CHAPTER IX
THE HOUSE OF LAUGHTER
"Mr. Shei!"
Time and again through the night following her arrival at Azurecrest,Helen's lips soundlessly formed the name she had involuntarily spokenupon seeing the man in the doorway. She tossed restlessly on her bed,her mind in that curious state on the boundary line between slumberand wakefulness when the imagination forms shadowy images and one'sthoughts reach for elusive realities.
Now and then, as a wild strain of laughter shattered the silence, shesat up and stared into the darkness. A cold tingle would trickle downher spine as the sounds rose to a hysterical crescendo, then fell to agentle tinkle that made her flesh quiver, and finally died down to ahaunting echo. Then, her sense of horror engulfed by overwhelmingdrowsiness, she would fall back against the pillow and drift into astate of soothing stupor.
Finally dawn broke. Flickering wisps of sunlight fell on the floor,lighting up the dark corners and dispersing the evil host with whichher imagination had peopled the gloom. A fresh breeze caressed her hotforehead and cooled the fever in her blood. She sat up and rubbed hereyes. Outside, the sun was glimmering on treetops and long stretchesof lawn. The bright, pleasant room afforded a sharp contrast to thestrident discords and monstrous visions that had distressed herthroughout the night.
Her recollections were still vague. Gradually a train of memoriesswept upon her. It all came back to her now--her arrival at Azurecrest,her failure to find The Gray Phantom, the strange laughter and thehideous face she had seen at the window, Miss Neville's amazing storyand the intercepted flight, and finally the appearance of the man atthe sight of whom she had cried out the name of Mr. Shei.
Again her recollections grew dim. Things had gone dark before her eyesas soon as she had spoken the name. She had heard a jumble of voices,and she believed someone had forced a drink down her throat. Asedative, perhaps, for after that she had known nothing but theintermittent outbursts of laughter and their accompaniment of strangefancies. She shuddered as she remembered them. Several voices, shefelt sure, had joined in the chorus of unnatural laughter. It couldmean only one thing--that more than one inmate of the house wasafflicted with the mysterious fever so vividly described by MissNeville.
Her mind was clearing rapidly now. She realized she was surrounded bydangers which she could neither gauge nor understand. Of one thingonly could she be certain. Her eyes, while resting on the man in thedoorway, had pierced the veil of mystery which had concealed theidentity of the mysterious Mr. Shei. The discovery, confirming asuspicion that had first come to her in the Thelma Theater, hadshocked and bewildered her, and on the impulse of the moment she hadheedlessly called out his name.
Now, in a calmer mood, she reproached herself for her indiscretion.She wondered whether Mr. Shei would dare let her live, now that shehad penetrated his secret. If he were as ruthless and unscrupulous asshe supposed him to be, he would in all likelihood seal her lipsforever. She might promise not to betray him, but Mr. Shei was tooshrewd and cautious to rely on promises. He would be more apt to adoptthe only course consistent with his safety.
She shivered a little. Physical fear she had never known, for therewas a strain of recklessness and audacity in her nature that blindedher eyes to dangers, but the thought of death gave her a chill. Shedid not know exactly why, but never before had life seemed as enticingas now. A determination to live spurred her mind to frantic effort.She would outwit Mr. Shei by her woman's weapons. She had done someskillful fencing with them on several occasions in the past, and shecould use them again. Already she was casting about for a plan.Perhaps, by a little clever acting, she could convince Mr. Shei thather calling of his name had been nothing but a hysterical outburst andwithout significance. If she succeeded in this, he would have noreason for taking her life.
The thought buoyed her. She turned a smiling face to the door as itopened and admitted a woman carrying a tray. She was thin andslatternly, and she sighed repeatedly while transferring the breakfastdishes to a table which she placed beside Helen's bed.
"Eat, you poor thing," she admonished, a world of melancholy in hertones.
Helen sipped the coffee. It was strong and fragrant and gave her aneeded stimulus.
"Why do you call me 'poor thing'?" she inquired.
The woman heaved another sigh. "I'm not saying. I can hold my tonguewhen I want to. That's how I keep my job in this place. It's a shame,though--really it is."
"What is a shame?" Helen, looking into the slattern's saturnine face,with its ludicrously doleful expression, felt an impulse to laugh inspite of her misgivings.
"You're so young and pretty. That's why I call it a shame. Oh, well,we all have to go that way sooner or later."
Helen, unpleasantly impressed by the innuendo, tasted the toast."Which way?" she asked in casual tones.
"That would be telling." A long sigh racked the woman's scrawny chest."I hear a lot of things around this place that I never tell. Bettereat hearty, dear. It might be your last---- Gosh! I almost saidsomething that time, didn't I?"
Helen, conquering her forebodings, ate in silence for a time. Theslattern's funereal face and dismal insinuations were casting a spellof gloom over her which she found hard to shake off. Finally she trieda direct question.
"Do you mean that they are going to kill me?"
The woman clasped her hands across her chest and raised mournful eyesto the ceiling. "You mustn't ask questions, poor dear. You'll find outsoon enough. Anyhow, there's a better world than this."
With this piece of doubtful consolation she gathered the dishes and,with another disconsolate sigh, walked out of the room. Helen tried totell herself that the woman had merely been exercising her imaginationand that her doleful hints had come out of thin air. The meal hadrefreshed her, and her spirits rose while she bathed her face in coldwater and arranged her attire. Having finished, she viewed herselfwith satisfaction in the mirror. Her elastic health and strength hadobliterated nearly every trace of her distressing night.
A knock sounded on the door, and Mr. Slade walked in. Helen instantlysteeled herself for an ordeal. Slade, she had already guessed, was Mr.Shei's right-hand man. He was smiling affably, but something told herthat her life depended on the outcome of the interview.
"I trust you had a restful night, Miss Hardwick?" he suavely inquiredafter seating himself.
"I slept like a top," Helen assured him with a smile that belied herreal emotion. "You see, I was all fagged out when I retired. I have afaint recollection that I was a bit hysterical, too. I suppose it wason account of that affair at the Thelma Theater the other night. Ireceived quite a shock."
"Naturally," assented Slade, regarding her with a mingling ofadmiration and doubt. "Yes, you seemed somewhat upset last night. Youprobably have no recollection of it, but you fainted completely away,and one of the maids put you to bed after the physician in attendanceupon Miss Neville had administered a sedative. I don't suppose youremember any of that?"
"It's all news to me," declared Helen innocently. "I'm sorry to havebeen so much trouble."
Slade made a deprecatory gesture. He edged his chair a little closerto the small table at which Helen was seated. She felt his cold gazesearching her face, and to hide her confusion she began tracingfigures in the dust that had accumulated on the surface of the table.
"Last night we were discussing The Gray Phantom," Slade remarked, andshe started a trifle at the mention of the name. "I regret I can giveyou no inkling as to his whereabouts. I suppose you are very anxiousto find him?"
"Rather."
"Isn't it strange that he did not give you his new address?"
"He may have written and the letter gone astray," suggested Helen. Aflush had tinged the healthy tan of her cheeks the moment Sladeintroduced the subject of The Gray Phantom. Looking down at the table,she noticed confusedly that her hand had been influenced by thethoughts that were uppermost in her mind. In the thin layer of dustshe had absently traced The Gray Phantom's initials. It was a habit ofhers,
cultivated since childhood, to sketch figures and designs onwhatever surface was handy, and she had often told herself she mustovercome it.
"Perhaps," was Slade's comment. He looked at her in a way that causedher to wonder whether he had noticed the pencilings in the dust, andshe erased them with a quick sweep of her hand. "By the way," he wenton, "our conversation last night was interrupted by a--a certainperson. Remember?"
Helen knew that the critical moment had come. She made a pretense ofsearching her memory.
"I was very tired," she said, carefully choosing her words, "and Irecall very little of what happened. I seem to remember, though, thata motor horn sounded while we were talking."
"Yes, and then?" Slade bent eagerly forward.
Helen's strained face indicated intense mental effort. "Then---- Isn'tit odd that I don't seem able to remember a thing after that?"
"It is," admitted Slade, and there was a subtle change in the qualityof his voice. "Perhaps I can refresh your memory. Suddenly a man'sfigure appeared in the doorway. You stared at him in a way signifyingthat you had seen him before. Then you spoke a name."
"A name?" echoed Helen. "What name?"
"A name that has been on a great many lips of late--Mr. Shei's."
"Isn't that strange?" murmured Helen. "I wonder what on earth made memention that name. I suppose, though," she added quickly, "that it wasbecause Mr. Shei's name had been in my mind off and on ever since thatterrible occurrence in the Thelma Theater. Yes, that must be thereason."
"The _only_ reason, Miss Hardwick?"
"What other reason could there be?"
Slade smiled in a way that awoke Helen's dislike. "Well, it'sconceivable that you were under the impression that the man in thedoorway was Mr. Shei. That would not only have explained yourexcitement, but also give ample reason for uttering his name."
Helen opened her eyes wide. "But--but I don't even remember seeing theman," she protested artlessly, "so why should I suppose him to be Mr.Shei?"
"The fact remains that you spoke Mr. Shei's name just before youfainted away. Let's get at the subject from a different angle, MissHardwick. Do you know who Mr. Shei is?"
Helen, having a curious feeling that her life was trembling in thebalance, shook her head.
"You don't know his other name--the name by which he is known to theworld at large?"
Again Helen made a negative gesture, and in the same instant shebecame aware that Slade's frosty gaze was following the movements ofher right hand. Before she realized what was happening, he had lefthis chair and stepped up behind her, and now he was leaning over hershoulder and looking down at the table.
"So, you lied," he muttered in tones that sent a shiver through herbody, at the same time pointing to the table.
Helen looked down. She gave a violent start. While she had beenfencing verbally with Slade, her hand had betrayed her. In herpreoccupation she had not realized that another couplet of initialshad appeared in the dust. With a sensation of defeat and despair shestared down at the telltale characters--the first letters in Mr. Shei'sother name.
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