Mysterious Mr. Sabin, E. Phillips Oppenheim [best books to read for self development .txt] 📗

Now, please, go away at once!”

Miss Merton obeyed. She left the room literally speechless. Helène rang the bell.

“If that young person—Miss Merton I think her name is—attempts to see me again before I leave, be sure that she is not admitted,” she told the servant.

The man bowed and left the room. Helène was left alone. She sank into an easy chair by the fire and leaned her head upon her hand. Her self-control was easy and magnificent, but now that she was alone her face had softened. The proud, little mouth was quivering. A feeling of uneasiness, of utter depression stole over her. Tears stood for a moment in her eyes but she brushed them fiercely away.

“How could he have dared?” she murmured. “I wish that I were a man! After all, then, it must be—ambition!”

CHAPTER XXXV A LITTLE GAME OF CARDS

Mr. Sabin, whose carriage had set him down at the Cromer railway station with barely two minutes to spare, took his seat in an empty first-class smoking carriage of the London train and deliberately lit a fine cigar. He was filled with that sense of triumphant self-satisfaction which falls to the lot of a man who, after much arduous labour successfully accomplished, sees very near at hand the great desire of his life. Two days’ more quiet work, and his task was done. All that he had pledged himself to give, he would have ready for the offering. The finishing touches were but a matter of detail. It had been a great undertaking—more difficult at times than he had ever reckoned for. He told himself with some complacency that no other man breathing could have brought it to so satisfactory a conclusion. His had been a life of great endeavours; this one, however, was the crowning triumph of his career.

He watched the people take their seats in the train with idle eyes; he was not interested in any of them. He scarcely saw their faces; they were not of his world nor he of theirs. But suddenly he received a rude shock. He sat upright and wiped away the moisture from the window in order that he might see more clearly. A young man in a long ulster was buying newspapers from a boy only a yard or two away. Something about the figure and manner of standing seemed to Mr. Sabin vaguely familiar. He waited until his head was turned, and the eyes of the two men met—then the last vestige of doubt disappeared. It was Felix! Mr. Sabin leaned back in his corner with darkening face. He had noticed to his dismay that the encounter, surprising though it had been to him, had been accepted by Felix as a matter of course—he was obviously prepared for it. He had met Mr. Sabin’s anxious and incredulous gaze with a faint, peculiar smile. His probable presence in the train had evidently been confidently reckoned upon. Felix had been watching him secretly, and knowing what he did know of that young man, Mr. Sabin was seriously disturbed. He did not hesitate for a moment, however, to face the position. He determined at once upon a bold course of action. Letting down the window he put out his head.

“Are you going to town?” he asked Felix, as though seeing him then was the most natural thing in the world.

The young man nodded.

“Yes, it’s getting pretty dreary down here, isn’t it? You’re off back, I see.”

Mr. Sabin assented.

“Yes,” he said, “I’ve had about enough of it. Besides, I’m overdue at Pau, and I’m anxious to get there. Are you coming in here?”

Felix hesitated. At first the suggestion had astonished him; almost immediately it became a temptation. It would be distinctly piquant to travel with this man. On the other hand it was distinctly unwise; it was running an altogether unnecessary risk. Mr. Sabin read his thoughts with the utmost ease.

“I should rather like to have a little chat with you,” he said quietly; “you are not afraid, are you? I am quite unarmed, and as you see Nature has not made me for a fighting man.”

Felix hesitated no longer. He motioned to the porter who was carrying his dressing-case and golf clubs, and had them conveyed into Mr. Sabin’s carriage. He himself took the opposite seat.

“I had no idea,” Mr. Sabin remarked, “that you were in the neighbourhood.”

Felix smiled.

“You have been so engrossed in your—golf,” he remarked. “It is a fascinating game, is it not?”

“Very,” Mr. Sabin assented. “You yourself are a devotee, I see.”

“I am a beginner,” Felix answered, “and a very clumsy beginner too. I take my clubs with me, however, whenever I go to the coast at this time of year; they save one from being considered a madman.”

“It is singular,” Mr. Sabin remarked, “that you should have chosen to visit Cromer just now. It is really a most interesting meeting. I do not think that I have had the pleasure of seeing you since that evening at the ‘Milan,’ when your behaviour towards me—forgive my alluding to it—was scarcely considerate.”

Mr. Sabin was quite friendly and unembarrassed. He seemed to treat the affair as a joke. Felix looked glumly out of the window.

“Your luck stood you in good stead—as usual,” he said. “I meant to kill you that night. You see I don’t mind confessing it! I had sworn to make the attempt the first time we met face to face.”

“Considering that we are quite alone,” Mr. Sabin remarked, looking around the carriage, “and that from physical considerations my life under such conditions is entirely at your mercy, I should like some assurance that you have no intention of repeating the attempt. It would add very materially to my comfort.”

The young man smiled without immediately answering. Then he was suddenly grave; he appeared to be reflecting. Almost imperceptibly Mr. Sabin’s hand stole towards the window. He was making a mental calculation as to what height above the carriage window the communication cord might be. Felix, watching his fingers, smiled again.

“You need have no fear,” he said; “the cause of personal enmity between you and me is dead. You have nothing more to fear from me at any time.”

Mr. Sabin’s hand slid down again to his side.

“I am charmed to hear it,” he declared. “You are, I presume, in earnest?”

“Most certainly. It is as I say; the cause for personal enmity between us is removed. Save for a strong personal dislike, which under the circumstances I trust that you will pardon me”—Mr. Sabin bowed—“I have no feeling towards you whatever!”

Mr. Sabin drew a somewhat exaggerated sigh of relief. “I live,” he said, “with one more fear removed. But I must confess,” he added, “to a certain amount of curiosity. We have a somewhat tedious journey before us, and several hours at our disposal; would it be asking you too much——”

Felix waved his hand.

“Not at all,” he said. “A few words will explain everything. I have other matters to speak of with you, but they can wait. As you remark, we have plenty of time before us. Three weeks ago I received a telegram from Brussels. It was from—forgive me, if I do not utter her name in your presence; it seems somehow like sacrilege.”

Mr. Sabin bowed; a little red spot was burning through the pallor of his sunken cheeks.

“I was there,” Felix continued, “in a matter of twenty-four hours. She was ill—believed herself to be dying. We spoke together of a little event many years old; yet which I venture to think, neither you, nor she, nor I have ever forgotten.”

Mr. Sabin pulled down the blind by his side; it was only a stray gleam of wintry sunshine, which had stolen through the grey clouds, but it seemed to dazzle him.

“It had come to her knowledge that you and I were together in London—that you were once more essaying to play a part in civilised and great affairs. And lest our meeting should bring harm about, she told me—something of which I have always been in ignorance.”

“Ah!”

Mr. Sabin moved uneasily in his seat. He drew his club-foot a little further back; Felix seemed to be looking at it absently.

“She showed me,” he continued, “a little pistol; she explained to me that a woman’s aim is a most uncertain thing. Besides, you were some distance away, and your spring aside helped you. Then, too, so far as I could see from the mechanism of the thing—it was an old and clumsy affair—it carried low. At any rate the shot, which was doubtless meant for your heart, found a haven in your foot. From her lips I learned for the first time that she, the sweetest and most timid of her sex, had dared to become her own avenger. Life is a sad enough thing, and pleasure is rare, yet I tasted pleasure of the keenest and subtlest kind when she told me that story. I feel even now some slight return of it when I look at your—shall we call deformity, and consider how different a person——”

Mr. Sabin half rose to his feet; his face was white and set, save where a single spot of colour was flaring high up near his cheek-bone. His eyes were bloodshot; for a moment he seemed about to strike the other man. Felix broke off in his sentence, and watched him warily.

“Come,” he said, “it is not like you to lose control of yourself in that manner. It is a simple matter. You wronged a woman, and she avenged herself magnificently. As for me, I can see that my interference was quite uncalled for; I even venture to offer you my apologies for the fright I must have given you at the ‘Milan.’ The account had already been straightened by abler hands. I can assure you that I am no longer your enemy. In fact, when I look at you”—his eyes seemed to fall almost to the ground—“when I look at you, I permit myself some slight sensation of pity for your unfortunate affliction. But it was magnificent! Shall we change the subject now?”

Mr. Sabin sat quite still in his corner; his eyes seemed fixed upon a distant hill, bordering the flat country through which they were passing. Felix’s stinging words and mocking smile had no meaning for him. In fact he did not see his companion any longer, nor was he conscious of his presence. The narrow confines of the railway carriage had fallen away. He was in a lofty room, in a chamber of a palace, a privileged guest, the lover of the woman whose dark, passionate eyes and soft, white arms were gleaming there before his eyes. It was but one of many such scenes. He shuddered very slightly, as he went back further still. He had been faithful to one god, and one god only—the god of self! Was it a sign of coming trouble, that for the first time for many years he had abandoned himself to the impotent morbidness of abstract thought? He shook himself free from it with an effort; what lunacy! To-day he was on the eve of a mighty success—his feet were planted firmly upon the threshold! The end of all his ambitions stood fairly in view, and the path to it was wide and easy. Only a little time, and his must be one of the first names in Europe! The thought thrilled him, the little flood of impersonal recollections ebbed away; he was himself again, keen, alert, vigorous! Suddenly he met the eyes of his companion fixed steadfastly upon him, and his face darkened. There was something ominous about this man’s appearance; his very presence seemed like a foreboding of disaster.

“I am much obliged to you for your little romance,” he said. “There is one point, however,