by Sax Rohmer
X
THE GREAT UNDERSTANDING
It was in the afternoon of this same day--a day so momentous in thelives of more than one of London's millions--that two travelers mighthave been seen to descend from a first-class compartment of the Doverboat-train at Charing Cross.
They had been the sole occupants of the compartment, and, despite thewide dissimilarity of character to be read upon their countenances,seemed to have struck up an acquaintance based upon mutual amiabilityand worldly common sense. The traveler first to descend and gallantly tooffer his hand to his companion in order to assist her to the platform,was the one whom a casual observer would first have noted.
He was a man built largely, but on good lines; a man past his youth, andsomewhat too fleshy; but for all his bulk, there was nothing unwieldy,and nothing ungraceful in his bearing or carriage. He wore a Frenchtraveling-coat, conceived in a style violently Parisian, and composed ofa wonderful check calculated to have blinded any cutter in Savile Row.From beneath its gorgeous folds protruded the extremities of severelycreased cashmere trousers, turned up over white spats which nestledcoyly about a pair of glossy black boots. The traveler's hat was ofvelour, silver gray and boasting a partridge feather thrust in itssilken band. One glimpse of the outfit must have brought the entirestaff of the Tailor and Cutter to an untimely grave.
But if ever man was born who could carry such a make-up, thistraveler was he. The face was cut on massive lines, on fleshy lines,clean-shaven, and inclined to pallor. The hirsute blue tinge aboutthe jaw and lips helped to accentuate the virile strength of the long,flexible mouth, which could be humorous, which could be sorrowful, whichcould be grim. In the dark eyes of the man lay a wealth of experience,acquired in a lifelong pilgrimage among many peoples, and to many lands.His dark brows were heavily marked, and his close-cut hair was splashedwith gray.
Let us glance at the lady who accepted his white-gloved hand, and whosprang alertly onto the platform beside him.
She was a woman bordering on the forties, with a face of masculinevigor, redeemed and effeminized, by splendid hazel eyes, the kindliestimaginable. Obviously, the lady was one who had never married, whodespised, or affected to despise, members of the other sex, but who hadnever learned to hate them; who had never grown soured, but who foundthe world a garden of heedless children--of children who called formothering. Her athletic figure was clothed in a "sensible" tweedtraveling dress, and she wore a tweed hat pressed well on to her head,and brown boots with the flattest heels conceivable. Add to this aScotch woolen muffler, and a pair of woolen gloves, and you have amental picture of the second traveler--a truly incongruous companion forthe first.
Joining the crowd pouring in the direction of the exit gates, thetwo chatted together animatedly, both speaking English, and the manemploying that language with a perfect ease and command of words whichnevertheless failed to disguise his French nationality. He spoke withan American accent; a phenomenon sometimes observable in one who haslearned his English in Paris.
The irritating formalities which beset the returning traveler--and thelady distinctly was of the readily irritated type--were smoothed away bythe magic personality of her companion. Porters came at the beck of hisgloved hand; guards, catching his eye, saluted and were completely hisservants; ticket inspectors yielded to him the deference ordinarilyreserved for directors of the line.
Outside the station, then, her luggage having been stacked upon a cab,the lady parted from her companion with assurances, which were returned,that she should hope to improve the acquaintance.
The address to which the French gentleman politely requested thecabman to drive, was that of a sound and old-established hotel in theneighborhood of the Strand, and at no great distance from the station.
Then, having stood bareheaded until the cab turned out into the trafficstream of that busy thoroughfare, the first traveler, whose baggageconsisted of a large suitcase, hailed a second cab and drove to theHotel Astoria--the usual objective of Americans.
Taking leave of him for the moment, let us follow the lady.
Her arrangements were very soon made at the hotel, and having removedsome of the travel-stains from her person and partaken of one cup ofChina tea, respecting the quality whereof she delivered herself of somecaustic comments, she walked down into the Strand and mounted to the topof a Victoria bound 'bus.
That she was not intimately acquainted with London, was a fact readilyobservable by her fellow passengers; for as the 'bus went rollingwestward, from the large pocket of her Norfolk jacket she took out aguide-book provided with numerous maps, and began composedly to consultits complexities.
When the conductor came to collect her fare, she had made up her mind,and was replacing the guidebook in her pocket.
"Put me down by the Storis, Victoria Street, conductor," she directed,and handed him a penny--the correct fare.
It chanced that at about the time, within a minute or so, of theAmerican lady's leaving the hotel, and just as red rays, the harbingersof dusk, came creeping in at the latticed widow of her cozy work-room,Helen Cumberly laid down her pen with a sigh. She stood up, mechanicallyrearranging her hair as she did so, and crossed the corridor to herbedroom, the window whereof overlooked the Square.
She peered down into the central garden. A common-looking man sat upona bench, apparently watching the labors of the gardener, which consistedat the moment of the spiking of scraps of paper which disfigured thegreen carpet of the lawn.
Helen returned to her writing-table and reseated herself. Kindlytwilight veiled her, and a chatty sparrow who perched upon thewindow-ledge pretended that he had not noticed two tears which trembled,quivering, upon the girl's lashes. Almost unconsciously, for it was anestablished custom, she sprinkled crumbs from the tea-tray beside herupon the ledge, whilst the tears dropped upon a written page and twomore appeared in turn upon her lashes.
The sparrow supped enthusiastically, being joined in his repast by twotalkative companions. As the last fragments dropped from the girl'swhite fingers, she withdrew her hand, and slowly--very slowly--her headsank down, pillowed upon her arms.
For some five minutes she cried silently; the sparrows, unheeded, badeher good night, and flew to their nests in the trees of the Square.Then, very resolutely, as if inspired by a settled purpose, she stood upand recrossed the corridor to her bedroom.
She turned on the lamp above the dressing-table and rapidly removed thetraces of her tears, contemplating in dismay a redness of her prettynose which did not prove entirely amenable to treatment with thepowder-puff. Finally, however, she switched off the light, and, goingout on to the landing, descended to the door of Henry Leroux's flat.
In reply to her ring, the maid, Ferris, opened the door. She wore herhat and coat, and beside her on the floor stood a tin trunk.
"Why, Ferris!" cried Helen--"are you leaving?"
"I am indeed, miss!" said the girl, independently.
"But why? whatever will Mr. Leroux do?"
"He'll have to do the best he can. Cook's goin' too!"
"What! cook is going?"
"I am!" announced a deep, female voice.
And the cook appeared beside the maid.
"But whatever--" began Helen; then, realizing that she could achieveno good end by such an attitude: "Tell Mr. Leroux," she instructed themaid, quietly, "that I wish to see him."
Ferris glanced rapidly at her companion, as a man appeared on thelanding, to inquire in an abysmal tone, if "them boxes was ready to betook?" Helen Cumberly forestalled an insolent refusal which the cook, byfurtive wink, counseled to the housemaid.
"Don't trouble," she said, with an easy dignity reminiscent of herfather. "I will announce myself."
She passed the servants, crossed the lobby, and rapped upon the studydoor.
"Come in," said the voice of Henry Leroux.
Helen opened the door. The place was in semidarkness, objects being butdimly discernible. Leroux sat in his usual seat at the writing-table.The room was in the utmo
st disorder, evidently having received noattention since its overhauling by the police. Helen pressed the switch,lighting the two lamps.
Leroux, at last, seemed in his proper element: he exhibited an unhealthypallor, and it was obvious that no razor had touched his chin for atleast three days. His dark blue eyes the eyes of a dreamer--were heavyand dull, with shadows pooled below them. A biscuit-jar, a decanter anda syphon stood half buried in papers on the table.
"Why, Mr. Leroux!" said Helen, with a deep note of sympathy in hervoice--"you don't mean to say"...
Leroux rose, forcing a smile to his haggard face.
"You see--much too good," he said. "Altogether--too good."...
"I thought I should find you here," continued the girl, firmly; "butI did not anticipate"--she indicated the chaos about--"this! Theinsolence, the disgraceful, ungrateful insolence, of those women!"
"Dear, dear, dear!" murmured Leroux, waving his hand vaguely; "nevermind--never mind! They--er--they... I don't want them to stop... and,believe me, I am--er--perfectly comfortable!"
"You should not be in--THIS room, at all. In fact, you should go rightaway."...
"I cannot... my wife may--return--at any moment." His voice shook."I--am expecting her return--hourly."...
His gaze sought the table-clock; and he drew his lips very tightlytogether when the pitiless hands forced upon his mind the fact that theday was marching to its end.
Helen turned her head aside, inhaling deeply, and striving forcomposure.
"Garnham shall come down and tidy up for you," she said, quietly; "andyou must dine with us."
The outer door was noisily closed by the departing servants.
"You are much too good," whispered Leroux, again; and the weary eyesglistened with a sudden moisture. "Thank you! Thank you! But--er--Icould not dream of disturbing"...
"Mr. Leroux," said Helen, with all her old firmness--"Garnham is comingdown IMMEDIATELY to put the place in order! And, whilst he is doing so,you are going to prepare yourself for a decent, Christian dinner!"
Henry Leroux rested one hand upon the table, looking down at thecarpet. He had known for a long time, in a vague fashion, that he lackedsomething; that his success--a wholly inartistic one--had yielded himlittle gratification; that the comfort of his home was a purely monetaryproduct and not in any sense atmospheric. He had schooled himself tobelieve that he liked loneliness--loneliness physical and mental, andthat in marrying a pretty, but pleasure-loving girl, he had insured anideal menage. Furthermore, he honestly believed that he worshipedhis wife; and with his present grief at her unaccountable silence wasmingled no atom of reproach.
But latterly he had begun to wonder--in his peculiarly indefinite wayhe had begun to doubt his own philosophy. Was the void in his soul aproduct of thwarted ambition?--for, whilst he slaved, scrupulously, upon"Martin Zeda," he loathed every deed and every word of that Old Man ofthe Sea. Or could it be that his own being--his nature of Adam--lackedsomething which wealth, social position, and Mira, his wife, could notyield to him?
Now, a new tone in the voice of Helen Cumberly--a tone different fromthat compound of good-fellowship and raillery, which he knew--a tonewhich had entered into it when she had exclaimed upon the state of theroom--set his poor, anxious heart thrumming like a lute. He felt a hotflush creeping upon him; his forehead grew damp. He feared to raise hiseyes.
"Is that a bargain?" asked Helen, sweetly.
Henry Leroux found a lump in his throat; but he lifted his untidy headand took the hand which the girl had extended to him. She smiled a bitunnaturally; then every tinge of color faded from her cheeks, and HenryLeroux, unconsciously holding the white hand in a vice-like grip, lookedhungrily into the eyes grown suddenly tragic whilst into his own camethe light of a great and sorrowful understanding.
"God bless you," he said. "I will do anything you wish."
Helen released her hand, turned, and ran from the study. Not until shewas on the landing did she dare to speak. Then:--
"Garnham shall come down immediately. Don't be late for dinner!" shecalled--and there was a hint of laughter and of tears in her voice, ofthe restraint of culture struggling with rebellious womanhood.
