“When we get back, Stanley and I hope to get a flat at Hampstead,” she said one day when we were resting after a swift run on skis close to the Half-way House—which is on the electric railway line which runs from Mürren along the edge of the precipice, before one changes into the rack-railway to descend to the valley.
That night at dinner there was a strange incident. Mrs. Audley came down in a gown which was the envy of many girls in the hotel. It was made of ciré tissue, and the yoke and hem were of silver lace. The front panel was ornamented with pin tucks and finished with a chou of flowers. It was a charming frock. On her breast the crystal claw winked and blazed in the light of the lamps.
Old Humphreys, contrary to his usual custom, had come into the dining room for dinner and was seated in his wheeled chair at the same table as Mrs. Audley, Dr. Feng and myself.
I shall never forget the look that came over his face when he caught sight of the crystal claw! Rage, fear and amazement mingled together until the old man looked positively demoniacal. Luckily, Mrs. Audley was talking to Dr. Feng and neither of them noticed him.
It was a moment or two before the old invalid could control himself. Then his face resumed its usual expression. But I had caught a glimpse of the hell that, for a brief moment, must have raged in the old man’s mind and once again the crystal claw seemed to be associated with something sinister and dangerous.
“That’s a pretty new brooch you have, Mrs. Audley,” said the old fellow in a grating voice which showed that even now he had hardly recovered himself.
“Yes,” she laughed merrily, “isn’t it sweet? It came by post, sent to me from Pekin. I haven’t any idea who sent it for there was no name. It has been forwarded from London, and is no doubt a wedding present from somebody who has forgotten to enclose a card.” And she turned over the crystal claw so that he could admire it.
Afterwards we crossed the snowy road to the Kürhaus, where in the spacious ball-room we danced together. She also danced with two or three other admiring partners. Old Mr. Humphreys wheeled his chair into the dancing room as was his habit each evening. It was pathetic to see the grey-haired thin-faced man who seemed so active in every other sense, deprived of the power of locomotion. When he left his chair he managed to hobble along and with great difficulty up the stairs with the aid of rubber-capped sticks. Mostly, however, the porters carried his chair upstairs to the first floor and he wheeled himself along the corridor to his room.
On the following morning, according to arrangements made over-night, we started at nine o’clock and taking with us John, the smart, ever-smiling guide, we started out on our skis to ascend the Schwarzbirg, nine thousand feet high, by way of the Bielen-Lücke. The ascent we found extremely interesting, but the weather, even when we started, was grey and threatening. Now and then snow clouds drifted quickly across, and that dangerous and mysterious Alpine wind, the Foehn, ever and anon grew gusty. It was clear a storm was threatening.
“A little blizzard, perhaps,” remarked the slim, agile John, in his soft English, as he slid along over the snow.