He reached the door just as the bell rang. The visitor entered without a word and raised a thick veil.
"Well, brother-in-law!" mockingly.
"Berta?" came a startled voice from the doorway leading to the living-room.
"Yes, dear sister, Berta—the ghost who wants to return to her tomb and can't find the way. I smell tea. I'd like a cup."
Berta passed into the living-room and stopped before the burning logs, stretching out her hands. The sable coat, once so magnificent, was matted and torn, the hat bedraggled, the shoes water-soaked and cracked; but the fire in Berta's eyes and the beauty of her face were still undimmed. What a woman! thought Mathison, thrilled in spite of his vague terror.
Hilda, however, saw only the hunted woman, the desperation, the cold, the hunger. A sign, and she would have opened her arms. But Berta was still The Yellow Typhoon, harassed but unconquered. She tossed her hat and coat upon a chair and helped herself to a cup of tea. There was evil mischief in her smile. After she had drunk the tea, she selected a cigarette and lighted it.
"Ah, that is good! I haven't had a decent cigarette in four days. The driver thought I was you, Hilda. What a Godforsaken hole! But it was not so hard to find. In your dossier—I read it while we were entering New York—it was recorded that you were born here, that it was the only home you had. Where would two sentimental fools like you two come for their honeymoon? The North is in the blood of both of you. A ghost, Hilda; and with a wave of your hand—my evanishment. I want a passport to Denmark. It will not be wise to refuse me. I haven't tried to see the mother. We are dead to each other; let it be so. But there are other ways by which I can twist your heart, my beautiful Norma."
"Don't mind about me, John. You cannot hurt me, Berta."
"I can try. Arrest me and see what will come of it. You two have sent to his death the only man I ever cared for."