When he awoke, he was in total darkness. Glancing through the window,
he discovered that the world outside was weakly lit with straggling rows
of street-lamps. They seemed to be marching in the same direction as
the train; in the far distance they rushed together, making night hollow
with their flare. His first thought was of Santa; a thousand things
might have happened.
As he groped at the handle of the dividing door, he caught the sound of
laughter.
“May I enter?”
The Santa whom his eyes encountered was no longer the fugitive from
justice. She was mysteriously changed. There was animation in her
countenance and seduction in her voice. She was again the enchantress
of men, reckless and tender, who had all but captured his heart on the
Atlantic voyage. He looked to see what had caused this transformation.
Lolling in the entrance was the handsome stranger.
Before Hindwood could speak, she was addressing him gaily. “So you've
wakened! I didn't like to disturb you. You've almost made me miss my
dinner. If you're ready now----”
The stranger interrupted. “I've not dined. But I have my place reserved.
If there should prove to be no room, perhaps you would flatter me by
occupying my place instead.”
Santa shook her head graciously. “It's good of you, but my husband and I
will take our chance.”
She was the only one whom her claim that Hind-wood was her husband left
undisturbed. The two men glared at each other in astonishment. It was
the stranger who recovered first.
“If I had known that this lady was your wife, I should have asked your
permission before I made my offer. I shall be very happy if you will
permit me to do you both this service. I ought to introduce myself.”
He fumbled in his pocketbook and produced a card on which was engraved,
“Captain Serge Lajos, Hungarian Royal Hussars.”
“My name is Hindwood--Philip Hindwood.” Hindwood returned the compliment
surlily. “I agree with my wife; we both prefer that you retain your
place and that we be allowed to take our chance.”
Santa rose eagerly to prevent the giving of further offense. Her smile
was for the Captain. “We waste time talking. You'll join us, Captain?
We'll take our chance together.”
Without risking a reply, she led the way, Hindwood following and the
Captain coming last. There was no opportunity for speech in the swaying
corridor. When the dining-car was reached, they were shown immediately
to a vacant table.
At first they sat in silence, watching how the lights flashing by the
panes were strengthening into a golden blur.
“Where are we?”
It was Hindwood who had decided to be amiable.
“Entering Paris.”
“So late as that!” He consulted his watch. “We go through without
changing, they told us.”
“There's no change till Vienna.”
The Captain's answers were mechanical. He seemed to be brushing aside a
presence that annoyed him. His puzzled eyes were fixed on Santa.
Suppressing his irritation, Hindwood made another effort at
friendliness. “I didn't notice you till we were getting into Calais. I
guess we must have traveled together from London.”
Captain Lajos, if that really was his name, seemed to be thinking
of something else. He let some seconds elapse. When he spoke, it was
without looking up. “I noticed you from the first. I can prove it.
Your wife didn't join you till Dover.” Then he seemed to repent of his
intrusive rudeness and changed the subject. “I was glad to see the last
of London. I'd been sent to meet some one who failed to arrive. It was
all in the papers. You probably know as much about the circumstances as
I do. The person was Prince Rogovich.”
Santa's face went white. Her lips became set in an artificial smile.
Beneath the table her hand clutched Hindwood's. For all that, it was she
who took up the challenge.
“We've not been reading the papers lately.” Above the clatter of the
wheels, her trembling voice was scarcely audible. “My husband and I
have been very busy and---- But your friend, why was he so unkind as to
disappoint you?”
The Captain had turned to her as though greedy for her sympathy. His
dark, bold eyes drank up her face.
“He wasn't unkind. He was----” He shrugged his shoulders and spread
abroad his hands. “Until something is proved, I suppose the best way to
express it would be to say that he was unavoidably delayed. He left
New York on a liner and disappeared on the evening that he should have
landed.”
Hindwood bent forward, attempting to divert attention from Santa. He
tapped the Captain's hand.
“Excuse me for intruding on a conversation which you evidently intend
to include only my wife, but there are no points of call on an Atlantic
voyage. If your friend started from New York and the ship was not lost,
how could he have been delayed?”
“How? That's the question.”
The Captain's hostility was unmistakable, and yet the odd thing was that
it exempted Santa.
While the first course was being served, Hindwood racked his brains to
discover the motive which lay behind the Captain's attitude. Was he a
police-agent, amusing himself and biding his time? Was he doubtful of
Santa's identity and cultivating her acquaintance as a means of making
certain? Was he merely a disappointed male, infuriated at finding a
husband in possession?
Santa was speaking again. She had made good use of the respite to
compose herself. “It must have been terribly anxious for you waiting.
I suppose you were there to meet him at the port where he ought to have
arrived?”
Hindwood held his breath. She was practically asking the man whether he
had been one of the welcoming group of officials on that night when the
_Ryndam_ had reached Plymouth. If he had been, he must have seen them.
He must remember them. He might even know their biographical details,
their business, and that they were not married. At all events, if that
were the case, it would explain the keenness of his interest.
“No, I wasn't at Plymouth.”
They both shot upright in their chairs and sat rigid. For a moment they
had no doubt that the Captain had declared his hand.
Then he postponed the crisis by adding, “You see, my friend, as you call
him, was traveling by the Holland-American Line, so Plymouth was where
he should have landed. We had a special train arranged to hurry him to
London. The first warning I received of the disaster was at Paddington,
when I was informed that the special train had been canceled.”
“Then it was a disaster?”
Santa asked the question in an awed tone which, under the circumstances,
was not altogether feigned. Getting a grip on herself, she leaned across
the table, making her eyes large and tender. “We're fellow-travelers,
chance-met. My husband and I are Americans; when we part from you,
it's almost certain we shall never meet again. I'm not seeking your
confidence, but you're worried. If it would help you to tell----”
The Captain shook his head gravely. He appeared to be worshiping her
in everything save words, though it was possible that his adoration was
mockery. “There's nothing to tell. Not yet. I wish there were. There may
be something at Paris. The English police are working. They promised to
keep in touch with me by telegram.”
With amazing daring Santa persisted, “But what do you suppose happened?”
Before answering the Captain arranged his knife and fork neatly on his
plate. He looked up sharply like a bird of prey. “Murder. To your dainty
ears that must sound shocking. I have reasons for this belief which, for
the present, I'm not at liberty to share.”
During the pause that followed Hindwood was on tenterhooks lest, with
her next question, she should betray herself. To prevent her, he flung
himself into the gap.
“I agree with you,” he said with weighty dullness. “I agree with
you that some sort of accident strikes one as extremely likely. You
mentioned that a special had been chartered to bring your friend to
London. That would indicate that he was a person of consequence.”
“He was.”
The words sounded like an epitaph. They were spoken with the impatience
of a door being banged.
Turning to Santa, the Captain was on the point of saying something
further, when the waiter approached with the information that at the
next stop the dining-car would be cut off. They became aware that they
were the only diners left. The train was slowing down. The noise of its
progress had changed to a hollow rumbling, which told them that a bridge
was being crossed. Shifting their gaze, they discovered Paris, sparkling
like a pile of jewels strewn in the lap of night. Below them in slow
coils, mysterious with luminous reflections, wound the Seine. Hindwood's
instant thought was that somewhere out there beneath the darkness, the
woods of Vincennes were hiding.
Having paid their bill, they commenced the return journey through
corridors dense with eager passengers. Before their section had been
reached, the train was in the station. At the first open door, the
Captain sprang to the platform and was lost.
“Where's he gone?” Santa whispered.
Hindwood glanced at her palely. “To get his telegram. To get----”
Seizing her arm, he hurried her back to his compartment, where behind
locked doors they could spend in private whatever of freedom remained.