“She is the Medusa of modern life,” explained the vicar. “She turns to stone those who gaze on her. Most certainly she petrifies all good feeling and Christian tolerance. Why, I actually heard a woman whose conduct is not usually governed by what I hold to be good taste sneer at Miss Wynton this evening. ‘The murder is out now,’ she said. ‘Bower’s presence explains everything.’ Yet I am able to state that Miss Wynton was quite unprepared for his arrival. By chance I was standing on the steps when he drove up to the hotel, and it was perfectly clear from the words they used that neither was aware that the other was in Maloja.”
Spencer leaned over toward the iron-master. “Tell you what,” he said; “I’ve changed my mind about the trip to England to-morrow. Get up that game with Bower. I’ll stand the racket myself unless you want to go half shares.”
“Done! I should like to have an interest in it. Not that I am pining for Bower’s money, and it may be that he will win ours; but I am keen on giving him a sharp run. At Nice last January not a soul in the Casino would go Banco when he opened a big bank. They were afraid of him.”
While he was speaking, Dunston’s shrewd eyes dwelt on the younger man’s unmoved face. He wondered what had caused this sudden veering of purpose. It was certainly not the allurement of heavy gambling, for Spencer had declined the proposal as coolly as he now accepted it. Being a man of the world, he thought he could peer beneath the mask. To satisfy himself, he harked back to the personal topic.
“By the way, does anyone know who Miss Wynton is?” he said. “That inveterate gossip, Mrs. Vavasour, who can vouch for every name in the Red Book, says she is a lady journalist.”
“That, at any rate, is correct,” said the vicar. “In fact, Miss Wynton herself told me so.”
“Jolly fine girl, whatever she is. To give Bower his due, he has always been a person of taste.”
“I have reason to believe,” said Spencer, “that Miss Wynton’s acquaintance with Mr. Bower is of the slightest.”
His words were slow and clear. Dunston, sure now that his guess was fairly accurate, hastened to efface an unpleasant impression.
“Of course, I only meant that if Bower is seen talking to any woman, it may be taken for granted that she is a pretty one,” he explained. “But who’s for a drink? Perhaps we shall meet our expected opponent in the bar, Mr. Spencer.”