The Yellow Face

by Fred M. White

"And about when would that be?" Jack asked.

Anstruther explained, without giving definite dates, that it was about two years before. Jack proceeded to discuss the matter in a casual kind of way. He was anxious to know whether any of the old customs of the Aztecs still prevailed; he had heard that to a great extent the religion of these people had been built up on freemasonry. Did, for instance, Anstruther believe in the legends of terrible revenges which these people used to inflict upon their enemies?

But Anstruther declined to put his head further into the lion's mouth; he seemed to become suddenly a little uneasy and suspicious and changed the conversation to safer grounds. Still, Jack had learned quite as much as he had expected to learn, and Anstruther's very reticence confirmed Jack in the feeling that his host knew everything there was to know about the terrible misfortunes of the man or men called Nostalgo.

It was getting fairly late now, and Jack was beginning to wonder whether the hour had not yet arrived for Rigby's promised diversion. If it came now it would be merely wasted, seeing that nothing could be gained by Rigby's ingenious device until Anstruther was safe in his study. He showed no signs, however, of any disposition to move; his face had grown placid again, and he was talking with all his old charm of manner on various topics of interest.

Jack did not fail to notice the figure of Serena as she flitted noiselessly about the room. It had not escaped his notice, either, that the woman had appeared more than usually anxious and eager when Mexico had been mentioned. Serena disappeared from the room a moment in her soft, flitting manner, coming back a moment later with a telegram, which she laid silently by her master's side. Anstruther opened the envelope carelessly, and glanced at the contents.

Just for an instant his face grew dark as a thunder-cloud, and something like an oath escaped his lips. It was all like a lightning flash, but the swift change had not been lost on Jack. Anstruther twisted up the telegram carefully, and thrust it in one of the shaded candles before him, as if he needed a light for his cigar. Jack felt that he would have given much for a sight of that telegram, but already it was a little pile of gray ashes upon Anstruther's dessert plate.

"A great nuisance," the latter said airily; "that is the worst of being a man of science. But I am not going out to-night for anybody. I have got some new music I want to try over presently."

Jack murmured something appropriate to the occasion. Claire had already left the table, with the suggestion that perhaps the men would like coffee in the drawing-room.

"You stay here and smoke," said Anstruther; "you won't mind my leaving you, of course, especially as I am so anxious to get back to my music."

So saying, Anstruther pitched his cigar end on the ash tray, and moved off in the direction of his study. He had a gay, debonair manner now; he hummed a fragment of an operatic air as he walked along. There was the jangle of a telephone bell presently; almost immediately afterwards the study door was heard to shut and lock, and the music began.