The Red Symbol Read online

  CHAPTER V

  THE MYSTERY THICKENS

  When I regained the bridge I crossed to the further parapet and lookeddown at the river. I could see nothing of the boat; doubtless it hadpassed out of sight behind a string of barges that lay in the tideway.As I watched, the moon was veiled again by the clouds that rolled upfrom the west, heralding a second storm; and in another minute or so afresh deluge had commenced.

  But I scarcely heeded it. I leaned against the parapet staring at thedark, mysterious river and the lights that fringed and spanned it likestrings of blurred jewels, seen mistily through the driving rain.

  I was bareheaded, for the fierce gust of wind that came as harbinger ofthe squall had swept off my hat and whirled it into the water, wheredoubtless it would be carried down-stream, on the swiftly ebbing tide,in the wake of that boat which was hastening--whither? I don't think Iknew at the time that my hat was gone. I have lived through some strangeand terrible experiences; but I have seldom suffered more mental agonythan I did during those few minutes that I stood in the rain onWestminster Bridge.

  I was trembling from head to foot, my soul was sick, my mind distractedby the effort to find any plausible explanation of the scene I had justwitnessed.

  What was this mystery that encompassed the girl I loved; that had closedaround her now? A mystery that I had never even suspected till a fewhours ago, though I had seen Anne every day for this month past,--eversince I first met her.

  But, after all, what did I know of her antecedents? Next to nothing; andthat I had learned mainly from my cousin Mary.

  Now I came to think of it, Anne had told me very little about herself. Iknew that her father, Anthony Pendennis, came of an old family, andpossessed a house and estate in the west of England, which he had let ona long lease. Anne had never seen her ancestral home, for her fatherlived a nomadic existence on the Continent; one which she had shared,since she left the school at Neuilly, where she and Mary first becamefriends.

  I gathered that she and her father were devoted to each other; and thathe had spared her unwillingly for this long-promised visit to her oldschool-fellow. Mary, I knew, would have welcomed Mr. Pendennis also; butby all accounts he was an eccentric person, who preferred to liveanywhere rather than in England, the land of his birth. He and Anne werebirds of passage, who wintered in Italy or Spain or Egypt as the whimseized him; and spent the summer in Switzerland or Tyrol, or elsewhere.In brief they wandered over Europe, north and south, according to theseason; avoiding only the Russian Empire and the British Isles.

  I had never worried my mind with conjectures as to the reason of thisunconventional mode of living. It had seemed to me natural enough, as I,too, was a nomad; a stranger and sojourner in many lands, since I leftthe old homestead in Iowa twelve years ago, to seek my fortune in thegreat world. During these wonderful weeks I had been spellbound, as itwere, by Anne's beauty, her charm. When I was with her I could thinkonly of her; and in the intervals,--well, I still thought of her, andwas dejected or elated as she had been cruel or kind. To me her manycaprices had seemed but the outcome of her youthful light-heartedness;of a certain naive coquetry, that rendered her all the more dear anddesirable; "a rosebud set about with little wilful thorns;" a girl whowould not be easily wooed and won, and, therefore, a girl well worthwinning.

  But now--now--I saw her from a different standpoint; saw her enshroudedin a dark mystery, the clue to which eluded me. Only one belief I clungto with passionate conviction, as a drowning man clings to a straw. Sheloved me. I could not doubt that, remembering the expression of herwistful face as we parted under the portico so short a time ago, thoughit seemed like a lifetime. Had she planned her flight even then,--ifflight it was,--and what else could it be?

  My cogitations terminated abruptly for the moment as a heavy hand waslaid on my shoulder, and a gruff voice said in my ear: "Come, none o'that, now! What are you up to?"

  I turned and faced a burly policeman, whom I knew well. He recognizedme, also, and saluted.

  "Beg pardon; didn't know it was you, sir. Thought it was one of thesehere sooicides, or some one that had had--well, a drop too much."

  He eyed me curiously. I dare say I looked, in my hatless and drenchedcondition, as if I might come under the latter category.

  "It's all right," I answered, forcing a laugh. "I wasn't meditating aplunge in the river. My hat blew off, and when I looked after it I sawsomething that interested me, and stayed to watch."

  It was a lame explanation and not precisely true. He glanced over theparapet in his turn. The rain was abating once more, and the light wasgrowing as the clouds sped onwards. The moon was at full, and would onlyset at dawn.

  "I don't see anything," he remarked. "What was it, sir? Anythingsuspicious?"

  His tone inferred that it must have been something very much out of thecommon to have kept me there in the rain. Having told him so much I wasbound to tell him more.

  "A rowboat, with two or three people in it; going down-stream. That'sunusual at this time of night--or morning--isn't it?"

  He grinned widely.

  "Was that all? It wasn't worth the wetting you've got, sir!"

  "I don't see where the joke comes in," I said.

  "Well, sir, you newspaper gents are always on the lookout formysteries," he asserted, half apologetically. "There's nothing out ofthe way in a boat going up or down-stream at any hour of the day ornight; or if there was the river police would be on its track in ajiffy. They patrol the river same as we walk our beat. It might havebeen one of their boats you saw, or some bargees as had been making anight of it ashore. If I was you, I'd turn in as soon as possible.'Tain't good for any one to stand about in wet clothes."

  We walked the length of the bridge together, and he continued to holdforth loquaciously. We parted, on the best of terms, at the end of hisbeat; and following his advice, I walked rapidly homewards. I waschilled to the bone, and unutterably miserable, but if I stayed out allnight that would not alter the situation.

  The street door swung back under my touch, as I was in the act ofinserting my latch-key in the lock. Some one had left it open, indefiance of the regulations, well known to every tenant of the block. Islammed it with somewhat unnecessary vigor, and the sound went boomingand echoing up the well of the stone staircase, making a horrible din,fit to wake the seven sleepers of Ephesus.

  It did waken the housekeeper's big watch-dog, chained up in thebasement, and he bayed furiously. I leaned over the balustrade andcalled out. He knew my voice, and quieted down at once, but not beforehis master had come out in his pyjamas, yawning and blinking. Poor oldJenkins, his rest was pretty frequently disturbed, for if any one of thebachelor tenants of the upper flats--the lower ones were let out asoffices--forgot his street-door key, or returned in the small hours in acondition that precluded him from manipulating it, Jenkins would be rungup to let him in; and, being one of the best of good sorts, wouldcertainly guide him up the staircase and put him comfortably to bed.

  "I'm right down sorry, Jenkins," I called. "I found the street dooropen, and slammed it without thinking."

  "Open! Well there, who could have left it open, going out or in?" heexclaimed, seeming more perturbed than the occasion warranted. "Musthave been quite a short time back, for it isn't an hour since Caesarbegan barking like he did just now; and he never barks for nothing. Iwent right up the stairs and there was no one there and not a sound.The door was shut fast enough then, for I tried it. It couldn't havebeen Mr. Gray or Mr. Sellars, for they're away week ending, and Mr.Cassavetti came in before twelve. I met him on the stairs as I wasturning the lights down."

  "Perhaps he went out again to post," I suggested. "Good night, Jenkins."

  "Good night, sir. You got caught in the storm, then?" He had just seenhow wet I was, and eyed me curiously, as the policeman had done.

  "Yes, couldn't see a cab and had to come through it. Lost my hat, too;it blew off," I answered over my shoulder, as I ran up the stairs.Lightly clad though he was, Jenkins seemed
inclined to stay gossipingthere till further orders.

  When I got into my flat and switched on the lights, I found I stillheld, crumpled up in my hand, the bit of geranium I had picked up on theriver steps. But for that evidence I might have persuaded myself that Ihad imagined the whole thing. I dropped the crushed petals into thewaste-paper basket, and, as I hastily changed from my wet clothes intopyjamas, I mentally rehearsed the scene over and over again. Could Ihave been misled by a chance resemblance? Impossible. Anne was notmerely a beautiful girl, but a strikingly distinctive personality. I hadrecognized her figure, her gait, as I would have recognized them among athousand; that fleeting glimpse of her face had merely confirmed therecognition. As for her presence in Westminster at a time when sheshould have been at Mrs. Dennis Sutherland's house in Kensington, or athome with the Cayleys in Chelsea, that could be easily accounted for onthe presumption that she had not stayed long at Mrs. Sutherland's. Hadthe Cayleys already discovered her flight? Probably not. Was Cassavetticognizant of it,--concerned with it in any way; and was the incidentof the open door that had so perplexed Jenkins another link in themysterious chain? At any rate, Cassavetti was not the man dressed as asailor; though he might have been the man in the boat.

  The more I brooded over it the more bewildered--distracted--my brainbecame. I tried to dismiss the problem from my mind, "to give it up," infact; and, since sleep was out of the question, to occupy myself withpreparations for the packing that must be done to-morrow--no, to-day,for the dawn had come--if I were to start for Russia on Monday morning.

  But it was no use. I could not concentrate my mind on anything;also, though I'm an abstemious man as a rule, I guess I put away aconsiderable amount of whiskey. Anyhow, I've no recollection of going tobed; but I woke with a splitting headache, and a thirst I wouldn't takefive dollars for, and the first things I saw were a whiskey bottle andsoda syphon--both empty--on the dressing-table.

  As I lay blinking at those silent witnesses--the bottle had been nearlyfull overnight--and trying to remember what had happened, there came aknock at my bedroom door, and Mrs. Jenkins came in with my breakfasttray.

  She was an austere dame, and the glance she cast at that empty whiskeybottle was more significant and accusatory than any words could havebeen; though all she said was: "I knocked before, sir, with your shavingwater, but you didn't hear. It's cold now, but I'll put some freshoutside directly."

  I mumbled meek thanks, and, when she retreated, poured out some tea. Iguessed there were eggs and bacon, the alpha and omega of British ideasof breakfast, under the dish cover; but I did not lift it. My soul--andmy stomach--revolted at the very thought of such fare.

  I had scarcely sipped my tea when I heard the telephone bell ring in theadjoining room. I scrambled up and was at the door when Mrs. Jenkinsannounced severely: "The telephone, Mr. Wynn," and retreated to thelanding.

  "Hello?"

  "Is that Mr. Wynn?" responded a soft, rich, feminine voice that set mypulses tingling. "Oh, it is you, Maurice; I'm so glad. We rang you upfrom Chelsea, but could get no answer. You won't know who it isspeaking; it is I, Anne Pendennis!"