The Yellow Face

by Fred M. White

"Well, she is Lady Barmouth's sister, to begin with," Jack said. "Now, perhaps, you may be inclined to be more communicative."

Nostalgo shook his head in a sorrowful manner, and proceeded to lead the way up-stairs. It was not lost upon Jack that his companion seemed to know his way about the house just as one would who had lived there for some time. He even seemed to know where to lay his hand upon each electric switch; in fact, his familiarity with the surroundings was apparent to the meanest understanding.

"One more word before we leave the subject," Jack said. "I showed you to-night the man who calls himself Padini. You recognized him as a man whom you had known in Mexico, and you left me to understand that he was as great a scoundrel as Anstruther, only that he lacked the necessary courage to carry his schemes into effect. Would it surprise you to know that this Padini is the husband of the poor woman who has just gone out?"

Nostalgo shook his head with the air of a man who is not hearing anything for the first time. As he had intimated before, the secret was not his own, and he showed no inclination to go into the matter now. He led the way to the first landing, from which the living-rooms branched off. Here was the fine, spacious hall where Jack had found himself on the night he had met Rigby there; the big ferns and palms were still scattered about; the evidences of luxury were plain. Only a rich man could have occupied so fine a suite of apartments. Nostalgo smiled as all these objects of art and luxury met his eye.

"All is not gold that glitters," he said; "in fact, nothing that glitters is gold. All this kind of thing would be calculated to impress any client who came along, but the British public is getting to understand the value of outside show. Let me see--this used to be the drawing-room in the old days, when----

"Nostalgo flicked up the lights, and there, bathed brilliantly by the flashing rays, was a room that would not have disgraced a palace. Carrington was a man of taste and feeling; his pictures were good, and his china would have fetched much money at Christie's. The lights were down again, and Nostalgo walked away in the direction of the dining-room. He might have been some contemptuous servant displaying his master's treasures to the admiring eye of a colleague. Everywhere the foot sank deeply into velvety carpets. Many fine sets of armor graced the corridor. There were one or two pictures of price here, also; a Corot, a dainty little Meissonier, a sketch or two from the brush of same other modern painters. Deeply interested as he was in the adventure, Jack did not fail to note and do justice to Carrington's taste.

"A whited sepulchre," Nostalgo murmured. "It is a poor jewel, after all, that lives in this perfect setting. Now, here is the dining-room. What do you think of it--old oak and old blue china with Flemish pictures of the best school? Elegant, is it not? You need not wonder why the women run after Carrington. But we will give them something to talk about presently."

With the assured step of one who knows every inch of the way, Nostalgo moved on to a small apartment behind the dining-room. This was fitted in the form of a smoking-room, with deep and cozy armchairs and comfortable divans against the Moorish walls. The whole thing was Moorish, from the decorations on the walls and the wonderful brass lamps depending from the painted ceiling. At the far end of the room were two double stained glass doors leading into a conservatory. The warmth here was grateful, and seemed to touch the senses drowsily. As to the rest, the conservatory was filled with masses of graceful feathery palms and ferns, beyond which was tier upon tier of red geraniums. The whole effect was wonderfully pleasing and artistic, and Jack did not hesitate to say so.

Nostalgo was not so enthusiastic.

"I wasn't thinking so much about that," he said drily. "I was regarding this little garden more in the light of a hiding place. You and I are going to play the eavesdropper, my friend. It is not a congenial occupation, I know; but there is precious little of anything congenial about this business. Carrington will be here presently, and probably Anstruther will accompany him."