*CHAPTER III*
*STE. MARIE MAKES A VOW, BUT A PAIR OF EYES HAUNT HIM*
Hartley looked over his shoulder and gave a little exclamation ofdistaste.
"It's Captain Stewart, Miss Benham's uncle," he said, lowering hisvoice. "I'm off. I shall abandon you to him. He's a good old soul buthe bores me." Hartley nodded to the man who was approaching, and thenmade his way to the end of the table where their host sat discussingAero-Club matters with a group of the other men.
Captain Stewart dropped into the vacant chair, saying--
"May I recall myself to you, M. Ste. Marie? We met, I believe, once ortwice, a couple of years ago. My name's Stewart."
Captain Stewart--the title was vaguely believed to have been won someyears before in the American service, but no one appeared to know muchabout it--was not an old man. He could not have been, at this time,much more than fifty, but English-speaking acquaintances often calledhim "old Stewart" and others "_ce vieux_ Stewart." Indeed, at a firstglance, he might have passed for anything up to sixty, for his face wasa good deal more lined and wrinkled than it should have been at his age.Ste. Marie's adjective had been rather apt. The man had a dessicatedappearance. Upon examination, however, one saw that the blood was stillred in his cheeks and lips, and, although his neck was thin and witheredlike an old man's, his brown eyes still held their fire. The hair wasalmost gone from the top of his large round head, but it remained at thesides, stiff colourless hair with a hint of red in it. And there werered streaks in his grey moustache, which was trained outwards in twoloose tufts like shaving brushes. The moustache and the shallow chinunder it gave him an odd cat-like appearance. Hartley, who ratherdisliked the man, used to insist that he had heard him mew.
Ste. Marie said something politely non-committal, though he did not atall remember the alleged meeting two years before, and he looked atCaptain Stewart with a real curiosity and interest, in his character asMiss Benham's uncle. He thought it very civil of the elder man to makethese friendly advances when it was in no way incumbent upon him to doso.
"I noticed," said Captain Stewart, "that you were placed next my niece,Helen Benham, at dinner. This must be the first time you two have met,is it not? I remember speaking of you to her some months ago, and I amquite sure she said that she had not met you. Ah! yes, of course, youhave been away from Paris a great deal since she and her mother--hermother is my sister, that is to say, my half-sister--have come here tolive with my father." He gave a little gentle laugh.
"I take an elderly uncle's privilege," he said, "of being rather proudof Helen. She is called very pretty and she certainly has great poise."
Ste. Marie drew a quick breath and his eyes began to flash as they haddone a few moments before when he told Hartley that his feet were uponthe ladder to the stars.
"Miss Benham," he cried. "Miss Benham is----" He hung poised so for amoment, searching, as it were, for words of sufficient splendour, but inthe end he shook his head, and the gleam faded from his eyes. He sankback in his chair sighing.
"Miss Benham," said he, "is extremely beautiful." And again her uncleemitted his little gentle laugh which may have deceived Hartley intobelieving that he had heard the man mew. The sound was as much likemewing as it was like anything else.
"I am very glad," Captain Stewart said, "to see her come out once moreinto the world. She needs distraction. We--you may possibly have heardthat the family is in great distress of mind over the disappearance ofmy young nephew. Helen has suffered particularly because she isconvinced that the boy has met with foul play. I myself think it veryunlikely, very unlikely indeed. The lack of motive, for one thing, andfor another---- Ah well, a score of reasons! But Helen refuses to becomforted. It seems to me much more like a boy's prank--his idea ofrevenge for what he considered unjust treatment at his grandfather'shands. He was always a headstrong youngster, and he has been a bitspoilt. Still, of course, the uncertainty is very trying for usall--very wearing."
"Of course," said Ste. Marie gravely. "It is most unfortunate. Ah, bythe way!" He looked up with a sudden interest. "A rather odd thinghappened," he said, "as Hartley and I were coming here this evening. Wewalked up the Champs Elysees from the Concorde, and on the way Hartleyhad been telling me of your nephew's disappearance. Near the Rond Pointwe came upon a motor-car which was drawn up at the side of thestreet--there had been an accident of no consequence, a boy tumbled overbut not hurt. Well, one of the two occupants of the motor-car was a manwhom I used to see about Maxim's and the Cafe de Paris and theMontmartre places too, some time ago--a rather shady character whosename I've forgotten. The odd part of it all was that at the lastoccasion or two on which I saw your nephew he was with this man. Ithink it was in _Henry's Bar_. Of course it means nothing at all. Yournephew doubtless knew scores of people, and this man is no more likelyto have information about his present whereabouts than any of theothers. Still, I should have liked to ask him. I didn't remember whohe was till he had gone."
Captain Stewart shook his head sadly, frowning down upon the cigarettefrom which he had knocked the ash.
"I am afraid poor Arthur did not always choose his friends with the bestof judgment," said he. "I am not squeamish, and I would not have boyskept in a glass case, but---- Yes, I'm afraid Arthur was not always toocareful." He replaced the cigarette neatly between his lips.
"This man now, this man whom you saw to-night, what sort of looking manwill he have been?"
"Oh, a tall lean man," said Ste. Marie. "A tall man with blue eyes anda heavy old-fashioned moustache. I just can't remember the name."
The smoke stood still for an instant over Captain Stewart's cigarette,and it seemed to Ste. Marie that a little contortion of anger fled overthe man's face and was gone again. He stirred slightly in his chair.
After a moment he said--
"I fancy--from your description I fancy I know who the man was. If itis the man I am thinking of, the name is--Powers. He is, as you havesaid, a rather shady character, and I more than once warned my nephewagainst him. Such people are not good companions for a boy. Yes, Iwarned him."
"'I fancy I know who the man was.'"]
"Powers," said Ste. Marie, "doesn't sound right to me, you know. Ican't say the fellow's name myself, but I'm sure--that is, I think--it'snot Powers."
"Oh yes," said Captain Stewart with an elderly man's half-querulouscertainty. "Yes, the name is Powers. I remember it well. And Iremember---- Yes, it was odd, was it not, your meeting him like thatjust as you were talking of Arthur. You--oh, you didn't speak to him,you say? No! no, to be sure. You didn't recognise him at once. Yes, itwas odd. Of course, the man could have had nothing to do with poorArthur's disappearance. His only interest in the boy at any time wouldhave been for what money Arthur might have, and he carried none, oralmost none, away with him when he vanished. Eh, poor lad! Where canhe be to-night, I wonder? It's a sad business, M. Ste. Marie. A sadbusiness."
Captain Stewart fell into a sort of brooding silence, frowning down atthe table before him and twisting with his thin fingers the littleliqueur glass and the coffee cup which were there. Once or twice, Ste.Marie thought, the frown deepened and twisted into a sort of scowl, andthe man's fingers twitched on the cloth of the table, but when at lastthe group at the other end of the board rose and began to move towardsthe door, Captain Stewart rose also and followed them.
At the door he seemed to think of something, and touched Ste. Marie uponthe arm.
"This, ah, Powers," he said in a low tone, "this man whom you sawto-night. You said he was one of two occupants of a motor-car. Yes?Did you by any chance recognise the other?"
"Oh, the other was a young woman," said Ste. Marie. "No, I never sawher before. She was very handsome."
Captain Stewart said something under his breath and turned abruptlyaway. But an instant later he faced about once more, smiling. He said,in a man-of-the-world manner which sat rather oddly upon him
--
"Ah well, we all have our little love affairs. I dare say this shadyfellow has his." And for some obscure reason Ste. Marie found thespeech peculiarly offensive.
In the drawing-room he had opportunity for no more than a word with MissBenham, for Hartley, enraged over his previous ill success, cut in aheadof him and manoeuvred that young lady into a corner, where he sat beforeher turning a square and determined back to the world. Ste. Marielistlessly played bridge for a time, but his attention was not upon it,and he was glad when the others at the table settled their accounts anddeparted to look in at a dance somewhere. After that he talked for alittle with Marian de Saulnes, whom he liked and who made no secret ofadoring him. She complained loudly that he was in a vile temper, whichwas not true: he was only restless and distrait and wanted to be alone;and so, at last, he took his leave without waiting for Hartley.
Outside in the street he stood for a moment hesitating, and an expectantfiacre drew up before the house, the cocher raising an interrogativewhip. In the end Ste. Marie shook his head and turned away on foot. Itwas a still sweet night of soft airs and a moonless starlit sky, and theman was very fond of walking in the dark. From the Etoile he walkeddown the Champs Elysees, but presently turned towards the river. Hiseyes were upon the mellow stars, his feet upon the ladder thereunto. Hefound himself crossing the Pont des Invalides, and halted midway to restand look. He laid his arms upon the bridge's parapet and turned hisface outwards. Against it bore a little gentle breeze that smelt of thepurifying water below and of the night and of green things growing.Beneath him the river ran black as flowing ink, and across its troubledsurface the coloured lights of the many bridges glittered verybeautifully--swirling arabesques of gold and crimson. The noises of thecity--beat of hoofs upon wooden pavements, horn of tram or motor-car,jingle of bell upon cab horse--came here faintly and as if from a greatdistance. Above the dark trees of the Cours la Reine the sky glowedsoftly golden, reflecting the million lights of Paris.
Ste. Marie closed his eyes and, against darkness, he saw the beautifulhead of Helen Benham, the clear-cut exquisite modelling of feature andcontour, the perfection of form and colour. Her eyes met his eyes, andthey were very serene and calm and confident. She smiled at him, andthe new contours into which her face fell with the smile were moreperfect than before. He watched the turn of her head, and the grace ofthe movement was the uttermost effortless grace one dreams that a queenshould have. The heart of Ste. Marie quickened in him and he would havegone down upon his knees.
He was well aware that with the coming of this girl somethingunprecedented, wholly new to his experience had befallen him--anawakening to a new life. He had been in love a very great many times.He was usually in love. And each time his heart had gone through thesame sweet and bitter anguish, the same sleepless nights had come andgone upon him, the eternal and ever-new miracle had wakened spring inhis soul, had passed its summer solstice, had faded through autumnalregrets to winter's death; but through it all something within him hadwaited asleep.
He found himself wondering dully what it was, wherein lay the greatdifference, and he could not answer the question he asked. He knew onlythat whereas before he had loved, he now went down upon prayerful kneesto worship. In a sudden poignant thrill the knightly fervour of hisforefathers came upon him, and he saw a sweet and golden lady set farabove him upon a throne. Her clear eyes gazed afar, serene anduntroubled. She sat wrapped in a sort of virginal austerity, unaware ofthe base passions of men. The other women whom Ste. Marie had, as hewas pleased to term it, loved, had certainly come at least halfway tomeet him, and some of them had come a good deal farther than that. Hecould not, by the wildest flight of imagination, conceive this girldoing anything of that sort. She was to be won by trial and highendeavour, by prayer and self-purification, not captured by a warm eyeglance, a whispered word, a laughing kiss. In fancy he looked from thecrowding cohorts of these others to that still sweet figure set on high,wrapt in virginal pride, calm in her serene perfection, and his soulabased itself before her. He knelt in an awed and worshipful adoration.
So, before quest or tournament or battle, must those elder Ste.Maries--Ste. Maries of Mont-les-Roses--have knelt, each knight at thefeet of his lady, each knightly soul aglow with the chaste ardour ofchivalry.
The man's hands tightened upon the parapet of the bridge, he lifted hisface again to the shining stars whereamong, as his fancy had it, she satenthroned. Exultingly he felt under his feet the rungs of the ladder,and in the darkness he swore a great oath to have done for ever withblindness and grovelling, to climb and climb, forever to climb, until atlast he should stand where she was--cleansed and made worthy by longendeavour--at last meet her eyes and touch her hand.
It was a fine and chivalric frenzy, and Ste. Marie was passionately inearnest about it, but his guardian angel, indeed Fate herself, must havelaughed a little in the dark, knowing what manner of man he was in lessexalted hours.
It was an odd freak of memory that at last recalled him to earth. Everyman knows that when a strong and, for the moment, unavailing effort hasbeen made to recall something lost to mind, the memory, in somemysterious fashion, goes on working long after the attention has beenelsewhere diverted, and sometimes hours afterwards, or even days,produces quite suddenly and inappropriately the lost article. Ste.Marie had turned with a little sigh to take up once more his walk acrossthe Pont des Invalides, when seemingly from nowhere, and certainly by noconscious effort, a name flashed into his mind. He said it aloud----
"O'Hara! O'Hara. That tall thin chap's name was O'Hara, by Jove! Itwasn't Powers at all." He laughed a little as he remembered how verypositive Captain Stewart had been. And then he frowned, thinking thatthe mistake was an odd one since Stewart had evidently known a good dealabout this adventurer. Captain Stewart though, Ste. Marie reflected,was exactly the sort to be very sure he was right about things. He hadjust the neat and precise and semi-scholarly personality of the man whoalways knows. So Ste. Marie dismissed the matter with another brieflaugh, but a cognate matter was less easy to dismiss. The name broughtwith it a face, a dark and splendid face with tragic eyes that called.He walked a long way thinking about them, and wondering. The eyeshaunted him. It will have been reasonably evident that Ste. Marie was afanciful and imaginative soul. He needed but a chance word, the sightof a face in a crowd, the glance of an eye, to begin story building, andhe would go on for hours about it and work himself up to quite a passionwith his imaginings. He should have been a writer of fiction.
He began forthwith to construct romances about this lady of themotor-car. He wondered why she should have been with the shadyIrishman--if Irishman he was--O'Hara, and with some anxiety he wonderedwhat the two were to each other. Captain Stewart's little cynical jestcame to his mind, and he was conscious of a sudden desire to kick MissBenham's middle-aged uncle.
The eyes haunted him. What was it they suffered? Out of what miserydid they call?--and for what? He walked all the long way home to hislittle flat overlooking the Luxembourg Gardens, haunted by those eyes.As he climbed his stair it suddenly occurred to him that they had quitedriven out of his mind the image of his beautiful lady who sat amongstthe stars, and the realisation came to him with a shock.
The Quest: A Romance Page 3