The Mask Part 43

"Have I been ill long?"

"Yes--very long."

"What's the matter?"

"Concussion of the brain, pneumonia and shock. You are much better now, but you mustn't talk so much or you may have a relapse."

He asked no more, but pa.s.sed his hand over his brow in a bewildered sort of way. Presently, he began again:

"Does my wife come to see me?"

The nurse stopped in her work and looked at him curiously. In surprise, she exclaimed:

"Your wife! Have you a wife?"

It was his turn now to be surprised. In somewhat peevish tone he said:

"Of course I've a wife--everyone knows that."

"What's her name?"

"Helen--Helen Traynor." Enthusiastically, he added: "Oh, you'd just love my wife if you only knew her. She's the sweetest, the most unselfish----"

The nurse looked at him curiously.

"So your name is Traynor, is it? We've tried to find out for a long time. But there were no marks on your clothes when you were picked up.

We did not know who you were and so have not been able to communicate with any of your friends. We guessed you were a man of social position by your hands and teeth, and we knew your name began with a T because of the monogram on the signet ring on your finger."

"Pick me up?" he echoed. "Where did they pick me up? What has happened? Was it an accident?"

"You were found unconscious, drifting in the ocean, clinging to a spar, and were brought here by a sailing vessel. You had a fracture of the skull and you were half drowned. It is supposed that you were one of the pa.s.sengers of the _Abyssinia_, which took fire and went down two days after leaving Cape Town, but as several pa.s.sengers and officers whose bodies were never found also had names beginning with T, it was impossible to identify you."

As he listened, the vacant, stupid expression on his face gradually gave place to a more alert, intelligent look. Indistinctly, vaguely, he recalled things that had happened. Slowly his brain cells began to work.

He remembered cabling to Helen from Cape Town telling her of his sailing on the _Abyssinia_. He recalled the incidents of the first day at sea. The weather was beautiful. Everything pointed to a good voyage. Who was traveling with him? He could not remember. Oh, yes, now he knew. Francois, his valet, and that other queer fellow he had picked up at the diamond mines--his twin brother. Yes, it all came back to him now.

Why had he gone to the diamond mines? Yes, now he knew--to take back to New York the two big stones found on the Company's land. He had them safe in a belt he wore round his waist next to his skin. The second night out he went to bed about midnight and was fast asleep when suddenly he heard shouts of "Fire! Fire!" Jumping up and looking out of his cabin he saw stewards and pa.s.sengers running excitedly about.

There was a reddish glare and a suffocating smell of smoke. Quickly he buckled on the belt with the diamonds, and, slipping on his trousers, went out. The electric lights had gone out. The s.h.i.+p was in complete darkness. From all sides came shouts of men and screams of frightened women. It was a scene of utter demoralization and horror. He was groping his way along the narrow pa.s.sage, when, suddenly, out of the gloom a man sprang upon him, and, taken entirely by surprise, he was borne to the deck before he had time to defend himself. He could not see the man's face and thought it was one of the pa.s.sengers or sailors who had gone mad, but when he felt a tug at his belt where the diamonds were, he knew he had to do with a thief. He fought back with all his strength, but he was unarmed, while the stranger had a black jack which he used unmercifully, raining fearful blows on his head. The struggle was too unequal to last. Weak from loss of blood, he relaxed his grip, and the thief, dealing one fearful parting blow, tore away the belt and disappeared. His life blood was flowing away, he felt sick and dizzy, but just as the thief turned to run he managed to get a glimpse of his face. Now he remembered that face--it was the face of his twin brother--the man he had rescued from starvation on the _veldt_.

Yes, it all came back to him now, like a horrible nightmare. What had happened since then? How could he tell, since all this time his mind had been a blank? Helen, no doubt, believed him dead. Mr. Parker and all the others thought he had gone down with the s.h.i.+p. But what of his valet, Francois, and his cowardly, murderous brother--were they saved?

If so, the thief had the diamonds, and had probably disposed of them by this time. Perhaps there might still be time to capture the would-be a.s.sa.s.sin and save the gems for the Americo-African Company. Brother or no brother, he would have no more pity on the unnatural, miserable cutthroat. The first step was to let his friends know where he was.

He must telegraph at once to Helen.

Yet, on second thought, it would not be wise to do that. If Helen really believed him dead and was now mourning his loss, it might be almost a fatal shock if suddenly she were to receive a telegram saying he was alive. Such shocks have been known to kill people. A better plan would be to get well as soon as possible, leave the hospital, and go to New York. Once there, he could go quietly to his office and learn how matters were.

The days pa.s.sed, the convalescent making speedy progress toward recovery, and in a few weeks more he was able to leave the hospital.

Making himself known quietly to a San Francis...o...b..siness acquaintance, he was quickly supplied with funds and immediately he turned his face homeward.

The long, overland journey was tedious and exhausting, especially in his present weakened condition, and even those who knew him well would hardly have recognized in the pale emaciated looking stranger with ill fitting clothes and untrimmed full growth of beard who emerged from the train at the Grand Central Station, the carefully dressed, well groomed Kenneth Traynor who, only a few months before, had sailed away from New York on the _Mauretania_.

The noise and turmoil of the big metropolis, in striking contrast to the quiet and seclusion of the sick room in which he had lived for so many weeks, astonished him. The crowds of suburbanites rus.h.i.+ng frantically for trains, elbowing and pus.h.i.+ng in their anxiety to get home, the strident hoa.r.s.e cries of newsboys, the warning shouts of wagon drivers as they drove recklessly here and there at murderous speed, the blowing of auto horns, the ceaseless hum and roar of the big city's heavy traffic--all this bewildered and dazed him. At first he did not remember just in what direction to turn, whether he lived in the East or West side, uptown or down. But as he got more accustomed to his surroundings, it all came back to him. How stupid--of course he had to go downtown to 20th Street. Once more he was himself again.

Hailing a taxi, he started for Gramercy Park.

Conflicting emotions stirred his breast as he drew near his home. What joy it would be to clasp Helen once more in his arms. How delighted she would be to see him! Then he was filled with anxiety, a sudden feeling of dread came over him. Suppose some misfortune, some calamity had happened during his absence! Helen might have met with some accident. Baby might have been ill. The worst might have happened.

He would never have heard. Perhaps he was only going home to find his happiness wrecked forever.

The driver made his way with difficulty down Fifth Avenue, threading his way in and out the entanglement of carriages and automobiles, until, after a ten minutes' run, turned into Gramercy Park and pulled up short on the curb of the Traynor residence.

Eagerly Kenneth put his head out of the window and scanned the windows for a glimpse of the loved one, but no one, not even a servant, was visible. The house looked deserted. His misgivings returned.

Stepping out hastily, he paid the driver, and, running up the steps, rang the bell.

Roberts, the faithful old butler, who had been in the family service for years, came to open. Seeing a rather shabbily attired person outside, he held the door partly closed and demanded, suspiciously:

"Who is it you wish to see?"

Irritated at the manner of his reception, Kenneth gave the door a push that nearly knocked the servant over. Angrily, he exclaimed:

"What's the matter, Roberts? Didn't you see it was me?"

The butler, who had recovered himself, and now believed he had to do with a crank or some person under the influence of liquor, again barred the way. Trying to push the unwelcome visitor out, he said soothingly:

"Come now, my good man, you've made a mistake. You don't live here."

Struck almost speechless with amazement at the brazen impudence of one whom he had always regarded as a model servant, Kenneth turned round as if about to make a wrathful outburst. As he turned, the light from the open door fell full on his face and now for the first time Roberts saw the visitor's features. With a startled exclamation the man fell backward. For a moment he was so surprised that he could not speak.

Then, in an awe-stricken whisper, he cried:

"Who are you?"

For a moment Kenneth thought the man had suddenly become insane. For his own servant not to know him was too ridiculous. At that moment he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror of the hat stand. Ah, now he understood. The beard and emaciated face had made quite a difference--no wonder the man failed to recognize him. Breaking into laughter he exclaimed:

"No wonder you didn't recognize me, Roberts. I have changed a little, haven't I? I've grown a beard since I saw you last and been through a regular mill. But you know me now don't you--I'm your long lost master."

The servant shook his head. Still closely scrutinizing Kenneth's face as if greatly puzzled, he said:

"You're not my master, sir. Mr. Kenneth Traynor left the house some ten minutes before you arrived."

Kenneth stared at the man as if he thought he had gone clean out of his mind.

"I went out ten minutes before I arrived," he echoed. "What kind of nonsense is that, Roberts?"

"I didn't say _you_ went out," replied the servant, beginning to lose his patience. "I said Mr. Kenneth Traynor went out. You are not Mr.

Kenneth Traynor."

"Then who in the name of heaven am I?"

"I haven't the remotest idea," retorted the man. Condescendingly, he went on: "I admit you look a little like the master." Impatiently he added:

"You must excuse me. I want to close the door."