, almost abjectly, dismissed with a single wave of the hand. Mr.Fentolin beckoned his secretary to remain. She came a little nearer.

  "Sit down, Lucy," he ordered.

  She seated herself a few feet away from him. Mr. Fentolin watched herfor several moments. He himself had his back to the light. The woman, onthe other hand, was facing it. The windows were high, and the curtainswere drawn back to their fullest extent. A cold stream of northernlight fell upon her face. Mr. Fentolin gazed at her and nodded his headslightly.

  "My dear Lucy," he declared, "you are wonderful--a perfect cameo, a gem.To look at you now, with your delightful white hair and your flawlessskin, one would never believe that you had ever spoken a single angryword, that you had ever felt the blood flow through your veins, or thatyour eyes had ever looked upon the gentle things of life."

  She looked at him, still without speech. The immobility of her face wasindeed a marvellous thing. Mr. Fentolin's expression darkened.

  "Sometimes," he murmured softly, "I think that if I had strongfingers--really strong fingers, you know, Lucy--I should want to takeyou by the throat and hold you tighter and tighter, until your breathcame fast, and your eyes came out from their shadows."

  She turned over a few pages of her notebook. To all appearance she hadnot heard a word.

  "To-day," she announced, "is the fourth of April. Shall I send outthe various checks to those men in Paris, New York, Frankfort, St.Petersburg, and Tokio?"

  "You can send the checks," he told her. "Be sure that you draw them,as usual, upon the Credit Lyonaise and in the name you know of. Sayto Lebonaitre of Paris that you consider his last reports faulty. Nomention was made of Monsieur C's visit to the Russian Embassy, or ofthe supper party given to the Baron von Erlstein by a certain Russiangentleman. Warn him, if you please, that reports with such omissions areuseless to me."

  She wrote a few words in her book.

  "You made a note of that?"

  She raised her head.

  "I do not make mistakes," she said.

  His eyebrows were drawn together. This was his work, he told himself,this magnificent physical subjection. Yet his inability to stir hersometimes maddened him.

  "You know who is in this house?" he asked. "You know the name of myunknown guest?"

  "I know nothing," she replied. "His presence does not interest me."

  "Supposing I desire you to know?" he persisted, leaning a littleforward. "Supposing I tell you that it is your duty to know?"

  "Then," she said, "I should tell you that I believe him to be thespecial envoy from New York to The Hague, or whatever place on theContinent this coming conference is to be held at."

  "Right, woman!" Mr. Fentolin answered sharply. "Right! It is the specialenvoy. He has his mandate with him. I have them both--the man and hismandate. Can you guess what I am going to do with them?"

  "It is not difficult," she replied. "Your methods are scarcely original.His mandate to the flames, and his body to the sea!"

  She raised her eyes as she spoke and looked over Mr. Fentolin'sshoulder, across the marshland to the grey stretch of ocean. Her eyesbecame fixed. It was not possible to say that they held any expression,and yet one felt that she saw beneath the grey waves, even to the rocksand caverns below.

  "It does not terrify you, then," he asked curiously, "to think that aman under this roof is about to die?"

  "Why should it?" she retorted. "Death does not frighten me--my own oranybody else's. Does it frighten you?"

  His face was suddenly livid, his eyes full of fierce anger. His lipstwitched. He struck the table before him.

  "Beast of a woman!" he shouted. "You ghoul! How dare you! How dareyou--"

  He stopped short. He passed his hand across his forehead. All the timethe woman remained unmoved.

  "Do you know," he muttered, his voice still shaking a little, "thatI believe sometimes I am afraid of you? How would you like to see methere, eh, down at the bottom of that hungry sea? You watch sometimesso fixedly. You'd miss me, wouldn't you? I am a good master, you know.I pay well. You've been with me a good many years. You were a differentsort of woman when you first came."

  "Yes," she admitted, "I was a different sort of woman."

  "You don't remember those days, I suppose," he went on, "the days whenyou had brown hair, when you used to carry roses about and sing toyourself while you beat your work out of that wretched typewriter?"

  "No," she answered, "I do not remember those days. They do not belong tome. It is some other woman you are thinking of."

  Their eyes met. Mr. Fentolin turned away first. He struck the bell athis elbow. She rose at once.

  "Be off!" he ordered. "When you look at me like that, you send shiversthrough me! You'll have to go; I can see you'll have to go. I can't keepyou any longer. You are the only person on the face of the earth whodares to say things to me which make me think, the only person whodoesn't shrink at the sound of my voice. You'll have to go. Send Sarsonto me at once. You've upset me!"

  She listened to his words in expressionless silence. When he hadfinished, carrying her book in her hand, she very quietly moved towardsthe door. He watched her, leaning a little forward in his chair,his lips parted, his eyes threatening. She walked with steady, evenfootsteps. She carried herself with almost machine-like erectness; herskirts were noiseless. She had the trick of turning the handle of thedoor in perfect silence. He heard her calm voice in the hall.

  "Doctor Sarson is to go to Mr. Fentolin."

  Mr. Fentolin sat quite still, feeling his own pulse.

  "That woman," he muttered to himself, "that--wom
an--some day I shouldn'tbe surprised if she really--"

  He paused. The doctor had entered the room.

  "I am upset, Sarson," he declared. "Come and feel my pulse quickly. Thatwoman has upset me."

  "Miss Price?"

  "Miss Price, d--n it! Lucy--yes!"

  "It seems unlike her," the doctor remarked. "I have never heard herutter a useless syllable in my life."

  Mr. Fentolin held out his wrist.

  "It's what she doesn't say," he muttered.

  The doctor produced his watch. In less than a minute he put it away.

  "This is quite unnecessary," he pronounced. "Your pulse is wonderful."

  "Not hurried? No signs of palpitation?"

  "You have seven or eight footmen, all young men," Doctor Sarson replieddrily. "I will wager that there isn't one of them has a pulse sovigorous as yours."

  Mr. Fentolin leaned a little back in his chair. An expression ofsatisfaction crept over his face.

  "You reassure me, my dear Sarson. That is excellent. What of ourpatient?"

  "There is no change."

  "I am afraid," Mr. Fentolin sighed, "that we shall have trouble withhim. These strong people always give trouble."

  "It will be just the same in the long run," the doctor remarked,shrugging his shoulders.

  Mr. Fentolin held up his finger.

  "Listen! A motor-car, I believe?"

  "It is Miss Fentolin who is just arriving," the doctor announced. "I sawthe car coming as I crossed the hall."

  Mr. Fentolin nodded gently.

  "Indeed?" he replied. "Indeed? So my dear niece has returned. Open thedoor, friend Sarson. Open the door, if you please. She will be anxiousto see me. We must summon her."