Next day she went to the little wood-built post office alone and despatched several telegrams to various addresses, but the replies she received gave no news of her husband. Evening came again, but Stanley Audley was not among the arrivals from London, though I was with Thelma on the arrival of the mountain train at Mürren station.
“I cannot make it out,” she said as we sped back to the hotel on our skis. “Surely he must be delayed. Perhaps he has telegraphed to me and the message has gone astray!”
“That may be,” I agreed in order to reassure her, but personally I felt much mystified.
Next day I telegraphed to the managing director of Gordon & Austin, the electrical engineers in George Street, Westminster, asking for news of Stanley Audley, and in response about five o’clock in the evening came a reply which read: “Stanley Audley is not employed by us and is unknown to us.”
I said nothing to Thelma, but finding Dr. Feng alone, showed him the telegram.
The old doctor grunted with dissatisfaction.
“Something wrong somewhere,” he remarked. “One should always be very careful of hotel acquaintances. I warned you at the time that you were indiscreet to offer to look after the bride of a man you don’t know.”
“I admit that! But the whole affair is very mysterious. He told me a deliberate lie when he said he was employed by Gordon & Austin.”
“Yes. He’s a mystery, and evidently not what he pretended to be. What does his wife think?”
“I haven’t shown her the telegram.”