MRS. MAY LEARNS SOMETHING
Mrs. May sat among her flowers after dinner. She had dined well and was
on the very best of terms with herself. It had been a source of
satisfaction to see the body of her worst enemy laid to rest in the
village churchyard that afternoon.
For years she had planned for the death of that man and for years he had
eluded her. To strike him down foully had been too dangerous, for had he
not told her that he was prepared for that kind of death? Had he not
arranged it so that a score of savants in Europe should learn the truth
within a month of his decease?
"And kindly fate has removed him for me," she said as she puffed with
infinite content at one of her scented cigarettes. "There is no longer
any danger. What have I to fear now from those wise men of the East?
Nothing. They will see that Tchigorsky has died a natural death and will
destroy those packets. I can act freely now."
A strange look came over the lovely face, a look that boded ill for
somebody. Then the whole expression changed as Geoffrey entered. She had
seen him that afternoon; she had asked him to come and he had half
promised to do so. That Mrs. May hated the young man and all his race
with a fanatical hatred was no reason why, for the present, she should
not enjoy his society.
She was a strange woman, this Eastern, with a full knowledge of Western
ways and civilization. She could be two distinct beings in as many
minutes.
A moment ago she was a priestess thirsting for the blood of those who
had defiled her creed, for the blood of those to the third or fourth
generation, and almost instantly she was the charming hostess she would
have been in a country mansion or a West End drawing room. She waved
Geoffrey to a seat.
"I hardly dared hope you would come," she said. "But now you are here,
make yourself at home. There are some of the cigarettes you liked so
well and the claret purchased for me by a connoisseur. I never touch
wine myself, but I know you men appreciate it after dinner."
Geoffrey took a cigarette and poured himself out a glass of the superb
claret. The bouquet of it seemed to mingle with the flowers and scent
the room. Geoffrey mentally likened himself to an Italian gallant upon
whom Lucretia Borgia smiled before doing him to death.
Not that he had any fear of the wine. Mrs. May was a criminal, but she
was not a clumsy one. She would never permit herself to take risks like
that.
Nevertheless, it was very pleasant, for when Mrs. May chose to exercise
her fascinations there was no more delightful woman. And there was
always the chance of picking up useful information.
Mrs. May touched lightly on Tchigorsky, to which Geoffrey responded with
proper gravity. Had Mrs. May known that Tchigorsky himself was not more
than a mile away she would have been less easy in her mind.
"No more visions lately?" she asked.
"No more," Geoffrey replied. "But they will come again. We are
hopelessly and utterly doomed; nothing can save us. It is to be my turn
next."
Mrs. May started. There was an expression on her face that was not all
sympathy.
"What do you mean by that?" she demanded.
Geoffrey slowly extracted from his pocket a sheet of paper. He had
discovered it in his plate that morning at breakfast time. Long and
earnestly it had been discussed by himself and Ralph and Tchigorsky, and
it had been the suggestion of the last-named that Geoffrey should find
some pretext for mentioning it to Mrs. May.
"This was by my plate this morning," he said. "I don't mind showing it
to you, because you are a good friend of mine. It is a warning."
It was a plain half sheet of note-paper, the sort sold in general shops
at so many sheets a penny. The envelope was to match. Just a few lines
had been laboriously printed on the paper.
"Take care," it ran. "You are marked down for the next victim; and
they are not likely to fail. You are not to go on the sea till you
hear from me once more; you are not to venture along the cliffs. If
you show this to anybody I shall not be able to warn you again, and
your doom will be sealed.--ONE WHO LOVES YOU."
That was all there was; nothing at the top or the bottom. Mrs. May
turned this over with a puzzled face and a hand that shook slightly.
Under her smile was another expression, the look of one who has been
betrayed and is in a position to lay her hand upon the guilty person.
"You are fortunate to have friends with the enemy," she said. "But do
you think you were wise to show this to me?"
She was playing with him as the cat plays with the mouse. It was a
temptation she could not resist, feeling sure that Geoffrey would not
understand. But he did, though he did not show it on his face.
"Why not?" he asked innocently. "Are you not my friend? Personally I
believe it is a hoax to frighten me. You can keep that paper if you
please."
"Then you are not going to take any notice of the warning?" asked Mrs.
May.
There was a note of curiosity, sharp, eager curiosity, in the question.
Geoffrey did not fail to notice it, though he shook his head carelessly.
"I am going to ignore it, as one should ignore all anonymous letters,"
he said. "If the writer of that letter thinks to frighten me, then he or
she is sadly mistaken. I shall go on with my life as if I had never
received it."
Mrs. May's lips framed the sentence, "The more fool you," but she did
not utter it. It filled her with satisfaction to find that the warning
had been ignored, as it had filled her with anger to know that a warning
had been received. And Mrs. May knew full well who was the author of
that letter.
"I don't think that I should ignore it," she said. "It may be a cruel
piece of mischief; and, on the other hand, it may be dictated by a
generous desire to help you. So the moral is that you are to keep clear
of the cliffs and the sea."
Geoffrey flicked the ash off his cigarette and laughed. He poured
himself out a second glass of the amazing claret.
"It is an unusual thing for me to do," he said, "but your claret is
wonderful. You speak of the moral, I speak of the things as they are
going to be. To-morrow I shall go out fishing alone as if nothing had
happened."
"Ah, but you have not spoken of this?"
Mrs. May indicated the letter lying on the table. Geoffrey looked at her
reproachfully.
"Have we not trouble and misery enough in our house without making
more?" he asked. "Now, I put it to you as a lady of brains and courage,
if you had been in my position, would you have shown that to your
family?"
Geoffrey lay back in his chair with the air of a man who has put a
poser. At the same time he had ingeniously parried Mrs. May's question.
As a matter of fact, nobody but Ralph and Tchigorsky had seen the paper.
And the latter point-blank refused to give his reasons why the letter
was to be disclosed to Mrs. May.
She looked at Geoffrey with real admiration.
"I shouldn't," she said. "Of course, you are right and I am wrong. And
I dare say you will be able to take care of yourself."
He was going to disregard the warning; he was going out alone; and
nobody knew what was hanging over his head! Here was a fool of fools, a
pretty fellow to assist. Much good that warning had done.
Geoffrey rose to his feet.
"And now I must go," he said. "Still, I hope to come again."
The door closed, and she was alone. Hardly had he departed before a dark
figure in a white robe crept out of the gloom of the garden into the
room. Mrs. May looked at the ragged looking stranger fixedly.
"Who are you, and whence do you come?" she asked in her native tongue.
The man salaamed almost to the ground.
"I am Ben Heer, your slave," he said, "and I bring you great news."
"Oh!" Mrs. May said slowly; "and so you have come at last."