The Mask

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CHAPTER XV

The last guest had gone. One by one the lights in the Traynor
residence were extinguished. The servants, tired after an exciting and
strenuous day, had gone to their quarters.

In the hall downstairs, the grandfather's clock rang out its musical
chimes and then, in ponderous tones, slowly struck the twelve hours of
midnight.

The master of the house was sitting at the desk in the library, looking
over some papers. From time to time he glanced significantly, first at
the clock and then at the corner where Helen and Ray were chatting over
the events of the day. At last the young girl took the hint. Jumping
up, she exclaimed good naturedly:

"How selfish I am to be sitting gossiping here when poor Kenneth is so
tired. Go to bed, both of you. I'm so sleepy myself I can hardly keep
awake. Good night!"

"Good night, dear!" said Helen, rising and kissing her.

"Good night, Ken! Pleasant dreams," cried the young girl as she left
the room.

"Good night!" he responded hoarsely.

The sound of her footsteps died away in the distance and Helen and the
gambler sat there in silence. He watched her furtively, trying to
guess the trend of her thoughts, his eyes bloodshot with wine, feasting
on every line of her girlish figure.

Never had she looked more beautiful, more desirable, than this evening.
Her _decollete_ gown revealed a white, plump neck, her lips were red
and tempting, her large dark eyes fairly sparkled from excitement. It
was a vision to distract a saint and Handsome was no saint. It was
indeed only with the greatest difficulty that he curbed his impatience
to carry off the prize that lay within his grasp.

"Are you tired," he said at last. "Do you want to go to bed?"

"Not very," she answered. "I'm too excited to sleep. Hasn't it been
an exciting day?"

He made no reply, pretending to be occupied at the desk, and she
relapsed into a dream silence, glad of a few quiet, peaceful moments to
be alone with her thoughts. How good it was to have him home again!
Now she could be at peace once more and enjoy life as she used to. She
could go to the opera, to the theater. The days would not be so
monotonous. She wondered why she was still unable to shake off the
feeling of anxiety and apprehension which had haunted her ever since he
went away. With a devoted husband safe at her side, what reason had
she for feeling depressed? Yet, for some reason she was unable to
explain, she was not able even now to throw off her melancholy and
presentiment of danger.

There recurred to her mind what Signor Keralio had said, his veiled,
ambiguous words of warning. Could it be true, was it possible that her
husband had deceived her all these years and unsuspected by her, had
led a double life of deceit and disloyalty? Certainly there was much
that needed explanation. The loss of the diamonds did not directly
concern her, although she felt that, too, was part of the mystery. But
his strange aloofness of manner, his inexplicable loss of memory and
nervousness, the frenzied outburst when she had mentioned Keralio's
name that afternoon, the sudden craving for drink--was not all this to
some extent, corroboration of what the fencing master has told her?
She thought she would question him, speak to him openly, frankly, as a
loyal wife should the man she loves, and give him an opportunity to
explain. Now was as good a time as ever. Looking up she said abruptly:

"Signor Keralio was here while you were away. I started telling you
this afternoon, but you got so excited----"

Making a deprecatory gesture with his hand he said indifferently:

"That's all right. I was tired and nervous. I'm quieter now. What
did Keralio have to say?"

"Nothing worth listening to. He never says anything but impertinences."

He shrugged his shoulders.

"You mustn't take him too seriously."

Hotly she retorted:

"He takes himself too seriously. If he only knew how repellent he is
to a decent woman he would cease to annoy me."

He laughed.

"Oh, Keralio's not a bad sort--when you get to know him. Those
foreigners think nothing of making love to a woman----"

"I don't want to know him," she retorted with spirit, "and what's more,
I don't want him coming here. One evening he was so insulting that I
had to show him the door. He had the impudence to come again. So I
had my servant put him out. You won't invite him here again, will you?"

He was silent, while she sat watching him, amazed that he did not at
once fiercely resent the insult done her in his absence. After a
pause, he said awkwardly:

"I don't invite him. Keralio's the kind of a chap who invites himself."

"But can't you put him out?" she demanded with growing irritation.

"No--I can't," he answered doggedly.

"Why?" she demanded firmly.

"I can't--that's all!"

She looked at him wonderingly, and the color came and went in her face
and neck. There was a note almost of contempt in her voice as she
demanded:

"What is the hold this creature has on you? Is it something you are
ashamed of?"

The blood surged to his face and the veins stood out on his temples
like whipcord. Another instant and it had receded, leaving him ghastly
pale.

"We have business interests in common, that's all," he said hastily and
apologetically. "He has been very useful to me. I don't like him any
more than you do, but in business one can't criticize too closely the
manners or morals of one's associates."

"No, but a man can prevent his associates from annoying his wife."

He made no answer, but toyed nervously with a paper cutter. Determined
to get at the truth, she went on:

"What business interests can you have together? Is it legitimate
business or merely stock gambling?"

"What do you mean?"

Rising from the divan, she went toward him. Earnestly, she said:

"Kenneth, I've wanted to speak to you about this matter for a long
time. During your absence I've heard rumors. Things have been
insinuated. A hint has been dropped here, gossip has been overheard
there--all to the effect that you are heavily involved in Wall Street.
Is it true?"

For a moment he was silent, at a loss what to answer. He could not
imagine the reason for the questioning or where it might lead him, but
instinct warned him that it was dangerous ground and that caution was
necessary. Why hadn't Francois told him of his brother's Wall Street
operations? It would never do to show himself entirely ignorant of
them. If such rumors existed, there was probably some basis of them.
No doubt his brother had played the market and kept from his wife the
extent of his losses.

"Is it true?" she repeated.

He shrugged his shoulders. Nonchalantly, he replied:

"Never believe all you hear!"

Her face lit up with pleasure.

"Really?" she exclaimed. "It isn't true?"

"Not a word of it. I have money invested in stocks and bonds, but
anyone who accuses me of wild cat speculation is guilty of telling what
I would very politely call a d----d lie!"

Reassured more by his ease and carelessness of manner than by his
actual words of denial, the young wife gave an exclamation of delight.

"Oh, I'm so glad!" she exclaimed. "You've no idea how relieved I feel.
It was worrying me terribly to feel that you might be in difficulties
and had not thought enough of me to take me into your confidence."
Looking at him appealingly she added:

"You will always confide in me, won't you Ken?"

"Sure I will, sweetheart----"

Trembling with the ardor he was trying to control he seized hold of her
hand and drew her on to his knee. She offered no resistance, but
passively sat there, clasped against his broad shoulder, her face
radiant with happiness at the load which his words had taken off her
mind.

Putting his arm round her waist, he leaned forward as if to kiss her,
but drawing quickly back she said:

"There's still something else I must ask you before my happiness is
quite complete."

"What's that?" he demanded, impatient at these continual interruptions
to his amorous advances.

Turning she looked steadily into his face, as if trying to read the
truth or falsity of his answer. She could not see his eyes, veiled as
they were by the glasses, but that sensitive mouth she knew so well,
that determined chin, that high forehead crowned by the bushy brown
hair with its solitary white lock--all these were as dear to her as
they had always been. To think that he might have fondled some other
woman as he was now fondling her was intolerable agony.

"Kenneth," she said slowly and impressively, "are you sure that there
is no part of your life that you have kept hidden from me?"

He started and for a moment changed color. What did she mean? Was it
possible that she suspected the substitution, or was she alluding to
some past history of his brother's life, of which he knew nothing?
Evasively, he answered:

"Why all these question, sweetheart, the first day I come home. Is
this the kind of welcome you promised me, the one I had a right to
expect. I am very tired. Let us go to bed."

His arm still around her, he again drew her to him and, stooping, tried
to reach her mouth with his own. But again she resisted, her mind too
disturbed by jealousy to be in a mood to respond to his wooing. Gently
she said:

"I know you are tired, Ken. I am tired, too,--tired of all these
rumors and slanderous insinuations. I have been made unhappy by
hearing this gossip. It is my right to tell you what I have heard and
ask for a straightforward, loyal explanation. I know you are true to
me. I have never doubted it for an instant. I only want a word from
you to forget what I've heard and dismiss the matter from my mind
forever."

He looked at her, an amused kind of expression playing about the
corners of his mouth. It was only with an effort that he controlled
the muscles of his face. What a comedy, he thought to himself! Here
was this sweet little woman breaking her heart over something which, as
far as he knew, didn't exist. But he must continue to play his part,
no matter at what cost. Evidently, she had heard something for which
there might be some basis of truth. She might even have proofs of his
brother's infidelity, and ready to produce them. Too sweeping a denial
might still further complicate matters, arouse suspicion, and end in
exposure. Cautiously, he replied:

"You know all there is in my life, sweetheart. I never conceal
anything from you."

Looking searchingly at him, she demanded:

"Never?"

"Never."

"Has there been another woman in your life, Kenneth, since you married
me?"

"No, sweetheart--never. If anyone told you that or even insinuated it,
he was a scoundrel. It's a damned lie! You are and always will be the
only one----"

Her head fell back on his shoulder.

"Then I am completely happy!" she murmured.

His arms folded about her and she felt his warm breath on her cheek.
But this time she did not resist. It felt good to be sheltered there
in those strong arms against the attacks and calumnies of the world.

"It is late," he murmured.

Suddenly, he threw her head back and bending down till his mouth
reached hers he kissed her full on the lips. She did not resist, but
just abandoned herself, responding only feebly to the fierce passion
that made him tremble like a leaf. His face flushed, his hands
shaking, he murmured:

"It is very late. Are you not tired?"

"No dear--I'm not tired. There's no hurry. We needn't get up early
to-morrow. It's so beautiful here--sitting together like this--so
happy in each other's company."

"But I am tired," he said, trying to control his emotion.

It was almost more than he could endure, yet still he mastered himself,
and resisted the temptation that arose violently within him to take her
by force, if needs be, and carry her into the inner room, as the wild
beast, tiring of playing with its victim, suddenly ends the game by
seizing its hapless prey and drags it away to its lair. Was he not the
master? Why should he allow her childish prattle to stand in the way
of his desires. For years, Handsome had not known female society save
that of those wretched outcasts who infest the mining camps. He had
caroused with them and quarreled with them. He had even loved one of
them--after the rough and ready fashion of the _veldt_. She was a
Spaniard, a tall handsome woman, with large black eyes and the temper
of a fury. She had killed her husband in a drunken brawl, and on
leaving prison had gone to South Africa. She met the gambler one night
in a gambling house, and, without as much as asking for an
introduction, she went up to him and, in a characteristic Spanish
style, gave him a hearty kiss on both cheeks. It was her way of
notifying her female associates that, henceforth, the big miner was her
man. Handsome accepted the challenge, and for a couple of years they
lived as happily together as can two adventurers who are in constant
hot water with the police. One day, in a fit of drunken jealousy, she
struck him. Furious with rage, he seized her by the neck. He did not
mean to harm her; it was his giant strength that was to blame. Anyhow
her neck was broken and the coroner called it an accident. For a week
or so, Handsome was really sorry. She was the only woman he had ever
cared for. She at least was a woman.

But this slip of a girl, with her childish prattle and aristocratic
airs, was quite different. Accustomed to the rougher ways of the camp,
her fine manners and refined graces at first had rather intimidated
him. He did not feel at home with her. He felt awkward and ill at
ease. Yet, for all that, she was a woman, too--a woman of his own
race, desirable, tempting. When Francois had first suggested that he
impersonate his brother and enjoy his fortune, he had said nothing
about his brother's wife. Perhaps he reserved her for his master,
Keralio. At the thought, a pang of jealousy went through him. If
Keralio, why not he? Evidently Keralio had been stalking the game, for
she complained of his conduct and had dismissed him from the house.
Yet, in what position was he to frustrate Keralio in any of his
schemes? He had him in his power; he was completely at his mercy. He
allowed him to masquerade in New York as the millionaire, but he was
the real master of the Traynor home. Even now, Francois might be
spying on their actions, eager to report to the arch conspirator.
Rising from the chair, he lifted her to her feet.

"Come, darling--it is late----"

He led her slowly, almost imperceptibly, in the direction of the inner
room. A feeling of languor came over her, and she allowed him to lead
her, abandoning herself to his ardent, feverish embrace, responding
every now and then to the hot kisses he rained on her mouth and neck.
Through her thin dress he could feel her soft form pressing against
him. From her neck arose a delicious aroma, a kind of feminine incense
that still further aroused and lashed his desire.

"I adore you--I adore you!" he murmured, as he kissed her again.
Slowly he led her past the bookcase and marble Venus to the open door
of her pink and white boudoir.

[Illustration: "I adore you--I adore you" he murmured, as he kissed her
again.]

She looked up at him in surprise.

"How you love me!" she murmured. "You never used to care for me like
this."

Her head on his shoulder, her eyes half closed, she was conscious only
of the presence of the man she loved better than anyone in the world.

Yet even now, in the hour of her supreme content and felicity, when all
her tormenting anxieties and doubts had been dissipated by his frank
words of denial, there was still something that worried her. He was
changed somehow, even in his love making. It was delicious to be loved
passionately, fiercely, like this--to be carried off by force, as it
were, by your own husband. But she did not understand how a man could
change so much in a few weeks. Kenneth had always loved her deeply,
but never had she known him display such ardor as this. She had heard
that men change, particularly after long absences from home. Some, she
had heard, became colder; others were more demonstrative. Of the two,
she thought the latter preferable. If there was such love in the
world, why should it not be shown her. Her own temperament was cold,
but no woman could but feel flattered that she possessed the power to
arouse men to such passion.

At last they had reached the threshold of the boudoir. What to him was
an earthly paradise, was almost attained. In a state of blissful
helplessness, intoxicated by a delicious sensation of being completely
dominated by a will stronger than her own, she permitted him to take
her where he wished. Her eyes closed, her head on his shoulder, she
submitted willingly to his fervent kisses. Another moment and he had
closed the door behind them, when, suddenly, a commotion on the landing
outside the library aroused both with a start. There was the sound of
voices and people running up the stairs.

"What's that?" exclaimed Helen startled.

Irritated at this unlooked for interruption, the gambler went quickly
toward the landing to investigate. Francois met him at the library
door. In his hand he held an envelope. Holding it out, he said:

"A telegram for Madame!"

"A telegram!" cried Helen, rushing forward. "Good God, I hope Dorothy
is not----"

She tore it open, while Handsome stood by in silence. On the valet's
face there was a triumphant expression, the gratified smile of one
rogue who enjoys the discomfiture of another.

Helen suddenly gave a cry.

"It's as I thought!" she exclaimed. "Dorothy is worse. The doctor
thinks it is scarlet fever. I must go to her at once."

"Go where?" demanded Handsome in consternation.

"To Philadelphia."

"To Philadelphia to-night?" he cried in dismay.

"Yes--to-night," she said firmly.

He protested vigorously.

"Nonsense--you can't go to-night. It will do no good. Wait till the
morning. There are no trains."

Quickly, the valet drew from his pocket a time-table. With a side
glance at his master, he said:

"There is a train at 1.15. If Madame is quick, she will make it. The
car is already waiting downstairs."

Helen seized her fur coat, which the obliging valet had also brought up
from the hall.

"Yes--yes. Throw a few things in my bag. You needn't come, Ken. I'll
telephone you directly I get to Philadelphia. Good-bye!"

The next instant she was gone and the gambler, with a muttered curse,
went to the sideboard and poured out a glass of whiskey, with which to
drown his disappointment.

CHAPTER XVI

For a person so fastidious and particular, so fond of the luxurious and
the elegant, Signor Keralio had certainly selected a queer neighborhood
for his abode. Miles distant from the fashionable centers, far away up
in the Bronx, he occupied the entire top floor of a dingy, broken down
tenement. There were no other people in the house, it being in such
bad repair that no one cared to live in it, and as Keralio paid as much
as all the previous tenants combined and made no requests for
improvements, the landlord was only too glad to leave him undisturbed.
It was situated at the extreme end of a blind alley and, there being no
egress from the street save at one end, there was consequently little
or no traffic and, for the great part of the day and night, the silence
was as deep and unbroken as in the open country.

With his neighbors Signor Keralio was distantly polite, but never
intimate. The district was a poor one, being settled mostly by Italian
laborers who rose and went to bed with the sun and toiled too long and
too hard each day to bother their heads as to why such a fine gentleman
as the Signor appeared to be, should live in such squalid quarters. No
one had ever been admitted to his flat. If the baker called, he left
the bread on the mat; if a chance peddler or book agent happened to
wander in, he had to talk through closed doors. The Signor was always
busy and could not be disturbed. The lights often burned all night
long, and sometimes people drove up in a taxi and went away again. For
a while the corner gossips speculated idly as to who he might be, but
gradually they lost all interest. When he purchased trifles at the
corner grocery he gave out casually that he was a newspaper man and had
to work all night, and the fact that muffled sounds of hammering and
machinery in motion had been heard at all hours, only helped to make
the explanation more plausible.

To-night, Keralio was perhaps more anxious than at any time to
discourage callers--especially should they happen to be inquisitive
secret service agents. Another few days and he would have nothing more
to fear. The presses would soon have completed their work and $500,000
worth of as fine a $10 counterfeit as ever deceived a bank teller would
be ready for distribution. Half of them had already been run off and,
as he held them up to the light and critically examined the silken
thread that ran here and there through the specially prepared paper and
noted the careful coloring, the beautifully geometrical lathe work and
skilfully traced signatures, he silently congratulated himself. Here
was half a million dollars' worth of splendid currency. Detection was
absolutely impossible. Had not Francois already succeeded in passing a
lot? After all had been disposed of, he could afford to take a rest.
On the proceeds of this rich haul, he could live like a prince for a
few years in Europe, and when that was all gone, he still had the
diamonds to fall back upon. Glancing at the clock, he wondered why
Handsome did not come. He was anxious to get possession of the
diamonds. It was too soon to attempt doing anything with the stones
now. The hue and cry would be too loud. All the diamond markets would
be watched, if they were not already. He had a suspicion that Parker
and Steell suspected something wrong. Francois had seen the President
in earnest consultation with the lawyer directly after Handsome had
announced the loss. He had not been able to hear what was said, but
from their manner he inferred that the diamonds were the sole subject
of conversation. They did not question Handsome's identity. That
never entered their heads, but they doubted his story of losing the
stones. They, no doubt, thought he had used the diamonds to make good
Wall Street losses.

He chuckled as he thought how admirably his scheme had worked out. He
had hinted at Kenneth being heavily short in this street, which at once
explained a motive for Kenneth diverting the stones to his own use.
Yes, he had triumphed over them all--except one. Helen Traynor, so
far, had foiled him in everything, and the more she resisted and
insulted him, the more determined he was to drag her at his feet.
Handsome, poor devil, fondly imagined he would inherit the wife as well
as the fortune. How could he guess that he, Keralio, would send a
bogus telegram just in time to dash the cup from his lips.

Impatiently he strode up and down the rooms. Why was Handsome late? A
frown darkened his face. He had better not trifle with him. He must
obey without question or take the consequences. He was in no mood to
be defied.

Suddenly, he started and listened. His alert ear had caught the sound
of approaching footsteps on the stairs outside. A moment later came
three deliberate knocks on the door, a signal which indicated a
friendly visitor. Quickly, Keralio went forward and withdrew the bolt.

Francois entered, suit case in hand. Hardly before he could take
breath after the long climb, Keralio exclaimed:

"Well, how are they going?"

The Frenchman grinned.

"_A merveille_! Like hot cakes. I've passed all of zem. Good work,
is it not?"

"And the real stuff?" demanded Keralio.

"Is in here."

The valet pointed to the leather case.

Eagerly Keralio seized the portmanteau, and, opening it, emptied the
contents. A perfect shower of greenbacks--genuine ones this time--fell
upon the floor. With shaking hands, like a miser who trembles as he
handles his hoarded gold, Keralio picked up the money by armfuls and,
taking it to a table, proceeded to count it.

"Is it all here?" he demanded suspiciously.

The valet scowled.

"Do you think I'm holding any back on you? _Ma foi, non_!"

Keralio, still counting, fixed his assistant with steely, piercing eyes.

"No, Francois, I think you know me too well for that. You know I never
forget a service; you also know I never forgive anyone who crosses my
will."

The valet shrugged his shoulders. In an injured tone he asked:

"What's all ze talk about? I work well for you. I do your dirty work,
_n'est ce pas_? I never complain--I am faithful. What more would you
have?"

"Why should you complain? You get your share," rejoined his chief
sternly.

The valet was silent and Keralio went on:

"A few days more and we'll be rid of all the new stuff. Then we'll
take down the presses and carry away the parts, piece by piece. When
we're ready to leave this hole, there won't be a shred of evidence
left. Have you heard any news from our man in Washington? What are
the secret service men doing?"

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