Carmen's Messenger

by Harold Bindloss

XXIX

FOSTER ARRIVES

When Lucy looked up, the others had gathered round and Walters smiled sympathetically.

"Are you better?" he asked Lawrence.

"Yes; we'll go on in a minute. I don't know what was the matter; felt dizzy and couldn't keep my balance. Think I needed a rest."

"The thing's obvious," Walters agreed. "After seeing you on the glaciers, I reckon your nerve's all right, but you're not well yet and we brought you up the last hill too fast. The exertion disturbed the beating of your heart and a few drops too much blood sent to the brain makes a big difference. That's what happened; it's our fault."

Lucy was grateful for the explanation, and thought it correct, but she noted with some concern that Lawrence did not show the embarrassment she had expected, which indicated that he had not recovered yet. In the meantime, Walters gave her a look of ironical amusement. She could not resent this and it seemed ridiculous to doubt him, but she did.

"Thank you; you were very quick and cool," she said with an effort.

Walters tactfully bowed his acknowledgment, as if he did not want to press his claim on her gratitude, and Lucy turned to one of the others.

"Was it you who held me back?" she asked, and when the man nodded, resumed: "Of course, you were right. I might have startled him and we would both have fallen."

"That's what I was afraid of. Anyhow, Mr. Walters deserves your thanks most. He saw what was needed and did it smartly."

Then Lawrence got up, with some color in his face, and gave Walters his hand. "I expect I would have fallen if you hadn't come along," he said and turned to the rest. "I feel I must apologize for frightening you. My best excuse is that I wasn't as fit as I thought."

They urged him to rest and one offered to run to the hotel for brandy, but he declared he was able to go on, and they tactfully began to talk about something else and after a few minutes let him drop behind. He was grateful and went slowly, with his hand on Lucy's arm. Sometimes he pressed it gently and she gave him a tender look, but said nothing. She could not talk; her relief was too great. When they reached the hotel Lawrence went to his room, and soon afterwards Lucy met Walters on the veranda.

"I hope Lawrence is not much the worse," he said.

Lucy remembered the part she had taken and resolved to play it out.

"I expect he will be as well as usual after a rest. You took a very generous revenge."

Walters laughed. "After all, I was only a little quicker than the rest and really ran no risk. I was behind him and he couldn't get hold of me. In fact, I don't know that I'd have had grit enough to stick to him if he had slipped."

He left her and Lucy could find no fault with his reply, which she admitted was frank and modest. For all that, her distrust had not been banished, and when, after a time, Lawrence came down, she said, "I suppose you're now satisfied that it wasn't Walters' fault you were left on the couloir?"

"Aren't you?" Lawrence asked with some surprise.

"No," said Lucy firmly. "I'm not quite satisfied. You see, there were a number of accidents, all leading to one result. Coincidences of that kind don't happen unless somebody arranges them."

Lawrence laughed. "Then they're not coincidences. Do you still hold
Walters accountable for the accidents?"

"If he was accountable, they wouldn't be accidents," Lucy rejoined with some color in her face.

"A fair retort! But let's be serious. I'm not sure I'd have fallen off the log if I'd been left alone, but it's very possible. Walters' help was useful, whether he saved my life or not, and you can't deny that he meant to save it."

"No; I think he meant to save you. Did you know who it was when he touched you?"

"I did. Remembering Jake's theory, I saw it was possible he had come to push me off, but I knew he hadn't. That's why I gave him my hand afterwards."

"Ah!" said Lucy. "I was sorry when you did that, because I knew what it meant"

Lawrence looked at her deprecatingly. "I don't like you to be prejudiced, dear, even on my account. I can do nothing that might injure Walters now and can't treat him with suspicion; but he's going soon and, if it's any comfort, I won't leave the hotel grounds for the next day or two. Anyhow I've rather overdone things lately."

"Thank you for the promise," Lucy said, and was glad when her mother joined them, for she felt baffled and wanted to think.

She hated Walters with a half-instinctive hatred that reflection showed her was justified; but beyond the concession he had made Lawrence would not be moved. On the surface, so to speak, he was logical and she was not. She was sure Walters had plotted to leave him on the couloir, although she admitted that he had meant to save his life when he turned dizzy upon the trunk. It was possible that he had yielded to sudden generous emotion, but she did not accept the explanation. The fellow was cold-blooded and calculating; she thought he had deliberately let his opportunity pass, because, after this, nobody would believe him guilty if he found another. But he must not find an opportunity, and it was a keen relief to know that Foster would soon arrive. She had not told Lawrence yet; it might be better to let Foster make an excuse for his visit.

When it began to get dark, she stood near the glass front of the veranda and glanced at her watch. She could see for some distance down the valley and knew that the smoke of a locomotive would spread in a dark cloud across the tops of the pines. The train was late, but there was no smoke yet. It was a long climb from sea-level at Vancouver Inlet and in winter the line was sometimes blocked. There was no obvious ground for alarm, but somehow she was worse afraid of Walters than before.

The massed pines gradually faded to a formless blur on the cold blue-gray slopes of snow. There was no sound from the valley by the roar of the river, and by and by a servant turned on the lamps. Lucy could now see nothing outside and shivered as she looked at her watch. She hoped no accident had delayed the tram.

In the meantime, Lawrence, who was sitting near her mother, had picked up a book, but put it down when Walters came in, and Lucy felt a curious tremor of repugnance as she glanced at him. It was a shrinking she sometimes experienced at the sight of a noxious insect. Yet there was nothing about Walters to excite aversion. He was rather a handsome man, and stood in a careless pose, smiling at the group.

"The trouble about a pleasant time is that it comes to an end, and I'll have to pull out to-morrow," he said. "When are you going to give me the photographs you promised, Lawrence?"

"I'll get them now and you can choose which you like. They're in my room."

"I want one with Miss Stephen in it as well as yourself," Walters replied. "It will be something to remind me of our climbs."

"Send the boy for the packet," Lucy interposed.

"I think the drawer's locked; anyhow I don't want the boy to upset my things," Lawrence objected.

"Then I'll go with you," said Walters. "It will save you taking the packet back and you can get ready for dinner while you are upstairs."

Lawrence got up. "Very well; we'll go now."

"Take the elevator, even if you have to wait," Lucy said as they went to the door.

Lawrence had chosen a room at the top of the building because the view was good and it got the sun early in the morning, but now and then walked up the stairs to see how fast he was recovering his strength. After a minute or two, Lucy heard the elevator start and its harsh rumble jarred her nerves. The electric lifts they use in Canada seldom run silently, and the elevator had not been working well. Lucy was annoyed that the sound disturbed her, and imagined she had not recovered from the shock she got during their walk. She was nervous and admitted that she did not like Lawrence to be out of her sight when Walters was with him. She tried to persuade herself that this was foolish, but could not banish her uneasiness. Then Mrs. Stephen looked up.

"There's the train; I didn't hear it stop."

Lucy listened. She had forgotten the train for the last few minutes, and it seemed to be going fast. The sharp snorting of the mountain engine and rhythmic clang of wheels seemed to indicate that its long climb had not been interrupted. The Montreal express did not stop at the flag station unless the conductor was warned. She felt daunted as she realized that Foster might not have come, and she had not told her mother she had telegraphed for him.

A few minutes later she heard steps outside; then the door opened, and she felt a thrill of satisfaction as Foster came in with Pete. He looked grave and rather hot, as if he had been walking fast, but it was strangely comforting to see him. Besides, she liked his big companion, who waited with Scottish calm.

Foster bowed to Mrs. Stephen and then turned to Lucy.

"Is Lawrence all right?"

"Yes. He overtired himself this morning, but is better now."

Foster looked relieved. "Is Walters here?"

"He goes to-morrow."

"Ah!" said Foster, as if he thought this important. "I should have arrived yesterday if your message had come earlier. I got it just after the train started in the morning."

Mrs. Stephen looked at her daughter, but Lucy offered no explanation. Foster's abruptness disturbed her. He obviously wanted to understand the situation, but seemed to think he had no time to lose.

"I sent the telegram half an hour before the office closed and as the agent goes early you ought to have got it in the evening," she said.

"Then it must have been kept back. Where's Lawrence now?"

"He went to his room with Walters about ten minutes since."

Foster beckoned Pete. "Then I'll go straight up; I know the number."

They went out and Lucy sat down, feeling disturbed but somewhat comforted. It was plain that Foster shared her fears and knew more than she did, but in another minute or two he would join his comrade, and Lawrence would be safe when he was there.

In the meantime, Walters lighted a cigarette Lawrence gave him in his room and sat down to examine the photographs. There were a number of views of the mountains and a group of figures occupied the foreground of several. A guest at the hotel with some talent for photography had taken the pictures, and after a time Walters picked out two in which Lucy and Lawrence appeared.

"I'll take these, if I'm not robbing you," he said and waited until Lawrence put on a Tuxedo jacket, when he resumed: "Well, I suppose we had better go down. Are you coming?"

He went out and as Lawrence crossed the floor to turn off the light, called back: "I forgot the pictures; they're on the bureau. The elevator's coming up and I'll keep it when it's here."

Lawrence told him to do so. The lift had stopped between the floors on their ascent, and the electric light inside it had gone out, while the boy said something about his not being able to run it much longer. The photographs, however, were not on the bureau and Lawrence searched the room before he found them on the bed. Then he turned off the light and went into the passage, which was rather dark. The lamp at the shaft was not burning, but he could see Walters beckoning at the gate.

"He wants to get down before the motor stops," the latter said.

Lawrence hurried along the passage, and when he reached the shaft
Walters put his hand on the folding ironwork.

"Come along; his light's out," he said to Lawrence, and added, as if to somebody in the lift: "Start her off! I'll shut the gate."

Lawrence stepped forward and then clutched the ironwork as his advanced foot went down into empty space. Instead of the floor of the lift, there was a dark gap beneath him, and he knew he had come very near to plunging down the shaft. He hung over it, with one foot on the edge and his hand on an iron bar, and looked at the black hole with horror as he braced himself for the effort to swing his body back. There was some strain upon his right arm, because his right knee was bent and his other leg dangled over the shaft. His hold on the ironwork had saved him and he must use it to regain the passage.

Next moment a hand fastened on his wrist and he thought Walters had come to his help. But the fellow was stupid; he ought to have seized his shoulder. Then the sweat ran down his face as he guessed the truth. Walters had not come to help; he meant to throw him down the shaft.

He set his teeth and felt the veins on his forehead swell with the effort he made. He was in horrible danger and must fight for his life. Walters was trying to pull his hand off the bar, but he resolved that if the fellow succeeded, he should go down the shaft with him. But although his situation was desperate, he did not mean to fall.

Then Walters' fingers slipped away, and something jarred Lawrence's knuckles as he got a firmer hold. The brute had struck him with a pistol butt and the pain was sharp, but he did not let go. Though his muscles were badly strained and his brain struggled with numbing horror, he could think. Walters could have made him loose his grasp had he used his knife, but the thing must look like an accident and there must be no cut to show. The fellow had set a cunning trap for him, but he might escape yet.

Then he thought he heard steps, but his hearing was dull, for there was a sound like bells in his ears and the hand fastened on his wrist again. He arched his back to ease the strain on his arm and wondered vaguely how long he could hold on. Afterwards, he calculated that he had hung over the shaft for about a minute.

Suddenly his antagonist's grasp slackened and his hand was loose. There were running steps; somebody seized his arm and pulled him strongly back. As he staggered across the passage he heard a heavy blow. Walters, reeling past, struck the wall and leaned against it with blood on his white face. He put his hand into his pocket, but a man sprang forward and grappled with him.

They lurched away from the wall and fell down the stairs. Another man ran down after them, and Lawrence, who felt very limp, followed awkwardly. There were lights on the next landing and he saw the struggling men strike the banisters and stop. One had his hand loose and held a pistol; his tense, savage face was uppermost. The man who had gone down after them stooped and struck him with his fist. The struggle stopped, and Lawrence sat down on the steps and tried to pull himself together. He knew now how his illness had weakened him.

Then Foster came up the stairs, very hot and breathless, with his jacket torn, and stopping beside Lawrence, forced a smile.

"It's lucky I got here when I did," he said. "The brute yonder stopped me coming yesterday."

Foster did not remember his reply, but he got up and went down to where Walters lay unconscious. As he reached the spot the hotel manager and a waiter arrived.

"What's the matter? Is he dead?" the manager asked.

"I don't know," said Foster coolly. "It will save the police some trouble if he is."

"But I want to know what's happened,"

Foster indicated a pistol lying on the steps. "That's his; he tried to use it. I'll tell you about the thing later. In the meantime, you can take him to his room and telegraph for the police." He paused and beckoned Pete. "Go with them and don't lose sight of him until I come. He'll probably come round soon."

"Weel," said Pete dryly, "I'm thinking he'll no' be verra sensible for a while yet, but I'll see he doesna' get away."

He and the waiter picked up Walters, and Foster turned to Lawrence.

"Now I'd better wash and straighten myself up. Perhaps you can lend me a jacket."

Lawrence laughed, a rather strained laugh. "Certainly; come along. You're a curious combination, partner. I've called you romantic, but you're not a sentimentalist when you get into action."