The Fate of Felix Brand Part 15

She went to get it and as her employer's gaze followed her his eyes widened and his face grew ashen. "My G.o.d!" he muttered, and there was consternation in his whispered tone. Then sudden anger flashed over him. Henrietta felt it quivering in his tones as he said, when she gave him the envelope:

"Thank you, Miss Marne. You did just right about mailing that letter, and I am much pleased that you did. But hereafter don't trust that fellow Gordon in any way. For all his pretense of friends.h.i.+p, he is the worst enemy I have and would stop at nothing to injure me.

Hereafter he must not be allowed to enter these rooms. Will you please tell the boy that these are my orders--that Hugh Gordon must be put out at once if he attempts to come inside my door again."

Henrietta noticed that the architect took the letter she gave him with a hand that trembled slightly, cast at it a single frowning, hostile glance and hastily but carefully put it away in his breast pocket. She remembered that just so had he looked at the previous letter from Gordon, and with just the same angry care had put it away unopened.

In that inner pocket it remained untouched, just as had the former one, by turns searing his very heart with impotent anger and chilling it with fear, until a late hour of the night, when he sat alone before his library fire. Then, at last, with the look and manner of a man forced to touch a loathed object, he took it out and opened it.

"Felix Brand, I have come to a decision," the letter abruptly began. "It must be either you or I. Until lately I thought there might be room for us both. But there isn't. If you had paid any attention to what I told you before, had shown any remorse for the evil you have done, or any intention of reforming your conduct, I might have come to a different conclusion. I will say more than that. If you had felt in your soul the desire to get yourself together and be a real man instead of a source of pollution, and had shown in your thoughts and actions the willingness and the ability to try to make yourself over, I would have recognized your right to live.

"In that case, I would have gone, perhaps not willingly, but feeling it right to go, back to where I came from, and I would have let you alone. At least, I would have tried to do that, because I give you full credit for your genius, of which I have none, and know its value to the world. But I might not have succeeded. For I have tasted life and found it good and the desire to live, the will to live, is so strong within me that it might have been stronger than the sense of my duty, of your right, or anything else.

"But it is useless to speculate about that, because you grow worse instead of better. You are like one of those people who, apparently unharmed themselves, carry about with them the germs of typhoid and scatter destruction wherever they go. The sooner the world is rid of you the better for it, and the better for you, too.

"You will be surprised, and probably angry, to hear from your secretary that I have visited your office. I went, primarily, because I wanted to meet Miss Marne, but also because I knew she ought to mail that letter and, finally, because I wanted to rea.s.sure her about your absence and prevent any measures being taken to search for you. The first reason is none of your affair and on the other two counts you ought to be grateful to me, though I don't suppose you will be. I took some trouble to find out about the matters on which that letter bore, because I knew how important you considered them. You may find it difficult to believe, but it is true that, although I despise and loathe you, I did not wish to be responsible for such smash-up of your plans as longer delay in the sending of your letter would have caused. The bond between us is too close, Felix Brand, for me not to feel compa.s.sion for you sometimes.

"I could have kept you away longer this time if I had not felt sorry for Miss Annister. It was on her account that I let you return when I did. Don't make her suffer that way again. If you don't give her beforehand some sort of plausible preparation for your next absence--for there will be another, and that before long--I shall enable her father to find out some plain truths about you that may complicate matters for you in that quarter.

"My mind is made up, Felix Brand. There is not room in the world for both you and me. I shall try not to hurt you publicly again, because it does no good. And efficient measures are the only ones that appeal to me. But I am going to do my best to push you off the edge for good and all. I have doubted and hesitated and argued the matter over and over with myself and tried to see some way of compromise.

But you will not come my way and I loathe yours. And you know quite well that you yourself are responsible for the whole business, even for the fate that awaits you. You will merely suffer the consequences of your own actions. For I believe I shall win. I know that you will put up a good fight, for we have fought before, and, so far, you have won oftener than I have. But in the end, I shall win. I dare say you will think it impertinent in me to add that I am convinced it will be for your good, as well as for the world's benefit, that I should win. Nevertheless, I do think that very thing and so I can still declare myself,

"Yours sincerely, "HUGH GORDON."

Felix Brand read this letter with an interest that made him, in spite of his abhorrence, go through it a second time before he lifted his eyes from its pages. For him its mysterious threats needed no explanation and as he sensed the full meaning of the fate it predicted, angry horror swept over him.

He shuddered as he glanced apprehensively about him, as though fearing to see take shape out of the air the intangible force with which, on that other night three weeks before, he had fought to the utmost of his strength, only to be overcome at last. The memory of that fierce struggle was upon him now, chilling his veins and clutching his heart with terror. And he would have to fight that invisible, relentless power over and over again to save himself from the black-magic destiny that threatened. Then, suddenly, fear and horror were swept away by a frenzy of rage that ramped through him all the more fiercely because there was nothing upon which it could wreak itself.

"You thief!" he cried, glaring about him with bloodshot eyes. "You hypocrite, to set yourself up as better than I am! Do you hear me?

You hypocrite, thief, murderer!"

The exaltation of his anger gave him fresh strength and new confidence in himself and he tore the letter into bits and ground them beneath his heel as he shouted:

"This is what will happen to you! It's what you deserve and what you'll get, you d.a.m.ned thief!"

CHAPTER XV

FELIX BRAND HAS A BAD QUARTER OF AN HOUR

It was evident to Dr. Annister that Felix Brand was having a bad quarter of an hour. But the little physician, sitting upright in his capacious chair, his elbows on its arms and his finger-tips resting against one another, could not find it in his heart to abate in the least the penetrating gaze of his gray eyes or the gentle insistence of his questions. For the longer their talk continued the more he became convinced that the man before him was not speaking the truth and the more he felt it necessary, for his daughter's sake, to find out what was the truth.

"I am sorry to have to tell you, Felix," said Dr. Annister, in the beginning of their conversation, "that I am unable to feel entire confidence in your explanation of your long and mysterious absence."

The architect hesitated for a bare instant before he turned to reply.

The other noted that he had to stop to think, that neither movement nor answer was spontaneous.

"Do you mean me to understand, Dr. Annister," he said courteously, "that you think I am lying?"

"Let's not put it just that way. Suppose we call it the endeavor on your part to conceal something you don't want known--the instinct of self-defense. Morally, doubtless, it is the same thing. But I am not concerned just now with the moral nature of the thing itself. I am much concerned, however, for Mildred's sake, with the nature of the thing behind it."

Brand shot a quick, uneasy glance at him and moved restlessly in his chair. But there was no change in the customary, soft modulations of his voice or the urbanity of his manner as he replied: "Pardon me, Dr.

Annister, but you are taking for granted something you have no right to a.s.sume. You know that I am an honorable man, accustomed to show at least ordinary regard for the truth. And therefore I say that you have no right to doubt my word on mere suspicion."

"My suspicion, if you wish to call it so, is well enough grounded to deserve, on my part, the most careful attention and, on yours, entire respect. Your explanation seems to me to be so thin and full of holes as not to be worth a moment's notice. It would be puerile for me to tell you how many opportunities you would have had on the train, as you were leaving the railroad, when you returned to it, and on your way home, to write or to telegraph to me, to Mildred, or to Miss Marne, and give us some idea of your whereabouts and a.s.surance of your safety."

"I did write, on the train, to Mildred and also to Miss Marne.

Apparently, the letters were lost in the mails or the porter forgot to post them."

Dr. Annister's finger-tips patted one another softly while his eyes searched the patrician face of his companion and marked in it signs of uneasiness.

"I have always supposed," he said quietly, "that a telegraph line runs beside the railroad into West Virginia, and I have not heard that the wires were down during your absence."

Felix Brand rose and with hands thrust into his pockets moved uncertainly from one chair to another. "Mildred has entire confidence in my explanation," he said with a touch of defiance in his voice.

"She knows I would not deceive her."

"Mildred is young," her father replied gently, "and ignorant of the evil of which there is such a plenty in the world. She is very, very much in love with her promised husband and if he told her that black is white the dazzle in her eyes would make her see it white. But, Felix, it is just because she is so young, so innocent and so much at the mercy of her loving heart that I must speak plainly to you. I don't expect you to be entirely worthy of such a wealth of pure young love as she gives you. The man doesn't live who is clean enough in heart and in life to be worthy of such a treasure. But I do expect you to be, Felix, and I must a.s.sure myself that you are, clean enough and honorable enough not to blight all the rest of her life. What is past is past, but from now on there must be nothing that will not bear the light of day."

Brand was moving slowly back and forth, his countenance expressive of inward debate and hesitation. He was asking himself if it would not be the wisest plan to lay his trouble frankly before the physician and ask for his help. But his pride and his confidence in himself drew back from such a step.

No, he told himself, n.o.body must know. It must be kept in the darkest secrecy--suppose the thing should get out, and into the papers! His heart quaked at the thought. And he could not feel sure what view Dr.

Annister would take of the truth--he might forbid the marriage with Mildred. No, he would keep the truth locked in his own breast and fight his battle alone. Well, he was sure of winning. It might take a little time, but he had no doubt of the outcome. Nevertheless, there was some uncertainty in his manner, though his courteous tones were firm enough as he said:

"If you will not take my word--and permit me to say, Dr. Annister, that it has never been doubted before--what more can I say?"

"You can tell me the truth, Felix," bluntly replied his prospective father-in-law. "I am fond of you, my boy, very fond of you,--I think you know that. I am proud of your genius and I expect to see you become one of the most famous architects of our time. More than anything else in the world I want to see my little girl as happy, as your wife, as her love deserves she should be. But I must tell you frankly, Felix, that I am afraid. I am afraid for you and your future and very much afraid for that of my daughter with you. That's why I feel I must speak as plainly as I am going to. I wish you would make it easier for me by meeting me half way."

The architect, still moving about the room with slow restlessness, stopped short and cast a quick, suspicious glance at the physician.

The sweat broke out on his forehead as the fear leaped into his heart that Dr. Annister had guessed the truth. He had to grope among his panic thoughts for a moment before he could reply. His voice was a little strained as he said:

"Meet you half way? I don't know what you mean?"

Dr. Annister leaned back in his chair and sighed. But his searching gray eyes did not leave the other's face nor fail to take note there of the frequent signs of inner perturbation. Sadly he was saying to himself that everything in Brand's expression and manner increased his fears and justified his suspicion.

"Well, then," he said, "let us come straight to the point. A look, an expression, a tell-tale sign that I don't like has been steadily growing stronger in your face for the last six months. For the physician, and especially for the one who deals as much as I do with the psychological results of misliving, a man's countenance becomes a veritable table of contents for the book of his life. And your face is beginning to tell me such a story of self-indulgence and sensuality as makes me unwilling to give my daughter to your arms."

Brand turned a little away, as if he would conceal the traitor face whose refined beauty this inquisitor was finding even less than skin deep. "Of course," he said, "I am not as innocent as I was a dozen years ago. But--what you would have, Dr. Annister? A saint? You know you would have to look far to find one among modern young men. I'm no worse than the most of them and much better than some."

The physician was leaning forward again in his chair, his finger-tips tapping. He paid no attention to his companion's defense but pursued his own line of thought with an increasing tensity in his voice.

"I have been watching that revealing table of contents in your face grow steadily plainer for the last six months. After each of these long absences, for which you can give no satisfactory explanation, the expression has become, to my eyes, stronger and more significant than before. It forces me to the hypothesis, almost to the conclusion, that you have been spending this time somewhere in the under-world, in some sort of secret debauch."

Brand wiped the starting beads of sweat from his brow, and said, "I don't believe you really think me that sort of man, Dr. Annister!"

"Or, possibly," the physician continued, "that you have become a victim to the alcohol or one of the drug habits. I don't see the signs of that sort of thing upon you, yet. But--well, if such is your misfortune, I wish, Felix, that you would confide in me. Such habits are curable and even if my other hypothesis, which your physical appearance has forced me to, should be true we might be able to find its cause in some nerve lesion susceptible of remedy. In either case, you know as well as I do, Felix, that there is disaster before you, physical, moral and mental, if you keep on. Make a clean breast of it, and I'll do my best to help you."