PREPARING THE WAY.
Seymour was not away longer than he had anticipated. Only thirty-five
minutes had elapsed before a cab drove up to the house in Belgrave
Square, from which descended a tall man guised as a magician. It was
not a particularly original dress, but it thoroughly served the
purpose which Seymour had in hand. He wore a long red cloak, coming
down to his heels, the hem of which was embroidered with queer signs
and symbols. On his head was a black velvet skull cap, and a long
white beard and moustache completed the illusion.
Seymour stood still for a moment, and fumbled about as if to find his
card. Then Rigby, effectively disguised as an executioner, came
forward and proffered his services.
"It's all right," he whispered. "I have been talking it over with
Masefield, and he did not think it would be prudent to meet you here a
second time. Besides, we have to be very careful; we are not aware how
much Anstruther knows. He might have got to the back of our plot for
all we know to the contrary."
"I did not quite catch how he was dressed," Seymour said. "Would you
mind telling me what he is wearing?"
Rigby proceeded to explain that Anstruther was rigged out in a costume
of some Indian tribe. He could be especially noticed by the
exceedingly high plume of eagle's feathers which he was wearing in his
headdress. Seymour chuckled aloud.
"I thought it all out as I came along," he said. "When I saw Masefield
a little time ago I only wanted to come here more or less out of idle
curiosity; but a little idea occurred to me as I called my cab. I am
going to thoroughly enjoy myself this evening; in fact, this is the
first time I have had an opportunity of mingling with my fellow
creatures for three years. But that is not the point. If you keep
fairly close to me you will have the chance of seeing how I shall get
on Anstruther's nerves presently."
"Do you mean to say you are going to begin at once?" Rigby asked, "or
would you not like to see Barmouth first?"
Seymour intimated that there was no hurry, and that the little drama
he had in his mind would be best played out at supper time. That meal
was intended to be a rather fast and furious affair, where all the
guests were supposed to always act up to the characters which they
personified.
"Therefore I should very much like to see Barmouth," Seymour said. "If
you can arrange a meeting for us in some quiet spot I shall be
exceedingly obliged to you."
Rigby went off, with an intimation that he would not be long. He came
back presently, and signified that Seymour should follow him. The two
proceeded as far as the head of the staircase, and there, in a small
room at the end of the corridor, Barmouth stood awaiting Seymour's
entrance. No sooner was the latter inside, than his host closed and
locked the door. He turned up the light, and snatched his mask from
his face. On the impulse of the moment Seymour did the same.
Save for the difference of their coloring, the two men were almost
identically alike. Perhaps in the whole world it would have been
impossible to find two refined and educated men so hideously and
atrociously ugly. One man's eyes were blue, the other one's
dark-brown; but this made no difference. All amiability of expression,
all frankness and sincerity, seemed to have been literally cut out of
their features. Most men would have turned from them with loathing and
disgust. They stood there looking at one another, the very image of
the Nostalgo posters that London was still discussing so eagerly. As
Seymour dropped Barmouth's proffered hand, the latter burst into a
bitter laugh.
"No reason to try and flatter ourselves," he said. "When I look at you
or you look at me, we both know that we are forever outside the pale
of civilized society. We can make the most of an occasion like this,
but these happy hours are few and far between."
"Well, do you know, I am not so sure of that," Seymour said. "Let me
have a cigarette, and we will discuss the matter together. Do you
happen to remember Ferris?"
Barmouth indicated that he remembered Ferris perfectly well.
"In fact, we were all victims of the same ceremony," he said. "What a
ghastly business it was! And that fiend of an Anstruther looking on
without a drop of pity in his heart for his fellow countrymen, whose
sole crime was that they were in the hunt for gold like himself. But I
want to try and forget all that. Do you mean to say you have met
Ferris?"
"Ferris is at the Great Metropolitan Hotel at the present moment,"
Seymour explained. "More or less accidentally he ran against
Masefield. Jack Masefield happened to mention that he knew me, and
there you are. However, I dare say you can get Masefield to tell you
the story another time. The point is, that Ferris has discovered a
brilliant French surgeon who has operated upon him--he says, quite
successfully. He is a mass of plaster and knife marks now, but he says
that in the course of a few weeks he will have resumed his normal
expression."
A great cry broke from Barmouth. His agitation was something dreadful
to witness.
"Cured," he whispered. "Absolutely cured and like other men again. Oh,
it seems like a dream; like something too good to be true. To think
that you and I, old friend, are going to stand out once more in the
broad light of day with no mask needed to conceal our hideousness! You
will undergo the operation?"
"Ay, as soon as ever I have done with the Anstruther business,"
Seymour said in his deep voice. "Once let me see that rascal beyond
the power of further mischief, and I place myself in that man's hands
at once, if it cost me half my fortune. There is a girl waiting for
me, Barmouth--a girl who mourns me as dead. You can see how impossible
it was for me to let her know the truth."
"And yet my wife knows the truth," Barmouth said thoughtfully.
"Hideous as I am, she refused to give me back my freedom."
"She is a woman of a million," Seymour said, not without emotion; "but
then Lady Barmouth discovered the truth. I don't think you ever would
have told her on your own initiative."
This was so true that Barmouth had nothing to say in reply. He
appeared to be deeply immersed in thought. The settled melancholy of
his face had given way to an eager, restless expression. He was like a
man in the desert who, past all hope, had found aid at the last
moment. He paused in his stride and sat down.
"I dare not dwell upon the possibilities that you have opened up
before me," he said. "I had long abandoned all kinds of hope. Still,
there are plenty of useful years before me. This is the first moment
that I have felt what happiness means since we fell into the hands of
that gang of Anstruther's. You will recollect, of course, the wild
stories that our tribesmen used to bring in to us about what happened
to anybody who dared to cross the gold belt."
"The legend was very common out there," Seymour said. "If you will
recollect, it was popularly supposed that some heathen god presided
over the gold mines, and that it was a sacrilege for any stranger to
make an attempt on the treasure. The natives there firmly believed
that the outraged god imposed upon the adventurers a disease that
rendered them so hideous that no man could ever bear to look upon
their faces again."
"They were not far wrong there," Barmouth said grimly. "Or, where did
those medicine men derive their knowledge of surgery? I recollect very
little that happened after I found myself gagged and bound in that
wonderful old temple, but I do know that one of those priests operated
upon me with a lancet. When I came to myself, I was as you see me now.
But you, too, went through it in your turn."
Seymour shuddered with the horror of the recollection of it.
"I don't think we need go into that," he said. "The extreme punishment
would never have been inflicted upon us had it not been for
Anstruther. With his wonderful ascendancy over the tribe--and goodness
knows how he got it--he seemed to be able to persuade them to do
anything. The terror of it all, the hideous mystery, only served to
keep others away."
"And yet Anstruther must have lost his ascendancy," Barmouth said, "or
he would never have returned home without bringing a huge fortune with
him. We have absolute proof of the fact that he is a poor man. But the
truth of that will never be known."
"I am not so sure about that," Seymour said. "I hope before long to be
able to hold the whip over his shoulder and force him to speak. I have
my little scheme arranged, and I fancy you will derive some little
amusement if you will watch the working of it. Of course, you know how
Anstruther is dressed?"
Barmouth was perfectly cognizant of Anstruther's disguise.
"The dress of the old tribe," he said; "with the painted feathers, and
all the rest of it. When he was pointed out to me just now by
Masefield I could hardly restrain my feelings. Mind you, he is not
here with a mere view to social enjoyment. He declined my wife's
invitation. He told Miss Helmsley that he did not feel well enough to
turn up, and yet he is here like any other invited guest. Now, what is
he up to?"
"It would be hard to say what Anstruther is up to," Seymour replied.
"Doubtless he has some deep scheme afoot; but he is not the only one,
and we shall see who gets the best of it in the long run."
Barmouth was quite content to await developments. Knowing Seymour so
well, he felt quite sure that the latter was not without a scheme
likely to defeat Anstruther's intentions. He did not care to come out
as yet and mingle with the other guests, he said; at the same time he
had no desire to stand in the way of Seymour's amusement.
"Oh, I am going to amuse myself all right," Seymour said. "Don't
forget that it is nearly three years since I last sat by the side of a
woman, and listened to the music of her voice. For three years I have
lacked the refining influence of woman's society, and I always
preferred the other sex to my own. I can move about here and pick out
my partner as I choose. I care nothing for her face, for the simple
reason that I cannot see it; which, very fortunately for me, is
mutual. I am going to pick out all those with lovely voices. I dare
say you will laugh at me."
"Not a bit of it," Barmouth exclaimed. "My dear fellow, I know the
feeling exactly. But when is this little comedy of yours coming off? I
must be present at that."
"Just after supper," Seymour explained. "When your excellent champagne
will set all the tongues wagging. And now, if you don't mind, I will
just have a walk round and see that my confederates are carrying out
their instructions."
It was a brilliant scene, indeed, that Seymour viewed through his mask
on reaching the great ballroom. A dance was in progress. There were
very few people sitting out, and the dazzling waves of color weaved in
and out like the spray of the sea against a huge rock in the sunshine.
A limelight had been arranged high up in the gallery, and from time to
time threw quick flashes of different colored views upon the dancers.
The effect was most brilliant; just a little dazzling to the eyes. But
it was full of a sheer delight for Seymour, who had so long been
denied the pleasures of life.
"Very effective, is it not?" said Jack, as he came up. "Quite a novel
idea in a private ballroom. Come and have a glass of champagne with
Rigby and myself. He is waiting for us in the buffet. I hope you had
an enjoyable chat with Barmouth."
"I was exceedingly pleased to see him again," Seymour said. "All the
same, I am glad that there was no one else present. An Englishman does
not care to display his feelings to an outsider."
Rigby was waiting as Jack had explained, and for some little time the
three sipped their champagne whilst they talked over the situation.
"I want you two to be as near as possible to me at supper time,"
Seymour went on to explain. "And I want you to take your cue from me
when I give it you. Mind, you must not look for any sensational
developments--this is merely a comedy for our private amusement. I am
going to give Anstruther a bit of a fright, and at the same time force
his hand, so that when he is prepared to move he will play right up to
us. As to the rest, keep your eye on the magician!"
"I wish you would be a little more explicit," Jack said.
"My dear fellow, there is nothing to be explicit about. Perhaps
Anstruther will smell a rat, and decline to be drawn into the thing at
all. Still, I'm not much afraid of that."
A clock somewhere struck the hour of midnight, and a moment later the
strains of the band died away. The old family butler threw open the
double doors leading to the dining hall, and announced supper in a
loud voice.
"Come along," Seymour said. "The play has commenced."