The Mask

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Keralio lifted up his long slender hands in pious protest.

"I vilify--my best friend---- Oh, my dear Mrs. Traynor--you have quite
misunderstood me. I am a foreigner. Perhaps it is that I express
myself ill."

She shook her head skeptically. Firmly she said:

"No, Signor Keralio--you express yourself quite plainly. Now, I'll be
equally frank with you. I confess there is one thing I do not
understand. I have never understood it. I do not understand why my
husband, a man so honorable, so straightforward in his dealings, a man
so free from intrigue or reckless adventures, so regular, methodical
and temperate in his habits, a man so entirely apart from the reckless,
immoral kind of life you hint at, should have made a friend of
_you_----"

The Italian raised his eyebrows, but there was only an amused smile on
his bloodless lips as he said with a mock bow:

"Thank you, madam. You are very flattering."

"No--I mean it. I don't want to seem unkind, but your temperament and
my husband's are as wide apart as the poles."

He opened wide his eyes as he asked,

"In what particular, _s'il vous plait_?"

"Kenneth is frank, outspoken. He is not the type of man who takes rash
risks. He is very conservative, scrupulously honest. He has fine
ideals. While you----"

He laughed loudly.

"I? I am secretive, cunning, reckless, materialistic--is that it,
madam?"

"I did not say so, but since you draw your portrait so well----"

He bit his lip. This girl with the flaxen hair and large lustrous eyes
was more than a match for him in a battle of wits. He was making no
headway at all. It was time to play his trump card. Softly he said:

"You said your husband was judicious, conservative----"

"So he is."

"That is a matter of opinion. Some might think otherwise. Of course,
it is difficult for a woman when she is blinded by love----"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that your husband is far from being the conservative,
afraid-to-take-risks type of man you picture him. You women think you
know your husbands. You know only such part of them as they themselves
care to reveal. Perhaps if you knew to what extent your husband was
involved in Wall Street, it would surprise you! Oh, everything is
perfectly regular, of course. As treasurer of the Americo-African
Mining Company, he has at his disposal large sums of money. He is also
trustee of several large and valuable estates. All of this money he is
supposed to invest--conservatively. He certainly invests it. Whether
conservatively or not, I leave others to judge."

"Do you mean that he is using other people's money in Wall Street?"

"I mean, my dear lady, that he has the get-rich-quick fever. He has a
rage for stock gambling--he is already heavily involved. I have often
warned him to go slower, to be more prudent, but he won't heed my
counsel. You know, he is very headstrong--your husband. As long as
everything goes well he is all right. If anything goes wrong, he might
find himself in an unpleasant predicament. Hasn't he spoken to you of
these matters? Why should he worry you? It is as I told you.
Husbands don't tell their wives everything--God forbid!"

Helen raised her hand. There was the ring of scorn in her voice as she
exclaimed:

"Don't blaspheme, Signor Keralio. It sounds incongruous to hear the
name of the Almighty on the lips of a man of your opinions and tastes.
You think you live, but you don't. You go through life, seeking only
to gratify your appetites, attracted only by material sensual
pleasures. You ignore the best part of life--the pursuit of an ideal,
a noble ambition, unselfishness, self-sacrifice. Really, Signor, I
pity you--with all my heart."

He made no answer, but sat in silence watching her. Presently he said:

"Mrs. Traynor--do you know that you are an extraordinary woman?"

"In what way?" she demanded, elevating her eyebrows in surprise.

"You are either the cleverest or the most unsophisticated woman I have
ever met. You are attractive enough to send a saint to perdition, yet
you are quite indifferent to the power of your beauty and the tumult it
arouses in the men who chance to cross your path. You seem to be
absolutely without feeling. Yet I don't believe you devoid of
temperament. I think I know women. I have met a good many. You do
not belong to the type of cold, passionless women."

Again his eyes sought hers and found them. Again she tried to avoid
his gaze and could not. There was something in his manner, his
gestures, the tone of his voice, that conveyed to her more his real
meaning than his actual words, yet, to her surprise, she was not
aroused to anger. Sure of herself, she found herself listening,
wondering what he would say next, ready to flee at the first warning of
peril, but playing a dangerous game like the moth in the flame. As she
sat back on the sofa, her head in the sofa cushions, he leaned nearer
to her, and in those low, musical tones which held her under a kind of
spell, he murmured:

"You are the cleverest woman I ever met."

She smiled in spite of herself, and he, mistaking the motive, thought
she intended it as an encouragement. He glanced round to see if anyone
was watching them, but Mr. Parker was peacefully dozing in a deep
armchair a dozen yards away, and at the far end of the room Ray, Steell
and Reynolds were engrossed in an exciting game of cards. Leaning
quickly over, he seized her hand. His voice vibrating with passion, he
said:

"Not only the cleverest, but the most desirable of women. Don't you
see that you've set me afire? I'm mad for you! Helen--I want you!"

For a moment she was too stunned by his insolent daring to withdraw her
hand, which he continued to press in his. His eyes flashing, he went
on:

"Haven't you seen all along that I love you--desperately, passionately.
You've set me afire. I'm mad for you. Let me awaken that love that's
in your breast, but which your husband has never awakened. Let me----"

He did not finish, for that moment a small, jeweled hand, suddenly torn
from his grasp, struck him full on the mouth. Rising and trying with
difficulty to control the emotion in her voice, she said quickly:

"You'd better go now--so as to prevent a scandal. If they knew, it
might be awkward for you. Of course, you must never come here again."

That was all. She swept away from him with the dignity of an offended
queen. The silence was deadly. All one heard was the silk rustle of
her gown as she moved across the floor.

"It's my say," exclaimed Ray.

"I lead with trumps," said Steell.

"Signor Keralio has to go. Isn't it too bad!"

Mr. Steell and Dick rose and bowed politely.

There was nothing to be done. He was ignominiously dismissed like a
lackey caught pilfering. But there was black wrath in his heart as he
picked himself up, and turning to the others, he bowed and said:

"Good night."

CHAPTER VII

Dawn broke over the desert region of the Kalihari. The gray mists of
the South African night slowly dissolved on the approach of the rising
sun, until the crimson glow of the coming day, spreading high in the
eastern heavens, tipped with gold the snow-clad peaks of the
Drachenberg, and then, swiftly inundating the valley like a flood,
chased away the shadows and filled the undulating plains with warmth
and light.

Stretched out near the flickering embers of an expiring camp fire, not
half a day's _trek_ from the Vaal River, lay what, at first view,
appeared to be bundles of rags. A closer inspection showed them to be
the prostrate forms of two men, asleep. Huddled close together, as if
seeking all possible protection from the keen air of the open _veldt_,
they appeared grateful even for the little warmth that still came from
the dying fire. Every now and again a tiny flame, bursting from one of
the smouldering logs, would light up the recumbent figures, revealing a
brief glimpse of the sleepers.

Both bore traces of desperate need. The rags they wore were filthy,
and gave only scant protection from the weather, their emaciated faces
and hollowed cheeks told eloquently of many days of fatigue and hunger;
their feet, long since without shoes, were clumsily protected from the
rocky _veldt_ by pieces of coarse sacking. For weeks they had tramped
across the great, merciless desert, guided only by the stars, often
losing the trail, begging their way from farm to farm, glad to do
little jobs for friendly Boers in return for a meal, always in peril of
attack by hostile Kaffirs, yet never halting, trudging ever onward in
their anxiety to reach the coast. That was the haven they painfully
sought--the open sea where at least there was a chance to die among
their fellows and not perish miserably like dogs on the lonely.
God-forsaken plains, with only the howling jackal and the screaming
vulture to pick their bones.

They had tried and they had lost in the great gamble. Like thousands
of other reckless adventurers attracted to the newly discovered diamond
country, they had rushed out there from England, confident that they,
too, could wrest from nature that wonderful gem, ever associated with
tragedy and romance, mystery and crime, for the possession of which,
since history began, men have been ready to give up their lives.
Confident of their success, they had risked all on a turn of the wheel,
and Fortune, mocking their puny efforts, had first ruined and then
degraded them, afterward sending them back home to die.

It was now quite light. The fire, which had flickered up fitfully at
intervals, was entirely extinguished. A chilly wind had started to
blow from the plateau on the north. The strangers stirred uneasily in
their sleep and awoke almost simultaneously. Sitting up with a start,
they yawned and rubbed their eyes.

"What show o' gettin' some breakfast, Handsome?" asked the smaller of
the two.

"Damned little!" was the profane and laconic rejoinder.

They were men still in the early thirties. One was short and stocky,
his face slightly pock-marked. Pictures of a mermaid and anchor
clumsily tattooed in indigo on his wrist showed him to be a sailor. In
fact, Dick Hickey, boatswain on _H. H. S. Tartar_, having taken French
leave of his ship, as she lay in Cape Town Harbor, ran a very good
chance of being taken back to England in irons as a deserter. Just now
he was serenely indifferent as to what happened to him. Half dead from
exposure and lack of nourishment, he would have gladly welcomed ship's
officers or anybody else so long as there was some relief from his
present sufferings. Meantime he spent what little breath he had left
in cursing his hard luck, and blaming his companion as being solely
responsible for his misfortune.

The latter was some few years his senior, stalwart and clean-limbed.
He appeared to be over six feet in height and a man of splendid
physique. At first glance it was evident that he came of superior
stock. His shapely hands were grimy, his eyes of a peculiarly light
shade of blue were hollow and haggard looking. His face, emaciated and
ghastly, was almost livid. A clean-cut chin was covered with several
weeks' growth of beard. Yet, underneath all these repellant externals,
there was in his every attitude that indefinable refinement of manner
which the world always associates with a gentleman. His dark hair,
disheveled and matted, was unusually thick and bushy, with the
exception of one spot, in the center of his forehead, where there was a
single white lock, a capillary phenomenon, which imparted at once to
his face from its very unusualness an individuality quite its own.

No one knew who he was or where he came from. They called him
"Handsome Jack," partly because of his good looks and also on account
of his reckless liberality with his cronies when flush. What his real
name was no one knew or cared. It was a time when no one asked
questions. As soon as the news of the astonishing diamond discoveries
reached Europe, men began to flock to South Africa. Adventurers from
all over the world gathered in Cape Town, a motley crew of incompetents
and blacklegs, an investigation into the antecedents of any of whom was
apt to have unpleasant results. That he was a professional gambler, he
made no attempt to conceal, and that he had knocked about the world a
good deal was also to be inferred from his wide knowledge of men and
places. A man of aggressive, domineering personality, he was not
without a certain following, attracted by his skill with cards and
dice, but he was more feared than liked, and his reputation as a
dangerous gunman kept inquisitive strangers at a safe distance. He was
well known in every den frequented by the criminal and vicious, and it
was in one of these resorts that Hickey had met him. The sailor had
lost all his savings at faro. Dead broke, he was ready for anything
which promised to recoup his fortunes. Handsome Jack laid before him a
scheme which would make them both rich beyond the dreams of avarice.
The recent discoveries on the Vaal had startled the world. A native
had picked up a stone weighing over 80 carats. They might be equally
lucky. All that was needed was pluck and patience. The plan was to
make their way as best they could to the Vaal fields, jump a claim, and
dig for diamonds.

They set out secretly, avoiding the larger caravans, making the long
trek across the great plateau, partly by ox wagon, partly on foot. The
trail led through a wild, desolate country, and gradually they left
civilization hundreds of miles behind them. As far as the eye could
reach in every direction was a monotonous desert of stone and sand,
broken every now and then by small kopjies, the sides and summits of
which were sparsely covered with thick brush and coarse grass.
Scattered here and there, some twenty miles apart, were the homesteads
of the Boer farmers and the thatched kraals of the dark-skinned
Kaffirs. Over this lonely waste sheep and cattle wandered undisturbed
by springbok, ostriches, crocodiles, mountain lions and other wild
animals.

In this barren spot Nature had concealed her treasures. A child's cry
of joy over a pretty pebble led to their discovery. The little son of
a Boer farmer was playing one day in the fields near the homestead when
his eye was attracted by something glittering at his feet. Stooping,
he picked up a stone unlike any other he had ever seen. Interested, he
began to look for others and found a number of them, which with great
glee he carried home to show his mother. The worthy woman paid little
heed to what, in her ignorance, she regarded merely as pretty stones,
but she happened to speak about them to a neighboring farmer, who asked
to look at them. Already tired of his new plaything, the child had
thrown the stones away, but one was found in the field close by, and
the neighbor, a shrewd Dutchman, who had heard of certain stones picked
up in that locality having a certain value, offered to buy it. The
good woman laughed at the idea of selling a stone, and made him a
present of it. The farmer took it to the nearest town, where experts
declared it to be a twenty-one carat diamond, worth $2,500. Round the
world the telegraph flashed this remarkable story, and the rush to
South Africa began. That was in 1870. In May of that year there were
about a hundred men at the diggings in the Vaal fields. Before the
next month had closed there were seven hundred. By April of the
following year five thousand men were digging frantically in the mud
along the Vaal and Orange rivers.

It was a rough, lawless gathering of men of every nationality under the
sun, the criminal and the vicious, the idle and the worthless. The
region being inside the border lines of the waste territory that lay
between the Boers and the Hottentots, it was therefore No Man's Land,
and beyond the pale of established law and order. The miners,
compelled, in self-protection, to institute laws of their own,
appointed committees to issue licenses, keep the peace, and punish
offenders. Natives were whipped; white men were banished, and from
this rough-and-ready justice there was no appeal.

When Handsome and Hickey arrived at the diggings, the fever was still
at its height, and having secured a claim, they went to work with a
will. Claims were thirty feet square, and to prevent speculation in
them the owner, in order to hold title, was compelled to toil
incessantly. It was hard work, harder work than Handsome had ever been
put to in all his life. At the end of a few days, the skin was scraped
off his hands from shoveling, and he had such a kink in his back that
he couldn't straighten up. But he had come to stay, and a little;
discomfort was not going to scare him. Their implements, purchased at
the diggings, consisted of pick, shovel and rocker, this last being a
box arranged on rockers like a baby's cradle. It was a clumsy yet
useful contrivance, in which were fastened, one above the other, wire
screens of varying fineness, the coarsest being on top. As Handsome
dug the yellow earth out of the hole he shoveled it into the top
screen. When it was full Hickey poured in water while he rocked. The
water washed the dirt through the holes, leaving the stones. These
were taken out, emptied onto a sorting table, where Handsome scraped
off the worthless peddles [Transcriber's note: pebbles?], saving
anything that seemed of value. As a rule, and much to Hickey's
disgust, the table was scraped clean. Sometimes the sailor would make
a joyful exclamation on seeing some glittering pieces of rock crystal,
thinking he had found a prize, only to be disappointed a moment later
when a more experienced miner assured him it was worthless. Both soon
learned, however, to recognize at sight the precious gems, and,
although few came their way, they saw many brought to the surface by
luckier neighbors. One day sounds of great rejoicing was heard in
their tent. They had worked hard for over a month without finding
anything, and were feeling greatly discouraged and dejected, when all
at once something happened. Handsome had been rocking the cradle in a
listless sort of way, and Hickey was sorting the residue, when suddenly
the sailor gave a wild whoop of delight. Darting forward, he held up a
glittering stone. Examination proved it to be a genuine diamond,
weighing about ten carats, and valued at about $1,000. It was not much
of a find, but it was enough to turn their heads. Dropping all work,
they both proceeded to have "a good time," going on a drunken orgie,
which lasted just as long as the money held out. When they came to
their senses they were worse off than before. Weakened by prolonged
debauch, they were in no mood for digging, and to complicate matters
some one had jumped their claim during their absence. Even their tools
had disappeared. Without resource or credit, they could not procure
others. Yet work they must to keep the wolf from the door, so, cursing
others when they had only themselves to blame, Handsome secured
employment, digging for another miner, while the sailor performed such
occasional odd jobs as he could pick up.

Broken in spirit, enraged at the long spell of ill luck, Handsome began
to drink heavily. Every cent he made went to the grog shop, and
Hickey, never over fond of work at any time, was only too glad of an
excuse to drink with him. The two cronies filled themselves with rum
until their reason tottered, and they became beasts, refusing to work,
growing ugly, even menacing, preferring to beg the food their empty
stomachs craved for rather than toil, as before. At last they made
themselves such a nuisance that the attention of the vigilance
committee was called to their particular case. In short order they
were hauled up and ordered to leave camp. There was no alternative but
to obey, and thus began the dreary trek homeward of the two broken and
miserable outcasts.

"We cawn't go on much longer like this," moaned Hickey.

He made a painful effort to get up, but his joints, stiff from the
all-night exposure, refused to obey his will, and he fell back with a
groan. Handsome, more successful, had already risen, and was scanning
the horizon on every side. Except for the kopjies, which in places
obstructed the view, there was a clear range for ten miles or more. If
anything alive moved within the field of vision, they could not help
seeing it, but nothing greeted their eyes. There was neither man or
beast to be seen; seemingly they were still many weary miles from the
nearest homestead.

"We must go on," replied Handsome determinedly. Impatiently he added:
"What do you want to do--stay here and let the jackals gnaw your bones?"

Hickey, too weak to argue, shook his head despondently.

"You go on, Handsome. Leave me here. I cawn't go any further, s' help
me Gawd! My feet hurt somethin' awful. I'm all in. If ye get 'ome
safe, go and see the old folks, will ye, and tell 'em I put up a good
fight?"

"Hell!" retorted the other savagely. "Don't squat there crying like a
baby. Be a man. Get up and let's hike it to the nearest homestead."
Shading his eyes as he gazed earnestly over the plain, he added: "I see
smoke in the distance. It can't be far off. Come----"

Suddenly, to his astonishment, Hickey leaped to his feet, with an
agility unheard of in one so nearly dying. Pointing to the nearest
kopjie, he shouted hoarsely:

"Look! There's a man--near that kopjie--he's coming this way!"

It was no dream. A man, unarmed and unaccompanied, was advancing
toward them. From his dress and manner, it was easy to see that he was
not a Boer farmer. He looked more like an Englishman or an American.

Scarcely able to believe the evidence of his own eyes, Handsome watched
his progress.

As he came nearer, he waved his hand to show that he saw them, and he
walked faster, as if afraid that they might disappear before he could
reach them. Hickey, unable to restrain himself, had run forward, and
in a few minutes they met.

"Who are you?" demanded the stranger, whose face, shaded as it was by a
big canvas helmet, it was difficult to see.

"Miners from the Vaal," answered Hickey. "Who are you?"

"I am a Frenchman--Francois Chalat. I am ze valet of an American
gentleman. Our party not know ze road. We has wandered from what you
call ze trail. Will you show ze way to us?"

"Where's your party?" demanded Hickey.

Francois pointed to a kopjie about three miles distant.

"There! Behind zat hill."

Just at that moment, Handsome came lumbering up almost on the run,
anxious to know what it was all about.

"Have you any whiskey?" was his first breathless ejaculation. "We're
starving."

The valet made no answer. He was too startled to speak. Drawing back
a few steps, he stared blankly at the big fellow. For several minutes
he stood as if struck dumb. Presently, when he found his speech, he
asked in awed tones:

"Who are you? What's your name?"

"What business is it of yours?" snapped Handsome, with some show of
irritation. "Have you any food or whiskey? We're starving."

The valet made no answer, but just stared in astonished silence at the
big six-footer who towered above him. For a moment he had thought it a
trick that his master had played upon him. By walking quickly he had
got there before him, and dressed up in these rags just to have fun
with him. But that matted hair and that chin, with its weeks of growth
of beard. He could not be deceived in that. No, this man was not his
employer. Could it be possible, was it--his twin brother long since
given up for dead? The same physique, the same features, the same
eyes, the same thick, bushy hair with the single lock of white hair in
the center of the forehead. There was no room for doubt. It was his
employer's brother. It was just as well to make friends. Drawing a
flask from his pocket and holding it out, he said:

"Here, take a drink. You need it."

Eagerly, Handsome snatched it out of his hand.

"You bet we do."

He took a deep gulp and handed it to Hickey, whose bleary eyes had
watered at the very sight of the flask. Francois turned to Handsome.

"Where is ze trail?" he asked.

"Over yonder," growled the big fellow in surly tones and making a
sweeping gesture with his arm which embraced every quarter of the
compass.

"Rather indefinite, I should say," smiled the valet. "Where you go?
Are you on ze way to ze mines?"

Handsome Jack took another pull at the flask. His good humor returning
in proportion as he felt warmed up by the spirits, he said more amiably:

"I guess not. My pal and I have enough of the cursed place--ain't we,
Hickey?"

The sailor man glanced dolefully at his limping foot, and nodded his
head in acquiescence.

"You show us the trail home. My boss is very rich man," interrupted
Francois quickly. "He pay anything."

Handsome pricked up his ears.

"Oh, he's rich, is he?"

The valet laughed as he replied:

"All Americans rich--tres riches. Did you ever hear of poor Americans?"

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