The Yellow Face

by Fred M. White

"You are a bit of a detective in your way," Jack smiled.

"The conclusion is only what any one would call obvious," Nostalgo replied. "In the first place, all the servants have gone to bed, or that poor woman whom we saw down-stairs would not have been so careful to see that the door could not be opened without a latch-key. On the table behind you is a big silver salver with two glasses, a couple of syphons of soda-water, and a spirit-stand. What other conclusion do you come to than that Carrington is returning presently, and is bringing a friend with him?"

"I quite follow you," Jack said, "but there is one thing I don't understand. How is it that you can find your way about this house in so familiar a manner?"

"Ah, that is not so obvious," Nostalgo replied. "And yet the explanation is perfectly simple. Before I went to Mexico I was a friend of Carrington's. In those days his father was still alive, and he had not succeeded to so large a share of the business. As a matter of fact, Carrington and myself lived here together. He frequently discussed with me the improvements he would make here when once he was in a position to do so. The place where we are standing now used to be my dressing-room."

It seemed to Jack that Carrington must have been a cool hand indeed, and he suggested something of this to Nostalgo.

"Cool with the courage of despair," the latter said. "The night I came home and called on Carrington here, I thought he would have had a fit of apoplexy. Disfigured as I am, I am certain that he recognized me, but The Yellow Face 198 he was not slow to take advantage of my misfortunes. Directly he had recovered himself he became painfully polite, though he refused to acknowledge me as his quondam friend. You can quite see the point of that--so long as I could not prove my identity, he was able to keep me out of my property. But we have already discussed that point. And now you know why I am so familiar with the house, and how it comes about that I have a latch-key to fit the front door."

Nostalgo was apparently prepared to say more, only his quick hearing detected a suspicious sound below. He strode swiftly across the room, and switched out the light that had illuminated the room and the conservatory. It was an easy matter to find the hiding place amidst that tangle of ferns and flowers, and the two had hardly done so before the smoking-room door opened and Carrington came in, closely followed by Anstruther and Padini. The latter seemed to be terribly put out about something, for he flung his hat and coat upon the floor and dropped into a chair with an attitude of defiance.

"It is all very well for you," he exclaimed heatedly. "We do all the work and take all the risks, and you walk off with the profit. I tell you it is absolutely dangerous to work a scheme like ours from the Great Metropolitan Hotel."

There was a sneer on Anstruther's face as he helped himself to a cigarette and poured out a carefully-moderated dose of whiskey and soda.

"You little rascal," he said. He had the air of a man who, having tamed lions, was now contemptuously engaged in subduing less noble animals. "If you talk to me like this I will let you down altogether. You cannot injure me, but I can ruin you, body and soul. Go to your kennel, you hound."