The Silent Barrier
only under your signature?"
"Yes," said Helen, rosy red at her own awkwardness, "that will be very
nice."
The official pushed across the counter some banknotes and sovereigns,
and summoned a commissionaire to usher her into the waiting room till
he had prepared the circular notes. The respite was a blessing. It
gave Helen time to recover her self possession. She opened the packet
and found therein coupons for the journey to and from St. Moritz,
together with a letter from the sleeping car company, from which she
gathered that a berth on the Engadine Express was provisionally
reserved in her name for the following Thursday, but any change to
a later date must be made forthwith, as the holiday pressure was
beginning. It was advisable too, she was reminded, that she should
secure her return berth before leaving London.
Each moment the reality of the tour became more patent. She might
feel herself bewitched; but pounds sterling and railway tickets were
tangible things, and not to be explained away by any fantasy. By the
time her additional wealth was ready she was better fitted to guard
it. She hurried away quite unconscious of the admiring eyes that were
raised from dockets and ledgers behind the grille. She made for the
court in which "The Firefly" had its abode. The squalor of the
passage, the poverty stricken aspect of the stairs,--items which had
prepared her on other occasions for the starvation rate of pay offered
for her work,--now passed unheeded. This affectation of scanty means
was humorous. Obviously, some millionaire had secured what the
newspapers called "a controlling interest" in "The Firefly."
She sought Mackenzie, the editor, and he received her with a manifest
reluctance to waste his precious time over details that was almost as
convincing as the money and vouchers she carried.
"Yes, Thursday will suit admirably," he said in reply to her
breathless questions. "You will reach Maloja on Friday evening, and
if you post the first article that day week it will arrive in good
time for the next number. As for the style and tone, I leave those
considerations entirely to you. So long as the matter is bright and
readable, that is all I want. I put my requirements clearly in my
letter. Follow that, and you cannot make any mistake."
Helen little realized how precise were the instructions given two
hours earlier to the editor, the bank clerk, and the sleeping car
company. Mackenzie's curt acceptance of her mission brought a
wondering cry to her lips.
"I am naturally overjoyed at my selection for this work," she said.
"May I ask how you came to think of me?"
"Oh, it is hard to say how these things are determined," he answered.
"We liked your crisp way of putting dull facts, I suppose, and thought
that a young lady's impressions of life in an Anglo-Swiss summer
community would be fresher and more attractive than a man's. That is
all. I hope you will enjoy your experiences."
"But, please, I want to thank you----"
"Not a word! Business is business, you know. If a thing is worth
doing, it must be done well. Good-by!"
He flattered himself that he could spend another man's money with as
lordly an air as the youngest journalist on Fleet-st. The difficulty
was to find the man with the money, and Mackenzie had given much
thought during the Sabbath to the potentialities that lay behind
Spencer's whim. He was sure the incident would not close with the
publication of Miss Wynton's articles. Judiciously handled, her
unknown benefactor might prove equally beneficial to "The Firefly."
So Helen tripped out into Fleet-st., and turned her pretty face
westward, and looked so eager and happy that it is not surprising if
many a man eyed her as she passed, and many a woman sighed to think
that another woman could find life in this dreary city such a joyous
thing.
A sharp walk through the Strand and across Trafalgar Square did a
good deal toward restoring the poise of her wits. For safety, she had
pinned the envelop containing her paper money and tickets inside her
blouse. The mere presence of the solid little parcel reminded her at
every movement that she was truly bound for the wonderful Engadine,
and, now that the notion was becoming familiar, she was the more
astonished that the choice of "The Firefly" had fallen on her. It was
all very well for Mr. Mackenzie to say that the paper would be
brightened by a woman's views on life in the high Alps. The poor worn
man looked as if such a holiday would have done him a world of good.
But the certain fact remained that there was no room for error. It was
she, Helen Wynton, and none other, for whom the gods had contrived
this miracle. If it had been possible, she would have crossed busy
Cockspur-st. with a hop, skip, and a jump in order to gain the
sleeping car company's premises.
She knew the place well. Many a time had she looked at the attractive
posters in the windows,--those gorgeous fly sheets that told of winter
in summer among the mountains of Switzerland and the Tyrol, and of
summer in winter along the sunlit shores of the Cote d'Azur. She
almost laughed aloud at the thought that possessed her as she waited
for a moment on the curb to allow a press of traffic to pass.
"If my luck holds till Christmas, I may be sent to Monte Carlo," she
said to herself. "And why not? It's the first step that counts, and
'The Firefly,' once fairly embarked on a career of wild extravagance,
may keep it up."
Under the pressure of that further inspiration she refused to wait any
longer, but dodged an omnibus, a motor car, and some hansoms, and
pushed open the swing doors of the Bureau de la Campagnie des
Wagons-Lits. She did not notice that the automobile stopped very
quickly a few yards higher up the street. The occupant, Mark Bower,
alighted, looked at her through the window to make sure he was not
mistaken, and followed her into the building. He addressed some
question to an attendant, and heard Helen say:
"Yes, please. Thursday will suit admirably. I am going straight
through to St. Moritz. I shall call on Wednesday and let you know what
day I wish to return."
If Bower had intended to speak to her, he seemed to change his mind
rather promptly. Helen's back was turned. She was watching a clerk
writing out a voucher for her berth in the sleeping car, and the
office was full of other prospective travelers discussing times and
routes with the officials. Bower thanked his informant for information
which he could have supplied in ampler detail himself. Then he went
out, and looked again at Helen from the doorway; but she was wholly
unaware of his presence.
Thus it came about, quite simply and naturally, that Mark Bower met
Miss Helen Wynton on the platform of Victoria Station on Thursday
morning, and learned that, like himself, she was a passenger by the
Engadine Express. He took her presence as a matter of course, hoped
she would allow him to secure her a comfortable chair on the steamer,
told her that the weather report was excellent, and remarked that they
might expect a pleasant crossing in the new turbine steamer.
Then, having ascertained that she had a corner seat, and that her
luggage was registered through to St. Moritz (Helen having arrived at
the station a good hour before the train was due to start), he bowed
himself away, being far too skilled a stalker of such shy game to
thrust his company on her at that stage.
His attitude was very polite and friendly, and Helen was almost
grateful to the chance which had brought him there. She was feeling
just a trifle lonely in the midst of the gay and chattering throng
that crowded the station. The presence of one who was not wholly a
stranger, of a friend's friend, of a man whose name was familiar, made
the journey look less dreamlike. She was glad he had not sought to
travel in her carriage. That was tactful, and indeed his courtesy and
pleasant words during her first brief meeting with him in the
Embankment Hotel had conveyed the same favorable impression.
So when the hour hand of the big clock overhanging the center of
the platform pointed to eleven, the long train glided quietly
away with its load of pleasure-seekers, and neither Helen nor her
new acquaintance could possibly know that their meeting had been
witnessed, with a blank amazement that was rapidly transmuted into
sheer annoyance, by a young American engineer named Charles K.
Spencer.
CHAPTER III
WHEREIN TWO PEOPLE BECOME BETTER ACQUAINTED
Mackenzie, of course, was aware that Miss Wynton would leave London
by the eleven o'clock train on Thursday, and Spencer saw no harm in
witnessing her departure. He found a good deal of quiet fun in noting
her animated expression and businesslike air. Her whole-souled
enjoyment of novel surroundings was an asset for the outlay of his
two hundred pounds, and he had fully and finally excused that piece
of extravagance until he caught sight of Bower strolling along the
platform with the easy confidence of one who knew exactly whom he
would meet and how he would account for his unbidden presence.
Spencer at once suspected the man's motives, not without fair cause.
They were, he thought, as plain to him as they were hidden from the
girl. Bower counterfeited the genuine surprise on Helen's face with
admirable skill; but, to the startled onlooker, peering beneath the
actor's mask, his stagy artifice was laid bare.
And Spencer was quite helpless, a condition that irritated him almost
beyond control. He had absolutely no grounds for interference. He
could only glower angrily and in silence at a meeting he could not
prevent. Conjecture might run riot as to the causes which had given
this sinister bend to an idyl, but perforce he must remain dumb.
From one point of view, it was lucky that Helen's self appointed
"godfather" was in a position not to misjudge her; from another, it
would have been better for Spencer's peace of mind were he left in
ignorance of the trap that was apparently being laid for her. Perhaps
Fate had planned this thing--having lately smiled on the American, she
may have determined to plague him somewhat. At any rate, in that
instant the whole trend of his purpose took a new turn. From a general
belief that he would never again set eyes on one in whose fortunes he
felt a transient interest, his intent swerved to a fixed resolve to
protect her from Bower. It would have puzzled him to assign a motive
for his dislike of the man. But the feeling was there, strong and
active. It even gave him a certain satisfaction to remember that he
was hostile to Bower before he had seen him.
Indeed, he nearly yielded to the momentary impulse that bade him
hasten to the booking office and secure a ticket for St. Moritz
forthwith. He dismissed the notion as quixotic and unnecessary.
Bower's attitude in not pressing his company on Miss Wynton at this
initial stage of the journey revealed a subtlety that demanded equal
restraint on Spencer's part. Helen herself was so far from suspecting
the truth that Bower would be compelled to keep up the pretense of a
casual rencontre. Nevertheless, Spencer's chivalric nature was stirred
to the depths. The conversation overheard in the Embankment Hotel had
given him a knowledge of the characteristics of two women that would
have amazed both of them were they told of it. He was able to measure
too the exact extent of Bower's acquaintance with Helen, while he was
confident that the relationship between Bower and Millicent Jaques had
gone a great deal further than might be inferred from the actress's
curt statement that he was one whom she "wished to avoid." These two
extremes could be reconciled only by a most unfavorable estimate of