The Slave of Silence Read online

  CHAPTER III

  From the point of view of the onlooker there could have been nothingsuspicious in the attitude of the pseudo waiter with his tray. He couldsee Beatrice leaning back as if the pain in her head had made heroblivious to everything else. As a matter of fact, Beatrice was rackingher brains for some way out of the difficulty. The self-elected waitercould not stay there much longer, in any case, at least not unless thesuspicious Richford took it in his head to return to the dinner-tableagain.

  "It is so good of you to come," Beatrice said, still with her headthrown back in the air. "That man has followed me, though Heaven knowswhat he has to be suspicious about. Go away for a few minutes, as if youhad forgotten something, and then return again."

  Mark Ventmore assented with a low bow. Scarcely had he left theconservatory by a door leading to the corridor than Richford strolledin.

  "Feeling better now?" he asked ungraciously. "Funny things, women'sheadaches!"

  "For Heaven's sake go away," Beatrice exclaimed. "Why do you come andtorture me like this? You are the very last I want to see just now.Don't drive me over the border. Go back to the others, and leave me inpeace."

  With a sullen air, Richford lounged away; Colonel Berrington wascrossing the drawing-room, and Beatrice's heart beat high with hope.She might have known that the gallant soldier would help her ifpossible. With unspeakable relief she saw Richford tactfully drawn awayand disappear. Very quickly Beatrice changed her seat, so that she couldcommand a view of the drawing-room without herself being seen. The sidedoor opened, and Mark Ventmore came in again. He carried a tray still,but he no longer looked like a waiter. With one quick glance around himhe advanced to Beatrice and knelt by the side of her chair.

  "My darling," he whispered. "Oh, my dear little love! Am I too late?"

  Beatrice said nothing for a moment. She was content only to forget herunhappy lot in the knowledge that the one man she had ever cared for wasby her side. Ventmore's arm stole about her; her head drooped to hisshoulder. There was a faint, unsteady smile on the girl's lips asVentmore bent and kissed her passionately.

  "Why did you not come before?" she asked.

  "My dearest, I could not. I was away from my quarters, and I did not getyour letter. I am only here quite by chance. But is it too late?"

  "Oh, I fear so; I fear so," Beatrice murmured. "If you had come a weekago I should have asked you to marry me and take me away from it all.And yet, if I had done so, my father would have been ruined anddisgraced."

  Mark Ventmore moved his shoulders a little impatiently.

  "So Sir Charles says," he replied. "Sir Charles was always very good atthose insinuations. He has played upon your feelings, of course,sweetheart."

  "Not this time, Mark. He has mixed himself up in some disgraceful Citybusiness. A prosecution hangs in the air. And I am to be the price ofhis freedom. My future husband will see my father through after I becomehis wife. Even now there are private detectives watching my father. Itis a dreadful business altogether, Mark. And yet if you had come a weekago, I should have risked it all for your sake."

  Ventmore pressed the trembling figure to his heart passionately. Underhis breath he swore that this hideous sacrifice should never be. Wasthis white-drawn woman in his arms, the happy laughing little Beatricethat he used to know? They had parted cheerfully enough a year since;they had agreed not to write to one another; they had infinite trust inthe future. Mark was going to make his fortune as a painter, andBeatrice was to wait for him. And now it was the girl's wedding eve, andthe fates had been too strong for her altogether.

  "Leave your father to himself and come," Mark urged. "I am making enoughnow to keep us both in comfort; not quite the income that I hoped to askyou to share with me, but at least we shall be happy. I will take you toa dear old friend of mine, and to-morrow I will buy a license. Afterthat no harm can molest you."

  Beatrice closed her eyes before the beatitude of the prospect. Just forthe moment she felt inclined to yield. Mark was so strong and good andhandsome, and she loved him so. And yet she had given her word for thesake of her father.

  "I cannot," she said. Her voice was very low but quite firm. "I havepromised my father. Oh, yes, I know that I had promised you first. Butit is for the sake of my father's honour. If I do what you wish he willgo to jail--nothing can prevent it. I only knew to-night."

  "And you are sure that Sir Charles is not--not ... you know what Imean?"

  "Lying to me?" Beatrice said bitterly. "Not this time. I always knowwhen he is making an effort to deceive me. Mark, don't press me."

  Mark crushed down his feelings with an effort. Blindly and passionatelyin love as he was, he could see that duty and reason were on the side ofthe girl. She would have to be sacrificed to this scoundrelly father,and to please the other rascal who coveted her beauty and her fair whitebody all the more because Beatrice kept him so rigidly at a distance.

  "It seems very, very hard," Mark said thoughtfully. "Terribly hard onboth of us."

  "Yes, but it is always the woman who suffers most," Beatrice replied."There is no help for it, Mark. I must see this thing out to the end. Ifyou had only come before!"

  "My darling, I came as quickly as I could. I am staying here to-night,and my room is in the same corridor as that of Sir Charles. I shall seehim to-night, or early to-morrow, and tell him a few of the things thatI have discovered. Perhaps when I open his eyes to the truth as to hisfuture son-in-law, he will change his mind."

  "He will never do so," Beatrice said mournfully. "My father can alwaysjustify himself and his conscience where his own interests areconcerned. But how did you know----"

  "That you were in trouble? It came to me quite by accident. I was inParis a day or two ago to see a wealthy American who wants some of mywork. And as I was alone in the evening, I went to one of the theatres.There were two English ladies by me in the stalls and presently theybegan to talk about _you_. I could not help hearing. Then I heardeverything. Do you know a tall, elderly lady with dark eyes and whitehair, a lady all in silver grey?"

  Beatrice started. Surely Mark was describing the Slave of the Bond, asthe grey lady whom Beatrice had encountered earlier in the evening hadcalled herself.

  "I know her, and I don't know her," the girl cried. "She came into thedining-room here before dinner quite by accident. I thought she was someadventuress at first. But her face was too good and pure for that. Iasked her who she was, and she said she was the Slave of the Bond. Isthis a coincidence, or is there something deeper beyond? I don't knowwhat to think."

  "Something deeper beyond, I should imagine," Mark said. "Be sure that insome way or another this grey lady is interested in your welfare. But Iam absolutely sure that she did not know me."

  "And so you came on at once, Mark?" Beatrice asked.

  "As soon as possible, dear. I heard about the dinner whilst I was in thetheatre. My train was very late, and I could not possibly carry out theprogramme that I had arranged. My next difficulty was to get speech withyou. Happily, a half sovereign and an intelligent waiter solved thatproblem. When Richford followed you I had to borrow that tray and therest of it and disburse another half sovereign. Then I saw that my oldfriend Berrington had come to my rescue. Did you tell him, Beatrice?"

  "He saw the message on the wine card and recognized your handwriting.But I shall not be able to stay much longer, Mark. Those people may comeinto the drawing-room at any moment. This must be our last meeting."

  "I am not going to be so sure of that, Beatrice. What I have to say toyour father must move him. The idea of your being the wife of thatman--but I will not think of it. Oh, love will find the way even at thisvery late hour."

  Mark would have said more, only there was the flutter of a dress in thedrawing-room beyond, and the echo of a laugh. The dinner guests werecoming into the drawing-room. With a quick motion, Mark snatched thegirl to his heart and kissed her passionately.

  "Good night, darling," he whispered. "Keep up your courage. Who knowswhat may happen betw
een now and twelve o'clock to-morrow? And after Ihave seen your father----"

  Another kiss, and the lover was gone. Beatrice lay back in her chairstriving to collect her thoughts. Everything seemed to have happened sosuddenly and unexpectedly. There were people about her now who wereasking smoothly sympathetic questions in the hollow insincerity of theworld.

  "I'm no better," Beatrice said. "If my aunt is ready I should like to gohome. My father will stay and see that you get your bridge all right."

  Beatrice had gone at length with Lady Rashborough, the rest of theguests had finished their bridge, and the party was breaking up. MarkVentmore was sitting, smoking cigarettes in his bedroom, waiting for thechance to see Sir Charles. It was getting very late now, and all theguests had long since been in their rooms. With his door open Mark couldsee into the corridor.

  Then he gave a little whistle of astonishment as the door of SirCharles's sitting-room opened and the grey lady, the Slave of the Bondof Silence, came out. She was dressed just as Mark had seen her before;as she walked along, her face was calm and placid. She came at length tothe end of the corridor and disappeared quietly and deliberately downthe stairs. With a feeling of curiosity, Mark crossed over and tried thehandle of Sir Charles's door. To his great surprise it was locked.

  For a little time Mark pondered over the problem. As he did so, his headfell back and he slept. It was the sound sleep of the clean mind in thehealthy body, so that when the sleeper came to himself again it wasbroad daylight; the hotel was full of life and bustle. With a sense ofhaving done a fearful thing, Mark looked at his watch. It was tenminutes past eleven!

  "This comes of having no rest the night before," he muttered. "And tothink that the fate of my little girl should be hanging in the balance!If Sir Charles has gone!"

  But Sir Charles had not gone, as one of the waiters was in a position toassure Mark. He had not retired to bed until past three, and at thattime was in a state of hilarity that promised a pretty fair headache inthe morning.

  "Well, there is time yet," Mark thought, grimly. "And Sir Charles mustbe moving by this time, as the wedding is to take place at twelve."

  But the minutes crept on, and it was pretty near to that hour when SirCharles's man came down the corridor with an anxious expression on hisface. He had been hammering at the bedroom door without effect.

  A sudden idea thrilled Mark, an idea that he was ashamed of almostbefore it had come into his mind. He stood by idly, listening. He hearda clock somewhere strike the hour of midday. He stepped up to the littleknot of waiters.

  "Why don't you do something?" he demanded. "What is the use of standingstupidly about here? Call the manager or whoever is in attendance. Breakdown the door."

  With all his force Mark thrust himself against the stout oak. The hingesyielded at last.