ANOTHER DISAPPEARANCE
It was between half-past four and five o'clock in the morning, and
London for the most part slept. Down in the street below, the roar of
traffic, which hour after hour had grown less and less, had now died
away. Within the building itself every one seemed asleep. Floor after
floor looked exactly the same. The lights along the corridors were
burning dimly. Every door was closed except the door of the
service-room, in which a sleepy waiter lay upon a couch and dreamed of
his Fatherland. The lift had ceased to run. The last of the belated
sojourners had tramped his way up the carpeted stairs. On the fifth
floor, as on all the others, a complete and absolute silence reigned.
Suddenly a door was softly opened. Virginia, dressed in a loose gown,
and wearing felt slippers which sank noiselessly into the thick carpet,
came slowly out from her room. She looked all around and realized the
complete solitude of the place. Then she crossed the corridor swiftly,
and without a moment's hesitation fitted the key which she was carrying
in her hand into the lock of Norris Vine's room. The door opened
noiselessly. She closed it behind her and paused to listen. There was
not a sound in the place, and the door on the left, which led into the
sitting-room, was ajar. She stepped in, and, after another moment's
hesitation, closed the door softly behind her and gently raised the
blind. The sunlight came streaming in. There was no need for the
electric light. The sitting room, none too tidy, showed signs of its
owner's late return. There was a silk hat and a pair of white kid gloves
upon the table, and on the sideboard a half-empty glass of whiskey and
soda. Several cigarette ends were in the grate. An evening paper lay
upon the hearthrug. She knew from these things that a few yards away
Norris Vine lay sleeping.
Without hesitation, with swift and stealthy fingers, she commenced a
close and careful scrutiny of every inch of the room. In a quarter of
an hour she had satisfied herself. There was no hiding-place left which
could possibly have escaped her. The more dangerous part of her
enterprise was to come. Very softly she opened the door, leaving it ajar
as she had found it. She stood before the closed door of the bedroom.
Very slowly, and with the tips of her fingers, she turned the handle. It
opened without a sound. She had no garments on that rustled, and the
soles of her slippers were of thick felt. She stood inside the room
without having made the slightest sound. She held her breath for a
moment, and then summoning up her courage, she looked toward the bed.
The close-drawn curtains were unable to altogether exclude the early
morning sunlight which streamed in through the chinks of the curtains
and the uncovered part of the window.
Virginia stood as though she had been turned to stone. Every nerve in
her body seemed tense and quivering. The cry which rose from her heart
parted her death-white lips, but remained unuttered. Wider and wider
grew her eyes as she gazed with horror across the room. The power of
action seemed to be denied to her. Her knees shook; a sort of paralysis
seemed to stifle every sense of movement. She swayed and nearly fell,
but her hand met the corner of the mantelpiece and she held herself
erect. Gradually, second by second, the arrested life commenced to flow
once more through her veins. She had but one impulse--to fly. She
thought nothing of the motive of her coming, only to place the door
between her and this! Unsteadily, but without accident, she passed
through the door, and though her hand shook like a leaf, she managed to
close it noiselessly again. Somehow, she never quite knew how, she found
herself outside in the corridor, and a moment later safe in her own room
with the door bolted. Then she threw herself upon the bed, and it seemed
to her afterwards that she must have fainted!
* * * * *
Only a few hours later Guy, who had slept little that night, and had
waked with a desperate resolve, stepped out of the lift and knocked at
Virginia's door. There was no answer. The waiter came out from the
service-room and approached him.
"The young lady has left, sir," he announced.
"Left?" Guy repeated aimlessly. "When? How long ago?"
"Barely half an hour, sir," the man answered.
"She paid up her bill as I know, and left the key behind. The rooms
belong to her for another fortnight, but she didn't seem as though she
were coming back."
"Did she leave any address for letters?" Guy asked.
"If you inquire at the office, sir, they will tell you," the man
answered.
Guy went down to the office.
"Can you tell me," he asked, "if Miss Longworth has left any address?"
The man shook his head.
"She left an hour ago, sir," he said. "She said there would be no
letters, and if we liked we could let her rooms, as she was certain not
to come back."
"You cannot help me to find her, then?" Guy asked. "I am the Duke of
Mowbray, and I should be exceedingly obliged to any one who could help
me to discover this young lady."
They were all sent for at once, porter, commissionaire, hall-boy. The
information he was able to obtain, however, was scanty indeed. Virginia
had simply told the cabman, who had taken her and her luggage away, to
drive along the Strand toward Charing Cross.
Guy drove back to Grosvenor Square, and insisted upon going up to his
aunt's room. She received him under protest in her dressing-gown.
"My dear Guy," she expostulated, "what is the meaning of this? You know
that I am never visible until luncheon time."
"Forgive me?" he said. "I scarcely know what I am doing this morning."
"Well, what is it?" she demanded.
"Virginia has gone!" he answered, "left her rooms, left no address
behind her. What a fool I was not to follow her up last night! She
waited until this morning. She must have expected that I would come, and
I didn't. I was a d----d silly ass!"
Lady Medlincourt yawned.
"Have you come here to tell me that, my dear Guy?" she said. "So
unnecessary! You might at least have telephoned it."
"Look here," he said, "we were too rough on her yesterday afternoon. I
made no conditions as to what she should tell me when I asked her to be
my wife. I was quite content that she should say yes. I know she's all
right; I feel it, and she's the only girl I shall ever care a fig for!"
"I really cannot see," Lady Medlincourt murmured, "why you should drag
me from my bed to talk such rubbish. If you feel like that, go and look
for her. It is open for you to marry whom you choose, the lady who is
selling primroses at the corner of the Square if you wish. The only
thing is that you cannot expect your friends to marry her too. What did
you come here for, advice or sympathy? I have none of the latter for
you, and you wouldn't take the former. Do, there's a good boy, leave me!
I want to have my bath, and the hairdresser is waiting."
Guy turned on his heel and left the house. There was only one thing left
to be done, although he hated doing it. He went to the office of a
private detective.
"Mind," he said, when he had told them what he wanted, "I will not have
the young lady worried or annoyed in any form if you should happen to
find her. Simply let me know where she is living. The rest is my affair.
You understand?"
"Perfectly!" the man answered. "We are to spare no expense, I presume?"
It did him good to be able to answer fervently, "None whatever, only
find her!"