"Your brother?"
"Yes—my brother. We are twins. You were kidnapped by gypsies thirty-two years ago. Our old nurse told me the story for the first time the day before I sailed from New York. She also told me about that scar on your hand. You cut it badly when you were a year old and the scar has remained ever since. Everybody believed you dead. Where have you been all these years?"
Handsome made no answer but fell back a few steps, and passed his hand over his brow as if bewildered. This astonishing revelation had been made so suddenly that it had left him dazed. A wild, improbable tale, it seemed, yet perhaps there was some truth in it. He had never known who his parents were and it had always seemed to him that he came of better stock than those with whom he associated. Then again, there was the ridiculous likeness. One had only to look at them both—it was the same face.
Slowly, gradually, as he looked more closely at Kenneth the conviction grew stronger that this, indeed, was his brother, his own flesh and blood, yet it aroused within him no emotion and left him entirely cold. No impulse seized him to throw himself into this man's arms and embrace him. His heart was steeled against the world. Human affection and sympathy had dried up in his breast years ago. What he saw was not a kinsman, a brother, but a man who had succeeded in life where he had failed, a man who was rich and happy while he was poor and miserable, a man who had everything while he had nothing. And if the tale were true, if indeed, he were this rich man's brother, it only made matters worse, for he had been robbed of his rightful inheritance. This rich man was enjoying wealth half of which rightfully belonged to him.
Again Kenneth demanded:
"Where have you been all these years?"
"Here, there, everywhere," was the sullen answer. "London, Paris, Brussels, Vienna, New York, Boston, Chicago, Havana, Buenos Ayres. I know them all and they know me—perhaps too well. My earliest recollection is of the Italian quarter in New York, a long narrow always dirty street, bordered on either side by dilapidated greasy tenements, ricketty fire escapes filled with biddy and garbage. Pietro lived there and kept his organ in the basement cellar. When Pietro went out with the organ he took me along to excite sympathy. Until I was fifteen years old I begged to support Pietro. One day he beat me and I ran away and shipped as cabin boy on a sailing vessel bound for Liverpool. I reached London and found employment as stable boy at Ascot. There I learned the fatal fascination of gambling. With what I saved from my wages I bet on the horses. I won and won again. I went back to London and frequented the gambling houses. I won, always won. One day there was a row. Someone complained I had cheated. The police arrested me. When I left jail I went to the continent and began gambling again. I have gambled ever since." Pointing in the direction of the mines he added bitterly:
"That was my last gamble and I lost. That's all I have to tell."
Kenneth listened with keen interest. When the other stopped speaking he asked:
"And now—what will you do?"
Handsome shrugged his shoulders and made no answer. Kenneth went on:
"You can't keep up the old life—that is impossible. You owe something to the blood that's running in your veins. There is only one thing for you to do. You must break off with the past for good, and come home with me. Are you known in New York?"
Handsome shook his head.
"No, I never returned there since I was a child."
"Your operations in America were confined to San Francisco, Chicago and St. Louis——"
"Yes."
Kenneth breathed more freely.
"That makes matters easier. No one in New York, therefore, has anything against you. There it will be possible to live down your past. You will cease being an outcast, a wanderer on the face of the earth. You will take the place in society for which Nature intended you."
Handsome smiled cynically. Grimly he replied:
"I guess Nature never expected much of me."
"You never can tell," said Kenneth quickly. "Your environments no doubt were responsible for your downfall. You have been a victim of circumstances."
Handsome was silent. This free roving life had come second nature to him. He looked with suspicion on any other. After a pause, he asked:
"What can I do in New York?"
"I will dress and house you like a gentleman. For a time you can make your home with us. If we find we can't agree, well—we'll part. I will find you employment——"
Handsome laughed. Mockingly he said:
"Then I am to be dependent on you——"
"No—not on me——. On your own efforts. There is no reason why, if given a chance, you will not make a success in the world. You are still young and energetic. I will give you a start in any line you wish to enter. I will make you a present of $10,000. It should be enough capital to start in any business."
Handsome shrugged his shoulders.
"Charity?" he exclaimed.
"No—not charity—brotherly affection."
His brother laughed mockingly. Bitterly he exclaimed:
"Maybe it's conscience money."
"What do you mean?"
"You inherited from our father, didn't you?"
"Yes—but I've increased it a hundred-fold by my own efforts."
"How much did he leave you?"
"Twenty thousand dollars."
"Why didn't he leave me some?"
"He believed you dead. The sum I offer you is the sum you would have inherited from our father had he known you were living. Do you accept?"
Handsome was silent. His brain was working fast. What this man offered him was the merest pittance. Put out at interest, it would give him the princely income of $10 a week. What did he care for the good opinion of the world? He had knocked about so long, roughing it everywhere, that he might as well end as he had begun—an adventurer. Suddenly there flashed across his brain a wild, audacious idea—a scheme so fantastic, so fraught with adventure and peril that the very thought gave him a thrill. It involved violence, possibly a crime. Well, what of it? He was not the kind to be deterred by trifles. This man was nothing to him. Brotherly love, family ties—these were simply phrases to one who had never known them. He knew and obeyed only one instinct—the fight for life, the survival of the fittest. Society had waged war on him; he would be merciless in his war on society. This man—this alleged brother, threw him a sop, insulted him by offering him charity. Why should he hesitate? It was his life or another's. There was a big prize to be won. Life was sweet when one has millions to enjoy it with. This man had now on his person diamonds worth over a million and he had more millions at home. Suppose something happened to this man here in South Africa and he went home in his stead to take his place in his household and enjoy his millions? Who would know the difference?
Impatient at the other's silence Kenneth demanded somewhat sharply:
"Well—what do you say? Do you accept?"
He looked straight at his vis-à-vis, but Handsome avoided his direct gaze. He was silent for another moment as if reflecting. Then, slowly, he said:
"Yes, I accept."
The string orchestra, adroitly concealed behind a bank of graceful exotic plants, struck up a languorous waltz, and the couples, only too eager to respond to the invitation, began to turn and glide over the polished parquet floor.
Not since its master's departure for South Africa had the Traynor residence been the scene of so much life and gayety. Every window literally blazed with light. From the front door at the top of the high stoop down to the edge of the street curb, stretched a canvas awning to protect arriving guests from the inclemency of the weather.
It was a stormy night. The rain was falling in torrents, but no one cared. Everybody was out for a good time and they knew that this was the house to get it.
Helen's first impulse had been to postpone the affair, held really in celebration of Ray's birthday, until Kenneth's return, but as this idea had met with decided opposition from the younger element, she had reluctantly given way. Besides, there was no knowing when Kenneth would return. Nothing as yet had been heard from him excepting a brief cablegram announcing his safe arrival at Cape Town, and it was manifestly unfair to let her own inclinations stand in the way of the happiness of others. So, after due reflection, she had surrendered completely, giving Ray carte blanche to make what arrangements she chose. That young person did not stand on the order of going. She acted at once and sent out invitations to what proved to be one of the biggest soirées dansantes of the season. Everything was done on a most liberal scale. The house was decorated by Herly, three picturesque fiddlers were obtained from an agency, and Mazzoni, who provides delicacies for the "400," had charge of the catering.
Everybody who was anybody was invited, all Ray's personal friends besides a lot of people she did not know so well. A number of Helen's intimates were there and also some men friends of Mr. Steell and Dick Reynolds. The girls in their light gowns looked pretty as angels. The men were handsome, attentive and gallant. Altogether, everyone voted it one of the most enjoyable social affairs of the year.
Ray had danced her sixth waltz and at last utterly exhausted, unable to stand any more, she allowed Dick Reynolds to escort her to a sofa.
"Please get me an ice, will you? That's a dear boy," she gasped.
"Will I!" echoed the youth. "What wouldn't I do for you—fire and water—that's all!"
"As bad as that?" laughed the girl panting. "Please don't be silly. Go and get me an ice."
Obediently, he left her and forced his way through the throng to the buffet, while Ray, left alone, started to fan herself vigorously. As she sat there Helen passed on the arm of Mr. Parker. The President stopped short and quizzed the young girl.
"You here?" ejaculated the old gentleman in mock amazement. "Why aren't you dancing? This will never do."
Helen smiled.
"I expect she's tired out. This is the first time I've seen her sit down all evening."
Ray nodded.
"You've guessed right, sis. I'm nearly dead. I sent Dick for an ice."
"Did you ever see such a crowd?" remarked the president of the A. A. M. Company as he surveyed the throng that passed in and out of the rooms.
"Oh, Mrs. Traynor we're having such a jolly time," exclaimed a tall graceful girl, gracefully dressed in light blue empire gown with Grecian head dress.
"I'm so glad, dear," smiled the hostess amiably. Turning to Mr. Parker as the girl passed on she asked: "Do you know who that is?"
He shook his head.
"She's the granddaughter of John R. Rockerford, the money king. Fancy her saying this is jolly after the grandeur she is accustomed to!"
"No doubt she likes this better," retorted Ray. "Those very rich people don't do things any better than we—sometimes not so well. Their parties are too stiff and formal."
Suddenly Mr. Parker nudged his hostess.
"Here comes Mrs. Brewster-Curtis," he said in a stage whisper. "They say her husband's worth ten millions—all made from graft."
A handsome woman, blazing with diamonds, came up. Addressing Helen, she exclaimed gushingly:
"Oh, Mrs. Traynor, isn't this perfectly delightful? How do you do, Mr. Parker. Do you know I haven't enjoyed myself so much this season. What's the news from your dear husband?"
"No news as yet."
"Dear me—you poor thing! How interesting—so pretty and husband away. What an opportunity for some of our gay Lotharios!"
"They wouldn't have much chance with Helen!" laughed Ray.
Mrs. Brewster-Curtis turned, and putting up her gold lorgnon, stared at the unknown young woman who had been so bold to venture to express an opinion. Ray, meantime, was wondering what detained Dick. Here she was famishing with thirst and still no ice. Her partner had disappeared completely.
Addressing her hostess Mrs. Brewster said languidly:
"Your niece, I believe."
"No—my sister," corrected Helen with a smile. It was a mistake often made.
"Of course—of course, how silly of me. I might have known that. You look enough alike."
"Do you think so?" interrupted Ray hotly. "Helen is far prettier than I."
"You are no judge, my dear. You must let the men decide that."
"They do," said Ray, "and they all declare in favor of Helen."
"Not by the way Mr. Steell dodges [Transcriber's note: dogs?] your footsteps." Looking up she exclaimed: "There he is now."
"Oh, Mr. Steell," cried Helen, "don't forget our next waltz."
His face all smiles, the lawyer forced his way through the press of people.
"Have you seen Dick?" asked Ray. "I sent him to get me an ice."
Mr. Steell laughed outright.
"Oh, it was you who sent him. If I had known——"
"Why?" demanded Ray, opening wide her eyes. "Where is he? I want my ice."
"I'll get you an ice, dear," said Helen.
"No, let me go," exclaimed Mr. Parker.
"No—no one will get the ice but myself," said Mr. Steell. "It's my fault that the ice is not already forthcoming. It is only just that I suffer accordingly."
Mr. Parker laughed.
"The ice episode threatens to become a diplomatic incident."
"Why—whatever is the matter?" smiled Helen.
The lawyer was so much amused that he could hardly keep his face straight. With an effort he controlled himself, and said:
"Just now I was talking with a pretty girl and Dick suddenly forced his way through the crowd, going in the direction of the buffet. I had no idea on what a serious mission he was bound, of course, and so I called him to introduce him to the pretty girl, who had with her an aunt, a veritable witch, as hideous as a Medusa, and who, in addition, is afflicted with a wooden leg. Dick gave the aunt only a glance. That was enough, but he was all smiles for her pretty niece, who, I must admit, is somewhat of a flirt. Anyhow she rolled her eyes so eloquently at him that he forgot all about the important errand on which he was bound. Just at that moment the musicians struck up a schottische, and, on the spur of the moment, he asked the pretty girl to dance. She declined, with an arch smile, but, pointing to the old witch, said her aunt would be delighted. Poor Dick! There was no help for it. The Medusa got up, seized him in her claws, and, the last thing I saw of the poor youth, they were doing a sort of Bunny Hug, the wooden leg of his lady partner marking time on the waxed floor."
"Please stop! If you go on—I shall expire."
Ray was nearly in convulsions of laughter in which all joined. When Helen had somewhat regained her composure, she said:
"I think it's unkind to make fun of the poor woman. Who is she?"
"I haven't the least idea. Perhaps Dick will tell us."
At that moment the youth emerged from the throng and came towards them, his linen mussed, his hair dishevelled. But in one hand he held grimly a plate of ice cream. Looking shamelessly at Ray, he smiled:
"I've got it—at last."
"Where have you been all this time?" she demanded innocently.
"Oh, I've been having no end of a good time!"
Steell burst out laughing.
"Did she ask you to call, Dick?"
"If she had I'd have killed her."
"How did the artificial leg work?"
"She jammed it on my foot once. How it did hurt!"
Ray, by this time, was almost in hysterics, and Helen and the others, catching the contagion, the whole group were soon shaken by uncontrollable laughter.
The orchestra struck up a quadrille. A man came rushing up to Ray.
"My dance, I believe."
With a comical expression of resignation, the young girl allowed herself to be led away, while Helen and Mrs. Brewster-Curtis took seats to watch the figures.
"Come, Dick," said Steell in an undertone. "Let's go and smoke a cigar."
Leading the way he went into the smoking-room, where cigars and liquors were laid out. Turning to the youth, he inquired eagerly:
"Well—what about the Signor? What have you found out?"
Dick lit a cigarette and then calmly he said:
"Everything."
"What—to be specific."
"He's all and more than we expected."
"In other words—a crook?"
"Yes, and a dangerous one."
"What's his game?"
"Confidence man, bank robber, blackmailer."
"How did you find out?"
"Very easily. I found his record. The police haven't disturbed him because his clever disguise has deceived them. They have not recognized in the polished, suave Signor Keralio, the popular fencing master, the man they have been hunting for years. His real name is Richard Barton. His pals call him Baron Rapp. Five years ago he was convicted of robbing a bank out West and was sent up for ten years. He served a year in Joliet and then broke jail and he has been at liberty ever since."
"Good!" exclaimed the lawyer, rubbing his hands with satisfaction. "We've got him where we want him. What else?"
"He has managed to elude the police so far owing to the fact that he has not been operating of late, but from what I've been able to ferret out, he is preparing some big haul. Everything points that way. I don't know what it is, but it's the biggest thing in which he has yet been mixed up. He's affiliated with crooks who operate all over the country. Some of his men are disguised as servants and valets in rich houses. They spy on their masters and tell him if there is anything worth robbing. He is the master-mind that schemes the operations that others carry out. He tells his men what banks and homes to break into and instructs them how to do it. He receives all the stolen property. At this very moment his flat in the Bronx is full of stolen loot. I also suspect him of being engaged in counterfeiting."
The lawyer was lost in admiration.
"Dick, you're a wonder!"
The young man grinned with pride.
"Well—what's it to be—shall we tip off the police?"
"Not by a long shot. We'll have the gun loaded—all ready for use. If the Signor gets ugly we'll shoot—that's all. Not a word, do you hear. Leave everything to me. Come, let's go back or they'll think something's wrong."
In the ballroom, they were still dancing the quadrille, the pretty gowns of the girls and black coats of the men making a picturesque sight as they blended in the ever changing figures.
The gayety was at its height when the maid entered and whispered in her ear:
"There's a gentleman downstairs."
Helen looked at the girl in surprise.
"A gentleman? What's his name?"
"I don't know, m'm. He wouldn't say."
"Very well, I'll go down."
Slipping away unobserved, Helen made her way downstairs and throwing back the heavy tapestry portières entered the drawing room which was almost in complete darkness. The maid had forgotten to switch on the electrolier and as the only light came from the distant dining-room, the big parlor was practically all in gloom. Before her eyes had become quite accustomed to the dark, a man advanced out of the shadow. It was Signor Keralio.
She recognized him instantly and instinctively she shrank back, alarmed. How had he dared come again to her house after what had occurred? He noticed the movement and asked:
"I see that I'm unwelcome. Do I frighten you so much?"
Coldly she answered:
"You do not frighten me. You surprise me. I did not expect this pleasure after what passed between us the last time you were here." Making a half turn, as if about to leave the room, she added quickly: "I have company upstairs. You must excuse me."
She walked away and had almost reached the door, when, with a quick stride, he intercepted her.
"Please don't go. I am here in your own interest. I want to talk to you—just a moment, about——"
She hesitated.
"About what?" she demanded haughtily.
"About your husband."
"My husband?" she echoed, turning and facing him.
"Yes—your husband. He is in danger. I want to help you and—him."
"Kenneth in danger?" she faltered. "What do you mean?"
He pointed to a chair.
"Won't you sit down. I won't keep you a moment. I will tell you everything——"
She sat down like one in a dream. Taking a seat near her, he began in his low, musical tones.
"Peril threatens your husband. It is known that he has gone to South Africa to bring home diamonds of almost inestimable value. A number of desperate men, who stop at nothing to accomplish their ends, have taken steps to secure the diamonds at any cost—even at the price of a human life."
A chill ran through her, but her voice was firm as she demanded scornfully:
"You know these men—these murderers?"
"Yes—I know them."
Instantly came the bitter retort:
"Maybe you are one of them!"
His eyes flashed in the darkness and his voice vibrated with passion as he answered:
"I know you think ill of me. You do me an injustice. I have no share in these men's operations, but I have great power over them. They must obey my command. They know that and so respect my orders. A word from me and your husband will be unmolested."
Like the drowning man who in his agony will grasp eagerly at a floating straw, Helen seized at the hope his words held out. That Kenneth was in peril she readily believed. It was a dangerous mission. She had scented danger from the outset. This man might be lying, and yet he might have the influence he boasted.
"You can avert the danger?"
He nodded.
"I can."
"How?"
"I will give orders that he be unmolested."
"And they will obey you?"
"They will."
Her face brightened. More amiably she said:
"You'll do this, won't you?"
"Yes—for a price."
"What price?"
"That you recall what you said the other day and restore me to a place in your friendship."
There was no mistaking his true meaning. It was a price no self-respecting woman could pay. She rose indignantly, and haughtily she said:
"You have never had a place in my friendship, Signor Keralio, and you never will. I see through your motive and I despise you now all the more. My husband, who is an honorable man, would be the first to have done with me forever if I entered into any such bargain. He has mistaken your character. When he returns I will enlighten him, and he will tell you himself that his wife has no dealings with a scoundrel. As for your threats, and tale of mysterious danger, I don't believe a word you say. But I may think it worth while to cable my husband in order to put him on his guard and to inform the police. Good night!"
Before he could stop her, she had touched an electric bell and left the room. The next instant Roberts, the butler, appeared and threw open the front door. There was nothing to do but go.
She had defied him.
Eagerly, breathlessly, Helen tore open the cablegram.
It was late Saturday afternoon and she had been with Ray and Mr. Steell to see some paintings—a private view of a remarkable collection of old masters. After having tea at the Plaza they had taken a brisk walk through the Park, the lawyer insisting that the exercise would do them good.
"It's just come, m'm," said the maid, holding out the thin envelope.
"Oh, it's from Kenneth!" exclaimed Ray excitedly, throwing down her muff and running to look over her sister's shoulder.
For long, dreary weeks Helen had expected, and waited for, this message, and now it had come, she was almost afraid to read it. There were only a few words, cold and formal, the usual matter-of-fact, businesslike phraseology of the so-much-a-word telegram:
CAPE TOWN, Thursday (delay in transmission). Sail to-day on the Abyssinia. All's well. KEN.
"Is that all?" exclaimed Ray, disappointed.
Mr. Steell laughed.
"How much more do you expect at $2 a word?"
"Well, he might be a little more explicit," pouted Ray. "If I were his wife, that wouldn't satisfy me."
Helen laughed lightly. Her eyes sparkling, her usually pale cheeks filled with a ruddy color from her walk in the park, the lawyer thought he had never seen her looking so pretty.
"It satisfies me," she said, her face all lit up with joyous excitement. "All I want to know is that he is safe and on his way home. The cablegram is dated Thursday. Then he's already on the water three days! I wonder why we didn't hear before?"
Mr. Steell glanced over her shoulder.
"The dispatch has been delayed. Don't you see? It says, 'delayed in transmission.'"
Helen turned round, her face radiant.
"When ought he to get here?"
The lawyer was silent for a moment as if calculating. Then, looking up, he said:
"The Abyssinia is not a very fast boat. I suppose she is the best he could get. She's due at Southampton two weeks from to-day. A week after that, he ought to be in New York—providing nothing happens."
Helen, who was still reading and re-reading the cablegram, looked up quickly. With a note of alarm in her voice, she exclaimed:
"Providing nothing happens! What could happen?"
"Oh, nothing serious, of course. In these days of the wireless nothing ever happens to steamers. One is safer traveling on the sea than on land. I didn't mean anything serious, but merely that sometimes boats are delayed by bad weather or by fog. That prevents them arriving on schedule time."
Almost three months had slipped by since Kenneth's departure from New York. To Helen it had seemed so many years. She had tried to be contented and happy for Ray's sake. She entertained a good deal, giving dinner and theater parties, keeping open house, playing graciously the rôle of chatelaine in the absence of her lord, to all outward appearances as gay and light-hearted as ever. Only Ray and her immediate friends knew that the gayety was forced.
The poison had done its deadly work. The few words uttered by Signor Keralio that afternoon shortly after her husband's departure had burnt deep into her mind like letters of fire. Well she guessed the object of the wily Italian in speaking as he did. It availed him nothing, and she only despised him the more. It was cowardly, contemptible, and, from such a source, absolutely unworthy of belief. Yet secretly it worried her just the same. She had always considered Kenneth's life an open book. She thought she knew his every action, his every thought. The mere suggestion that her husband might have other interests, other attachments of which she knew nothing took her so by surprise that she was disarmed, powerless to answer. The innuendo that he might be unfaithful had gone through her heart like a knife. Of course it was quite ridiculous. He was not that kind of man. It was true he had often gone away on trips that seemed unnecessary, and now she came to think of it Kenneth's absences had of late been both frequent and mysterious. Then, too, she had no idea of the extent of his operations in Wall Street. She knew he bought and sold stocks sometimes. That is only what every investor does. But it was incredible that he was involved to the extent Keralio said he was. She knew he was ambitious to acquire wealth, but that he would take such fearful risks and jeopardize funds which, after all, belonged, not to him, but to the stockholders—that was impossible. It was a horrible libel.
Still another cause for worry was the health of her little daughter, Dorothy. Nothing ailed the child particularly, but she was not well. The doctor said nothing was the matter, but a slight temperature persisted, together with a cough which, naturally, alarmed the young mother out of all proportion to the seriousness of the case. The doctor also advised a change of air, so Helen at once made arrangements to send her little daughter to Philadelphia, where, in Aunt Carrie's beautiful house, she would have the best air and attention in the world. Aunt Carrie came to New York to fetch the child, and, as she stayed a couple of weeks sight-seeing and visiting friends that also helped to keep Helen busy.
"I do wish that I didn't have such a worrying disposition"—she laughed nervously after the lawyer had been at some pains to assure her about the sea-worthiness of the Abyssinia. "Really, it makes me so unhappy, but I simply can't help it. The other day it was baby who made me terribly anxious; now it is Kenneth's home-coming. I must seem very foolish to you all."
Ray quickly protested.
"You sweet thing—how could you look foolish? What an idea! Only please don't worry, dear. I never do."
Mr. Steell nodded sympathetically.
"It's nothing to be ashamed of, Mrs. Traynor. It shows you have a fine, sensitive nature. It is only the grosser natures that are callous and unaffected by the anxieties of life."
Taking the remarks to herself, Ray threw up her head indignantly.
"I deny the imputation that I'm gross."
The lawyer laughed.
"You are far too healthy to worry. Moreover, you have nothing to worry about. If a man you loved were six thousand miles away——"
"Yes," interrupted Helen; "that's it. Only those who care for each other can understand——"
"Oh, of course!" retorted her sister, flaring up. "We spinsters, belonging, as we do, to the sisterhood of the Great Unloved, are quite incompetent to express an intelligent opinion on that or on any other matter. I grant that, but is Mr. Steell, a confirmed old bachelor, any more competent than I?"
"Hardly an old bachelor!" interrupted Helen reprovingly.
"No—middle-aged bachelor!" corrected Ray saucily. "He never cared for a woman in his life. He——"
"Who told you so?" inquired the lawyer quickly, with an amused twinkle in his eye.
Ray colored visibly.
"Oh, I judge so," she stammered. "You never speak of that sort of thing. One can only draw conclusions."
"The conclusions may be wrong," he replied gravely. "My life is a very busy one. I have had no time to think of anything outside my immediate work. Yet I am human. I sometimes yearn for the companionship of a good woman. A pretty face attracts me, as it does other men, but, in my opinion, any such attachment is too serious a matter to be treated lightly. When a man feels deeply he keeps his own confidence until the moment comes when he can unburden himself and say what is in his heart."
"I like that," said Helen, nodding her head approvingly.
Ray jumped up to conceal her embarrassment.
"Oh, how terribly serious you two are to-day!" she exclaimed. "I declare I'll run away unless you cheer up a bit. Suppose I get some tea?"
"Excellent idea!" laughed the lawyer.
Ray touched a bell, and went to clear a small side table, which she drew up near where they were sitting.
"There!" she exclaimed, smiling roguishly at the lawyer. "Don't you think I'm smart?"
"Of course we do." Lowering his voice he added significantly: "At least I do."
Apparently the compliment fell on deaf ears, for, turning her head away, she said quickly:
"Please don't be sarcastic."
More seriously, and in the same tone, that even Helen, who was only a short distance away, could not hear, he said:
"I'm never sarcastic. I think you are all a woman should be."
"Do you mean that?"
"I do. I have thought it for a long time."
"Really?"
"Really."
The young girl colored with pleasure. For all her sophisticated and independent manner she was still a child at heart. She had no thoughts of marriage, but it flattered her to think that she had the power to attract and interest this serious, brilliant man of the world. She said nothing more, relapsing into a meditative silence as she busied herself helping the maid to set out the tea table.
To Helen it was a source of keen satisfaction to notice the attention which the brilliant young lawyer was paying her sister. She had long recognized his sterling qualities. He was a man of whom any woman might well be proud. He could not but make a good husband. Next to Kenneth and her baby no one was dearer to her than Ray and, since their mother died, she had felt a certain sense of responsibility. To see her well and happily married was the one secret wish of her life.
But overshadowing these preoccupations at present were those other new anxieties which preyed upon her sensitive mind with all the force of an obsession. Was there any part of her husband's life that he had hidden from her? Was he really as loyal as she had always fondly and blindly believed; had his ambition led him to take grave financial risks that might one day jeopardize their comfort and happiness, the very future of their child?
Ray rose to put away the tea table, and she found herself sitting alone with the lawyer. There was a moment's silence, and then, as if thinking out aloud what was on her mind, she said:
"Thank God, he's safe; I had the most fearful premonitions——"
The lawyer laughed.
"Don't put your trust in premonitions—things happen or they don't happen. It's absurd to believe that misfortunes are all prepared beforehand."
"Then you are not a fatalist?"
"Decidedly not. I hope I have too much intelligence to believe in anything so foolish."
"Do you believe in a Supreme Being who has the same power to suddenly snuff us out of existence as he had to create us?"
"I neither believe nor disbelieve. Frankly, I do not know. What people call God, Jehovah, Nature, according to my reasoning, is an astounding energy, a marvellous chemical process, created and controlled by some unknown, stupendous first cause, the origin of which man may never understand. How should he? He has not time. We are rushed into the world without preparation. We are ignorant, helpless, blind. Gradually, by dint of much physical labor and mental toil, we succeed in ferreting out a few facts regarding ourselves and the physical laws that govern us. We are just on the verge of discovering more—we are just beginning to understand and enjoy life—when suddenly we find ourselves growing old and decrepit. Our physical and mental powers fail us, and the same force that benevolently created us now mercilessly destroys us, and we are hurled, willy-nilly, back into eternity whence we came. Rather absurd, isn't it?"
Intensely interested Helen looked up. Eagerly she exclaimed:
"You have a whole system of philosophy in a mere handful of words, haven't you?"
He smiled.
"It's all one needs, and perhaps as good as those more complicated and more verbose."
More seriously and lowering her voice so Ray, who was still busy at the other end of the room, might not overhear, she said:
"Mr. Steell—you are so clever—you know all about everything. Tell me, do you know anything about Wall Street?"
The ingenuousness of the question amused him. With a laugh he answered:
"A little—to my sorrow."
"It's a dangerous place, isn't it?"
"Very; it has a graveyard at one end, the East River at the other, two places highly convenient at times to those who play the game."
"If luck goes against him, a man could lose his all, then?"
"Not only his all but the all of others, too—if he's that kind of a man."
She was silent for a moment. Then she continued:
"And sometimes even fine, honest men are tempted, are they not, to gamble with money which is not theirs?"
"Many have done so. The prisons are full of them. There is nothing so dangerous as the get-rich-quick fever. All the men who gamble in stocks have it. It becomes a mania, an obsession. Their judgment becomes warped; they lose all sense of right and wrong."
"There's something else I want to ask you. What do you think of Signor Keralio?"
He hesitated a moment before he answered. Then, with some warmth, he said:
"As I told you before, I think he's a crook, only we can't prove it. I've been looking up his record. It's a bad one. The fellow has behaved himself so far in New York, but out West he is known under various names as one of the slickest rogues that ever escaped hanging. At one time he was the chief of a band of international crooks and blackmailers that operated in London, Paris, Buenos Ayres, and the City of Mexico. The scheme they usually worked was to get some prominent man so badly compromised that he would pay any amount to save himself from exposure, and they played so successfully on the fears of their victims that they were usually successful."
A worried look came into the young wife's face. Perhaps there was more in Signor Keralio's relations with her husband than she had suspected. Quickly she asked:
"Why do they permit a man of that character to be at large?"
The lawyer shrugged his shoulders.
"You can't proceed against a man unless there is some specific charge made. The police have nothing now against him. He may have reformed for all I know. But that was his record some years ago."
"I don't think he'll dare come here again," went on Helen. "He's exceedingly offensive, and yet he has about him a certain magnetism that compels your attention, even while his manner and look repels and irritates. Only the other day he——"
Before she could complete the sentence, there was a loud ring at the front door bell. Helen hastily rose, but Ray had already gone forward.
"It's Mr. Parker," she cried. "I saw him coming from the window."
The next instant the door of the drawing-room was flung open and Mr. Parker appeared.
"Hallo, ladies! Howdy, Steell!"
The president of the Americo-African Mining Company was not looking his usual debonair self that evening. His manner was nervous and flustered, his face pale and drawn with anxious lines. His coat lacked the customary boutonnière, and his crumpled linen and unshaved chin suggested that he had come direct from his office after a strenuous day without stopping to go through the formality of making a change of attire.
Helen was quick to note the alteration in his appearance, and her first instinct, naturally, was to associate it with her husband. Something was amiss.
"There's nothing wrong, is there?" she asked in alarm.
"No, no, my dear woman!"
But his tone was not convincing. He always called her "my dear woman" when nervous or excited, and "my dear lady" in his calmer moods. She at once remarked it, and it did not tend to reassure her. Now greatly alarmed she laid a trembling hand on his arm.
"Tell me, please! Don't hide anything from me. Has anything happened to Kenneth?"
"No—no; of course not." Quickly changing the subject he asked: "You got a message."
"Yes—a cablegram. It came just now."
"Have you got it? Let me see it."
"Yes, certainly," said Helen, looking around for the dispatch. Unable to find it, she called to her sister.
"Ray, dear, what did you do with Kenneth's cablegram?"
Her sister came up to assist in the search, in which even Mr. Steell joined. But the search was fruitless. The cablegram had disappeared.
"Oh, I know!" suddenly exclaimed Ray. "It must have been carried away with the tea things."
"That's right! I never thought of that!" said Helen.
The next instant the two women hurried out of the room in the direction of the kitchen.
The instant they had disappeared Mr. Parker turned to the lawyer. In a whisper he said:
"There is terrible news! I don't know how to break it to the poor woman——"
Steell sprang forward. Anxiously he exclaimed:
"Terrible news? Surely not——"
The president nodded.
"Yes—all lost, and the diamonds, too. A dispatch just received in London says that, according to a wireless relayed from Cape Town, the Abyssinia caught fire twelve hours after sailing from that port and all on board perished. It is shocking, and the pecuniary loss to us disastrous. The stones were not insured. Hush! Here they come. Not a word!"
"My God!" muttered the lawyer, as he fell back and turned away, so they might not see the effect which the shocking news had made on him. With an effort he managed to control himself.
The two women entered the room joyfully.
"Here it is!" cried Helen exultantly, as she brandished the missing telegram. "You see, he's just sailed, and all's well."
The president said nothing, but, taking the dispatch from her hands, slowly read it. Nodding his head, he said slowly:
"Yes—he's just sailed, and—all's well."
"When do you think he'll be here?" questioned the young hostess, looking anxiously up into his face.
The president shook his head.
"That is hard to tell," he answered evasively.
Mr. Steell had gone to the window, where he stood looking out, idly drumming his fingers on the pane. How was it possible to break such fearful tidings as that? What a horrible calamity! He wished himself a hundred miles away, yet some one must tell her. At that moment shrill cries arose in the street outside—the familiar, distressing, almost exultant cries of news-venders, glad of any calamity that puts a few nickels into their pockets.
"Ex-tra! Ex-tra! Special ex-tra!"
"What's that?" exclaimed Helen apprehensively. The sound of special editions always filled her with anxiety, especially since Kenneth's departure.
"Ex-tra! Ex-tra! Special edition! Ex-tra! Big steamer gone down. Great loss of life. Extra!"
Her face was pale, as she turned and looked at the others, who also stood in silence, listening to the hoarse accents of distress.
"A steamer gone down!" she faltered. "Isn't that terrible? I wonder what steamer it was."
Ray ran to the door.
"I'll get a paper," she said.
Before Mr. Parker or Mr. Steell could prevent her the young girl had opened the front door. Now there was no way of preventing Helen knowing. The best thing was to prepare her gently.
"My dear Mrs. Traynor—I didn't tell you the trouble just now. There has been a little trouble. The Abyssinia——"
Helen gave a cry of anguish.
"I knew it! I knew it! Kenneth is dead!"
"No, no, my dear lady. These newspaper reports are always grossly exaggerated. The Abyssinia has met with a little trouble—nothing very serious, I assure you. Everything is all right, no doubt. Your husband is well able to take care of himself. We may hear from him any moment, reassuring us as to his safety."
His words of comfort went unheeded. Her face white as death Helen tottered rather than walked to the door, reaching it just as Ray, almost as pale, entered, reading the paper she had just purchased. On seeing her sister she instinctively made an effort to hide the sheet, but Helen quickly snatched it out of her hand. Her hand trembling so violently that she could scarcely make out the letters she glanced at the big scare-head, printed in red ink, to imitate blood, a merciful custom sensational newspapers have of making the most of the agony of others.
S. S. ABYSSINIA GONE DOWN!
ALL PERISH!