THE FIRST FINGER
Gurdon waited for his companion to go on. It was a boast of his that he
had exhausted most of the sensations of life, and that he never allowed
anything to astonish him. All the same, he was astonished now, and
surprised beyond words. For the last twenty-five years, on and off, he
had known Venner. Indeed, there had been few secrets between them since
the day when they had come down from Oxford together. From time to time,
during his wanderings, Venner had written to his old chum a fairly
complete account of his adventures. During the last three years the
letters had been meagre and far between; and at their meeting a few days
ago, Gurdon had noticed a reticence in the manner of his old chum that he
had not seen before.
He waited now, naturally enough, for the other to give some explanation
of his extraordinary statement, but Venner appeared to have forgotten all
about Gurdon. He sat there shielding one side of his face, heedless of
the attentions of the waiter, who proffered him food from time to time.
"Is that all you are going to tell me?" Gurdon asked at length.
"Upon my word, I am very sorry," Venner said. "But you will excuse me
if I say nothing more at present. You can imagine what a shock this has
been to me."
"Of course. I don't wish to be impertinent, old chap, but I presume that
there has been some little misunderstanding--"
"Not in the least. There has been no misunderstanding whatever. I
honestly believe that the woman over yonder is still just as passionately
fond of me as I am of her. As you know, Gurdon, I never was much of a
ladies' man; in fact, you fellows at Oxford used to chaff me because I
was so ill at ease in the society of women. Usually a man like myself
falls in love but once in his lifetime, and then never changes. At any
rate, that is my case. I worship the ground that girl walks upon. I would
have given up my life cheerfully for her; I would do so now if I could
save her a moment's pain. You think, perhaps, that she saw me when she
came in here to-night. That is where you have got the impression that
there is some misunderstanding between us. You talked just now of
dramatic surprises. I could show you one even beyond your powers of
imagination if I chose. What would you say if I told you that three years
ago I became the husband of that beautiful girl yonder, and that from
half-an-hour after the ceremony till the present moment I have never set
eyes on her again?"
"It seems almost incredible," Gurdon exclaimed.
"Yes, I suppose it does. But it is absolutely a fact all the same. I
can't tell you here the romance of my life. I couldn't do it in
surroundings like these. We will go on to your rooms presently, and then
I will make a clean breast of the whole thing to you. You may be disposed
to laugh at me for a sentimentalist, but I should like to stay here a
little longer, if it is only now and again to hear a word or two from her
lips. If you will push those flowers across between me and the light I
shall be quite secure from observation. I think that will do."
"But you don't mean to tell me," Gurdon murmured, "that the lady in
question is the daughter of that picturesque-looking old ruffian,
Mark Fenwick?"
"Of course, she isn't," Venner said, with great contempt. "What the
connection is between them, I cannot say. What strange fate links them
together is as much a mystery to me as it is to you. I do not like it,
but I let it pass, feeling so sure of Vera's innocence and integrity. But
the waiter will tell us. Here, waiter, is the lady dining over there with
Mr. Fenwick his daughter or not?"
"Certainly, sir," the waiter responded. "That is Miss Fenwick."
There was silence for a moment or two between the two friends. Venner
appeared to be deeply immersed in his own thoughts, while Gurdon's eyes
travelled quickly between the table where the millionaire sat and the
deep armchair, in which the invalid lay huddled; and Venner now saw that
the cripple on the opposite side of the room was regarding Fenwick and
his companion with the intentness of a cat watching a mouse.
Dinner had now come pretty well to an end, and the coffee and liqueurs
were going round. A cup was placed before Fenwick, who turned to one of
the waiters with a quick order which the latter hastened to obey. The
order was given so clearly that Gurdon could hear distinctly what it was.
He had asked for a light, wherewith to burn the glass of Curacoa which he
intended to take, foreign fashion, in his coffee.
"And don't forget to bring me a wooden match," he commanded. "Household
matches. Last night one of your men brought me a vesta."
The waiter hurried off to execute his commission, but his intention was
anticipated by another waiter who had apparently been doing nothing and
hanging about in the background. The second waiter was a small, lithe
man, with beady, black eyes and curly hair. For some reason or other,
Gurdon noticed him particularly; then he saw a strange thing happen. The
little waiter with the snaky hair glanced swiftly across the room in the
direction of the cripple huddled up in the armchair. Just as if he had
been waiting for a signal, the invalid stretched out one of his long
arms, and laid his fingers significantly on the tiny silver box he had
deposited on the table some little time before. The small waiter went
across the room and deliberately lifted the silver box from the table. He
then walked briskly across to where the millionaire was seated, placed
the box close to his elbow, and vanished. He seemed to fairly race down
the room until he was lost in a pile of palms which masked the door.
Gurdon had followed all this with the deepest possible interest. Venner
sat there, apparently lost to all sense of his surroundings. His head was
on his hands, and his mind was apparently far away. Therefore, Gurdon was
left entirely to himself, to study the strange things that were going on
around him. His whole attention was now concentrated upon Fenwick, who
presently tilted his glass of Curacoa dexterously into his coffee cup,
and then stretched out his hand for the silver match box by his side. He
was still talking to his companion while he fumbled for a match without
looking at the little case in his hand. Suddenly he ceased to speak, his
black eyes rivetted on the box. It fell from his fingers as if it had
contained some poisonous insect, and he rose to his feet with a sudden
scream that could be heard all over the room.
There was a quick hush in the conversation, and every head was turned in
the direction of the millionaire's table. Practically every diner there
knew who the man with the yellow head was, so that the startling
interruption was all the more unexpected. Once again the frightened cry
rang out, and then Fenwick stood, gazing with horrified eyes and white,
ghastly face at the innocent looking little box on the table.
"Who brought this here?" he screamed. "Bring that waiter here. Find him
at once. Find him at once, I say. A little man with beady eyes and hair
like rats' tails."
The head waiter bustled up, full of importance; but it was in vain that
he asked for some explanation of what had happened. All Fenwick could do
was to stand there gesticulating and calling aloud for the production of
the erring waiter.
"But I assure you, sir," the head waiter said, "we have no waiter here
who answers to the description of the man you mention. They are all here
now, every waiter who has entered the room to-night. If you will be so
good as to pick out the one who has offended you--"
Fenwick's startled, bloodshot eyes ranged slowly over the array of
waiters which had been gathered for his inspection round his table.
Presently he shook his head with an impatient gesture.
"I tell you, he is not here," he cried. "The man is not here. He is quite
small, with very queer, black hair."
The head waiter was equally positive in his assurance. Louder rose the
angry voice of the millionaire, till at length Venner was aroused from
his reverie and looked up to Gurdon to know what was going on. The latter
explained as far as possible, not omitting to describe the strange matter
of the silver box. Venner smiled with the air of a man who could say a
great deal if he chose.
"It is all part of the programme," he said. "That will come in my story
later on. But what puzzles me is where that handsome cripple comes in.
The mystery deepens."
By this time Fenwick's protestations had grown weaker. He seemed to
ramble on in a mixture of English and Portuguese which was exceedingly
puzzling to the head waiter, who still was utterly in the dark as to the
cause of offence. Most of the diners had gathered round the millionaire's
table with polite curiosity, and sundry offers of assistance.
"I think we had better get to our own room," a sweet, gentle voice said,
as the tall, fair girl by Fenwick's side rose and moved in the direction
of the door. It was, perhaps, unfortunate that Venner had risen at the
same time. As he strode from his own table, he came face to face with the
girl who stood there watching him with something like pain in her blue
eyes. Just for an instant she staggered back, and apparently would have
fallen had not Venner placed his arm about her waist. In the strange
confusion caused by the unexpected disturbance, nobody had noticed this
besides Gurdon, who promptly rose to the occasion.
"You had better take the lady as far as her own rooms," he said. "This
business has evidently been too much for her. Meanwhile, I will see what
I can do for Mr. Fenwick."
Venner shot his friend a glance of gratitude. He did not hesitate for a
moment; he saw that the girl by his side was quite incapable of offering
any objections for the present. In his own strong, masterful way, he drew
the girl's hand under his arm, and fairly dragged her from the room into
the comparative silence and seclusion of the corridor beyond.
"Which way do we go?" he asked.
"The Grand Staircase," the girl replied faintly. "It is on the first
floor. But you must not come with me, you must come no further. It would
be madness for him to know that we are together."
"He will not come just yet," Venner replied. "My friend knows something
of my story, and he will do his best to get us five minutes together. You
have heard me speak of Jim Gurdon before."
"But it is madness," the girl whispered. "You know how dangerous it is.
Oh, Gerald, what must you think of me when--"
"I swear to you that I think nothing of you that is unkind or
ungenerous," Venner protested. "By a cruel stroke of fate we were parted
at the very moment when our happiness seemed most complete. Why you left
me in the strange way you did, I have never yet learned. In your letter
to me you told me you were bound to act as you did, and I believed you
implicitly. How many men in similar circumstances would have behaved as I
did? How many men would have gone on honoring a wife who betrayed her
husband as you betrayed me? And yet, as I stand here at this moment,
looking into your eyes, I feel certain that you are the same sweet and
innocent girl who did me the happiness to become my wife."
The beautiful face quivered, and the blue eyes filled with tears. Her
trembling hand lay on Venner's arm for a moment; then he caught the girl
to his side and kissed her passionately.
"I thank you for those words," she whispered. "From the bottom of my
heart I thank you. If you only knew what I have suffered, if you only
knew the terrible pressure that is put upon me;--and it seemed to me
that I was acting for the best. I hoped, too, that you would go away and
forget me; that in the course of time I should be nothing more than a
memory to you. And yet, in my heart, I always felt that we should meet
again. Is it not strange that we should come together like this?"
"I do not see that it is in the least strange," Venner replied,
"considering that I have been looking for you for the last three years.
When I found you to-night, it was with the greatest difficulty that I
restrained myself from laying my hands on the man who is the cause of
all your misery and suffering. How long has he been passing for an
Englishman? Since when has he been a millionaire? If he be a
millionaire at all."
"I cannot tell you," the girl whispered. "Really, I do not know. A little
time ago we were poor enough; then suddenly, money seemed to come in from
all sides. I asked no questions; they would not have been answered if I
had. At least, not truthfully. And now you really must go. When shall I
see you again? Ah, I cannot tell you. For the present you must go on
trusting me as implicitly as you have done in the past. Oh, if you only
knew how it wrings my heart to have to speak to you like this, when all
the time my whole love is for you and you alone. Gerald--ah, go now; go
at once. Don't you see that he is coming up the stairs?"
Venner turned away, and slipped down a side corridor, till Fenwick had
entered his own room. Then he walked down the stairs again into the
dining-room, where a heated discussion was still going on as to the
identity of the missing waiter.
"They'll never find him," Gurdon muttered, "for the simple reason that
the fellow was imported for the occasion, and, in my opinion, was no
waiter at all. You will notice also that our crippled friend has
vanished. I would give a great deal to know what was in the box that
pretty nearly scared the yellow man to death. I never saw a fellow so
frightened in my life. He had to fortify himself with two brandies before
he could get up to his own room. Gerald, I really must find out what was
in that box!"
"I think I could tell you," Venner said, with a smile. "Didn't you tell
me that the mysterious waiter fetched it from the table where it had been
placed by the handsome cripple?"
"Certainly, he did. I saw the signal pass directly Fenwick asked for a
wooden match; that funny little waiter was palpably waiting for the
silver box, and as soon as he placed it on Fenwick's table, he discreetly
vanished. But, as I said before, I would give considerable to know what
was in that box."
"Well, go and see," Venner said grimly. "Unless my eyes deceive me, the
box is still lying on Fenwick's table. In his fright, he forgot all about
it, and there isn't a waiter among the whole lot, from the chief
downwards, who has a really clear impression of what the offence was. If
you take my advice, you will go and have a peep into that box when you
get the chance. Don't tell me what you find, because I will guess that."
Gurdon crossed over to the other table, and took the box up in his hand.
He pulled the slide out and glanced at the contents with a puzzled
expression of face. Then he dropped the box again, and came back to
Venner with a look on his face as if he had been handling something more
than usually repulsive.
"You needn't tell me what it is," Venner said. "I know quite as well as
you do. Inside that box is a dried up piece of flesh, some three inches
long--in other words a mummified human forefinger."