A Mysterious Disappearance

by Louis Tracy

  CHAPTER XVIII

  WHAT HAPPENED ON THE RIVIERA

  The _White Heather_ swung quietly at her moorings in the harbor ofGenoa the Superb. The lively company on board, tired after a day'ssight-seeing, had left the marble streets and palace cafes to theGenoese, and sought the pleasant seclusion of the yacht's airy promenadedeck.

  "Dinner on board, followed by a dance," said Phyllis, as arbiter of theprocedure. A few hasty invitations sent out to British residents inGenoa met with general acceptance, and the lull between afternoon teaand the more formal meal was a grateful interlude.

  Genoa is so shut in by its amphitheatre of hills that unless a galeblows from the west its bay is unruffled, and its atmosphereoppressively hot during the day, even in the winter months.

  Sir William Browne's excursion had proved so attractive to those invitedthat the _White Heather_ was taken farther along the coast than wasoriginally intended. When all the best known resorts of the Rivieraitself were exploited, some one, probably prompted thereto by Phyllis orMensmore, suggested a run to Genoa.

  They had been in the port three days, and on the morrow would hand theyacht over to the owner's agents, those on board separating on theirdifferent routes. The Brownes went to Florence and Rome, and Mensmorewas pretending to hold out against a pressing request to accompanythem, cordially given by his prospective father-in-law.

  This afternoon Phyllis and he were leaning over the taffrail anddiscussing the point.

  The young lady was slightly inclined to be angry. Her eyes roamed overthe magnificent panorama of church-crowned hills and verdant valleys,with the white city in front and the picturesque quays looking as thoughthey had been specially decked for a painting by Clara Montalba. ButPhyllis paid heed to none of these things. She wanted her lover to comewith her, and not to fly away to smoke-covered London.

  "Business!" she cried, "it is always business that men think of. Ofcourse I know that affairs must be attended to, but now that everythingis settled and we are quite happy, it is too bad of you to run awayimmediately."

  "But, dearest--"

  "There! Take your hand off my arm. You are not going to coax me intoagreement. Just because you receive a horrid letter this morning you goand upset all the arrangements."

  "Phyllis, listen to me. I--"

  "You _shan't_ go. I think it is mean of you to insist upon it when I amso urgent."

  "I am not insisting. You might at least help me to settle matters;otherwise they will get terribly mixed."

  "And you _will_ stay?"

  "What else can I do when you ask me?"

  "Oh, you darling!"

  This little quarrel was very delightful, and made them feel ever so muchmore in love than before; but it did not help Mensmore out of hisdifficulty.

  "Let us see what Corbett really says," he remarked, ruefully taking aletter from his pocket.

  "Am I to look, too?"

  "Of course. I have no secrets from you, little woman."

  Phyllis nestled up close to him. This time she did not object to hishand resting on her shoulder, and together they read the followingletter:

  "_My Dear Bertie_,--At last I am able to write you definitely. The prospectors have struck it rich on our property, and I have sold two claims outright for $50,000. With this nest-egg I am taking the girls to New York, and shall then start by the _Teutonic_ for your side of the pond. I am due in Liverpool on February 4, so look out for me.

  "Yours ever, "SYDNEY H. CORBETT."

  Both gazed thoughtfully at the document for a few moments before Phyllissaid:

  "Does that mean we shall be rich, Bertie?"

  Her companion emphasized the gratification of the plural pronoun by asqueeze.

  "I hope so, sweet."

  "That will be very nice, won't it? I will marry you even if you have totake a place in father's office; but it will be so much better if wehaven't to explain to him that we are poor after all."

  Mensmore laughed. "It is not so bad as that in any case," he said. "ThisSpringbok Mine speculation will probably turn out well, but I look toWyoming to yield the best and most permanent results."

  "Why is Mr. Corbett coming to London?"

  "Because it is only in London that capital can be obtained for largeundertakings, and if the Wyoming Goldfield is really a valuable one wemay be able to realize some portion of our interests for a considerablesum. Anyhow, he wants to consult me."

  "Do you both own the ranch?"

  "Yes; it was a joint transaction, but I found the money."

  "And why did you come away?"

  "Well, we made very little out of it, Phil. As Corbett has two sisters,I thought it best to leave what there was for him. He was absurdlygrateful about what he called my generosity in the matter, but now thatthe land has proved valuable, of course all that nonsense is at an end,and we go half-shares in the deal."

  "Two sisters! They pretty?"

  "What! Jealous already! They are very nice, but much older than theirbrother, and he is my senior by two years."

  Miss Browne was graciously pleased to accept this explanation. Sheknitted her smooth brow into a reflective frown as she said:

  "Mr. Corbett arrives on the 4th. It is now January 30th. You reallyought to go home, Bertie."

  "Now my dear, sensible little woman is talking like her own self."

  "I see I must give you permission. But I did hope we would see Florencetogether."

  "So we shall. I'll tell you what I can do. I shall write to Corbettto-day, care of the steamer at Liverpool, tell him to go to my flat, andstay there a few days until I arrive, and go home myself at the end ofnext week. He is sure to spend some time seeing the sights beforetackling business, and he can do that as well without me as if I werethere. A line to my old housekeeper, who has a spare key, will make theplace habitable for him. Happy thought, I'll do it."

  "And another happy thought! I'll come and watch you do it."

  She did not notice that Mensmore's face clouded at this otherwisepleasant intimation. Nevertheless, he raced off with her to the saloonand seated himself at the writing-table. But before he placed pen topaper, Phyllis bending over him meanwhile, he suddenly exclaimed, in atone of annoyance:

  "Now, what a bore this is. I don't know how to address the letter tomake sure of reaching him at once, and it is very important that itshould not miss him."

  "Father will know. Let us ask him."

  "No," said Mensmore judicially, "I will row across the harbor to theFlorio-Rubattino office, find out the exact thing, and send off theletter. Back in half-an-hour. Be good!"

  And before Phyllis could argue the matter he was at the gangway shoutingfor a boat.

  She blew a kiss to him as he shot over the narrow strip of water insidethe mole, and little realized that Mensmore was saying to himself:

  "That was a narrow squeak. Never again, as long as I live, will I takeanother man's name. It causes no end of bother, and at the mostunexpected moments."

  He did not trouble the Florio-Rubattino people, as he well knew that aletter addressed to the White Star offices would insure anycommunication reaching his friend.

  The context of the missive, as finally indited at the post-office,explains his hesitancy to write it in the presence of his _fiancee_.

  "_My dear Sydney_,--Your good news is more than surprising. Although I believe you, I cannot yet grasp its full significance. However, let us leave explanations until we meet. I am fixed here for a few days more, as I have just become engaged to the sweetest girl in the world, but will return home at the end of next week. Meanwhile I want you to take up your residence at my flat, No. 12 Raleigh Mansions, Sloane Square, where my housekeeper has instructions to receive you. Do not be surprised if you find the name of Corbett familiar there. Indeed, I took the place in your name in August last. However, all explanations when we meet.

  "Yours ever,
"BERTIE MENSMORE."

  This, with a note to the housekeeper, Mrs. Robinson, and another to thehall-porter of the Universities Club, lest by any chance the Liverpoolletter missed his friend, completed his task.

  He laughed as he hurried from the post-office to the harbor.

  "By Jove!" he said to himself, "won't old Robinson be surprised whenshe gets my letter telling her that another Mr. Corbett is coming fromAmerica, and that my name, concealed for family reasons, is Mensmore. Iguess that Sydney will feel a bit mixed up, too, until I tell him thewhole yarn."

  No wonder his housekeeper would fail to understand him.

  Others, whose influence on his fortunes he little suspected, werealready puzzled by the circumstances. Bruce, for instance, and Whitewould be very glad if some occult power enabled them to read theseemingly trivial letters posted that day in Genoa.

  Every person known to the reader, and not the least the visitor from theUnited States, was on the eve of a mad whirl of events, the outcome ofwhich no man could prophesy. As yet, one man only, Claude Bruce, had theslightest suspicion that affairs were approaching a crisis.

  When Mensmore reached the _White Heather_ he found Lady Browne andPhyllis dressed for a drive before dinner. Sir William seized theopportunity to cross-examine his daughter's suitor as to his means.Phyllis was an only child, and her father did not propose that sheshould live in penury, whatever the financial position of her husbandmight be. He liked Mensmore, and had ascertained by private inquiriesthat his social position was good.

  "His father was a Major-General," said his informant, "who lost hissavings by speculation, and was unable to maintain his son in a crackcavalry corps, so the youngster resigned and went to America to try tobetter himself. There was a daughter, too, by the first wife, a verycharming woman, who, when the crash came, was supposed to have gone onthe stage. But I have never heard of her since."

  So far, the credentials were not bad; but Sir William thought it hisduty to ascertain definite particulars.

  Mensmore was quite candid with him.

  "I have been somewhat of a rolling stone," he said, "but I am glad tobelieve that people have never had cause to think ill of me. At times,my affairs have been at a desperate stage, but I hope such periods havepassed forever. I have already spoken to you about the Springbok Mine--"

  The old gentleman nodded.

  "Well, this morning I have received very satisfactory news fromAmerica," and he handed over Corbett's letter for perusal.

  "Yes," agreed Sir William, "these things promise well. We will look intothem when we reach England. Meanwhile, I give my provisional sanction tomy daughter's engagement. She is a good girl, Mensmore. She will be atrue and excellent wife. I think you are worthy of her, and I hope thatwhatever clouds may have darkened your life will now pass away. You twoought to be happy."

  "We will, sir," said Mensmore fervently.

  "By the way, where is your sister? Is she in England or abroad?"

  Mensmore had been expecting this question. He was prepared for it.

  "Mrs. Hillmer is my half-sister," he explained. "I have not seen much ofher since--since an unhappy marriage she contracted some years ago."

  "Indeed. Is her husband alive?"

  "I can hardly tell you. I believe so. But she does not live with him.She is well provided for, but it was partly on account of this matterthat I came to the Riviera for the winter. To tell the truth, Iquarrelled with her about it."

  "Ah, well. Her troubles need not affect Phyllis and you, except to giveyou warning. And take my advice. Never interfere between husband andwife. However good your motive, ill is sure to come of it."

  In the growing dusk Sir William Browne did not note his companion'sembarrassment in discussing this topic. Mensmore was essentially anhonorable man, and he detested the necessity which forced him to permitfalse inferences to be drawn from his words. Yet there was no help forit. He was compelled to suffer for the faults of another.

  It was relief when the dressing-bell for dinner allowed him to escape tohis cabin.

  There was quite a large gathering for dinner. Places like Genoa containa number of highly interesting personages if the visitor discovers them.The British race produces a richer variety of human flotsam and jetsamthan any other. These derelicts come to anchor in out-of-the-way partsof the earth. They seem to have been everywhere and have doneeverything, while the whole world is an open book to them.

  Thus there was no lack of variety in the conversation, and, as usual insuch assemblies, it dealt more with persons than with incidents.

  Phyllis had arranged the guests, so it may be taken for granted that herlover was near her--in fact, he sat exactly opposite. The lady he tookin to dinner was the wife of an English doctor, and the British consulat the port was Miss Browne's table companion.

  The consul was a chatty man, who kept himself well informed concerningsociety events.

  "By the way," he said to Phyllis, "did you ever meet Lady Dyke?"

  "No, her name is not familiar to me."

  "Do you mean the wife of Sir Charles Dyke?" said Mensmore; and thesudden interest he evinced caused Phyllis to glance at him wonderingly.

  "Yes, that is she."

  "I know Sir Charles well. What is there new about his wife?"

  "She is dead."

  "Good Heavens! Dead! When, and how?"

  Mensmore was so obviously agitated that others present noticed it, andPhyllis marvelled much that in all their confidence the name of Dyke hadnever escaped his lips.

  The consul, too, was a little nonplussed by the sensation caused by hiswords.

  "I fear," he said, "that I have blurted out the fact rather unguardedly.The Dykes are friends of yours?"

  "No, no, not in that sense. Sir Charles I have known for many years. Butare you sure his wife is dead?"

  "My authority is an announcement in the _Times_ to hand by to-day'spost. I should not have mentioned it were not her ladyship so well knownin society, and the affair is peculiar, to say the least."

  "Peculiar--how?"

  In his all-absorbing interest in the consul's statement, Mensmore paidno heed to the curious looks directed at him; he had become very pale,and was more excited in manner than the circumstances appeared towarrant.

  "In this sense: The paper is the issue of January 28, yet the noticesays that Lady Dyke died on November 6. This is odd, is it not? A womanof her position could hardly have quitted life so quietly that no onewould trouble to publish the fact until nearly three months after theevent."

  "It is extraordinary--inexplicable!"

  "Did you know Lady Dyke personally, Bertie?" put in Phyllis timorously.

  The question restored Mensmore to some sense of his surroundings.

  "I have never even seen her," he said, trying desperately to becommonplace; "but her husband is an old schoolfellow of mine, and Ihave heard much of both of them since their marriage. I am quite shockedby the news."

  "I can only repeat my regret for having spoken of it so carelessly,"said the polite consul.

  "Oh, I am glad to know of it since it has happened. Poor Lady Dyke! Howstrange that she should die!"

  Phyllis had the tact to change the conversation, and Mensmore graduallyrecovered his self-possession. A woman's eyes are keener than a manoften gives her credit for; and Phyllis saw quite plainly that after thefirst effect of the news had passed it, in some indefinable way, seemedto have a good effect on her lover. But if a woman's intuition is seldomat fault her reasoning faculties are narrow.

  Trying to arrive at a solution of the mystery attending Mensmore'sbehavior, Phyllis suddenly became hot all over.

  She felt furiously and inordinately jealous of a woman she did not know,and who was admittedly dead before Mensmore and she herself had met.

  Hence her nose went high in the air when Bertie claimed her for thefirst dance.

  "Who is this Lady Dyke in whom you are so deeply interested?" she said,drawing him beneath a sheltering awning.

&nb
sp; "As I said," replied Mensmore, "she is the wife of an old acquaintanceof mine."

  "But you must have been very fond of her to feel so keenly when youheard of her death?"

  "Fond of her! I have never, to my knowledge, laid eyes on her."

  "Oh!" And the tone was somewhat mollified. "Then why did you look soworried during dinner?"

  "Simply because I know Sir Charles."

  "What a dear, sympathetic little boy you are! When I die, Bertie, Isuppose you will drop down stiff from grief at once."

  "Don't talk nonsense. We are missing all this delightful music."

  And they whirled away down the snowy deck, forgetful of all things saveone, that they were in love.

  Now, what a pity it was that Bruce was not on board the _White Heather_that night. Many complications, and not a little misery, would have beenavoided thereby.