The Woman with One Hand, and Mr. Ely's Engagement. Marsh Richard
apparently a bitter one, too. What she wanted, circumstanced as she was, with such a gorgeous individual as this about the place, or what she could find for him to do, surpassed my comprehension.
The fellow bustled about the room, pretending to busy himself, in accordance with a trick of his trade, with nothing at all.
"Been here long, sir?"
"You know very well how long I have been here."
"Beg pardon, sir, how's that?"
"You have read it in the papers. Don't feign ignorance with me, my man."
The fellow turned away. He was industriously polishing an already spotless glass.
"You allude to the recent unfortunate occurrence, sir? I believe that I did see something about it."
"You believe! Is that all? You are perfectly aware that you are as well up in what you call the recent occurrence as I am. You know all about me; how I came into the house, when I came, my name, and everything."
I do not know why I said this, but I did say it, and I felt that it was true. The man seemed taken aback.
"Mrs. Barnes did mention your name," he murmured.
"You knew it without her mentioning it. You can leave the room. When I want you I will ring."
I was glad to be rid of him. His presence seemed to chafe me. I knew not why. He was not ill-looking. His bearing was wholly respectful; and yet some instinct had seemed to warn me that while I was in his near neighbourhood it would be just as well that I should be upon my guard.
When I had eaten I sallied forth in quest of Mrs. Barnes. Her nervous system had not improved since the morning; even the sight of me seemed to fill her with terror. Her eyes looked at everything except at me. I wondered if some disaster had been added to the sum of her already over-numerous troubles.
"You have a new waiter," I began.
"Yes." She spoke in a stammering whisper. Her features were agitated with the former reminiscence of St. Vitus's Dance. "Yes; a new waiter."
"I hope very sincerely, for your sake, Mrs. Barnes, that he may ere long have other guests to wait upon besides myself."
"Yes." The same irresolute muttering. "Yes; I hope he may."
"I had no idea that you thought of making an engagement of the kind just now."
"No-I don't think-I told you."
What was the matter with the woman? Why did she persist in speaking in that tone of voice, as if she was fearful of being overheard! And why did she apparently not dare to allow her eyes to rest, even for a moment, on my face? She had been so effusive in the morning. Now, on a sudden, she had returned to the condition of almost doddering terror which had marked her bearing during the time we had a policeman quartered in the house.
"Where did you get the man? What is his name? And what do you know of him?"
As I put my questions I thought for a moment that she was going to favour me with one of her frenzied bursts of confidence. But while I waited for her to speak, all at once her frame became rigid. I seemed to see the unspoken words lying on her lips. Turning to discover the cause of the obvious change in her manner, I found that the new waiter had opened the door and, unannounced, had entered the room. At sight of him her agitation again assumed the upper hand.
"I-I must ask you to excuse me, sir. I have something which I must do."
I did excuse her; but when I had left her I decided in my own mind that my instinct had been right, and that there was more in the new waiter than met the eye. It seemed scarcely likely that even a landlady of such an eccentric type as Mrs. Barnes would increase her staff when the only guest which her house contained was such an emphatically unprofitable one as I bade fair to be.
However, in one respect the position of affairs was destined to be speedily changed. The house received not only another guest, but also one who bade fair to be as profitable a one as a landlady's heart could wish. It was on the day immediately following that Mrs. Lascelles-Trevor arrived. I had been out all the morning and afternoon, renewing the weary search for employment which might provide me with the means for obtaining my daily bread. The first intimation I had of her arrival was when, having dined, I was thinking of a quiet pipe, and of an early retirement to bed.
CHAPTER VI
THE WOMAN WITH ONE HAND
"Mrs. Lascelles-Trevor's compliments, sir, and would you mind stepping upstairs?"
I had a lighted match in my hand, and was in the very act of applying it to the bowl of my pipe when the latest importation in waiters brought me the message.
"Mrs. Lascelles-Trevor?" I let the match go out. "And pray who may Mrs. Lascelles-Trevor be?"
"The lady who arrived to-day, sir, and who has taken a private sitting-room-No. 8."
"Indeed! And what does Mrs. Lascelles-Trevor want with me?"
"I don't know, sir; she asked me to give you her compliments, and would you be so kind as to step upstairs."
I stepped upstairs, wondering. I was received by a tall and somewhat ponderous woman, who was dressed in a dark-blue silk costume, almost as if she were going to a ball. She half rose from the couch as I came in, inclining her head in my direction with what struck me as a slightly patronising smile. She spoke in a loud, hearty tone of voice, which was marked by what struck me as being a Yorkshire twang.
"It is so good of you to come to see me, Mr. Southam. I was really more than half afraid to ask you. As it is, I beg ten thousand pardons, but I do so want you to write me a letter."
"To write you a letter? I am afraid I am a little slow of comprehension."
"I have lost my hand." She stretched out her right arm. Both arms were bare to the shoulder. I could not but notice how beautifully they were moulded, their massive contours, their snowy whiteness. She wore gloves which reached nearly to her elbows. So far as I could judge there appeared to be a hand inside of both. She seemed to read my thoughts, still continuing to hold her right arm out in front of her.
"You think my hand is gloved? I always wear it so. But the glove conceals a dummy. Come and feel it." I bowed. I was content to take her at her word; I had no wish to put her to the actual test. "I have never been able to gain complete control over my left hand-to use it as if it were my right. I suppose it is because I am not clever enough. I can scribble with it, but only scribble. When I desire to have a letter properly written I am dependent upon outsiders' help. Will you write one for me now?"
It was an odd request for a new-comer at an hotel to address to a perfect stranger, but I complied. The letter she dictated, and which I wrote at her dictation, seemed to me the merest triviality-a scribble would have served the purpose just as well. She chattered all the time that I was writing, and, when I had finished, she went on chattering still. All at once she broke into a theme to which I ought to have become accustomed, but had not.
"Do you know, Mr. Southam, that I have been reading about this dreadful murder case? How the papers have all been full of it! And I don't mind telling you, as a matter of fact, that in a sort of a way it was that which has brought me to this hotel."
If that were so, I retorted, then her tastes were individual; she perceived attractions where the average man saw none. She laughed.
"I don't know that it was exactly that, but the truth is, Mr. Southam, I was interested in you." The way in which she emphasised the pronoun a little startled me. "I made up my mind that I would ferret you out directly I got to the hotel, and that then, if I liked the look of you, would make you an offer. You see how frank I am."
She certainly was frank to a fault, in one sense. And yet I wondered. As I replied to her my tone was grim.
"It is very good of you. And now that, as I take it for granted that you do like the look of me-as you can scarcely fail to do-may I inquire what is the nature of the offer you propose to make?"
She laughed again. Possibly my perceptions were unusually keen, but, all the time, it occurred to me that there was about her a something-an atmosphere, if you will-which