The Mask: A Story of Love and Adventure
This sudden meeting with the very man who had been uppermost in his
thoughts was surprising enough, and instantly he, also, was struck with
the extraordinary resemblance between them.
"Who the devil are you?" he demanded in surly tones.
Thus rudely aroused to the reality, and seeing that it was really a
creature of flesh and blood he had to deal with and not a creature of
another world, Kenneth answered haughtily:
"I'm not accustomed to being addressed in that manner."
Handsome laughed mockingly. With affected politeness he retorted:
"Your lordship's servant! What is his lordship's pleasure?"
Kenneth did not hear the taunting reply or heed the sneer. He was
still staring at this counterpart of himself, this very image yet who
was not himself, but a human derelict, a wretched, sodden outcast. All
at once, an overwhelming, horrible suggestion rushed across his brain.
Could it be, was it--his long lost twin brother? Almost gasping, he
demanded:
"Who are you?"
Handsome chuckled.
"I don't know."
"What is your name?"
The man chuckled.
"They call me Handsome. That's because I'm a good looker. I have had
a good many other names, but I've forgotten what they are. The police
know. It's all in the records."
"My God--a police record!"
"What of it?" Bitterly he added: "We can't all be fine gentlemen and
millionaires."
"Where are you from?"
"Nowhere."
"Who were your parents?"
"Never had any that I know of."
Kenneth started forward and, seizing the man's left hand, closely
examined it. Yes, there was the scar on the index finger of the left
hand. No further doubt was possible. This was his brother. Handsome,
meantime, had been watching the other's agitation with mingled interest
and amusement.
Hoarsely, Kenneth cried:
"Where have you been all these years?"
Handsome stared as if he thought his interlocutor had gone crazy.
Almost angrily he retorted:
"What d----d business is it of yours?"
Paying no heed to the miner's offensive attitude, and anxious only to
learn something of his history, Kenneth approached him and held out his
hand.
"I wish to be your friend."
Handsome drew back suspiciously. Always associated with evil himself,
he looked for only evil from others. Bitterly he retorted:
"My friend--what do your kind care for poor devils like me?"
For answer, Kenneth removed his helmet, suddenly revealing the solitary
lock of white hair. Handsome fell back in surprise. For the first
time he realized the extraordinary resemblance. He had noticed a
marked likeness before, but now the diamond promoter's helmet was off,
it was positively startling. Hoarsely he exclaimed:
"The devil! Who are you? You look just like----"
Kenneth looked at him keenly for a moment. Then he said calmly:
"Yes--I look just like you. No wonder. You are--my brother!"
"Your brother?"
"Yes--my brother. We are twins. You were kidnapped by gypsies
thirty-two years ago. Our old nurse told me the story for the first
time the day before I sailed from New York. She also told me about
that scar on your hand. You cut it badly when you were a year old and
the scar has remained ever since. Everybody believed you dead. Where
have you been all these years?"
Handsome made no answer but fell back a few steps, and passed his hand
over his brow as if bewildered. This astonishing revelation had been
made so suddenly that it had left him dazed. A wild, improbable tale,
it seemed, yet perhaps there was some truth in it. He had never known
who his parents were and it had always seemed to him that he came of
better stock than those with whom he associated. Then again, there was
the ridiculous likeness. One had only to look at them both--it was the
same face.
Slowly, gradually, as he looked more closely at Kenneth the conviction
grew stronger that this, indeed, was his brother, his own flesh and
blood, yet it aroused within him no emotion and left him entirely cold.
No impulse seized him to throw himself into this man's arms and embrace
him. His heart was steeled against the world. Human affection and
sympathy had dried up in his breast years ago. What he saw was not a
kinsman, a brother, but a man who had succeeded in life where he had
failed, a man who was rich and happy while he was poor and miserable, a
man who had everything while he had nothing. And if the tale were
true, if indeed, he were this rich man's brother, it only made matters
worse, for he had been robbed of his rightful inheritance. This rich
man was enjoying wealth half of which rightfully belonged to him.
Again Kenneth demanded:
"Where have you been all these years?"
"Here, there, everywhere," was the sullen answer. "London, Paris,
Brussels, Vienna, New York, Boston, Chicago, Havana, Buenos Ayres. I
know them all and they know me--perhaps too well. My earliest
recollection is of the Italian quarter in New York, a long narrow
always dirty street, bordered on either side by dilapidated greasy
tenements, ricketty fire escapes filled with biddy and garbage. Pietro
lived there and kept his organ in the basement cellar. When Pietro
went out with the organ he took me along to excite sympathy. Until I
was fifteen years old I begged to support Pietro. One day he beat me
and I ran away and shipped as cabin boy on a sailing vessel bound for
Liverpool. I reached London and found employment as stable boy at
Ascot. There I learned the fatal fascination of gambling. With what I
saved from my wages I bet on the horses. I won and won again. I went
back to London and frequented the gambling houses. I won, always won.
One day there was a row. Someone complained I had cheated. The police
arrested me. When I left jail I went to the continent and began
gambling again. I have gambled ever since." Pointing in the direction
of the mines he added bitterly:
"That was my last gamble and I lost. That's all I have to tell."
Kenneth listened with keen interest. When the other stopped speaking
he asked:
"And now--what will you do?"
Handsome shrugged his shoulders and made no answer. Kenneth went on:
"You can't keep up the old life--that is impossible. You owe something
to the blood that's running in your veins. There is only one thing for
you to do. You must break off with the past for good, and come home
with me. Are you known in New York?"
Handsome shook his head.
"No, I never returned there since I was a child."
"Your operations in America were confined to San Francisco, Chicago and
St. Louis----"
"Yes."
Kenneth breathed more freely.
"That makes matters easier. No one in New York, therefore, has
anything against you. There it will be possible to live down your
past. You will cease being an outcast, a wanderer on the face of the
earth. You will take the place in society for which Nature intended
you."
Handsome smiled cynically. Grimly he replied:
"I guess Nature never expected much of me."
"You never can tell," said Kenneth quickly. "Your environments no
doubt were responsible for your downfall. You have been a victim of
circumstances."
Handsome was silent. This free roving life had come second nature to
him. He looked with suspicion on any other. After a pause, he asked:
"What can I do in New York?"
"I will dress and house you like a gentleman. For a time you can make
your home with us. If we find we can't agree, well--we'll part. I
will find you employment----"
Handsome laughed. Mockingly he said:
"Then I am to be dependent on you----"
"No--not on me----. On your own efforts. There is no reason why, if
given a chance, you will not make a success in the world. You are
still young and energetic. I will give you a start in any line you
wish to enter. I will make you a present of $10,000. It should be
enough capital to start in any business."
Handsome shrugged his shoulders.
"Charity?" he exclaimed.
"No--not charity--brotherly affection."
His brother laughed mockingly. Bitterly he exclaimed:
"Maybe it's conscience money."
"What do you mean?"
"You inherited from our father, didn't you?"
"Yes--but I've increased it a hundred-fold by my own efforts."
"How much did he leave you?"
"Twenty thousand dollars."
"Why didn't he leave me some?"
"He believed you dead. The sum I offer you is the sum you would have
inherited from our father had he known you were living. Do you accept?"
Handsome was silent. His brain was working fast. What this man
offered him was the merest pittance. Put out at interest, it would
give him the princely income of $10 a week. What did he care for the
good opinion of the world? He had knocked about so long, roughing it
everywhere, that he might as well end as he had begun--an adventurer.
Suddenly there flashed across his brain a wild, audacious idea--a
scheme so fantastic, so fraught with adventure and peril that the very
thought gave him a thrill. It involved violence, possibly a crime.
Well, what of it? He was not the kind to be deterred by trifles. This
man was nothing to him. Brotherly love, family ties--these were simply
phrases to one who had never known them. He knew and obeyed only one
instinct--the fight for life, the survival of the fittest. Society had
waged war on him; he would be merciless in his war on society. This
man--this alleged brother, threw him a sop, insulted him by offering
him charity. Why should he hesitate? It was his life or another's.
There was a big prize to be won. Life was sweet when one has millions
to enjoy it with. This man had now on his person diamonds worth over a
million and he had more millions at home. Suppose something happened
to this man here in South Africa and he went home in his stead to take
his place in his household and enjoy his millions? Who would know the
difference?
Impatient at the other's silence Kenneth demanded somewhat sharply:
"Well--what do you say? Do you accept?"
He looked straight at his _vis-a-vis_, but Handsome avoided his direct
gaze. He was silent for another moment as if reflecting. Then,
slowly, he said:
"Yes, I accept."
CHAPTER IX
The string orchestra, adroitly concealed behind a bank of graceful
exotic plants, struck up a languorous waltz, and the couples, only too
eager to respond to the invitation, began to turn and glide over the
polished parquet floor.
Not since its master's departure for South Africa had the Traynor
residence been the scene of so much life and gayety. Every window
literally blazed with light. From the front door at the top of the
high stoop down to the edge of the street curb, stretched a canvas
awning to protect arriving guests from the inclemency of the weather.
It was a stormy night. The rain was falling in torrents, but no one
cared. Everybody was out for a good time and they knew that this was
the house to get it.
Helen's first impulse had been to postpone the affair, held really in
celebration of Ray's birthday, until Kenneth's return, but as this idea
had met with decided opposition from the younger element, she had
reluctantly given way. Besides, there was no knowing when Kenneth
would return. Nothing as yet had been heard from him excepting a brief
cablegram announcing his safe arrival at Cape Town, and it was
manifestly unfair to let her own inclinations stand in the way of the
happiness of others. So, after due reflection, she had surrendered
completely, giving Ray _carte blanche_ to make what arrangements she
chose. That young person did not stand on the order of going. She
acted at once and sent out invitations to what proved to be one of the
biggest _soirees dansantes_ of the season. Everything was done on a