The Silent Barrier

by Louis Tracy

  Produced by D Alexander and the Online DistributedProofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file wasproduced from images generously made available by TheInternet Archive)

  The Silent Barrier

  BY

  LOUIS TRACY

  AUTHOR OF CYNTHIA'S CHAUFFEUR, A SON OF THE IMMORTALS, THE WINGS OF THE MORNING, ETC.

  ILLUSTRATIONS BY J. V. McFALL

  Page decorations by A. W. PARSONS from photographs by THE ENGADINE PRESS

  NEW YORK GROSSET & DUNLAP PUBLISHERS

  COPYRIGHT, 1908, 1911, BY EDWARD J. CLODE

  Entered at Stationers' Hall

  "Spare me one moment, Miss Wynton," he said. _Frontispiece_]

  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER PAGE

  I. THE WISH 1

  II. THE FULFILLMENT OF THE WISH 19

  III. WHEREIN TWO PEOPLE BECOME BETTER ACQUAINTED 41

  IV. HOW HELEN CAME TO MALOJA 64

  V. AN INTERLUDE 84

  VI. THE BATTLEFIELD 103

  VII. SOME SKIRMISHING 122

  VIII. SHADOWS 144

  IX. "ETTA'S FATHER" 167

  X. ON THE GLACIER 189

  XI. WHEREIN HELEN LIVES A CROWDED HOUR 212

  XII. THE ALLIES 232

  XIII. THE COMPACT 253

  XIV. WHEREIN MILLICENT ARMS FOR THE FRAY 275

  XV. A COWARD'S VICTORY 298

  XVI. SPENCER EXPLAINS 321

  XVII. THE SETTLEMENT 337

  Ich muss--Das ist die Schrank, in welcher mich die WeltVon einer, die Natur von andrer Seite haelt.

  FR. RUeCKERT: _Die Weisheit des Brahmenen._

  [I must--That is the Barrier within which I am pent by the World onthe one hand and Nature on the other.]

  THE SILENT BARRIER

  CHAPTER I

  THE WISH

  "Mail in?"

  "Yes, sir; just arrived. What name?"

  "Charles K. Spencer."

  The letter clerk seized a batch of correspondence and sorted it withnimble fingers. The form of the question told him that Spencer wasinterested in letters stamped for the greater part with blandpresentments of bygone Presidents of the United States. In any event,he would have known, by long experience of the type, that the welldressed, straight limbed, strong faced young man on the other side ofthe counter was an American. He withdrew four missives from thebundle. His quick eyes saw that three bore the Denver postmark, andthe fourth hailed from Leadville.

  "That is all at present, sir," he said. "Would you like your mail sentto your room in future, or shall I keep it here?"

  "Right here, please, in No. 20 slot. I could receive a reply by cablewhile I was going and coming along my corridor."

  The clerk smiled deferentially. He appreciated not only the length ofthe corridor, but the price paid by the tenant of a second floor suiteoverlooking the river.

  "Very well, sir," he said, glancing again at Spencer, "I willattend to it;" and he took a mental portrait of the man who couldafford to hire apartments that ranked among the most expensive inthe hotel. Obviously, the American was a recent arrival. His suitehad been vacated by a Frankfort banker only three days earlier,and this was the first time he had asked for letters. Even thedisillusioned official was amused by the difference between the twolatest occupants of No. 20,--Herr Bamberger, a tub of a man, baldheaded and bespectacled, and this alert, sinewy youngster, with thecleancut features of a Greek statue, and the brilliant, deep set,earnest eyes of one to whom thought and action were alike familiar.

  Spencer, fully aware that he was posing for a necessary picture,examined the dates on his letters, nipped the end off a green cigar,helped himself to a match from a box tendered by a watchful boy,crossed the entrance hall, and descended a few steps leading to theinner foyer and restaurant. At the foot of the stairs he looked aboutfor a quiet corner. The luncheon hour was almost ended. Groups ofsmokers and coffee drinkers were scattered throughout the larger room,which widened out below a second short flight of carpeted steps. Thesmaller anteroom in which he stood was empty, save for a few peoplepassing that way from the restaurant, and he decided that a nook neara palm shaded balcony offered the retreat he sought.

  He little dreamed that he was choosing the starting point of the mostthrilling adventure in a life already adventurous; that the softcarpet of the Embankment Hotel might waft him to scenes not within thecommon scope. That is ever the way of true romance. Your knight errantmay wander in the forest for a day or a year,--he never knows themoment when the enchanted glade shall open before his eyes; nay, hescarce has seen the weeping maiden bound to a tree ere he is called into couch his lance and ride a-tilt at the fire breathing dragon. Itwas so when men and maids dwelt in a young world; it is so now; and itwill be so till the crack of doom. Manners may change, and costume;but hearts filled with the wine of life are not to be altered. Theyare fashioned that way, and the world does not vary, else Eve mightregain Paradise, and all the fret and fume have an end.

  Charles K. Spencer, then, would certainly have been the mostastonished, though perhaps the most self possessed, man in London hadsome guardian sprite whispered low in his ear what strange hazard layin his choice of a chair. If such whisper were vouchsafed to him hepaid no heed. Perhaps his occupancy of that particular corner waspreordained. It was inviting, secluded, an upholstered backwash in thestream of fashion; so he sat there, nearly stunned a waiter by askingfor a glass of water, and composed himself to read his letters.

  The waiter hesitated. He was a Frenchman, and feared he had not heardaright.

  "What sort of water, sir," he asked,--"Vichy, St. Galmier,Apollinaris?"

  Spencer looked up. He thought the man had gone. "No, none of those,"he said. "Just plain, unemotional water,--_eau naturelle_,--straightfrom the pipe,--the microbe laden fluid that runs off London tilesmost days. I haven't been outside the hotel during the last hour; butif you happen to pass the door I guess you'll see the kind of essenceI mean dripping off umbrellas. If you don't keep it in the house, tryto borrow a policeman's cape and shoot a quart into a decanter."

  The quelled waiter hurried away and brought a carafe. Spencerprofessed to be so pleased with his rare intelligence that he gave hima shilling. Then he opened the envelop with the Leadville postmark. Itcontained a draft for 205 pounds, 15 shillings, 11 pence, and theaccompanying letter from a firm of solicitors showed that theremittance of a thousand dollars was the moiety of the proceeds of aclean-up on certain tailings taken over by the purchasers of theBattle Mountain tunnel. The sum was not a large one; but it seemed togive its recipient such satisfaction that the movement of chairs onthe floor of the big room just beneath failed to draw his attentionfrom the lawyer's statement.

  A woman's languid, well bred voice broke in on this apparentlypleasant reverie.

  "Shall we sit here, Helen?"

  "Anywhere you like, dear. It is all the same to me. Thanks to you, Iam passing an afternoon in wonderland. I find my surroundings so noveland entertaining that I should still be excited if you were to put mein the refrigerator."

  The eager vivacity of the second speaker--the note of undiluted and
almost childlike glee with which she acknowledged that a visit to aluxurious hotel was a red letter day in her life--caused the man toglance at the two young women who had unconsciously disturbed him.Evidently, they had just risen from luncheon in the restaurant, andmeant to dispose themselves for a chat. It was equally clear that eachword they uttered in an ordinary conversational tone must be audibleto him. They were appropriating chairs which would place the plumes oftheir hats within a few inches of his feet. When seated, their faceswould be hidden from him, save for a possible glimpse of a profile asone or other turned toward her companion. But for a few seconds he hada good view of both, and he was young enough to find the scrutiny tohis liking.

  At the first glance, the girl who was acting as hostess might bedeemed the more attractive of the pair. She was tall, slender,charmingly dressed, and carried herself with an assured elegance thathinted of the stage. Spencer caught a glint of corn flower blue eyesbeneath long lashes, and a woman would have deduced from their colorthe correct explanation of a blue sunshade, a blue straw hat, and alight cape of Myosotis blue silk that fell from shapely shoulders overa white lace gown.

  The other girl,--she who answered to the name of Helen,--though nearlyas tall and quite as graceful, was robed so simply in muslin that shemight have provided an intentional contrast. In the man's esteem shelost nothing thereby. He appraised her by the fine contour of her ovalface, the wealth of glossy brown hair that clustered under her hat,and the gleam of white teeth between lips of healthy redness. Again,had he looked through a woman's eyes, he would have seen how thedifference between Bond-st. and Kilburn as shopping centers might besharply accentuated. But that distinction did not trouble him. Beneatha cold exterior he had an artist's soul, and "Helen" met an ideal.

  "Pretty as a peach!" he said to himself, and he continued to gaze ather. Indeed, for an instant he forgot himself, and it was not untilshe spoke again that he realized how utterly oblivious were both girlsof his nearness.

  "I suppose everybody who comes here is very rich," was her ratherawe-stricken comment.

  Her companion laughed. "How nice of you to put it that way! It makesme feel quite important. I lunch or dine or sup here often, and thedirect inference is that I am rolling in wealth."

  "Well, dear, you earn a great deal of money----"

  "I get twenty pounds a week, and this frock I am wearing costtwenty-five. Really, Helen, you are the sweetest little goose I evermet. You live in London, but are not of it. You haven't grasped thefirst principle of social existence. If I dressed within my means, andnever spent a sovereign until it was in my purse, I should not evenearn the sovereign. I simply must mix with this crowd whether I canafford it or not."

  "But surely you are paid for your art, not as a mannikin. Youare almost in the front rank of musical comedy. I have seen youoccasionally at the theater, and I thought you were the best dancerin the company."

  "What about my singing?"

  "You have a very agreeable and well trained voice."

  "I'm afraid you are incorrigible. You ought to have said that I sangbetter than I danced, and the fib would have pleased me immensely;we women like to hear ourselves praised for accomplishments we don'tpossess. No, my dear, rule art out of the cast and substituteadvertisement. Did you notice a dowdy creature who was lunchingwith two men on your right? She wore a brown Tussore silk and aturban--well, she writes the 'Pars About People' in 'The DailyJournal.' I'll bet you a pair of gloves that you will see somethinglike this in to-morrow's paper: 'Lord Archie Beaumanoir entertained aparty of friends at the Embankment Hotel yesterday. At the next tableMiss Millicent Jaques, of the Wellington Theater, was lunching with apretty girl whom I did not know. Miss Jaques wore an exquisite,'etc., etc. Fill in full details of my personal appearance, and youhave the complete paragraph. The public, the stupid, addle-headedpublic, fatten on that sort of thing, and it keeps me going far moreeffectively than my feeble attempts to warble a couple of songs whichyou could sing far better if only you made up your mind to come on thestage. But there! After such unwonted candor I must have a smoke. Youwon't try a cigarette? Well, don't look so shocked. This isn't achurch, you know."

  Spencer, who had listened with interest to Miss Jaques's outspokenviews, suddenly awoke to the fact that he was playing the part of aneavesdropper. He had all an American's chivalrous instincts wherewomen were concerned, and his first impulse was to betake himselfand his letters to his own room. Yet, when all was said and done, hewas in a hotel; the girls were strangers, and likely to remain so;and it was their own affair if they chose to indulge in unguardedconfidences. So he compromised with his scruples by pouring out aglass of water, replacing the decanter on its tray with some degree ofnoise. Then he struck an unnecessary match and applied it to his cigarbefore opening the first of the Denver letters.

  As his glance was momentarily diverted, he did not grasp the essentialfact that neither of the pair was disturbed by his well meant efforts.Millicent Jaques was lighting a cigarette, and this, to a woman, is anall absorbing achievement, while her friend was so new to her palatialsurroundings that she had not the least notion of the existence ofanother open floor just above the level of her eyes.

  "I don't know how in the world you manage to exist," went on theactress, tilting herself back in her chair to watch the smoke curlinglazily upward. "What was it you said the other day when we met? Youare some sort of secretary and amanuensis to a scientist? Does thatmean typewriting? And what is the science?"

  "Professor von Eulenberg is a well known man," was the quiet reply. "Itype his essays and reports, it is true; but I also assist in hisclassification work, and it is very interesting."

  "What does he classify?"

  "Mostly beetles."

  "Oh, how horrid! Do you ever see any?"

  "Thousands."

  "I should find one enough. If it is a fair question, what does yourprofessor pay you?"

  "Thirty shillings a week. In his own way he is as poor as I am."

  "And do you mean to tell me that you can live in those nice rooms youtook me to, and dress decently on that sum?"

  "I do, as a matter of fact; but I have a small pension, and I earn alittle by writing titbits of scientific gossip for 'The Firefly.' Herrvon Eulenberg helps. He translates interesting paragraphs from theforeign technical papers, and I jot them down, and by that means Ipick up sufficient to buy an extra hat or wrap, and go to a theater ora concert. But I have to be careful, as my employer is absent eachsummer for two months. He goes abroad to hunt new specimens, and ofcourse I am not paid then."

  "Is he away now?"

  "Yes."

  "And how do you pass your time?"

  "I write a good deal. Some day I hope to get a story accepted by oneof the magazines; but it is so hard for a beginner to find anopening."

  "Yet when I offered to give you a start in the chorus of the besttheater in London,--a thing, mind you, that thousands of girls areaching for,--you refused."

  "I'm sorry, Millie dear; but I am not cut out for the stage. It doesnot appeal to me."

  "Heigho! Tastes differ. Stick to your beetles, then, and marry yourprofessor."

  Helen laughed, with a fresh joyousness that was good to hear. "Herrvon Eulenberg is blessed with an exceedingly stout wife and five veryhealthy children already," she cried.

  "Then that settles it. You're mad, quite mad! Let us talk of somethingelse. Do you ever have a holiday? Where are you going this year? I'moff to Champery when the theater closes."

  "Champery,--in Switzerland, isn't it?"

  "Yes."

  "Ah, that is the dream of my life,--to see the everlasting snows; toclimb those grand, solemn mountains; to cross the great passes thatone reads of in the travel books. Now at last you have made meenvious. Are you going alone? But of course that is a foolishquestion. You intend to join others from the theater, no doubt?"

  "Well--er--something of the sort. I fear my enthusiasm will not carryme far on the lines that would appeal to you. I suppose you consider ashor
t skirt, strong boots, a Tyrolese hat, and an alpenstock to be asufficient rig-out, whereas my mountaineering costumes will fill fivelarge trunks and three hat boxes. I'm afraid, Helen, we don't run onthe same rails, as our American cousins say."

  There was a little pause. Millicent's words, apparently tossedlightly into the air after a smoke spiral, had in them a touch ofbitterness, it might be of self analysis. Her guest seemed to takethought before she answered:

  "Perhaps the divergence is mainly in environment. And I have alwaysinclined to the more serious side of life. Even when we were togetherin Brussels----"

  "You? Serious? At Madam Berard's? I like that. Who was it that kickedthe plaster off the dormitory wall higher than her head? Who putpepper in Signor Antonio's snuff box?"

  Spencer saw the outer waves of a flush on Helen's cheeks. "This isexceedingly interesting," he thought; "but I cannot even persuademyself that I ought to listen any longer. Yet, if I rise now and walkaway they will know I heard every word."

  Nevertheless, he meant to go, at the risk of their embarrassment;but he waited for Helen's reply. She laughed, and the ripple of hermirth was as musical as her voice, whereas many women dowered withpleasantly modulated notes for ordinary conversation should be carefulnever to indulge in laughter, which is less controllable and thereforenatural.

  "That is the worst of having a past," she said. "Let me put it, then,that entomology as a pursuit sternly represses frivolousness."

  "Does entomology mean beetles?"

  "My dear, if you asked Herr von Eulenberg that question he would sateyour curiosity with page extracts from one of his books. He haswritten a whole volume to prove that the only true entoma, orinsects, are Condylopoda and Hexapoda, which means----"

  "Cockroaches! Good gracious! To think of Helen Wynton, who once hit aBelgian boy very hard on the nose for being rude, wasting her life onsuch rubbish! And you actually seem to thrive on it. I do believe youare far happier than I."

  "At present I am envying you that trip to Champery. Why cannot somefairy godmother call in at No. 5, Warburton Gardens, to-night and waveover my awed head a wand that shall scatter sleeping car tickets andbanknotes galore, or at any rate sufficient thereof to take me to theEngadine and back?"

  "Ah, the Engadine. I am not going there this year, I think."

  "Haven't you planned your tour yet?"

  "No--that is, not exactly."

  "Do you know, that is one of my greatest pleasures. With a last year'sContinental Bradshaw and a few tattered Baedekers I journey farafield. I know the times, the fares, and the stopping places of allthe main routes from Calais and Boulogne. I could pass a creditableexamination in most of the boat and train services by way of Ostend,Flushing, and the Hook of Holland. I assure you, Millie, when my shipdoes come home, or the glittering lady whom I have invoked deigns tovisit my lodgings, I shall call a cab for Charing Cross or Victoriawith the assurance of a seasoned traveler."

  For some reason, Miss Jaques refused to share her friend's enthusiasm."You are easily pleased," she said listlessly. "For my part, after oneshuddering glance at the Channel, I try to deaden all sensation till Ifind myself dressing for dinner at the Ritz. I positively refuse to gobeyond Paris the first day. Ah, bother! Here comes a man whom I wishto avoid. Let us be on the move before he sees us, which he cannotfail to do. Don't forget that I have a rehearsal at three. I haven't,really; but we must escape somehow."

  Spencer, who had salved his conscience by endeavoring to read atechnical letter on mining affairs, would be less than human if he didnot lift his eyes then. It is odd how the sense of hearing, when leftto its unfettered play by the absence of the disturbing influence offacial expression, can discriminate in its analysis of the subtleremotions. He was quite sure that Miss Jaques was startled, evenannoyed, by the appearance of some person whom she did not expect tomeet, and he surveyed the new arrival critically, perhaps with latenthostility.

  He saw a corpulent, well dressed man standing at the foot of thestairs and looking around the spacious room. Obviously, he had notcome from the restaurant. He carried his hat, gloves, and stick in hisleft hand. With his right hand he caressed his chin, and his glancewandered slowly over the little knots of people in the foyer. Beyondthe fact that a large diamond sparkled on one of his plump fingers,and that his olive tinted face was curiously opposed to the whitenessof the uplifted hand, he differed in no essential from the hundreds ofspick and span idlers who might be encountered at that hour in thewest end of London. He had the physique and bearing of a man athleticin his youth but now over-indulgent. An astute tailor had managed toconceal the too rounded curves of the fourth decade by fashioning hisgarments skillfully. His coat fitted like a skin across his shouldersbut hung loosely in front. The braid of a colored waistcoat wasa marvel of suggestion in indicating a waist, and the same adeptcraftsmanship carried the eye in faultless lines to his verni boots.Judged by his profile, he was not ill looking. His features wereregular, the mouth and chin strong, the forehead slightly rounded, andthe nose gave the merest hint of Semitic origin. Taken altogether, hehad the style of a polished man of the world, and Spencer smiled atthe sudden fancy that seized him.

  "I am attending the first act of a little play," he thought. "Helenand Millicent rise and move to center of stage; enter the conventionalvillain."

  Miss Jaques was not mistaken when she said that her acquaintance wouldsurely see her. She and Helen Wynton had not advanced a yard fromtheir corner before the newcomer discovered them. He hastened to meetthem, with the aspect of one equally surprised and delighted. Hismanners were courtly, and displayed great friendliness; but Spencerwas quick to notice the air of interest with which his gaze rested onHelen. It was possible to see now that Millicent's unexpected friendhad large, prominent dark eyes which lent animation and vivacity to aface otherwise heavy and coarse. It was impossible to hear all thatwas said, as the trio stood in the middle of the room and a coupleof men passing up the stairs at the moment were talking loudly. ButSpencer gathered that Millicent was explaining volubly how she andMiss Wynton had "dropped in here for luncheon by the merest chance,"and was equally emphatic in the declaration that she was alreadyoverdue at the theater.

  The man said something, and glanced again at Helen. Evidently, heasked for an introduction, which Miss Jaques gave with an affabilitythat was eloquent of her powers as an actress. The unwished forcavalier was not to be shaken off. He walked with them up the stairsand crossed the entrance hall. Spencer, stuffing his letters into apocket, strolled that way too, and saw this pirate in a morning coatbear off both girls in a capacious motor car.

  Not to be balked of the denouement of the little comedy in real lifefor which he had provided the audience, the American grabbed the hallporter.

  "Say," he said, "do you know that gentleman?"

  "Yes, sir. That is Mr. Mark Bower."

  Spencer beamed on the man as though he had just discovered that Mr.Mark Bower was his dearest friend.

  "Well, now, if that isn't the queerest thing!" he said. "Is that Mark?He's just gone round to the Wellington Theater, I guess. How far is itfrom here?"

  "Not a hundred yards, sir."

  Off went Spencer, without his hat. He had intended to follow in a cab,but a sprint would be more effective over such a short distance. Hecrossed the Strand without heed to the traffic, turned to the right,and, to use his own phrase, "butted into a policeman" at the firstcorner.

  "I'm on the hunt for the Wellington Theater," he explained.

  "You needn't hunt much farther," said the constable good humoredly."There it is, a little way up on the left."

  At that instant Spencer saw Bower raise his hat to the two women. Theyhurried inside the theater, and their escort turned to reenter hismotor. The American had learned what he wanted to know. Miss Jaqueshad shaken off her presumed admirer, and Miss Wynton had aided andabetted her in the deed.

  "You don't say!" he exclaimed, gazing at the building admiringly."It looks new. In fact the whole street has a kind of SanFr
ancisco-after-the-fire appearance."

  "That's right, sir. It's not so long since some of the worst slums inLondon were pulled down to make way for it."

  "It's fine; but I'm rather stuck on antiquities. I've seen plenty oflast year's palaces on the other side. Have a drink, will you, whentime's up?"

  The policeman glanced surreptitiously at the half-crown which Spencerinsinuated into his palm, and looked after the donor as he went backto the hotel.

  "Well, I'm jiggered!" he said to himself. "I've often heard tell ofthe way some Americans see London; but I never came across a chap whorushed up in his bare head and took a squint at any place in thatfashion. He seemed to have his wits about him too; but there must be ascrew loose somewhere."

  And indeed Charles K. Spencer, had he paused to take stock of hisbehavior, must have admitted that it was, to say the least, erratic.But his imagination was fired; his sympathies were all a-quiver withthe thought that it lay within his power to share with a kin soul somesmall part of the good fortune that had fallen to his lot of late.

  "Wants a fairy godmother, does she?" he asked himself, and the quiethumor that gleamed in his face caused more than one passerby to turnand watch him as he strode along the pavement. "Well, I guess I'llplay a character not hitherto heard of in the legitimate drama. Whatprice the fairy godfather? I've a picture of myself in that role. Oh,my! See me twirl that wand! Helen, you shall climb those rocks. But Idon't like your friend. I sha'n't send you to Champery. No--Champery'soff the map for you."