The Yellow Face

by Fred M. White

"There is one thing I cannot understand," Rigby put in. "Why did Anstruther cause all those posters to be placed on the principal hoardings of London?"

"Because Ferris had escaped him," Seymour explained. "You see, he wanted Ferris very badly. He could blackmail him, and hoped to go on doing so with impunity. But Ferris gave his tormentor the slip, and placed himself in the hands of that clever French surgeon. Once the cure was complete, Ferris could have passed Anstruther in the street without the least fear of being recognized. He had only to change his name, and the thing was done."

"But I don't quite understand yet," Jack said.

"Well, you see, Ferris is a very sensitive man, and cursed with a lively imagination. That was where Anstruther's wonderful intellect came in. He had lost his man, and was determined to find him once more. Hence those accusing posters, that were destined to meet Ferris's eye at every turn, and so play upon his nerves that he would be glad to give himself up, and make the best terms he could. It was just the sort of scheme to appeal to Anstruther, and I am quite sure that if Ferris had not met his friend the surgeon, the plan would have been brilliantly successful. And now, if you don't mind, I should like to go as far as the Great Metropolitan Hotel and talk this matter over with Ferris. I am not in the least likely to be called to-morrow; indeed, it seems to me that I have finished my task so far as Anstruther is concerned. This being so, the sooner I place myself in the hands of the French surgeon the better. My word! If you men could only understand the life I have led the past three years!"

Seymour turned away, and hid his face for a moment. The other two could respect and understand his feelings, for a long pause followed. When Seymour paused again, he was more calm and collected. He pitched his cigar into the fireplace, and suggested calling a cab and going off to the Great Metropolitan Hotel at once. Ferris appeared only too glad to see them; indeed, he was much better and more cheerful than he had been a night or two ago, when Fate had so strangely brought Jack and himself together. Most of the plaster had been removed from his face by this time, and, so far as his visitors could see, there were only the faintest traces that the knife had been used to remove the terrible brand of the Nostalgo scourge.

"I expect to be out in two or three days," Ferris explained. "I shall walk the streets with all the more pleasure now that I know there is no chance of meeting Anstruther. I have just been reading an account of the trial in one of the evening papers."

Seymour grasped his old comrade's hand, and drew him eagerly to the light. It was brilliant sunshine outside, so that the face of Ferris was picked out clearly. Despite his assumed calmness, there was a trembling anxiety in Seymour's eyes. Long and earnestly did he gaze at the pale features of his friend.

"Yes," he muttered. "Yes, I can hope at last. What a wonderful operator your surgeon must be. So far as I can see, you have no marks whatever, except here and there some star-shaped scars, which will vanish in the course of a few days."

"They will be gone altogether at the end of a week," Ferris said. "At least, so my doctor says."

"Amazing!" Seymour cried. "Why, I myself have tried specialists in nearly every capital in Europe. Every one of them was utterly ignorant of how the thing had been brought about, and not a single operator of the lot could give me the faintest hope of my ever being any better; and yet here you find a comparatively unknown man, who places his finger on the right spot at once. How did he manage it?"