“In which case I shall also tell what I know—which, I venture to think you will find a trifle awkward for yourself. So think it over,” she said defiantly in a low clear voice. “Good-night.”
Her footsteps were muffled in the soft snow as she made her way back to the hotel, alone. Ruthen followed a few minutes later: no one would have guessed that they had been out together.
I went to my room more puzzled than ever.
CHAPTER V
ESTABLISHES SOME CURIOUS FACTS
When I met Thelma next morning I noticed that she was pale and obviously nervous and ill at ease. I longed to question her, but to do so would have been to reveal the fact that—unintentionally, it was true—I had been eavesdropping.
It was now plain that the man Ruthen, whom I had thought to be a mere hotel acquaintance of Stanley Audley’s, was, in truth, something more, whether friend or enemy I was still not quite sure. Thelma’s attitude, it was true, suggested the latter, though Ruthen had professed friendly motives. His attitude towards her thoroughly incensed me. But I realized that there must be some reason, unknown to me, why Thelma never acknowledged him when I was present. It was evident too that she hated and possibly feared him and that she, at any rate, regarded him as her husband’s enemy.
She made no mention of the telegram from her husband that Ruthen had referred to and, as she had not denied having received it, I assumed that Ruthen’s information was correct. It might have been, of course, a reassuring message, but if this was so there was no apparent reason why she should not have told me about it and her obvious anxiety and nervousness seemed entirely to contradict the suggestion that it could have contained any good news.
That morning we took our skis up the cable railway to the Allmendhubel, a thousand feet further up the mountain side, and thoroughly enjoyed our sport on the steep snowy incline above the village. A ski-jumping competition had been arranged for the afternoon and we spent an hour watching the competitors “herring-boning” and “side-stepping” as they climbed over the snow up the distant heights in readiness for the swift descent ending with the high jump that only experts can accomplish.
Thelma seemed silent and distraite all the morning. At length I asked her what was troubling her.
“I really didn’t know I was glum!” she replied. “Forgive me, Mr. Yelverton, won’t you? I am awfully worried about Stanley. I really think it is useless for me to remain here in Mürren any longer. I had better go home to Bexhill.”