THROUGH THE TELEPHONE
There was no doubt about it that Delora had disappeared. I followed
the reception clerk downstairs myself within the space of a few
minutes, and made the most careful inquiries in every part of the
hotel. It did not take me very long to ascertain, beyond the shadow of
a doubt, that he was not upon the premises, nor had he yet been seen
by any one connected with the place. I even walked to the corner of
the courtyard and looked aimlessly up and down the Strand. Within
those few hundred yards which lay between where I was standing and
Charing Cross something had happened which had prevented his reaching
the hotel. It may have been the slightest of accidents. It might be
something more serious. Or it might even be, I was forced to reflect,
that he had never intended coming! Presently I returned to the suite
of rooms upon the fifth floor to make my report to Miss Delora. I
found her calmer than I had expected, but her face fell when I was
forced to confess that I had heard no news.
"I am sorry," I said, "but there is no doubt that up to the present,
at any rate, your uncle has not been here. I am quite sure, though," I
added, "that there is no cause for alarm. A hundred slight accidents
might have happened to detain him for half an hour or so."
She glanced at the clock.
"It is more than that," she said softly.
"Tell me," I asked, "would you like me to communicate with the police?
They are in touch with the hospitals, and if any misfortune has
happened to your uncle--which, after all, is scarcely likely--we
should hear of it directly."
She shook her head vigorously. The idea, for some reason, seemed to
displease her.
"No!" she said. "Why should we appeal to the police? What have they to
do with my uncle? I am quite sure that he would not wish that."
"I presume," I said, "that nothing of this sort has ever happened
before?--I mean that he has not left you without warning?"
"Not under the same circumstances," she admitted. "And yet, he has a
very queer way of absenting himself every now and then."
"For long?" I asked.
"It depends," she answered. "Never for any length of time, though."
"After all," I remarked, "you cannot have seen such a great deal of
him. He lives in South America, does he not, and you have never been
out of France?"
"It is true," she murmured.
"I noticed," I continued thoughtfully, "that he seemed disturbed as we
neared London."
She drew out the pins from her hat, and with a little gesture of
relief threw it upon the table.
"Please sit down for a minute," she said. "I want to think."
She leaned forward upon the couch, her head buried in her hands. I
felt that she desired silence, so I said nothing. Several moments
passed, then there came a sudden and unexpected interruption. The bell
of the telephone instrument, which stood between us upon the table,
commenced to ring. Her hands fell from before her face. She looked
across at me with parted lips and wide-open eyes. I made a movement
towards the instrument, but she checked me.
"Stop!" she said. "Wait a moment! Let me think!"
She had risen to her feet. We stood looking at one another across the
table. Between us was the telephone instrument and the bell which had
just rung out its summons.
"Are you not going to answer it?" I asked.
"I am afraid!" she answered. "I do not know what has come over me. I
am afraid! Take up the receiver. Tell me who it is who speaks."
"You are sure that you wish it?" I asked.
"At once!" she insisted. "They will have gone away."
The bell rang again. I took the receiver into my hands.
"Who is there?" I asked.
"Is that the apartment of Mr. Delora?" was the reply.
"Yes!" I said.
"I wish to speak to Miss Felicia Delora," the voice said.
"Who are you?" I asked.
"It does not matter," was the answer. "Be so good as to tell her to
come to the telephone--Miss Felicia Delora."
I held the receiver away from me and turned to her.
"Some one wishes to speak to you," I said.
"Who is it?" she asked.
"The person gave no name," I answered.
"Did you recognize the voice?" she asked.
I hesitated.
"I was not sure," I said. "It was like your uncle's."
She took the instrument into her hand. What passed between her and the
person at the other end I had, of course, no means of telling. All I
know was that she said, at short intervals,--"Yes! No! Yes! I
promise!" Then she laid the instrument down and looked at me.
"The mystery is solved," she said. "My uncle has met some friends, and
stayed with them for a little time to discuss a matter of business. I
am sorry to have been so troublesome to you. My anxieties, of course,
are at an end now."
I bowed, and moved toward the door.
"If there is anything else that I can do--" I said.
"I shall ask you," she answered, looking at me earnestly. "I shall,
indeed."
"My number is 128," I said. "I am two floors above you. Please do not
forget to make use of me if you need a friend."
"I shall not forget," she answered softly.
Then, as though moved by a sudden impulse, she held out her hand,--a
small white hand with rather long fingers, manicured to a perfection
unusual in this country. She wore only one ring, in which was set a
magnificent uncut emerald. I held her fingers for a moment, and raised
them to my lips.
"I shall be always at your service," I answered quietly, "however
much--or however little you may care to tell me. Goodnight!"
I went to my rooms and washed. Afterwards I descended and ordered some
supper in the cafe.
"Louis is not back yet?" I remarked to the waiter who attended to me.
"Not yet, monsieur," the man answered. "We expect him some time
to-morrow. Monsieur is also from Paris?"
I nodded, and did not pursue the subject. On my way back to my rooms
half an hour later I stopped to speak for a few minutes with the
hall-porter.
"Mr. Delora has not arrived yet, sir," he remarked.
"No!" I answered. "I dare say there has been some slight mistake. I
fancy that he has telephoned to his niece."
The hall-porter looked a little puzzled.
"It is rather a curious thing, sir," he said, "but there seem to be a
good many people who are wanting to see Mr. Delora. We have had at
least a dozen inquiries for him during the last few days, and all from
people who refuse to leave their names."
I nodded.
"Business friends, perhaps," I remarked. "Mr. Delora comes over to
keep friends with his connections here, I suppose."
The hall-porter coughed discreetly but mysteriously.
"No doubt, sir," he remarked.
I went on my way to my rooms, not caring to pursue the conversation.
Yet I felt that there was something beneath it all. Ashley knew or
guessed something which he would have told me with very little
encouragement. Over a final cigarette I tried to think the matter
out. Here were these people, remarkable for nothing except the
obviously foreign appearance of the man, and the good taste and beauty
of the girl. I had seen them at every fashionable haunt in Paris, and
finally at a restaurant which Louis had frankly admitted to be the
meeting-place of people whose careers were by no means above
suspicion. I had crossed with them to England, and if their presence
on the train were not the cause for Louis' insisting upon my hurried
departure from Paris, it at any rate afforded him gratification to
think that I might, perhaps, make their acquaintance. During the whole
of the journey neither of them had made the slightest overture towards
me. That we had come together at all was, without doubt, accidental.
I did not for a moment doubt the girl's first attitude of irritation
towards me. It was just as certain that her uncle had shown no desire
whatever to make my acquaintance. I remembered his curious agitation
as we had reached London, his muttered excuse of sea-sickness, and his
somewhat extraordinary conduct in leaving his niece alone with me--a
perfect stranger--while he hurried off to the hotel at which he had
never arrived. Presumably, if that was indeed he who had spoken to
the girl upon the telephone, she understood more about the matter than
I did. He may have given her some explanation which accounted for his
absence. If so, he had obviously desired it to remain a secret. What
was the nature of this mystery? Of what was it that he was afraid? Who
was this young man who, after his departure, had taken so much
interest in his niece and myself at Charing Cross? Was it some one
whom he had desired to evade?--a detective, perhaps, or an informer?
The riddle was not easy to solve. Common-sense told me that my wisest
course was to fulfil my original intention, and take the first train
on the morrow to my brother's house in Norfolk. On the other hand,
inclination strongly prompted me to stay where I was, to see this
thing through, to see more of Felicia Delora! I was thirty years old,
free and unencumbered, a moderately impressionable bachelor of
moderate means. Until the time when the shadow of this tragedy had
come into my life, which had found its culmination in the little
restaurant of the Place d'Anjou, things had moved smoothly enough with
me. I had had the average number of flirtations, many pleasant
friendships. Yet I asked myself now whether there was any one in the
past who had ever moved me in the same way as this girl, who was still
almost a perfect stranger to me. I hated the man, her uncle. I hated
the circumstances under which I had seen her. I hated the mystery by
which they were surrounded. It was absolutely maddening for me to
reflect that two floors below she was spending the night either with
some mysterious and secret knowledge, or in real distress as to her
uncle's fate. After all, I told myself a little bitterly, I was a
fool! I was old enough to know better! The man himself was an
adventurer,--there could be no doubt about it. How was it possible
that she could be altogether ignorant of his character?
Then, just as I was half undressed, there came a soft knock at my
door. I rose to my feet and stood for a moment undecided. For some
time my own personal danger seemed to have slipped out of my memory.
Now it came back with a sudden terrible rush. Perhaps the man Tapilow
was dead! If so, this was the end!
I went out into the little hall and opened the door. The corridors
outside were dimly lit, but there was no mistaking the two men who
stood there waiting for me. One was obviously a police inspector, and
the man by his side, although he wore plain clothes, could scarcely be
anything but a detective.