It was the arrival of Stanley Audley and his bride that, suddenly and unexpectedly, changed the entire current of my life. And as I sit here placing on record this chronicle of bewildering events, I wonder that I came safely through the maze of doubt, mystery and peril in which I found myself so suddenly plunged. I can only believe that a man, profoundly influenced, as I very speedily was, by the splendid philosophy of Yogi and buoyed up by a consuming love for a pure and beautiful woman, will face dangers before which others might well quail,—will even, as the saying goes, “throw dice with the devil” if need be.
To make my story clear, I had better formally introduce myself. My name is Rex Yelverton, my age at present moment twenty-eight and the astounding incidents I am about to relate happened just over three years ago, so that I was under twenty-five at the time.
My father had died when I was twenty-three and had left me a small estate near Andover. I had been brought up to the law and had been admitted a solicitor just before my father’s death. I could not afford to live on the estate, so had cosy chambers on the top floor of an old-fashioned house in Russell Square and having entered into partnership with a solicitor named Hensman, practiced with him in Bedford Row.
Hensman’s hobby was golf and for that reason he took his holiday in the summer. I loved the winter life of Switzerland and for some years had made it my rule to get away in the winter. In addition to my music I was deeply interested in wireless, and had fitted up quite a respectable wireless station in a room in Russell Square. I had a transmitting license and with my two hobbies found my spare time so fully occupied that I mixed but little in ordinary society.
On that never-to-be-forgotten night when I first saw Stanley Audley and his handsome bride, the Doctor retired early, as was his habit. So, strolling into the ball-room of the Kürhaus opposite the hotel, I watched the pair dancing happily together, the cynosure of all eyes, of course, though the room was not very full, as the season had only just begun.
Like all other honeymoon couples, they were trying to pretend that they had been married for years and, like all other honeymoon couples, they were failing lamentably! The truth was, as ever, palpable to every onlooker. Like every one else I admired them, though like every one else, I smiled at their pretty pretense. As they had arrived by the night train from Calais, I guessed they had been married in London about thirty hours before and had come straight through to Mürren. This, in fact, proved to be the truth.
In my admiration of the beautiful young bride I was not alone, for a middle-aged, grey-bearded invalid, name Hartley Humphreys, with whom I often played billiards before going to bed, also remarked upon her beauty, and expressed wonder as to who they were. It was then that another man in the room, also evidently interested, told us that their name was Audley.
Next morning, on coming downstairs, I found little Mrs. Audley dressed in winter-sports clothes and looking inexpressibly sweet and charming.
She wore a pale grey Fair Isle jersey, with a bright jazzy pattern, with a saucy little cap to match, and over the jersey a short dark brown coat with fur collar and cuffs, and around her waist a leather belt. Brown corduroy breeches, and heavy well-oiled boots and ski-anklets completed one of the most sensible ski-outfits I have ever seen. That she was no novice at skiing was evident from the badge, a pair of crossed skis, she wore in her cap. It was the badge of the Swiss Ski Club—the same as that worn by the Alpine guides themselves.
Naturally I was surprised. I had, on the previous night, believed her to be simply a handsome young bride who had come to spend her honeymoon amid the winter gayety of Mürren, but now it was clear she was no beginner.