Jason: A Romance

by Justus Miles Forman

  XVII

  THOSE WHO WERE LEFT BEHIND

  That meeting with Richard Hartley of which Captain Stewart, in the smalldrawing-room at La Lierre, spoke to the Irishman O'Hara, took place atStewart's own door in the rue du Faubourg St. Honore, and it must havebeen at just about the time when Ste. Marie, concealed among thebranches of his cedar, looked over the wall and saw Arthur Benhamwalking with Mlle. Coira O'Hara. Hartley had lunched at Durand's withhis friends, whose name--though it does not at all matter here--wasReeves-Davis, and after lunch the four of them, Major and LadyReeves-Davis, Reeves-Davis' sister, Mrs. Carsten, and Hartley, spent anhour at a certain picture-dealer's near the Madeleine. After that LadyReeves-Davis wanted to go in search of an antiquary's shop which wassomewhere in the rue du Faubourg, and she did not know just where. Theywent in from the rue Royale, and amused themselves by looking at theattractive windows on the way.

  During one of their frequent halts, while the two ladies werepassionately absorbed in a display of hats, and Reeves-Davis was makingderisive comments from the rear, Hartley, who was too much bored to payattention, saw a figure which seemed to him familiar emerge from anadjacent doorway and start to cross the pavement to a large touring-car,with the top up, which stood at the curb. The man wore a dust-coat and acap, and he moved as if he were in a hurry, but as he went he cast aquick look about him and his eye fell upon Richard Hartley. Hartleynodded, and he thought the elder man gave a violent start; but then helooked very white and ill and might have started at anything. For aninstant Captain Stewart made as if he would go on his way without takingnotice, but he seemed to change his mind and turned back. He held outhis hand with a rather wan and nervous smile, saying:

  "Ah, Hartley! It is you, then! I wasn't sure." He glanced over theother's shoulder and said, "Is that our friend Ste. Marie with you?"

  "No," said Richard Hartley, "some English friends of mine. I haven'tseen Ste. Marie to-day. I'm to meet him this evening. You've seen himsince I have, as a matter of fact. He came to your party last night,didn't he? Sorry I couldn't come. They must have tired you out, I shouldthink. You look ill."

  "Yes," said the other man, absently. "Yes, I had an attack of--an oldmalady last night. I am rather stale to-day. You say you haven't seenSte. Marie? No, to be sure. If you see him later on you might say that Imean to drop in on him to-morrow to make my apologies. He'll understand.Good-day."

  So he turned away to the motor which was waiting for him, and Hartleywent back to his friends, wondering a little what it was that Stewarthad to apologize for.

  As for Captain Stewart, he must have gone at once out to La Lierre. Whathe found there has already been set forth.

  It was about ten that evening when Hartley, who had left his people,after dinner was over, at the Marigny, reached the rue d'Assas. Thestreet door was already closed for the night, and so he had to ring forthe cordon. When the door clicked open and he had closed it behind himhe called out his name before crossing the court to Ste. Marie's stair;but as he went on his way the voice of the concierge reached him fromthe little loge.

  "M. Ste. Marie n'est pas la,"

  Now, the Parisian concierge, as every one knows who has lived under hisiron sway, is a being set apart from the rest of mankind. He has, ingeneral, no human attributes, and certainly no human sympathy. His handis against all the world, and the hand of all the world is against him.Still, here and there among this peculiar race are to be found a veryfew beings who are of softer substance--men and women instead of spiesand harpies. The concierge who had charge of the house wherein Ste.Marie dwelt was an old woman, undeniably severe upon occasion, but forthe most part a kindly and even jovial soul. She must have become aconcierge through some unfortunate mistake.

  She snapped open her little square window and stuck out into the moonlitcourt a dishevelled gray head.

  "Il n'est pas la." she said again, beaming upon Richard Hartley, whomshe liked, and, when he protested that he had a definite and importantappointment with her lodger, went on to explain that Ste. Marie had goneout, doubtless to lunch, before one o'clock and had never returned.

  "He may have left word for me up-stairs," Hartley said; "I'll go up andwait, if I may." So the woman got him her extra key, and he went up, lethimself into the flat, and made lights there.

  Naturally he found no word, but his own note of that morning lay spreadout upon a table where Ste. Marie had left it, and so he knew that hisfriend was in possession of the two facts he had learned about Stewart.He made himself comfortable with a book and some cigarettes, and settleddown to wait.

  Ste. Marie out at La Lierre, with a bullet-hole in his leg, was deep ina drugged sleep just then, but Hartley waited for him, looking up nowand then from his book with a scowl of impatience, until the littleclock on the mantel said that it was one o'clock. Then he went home in avery bad temper, after writing another note and leaving it on the table,to say that he would return early in the morning.

  But in the morning he began to be alarmed. He questioned the conciergevery closely as to Ste. Marie's movements on the day previous, but shecould tell him little, save to mention the brief visit of a man with anaccent of Toulouse or Marseilles, and there seemed to be no one else towhom he could go. He spent the entire morning in the flat, and returnedthere after a hasty lunch. But at mid-afternoon he took a fiacre at thecorner of the Gardens and drove to the rue du Faubourg St. Honore.

  Captain Stewart was at home. He was in a dressing-gown, and still lookedfagged and unwell. He certainly betrayed some surprise at sight of hisvisitor, but he made Hartley welcome at once and insisted upon havingcigars and things to drink brought out for him. On the whole hepresented an astonishingly normal exterior, for within him he must havebeen cold with fear, and in his ears a question must have rung andshouted and rung again unceasingly--"What does this fellow know? Whatdoes he know?"

  Hartley's very presence there had a perilous look.

  The younger man shook his head at the servant who asked him what hewished to drink.

  "Thanks, you're very good," he said to Captain Stewart, and thatgentleman eyed him silently. "I can't stay but a moment. I just droppedin to ask if you'd any idea what can have become of Ste. Marie."

  "Ste. Marie?" said Captain Stewart. "What do you mean--'become of him'?"He moistened his lips to speak, but he said the words without a tremor.

  "Well, what I meant was," said Hartley, "that you'd seen him last. Hewas here Thursday evening. Did he say anything to you about goinganywhere in particular the next day--yesterday? He left his rooms aboutnoon and hasn't turned up since."

  Captain Stewart drew a short breath and sat down, abruptly, in a near-bychair, for all at once his knees had begun to tremble under him. He wasconscious of a great and blissful wave of relief and well-being, and hewanted to laugh. He wanted so much to laugh that it became a torture tokeep his face in repose.

  So Ste. Marie had left no word behind him, and the danger was past!

  With a great effort he looked up from where he sat to Richard Hartley,who stood anxious and frowning before him.

  "Forgive me for sitting down," he said, "and sit down yourself, I beg.I'm still very shaky from my attack of illness. Ste. Marie--Ste. Mariehas disappeared? How very extraordinary! It's like poor Arthur. Still--asingle day! He might be anywhere for a single day, might he not? For allthat, though, it's very odd. Why, no. No, I don't think he said anythingabout going away. At least I remember nothing about it." The relief andtriumph within him burst out in a sudden little chuckle of maliciousfun. "I can think of only one thing," said he, "that might be of use toyou. Ste. Marie seemed to take a very great fancy to one of the ladieshere the other evening. And, I must confess, the lady seemed to returnit. It had all the look of a desperate flirtation--a most desperateflirtation. They spent the evening in a corner together. You don'tsuppose," he said, still chuckling gently, "that Ste. Marie is taking alittle holiday, do you? You don't suppose that the lady could accountfor him?"

  "No," said Richard Hartley, "
I don't. And if you knew Ste. Marie alittle better you wouldn't suppose it, either." But after a pause hesaid: "Could you give me the--lady's name, by any chance? Of course, Idon't want to leave any stone unturned."

  And once more the other man emitted his pleased little chuckle that wasso like a cat's mew.

  "I can give you her name," said he. "The name is Mlle.---- Bertrand.Elise Bertrand. But I regret to say I haven't the address by me. Shecame with some friends. I will try and get it and send it you. Will thatbe all right?"

  "Yes, thanks!" said Richard Hartley. "You're very good. And now I mustbe going on. I'm rather in a hurry."

  Captain Stewart protested against this great haste, and pressed theyounger man to sit down and tell him more about his friend'sdisappearance, but Hartley excused himself, repeating that he was in agreat hurry, and went off.

  When he had gone Captain Stewart lay back in his chair and laughed untilhe was weak and ached from it, the furious, helpless laughter whichcomes after the sudden release from a terrible strain. He was not, as arule, a demonstrative man, but he became aware that he would like todance and sing, and probably he would have done both if it had not beenfor the servant in the next room.

  So there was no danger to be feared, and his terrors of the nightpast--he shivered a little to think of them--had been, after all,useless terrors! As for the prisoner out at La Lierre, nothing was to befeared from him so long as a careful watch was kept. Later on he mighthave to be disposed of, since both bullet and poison had failed--hescowled over that, remembering a bad quarter of an hour with O'Haraearly this morning--but that matter could wait. Some way would presentitself. He thought of the wholly gratuitous lie he had told Hartley, athing born of a moment's malice, and he laughed again. It struck himthat it would be very humorous if Hartley should come to suspect hisfriend of turning aside from his great endeavors to enter upon an affairwith a lady. He dimly remembered that Ste. Marie's name had, from timeto time, been a good deal involved in romantic histories, and he said tohimself that his lie had been very well chosen, indeed, and might beexpected to cause Richard Hartley much anguish of spirit.

  After that he lighted a very large cigarette, half as big as a cigar,and he lay back in his low, comfortable chair and began to think of theoutcome of all this plotting and planning. As is very apt to be the casewhen a great danger has been escaped, he was in a mood of extremehopefulness and confidence. Vaguely he felt as if the recent happeningshad set him ahead a pace toward his goal, though of course they had donenothing of the kind. The danger that would exist so long as Ste. Marie,who knew everything, was alive, seemed in some miraculous fashion tohave dwindled to insignificance; in this rebound from fear and despairdifficulties were swept away and the path was clear. The man's mindleaped to his goal, and a little shiver of prospective joy ran over him.Once that goal gained he could defy the world. Let eyes look askance,let tongues wag, he would be safe then--safe for all the rest of hislife, and rich, rich, rich!

  For he was playing against a feeble old man's life. Day by day hewatched the low flame sink lower as the flame of an exhausted lamp sinksand flickers. It was slow, for the old man had still a little strengthleft, but the will to live--which was the oil in the lamp--was almostgone, and the waiting could not be long now. One day, quite suddenly,the flame would sink down to almost nothing, as at last it does in thespent lamp. It would flicker up and down rapidly for a few moments, andall at once there would be no flame there. Old David would be dead, anda servant would be sent across the river in haste to the rue du FaubourgSt. Honore. Stewart lay back in his chair and tried to imagine that itwas true, that it had already happened, as happen it must before long,and once more the little shiver, which was like a shiver of voluptuousdelight, ran up and down his limbs, and his breath began to come fastand hard.

  * * * * *

  But Richard Hartley drove at once back to the rue d'Assas. He was notvery much disappointed in having learned nothing from Stewart, though hewas thoroughly angry at that gentleman's hint about Ste. Marie and theunknown lady. He had gone to the rue du Faubourg because, as he hadsaid, he wished to leave no stone unturned, and, after all, he hadthought it quite possible that Stewart could give him some informationwhich would be of value. Hartley firmly believed the elder man to be arascal, but of course he knew nothing definite save the two facts whichhe had accidentally learned from Helen Benham, and it had occurred tohim that Captain Stewart might have sent Ste. Marie off upon anotherwild-goose chase such as the expedition to Dinard had been. He wouldhave been sure that the elder man had had something to do with Ste.Marie's disappearance if the latter had not been seen since Stewart'sparty, but instead of that Ste. Marie had come home, slept, gone out thenext morning, returned again, received a visitor, and gone out to lunch.It was all very puzzling and mysterious.

  His mind went back to the brief interview with Stewart and dwelt uponit. Little things which had at the time made no impression upon himbegan to recur and to take on significance. He remembered the elderman's odd and strained manner at the beginning, his sudden and causelesschange to ease and to something that was almost like a triumphantexcitement, and then his absurd story about Ste. Marie's flirtation witha lady. Hartley thought of these things; he thought also of the factthat Ste. Marie had disappeared immediately after hearing graveaccusations against Stewart. Could he have lost his head, rushed acrossthe city at once to confront the middle-aged villain, andthen--disappeared from human ken? It would have been very like him to dosomething rashly impulsive upon reading that note.

  Hartley broke into a sudden laugh of sheer amusement when he realized towhat a wild and improbable flight his fancy was soaring. He could notquite rid himself of a feeling that Stewart was, in some mysteriousfashion, responsible for his friend's vanishing, but he was unlike Ste.Marie: he did not trust his feelings, either good or bad, unless theywere backed by excellent evidence, and he had to admit that there wasnot a single scrap of evidence in this instance against Miss Benham'suncle.

  The girl's name recalled him to another duty. He must tell her aboutSte. Marie. He was by this time half-way up the Boulevard St. Germain,but he gave a new order, and the fiacre turned back to the rue del'Universite. The footman at the door said that Mademoiselle was not inthe drawing-room, as it was only four o'clock, but that he thought shewas in the house. So Hartley sent up his name and went in to wait.

  Miss Benham came down looking a little pale and anxious.

  "I've been with grandfather," she explained. "He had some sort ofsinking-spell last night and we were very much frightened. He's muchbetter, but--well, he couldn't have many such spells and live. I'mafraid he grows a good deal weaker day by day now. He sees hardly anyone outside the family, except Baron de Vries." She sat down with alittle sigh of fatigue and smiled up at her visitor. "I'm glad you'vecome," said she. "You'll cheer me up, and I rather need it. What are youlooking so solemn about, though? You won't cheer me up if you look likethat."

  "Well, you see," said Hartley, "I came at this impossible hour to bringyou some bad news. I'm sorry. Perhaps," he modified, "bad news isputting it with too much seriousness. Strange news is better. To bebrief, Ste. Marie has disappeared--vanished into thin air. I thought youought to know."

  "Ste. Marie!" cried the girl. "How? What do you mean--vanished? When didhe vanish?"

  She gave a sudden exclamation of relief.

  "Oh, he has come upon some clew or other and has rushed off to followit. That's all. How dare you frighten me so?"

  "He went without luggage," said the man, shaking his head, "and he leftno word of any kind behind him. He went out to lunch yesterday aboutnoon, and, as I said, simply vanished, leaving no trace whatever behindhim. I've just been to see your uncle, thinking that he might knowsomething, but he doesn't."

  The girl looked up quickly.

  "My uncle?" she said. "Why my uncle?"

  "Well," said Hartley, "you see, Ste. Marie went to a little party atyour uncle's flat on the night before he disa
ppeared, and I thought youruncle might have heard him say something that would throw light on hismovements the next day."

  Hartley remembered the unfortunate incident of the galloping pigs, andhurried on:

  "He went to the party more for the purpose of having a talk with youruncle than for any other reason, I think. I was to have gone myself, butgave it up at the eleventh hour for the Cains' dinner at Armenonville.Well, the next morning after Captain Stewart's party he went out early.I called at his rooms to see him about something important that Ithought he ought to know. I missed him, and so left a note for him whichhe got on his return and read. I found it open on his table later on. Atnoon he went out again, and that's all. Frankly, I'm worried about him."

  Miss Benham watched the man with thoughtful eyes, and when he hadfinished she asked:

  "Could you tell me what was in this note that you left for Ste. Marie?"

  Hartley was by nature a very open and frank young man, and inconsequence an unusually bad liar. He hesitated and looked away, and hebegan to turn red.

  "Well--no," he said, after a moment--"no, I'm afraid I can't. It wassomething you wouldn't understand--wouldn't know about."

  And the girl said, "Oh!" and remained for a little while silent. But atthe end she looked up and met his eyes, and the man saw that she wasvery grave. She said:

  "Richard, there is something that you and I have been avoiding andpretending not to see. It has gone too far now, and we've got to face itwith perfect frankness. I know what was in your note to Ste. Marie. Itwas what you found out the other evening about--my uncle--the matter ofthe will and the other matter. He knew about the will, but he told youand Ste. Marie that he didn't. He said to you, also, that I had told himabout my engagement and Ste. Marie's determination to search for Arthur,and that was--a lie. I didn't tell him, and grandfather didn't tell him.He listened in the door yonder and heard it himself. I have a goodreason for knowing that. And then," she said, "he tried very hard topersuade you and Ste. Marie to take up your search under his direction,and he partly succeeded. He sent Ste. Marie upon a foolish expedition toDinard, and he gave him and gave you other clews just as foolish as thatone. Richard, do you believe that my uncle has hidden poor Arthur awaysomewhere or--worse than that? Do you? Tell me the truth!"

  "There is not," said Hartley, "one particle of real evidence against himthat I'm aware of. There's plenty of motive, if you like, but motive isnot evidence."

  "I asked you a question," the girl said. "Do you believe my uncle hasbeen responsible for Arthur's disappearance?"

  "Yes," said Richard Hartley, "I'm afraid I do."

  "Then," she said, "he has been responsible for Ste. Marie'sdisappearance also. Ste. Marie became dangerous to him, and so vanished.What can we do, Richard? What can we do?"

  * * * * *