The Golden Face Part 25

He strode along the boulevard caring nothing where his footsteps led him. The gay, elegant, careless crowd of Paris pa.s.sed, but he had no eyes for it all.

"Shall I tell her?" he went on aloud to himself. "Or shall I fade out, and let her learn the worst after I'm gone? Yet would not that be a coward's action? And I'm no coward. I went through the war--that h.e.l.l at Vimy, and I did my best for King and Country. Now, when love happens and all that life means to a man is just within my grasp, I have to retire to ignominy or death. I prefer the latter."

Next morning he stepped from the train at Victoria and drove to his rooms in Bennett Street, St. James's. He was still obsessed by those same thoughts which had prevented him from sleeping for the past week.

His man, Sanford, who had been his batman in France, met him with a cheery smile, and after a bath and a shave he went round to his business in Bond Street.

He was of good birth and had graduated at Brasenose. His father had been a well-known official at the Foreign Office in the days of King Edward and had died after a short retirement. In his life Charlie had done his best, and had distinguished himself not only in his Army career, but in that of the world of motoring, where his name was as well known as any of the fearless drivers at Brooklands.

Otley was, indeed, a real good fellow, whose personality dominated those with whom he did business, and the many cars, from Fords to Rolls, which he sold for the profit of his directors paid tribute to his easy-going merriment and his slim, well-set-up appearance. Those who met him in that showroom in Bond Street never dreamed of the alert leather-coated and helmeted figure who tore round the rough track at Brooklands testing cars, and so often rising up that steep cemented slope, the test of great speed.

At six o'clock on the Wednesday evening he stood in his cosy room in Bennett Street awaiting Peggy. At last there was a ring at the outer door, and Sanford showed her in.

She entered merrily, bringing with her a whiff of the latest Paris perfume, and grasping his hand, cried:

"Well, are you feeling any happier?"

"Happier!" he echoed. "Why, of course!"

"And have you had Lady Teesdale's letter?"

"Yes. And I've accepted."

"Good. We'll have a real good time. But the worst of it is Cis has been asked too!"

"I suppose your mother engineered that?"

"I don't think so. You see, he's Lady Teesdale's nephew. And it's a big family party. Old Mr. Bainbridge, the steel king of Sheffield, and his wife are to be there. She is a fat, rather coa.r.s.e woman who has wonderful jewels. They say that old Bainbridge gave eighty thousand pounds for a unique string of stones, emeralds, diamonds, rubies and sapphires which belonged to the old Sultan of Turkey, Abdul Hamid, and which were sold in Paris six months ago."

"Yes. I've always heard that the old fellow has money to burn. Wish I had!"

"So do I, Charlie. But, after all, money isn't everything. What shall we do to-night?"

"Let's dance later on--shall we?" he suggested, and she consented readily.

They sat by the fire together for half an hour chatting, while she told him of her doings in Paris after he had left. Then she rose and made an inspection of his bachelor room, examining his photographs, as was her habit. Ten years ago a girl would hesitate to go to a bachelor's room, but not so to-day when women can venture wherever men can go.

On that same afternoon Sir Polworth Urquhart, returning home to Mount Street at six o'clock, found among his letters on the study table a thin one which bore a Hong Kong stamp. The superscription was, he saw, in a native hand. He hated the sly Chinese and all their ways.

On tearing it open he found within a slip of rice-paper on which some Chinese characters had been traced. He looked at them for a few seconds and then translated them aloud to himself:

"Tai-K'an has not forgotten the great English mandarin!"

"Curse Tai-K'an!" growled Sir Polworth under his breath. "After ten years I thought he had forgotten. But those Orientals are slim folk. I hope his memory is a pleasant one," he added grimly as he rose and placed the envelope and the paper in the fire.

"A very curious message," he reflected as he pa.s.sed back to his writing-table. "It's a threat--because of that last sign. I remember seeing that sign before and being told that it was the sign of vengeance of the Tchan-Yan, the secret society of the Yellow Riband.

But, bah! what need I care? I'm not in China now--thank Heaven!"

As he seated himself to answer his correspondence, however, a curious drama rose before his eyes. One day, ten years ago, while acting as Deputy-Governor, he had had before him a criminal case in which a young Chinese girl was alleged to have caused her lover's death by poison. The girl was the daughter of a small merchant named Tai-K'an, who sold all his possessions in order to pay for the girl's defense.

The case was a flimsy one from the start, but in the native court where it was heard there was much bribery by the friends of the dead lover. Notwithstanding the fact that Tai-K'an devoted the whole of his possessions to his daughter's defense, and that strong proof of guilt fell upon a young Chinaman who was jealous of the dead man, the poor girl was convicted of murder.

Sir Polworth remembered all the circ.u.mstances well. At the time he did not believe in the girl's guilt, but the court had decided it so, therefore why should he worry his official mind over the affairs of mere natives? The day came--he recollected it well--when the sentence of death was put before him for confirmation. Tai-K'an himself, a youngish man, came to his house to beg the clemency of the great British mandarin. With him was his wife and the brother of the murdered man. All three begged upon their knees that the girl should be released because she was innocent. But he only shook his head, and with callous heartlessness signed the death-sentence and ordered them to be shown out.

The girl's father then drew himself up and, with the fire of hatred in his slant black eyes, exclaimed in very good English:

"You have sent my daughter to her death though she is innocent! You have a daughter, Sir Polworth Urquhart. The vengeance of Tai-K'an will fall upon her. Remember my words! May the Great Meng place his curse upon you and yours for ever!" And the trio left the Deputy-Governor's room.

That was nearly ten years ago.

He paced the room, for his reflections even now were uneasy ones. He remembered how the facts were placed before the Colonial Office and how the sentence of death was commuted to one of imprisonment. For five years she remained in jail, until the real a.s.sa.s.sin committed suicide after writing a confession.

Yet like all Chinese, Tai-K'an evidently nursed his grievance, and time had not dulled the bitterness of his hatred.

But the offensive Chinaman was in Hong Kong--therefore what mattered, Sir Polworth thought. So he seated himself and wrote his letters.

CHAPTER XIV

THE VENGEANCE OF TAI-K'AN

At that moment Lola, who was shopping in London, entered and her father cut off quickly.

The girl glanced at me and smiled. Then she asked some question regarding the purchase of some cutlery, and on her father replying she left the flat.

After she had gone, he resumed the narrative, which was certainly of deep interest, as you will see.

He went on:

In the first week in January, a gay house-party a.s.sembled at Hawstead Park, Lord Teesdale's fine old Elizabethan seat a few miles from Malton, not very far from Overstow. The shooting-parties at Hawstead were well known for their happy enjoyment. They were talked about in the drawing-rooms of Yorkshire and clubs in town each year, for Lady Teesdale was one of the most popular of hostesses and delighted in surrounding herself with young people.

So it was that Charlie Otley, on his arrival, met Peggy in the big paneled hall, and by her side stood young Eastwood, the fair-haired effeminate son of Lord Drumone. The party a.s.sembled at tea consisted of some twenty guests, most of them young. After dinner that night there was, of course, dancing upon the fine polished floor.

Before Lady Urquhart, Otley was compelled to exercise a good deal of caution, allowing young Eastwood to dance attendance upon Peggy while he, in turn, spent a good deal of time with Maud Bainbridge, the rather angular daughter of the steel magnate. Towards Mrs. Bainbridge and his hostess Charlie was most attentive, but all the time he was watching Peggy with the elegant young idler to whom Lady Urquhart hoped to marry her.

Now and then Peggy would glance across the room meaningly, but he never once asked her to dance, so determined was he that her mother should not suspect the true state of affairs. His position, however, was not a very pleasant one, therefore part of the time he spent in the great old smoking-room with his host, Sir Polworth, and several other guests, some of them being women, for nowadays the ladies of a country house-party invariably invade the room which formerly was sacred to the men.

When the dance had ended and the guests were about to retire, Otley managed to whisper a word to the girl he loved. He made an appointment to meet her at a secluded spot in the park near the lodge on the following morning at eleven.

She kept the appointment, and when they met she stood for a few moments clasped in her lover's arms.

"I had such awful difficulty to get away from Cecil," she said, laughing. She looked a sweet attractive figure in her short tweed skirt, strong country shoes and furs. "He wanted to go for a walk with me. So I slipped out and left him guessing."

Her companion remained silent.

A few moments later they turned along a path which led to a stile, and thence through a thick wood of leafless oaks and beeches. Along the winding path carpeted with dead leaves they strolled hand-in-hand, until suddenly Otley halted, and in a thick hoa.r.s.e voice quite unusual to him, said: