by Louis Tracy
CHAPTER VII
SOME SKIRMISHING
Later, the American saw the two sitting in the hall. They werechatting with the freedom of old friends. Helen's animated face showedthat the subject of their talk was deeply interesting. She was tellingBower of the slights inflicted on her by the other women; but Spencerinterpreted her intent manner as supplying sufficient proof of astronger emotion than mere friendliness. He was beginning to detestBower.
It was his habit to decide quickly when two ways opened before him.He soon settled his course now. To remain in the hotel under presentconditions involved a loss of self respect, he thought. He went to thebureau, asked for his account, and ordered a carriage to St. Moritzfor the morrow's fast train to England.
The manager was politely regretful. "You are leaving us at the wrongtime, sir," he said. "Within the next few days we ought to have amidsummer storm, when even the lower hills will be covered with snow.Then, we usually enjoy a long spell of magnificent weather."
"Sorry," said Spencer. "I like the scramble up there," and he noddedin the direction of the Bernina range, "and old Stampa is a gem of aguide; but I can hardly put off any longer some business that needsattention in England. Anyhow, I shall come back, perhaps next month.Stampa says it is all right here in September."
"Our best month, I assure you, and the ideal time to drop down intoItaly when you are tired of the mountains."
"I must let it go at that. I intend to fix Stampa so that he canremain here till the end of the season. So you see I mean to return."
"He was very fortunate in meeting you, Mr. Spencer," said the managerwarmly.
"Well, it is time he had a slice of luck. I've taken a fancy to theold fellow. One night, in the Forno hut, he told me something of hisstory. I guess it will please him to stop at the Maloja for awhile."
"He told you about his daughter?" came the tentative question.
"Not all. I am afraid there was no difficulty in filling in theblanks. I heard enough to make me respect him and sympathize with histroubles."
The manager shook his head, with the air of one who recalls thatwhich he would willingly have forgotten. "Such incidents are rarein Switzerland," he said. "I well remember the sensation her deathcreated. She was such a pretty girl. The young men at Pontresinacalled her 'The Edelweiss' because she was so inaccessible. In fact,poor Stampa had educated her beyond her station, and that is notalways good for a woman, especially in these quiet valleys, whereknowledge of cattle and garden produce is a better asset than speakingFrench and playing the piano."
Spencer agreed. He could name other districts where the same rule heldgood. He stood for a moment in the spacious hall to light a cigar.Involuntarily he glanced at Helen. She met his gaze, and saidsomething to Bower that caused the latter also to turn and look.
"She has read Mackenzie's letter," thought Spencer, taking refugebehind a cloud of smoke. "It will be bad behavior on my part to leavethe hotel without making my bow. Shall I go to her now, or wait tillmorning?"
He reflected that Helen might be out early next day. If he presentedhis introduction at once, she would probably ask him to sit with her alittle while, and then he must become acquainted with Bower. Hedisliked the notion; but he saw no way out of it, unless indeed Helentreated him with the chilling abruptness she meted out to other men inthe hotel who tried to become friendly with her. He was weighing thepros and cons dispassionately, when the English chaplain approached.
"Do you play bridge, Mr. Spencer?" he asked.
"I know the leads, and call 'without' on the least provocation," wasthe reply.
"You are the very man I am searching for, and I have the authority ofthe First Book of Samuel in my quest."
"Well, now, that is the last place in which I should expect to find mybridge portrait."
"Don't you remember how Saul's servants asked his permission to 'seekout a man who is a cunning player'? That is exactly what I am doing.Come to the smoking room. There are two other men there, and one is afellow countryman of yours."
The Rev. Mr. Hare was a genial soul, a Somersetshire vicar who tookhis annual holiday by accepting a temporary position in some Alpinevillage where there was an English church. He did not dream that hewas acting the part of Hermes, messenger of the gods, at that moment,for indeed his appearance on the scene just then changed the wholetrend of Spencer's actions.
"What a delightful place this is!" he went on as they walked togetherthrough a long corridor. "But what is the matter with the people? Theydon't mix. I would not have believed that there were so many prigs inthe British Isles."
Some such candid opinion had occurred to Spencer; but, being anAmerican, he thought that perhaps he might be mistaken. "The Englishcharacter is somewhat adaptable to environment, I have heard. That iswhy you send out such excellent colonists," he said.
"Doesn't that go rather to prove that everybody here should be hailfellow well met?"
"Not at all. They take their pose from the Alps,--snow, glaciers, hardrock, you know,--that is the subtlety of it."
The vicar laughed. "You have given me a new point of view," he said."Some of them are slippery customers too. Yes, one might carry theparallel a long way. But here we are. Now, mind you cut me as apartner. I have tried the others, and found them severely critical--asbridge players. You look a stoic."
The vicar had his wish. Spencer and he opposed a man from Pittsburg,named Holt, and Dunston, an Englishman.
While the latter was shuffling the cards for Hare's deal he saidsomething that took one, at least, of his hearers by surprise. "Bowerhas turned up, I see. What has brought him to the Engadine at thistime of year I can't guess, unless perhaps he is interested in apretty face."
"At this time of the year," repeated Spencer. "Isn't this the season?"
"Not for him. He used to be a famous climber; but he has given it upsince he waxed fat and prosperous. I have met him once or twice atSt. Moritz in the winter. Otherwise, he usually shows up in thefashionable resorts in August,--Ostend, or Trouville, or, if he islivery, Vichy or Aix-les-Bains,--anywhere but this quiet spot.Bower likes excitement too. He often opens a thousand pound bank atbaccarat, whereas people are shocked in Maloja at seeing Hare playbridge at tenpence a hundred."
"I leave it, partner," broke in the vicar, to whom the game was thething.
"No trumps," said Spencer, without giving the least heed to his cards.It was true his eyes were resting on the ace, king, and queen ofspades; but his mind was tortured by the belief that by his fantasticconceit in sending Helen to this Alpine fastness he had delivered herbound to the vultures.
"Double no trumps," said Dunston, gloating over the possession of along suit of hearts and three aces. Hare looked anxious, and Spencersuddenly awoke to the situation.
"Satisfied," he said.
Holt led the three of hearts, and Spencer spread his cards on thetable with the gravity of a Sioux chief. In addition to the three highspades he held six others.
"Really!" gasped the parson, "a most remarkable declaration!"
Yet there was an agitated triumph in his voice that was not pleasanthearing for Dunston, who took the trick with the ace of hearts andled the lowest of a sequence to the queen.
"Got him!" panted Hare, producing the king.
The rest was easy. The vicar played a small spade and scoredninety-six points without any further risk.
"It is magnificent; but it is not bridge," said the man fromPittsburg. Dunston simply glowered.
"Partner," demanded Hare timidly, "may I ask why you called 'notrumps' on a hand like that?"
"Thought I would give you a chance of distinguishing yourself,"replied Spencer. "Besides, that sort of thing rattles your opponentsat the beginning of a game. Keep your nerve now, _padre_, and you have'em in a cleft stick."
As it happened, Holt made a "no trump" declaration on a very stronghand; but Spencer held seven clubs headed by the ace and king.
He doubled. Holt redoubled. Spencer doubled again.
Har
e flushed somewhat. "Allow me to say that I am very fond of bridge;but I cannot take part in a game that savors of gambling, even for lowstakes," he broke in.
"Shall we let her go at forty-eight points a trick?" Spencer asked.
"Yep!" snapped Holt. "Got all the clubs?"
"Not all--sufficient, perhaps."
He played the ace. Dunston laid the queen and knave on the table.Spencer scored the winning trick before his adversary obtained anopening.
"You have a backbone of cast steel," commented Dunston, who was aniron-master. "Do you play baccarat?" he went on, with curiouseagerness.
"I regret to state that my education was completed in a Western miningcamp."
"Will you excuse the liberty, and perhaps Mr. Hare won't listen for amoment?--but I will finance you in three banks of a thousand each,either banking or punting, if you promise to take on Bower. I canarrange it easily. I say this because you personally may not care toplay for high sums."
The suggestion was astounding, coming as it did from a stranger; butSpencer merely said:
"You don't like Bower, then?"
"That is so. I have business relations with him occasionally, andthere he is all that could be wished. But I have seen him clean outmore than one youngster ruthlessly,--force the play to too highstakes, I mean. I think you could take his measure. Anyhow, I amprepared to back you."
"I'm leaving here to-morrow."
"Ah, well, we may have another opportunity. If so, my offer holds."
"Guess you haven't heard that Spencer is the man who bored a tunnelthrough the Rocky Mountains?" said Holt.
"No. You must tell me about it. Sorry, Mr. Hare, I am stopping thegame."
Spencer continued to have amazing good fortune, and he played withskill, but without any more fireworks. At the close of the sitting thevicar said cheerfully:
"You are not a ladies' man, Mr. Spencer. You know the oldproverb,--lucky at cards, unlucky in love? But let me hope that itdoes not apply in your case."
"Talking about a ladies' man, who is the girl your friend Bower dinedwith?" asked Holt. "She has been in the hotel several days; but shedidn't seem to be acquainted with anybody in particular until he blewin this afternoon."
"She is a Miss Helen Wynton," said the vicar. "I like her very muchfrom what little I have seen of her. She attended both services onSunday, and I happen to be aware of the fact that she was at mass inthe Roman church earlier. I wanted her to play the harmonium nextSunday; but she declined, and gave me her reasons too."
"May I ask what they were?" inquired Spencer.
"Well, speaking in confidence, they were grievously true. Somemiserable pandering to Mrs. Grundy has set the other women againsther; so she declined to thrust herself into prominence. I tried totalk her out of it, but failed."
"Who is Mrs. Grundy, anyhow?" growled Holt.
The others laughed.
"She is the Medusa of modern life," explained the vicar. "She turns tostone those who gaze on her. Most certainly she petrifies all goodfeeling and Christian tolerance. Why, I actually heard a woman whoseconduct is not usually governed by what I hold to be good taste sneerat Miss Wynton this evening. 'The murder is out now,' she said.'Bower's presence explains everything.' Yet I am able to state thatMiss Wynton was quite unprepared for his arrival. By chance I wasstanding on the steps when he drove up to the hotel, and it wasperfectly clear from the words they used that neither was aware thatthe other was in Maloja."
Spencer leaned over toward the iron-master. "Tell you what," he said;"I've changed my mind about the trip to England to-morrow. Get up thatgame with Bower. I'll stand the racket myself unless you want to gohalf shares."
"Done! I should like to have an interest in it. Not that I am piningfor Bower's money, and it may be that he will win ours; but I am keenon giving him a sharp run. At Nice last January not a soul in theCasino would go Banco when he opened a big bank. They were afraid ofhim."
While he was speaking, Dunston's shrewd eyes dwelt on the youngerman's unmoved face. He wondered what had caused this sudden veering ofpurpose. It was certainly not the allurement of heavy gambling, forSpencer had declined the proposal as coolly as he now accepted it.Being a man of the world, he thought he could peer beneath the mask.To satisfy himself, he harked back to the personal topic.
"By the way, does anyone know who Miss Wynton is?" he said. "Thatinveterate gossip, Mrs. Vavasour, who can vouch for every name in theRed Book, says she is a lady journalist."
"That, at any rate, is correct," said the vicar. "In fact, Miss Wyntonherself told me so."
"Jolly fine girl, whatever she is. To give Bower his due, he hasalways been a person of taste."
"I have reason to believe," said Spencer, "that Miss Wynton'sacquaintance with Mr. Bower is of the slightest."
His words were slow and clear. Dunston, sure now that his guess wasfairly accurate, hastened to efface an unpleasant impression.
"Of course, I only meant that if Bower is seen talking to any woman,it may be taken for granted that she is a pretty one," he explained."But who's for a drink? Perhaps we shall meet our expected opponent inthe bar, Mr. Spencer."
"I have some letters to write. Fix that game for to-morrow or nextday, and I'll be on hand."
Dunston and Holt paid the few shillings they owed, and went out.
Hare did not move. He looked anxious, almost annoyed. "It isexceedingly ridiculous how circumstances pass beyond a man's controloccasionally," he protested. "Am I right in assuming that until thisevening neither Bower nor Dunston was known to you, Mr. Spencer?"
"Absolutely correct, vicar. I have never yet spoken to Bower, and youheard all that passed between Dunston and myself."
"Then my harmless invitation to you to join in a game at cards has leddirectly to an arrangement for play at absurdly high figures?"
"It seems to me, Mr. Hare, that Bower's tracks and mine are destinedto cross in more ways than one in the near future," said Spencercoolly.
But the vicar was not to be switched away from the new thought thatwas troubling him. "I will not ask what you mean," he said, gazingsteadfastly at the American. "My chief concern is the outcome of myshare in this evening's pleasant amusement. I cannot shut my ears tothe fact that you have planned the loss or gain of some thousands ofpounds on the turn of a card at baccarat."
"If it is disagreeable to you----"
"How can it be otherwise? I am a broad-minded man, and I see no harmwhatever in playing bridge for pennies; but I am more pained than Icare to confess at the prospect of such a sequel to our friendlymeeting to-night. If this thing happens,--if a small fortune is won orlost merely to gratify Dunston's whim,--I assure you that I shallnever touch a card again as long as I live."
Then Spencer laughed. "That would be too bad, Mr. Hare," he cried."Make your mind easy. The game is off. Count on me for the tenpence ahundred limit after dinner to-morrow."
"Now, that is quite good and kind of you. Dunston made me verymiserable by his mad proposition. Of course, both he and Bower arerich men, men to whom a few thousand pounds are of little importance;or, to be accurate, they profess not to care whether they win or lose,though their wealth is not squandered so heedlessly when it is wantedfor some really deserving object. But perhaps that is uncharitable. Myonly wish is to thank you from the bottom of my heart for yourgenerous promise."
"Is Bower so very rich then? Have you met him before?"
"He is a reputed millionaire. I read of him in the newspapers attimes. In my small country parish such financial luminaries twinklefrom a far sky. It is true he is a recent light. He made a great dealof money in copper, I believe."
"What kind of character do you give him,--good, bad, or indifferent?"
Hare's benevolent features showed the astonishment that thrilled himat this blunt question. "I hardly know what to say----" he stammered.
Spencer liked this cheery vicar and resolved to trust him. "Let meexplain," he said. "You and I agree in thinking that Miss Wynton is anuncommonly nice girl. I
am not on her visiting list at present, so myjudgment is altruistic. Suppose she was your daughter or niece, wouldyou care to see her left to that man's mercies?"
The clergyman fidgeted a little before he answered. Spencer was astranger to him, yet he felt drawn toward him. The strong, clear cutface won confidence. "If it was the will of Heaven, I would sooner seeher in the grave," he said, with solemn candor.
Spencer rose. He held out his hand. "I guess it's growing late," hecried, "and our talk has swung round to a serious point. Sleep well,Mr. Hare. That game is dead off."
As he passed the bar he heard Bower's smooth, well rounded accentsthrough the half-open door. "Nothing I should like better," he wassaying. "Are you tired? If not, bring your friend to my rooms now.Although I have been in the train all night, I am fit as a fiddle."
"Let me see. I left him in the smoking room with our _padre_----"
It was Dunston who spoke; but Bower broke in:
"Oh, keep the clergy out of it! They make such a song about thesethings if they hear of them."
"I was going to say that if he is not there he will be in his room. Heis two doors from me, No. 61, I think. Shall I fetch him?"
"Do, by all means. By Jove! I didn't expect to get any decent playhere!"
Spencer slipped into a small vestibule where he had left a hat andovercoat. He remained there till Dunston crossed the hall and enteredthe elevator. Then he went out, meaning to stroll and smoke in themoonlight for an hour. It would be easier to back out of the promisedgame in the morning than at that moment. Moreover, in the clear, stillair he could plan a course of action, the need of which was becominginsistent.
He was blessed, or cursed, with a stubborn will, and he knew it.Hitherto, it had been exercised on a theory wrapped in hard granite,and the granite had yielded, justifying the theory. Now he was broughtface to face with a woman's temperament, and his experience of thatelusive and complex mixture of attributes was of the slightest.Attractive young women in Colorado are plentiful as cranberries; butnever one of them had withdrawn his mind's eye from his work. Why,then, was he so ready now to devote his energies to the safeguardingof Helen Wynton? It was absurd to pretend that he was responsible forher future well-being because of the whim that sent her on a holiday.She was well able to take care of herself. She had earned her ownliving before he met her; she had risen imperiously above the pettymalice displayed by some of the residents in the hotel; there was areasonable probability that she might become the wife of a man highlyplaced and wealthy. Every consideration told in favor of a policy ofnon-interference. The smoking of an inch of good cigar placed thematter in such a convincing light that Spencer was half resolved toabide by his earlier decision and leave Maloja next morning.
But the other half, made up of inclination, pleaded against all theurging of expediency. He deemed the vicar an honest man, and thatstout-hearted phrase of his stuck. Yet, whether he went or stayed, theultimate solution of the problem lay with Helen herself. Once onspeaking terms with her, he could form a more decided view. It waswonderful how one's estimate of a man or woman could be modified inthe course of a few minutes' conversation. Well, he would settlethings that way, and meanwhile enjoy the beauty of a wondrous night.
A full moon was flooding the landscape with a brilliance not surpassedin the crystal atmosphere of Denver. The snow capped summit of theCima di Rosso was fit to be a peak in Olympus, a silver throned heightwhere the gods sat in council. The brooding pines perched on thehillside beyond the Orlegna looked like a company of gigantic birdswith folded wings. From the road leading to the village he could hearthe torrent itself singing its mad song of freedom after escaping fromthe icy caverns of the Forno glacier. Quite near, on the right, thetiny cascade that marks the first seaward flight of the Inn mingledits sweet melody with the orchestral thunder of the more distantcataracts plunging down the precipices toward Italy. It was a nightwhen one might listen to the music of the spheres, and Spencer wassuddenly jarred into unpleasant consciousness of his surroundings bythe raucous voices of some peasants bawling a Romansch ballad in awayside wine house.
Turning sharply on his heel, he took the road by the lake. There atleast he would find peace from the strenuous amours of Margharita astrolled by the revelers. He had not gone three hundred yards before hesaw a woman standing near the low wall that guarded the embankedhighway from the water. She was looking at the dark mirror of thelake, and seemed to be identifying the stars reflected in it. Three orfour times, as he approached, she tilted her head back and gazed atthe sky. The skirt of a white dress was visible below a heavy ulster;a knitted shawl was wrapped loosely over her hair and neck, and theends were draped deftly across her shoulders; but before she turned tosee who was coming along the road Spencer had recognized her. Thus, ina sense, he was a trifle the more prepared of the two for thisunforeseen meeting, and he hailed it as supplying the answer to hisdoubts.
"Now," said he to himself, "I shall know in ten seconds whether or notI travel west by north to-morrow."
Helen did not avert her glance instantly. Nor did she at once resume astroll evidently interrupted to take in deep breaths of the beauty ofthe scene. That was encouraging to the American,--she expected him tospeak to her.
He halted in the middle of the road. If he was mistaken, he did notwish to alarm her. "If you will pardon the somewhat unorthodox timeand place, I should like to make myself known to you, Miss Wynton," hesaid, lifting his cap.
"You are Mr. Spencer?" she answered, with a frank smile.
"Yes, I have a letter of introduction from Mr. Mackenzie."
"So have I. What do we do next? Exchange letters? Mine is in thehotel."
"Suppose we just shake?"
"Well, that is certainly the most direct way."
Their hands met. They were both aware of a whiff of nervousness. Forsome reason, the commonplace greetings of politeness fell awkwardlyfrom their lips. In such a predicament a woman may always be trustedto find the way out.
"It is rather absurd that we should be saying how pleased we are thatMr. Mackenzie thought of writing those letters, while in reality I amhorribly conscious that I ought not to be here at all, and you areprobably thinking that I am quite an amazing person," and Helenlaughed light heartedly.
"That is part of my thought," said Spencer.
"Won't you tell me the remainder?"
"May I?"
"Please do. I am in chastened mood."
"I wish I was skilled in the trick of words, then I might saysomething real cute. As it is, I can only supply a sort of condensedstatement,--something about a nymph, a moonlit lake, the spirit of theglen,--nice catchy phrases every one,--with a line thrown in fromShelley about an 'orbed maiden with white fire laden.' Let me go backa hundred yards, Miss Wynton, and I shall return with the whole thingin order."
"With such material I believe you would bring me a sonnet."
"No. I hail from the wild and woolly West, where life itself is apoem; so I stick to prose. There is a queer sort of kink in humannature to account for that."
"On the principle that a Londoner never hears the roar of London, Isuppose?"
"Exactly. An old lady I know once came across a remarkable instance ofit. She watched a ship-wreck, the real article, with all the scenicaccessories, and when a half drowned sailor was dragged ashore sheasked him how he felt at that awful moment. And what do you think hesaid?"
"Very wet," laughed Helen.
"No, that is the other story. This man said he was very dry."
"Ah, the one step from the sublime to the ridiculous, which reminds methat if I remain here much longer talking nonsense I shall lose thegood opinion I am sure you have formed of me from Mr. Mackenzie'sletter. Why, it must be after eleven o'clock! Are you going anyfarther, or will you walk with me to the hotel?"
"If you will allow me----"
"Indeed, I shall be very glad of your company. I came out to escape myown thoughts. Did you ever meet such an unsociable lot of people asour fellow boarders, Mr. Spencer
? If it was not for my work, and thefact that I have taken my room for a month, I should hie me forthwithto the beaten track of the vulgar but good natured tourist."
"Why not go? Let me help you to-morrow to map out a tour. Then I shallknow precisely where to waylay you, for I feel the chill here too."
"I wish I could fall in with the first part of your proposal, thoughthe second rather suggests that you regard Mr. Mackenzie's letter ofintroduction as a letter of marque."
"At any rate, I am an avowed pirate," he could not help retorting."But to keep strictly to business, why not quit if you feel likewandering?"
"Because I was sent here, on a journalistic mission which I understandless now than when I received it in London. Of course, I am delightedwith the place. It is the people I--kick at? Is that a quite properAmericanism?"
"It seems to fit the present case like a glove, or may I say, like ashoe?"
"Now you are laughing at me, inwardly of course, and I agree with you.Ladies should not use slang, nor should they promenade alone in Swissvalleys by moonlight. My excuse is that I did not feel sleepy, andthe moon tempted me. Good night."
They were yet some little distance from the hotel, and Spencer was ata loss to account for this sudden dismissal. She saw the look ofbewilderment in his face.
"I have found a back stairs door," she explained, with a smile. "Ireally don't think I should have dared to come out at half-past ten ifI had to pass the Gorgons in the foyer."
She flitted away by a side path, leaving Spencer more convinced thanever that he had blundered egregiously in dragging this sedate andcharming girl from the quiet round of existence in London to theartificial life of the Kursaal. Some feeling of unrest had driven herforth to commune with the stars. Was she asking herself why she wasdenied the luxuries showered on the doll-like creatures whosemalicious tongues were busy the instant Bower set foot in the hotel?It would be an ill outcome of his innocent subterfuge if she returnedto England discontented and rebellious. She was in "chastened mood,"she had said. He wondered why? Had Bower been too confident,--too sureof his prey to guard his tongue? Of all the unlooked for developmentsthat could possibly be bound up with the harmless piece of midsummermadness that sent Helen Wynton to Switzerland, surely this roue'spresence was the most irritating and perplexing.
Then from the road came another stanza from the wine bibbers, nowhomeward bound. They were still howling about Margharita in longsustained cadences. And Spencer knew his Faust. It was to the moonthat the lovesick maiden confided her dreams, and Mephisto was at handto jog the elbow of his bewitched philosopher at exactly the rightmoment.
Spencer threw his cigar into the gurgling rivulet of the Inn. Hecondemned Switzerland, and the Upper Engadine, and the very greatmajority of the guests in the Kursaal, in one emphatic malediction,and went to his room, hoping to sleep, but actually to lie awake forhours and puzzle his brains in vain effort to evolve a satisfyingsequel to the queer combination of events he had set in motion when heran bare headed into the Strand after Bower's motor car.
