"May I recall myself to you, M. Ste. Marie? We met, I believe, once or
twice, a couple of years ago. My name's Stewart."
Captain Stewart--the title was vaguely believed to have been won some
years before in the American service, but no one appeared to know much
about it--was not an old man. He could not have been, at this time,
much more than fifty, but English-speaking acquaintances often called
him "old Stewart" and others "_ce vieux_ Stewart." Indeed, at a first
glance, he might have passed for anything up to sixty, for his face was
a good deal more lined and wrinkled than it should have been at his age.
Ste. Marie's adjective had been rather apt. The man had a dessicated
appearance. Upon examination, however, one saw that the blood was still
red in his cheeks and lips, and, although his neck was thin and withered
like an old man's, his brown eyes still held their fire. The hair was
almost gone from the top of his large round head, but it remained at the
sides, stiff colourless hair with a hint of red in it. And there were
red streaks in his grey moustache, which was trained outwards in two
loose tufts like shaving brushes. The moustache and the shallow chin
under it gave him an odd cat-like appearance. Hartley, who rather
disliked the man, used to insist that he had heard him mew.
Ste. Marie said something politely non-committal, though he did not at
all remember the alleged meeting two years before, and he looked at
Captain Stewart with a real curiosity and interest, in his character as
Miss Benham's uncle. He thought it very civil of the elder man to make
these friendly advances when it was in no way incumbent upon him to do
so.
"I noticed," said Captain Stewart, "that you were placed next my niece,
Helen Benham, at dinner. This must be the first time you two have met,
is it not? I remember speaking of you to her some months ago, and I am
quite sure she said that she had not met you. Ah! yes, of course, you
have been away from Paris a great deal since she and her mother--her
mother is my sister, that is to say, my half-sister--have come here to
live with my father." He gave a little gentle laugh.
"I take an elderly uncle's privilege," he said, "of being rather proud
of Helen. She is called very pretty and she certainly has great poise."
Ste. Marie drew a quick breath and his eyes began to flash as they had
done a few moments before when he told Hartley that his feet were upon
the ladder to the stars.
"Miss Benham," he cried. "Miss Benham is----" He hung poised so for a
moment, searching, as it were, for words of sufficient splendour, but in
the end he shook his head, and the gleam faded from his eyes. He sank
back in his chair sighing.
"Miss Benham," said he, "is extremely beautiful." And again her uncle
emitted his little gentle laugh which may have deceived Hartley into
believing that he had heard the man mew. The sound was as much like
mewing as it was like anything else.
"I am very glad," Captain Stewart said, "to see her come out once more
into the world. She needs distraction. We--you may possibly have heard
that the family is in great distress of mind over the disappearance of
my young nephew. Helen has suffered particularly because she is
convinced that the boy has met with foul play. I myself think it very
unlikely, very unlikely indeed. The lack of motive, for one thing, and
for another---- Ah well, a score of reasons! But Helen refuses to be
comforted. It seems to me much more like a boy's prank--his idea of
revenge for what he considered unjust treatment at his grandfather's
hands. He was always a headstrong youngster, and he has been a bit
spoilt. Still, of course, the uncertainty is very trying for us
all--very wearing."
"Of course," said Ste. Marie gravely. "It is most unfortunate. Ah, by
the way!" He looked up with a sudden interest. "A rather odd thing
happened," he said, "as Hartley and I were coming here this evening. We
walked up the Champs Elysees from the Concorde, and on the way Hartley
had been telling me of your nephew's disappearance. Near the Rond Point
we came upon a motor-car which was drawn up at the side of the
street--there had been an accident of no consequence, a boy tumbled over
but not hurt. Well, one of the two occupants of the motor-car was a man
whom I used to see about Maxim's and the Cafe de Paris and the
Montmartre places too, some time ago--a rather shady character whose
name I've forgotten. The odd part of it all was that at the last
occasion or two on which I saw your nephew he was with this man. I
think it was in _Henry's Bar_. Of course it means nothing at all. Your
nephew doubtless knew scores of people, and this man is no more likely
to have information about his present whereabouts than any of the
others. Still, I should have liked to ask him. I didn't remember who
he was till he had gone."
Captain Stewart shook his head sadly, frowning down upon the cigarette
from which he had knocked the ash.
"I am afraid poor Arthur did not always choose his friends with the best
of judgment," said he. "I am not squeamish, and I would not have boys
kept in a glass case, but---- Yes, I'm afraid Arthur was not always too
careful." He replaced the cigarette neatly between his lips.
"This man now, this man whom you saw to-night, what sort of looking man
will he have been?"
"Oh, a tall lean man," said Ste. Marie. "A tall man with blue eyes and
a heavy old-fashioned moustache. I just can't remember the name."
The smoke stood still for an instant over Captain Stewart's cigarette,
and it seemed to Ste. Marie that a little contortion of anger fled over
the man's face and was gone again. He stirred slightly in his chair.