Flower of the Gorse

by Louis Tracy

  CHAPTER XI

  MUTTERINGS OF STORM

  Unfortunately neither Ingersoll nor Tollemache had returned. Yvonne wason the point of asking Raymond to pardon her if she deferred receivinghim until the next day, when his adroit brain anticipated some suchsetback to his plans, and he strove instantly to prevent it.

  "I fear you made an unpleasant discovery at Quimperle today," he said,striking boldly into the one subject that he guessed was occupying herthoughts. "Is Mr. Ingersoll at home? If so, I ought to tell you brieflywhat I purpose doing to help, as you may not care to discuss the matterin your father's presence."

  It was cheering even to hear the man speaking of "help," and he hadalready given solid proof of honest intent in his stern rebuke ofFosdyke; though, alas! it had come too late to be of any real service.Yvonne's mind belonged to that somewhat rare order that magnifies goodand minimizes evil. She was grateful to her mother's secretary for thatwhich he had tried to do, though failing, and abandoned her first designforthwith.

  "Come into the studio," she said, leading the way. "My father and Mr.Tollemache will be here soon. Meanwhile I'll ask Mere Pitou to bringsome tea. We won't wait. Of course I must tell Dad everything aboutMadeleine now. We can depend on him for sound advice. He doesn't losehis head in an emergency, and I shall be guided entirely by what hesays."

  "Naturally," agreed Raymond, throwing the utmost deference into voiceand manner. "It is delightful to meet a father and daughter who are onterms of genuine confidence and comradeship. I only meant to suggest,Miss Yvonne, that I should communicate with a friend in Paris who isacquainted with Rupert Fosdyke, and ascertain by that means whether ornot Mademoiselle Demoret is in his company. I have taken action alreadyin a small way. Thinking it advisable to keep an eye on him, Itelegraphed to my friend this morning, asking him to let me hear ifFosdyke was in Paris, and his address. Here is the reply."

  Even in the chaos of the hour Yvonne was conscious of a certain surpriseat Raymond's singular foresight; but she took the proffered telegram,and read:

  "Yes. Arrived in Paris early yesterday. Residing Hotel Chatham.

  "DUQUESNE."

  "Ah, how thoughtful and clever of you!" she cried. "Can anything be donenow? Suppose Madeleine is in the train, would Monsieur Duquesne meet herand urge her to return at once?"

  "How would he recognize her?"

  "Oh, dear! I had not thought of that. But it might be possible totelegraph a general description, and there will not be so many youngwomen traveling alone in a train reaching Paris in the small hours ofthe morning that he should have no chance of picking out one inparticular. I know it is asking a great favor of your friend; but he mayact with decision if you hint at a matter of life or death. And it isall that. Poor Madame Brissac will never survive the shame of a publicscandal. If Madeleine would only come back, I should meet her on theway, and persuade her to go straight to her cousins in Quimperle. Don'tyou see, Mr. Raymond, she would be saved, _saved_? You have accomplishedwonders already. Please don't hesitate, but send a telegram at once. Isha'n't know how to thank you if you succeed in this. But I forget. Youcannot write. Let me write for you. Now what is Monsieur Duquesne'saddress?"

  Yvonne, flushed with new hope, was seated already at a small writingtable, pen in hand. For once Raymond was caught off his guard. He hadnot expected this development, and would vastly have preferred afriendly and sympathetic chat; but he dared not refuse the girl'sexcited demand. Moreover, he would be earning her gratitude and repayingsome of Rupert Fosdyke's insults in the same breath. So he blurted outthe information:

  "Duquesne, 410 Avenue Kleber, Paris."

  Yvonne wrote rapidly. "Will this do?" she asked:

  "Person mentioned in earlier message is probably decoying to Paris a Breton girl of twenty, Madeleine Demoret, from her home in Pont Aven. She is believed to be in train due Saint Lazare 2 A.M., is good-looking, slim, of medium height, and quietly dressed. You are besought to discover her, and use all possible means to convince her that she ought to return. Her friend Yvonne will meet her at Quimperle on receipt of message, and promises that everything will be arranged satisfactorily. Her aunt, Madame Brissac, is grief-stricken and prostrate. Madeleine should come home if only for her sake."

  "There, Mr. Raymond--can I add anything to make it stronger, moreemphatic? Should I say that all expenses will be paid?"

  "No," he said, bending over her, and resting his left hand on hershoulder. "That is quite clear and understandable. Any man of experienceshould read between the lines that the undertaking is vital andimperative to the last degree. If I were in trouble, Miss Yvonne, I wishI dared think that you would display such heartfelt interest in myaffairs."

  "You!" she cried, rising hurriedly. "You are one of the best of men! Youhardly realize yet what good you are achieving. Mrs. Carmac, I am sure,will appreciate your kind action just as greatly as I do. Shall I takethe telegram to the postoffice?"

  "One moment. We have plenty of time. Should a message of that directnature be despatched locally?"

  Some of the light died out of the girl's eyes. The officials in the PontAven postoffice were discreet as any in France, and courteous beyond theaverage; but they all knew Madeleine! Still, Yvonne might be trusted tofight to the last ditch in her friend's behalf.

  "There is a train to Quimperle within half an hour," she said. "Someonemust go. If necessary, I'll go myself. You are not fit to travel, Mr.Raymond. If only Lorry would come----"

  "You may leave the mission in my hands, Miss Yvonne," said Raymondsuavely. "Indeed, rather than risk the journey over that bumpingtramway, I'll hire an automobile, and reach Quimperle more quickly."

  Barbe came in with a laden tray, and Raymond swallowed a cup of tea andate some of Mere Pitou's famous cakes.

  * * * * *

  He was bidding his hostess an impressive farewell when Ingersoll andTollemache appeared. Yvonne's father, observing men and events with acertain detachment in these days, was not drawn to the ungainlysecretary. He was puzzled, at finding the man there, and even bewilderedby the warmth of Yvonne's introduction. But Raymond was master ofhimself now. He withdrew promptly, trusting to Yvonne's enthusiasm tomake smooth the way for his next visit. And indeed his back was hardlyturned before she plunged into a recital of the day's doings.

  Her father listened quietly, passing no comment other than to express abrief but complete agreement with every step she had taken.

  Then she hurried out, being restless until assured that her messengerhad really started for Quimperle.

  Ingersoll sighed deeply, rose to reach a tobacco jar from the mantel,and threw a question sidewise, as it were, at his companion, who wassmoking meditatively, and apparently in a somewhat subdued mood.

  "Lorry," he said, "what do you make of this chap Raymond?"

  "I've no use for him, Socrates, and that's a fact."

  "He seems to be acting in perfect good faith in this affair."

  "Yes; but why?"

  "That is what is bothering me. There are two points about his behaviorthat may have escaped you. In the first place, if Madeleine has gone toParis by arrangement with that scamp Fosdyke, he of course will meet herat Saint Lazare, so what chance will Raymond's 'friend' have ofintercepting her? Again, who is this Duquesne? I have a good memory, andI happen to recollect a notorious case reported in the newspapers abouta month ago, a case in which a private inquiry agent of the namefigured, and his address was in the Avenue Kleber. I don't profess torecall the number; but when name and street coincide it is safe toassume that Raymond's Duquesne and the other Duquesne are one and thesame individual. Now the momentous question that presents itself is, Whyshould Raymond be in prior communication with a private inquiry agent inParis?"

  "I can't guess."

  Ingersoll stooped, and tapped his pipe on one of the heavy iron dogsguard
ing the hearth. Straightening himself, he drew a labored breath,like one who braces his nerves to face a dreaded but unavoidable ordeal.

  "Then I'll tell you," he said. "Mrs. Carmac is Yvonne's mother. She leftme soon after Yvonne was born--went off to her people in the States.There, after some delay, she secured a divorce. Later I heard that shehad married Carmac, who was immensely rich, while I could barely affordto maintain a small flat in Montmartre. Carmac was not a bad sort offellow in his way. He was, I believe, devoted to Stella, my wife. Shetoo was better suited to him than to me.

  "But Carmac, though of Southern birth, had become a naturalizedEnglishman, having, I understand, some ambition toward a politicalcareer on this side. Now I doubt very much whether the divorceproceedings were valid according to British law, and a wife takes herhusband's nationality. Had I been wise and dispassionate, I should havegiven Stella her full freedom. But I did not--may Heaven forgive me! Iwas so utterly crushed after leaving Paris and seeking sanctuary in PontAven that I disregarded her entirely. None of my associates knew where Ihad gone. Every sort of effort was put forth to find me, but withoutsuccess. Eighteen years ago, Lorry, Pont Aven was a long way from Paris.There was no railway, and communication with the outside world wasmainly by sea.

  "At last, despairing of any assistance from me, Stella and Carmac riskedeverything on the American decree. They were married openly. The weddingwas announced in all the society newspapers. Even I, buried alive here,read of it. But, if the question were raised, it might be held inEngland that Stella is still my wife in the eyes of British law."

  Ingersoll made this astounding statement in a voice so calm and freefrom emotion that Tollemache stared at him in blank amazement. Of courseevents had given the younger man some inkling of the truth; but he hadnever imagined anything so disastrously far-reaching.

  "Good Lord!" he gasped. "That is terrible--that means all sorts ofbeastly complications!"

  Ingersoll threw out a hand in a gesture of sheer hopelessness. "It meansthis,--if Raymond suspects that the marriage was invalid, and Carmacleft his money to his 'wife,' the will can be upset, Mrs. Carmac will bestripped of every penny except her personal belongings, and RupertFosdyke and his sisters will inherit the estate. Naturally I knownothing of the exact position of affairs beyond the hints I pick up fromYvonne.

  "She, poor girl, hasn't the remotest notion of the tragedy that I seelooming darkly above the horizon--because it is the very essence oftragedy that a woman who sold her happiness for gold should be despoiledin the hour when the bribe might be regarded as most surely within hergrasp. Lorry, I pity her! She is well aware that she is clinging to theedge of a precipice.

  "Raymond's inquiries concerning Yvonne and myself, which you overheard,and which were confirmed by Peridot, warned me of her danger. When youcarried that maimed scoundrel into the cabin of the Hirondelle heretained his senses sufficiently to understand the tremendoussignificance of Mrs. Carmac's ravings. To the ordinary ear they wouldsound like the gabble of dementia; to Raymond, already disliked by hismistress, and retained only as a useful slave by his master, theyconveyed immense potentialities. But at first he must have felt like atraveler in the desert tantalized by a mirage. Investigation in PontAven might strengthen his suspicions; but he could never obtain proof.He dared not appeal to me. Rogues of his class have a tolerably clearnotion of the sort of man they must not meddle with: probably he summedup the father through the daughter. Now, perhaps, you see where thisParisian inquiry agent comes in?"

  "No, I'm dashed if I do!"

  "There isn't much guile in your composition, Lorry," and Ingersollsmiled forlornly. "I gather from Yvonne's story that during the talk onboard the cutter her mother spoke of having deserted her in Paris.Unhappily she thereby supplied Raymond with the most important clue. Thevery next day he had the impudence to remind Mrs. Carmac that she hadclaimed her 'niece' as a daughter. He drew in his horns when checked;but set about unveiling her early life without delay. Paris is a city ofrecords. It was a simple matter for anyone to discover the date of mymarriage, which took place nearly four years before the Americanceremony between Carmac and my wife.

  "Good God, Man! that poor woman is in a damnable position. Not only canshe be robbed of the wealth given her by Carmac, but in England she islikely to be prosecuted on a charge of bigamy! And I shall beresponsible! My pride and futile anger deprived her of the only meanswhereby she could have married Carmac without fear of consequences. Ileft her no alternative. Oh, Lorry, Lorry, if only I could have foreseensomething, howsoever shadowy, of the evils that were impending when webrought those people on board! Had I even known the name of the yacht, Imight have been vouchsafed some glimpse of the peril. One glance atStella herself, or at Carmac, would have revealed an abyss from which Ishould have recoiled with horror. I might have contrived somesubterfuge, some wild scheme, to keep Yvonne and her mother apart. Butit is too late! The mischief is done. I am bound hand and foot,--a mandelivered over to the torturers!"

  Ingersoll's voice trailed off into silence. He sank into a chair, threwaside the pipe which he had filled automatically but not lighted, andburied his face in his hands.

  * * * * *

  But Tollemache sat bolt upright, his shoulders squared, his strongfeatures frowning in thought. Thus had he looked when swingingprecariously above the precipice at Le Faouet, and thus when theHirondelle was backing into the hell's broth of the reef.

  "Tell you what, old sport, we must act, and quickly at that," he said atlast, springing to his feet as though some valiant deed was called forstraight away.

  "But what can I do?" came the despairing answer, and Ingersoll, theleader, the master, the kindly cynic, lifted woebegone eyes to the litheand stalwart figure towering above him.

  "Lots!" cried Tollemache. "First, let's get down to bedrock--then we cantalk plainly. I've never said a word to you, Ingersoll, and mightylittle to your daughter; but I love Yvonne, and if she will marry me,our wedding day will be the proudest day of my life. I'm not a poor man.I've a heap more money than ever I've owned up to, because I like thelife here, and I like you, and I worship the ground Yvonne walks on, andI was afraid that if you knew I was fairly well fixed in a financialsense you'd regard me as a _poseur_, and cut me out. Why, I've savednearly ten thousand dollars a year since I came to Pont Aven! I can laymy hands tomorrow on a hundred thousand, and still have enough left tokeep Yvonne in pretty good shape.

  "Now I'm not making any bargain with you. That isn't our way. But if Iam given a free hand with Raymond, I'll settle his hash in double quicktime. Swine of his variety are always blackmailers. Very well! I'll payhis price. He must clear out, bag and baggage, giving me the promise ofhis silence, over and above an acknowledgment that he obtained the moneyby threatening to expose Mrs. Carmac. Don't imagine he won't go! I'llmake him! It's rather rotten even to talk of using violence to a fellowwith a broken arm; but he must be got rid of, and I'll frighten him intoa deal--see if I don't!"

  Ingersoll rose, and caught the younger man's hand in an impulsive grip."Lorry," he said, "if it pleases Providence to ordain that Yvonne shallmarry you, I'll offer thanks on my knees. You are honest as the sun, andtransparent as the Aven beneath the trees of the Bois d'Amour in summer.I have known your story for years. I had hardly learned your name beforea man told me of the quarrel with your father because you refused tofall in with some marriage brokerage arranged between him and the fatherof a girl whose business interests marched with his. I knew too that youbought ten of my pictures during the first six months of ouracquaintance. I didn't interfere with your well meaning subterfuge. Youhave lost nothing on that speculation, at any rate, because you acquiredmy work at its best period, and your investment would yield two hundredper cent. if you sold now.

  "But let that pass. Do you believe I would ever have encouraged you towaste your time in pursuing the fickle goddess of art but for theknowledge that you were happy, and content, and far removed from thetemptations that beset youngste
rs of means but of no occupation? No, youknow well that I should have driven you forth with hard words. Yet Ihave never deceived you. How often have I said that Art is a cruelmistress, a wanton who refuses her favors to some most ardent wooers,yet flings them with prodigal hands at others who, though worthy of herutmost passion, despise it? But you have a quality that ranks you farabove the painter who, while fitted to see divine things, wallows in themud of mediocrity. You are a loyal friend and good comrade, a man ofclean soul and single thought.

  "Would to Heaven I might leave you now to deal with this prying hound,Raymond! But the plan you suggest is useless. He would laugh at you,disregard your threats, and taunt you with personal designs on Mrs.Carmac's millions. You have forgotten, Lorry, that Yvonne is herdaughter. I know my wife's nature to the depths. She has drunk to nauseaof the nectar of wealth. What has it given her? Happiness? Good health?A contented mind? No; she is scourged with scorpions, torn by a thousandregrets. She would give all her money now if some magician would wipeout from her life the record of the last eighteen years. Very gladly,very humbly, would she dwell in this cottage, provided that no cloudexisted between her and Yvonne. But that cannot be. As offering a middleway, I have agreed that Yvonne shall visit her at intervals, and eventhat small concession has delighted her beyond measure. And what will bethe outcome? No matter what I may say, she will try to capture my girl'sheart with a shower of gold.

  "No; I don't believe for one moment that she will ever estrange Yvonnefrom me. I do not even commit the injustice of attributing any suchdesign to her. But that Yvonne will inherit Carmac's millions if theyare left undisturbed in her mother's possession is almost as certain asdeath,--the one certainty life holds for us poor mortals. And, aboveall, don't hug the delusion that the man who has discovered my wife'spitiful secret is not alive to this phase of a problem which is in mymind night and day to the exclusion of all else. He will exact a pricewhich you cannot pay. Each hour his ambitions mount higher. That unhappywoman is as powerless as a fawn caught in the coils of a python."

  "One can free the fawn by dislocating the python's vertebrae. Is thereany harm in my trying?"

  "You may not kill the man. If you tackle him openly, you admit the verycontention that he may never be able to establish in a court of law;because, although he may have ferreted out the prior marriage, he cannotyet be sure that there the divorce may not hold good. Even I myself amdoubtful in that respect. It is a difficult legal point. ObviouslyStella fears something. The fact that she has retained Raymond when shemeant to dismiss him seems to indicate a weak spot in her armor. No,Lorry. I've looked at this thing from every point of view, and I see noloophole of escape. She is trapped, and Raymond alone can set her free.We must await his pleasure, act when he acts, and strive to assist herwhen the crisis arrives. Meanwhile, for her sake, we must endeavor totolerate him."

  Tollemache sat down again. "I feel like my namesake, Saint Lawrence theMartyr," he said gloomily. "You remember that when he was put on agridiron, and done to a crisp golden brown on one side, he suggestedthat by way of a change his executioners should grill him a little onthe other. Gee whizz! That reminds me, Socrates--if Sainte Barbe can'tarrange matters better for pilgrims to her shrine, she ought to go outof the business. Here are Madeleine, Yvonne, you, and myself mixed up infifty-seven varieties of trouble! And I suppose Mere Pitou and littleBarbe will receive attention in turn. If ever I meet Sainte Barbe inKingdom Come, I'll tell her her real name. It strikes me that whoeverinvented the pin-dropping scheme knew what he was doing."

  Ingersoll needed no explanation of his friend's outburst against thegentle lady whose love story has descended through the centuries. It wasa confession of sheer impotence. He was forcing himself to admit that hecould no more stay the course of events than stem the next tide rushingin from the Atlantic.

  Feeling that he wanted to bite something, Tollemache lit his pipe andclenched the stem viciously between his strong teeth. Aroused by thestriking of the match, Ingersoll began to smoke too. The attitude of thetwo bespoke their sense of utter helplessness. Thus might men imprisonedon some volcanic island sit and await in dumb misery the next upheavalof the trembling earth.

  * * * * *

  At last Tollemache, whose lively and strenuous temperament rebelledagainst indecision, even in circumstances such as these, where one falsemove might precipitate the very crisis he wished to avoid, put aquestion which Ingersoll had been expecting, and fearing, since theirtalk began.

  "I take it you haven't told Yvonne what you have told me?" he said. "Ican't recall your exact words, but you implied that she is ignorant ofthe true nature of the dilemma her mother is in?"

  "Yes, that's the worst of it," muttered Ingersoll. "It comes hard,Lorry, to parade the wretchedness of forgotten years before one's owndaughter,--a girl like Yvonne, whose mind is an unblemished mirror.Before this blight fell on our lives I don't believe she reallyunderstood why sin and wrongdoing should exist. We dwelt apart. We movedand breathed in a gracious world of our own contriving. She read of evilin books and newspapers; but it passed her by, leaving her unruffled asour earth when astronomers report some clash of suns in the outeruniverse. Now, although her mother's callousness is patent to her, andthis mad escapade of Madeleine's has stabbed her as with a dagger, sheis wholly unaware of the chief offense, my neglect to facilitate thedivorce proceedings."

  "For the first time in our acquaintance, Socrates, I've got to say thatyou're talking nonsense," blurted out Tollemache excitedly. "It's badenough that Mrs. Carmac--I suppose I'd better stick to that name forher--should be in such a hole, and we be unable at present to pull herout. But it's absolute rot that you should blame yourself for hermismanagement of her own affairs. Dash it all! Where is the man or womanwho can act tomorrow in face of such an experience as yours as theymight, twenty years hence, wish they had acted? That's no way to look atthings. Tell Yvonne, I say. Tell her tonight. Then she can discuss thesituation fairly and squarely with her mother. Don't you see, heaps ofthings may have occurred which, if you knew of them, might modify yourjudgment? This American divorce may be bad law in England, but good lawin France. That lawyer fellow, Mr. Bennett, struck me as a wise oldcodger. He, or someone like him, might put Mrs. Carmac up to all sortsof dodges to do Raymond in the eye. And, in any event, don't startaccusing yourself to Yvonne. If you do, d'ye know what the upshot willbe? She'll take your side against her mother, and where will Mrs. Carmacbe then?"

  "Probably you are right, Lorry. I have learned to distrust my ownthoughts. Yes, I'll tell Yvonne the whole truth."

  Ingersoll spoke in the accents of stoic despair; but Tollemache was infighting mood, and eager to close with the enemy.

  "It's sound policy to defend by attacking," he went on, with an air ofprofundity that, at any other time, the older man would have foundintensely amusing. "That's what we were taught in college football, andit's true of every other kind of rough and tumble. Why shouldn't Mrs.Carmac blow Raymond and his blackmailing schemes sky high by making adeal with Fosdyke and the other relatives? The cake is big enough, yousay, that each should get a good slice and be satisfied. As for legalproceedings in England, who's going to prosecute? Not you. And who elsecan act? The more I look at this affair the more I'm convinced it's abogy that will fall to bits at the first straight punch."

  Certainly the enthusiastic advocate of strong measures seemed to havehit on a project that, though difficult, was not wholly impracticable.If Fosdyke had only kept clear of that stupid intrigue with MadeleineDemoret, a settlement by consent might come well within the bounds ofreason.

  For the first time in many days Ingersoll saw a gleam of light in achoking fog. He brightened perceptibly, and talked with some of hiswonted animation.

  * * * * *

  Neither man noticed how the time was slipping by until Mere Pitousummoned them to supper. Yvonne had not arrived; so they assumed thatshe had remained with Mrs. Carmac. About ten o'clock
Ingersoll--probablyin a state of subdued nervousness as to the outcome of the projecteddisclosure--asked Tollemache to convey a message to Yvonne that she waswanted at home.

  Lorry obeyed cheerfully. He believed he had blundered on a means ofdiscomfiting the rascally secretary, and, that laudable object onceattained, the path was clear for his own love making. Though his aimsand hopes differed from Harvey Raymond's as the open sea from aslime-covered morass, he too made the mistake of imagining that moneycould level all obstacles; which, if regarded as an infallible maxim, ismisleading alike to the just and the unjust.

  Usually, when returning to the hotel from the cottage, he took the shortcut by the footbridge on which Yvonne had encountered Madeleine andFosdyke. He was aware, however, that the girl habitually used theslightly longer but more open highway. So he turned into the Concarneauroad, and was approaching the main bridge (the famous old pont thatgives the village its name) when he saw two people sauntering slowlytoward the harbor, and apparently engaged in close converse. They weresome distance away, and partly hidden in the deep shadow of a fifteenthcentury mill with curious carvings beneath the roof of a lion and a man;but he could not be mistaken as to Yvonne and Raymond, for no other girlin Pont Aven carried herself with Yvonne's grace, and the misshapenlittle secretary was in a class apart.

  Evidently Raymond had offered his escort to Yvonne, and they wereextending a somewhat late promenade to enable the former to convey suchnews as he had to give of the journey to Quimperle. Possibly he hadreceived an answer from that mysterious "friend" Duquesne. NeverthelessTollemache was aware of a sudden lessening of his exaltation. It was asthough when overheated by exertion he had entered a cold and clammyvault. He could give no valid reason why he should not quicken his paceand overtake Yvonne with her father's message. Yet he hung back,conscious of a sense of intrusion, yet furious with himself on accountof this inexplicable hesitancy.

  Finally he compromised. Yvonne would surely not take a prolonged strollafter ten o'clock at night. He would walk a little way up the oldConcarneau road (so called because, after the fashion of ancient tracks,it climbs a steep hill boldly, while its modern supplanter follows alonger and easier sweep) and keep in the gloom of the ancient housesclustered there until he saw her making for the cottage. With growingimpatience, and a prey to not a little misgiving, he waited fully halfan hour.

  * * * * *

  At last she appeared, walking swiftly and alone. And now his anxietyyielded to astonishment. Coming quietly down the hill, and crossing thePlace au Beurre, he was just in time to see her vanish into theobscurity of the Rue Mathias. At any rate, then, she was heading forMere Pitou's. Glancing toward the harbor, he fancied he could make outRaymond at the end of the short, narrow street.

  He did not think it necessary to lurk in the background until Raymondpassed, but went to the hotel and stood on the terrace under thesycamores, but well in view of anyone approaching the annex.

  Soon Raymond came, picking his steps with careful slowness, and keepingto the well lighted center of the square. His chin was sunk in theupturned collar of an overcoat, and he had the aspect of one lost inthought. Yet he seemed to know of Tollemache's presence, and raised hiseyes in a steady stare when the two were within a few yards of eachother.

  He did not speak, but his pallid face creased into a malevolent grin.Whether or not this was intended as a polite recognition, Tollemacheneither knew nor cared. He returned Raymond's stare with the impassivityof a Red Indian, and, though puzzled and distressed, resolved to look inon Harry Jackson before retiring for the night.

  In after life Tollemache never forgot that moment. It was big with fate.Perhaps, if left to their own course, events might have followed thesame channel next day or some succeeding day. But there could be noquestioning the tremendous significance of that particular hour when itsoutcome was recalled in the after light of accomplished facts.

  Thenceforth there was no damming the torrent that swept away men andwomen in its fury. Some were lost for evermore, some were thrown,bruised and maimed, on far distant strands; but all were caught in anirresistible flood, and, if Tollemache were a visionary, he might haveheard the rush of mighty waters as he turned to enter the hotel.