THE VALLEY OF LIES
That night Darville found Edris most charming. He almost thought
that he had been mistaken in his suspicions, and was on the point of
being annoyed with himself for having been so foolish as to doubt her.
At the dance she smiled at him each time she passed with her partner
and, later, they sat in a cozy corner together drinking orangeade and
eating sandwiches. Curiously enough, she seemed pleased that Karl had
gone. Her sudden attitude puzzled him, so amazingly clever was she.
But that love-look--that one expression in a woman’s eyes that can
never be feigned--was, alas! absent.
On the following Tuesday at half-past six in the evening Edris had
left him to go and dress, when the page knocked at his door and
announced that a gentleman had called to see him.
A few moments later his secretary, Bennett, stood upon the threshold.
He had come from London with a dispatch-case, the replica of
Darville’s, full of papers requiring his signature.
Seton greeted him warmly, closed the door, and locked it. Without any
preliminary, and without removing his overcoat, the ex-naval officer
unlocked the case, and drew out a pile of documents.
From them he selected three, one of them being upon pale green paper.
“These require reading,” he said abruptly. “The others only want your
signature.”
“Had a good journey?” asked Darville, taking one of the reports which
his secretary handed him.
“Excellent; I came through in the sleeper from Calais to Interlaken.
I’ve been waiting there at the Hotel du Lac for two days until you
telephoned to me to come up.”
“I couldn’t ’phone before. I’ve--I’ve been busy,” Darville said, and,
seating himself again at his table, he digested the three documents
which required his decision.
“H’m! Pretty serious,” he remarked. “Send Maynard to Madrid, and Boyd
had better go to Warsaw. But the Moscow problem is a facer. Whom shall
we send?”
“I can’t suggest anybody. The mission is most dangerous,” Bennett
replied. “It would mean torture and death to anyone we sent there at
the present time. We can’t forget poor Harding’s fate.”
“That’s true. I’ll think it over, and let you know, Bennett.”
When dealing with Secret Service problems Seton Darville was always a
different man. The duality of his strong character was now shown, for
the grief and despair into which he had been plunged of late had, in a
moment, been succeeded by a hard-headed alertness, tact, and foresight
that were amazing.
“By the way,” Darville said, when they had been chatting for nearly a
quarter of an hour. “Karl Weiss is staying in Interlaken, and I have
an interest in him. To-morrow morning he will meet a young English
lady at the East Station at 10.23. The lady will wear a dark blue
ski-ing costume with a scarlet tam-o’-shanter. I want you to report to
me their movements and their attitude towards each other. I shall be
at the Hotel du Lac at four o’clock. Meet me in the café there and
report to me. But doesn’t Eicher--the man we employed in the Marbach
affair--live somewhere in this neighborhood?”
“He lives in Thun.”
“Then find him at once, and get him to help you. Being Swiss, he can
keep observation better.”
And he gave Bennett Karl’s address, after which the Secret Service
official took up his dispatch-case, and left without Edris being aware
of his visit. Wherever Darville traveled Bennett usually came to him
each fortnight or three weeks with papers that could not be intrusted
to the post.
As soon as he had gone a dark look settled again upon Darville’s
features, as he passed into his bedroom and hurriedly dressed for
dinner, and when he came forth again he found Edris, in a beautiful
dance-frock of silver tissue and geranium, seated in his arm-chair
awaiting him.
Next morning they took breakfast together at eight, and, after he had
kissed her, he walked to the station with her.
“I don’t like you going, darling. I shall be so lonely here without
you,” he declared. “You will not forget that you belong to me--will
you, dearest?”
“Of course not, Seti,” she answered seriously. “I belong to no other
man than you, therefore you can trust me implicitly. I am only going
to spend the day at Karl’s house and be introduced to his mother. Why
don’t you come, too?”
“I’m awfully busy,” he said. “I’ll come down to Interlaken and fetch
you. Meet me at the Hotel du Lac at five.”
The electric train moved away down the snowy side of the Wengernalp to
Lauterbrunnen in the deep valley below.
Seton Darville took a long walk, impatient for the hours to pass, and,
after lunch, left Wengen full of anxiety to know what Edris had been
doing.
At four o’clock he entered the café of the Hotel du Lac, one of the
most popular hotels in Switzerland, where he found Bennett seated
alone drinking his café-Kirsch. He took a seat at the same table,
when, in a low voice, so that other men in the café should not
overhear, he said:
“Eicher and I have kept the lovers in sight all day.”
“Lovers!” gasped the other. “Are they lovers?”
“Not the slightest doubt of that. They have been up on the Heimwehfluh
all day; she in his arms, and he has been kissing her many times.
Eicher was up there all the time, and watched.”
“Then they have not been to Weiss’s home?”
“No. When they came down just now they went to tea at a place
somewhere along the Höheweg, and are there now.”
“Then they are lovers, eh?”
“Most certainly. She seems desperately fond of him.”
“Thanks, Bennett,” he managed to exclaim. “You’ll return by the
Boulogne express to-night. I shall be home next week.”
He left his secretary and passed across the café into the hotel,
where he sat to chat with Mr. Haller, the courteous proprietor, who
was his personal friend. Edris and Karl entered the lounge with only
five minutes to spare to catch the train. Therefore they lost no time
in going across to the station.
It was with difficulty that Seton controlled his fierce hatred of the
man who had replaced him in Edris’s affection, and, as the train moved
off, he bade him a cold farewell.
“Why are you so silent, my darling?” asked the girl of the man seated
beside her.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know I was silent,” Seton replied. “Well, tell me
what you have been doing.”
“Oh, nothing much. We went to Karl’s mother’s house, and then we went
for a walk along the Höheweg,” she replied. “To tell you the truth,
I’ve been rather bored. I would sooner have been with you, darling.”
Darville said nothing. He was silent and broken, for she lied to him!
He knew the truth now. All his great hopes, his high ideals, his
longing for happiness, his confidence in her loyalty, and his belief
in her affection, had, on that afternoon, been swept away at one
great, staggering blow. He knew that his action in having her watched
by those two expert secret agents was a mean one. But, after all, she
was only playing with his affections, hence it was justifiable.
They spoke but very little on their journey back to Wengen, and Edris
was frightened at his silence, for her conscience told her that she
was cruelly deceiving him, and she dreaded lest he might discover it,
even though Karl had assured her that he was blinded by his intense
affection.
That night Seton, when alone, broke down and gave way to tears,
bitterly regretting that he had brought his beloved to Switzerland and
introduced her to the man who had become his rival. Then he dried his
eyes, and, through the evening, behaved as though nothing unusual had
happened, while Edris, on her part, made pretense of loving him even
more fondly than before.
Every word of affection she uttered, every kiss she gave him,
nauseated him. She was false, and yet in ignorance that he had
discovered her cruel baseness and the extent of her lies.
He was determined to take her back before she met Karl again. It had
all been his own fault: the exhibition of the man’s photograph at
Hove, the introduction on their arrival in Switzerland, the incident
of the mistletoe, and his foolishness in allowing her to accompany him
on the mountain-climb. He regretted it all, but, alas! the mischief
was already done.
Edris avoided him that evening, as she sat out most of the dances with
various partners, but, before she went up to bed, he met her in his
sitting-room, and she kissed him good-night.
She saw he was pale and troubled. In the ballroom he had smiled gayly,
keeping a brave face, but now his brow was clouded, and when he wished
her good-night his kiss was cold and passionless. Her hand trembled
when he took it, yet he said nothing. He was determined to keep his
secret knowledge to himself.
When she had gone he locked the door, and again burst into a torrent
of tears. He loved her with a great, all-consuming love. He loved for
the first time in all his life, but the hideous truth had been forced
upon him that his age was insurmountable, and a barrier to his
happiness.
“She told me that my age was nothing to her!” cried the grief-stricken
man aloud in his agony of mind. “But even then she lied to me!
Yes--she lied to me!”
Next day they were, at Edris’s suggestion, walking together just
outside the town, when she said:
“Really, Seti, I do wish you would try and get Karl a job. Won’t you?
He would appreciate it so much.”
Darville bit his lip.
“Well, darling, if you are so keen to help him, I’ll see what I can do
when we get back to England.”
“That’s awfully good of you,” she cried, delighted. “I know that you
have such lots of influence. I don’t want him to go to Canada if it
can be helped.”
“No,” he said meaningly, in rather a strained voice. “I’ll see what
can be done for him. I’ve thought of a friend who might perhaps help
him.” And he smiled within himself at the vengeance he intended to
wreak upon the man who had come between them. Yes, Karl Weiss should
have a job which would last him his lifetime.
Two days later Mr. Haller telephoned to Darville from Interlaken
inviting Edris and himself down there to a unique village festival at
Merligen, a picturesque little place on the shore of the Lake of Thun.
Two old peasant couples were celebrating their golden wedding, and the
national costumes were to be worn for the occasion. At first he
hesitated, as Edris would no doubt meet Karl there, but his friend
Haller pressed him, saying that he had reserved rooms in his hotel for
them both. Therefore, against his better judgment, and in order to
please his intimate friend, he accepted.
Three days later they traveled down to Interlaken, where at the
station they were met by Karl, who had previously received an
invitation to join the party, Mr. Haller, of course, being in
ignorance of the strained relations between the two men. In the car
which drove them in the evening around the Lake of Thun, Edris sat
between her two lovers, and Darville was quick to discover that
beneath the rug Karl was holding her hand in his. But he said nothing.
His should be a quick and bitter revenge. He laughed within himself
when he reflected upon what he intended to do.
That glorious moonlight night Darville, whose great devoted passion
Edris had cast down and spurned, looked on at the village feast with
stony eyes. It was interesting--but not to him. Afterwards they dined
at a big hotel at Gunten, the lake-side village near by, and, leaving
the table early upon a paltry excuse, he paced the terrace upon the
lake-side, gazing across the moon-lit waters to the great snow-peaked
Niesen, high, silvery, and mysterious.
Within the pair were chatting and laughing, taking no heed of him,
while he, deceived and deserted, paced the terrace with a broken
heart.
In the early hours of the morning they drove back to Interlaken, and
Seton bade her good-night. In the deserted corridor she kissed him,
but he felt her lips cold and unresponsive. He entered his room and,
locking the door, burst into a torrent of hot tears. Karl Weiss, the
man he had befriended, had taken his place!
His paroxysm of grief was terrible. His sobs were loud and constant in
the silence of the night, for his agony was uncontrollable, and would
have brought pain to any beholder. But, strong, honest, and devoted,
he was wearing out his heart in secret, and no sleep came to his eyes
that night. He who had jeered at love contemplated seriously taking
his own life!
Edris, on her part, was perfectly happy in Karl’s love. The only thing
that marred her bliss was the dreadful uncertainty of how much Seton
knew. She reassured herself that he could know but little, yet
sometimes there came to her a feeling of remorse that she was
deceiving the one man who had ever honestly loved her--the one man she
admired for his achievements, and for his straight talk and straight
dealing.
The world praised Seton Darville, and he was a popular figure
everywhere, yet that night, as he stood at the window of his room,
gazing out upon the moon-lit waters that led to the Lake of Brienz,
with the high pine woods opposite, he knew that for him life had no
further interest now that Edris, with all her vows of eternal
affection and her Judas-kisses, was playing him false.
Next morning they went back up to Wengen, but thoughts and
conversation were of Karl. The fellow exercised over her an uncanny,
irresistible influence, until she had become infatuated with him, and
her love for Seton was now but a hollow sham.
Darville had been longing for the day of their return to England, and
at last it approached.
“Seti, will you do me a great favor, darling?” Edris asked the day
before their departure, as she threw her arms about his neck while he
sat writing. “Will you let me spend the last day down in Interlaken
with Karl?”
“Why? I suppose that you find his companionship more congenial than
mine, eh?” he asked bitterly.
“Not in the least, Seti. I like him, and--well, I thought you wouldn’t
mind. I can go in the morning, and you can bring the luggage down in
the afternoon.”
“No,” he said decisively. “I don’t wish you to meet Karl again.”
Her dark brows narrowed in annoyance.
“Very well. I shall go, whether you like it or not!” she said
defiantly.
“Which shows that you have been deceiving me!” the man said, slowly
rising and facing her.
“No! no!” cried the girl, “don’t say that! It is too cruel of you--too
cruel--but--but I like Karl, and you told me that I might enjoy
myself. I shall never see him again. He goes to Canada the week after
next. Do let me see him to-morrow--do.” She begged so earnestly that,
after some further protest, he unwillingly acquiesced.
So next morning she took train down to Lauterbrunnen, and at
Interlaken was met by the man who held her in that evil fascination.
Their greeting was affectionate, and they spent the wintry day
wandering about together to secluded spots, blissfully content in each
other’s love.
“You are mine, Edris!” he declared times without number. “You shall
never belong to that man! We love each other. You have admitted it.”
“I know,” she answered reflectively. “But I still belong to Seti.
Besides, you are going to Canada.”
“I’ve postponed my sailing for a month. I sail from Cherbourg,” he
said. “Perhaps I may come to London and sail from Southampton.”
“Do!” she cried eagerly. “Then we can meet again, Karl. But Seti must
not know.”
“No,” said the unprincipled Swiss, who had stolen her heart from his
friend. “You must be careful to conceal everything--most careful.”
And so it was arranged that their parting that night was not to be
final.
At seven o’clock Edris entered the Hotel du Lac, where she found Seton
sitting with Mr. Haller in the hall. The Swiss of bad principles are
few and far between, and men of the type of Karl Weiss are happily
very few in Switzerland.
She greeted Darville cheerily, and whispered to him that she had been
terribly bored, and that, after dinner, she was meeting Karl, and
would never see him again. So clever was she, and so complete her
perfidy, that he became reassured, and believed her. After dinner she
left them for half an hour, met the man near the station, and they
went for a walk until near the time due for the departure of the
Oberland Express with its sleeping-cars for Boulogne.
She joined Darville on the dimly-lit platform five minutes before the
train left. Mr. Haller, Mr. Reichel, and Mr. Müller were all present
to see them off, and she greeted them merrily as she climbed into the
sleeping-car of the Oberland Express, and, later, both she and
Darville waved farewell to their friends, Karl, of course, not being
present.
As soon as they had left the station he drew Edris into his
compartment, and in a calm, unruffled voice said:
“You must be terribly tired, Carina. No doubt you have walked about a
great deal to-day. I’ve been considering the favor you asked me to do
for Karl, and I have thought of a means by which I can secure for him
a very lucrative, but secret, appointment. I’ll see about it as soon
as we get to London.”
“Oh, Seti! How good it is of you. Poor fellow! He’s so worried that he
can get nothing to do here.”
“Well,” he said in an unusually hard voice, “leave it to me. If I get
the appointment for him it will be a berth for life.”
“How good of you, Seti!” she cried enthusiastically, raising his hand
to her lips and kissing it, little dreaming what the appointment would
be, the terrible result it must inevitably lead to. When Seton
Darville decided upon revenge he always struck a relentless blow,
swift, staggering, and fatal.