Mr. Marx's Secret

by E. Phillips Oppenheim

  CHAPTER XLI. THE COUNT DE CARTIENNE.

  My surprise at this last piece of information could not pass unnoticed.Both the hall-porter and his assistant were evidently well-trainedservants, but they looked curiously at me and then exchanged rapidglances with one another. I recovered myself, however, in an instant.

  "This Count de Cartienne," I asked, "is he young? I think I know him.Rather dark and thin and short? Is that he?"

  The man shook his head.

  "No, sir. Count de Cartienne is a tall, aristocratic-looking gentleman,middle-aged. You are certain to see him about the hotel. He is in and outa great deal."

  I thanked him and moved away, for the people were beginning to flock in,inquiring for their keys. As it was nearly dinner-time, I followed theirexample and went to my room to change my travelling clothes for moreconventional attire.

  The lift was almost full when I entered it; but as we were on the pointof starting, a lady, followed by an elderly gentleman, stepped in. I roseat once, being nearest the gate, to offer my seat, but the words which Ihad intended to speak died away upon my lips.

  Something in the graceful figure, the soft, sweet eyes, and thedelicately-cut features, seemed to remind me of my mother. It was a faintresemblance, perhaps--scarcely more than a suggestion--but it was stillenough to make my heart beat fast, and to arrest for a moment myrecollection of where I was. Then suddenly I remembered that I wasbehaving, to say the least of it, strangely, and I turned abruptly away.

  At the third floor I stepped out and walked across the corridor to myroom without glancing once behind. But it was some time before I unpackedmy portmanteau, or even thought of dressing. Then I remembered that ifthey were dining at the hotel I should see them again, and, turning outmy clothes at once, I dressed with feverish haste. For the moment I hadforgotten all about Count de Cartienne, forgotten even the very purposeof my visit to London. Only one face, linked with a memory, dwelt in mymind and usurped all my thoughts. I felt a strange excitability stealingthrough my frame, and the fingers which sought to fasten my tie shook sothat they failed in their duty. I seemed to have stepped into anotherstate of being.

  When I descended into the dining-room it was already almost full, andthere were very few empty tables. For a minute or two I stood behind theentrance screen, looking around. Nowhere could I see any sign of the ladywhose face had so interested me. Either she was dining away from thehotel or had not yet put in an appearance. Hoping devoutly that thelatter was the case, I took possession of a small table laid for threefacing the door and ordered my dinner.

  I had scarcely finished my soup before an instinctive consciousness thatI was being watched made me look quickly up. Standing just inside theroom, calmly surveying the assembled guests, and myself in particular,was a tall, distinguished-looking man, perfectly clean-shaven, ratherfair than otherwise, with a single eye-glass stuck in his eye, throughwhich he was coolly examining me. He carried an Inverness cape and anopera-hat, and his evening clothes, which fitted him perfectly, were inthe best possible taste, even down to the plain gold stud in his shirtfront. His age might have been anything from thirty to fifty, for hiscarriage was perfectly upright, and his hair only slightly streaked withgrey. Altogether his appearance was that of a well-turned-out, well-bredman, and as I glanced away I felt a little mild curiosity to know who hewas.

  He came a few steps farther into the room, and after a moment'shesitation passed by a larger table laid for six and took the vacant seatat mine. He wished me good-evening in a clear, pleasant voice, with aslight foreign accent, resigned his coat and hat to a more thanordinarily attentive waiter, and drawing a card from his pocket begandeliberately to write out his dishes from the menu. Then he shut up hispencil, and leaning back in his chair once more glanced round at theroomful of people. Having apparently satisfied his curiosity, he yawned,and turning towards me, began to talk.

  Soon I began to feel myself quite at home with him, and to enjoy mydinner with a greatly-added zest. Indeed, in listening to some of hisquaint recitals of adventures at foreign hotels, I almost forgot to watchfor the advent of the lady and gentleman for whom I had been looking outso eagerly only a few minutes before.

  As it happened, however, I saw them enter, and my attention immediatelywandered from the story which my companion was telling.

  Something in the fragility of her appearance, and the weight with whichshe leaned upon her husband's arm, seemed to mark her as an invalid, andthis expression was in a measure heightened by her black lace dress,which, combined with the too perfect complexion and slight figure, gaveto her face an almost ethereal expression. As I looked into the deep blueeyes I seemed again to be able to trace that vague likeness to my mother,and I felt my heart beat fast as the impression grew upon me. It was onlywhen my new friend stopped abruptly in his anecdote and looked at mequestioningly, that I could withdraw my eyes from her.

  "Are they friends of yours who have just come in?" he asked, withoutturning round.

  "No; I never saw them before this afternoon in my life. I wonder if youcould tell me who they are?"

  He moved his chair a little, so as to be able to do so without rudeness,and looked round. I happened to be watching him, and I saw at once thathe recognised them.

  Strange to say, the recognition seemed to afford him anything butpleasure; a change passed over his face like a flash of lightning, andalthough I only just caught it, it made me feel for the moment decidedlyuncomfortable. While it lasted the face had not been a pleasant one tolook upon. But it was not that alone which troubled me. During the momentthat his expression had been transformed, it had given me an odd,disagreeable sense of familiarity.

  He was himself again almost immediately--so soon that I could scarcelycredit the change--and more than once afterwards I felt inclined to putthat evil look and lowering brow down to a trick of my imagination. Evenwhen I had decided to do so, however, I caught myself wondering more thanonce of whom they had reminded me.

  He moved his chair again and went on with his dinner in silence.

  "You recognised them?" I ventured to remark,

  "Yes," he answered curtly.

  "Would you mind telling me who they are, then?" I persisted. "I feelinterested in them."

  He looked up curiously and kept his eyes fixed on me while he answered myquestion.

  "The man is Lord Langerdale, an Irish peer, and the lady with him is hiswife."

  "Thank you. The lady's face reminded me of someone I knew once."

  He removed his eyes and his tone grew lighter.

  "Indeed! Rather an uncommon type of face, too. She's a lovely womanstill, though she looks delicate."

  I assented silently. Somehow I did not care to discuss her with thisstranger.

  "Perhaps you noticed," he went on, after a short pause, "that it wasrather a shock to me to see them here?"

  "Yes, I did notice that," I admitted.

  He sighed and looked grave for a moment. Then he poured himself out aglass of champagne and drank it deliberately off.

  "It was purely a matter of association," he said, in a low tone. "Asomewhat painful incident in my life was connected with that family,although with no present member of it. Pass the bottle, and let us changethe subject."

  We talked of other things, and for a time all my former interest in hispiquant anecdotes and trenchant remarks was renewed. But while he wasgravely considering with a waiter the relative merits of two brands ofclaret, I found my eyes wandering to the table at our right, in search ofthe woman whose face had so attracted me. This time my eyes met hers.

  Then a strange thing happened. Instead of looking away at once, she kepther eyes steadily fixed upon me and suddenly gave a distinct start. I sawthe colour rush into her face and leave it again almost as swiftly; herthin lips were slightly parted, and her whole expression was one of greatagitation. I tried to look away, but I could not; I felt somehow forcedto return her steady gaze. But when she turned to her husband a
nd touchedhim on the arm, evidently to direct his attention to me, the spell wasbroken, and I moved my chair slightly, making some casual remark to mycompanion which was sufficient to set the ball of conversation rollingagain. But one stolen glance a few moments later showed me that bothhusband and wife were regarding me attentively, and several timesafterwards, when I looked over towards their table, I met LadyLangerdale's eyes, full of a sad, wistful, and withal puzzled expressionwhich I could not read.

  As dinner drew towards a close it occurred to me that my _vis-a-vis_ hadstudiously avoided turning once towards our neighbours. If he desired toescape recognition, however, he was unsuccessful, for just as we werebeginning to think of quitting our places, Lord Langerdale left his seatto speak to some acquaintances at the other end of the room, and on hisway back he looked straight into my companion's face. He startedslightly, hesitated, and then came slowly up to our table.

  "Eugene!" he exclaimed. "By all that's wonderful, is it really you? Why,we heard that you had become an Oriental, and forsworn the ways andhaunts of civilisation."

  He spoke lightly, but it was easy to see that the meeting was a veryembarrassing one for both of them.

  "I have not been in England long," was the quiet reply. "Lady Langerdale,I am glad to see, is well."

  "She is fairly well. How strange that we should meet here! Why, it mustbe twenty years since I have seen you."

  "I have spent but little time in England."

  "I suppose not," Lord Langerdale answered slowly. "We have heard of youoccasionally. Will you come and speak to my wife?"

  "I think not," was the calm reply. "It could only be very painful forboth of us. If Lady Langerdale desires it--not unless--I will call uponyou at your rooms. But, frankly, I would rather not."

  Lord Langerdale appeared by no means offended, rather a little relieved,and answered sadly:

  "It is for you to choose. If you can tell her that the past has lost someof its bitterness for you, and--and----"

  He hesitated and seemed at a loss how to express himself. My _vis-a-vis_smiled--a smile of peculiar bitterness it was--and interrupted cynically:

  "And that I am a reformed character, I suppose you would say, and havebecome a respectable member of society! No, no, Lord Langerdale, I am nohypocrite, and I shall never tell her that. A wanderer upon the face ofthe earth I have been during the best years of my life, and a wanderer Ishall always be--adventurer, some people have said. Well, well, let it beso; what matter?"

  Lord Langerdale shook his head doubtfully.

  "I am sorry to hear you talk so, Eugene; but of one thing you may alwaysbe sure--Elsie and I will never be your judges. If you feel that it willreopen old wounds, stop away; but if not, why, come and see us. You havea young friend with you," he added, turning slightly towards me andspeaking a little more earnestly than the occasion seemed to require.

  The man whom he called Eugene shook his head.

  "I am not so fortunate," he said stiffly. "I can claim no more than whaton the Continent we call a 'table acquaintance' with this younggentleman."

  It might have been my fancy, but it seemed to me that Lord Langerdalelooked distinctly disappointed. He bowed courteously to me, however,shook hands with his friend and rejoined his wife. My new acquaintanceresumed his former position, and, with it, his old nonchalant manner.

  "Your pardon," he said lightly, "for this long digression. And now tellme, _mon ami_, shall we spend the evening together? You are a stranger inLondon, you say; I am not," he added drily. "Come, shall I be yourcicerone?"

  I really had nothing else to do, so I assented at once.

  "Good! Let us finish the bottle to a pleasant evening. But, ah! I forgot.We must be introduced. The English custom demands it, even though weintroduce ourselves. Your name is?"

  "Morton," I answered--"Philip Morton. I haven't a card."

  "Good! Then, Mr. Philip Morton, permit me the honour of introducing toyou--myself. I am called de Cartienne--the Count Eugene de Cartienne--butI do not use the title in this country."