Slowly Caruth regained his balance. The valet’s deferential plea
came like a tonic to his overstrung nerves. Nothing was more natural
than that Wilkins should have had a letter addressed in his care;
he wondered that the possibility of this had not occurred to him at
once. And with the advent of the valet, the whole situation had become
ridiculous; he felt as if he had been playing a part in some melodrama
and had suddenly stepped back into the realm of common sense. With a
laugh on his lips, he turned to Miss Fitzhugh.
His lips straightened and his smile froze. Never had he seen such
disappointment on the face of a woman. Her eyes glared roundly and her
breath whistled through her parted lips. Blindly she caught at the
table, like one about to collapse. Her trembling fingers touched a
wine-glass, and mechanically she lifted it to her lips.
As she drank, the color came back to her cheeks and her eyes
brightened. Caruth, watching, noticed that she was listening to some
one. An instant later he realized that it was Wilkins, and, with an
effort, he wrenched his eyes away from hers and turned them on the
valet.
The man’s attitude was deferential in the extreme. His eyes were
discreetly dropped, and he seemed unaware of the confusion his
appearance had caused. “I had a brother that was a sea-faring man,
sir,” he was saying. “Sailed out of Lunnon in the steamship _Orkney_
for St. Petersburg, hard on two years ago, sir. She was never heard
from again. Lost at sea somewheres, sir. The letter may be from him,
sir. I told him to write me in your care, sir.”
Miss Fitzhugh did not speak, and Caruth hesitated, but only for a
moment. Slowly he opened the letter and glanced at the top and bottom
of the scrawl; mechanically he refolded it and slipped it back into its
envelope. “You’ve hit it, Wilkins,” he declared. “The letter does begin
‘Dear Jim’ and does end ‘Your brother, Bill.’ Your claim seems to be
clear.” He handed the letter to the man.
As the latter took it, the woman came out of her trance. “Wilkins!” she
called sharply.
“Yes, madam.” The valet turned toward her, subservient as ever.
Without taking her eyes from him, Miss Fitzhugh sank into her chair.
“So, Wilkins,” she said slowly, “you have been listening?”
“Yes, madam.” There was no defiance nor disrespect in the valet’s
tones, nor was there any apology. He simply admitted the undeniable
fact, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
“It is a vice of servants the world over. When one subordinates himself
to the will of another, he seems to lose many of the manly virtues.
If you have been listening, Wilkins, you know that I put a high value
on that letter. It seems that it is yours. Well, I will buy it from
you--unread. What is your price?”
Slowly the man shook his head. “I would rather not sell it, madam,” he
answered.
“Nonsense! Of course you will sell it.” The woman spoke imperiously,
but the valet did not change his submissive yet dogged bearing. “I have
not much money with me, but I will give you five hundred dollars cash
for it.”
Again Wilkins shook his head. “I can’t consider it, madam,” he repeated.
Miss Fitzhugh opened the bag that swung from her belt and threw a roll
of bills on the table. “Count that for me, please, Mr. Caruth,” she
ordered. “I am not quick at American money.”
Caruth obeyed in silence. Though Wilkins was clearly within his rights,
he found himself regarding the man with rising anger, and would
have intervened if it had seemed possible for him to do so. But the
situation for the time being, at least, was dearly beyond his control.
“Eleven hundred and fifty-one dollars,” he announced.
“It is all I have. Take it and give me the letter.” Miss Fitzhugh was
again addressing the valet.
For the third time Wilkins shook his head. “No!” he repeated doggedly.
Undisturbed, the woman turned to Caruth. “Lend me a thousand dollars,”
she requested.
Caruth started. Then, with a smile, he took out his pocket-book and
added its contents to the pile. “There’s only about seven hundred here,
Wilkins,” he remarked, half humorously, “but I’ll give you my check for
the balance--if you’ll accept it.”
The letter rustled in Wilkins’s fingers as he twisted and turned it.
Obviously he was tempted. Yet, after a quick questioning glance at the
woman’s face, he again shook his head. “No, madam,” he replied coolly.
“Bill took a good deal of trouble to get this to me, and I fancy it’s
valuable. Any way, I think I’ll chance it, madam.”
“Valuable!” The woman stared at the valet in seeming surprise.
“Nonsense!” she scoffed. “What could your Bill tell you that could be
worth eighteen hundred dollars. If you suppose that the information I
hope it contains will be worth anything to you in a money way, you are
mistaken. It would cost you your life to try to use it. Be wise: take
the money and give me the letter. The value of the letter to us lies
chiefly in preventing other people from getting it.”
“Very well, madam. I’ll destroy it, then, madam.” He stepped to the
fire and made a motion to throw it upon the flames.
Like a cat, the woman sprang forward and caught his arm, her silken
skirts hissing as she moved. “No, no!” she cried.
A triumphant smile curled the valet’s lips. “Very well, madam,” he
acceded meekly. “As you wish, madam.”
[Illustration: LIKE A CAT, THE WOMAN SPRANG FORWARD AND CAUGHT HIS
ARM]
The woman fell back a step, and stood staring at the valet. For the
first time, she seemed to try to take his measure as a man, and to
bend her faculties to reading the lines of his features. “Humph!” she
murmured, at last, in a singular tone. “I am beginning to see. How long
have you been with Mr. Caruth, Wilkins?”
“Two years, madam.”
“You brought recommendations, of course! Mr. Caruth, I should advise
you to look up the writers of those recommendations at once. You may
learn something that will surprise you. Now, Wilkins, listen to me.” A
subtle change came into Miss Fitzhugh’s voice; she might almost have
been addressing an equal. “You have played your part well and have
served your master well. But you had better not push matters too far.
It is dangerous.”
A glint of fear crept into the valet’s eyes, and his look wandered up
and down the girl’s person, as if expecting to see a weapon; almost he
seemed to fear an attack of some kind. “Dangerous in what way, madam?”
he asked, still respectfully.
“Dangerous by violence. Do you think those who sent me here--four
thousand miles--to get that letter, will let you escape with it? Once
you have read it, there will be no more safety for you on the face
of the earth. Death will dog your footsteps and sit by your side.
Sleeping and waking, he will be upon you. You cannot beg for mercy, for
there will be no one from whom to beg. When I go out of that door, I
disappear, and even if you could find me, it would not save you, for I
am only an agent, powerless to change the will of my superiors. I give
you my word that in asking for that letter I am trying to save your
life, as well as to gain my own ends. I give you my word that I know of
no way in which you can evade your fate, once you have read it. For the
last time, I beg you, take the money and give me the letter.”
There was silence in the room as the valet turned the letter over and
over, staring at it, hesitating. His fingers trembled and his eyes grew
wider.
With a shock, Caruth realized that murder had been threatened in his
very presence--and that he was not horrified, as he knew he ought to
have been. Rather, he sympathized with the woman, who towered above the
man in angry beauty.
At last the valet broke the silence. “My God!” he whispered. “My God!”
Slowly and unsteadily, he made his way to the table and laid the letter
upon it. Slowly, he picked up the bills one by one. Then he raised his
heavy eyes and for an instant looked into the face of the woman. The
next moment he was at the door, hurrying away with the swift, silent
footsteps of the well-trained servant. The portières fell together
behind him.
With a long sigh of relief, the girl picked up the letter. The strain
of the past moments showed itself in her face.
“I will return your money as soon as I can see my friends,” she
declared weariedly. “Meanwhile, perhaps you will retain this.” She
stripped a ring from her fingers. “It is worth more than the money,”
she added.
Caruth drew back, deeply hurt. “Thank you,” he returned angrily, “but
I am not a pawnbroker--even if I am accessory to a threat to commit
murder. Return the money when you like.”
He spoke bitterly, for he was furious that he should have allowed his
man to be forced into the surrender of his rights. Man-like, he felt
the necessity of blaming his own derelictions on some one else.
Miss Fitzhugh seemed to understand, for she stepped forward and laid
her hand on his arm. “Believe me, Mr. Caruth,” she declared earnestly,
“believe me, you have done right. Whatever value this letter possessed
belongs to us of right. The man who wrote it betrayed a secret that was
not his; and, whether his or no, your valet could not have profited by
it. You have done a good deed, and you have been as kind and true and
staunch to me as my own brother could have been. My mother was right
when she told me a woman could always appeal safely to an American
gentleman. Now, good-night and good-by.”
Alarm drove away Caruth’s misgivings. “You--you will let me see you
again,” he begged.
Slowly the woman shook her head. “I fear not,” she answered. “I shall
sail for home on the next steamer--this very day if I can find one
leaving. This is good-by.”
“But--but--where are you going? It is not easy for a woman to find
accommodations at this time of the night. See, it is after twelve
o’clock. Won’t you stay here? I can easily go to a hotel.”
Again the woman shook her head. “I have friends waiting for me,” she
averred. “Good-night.”
The blackness of despair settled on Caruth. “But--but--I can’t let you
go like this. I must see you again. Tell me where your home is. Let me
hope to see you there some day. I’ve known you only an hour or two, but
I can’t--I can’t let you go out of my life this way, without a word or
a sign. I must see--good God! What’s the matter?”
On the woman’s face a look of frozen horror had dawned. Her eyes
dropped from his to the letter she had unconsciously withdrawn from its
envelope; and following them, Caruth saw in her hand a sheet of paper,
stiff and white, very different from the soft, sea-stained sheet he had
handled a few moments before. It scarcely needed her terrified words to
give the explanation.
“He has substituted another letter!” she cried. “He was acting all the
time! And I did not guess! I did not guess! He has gone with the hope
of Russia in his hands!”