THE WARNING OF FELIX
The three friends stood upon the pavement watching the little brougham
until it disappeared round the corner in a flickering glitter of light.
It would have been in accordance with precedent if after leaving the
restaurant they had gone to some one of their clubs to smoke a cigar and
drink whisky and apollinaris, while Harcutt retailed the latest society
gossip, and Densham descanted on art, and Wolfenden contributed genial
remarks upon things in general. But to-night all three were inclined to
depart from precedent. Perhaps the surprising incident which they had
just witnessed made anything like normal routine seem unattractive;
whatever the reason may have been, the young men were of a sudden not
in sympathy with one another. Harcutt murmured some conventional lie
about having an engagement, supplemented it with some quite unconvincing
statement about pressure of work, and concluded with an obviously
disingenuous protest against the tyranny of the profession of
journalism, then he sprang with alacrity into a hansom and said goodbye
with a good deal less than his usual cordiality. Densham, too, hailed a
cab, and leaning over the apron delivered himself of a farewell speech
which sounded rather malignant. "You are a lucky beast, Wolfenden," he
growled enviously, adding, with a note of venom in his voice, "but don't
forget it takes more than the first game to win the rubber," and then
he was whirled away, nodding his head and wearing an expression of
wisdom deeply tinged with gloom.
Wolfenden was surprised, but not exactly sorry that the first vague
expression of hostility had been made by the others.
"Both of them must be confoundedly hard hit," he murmured to himself;
"I never knew Densham turn nasty before." And to his coachman he said
aloud, "You may go home, Dawson. I am going to walk."
He turned on to the embankment, conscious of a curious sense of
exhilaration. He was no _blase_ cynic; but the uniformly easy life
tends to become just a trifle monotonous, and Lord Wolfenden's somewhat
epicurean mind derived actual pleasure from the subtle luxury of a new
sensation. What he had said of his friends he could have said with equal
truth of himself: he was confoundedly hard hit. For the first time in
his life he found the mere memory of a woman thrilling; his whole nature
vibrated in response to the appeal she made to him, and he walked along
buoyantly under the stars, revelling in the delight of being alive.
Suddenly he stopped abruptly. Huddled up in the corner of a seat was a
man with a cloth cap pulled forward screening his face: at that moment
Lord Wolfenden was in a mood to be extravagantly generous to any poor
applicant for alms, lavishly sympathetic to any tale of distress. But
it was not ordinary curiosity that arrested his progress now. He
knew almost at the first glance who it was that sat in this dejected
attitude, although the opera hat was replaced by the soft cloth cap, and
in other details the man's appearance was altered. It was indeed the Mr.
Felix who had supped with him at the "Milan" and subsequently behaved in
so astonishing a fashion.
He knew that he was recognised, and sat up, looking steadfastly at
Wolfenden, although his lips trembled and his eyes gleamed wildly.
Across his temples a bright red mark was scored.
Lord Wolfenden broke the silence.
"You're a nice sort of fellow to ask out to supper! What in the name of
all that's wonderful were you trying to do?"
"I should have thought it was sufficiently obvious," the man replied
bitterly. "I tried to kill him, and I failed. Well, why don't you call
the police? I am quite ready. I shall not run again."
Wolfenden hesitated, and then sat down by the side of this surprising
individual.
"The man you went for didn't seem to care, so I don't see why I should.
But why do you want to kill him?"
"To keep a vow," the other answered; "how and why made I will not tell
you."
"How did you escape?" Wolfenden asked abruptly.
"Probably because I didn't care whether I escaped or not," Felix
replied, with a short, bitter laugh. "I stood behind some shrubs just
inside the garden, and watched the hunt go by. Then I came out here and
sat down."
"It all sounds very simple," said Wolfenden, a trifle sarcastically.
"May I ask what you are going to do next?"
Felix's face so clearly intimated that he might not ask anything of the
kind, or that if he did his curiosity would not be satisfied, that
Wolfenden felt compelled to make some apology.
"Forgive me if I seem inquisitive, but I find the situation a little
unusual. You were my guest, you see, and had it not been for my chance
invitation you might not have met that man at all. Then again, had it
not been for my interference he would have been dead now and you would
have been in a fair way to be hanged."
Felix evinced no sign of gratitude for Wolfenden's intervention. Instead
he said intensely,
"Oh, you fool! you fool!"
"Well, really," Wolfenden protested, "I don't see why----" But Felix
interrupted him.
"Yes, you are a fool," he repeated, "because you saved his life. He is
an old man now. I wonder how many there have been in the course of his
long life who desired to kill him? But no one--not one solitary human
being--has ever befriended him or come to his rescue in time of danger
without living to be sorry for it. And so it will be with you. You will
live to be sorry for what you have done to-night; you will live to
think it would have been far better for him to fall by my hand than for
yourself to suffer at his. And you will wish passionately that you had
let him die. Before heaven, Wolfenden, I swear that that is true."
The man was so much in earnest, his passion was so quietly intense, that
Wolfenden against his will was more than half convinced. He was silent.
He suddenly felt cold, and the buoyant elation of mind in which he had
started homewards vanished, leaving him anxious and heavy, perhaps just
a little afraid.
"I did what any man would do for any one else," he said, almost
apologetically. "It was instinctive. As a matter of fact, that
particular man is a perfect stranger to me. I have never seen him
before and it is quite possible that I shall never see him again."
Felix turned quickly towards him.
"If you believe in prayer," he said, "go down on your knees where you
are and pray as you have never prayed for anything before that you may
not see him again. There has never been a man or a woman yet who has not
been the worse for knowing him. He is like the pestilence that walketh
in the darkness, poisoning every one that is in the way of his horrible
infection."
Wolfenden pulled himself together. There was no doubt about his
companion's earnestness, but it was the earnestness of an unbalanced
mind. Language so exaggerated as his was out of keeping with the times
and the place.
"Tell me some more about him," he suggested. "Who is he?"
"I won't tell you," Felix answered, obstinately.
"Well, then, who is the lady?"
"I don't know. It is quite enough for me to know that she is his
companion for the moment."
"You do not intend to be communicative, I can see," said Wolfenden,
after a brief pause, "but I wish I could persuade you to tell me why you
attempted his life to-night."
"There was the opportunity," said Felix, as if that in itself were
sufficient explanation. Then he smiled enigmatically. "There are at
least three distinct and separate reasons why I should take his
life,--all of them good. Three, I mean, why I should do it. But I have
not been his only victim. There are plenty of others who have a heavy
reckoning against him, and he knows what it is to carry his life in his
hand. But he bears a charmed existence. Did you see his stick?"
"Yes," said Wolfenden, "I did. It had a peculiar stone in the handle; in
the electric light it looked like a huge green opal."
Felix assented moodily.
"That is it. He struck me with a stick. He would not part with it for
anything. It was given him by some Indian fakir, and it is said that
while he carries it he is proof against attack."
"Who says so?" Wolfenden inquired.
"Never mind," said Felix. "It's enough that it is said." He relapsed
into silence, and when he next spoke his manner was different. His
excited vehemence had gone and there was nothing in his voice or
demeanour inconsistent with normal sanity. Yet his words were no less
charged with deep intention. "I do not know much about you, Lord
Wolfenden," he said; "but I beg you to take the advice I am offering
you. No one ever gave you better in your life. Avoid that man as you
would avoid the plague. Go away before he looks you up to thank you for
what you did. Go abroad, anywhere; the farther the better; and stay away
for ever, if that is the only means of escaping his friendship or even
his acquaintance."
Lord Wolfenden shook his head.
"I'm a very ordinary, matter of fact Englishman," he said, "leading
a very ordinary, matter of fact life, and you must forgive me if I
consider such a sweeping condemnation a little extravagant and
fantastic. I have no particular enemies on my conscience, I am
implicated in no conspiracy, and I am, in short, an individual of very
little importance. Consequently I have nothing to fear from anybody and
am afraid of nobody. This man cannot have anything to gain by injuring
me. I believe you said you did not know the lady?"
"The lady?" Felix repeated. "No, I do not know her, nor anything of her
beyond the fact that she is with him for the time being. That is quite
sufficient for me."
Wolfenden got up.
"Thanks," he said lazily. "I only asked you for facts. As for your
suggestion--you will be well advised not to repeat it."
"Oh!" exclaimed Felix, scornfully, "how blind and pig-headed you English
people are! I have told you something of the man's reputation. What can
hers be, do you suppose, if she will sup alone with him in a public
restaurant?"
"Good-night," said Wolfenden. "I will not listen to another word."
Felix rose to his feet and laid his hand upon Lord Wolfenden's arm.
"Lord Wolfenden," he said, "you are a very decent fellow: do try to
believe that I am only speaking for your good. That girl----"
Wolfenden shook him off.
"If you allude to that young lady, either directly or indirectly," he
said very calmly, "I shall throw you into the river."
Felix shrugged his shoulders.
"At least remember that I warned you," was all he ventured to say as
Lord Wolfenden strode away.
* * * * *
Leaving the embankment Wolfenden walked quickly to Half Moon Street,
where his chambers were. His servant let him in and took his coat. There
was an anxious expression upon his usually passive face and he appeared
to be rather at a loss for words in which to communicate his news. At
last he got it out, accompanying the question with a nervous and
deprecating cough.
"I beg your pardon, my lord, but were you expecting a young lady?"
"A what, Selby?" Wolfenden exclaimed, looking at him in amazement.
"A lady, my lord: a young lady."
"Of course not," said Wolfenden, with a frown. "What on earth do you
mean?"
Selby gathered courage.
"A young lady called here about an hour ago, and asked for you. Johnson
informed her that you might be home shortly, and she said she would
wait. Johnson, perhaps imprudently, admitted her, and she is in the
study, my lord."
"A young lady in my study at this time of night!" Wolfenden exclaimed,
incredulously. "Who is she, and what is she, and why has she come at
all? Have you gone mad, Selby?"
"Then you were not expecting her?" the man said, anxiously. "She gave no
name, but she assured Johnson that you did."
"You are a couple of idiots," Wolfenden said angrily. "Of course I
wasn't expecting her. Surely both you and Johnson have been in my
service long enough to know me better than that."
"I am exceedingly sorry, my lord," the man said abjectly. "But the young
lady's appearance misled us both. If you will allow me to say so, my
lord, I am quite sure that she is a lady. No doubt there is some
mistake; but when you see her I think you will exonerate Johnson and me
from----"
His master cut his protestations short.
"Wait where you are until I ring," he said. "It never entered my head
that you could be such an incredible idiot."
He strode into the study, closing the door behind him, and Selby
obediently waited for the bell. But a long time passed before the
summons came.