CHAPTER XXIX
A SUBSTANTIAL GHOST
Monsieur Jules, of the _Lion d'Or,_ was in a state of excitementbordering upon frenzy. Events were happening indeed with him, this placidAugust weather. First the occupancy of the chateau by the mysteriouslady, and the subsequent edict of the steward against all strangers; thenthe coming of this tourist yesterday, who had gone for an evening strollwithout paying his bill, and was now a prisoner of the law, Heaven onlyknew on what charge! Added to this--a matter of excitement enoughsurely--the giant Englishman, who had been his guest for nearly threeweeks--a model guest too,--had departed at a minute's notice, though not,the saints be praised, without paying his bill. And now, though the hourwas yet scarcely nine o'clock, a carriage with steaming horses wasstanding at his door, and the beautiful young English lady was herselfinside his inn. He was indeed conducting her down the grey stone passageout on to the rose-bordered garden, which was the pride of his heart, andwhere monsieur, the remaining Englishman, was smoking his morningcigarette.
She barely waited until Monsieur Jules had bowed himself out of hearingdistance. She looked at Wrayson, at the table laid for one only, and atthe empty garden.
"Where is he--your friend?" she demanded breathlessly.
"Gone," Wrayson answered. "I am sorry, but I did my best. He went awayat daylight. I saw him off, but I could not keep him."
"Where to?" she asked. "You know that, at least."
He pointed towards the distant coast line.
"In that direction! That is all I know."
"He told you nothing before he went?" she asked eagerly.
"Nothing at all," he answered. "He refused to discuss what had happened.Sit down, Louise," he added firmly. "I want to talk to you."
He placed a chair for her under the trees. She sank into it alittle wearily.
"A certain measure of ignorance," he said, "I am willing to put up with,but when you exhibit such extraordinary interest in another man, Ireally feel that my limit has been reached. Who is he, Louise? You musttell me, please!"
"I wish I could tell you," she answered. "I wish I could say that I knew.Half the night the three of us have talked and wondered. I have heardplenty of theories as to a second life on some imaginary planet, but Inever heard of the dead who lived again here, in this world!"
He looked puzzled.
"Do you mean," he asked, "that he was like some one whom you believedto be dead?"
She was silent for a moment. The sun was hot even where they sat, but hefancied that he saw her shiver. She looked into his face, and somethingof the terror of the night before was in her eyes.
"To us," she said slowly, "to Madame de Melbain and to me, he was aghost, an actual apparition. He spoke to us with the voice of one whomwe know to be dead. He came to us, in his form."
Wrayson looked across at her with a quiet smile.
"There was nothing of the ghost about Duncan!" he remarked. "I shouldconsider him a remarkably substantial person. Don't you think that wewere all a little overwrought last night? A strong likeness and a littleimagination will often work wonders."
"If it was a likeness only," she said, "why did he leave us so abruptly,why has he left this place at a moment's notice to avoid us?"
Wrayson was silent for a few seconds.
"Look here," he said, "this is a matter of common sense after all. If youwere _not_ deceived by a likeness, it was the man himself! That goeswithout saying. What reasons had you for supposing that he was dead?"
"The newspapers, the War Office, even the return of his effects."
"From where?" Wrayson asked.
"From South Africa. He was shot through the lungs in Natal!"
"Men have turned up before, after having been reported dead," he remarkedsententiously.
"But he was in the army," she replied. "Don't you see that if he wasalive now, he would be a deserter. He has never rejoined. He wascertified as having died in the hospital at Ladysmith!"
Wrayson looked steadily into her agitated face.
"Supposing," he said, "that he turned out to be the man whom you have inyour mind, what is he to you?"
"My brother," she answered simply.
Wrayson's first impulse was of surprise. Then he drew a long breath ofrelief. He looked back upon his long hours of anxiety, and cursed himselffor a fool.
"What an idiot I have been!" he declared. "Of course, I know that youlost a brother in South Africa. But--but what about Madame de Melbain?"
"Madame de Melbain and my brother were friends," she said quietly. "Therewere obstacles or they would have been more than friends."
Wrayson nodded.
"Now supposing," he said, "that, by some miracle, your brotherstill lived, that this was he, is there any reason why he shouldavoid you both?"
She thought for a moment.
"Yes!" she said slowly, "there is."
"I suppose," he continued tentatively, "you couldn't tell me allabout it?"
"I couldn't," she answered. "It isn't my secret."
Wrayson looked for a moment away from her, across the valley with itsflower-spangled meadows, parted by that sinuous poplar-fringed line ofsilver, the lazy, slow-flowing river stealing through the quiet land tothe sea. The full summer heat was scarcely yet in the air, but already afaint blue haze was rising from the lowlands. Up on the plateau, wherethey were sitting, a slight breeze stirred amongst the trees; MonsieurJules had indeed some ground for his pride in this tiny sylvan paradise.
"I think," he said, "that for one day we will forget all this tangle ofsecrets and unaccountable doings. What do you say, Louise?" he whispered,taking her unresisting hand into his. "May I tell Monsieur Jules to servebreakfast for two in the arbour there?"
She laughed softly into his face. There was the look in her eyes whichhe loved to see, half wistful, half content, almost happy.
"But you are never satisfied," she declared. "If I give you a day, awhole precious day out of my valuable life--"
"They belong to me, all of them," he declared, bending over her till hislips touched her cheek. "Some day I am very sure that I shall take themall into my charge."
She disengaged herself from his embrace with a sudden start. Wraysonturned his head. Within a yard or two of them, Madame de Melbain hadpaused in the centre of the little plot of grass. She was looking at themfrom underneath her lace parasol, with faintly uplifted eyebrows, and thedawn of a smile upon her beautiful lips. Louise sprang to her feet, andWrayson followed her example. Madame de Melbain lowered her parasol asthough to shut out the sight of the two.
"May I come on?" she asked. "I want to speak to Louise, although I amafraid I am shockingly _de trop._"
Wrayson had an idea, and acted upon it promptly.
"Madame de Melbain," he said, "I believe that you have some influencewith Louise, I am sure that you are one of those who sympathize with theunfortunate. Can't I bespeak your good offices?"
She lowered her parasol to the ground, and leaned a little forward uponit. Her eyes were fixed steadily upon Wrayson.
"Go on," she said briefly.
"I love Louise," Wrayson said, "and I believe she cares for me.Nevertheless, she refuses to marry me, and will give no intelligiblereason. My first meeting with her was of an extraordinary nature. Iassisted her to leave a house in which a murder had been committed,since which time I think we have both run a risk of trouble with theauthorities. Louise lives always in the shadow of some mystery, and whenI, who surely have the right to know her secrets, beg for her confidence,she refuses it."
"And what is it that you wish me to do?" Madame de Melbain asked softly.
"To use your influence with Louise," Wrayson pleaded. "Let her give meher confidence, and let her accept from me the shelter of my name."
Madame de Melbain was silent for several moments. She seemed to bethinking. Louise's face was expressionless. She had made one attempt tocheck Wrayson, but recognizing its futility she had at once abandoned it.From below in the valley came the faint wh
ir of the reaping machines,from the rose garden a murmur of bees. But between the two women and theman there was silence--silence which lasted so long that Monsieur Jules,who was watching from a window, called softly upon all the saints of hisacquaintance to explain to him of what nature was this mystery, whichseemed to be developing, as it were, under his own surveillance.
At last Madame de Melbain appeared to come to a decision. She movedslowly forward, until she stood within a few feet of him. Then she raisedher eyes to his and looked him long and earnestly in the face.
"You look," she said, half under her breath, "like a man who might betrusted. I will trust you. I will be kinder to you than Louise, for Iwill tell you all that you want to know. But when I have told you, youwill have in your keeping the honour of an unfortunate woman whose namealone is great."
Wrayson looked her for a moment in the eyes. Then he bowed low.
"Madame," he said, "that trust will be to me my most sacred possession."
She smiled at him faintly, nodding her head as though to keep pace withher thoughts.
"I believe you, Mr. Wrayson," she said. "Yes, I believe you! Let me tellyou this, then. I count it amongst my misfortunes that my own troubleshave become in so large a manner the troubles of my friends. You willappreciate that the more, perhaps, when I tell you that Madame de Melbainis not the name by which I am generally known. I am that unfortunatewoman the Queen of Mexonia!"
The Avenger Page 29