The Silent Barrier
Bower, and that the American conceded without argument.
Of course, there remained the possibility that Bower was really a
traveler that day by idle chance; but Spencer blew aside this
alternative with the first whiff of smoke from the cigar he lit
mechanically as soon as the train left the station.
"No," he said, in grim self communing, "the skunk found out somehow
that she was going abroad, and planned to accompany her. I could see
it in the smirk on his face as soon as he discovered her whereabouts
on the platform. If he means to summer at Maloja, I guess my thousand
dollars was expended to no good purpose, and the quicker I put up
another thousand to pull things straight the happier I shall be. And
let me tell you, mother, that if I get Helen through this business
well and happy, I shall quit fooling round as godfather, or stage
uncle, or any other sort of soft-hearted idiot. Meanwhile, Bower has
jumped my claim."
His glance happened to fall on an official with the legend "Ticket
Inspector" on the collar of his coat. He remembered that this man, or
some other closely resembling him, had visited the carriage in which
Bower traveled.
"Say," he cried, hailing him on the spur of the moment, "when does the
next train leave for St. Moritz?"
"At two-twenty from Charing Cross, sir. But the Engadine Express is
the best one. Did you miss it?"
"No. I just blew in here to see a friend off, and the trip kind of
appealed to me. Did you notice a reserved compartment for a Mr. Mark
Bower?"
"I know Mr. Bower very well, sir. He goes to Paris or Vienna twenty
times a year."
"To-day he is going to Switzerland."
"So he is, to Zurich, I think. First single he had. But he's sure to
bring up in Vienna or Frankfort. I wish I knew half what he knows
about foreign money business. I shouldn't be punching tickets here
very long. Thank you, sir. Charing Cross at two-twenty; but you may
have difficulty about booking a berth in the sleeper. Just now
everybody is crossing the Channel."
"It looks like that," said Spencer, who had obtained the information
he wanted. Taking a cab, he drove to the sleeping car company's
office, where he asked for a map of the Swiss railways. Zurich, as
Bower's destination, puzzled him; but he did not falter in his
purpose.
"The man is a rogue," he thought, "or I have never seen one. Anyhow, a
night in the train doesn't cut any ice, and Switzerland can fill the
bill for a week as well as London or Scotland."
He was fortunate in the fact that some person wished to postpone a
journey that day, and the accident assured him of comfortable quarters
from Calais onward. Then he drove to a bank, and to "The Firefly"
office. Mackenzie had just opened his second bottle of beer. By this
time he regarded Spencer as an amiable lunatic. He greeted him now
with as much glee as his dreary nature was capable of.
"Hello!" he said. "Been to see the last of the lady?"
"Not quite. I want to take back what I said about not going to
Switzerland. I'm following this afternoon."
"Great Scott! You're sudden."
"I'm built that way," said Spencer dryly. "Here are the sixty pounds
I promised you. Now I want you to do me a favor. Send a messenger to
the Wellington Theater with a note for Miss Millicent Jaques, and ask
her if she can oblige you with the present address of Miss Helen
Wynton. Make a pretext of work. No matter if she writes to her friend
and the inquiry leads to talk. You can put up a suitable fairy tale, I
have no doubt."
"Better still, let my assistant write. Then if necessary I can curse
him for not minding his own business. But what's in the wind?"
"I wish to find out whether or not Miss Jaques knows of this Swiss
journey; that is all. If the reply reaches you by one o'clock send it
to the Embankment Hotel. Otherwise, post it to me at the Kursaal,
Maloja-Kulm; but not in an office envelop."
"You'll come back, Mr. Spencer?" said the editor plaintively, for he
had visions of persuading the eccentric American to start a magazine
of his own.
"Oh, yes. You'll probably see me again within six days. I'll look in
and report progress. Good by."
A messenger caught him as he was leaving the hotel. Mackenzie had not
lost any time, and Miss Jaques happened to be at the theater.
"Sorry," she wrote, in the artistic script that looks so well in face
cream and soap advertisements, "I can't for the life of me remember
the number; but Miss Wynton lives somewhere in Warburton Gardens." The
signature, "Millicent Jaques," was an elegant thing in itself,
carefully thought out and never hurried in execution, no matter how
pressed she might be for time. Spencer was on the point of scattering
the note in little pieces along the Strand; but he checked himself.
"Guess I'll keep this as a souvenir," he said, and it found a place in
his pocketbook.
Helen Wynton, having crossed the Channel many times during her
childhood, was no novice amid the bustle and crush on the narrow pier
at Dover. She had dispensed with all accessories for the journey,
except the few articles that could be crammed into a handbag. Thus,
being independent of porters, she was one of the first to reach the
steamer's gangway. As usual, all the most sheltered nooks on board
were occupied. There seems to be a mysterious type of traveler who
inhabits the cross-Channel vessels permanently. No matter how speedy
may be the movements of a passenger by the boat-train, either at Dover
or Calais, the best seats on the upper deck invariably reveal the
presence of earlier arrivals by deposits of wraps and packages. This
phenomenon was not strange to Helen. A more baffling circumstance was
the altered shape of the ship. The familiar lines of the paddle
steamer were gone, and Helen was wondering where she might best bestow
herself and her tiny valise, when she heard Bower's voice.
"I took the precaution to telegraph from London to one of the ship's
officers," he said, and nodded toward a couple of waterproof rugs
which guarded a recess behind the Captain's cabin. "That is our
corner, I expect. My friend will be here in a moment."
Sure enough, a man in uniform approached and lifted his gold laced
cap. "We have a rather crowded ship, Mr. Bower," he said; "but you
will be quite comfortable there. I suppose you deemed the weather too
fine to need your usual cabin?"
"Yes. I have a companion to-day, you see."
Helen was a little bewildered by this; but it was very pleasant to
claim undisputed possession of a quiet retreat from which to watch
others trying to find chairs. And, although Bower had a place reserved
by her side, he did not sit down. He chatted for a few minutes on such
eminently safe topics as the smooth sea, the superiority of turbine
engines in the matter of steadiness, the advisability of lunching
in the train after leaving Calais, rather than on board the ship,
and soon betook himself aft, there to smoke and chat with some
acquaintances whom he fell in with. Dover Castle was becoming a gray
blur on the horizon when he spoke to Helen again.
"You look quite comfortable," he said pleasantly, "and it is wise not
to risk walking about if you are afraid of being ill."
"I used to cross in bad weather without consequences," she answered;
"but I am older now, and am doubtful of experiments."
"You were educated abroad, then?"
"Yes. I was three years in Brussels--three happy years."
"Ah! Why qualify them? All your years are happy, I should imagine, if
I may judge by appearances."
"Well, if happiness can be defined as contentment, you are right; but
I have had my sad periods too, Mr. Bower. I lost my mother when I was
eighteen, and that was a blow under which I have never ceased to
wince. Fortunately, I had to seek consolation in work. Added to good
health, it makes for content."
"You are quite a philosopher. Will you pardon my curiosity? I too lead
the strenuous life. Now, I should like to have your definition of
work. I am not questioning your capacity. My wonder is that you should
mention it at all."
"But why? Any man who knows what toil is should not regard women as
dolls."
"I prefer to look on them as goddesses."
Helen smiled. "I fear, then, you will deem my pedestal a sorry one,"
she said. "Perhaps you think, because you met me once in Miss Jaques's
company, and again here, traveling _de luxe_, that I am in her set. I
am not. By courtesy I am called a 'secretary'; but the title might be
shortened into 'typist.' I help Professor von Eulenberg with
his--scientific researches."
Though it was on the tip of her tongue to say "beetles," she
substituted the more dignified phrase. Bower was very nice and kind;
but she felt that "beetles" might sound somewhat flippant and lend a
too familiar tone to their conversation.
"Von Eulenberg? I have heard of him. Quite a distinguished man in his
own line; an authority on--moths, is it?"
"Insects generally."
She blushed and laughed outright, not only at the boomerang effect of
her grandiloquent description of the professor's industry, but at the
absurdity of her position. Above all else, Helen was candid, and there
was no reason why she should not enlighten a comparative stranger who
seemed to take a friendly interest in her.
"I ought to explain," she went on, "that I am going to the Engadine as
a journalist. I have had the good fortune to be chosen for a very
pleasant task. Hence this present grandeur, which, I assure you, is
not a usual condition of entomological secretaries."
Bower pretended to ward off some unexpected attack. "I have done
nothing to deserve a hard word like that, Miss Wynton," he cried. "I
shall not recover till we reach Calais. May I sit beside you while you
tell me what it means?"
She made room for him. "Strictly speaking, it is nonsense," she said.
"Excellent. That is the better line for women who are young and
pretty. We jaded men of the world hate to be serious when we leave
business behind. Now, you would scarce credit what a lively youngster
I am when I come abroad for a holiday. I always kiss my fingers to
France at the first sight of her fair face. She bubbles like her own
champagne, whereas London invariably reminds me of beer."
"Do I take it that you prefer gas to froth?"
"You offer me difficult alternatives, yet I accept them. Though gas
is as dreadful a description of champagne as entomological is of a
certain type of secretary, I would venture to point out that it
expands, effervesces, soars ever to greater heights; but beer, froth
and all, tends to become flat, stale, and unprofitable."
"I assure you my knowledge of both is limited. I had never even tasted
champagne until the other day."
"When you lunched with Millicent at the Embankment Hotel?"
"Well--yes. She was at school with me, and we met last week by
accident. She is making quite a success at the Wellington Theater, is
she not?"
"So I hear. I am a director of that concern; but I seldom go there."
"How odd that sounds to one who saves up her pennies to attend a
favorite play!"
"Then you must have my address, and when I am in town you need never
want a stall at any theater in London. Now, that is no idle promise. I
mean it. Nothing would give me greater pleasure than to think you
were enjoying something through my instrumentality."
"How exceedingly kind of you! I shall take you at your word. What girl
wouldn't?"
"I know quite a number who regard me as an ogre. I am not a lady's man
in the general sense of the term, Miss Wynton. I might tell you more
about myself if it were not for signs that the next five minutes will
bring us to Calais. You are far too independent, I suppose, that I
should offer to carry your bag; but will you allow me to reserve
a joint table for _dejeuner_? There will be a rush for the first