I turned into the hotel gardens where the trees were heavily laden with freshly fallen snow, and entered a path where the snow was piled six feet on either side. My footsteps fell noiselessly on the fresh snow and suddenly I heard voices in the path that ran parallel with mine—the voices of a man and a woman.
Instantly I recognized the woman’s voice as Thelma’s and I stood in surprise that she should be out of doors at such an hour.
“Now, for the last time I ask you, Thelma, where Stanley is,” I heard a man’s voice say. “You had a telegram from him today. Where is he? I want to see him very urgently.”
The voice, beyond any possibility of mistake was Ruthen’s. Thelma had assured me she disliked him, that he pestered her with unwelcome attentions. Yet here she was talking to him at two o’clock in the morning, three hours after she had said good-night and, apparently, gone to bed!
“I tell you it is no business of yours,” came her reply in a hard, resolute voice. “He is my husband and if he tells me to keep silence I shall do so.”
“Then you refuse to let me see the wire?” he asked. “I arranged ten days ago that I should know if you received a telegram. It was delivered to your room at five o’clock tonight—and you know where Stanley is, though to everybody, including that fool Yelverton, you pretend ignorance and shed crocodile’s tears!”
“Oh! let me get back,” cried the girl. “I won’t be insulted! Mr. Yelverton does not know the truth, but he is at least kind and considerate towards me.”
“And takes Stanley’s place in your heart—eh?” the fellow sneered. “Now, I ask you once again if you will tell me where I can find Stanley. Every hour is of the greatest importance to both of us. If you tell me, then your husband may be saved, after all!”
“Mr. Ruthen, if I could trust you, I would reply. But I don’t!” was her plain answer.
I held my breath as I listened to that strange conversation.