THE ARRIVAL OF THE OTHER TWIN.
The cause of that rapping at the door was this.
Cecil Buxton arrived by the train by which he had informed Miss
Danvers, by letter, that he would arrive. Hastily seeing his luggage
on to a cab, he drove off to the hotel. In the hall he encountered a
porter.
The porter greeted him in rather a singular manner, scarcely as hotel
porters are wont to greet arriving guests.
"What! Back again!" Cecil stared, as, under the circumstances, any man
would stare. "This won't do, you know. I know all about it--you've
been chucked. My orders is, not let you into the place again."
"My good man," said Cecil, fully believing that what he said was true,
"you're drunk."
Just then a lady came down the staircase. He recognised her--recognised
her well. He rushed towards her.
"Hetty!" he cried.
The lady gave a start, but not the sort of start he had reason, and
good reason, to expect. She turned, she looked at him--with scornful
eyes. She drew back, seeming to remove her very gown from any risk of
personal contact.
"I half expected to see you at the station. Hetty, what--what's the
matter?"
The lady said nothing, but she looked at him--and she walked away, her
head held very high in the air.
"Now you've got to come out of this!" The porter who had followed him
across the hall laid his hand upon his shoulder. Cecil swung round.
And he not only swung round, but he swung the porter off, and that
with a degree of vigour which possibly took that official by surprise.
"Remove your hand!" he cried.
There was a moment's pause, and during that moment's pause another
lady came down the stairs. The bewildered Cecil rushed to her.
"Mrs. Danvers, has everybody gone mad? What is the matter with Hetty?"
There was no mistake about it this time. The lady was so desirous that
none of her garments should come into contact with Cecil that, the
better to draw them away from him, she clutched her skirts with both
her hands. _She_ spoke--
"How dare you, sir, address yourself to me?" She turned to the porter
with an air of command. "Desire this person to stand out of my way."
And she swept off, Cecil staring at her like a man in a dream.
"Well, sir?" Cecil turned. A decently-attired, and even gentlemanly,
individual was standing at his side. "Have you returned to pay your
bill?"
Cecil looked him up and down. In his appearance he noted no signs of
insanity, nor of intoxication either.
"Are you the manager of this establishment?"
"You know very well that I am. Pray don't let's have any nonsense."
"Allow me to give you my card." Cecil handed him his "pasteboard." "I
left Paris last night. I have been travelling all day. I arrived five
minutes ago in your hotel. What is the meaning of the treatment which
has been accorded me?"
The manager regarded him with a smile which scarcely came within the
definition of a "courteous smile."
"You are certainly a character."
"Explain yourself."
"Surely not much explanation is required. It is only a few minutes ago
since I informed you that your presence in this establishment could no
longer be permitted, and now you favour me with this amazing story."
Cecil started forward. A new light came into his eyes.
"Has anyone been staying here resembling me?"
"So much resembling you that we shall be obliged if you will pay his
bill, which lies, unpaid, on the cashier's desk."
Cecil gave an exclamation--not of pleasure.
"By Jove! It's Hubert! I see it all! He has been up to some of his
infernal tricks with Hetty and her mother! If he has!" He turned upon
the manager, "Where is he?"
The manager hesitated.
"Where is who? _You_ are standing here. When I last saw you, you were
entering a private sitting-room with two gentlemen who happened to
have a particular desire for your society."
"Where is this sitting-room?"
"I will show you if you really don't know." The manager led the
way--still smiling. Cecil went after him. As they moved along a
corridor, into which the manager turned, they came upon a lady who was
standing outside one of the sitting-rooms, and who, not to put too
fine a point on it, seemed listening at the door. Her back was turned
towards them as they advanced. It was only when they were quite close
to her that she seemed to become conscious of their approach. When she
arrived at such a state of consciousness she sprang up--she had been
stooping a good deal forward before--and sprang round. She was in
evening dress. A fine, tall, generously proportioned woman, with big
bright eyes, and red-gold hair, she was Hubert's "oner"--"Angel." As
her glance fell upon Cecil she gave a start--a most melodramatic
start--so melodramatic a start that she bumped herself, quite
unintentionally, but with considerable force, against the wall.
"You!" she exclaimed.
Cecil, on his part, appeared to recognise the lady.
"You!" he said--without any appearance of undue deference in his
manner.
His arrival on the scene seemed to have thrown the lady into a state
of really curious agitation. She stood with her back against the wall,
staring at him as if he were a ghost. She positively trembled.
"How--how did you get out?" she asked--speaking in a sort of gasp.
"I was never in." Cecil turned to the manager. "It's a little
complicated, but I think that I begin to understand the situation." He
turned to the lady. He pointed to the sitting-room, outside which she
was standing. "Who is in there?"
Angel did not answer. Leaning forward, she rapped with her knuckles
against the panel of the door.