Feng was not even mildly interested. “He spent some years in China, I know,” he remarked indifferently, “but I fancy you must have been mistaken. All his interests were in trade and finance—not in politics. Probably what you took for an expression of rage and fear was the result of the terrible spasms of pain that seize him occasionally.”
The explanation seemed so reasonable that I accepted it without hesitation. After all, it was extremely unlikely that old Humphreys could have been mixed up with the Thu-tseng and Feng, I thought, could hardly have been so unmoved had he really thought there was anything in my suspicions.
But I was to learn months later that the astute Chinese had completely hoodwinked me. I had made no mistake at all. The information I had given him was to prove of supreme importance in the game Dr. Feng was playing, so we learned when the final move had been played. The man must have had nerves of iron. He was off his guard when the crystal claw arrived, it is true, but the news—of tremendous import, as events showed—that Humphrey’s had good reason to fear the Thu-tseng did not cause even the quiver of an eyelash. There are few things in nature so utterly impassive as the face of the cultured Chinese!
Thelma passed day after day in tense anxiety for news of Stanley. To fill time we made frequent skiing excursions to the Schelthorn or the Seeling furen but every evening at half-past five we were at the little shed-like station, breathlessly awaiting the train bringing up travelers from England.
And each evening we hurried away disappointed.
In the hotel, on the ski-fields, and on the bob-run the fun was fast and furious, but the laughter and the dance music jarred upon the nerves of both of us. And, to make matters worse, many visitors were beginning to look askance at Thelma, now that young Audley did not return.
Questions were asked of Thelma on all sides, and to them she was compelled to give evasive, and sometimes, untrue, answers.
Ten days after young Audley should have returned, I had, late at night, left the ball-room at the Kürhaus opposite the hotel after a couple of hours of strenuous drumming in the jazz orchestra.
Thelma had retired early, and, though in no mood for gaiety, I had been compelled to help my brother amateur bandsmen. So at two o’clock we had closed down and the dancers were all crossing the snowy road back to the hotel.
The moon was shining brilliantly over the towering glaciers, transforming the silent snow-clad mountains and forests into a veritable fairyland. Such a clear, frosty night was inviting for a stroll and many couples wrapped in coats had put on their “gouties”—or snow-shoes—and were going for walks before turning in.