The Palace of Darkened Windows Part 13

"That geliebing business is bad stuff," he returned, and again the other tugged at his mustaches with a nervous hand and shook his big blond head.

"She was to have met me here," he said abruptly. "She wrote--I was to come quick--and then she comes not. That is woman, the _ewige weibliche_." He scowled. "But, Gott, how enchantment was in her!"

Billy heard himself sigh in unison. The phrase suggested Arlee. And the situation was not dissimilar. He felt a positive sympathy for the big blond fellow in his p.r.o.nounced clothes and glossy boots and careful boutonniere.... He smiled in friendly fas.h.i.+on.

"She'll come along yet," he prophesied, "and if she doesn't, just you go out after her. I wouldn't take too many chances in the waiting game."

The German shook his head. His blue eyes swam with sentimental moisture. "You do not understand," he said. "She went with another--I must wait for her to come away. I have no address--so?"

"Well, that--that's different," stammered the young American. His sympathy became cynical. Fishy business--but even a fishy business has its human side. So presently he found himself gazing interestedly upon the photograph the German displayed in the back of his watch--the photograph of a decollete young woman with provocative dark eyes and parted lips and pearl-like teeth, and he shook the caller's hand most heartily in parting, and prophesied, with fine a.s.surance, the successful end of this fishy romance.

"You have a heart, my friend," said the German solemnly, and lifting hat and stick and lemon-colored gloves from the table, he bowed profoundly in farewell.

"And to the Fraulein--you will give my so deep apology?" he added earnestly, and Billy a.s.sured him that he would. And he found himself, for all his pre-occupation with the vision of Arlee's spring-like beauty, by no means displeased at the errand. A man must have something to do while he is waiting--if he is to avoid last bottles! He would seek her out that very afternoon.

But by afternoon he was tearing upstairs and downstairs through the hotel after a very different quarry, which at last he ran to earth at a tiny table behind a palm on the veranda. The quarry was further protected by an enveloping newspaper, but Billy did not stand on ceremony.

"I want to talk to you," said he.

Falconer looked up. He recognized Billy perfectly, though his gaze gave no admission of that. This tall young fellow with the deep-set gray eyes and the rugged chin and the straight black hair he first remembered seeing dancing that Wednesday evening with Arlee--after their own disastrous tea and its estrangement. Arlee had appeared on mystifyingly good terms with him, though he was positive from his own observations, and had corroboration from the Evershams, that she had never spoken to him until five minutes before. Then the fellow had fairly grilled the Evershams about the girl's whereabouts last night. And he had learned that the previous afternoon he had managed to take Claire's protection upon himself in the bazaars, actually convincing her that she ought to feel indebted to him, and had driven back with them.... An unabashed intruder, that fellow! He ought to have a lesson.

His air of unwelcome deepened, if possible, as Billy helped himself to a chair, drew it confidentially close to him and cast a careful glance about the veranda.

"I don't want anyone to hear this," he explained.

Falconer smiled cynically. He had met confidential young Americans before. There was nothing they could sell _him_.

"It's about Miss Beecher." Billy looked uncomfortable. He hesitated, blushed boyishly through his tan, and blurted, "There's something mighty queer about that departure of hers yesterday."

"Ah!"

"I don't feel right about it.... It's deuced queer. She isn't in Alexandria."

"Ah!"

"If you say 'Ah' again, I hope you choke," said Billy violently to himself. Aloud he continued, "I wired to the Khedivial and to all the other hotels--there are just a few--and she isn't registered there, and the Maynards are not, either."

"Possibly staying with friends," said Falconer indifferently. He regarded his paper.

"Very few Americans have friends in Alexandria. However, that might be so. But no s.h.i.+p has arrived from the Continent for three days, and it seems mighty odd, if they were there three days ago, for them to have wired at the last minute and had her tear off like that."

"I do not pretend to account for your compatriots," said the sandy-haired young man.

Billy looked at him a minute. "There's no use in your being disagreeable," he remarked. "I didn't thrust myself upon you because I was attracted to you, at all. But I thought you were a sensible, masculine human being who was interested in Miss Beecher's whereabouts."

"I beg your pardon," said the other young man. "I am--I mean I am interested--if you think there is anything really wrong. But I do not see your point."

"Well, now, see if you can see this. I wired the consul there and some other fellow at the port, and they wired back that no people of the name of Maynard have arrived on any of the boats for the past two weeks--that was as far back as they looked up. Now that's _queer_."

"He could be mistaken--or they could have bought some one else's accommodations--and that would account for the hastiness of their plans," Falconer argued.

"But what train did she go on?"

"What train? Why, the express for Alexandria."

"That left at eight-thirty. Now why in the world would she rush away in the middle of the afternoon, sending a telegram from the station and leaving her packing undone, for an eight-thirty train?"

"Why I--I really can't say. She may have had errands----"

"Where did she have her dinner? Did she dine with friends at some of the hotels? What friends has she here?"

"I really can't say as to that, either. I wasn't aware that she had any."

"And where did she send that telegram from? There isn't a copy of any such telegram at the offices I've been to--at Cook's or the station. It might have been written on a telegraph blank and sent up by messenger with the money--but why not come herself, with all that time on her hands? And n.o.body remembers selling her any ticket to Alexandria--and you know anybody would remember selling anything to a girl like that."

Falconer was silent.

"And n.o.body at Cook's paid out any money on her letter of credit--or cashed any express checks for her. Where did that money come from that was sent back to the hotel?"

"But what is the point of all this?"

"That's what I just particularly don't know.... But it needs looking into."

Falconer favored him with a level scrutiny. "How long have you known Miss Beecher?"

"I met her the night before last. That, however, doesn't enter into the case."

"It would seem to me that it might."

"Between three days and three weeks," said Billy, remembering something, "the difference is sometimes no greater than between Tweedledum and Tweedledee." He smiled humorously at the other young man, a frank, likeable smile that softened magically the bluntness of his young mouth. "That's why I came to you. You are the only soul I know to be interested in Miss Beecher's welfare. The Evershams are off up the Nile--and they'd probably be helpless, anyway. Besides, you know more about this blamed Egypt of yours than I do.... Have you any idea where she went yesterday afternoon?"

"Not at all."

"Neither have the Evershams. They were surprised when I asked them about it this morning. They didn't know she was going. Now she went somewhere in a limousine----"

"Probably to the station."

"American girls don't go to stations in floating white clothes and hats all pink roses. I particularly remember the pink rose," said Billy gloomily. "No, if she had been going to the station she would have had on a little blue or gray suit, very up and down, and a little minute of a hat with just one perky feather. And she'd have a bag of sorts with her--no girl would rush away to Alexandria without a bag."

"She could have sent it ahead of her or returned and dressed later for the station."

"Why the mischief did I tramp off to those bazaars?" said the young American. "But, see here--weren't you around the hotel after that yesterday--at tea time?"

"Er--yes--I----"

"And weren't you rather looking out for Miss Beecher? Wouldn't you have noticed if she had been coming or going?"