Читать книгу The Veiled Man - Ambrose Pratt - Страница 4

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The second steward interrupted the flow of Simon's romantic assertions as the little man was on the point of declaring himself of royal origin. Under the spur of a sympathetic audience Simon's imagination always strode about in seven league boots. The second steward held in his hand an open book. He eyed Simon for a few seconds and then referred to his book.

"Simon Le Couvrier," he said.

"Monseigneur," replied Simon, bowing to the floor. "Ja'i l'honneur de vous saluer."

"I don't understand French, and I am going to call you plain Simon—your second name is too much of a corker for me," said the second steward. "Come along, and I'll show you the cabins you'll have to look after."

Simon grinned and shrugged magnificent contempt behind his superior's back. He made haste, however, to follow him, and once out of sight of those whom he had been feeding with lies, he became cringingly obsequious. The second steward expanded under such treatment, and having completed his rounds, he invited Simon to his cabin and treated him to a glass of absinthe.

As they emerged they were accosted by a giant, a young and extremely handsome man, whose strong chin, steely blue eyes and aquiline nose made Simon think of a Viking. "I'm looking for the second steward," he announced.

"I am the second steward, sir."

"I,"—the young man gave a charming smile which revealed a set of teeth, small and of dazzling whiteness. "I am the Earl of Cawthorne. My cousin, who is an invalid, you know, is just coming on board. I wish to be sure that his cabin is in order, and I would also like to see his cabin steward."

The second steward was a snob. He almost bent in two. "I have had your lordship's cousin's cabin prepared for your lordship's cousin's reception under my personal supervision," he said fawningly. "Your lordship will, I am sure, be pleased with it. This man"—he indicated Simon—"will be your lordship's cousin's cabin steward, and I have already given him instructions to do everything for your lordship's cousin that he possibly can."

The second steward lied regarding the special instructions, but Simon was not a man to contradict his master. He stepped forward.

"Per—r—meet me to assure monseigneur zat I vill vait alvays upon monseigneur's cousin avec du grand plaisir," he said, and bowed low, his hand upon his heart.

The blonde giant took a sovereign from his waistcoat pocket and dropped it into Simon's palm.

"What is your name?" he asked.

"Plait—il, monseigneur. Je mo nomme—Simon Le Couvrier."

"I don't understand French," replied the Earl. "I gather, though, that your name is Simon, eh?"

"As monseigneur pleases."

"Ah," said the Earl, "here is my cousin. Perhaps you will lead the way to his cabin."

But at that moment the second steward, received a peremptory message from his chief, and he was obliged to hurry away. He muttered "No. 40" in Simon's ear and fled.

Simon perceived a stretcher advancing towards him, carried by two men attired in ambulance uniform. The stretcher was entirely covered with a circular canvas screen. Simon was ignorant of the whereabouts of No. 40, but he reflected that it had been engaged for the cousin of an earl, so he led the way to the boat deck.

He found the cabin without difficulty. It was the largest on the steamer, faced across a narrow passage by two others that occupied in the aggregate a similar space of deck room. The stretcher bearers entered and deposited their burden on the couch. The Earl followed them; Simon remained at the threshold looking in. The Earl turned down the bedclothes of the cabin's single cot, while the bearers removed the canvas canopy from the stretcher. Simon perceived the recumbent figure of a man whose height erect could not have been less than six feet. His figure, however (he was clad in pyjamas of fine silk), was painfully lean and shrunken. Upon his head he wore a velvet cap, from the peak of which fell a smooth impenetrable veil that perfectly concealed his face. The bearers tenderly raised the invalid and conveyed him to the cot. The Earl covered his cousin's moveless body with the bedclothes, and gave the ambulance men a sovereign a piece. They immediately withdrew.

"Come in, Simon," said the Earl.

Simon entered.

"Please close the door."

Simon obeyed.

The Earl bent over his cousin. "John, old chap," he said gently, "this is your cabin steward. His name is Simon."

Simon bowed. The veiled head slowly turned, and Simon became conscious that the invalid could see him. The Earl looked silently from one to the other. At the end of a minute Simon began to feel uncomfortable under the scrutiny of unseen eyes; at the end of two he felt miserable; at the end of three beads of perspiration stood out upon his forehead; his imagination was stirred, uncannily stirred; the wildest fancies darted into his mind; the silence grew unsupportable.

"Monseigneur," he stammered, turning with a helpless gesture to the Earl.

A voice of penetrating sweetness issued of a sudden from the cot.

"Simon has a bad conscience, I'm afraid, Jack; but that should not prevent him from making a good servant. Where is your cabin, Jack?"

"Immediately opposite," replied the Earl. "I have not seen it yet."

"Then do so now, and look after our luggage as well."

"Will you be all right, old chap."

"Certainly."

The Earl left the cabin, and Simon hastily prepared to follow. He hated the idea of being left alone with that veiled figure on the cot, but he was not permitted to escape so easily.

"Simon," said the sweet voice. It possessed a curiously compelling faculty that voice, sweet as it was.

Simon faced about.

"Monseigneur," he stammered.

"Come here."

Simon trembled and obeyed.

"Your moustache and imperial, Simon, are false," said the voice.

Simon uttered an irrepressible cry, and sprang in sudden panic for the door, his one thought to escape.

"Stop, fool!" The voice pierced to the very bottom of Simon's heart. He stopped; his face was ashen white. "Shut the door; lock it if you like. I am not a policeman—idiot!"

Simon locked the door, and, standing in the shadow, fumbled with shaking fingers in his hip pocket for Detective Hammond's revolver. He did not know what to expect, but he would not be arrested if he could help it. That would mean for him at least five years' penal servitude, one of which must be spent in solitary confinement. Rather death.

"Better allow your revolver to remain where it is," advised the voice.

"Good God," Simon blurted out, "what eyes you must have."

"So you are not a Frenchman," mocked the voice. "I guessed it."

"What in the devil's name are you?" demanded Simon, of a sudden stirred to rage.

The Earl's cousin sat up in his bed. He took from the pocket of his pyjama coat a cigar case, and opened it, selected a weed with care. Simon noticed that his hands were curiously deformed, the fingers were twisted, the palms and backs were seamed with flaming scars.

"A match, please."

Simon remembered that he was a servant. "Now he will have to raise his veil," he thought. But the Earl's cousin after accepting Simon's match-box, put one hand to his veil. Simon saw something move. Almost involuntary he drew closer, and made the astonishing discovery that the veil was constructed of stiff leather, and that it was furnished with a brown glass vizor and a sliding mouthpiece.

The Earl's cousin inserted one end of the cigar into the open mouthpiece and applied a lighted match to the other. Before he puffed out the smoke, he always withdrew the cigar.

Simon watched him, breathing shortly. He was too astounded even to speculate about the motive for using so curious a helmet. The figure inspected the glowing cigar tip, and extinguished the match.

"You look surprised," he observed.

Simon gasped.

"I have a kind heart and an ugly face, Simon. There you have my secret in a nutshell."

Simon thought of smallpox, eczema and leprosy. He shuddered and fell back.

"My face," proceeded the invalid, "is deformed, not diseased. But it is so positively ugly that I wear this veil, even when sleeping. But my heart is so much comparatively kinder than my face is ugly that, unless necessity compels, I never inflict my society upon the world. Out of sight out of mind; you know the proverb, Simon. Now, as I am superlatively sensitive (mark the degrees, Simon, and remember them. I am positively ugly, comparatively kind, superlatively sensitive.) Now, since—to repeat myself—I am superlatively sensitive, I prefer that my existence should be forgotten by the world; I wish, in fact, to live unknown and unremarked. People, you see, are of three classes, Simon; kind people, thoughtless people, and cruel people. The kind would would ostentatiously ignore my misfortune, the thoughtless would try to console me, the cruel would pity me. The whole d——d lot would torture me. You grasp me, Simon?"

Simon nodded; he was incapable of speech.

"It is scarcely half past ten yet," resumed the other. "I had myself carried aboard two hours before sailing time in order to escape remark. I am not really much of an invalid, Simon, though I do suffer from heart disease; but I shall not leave this cabin until we reach England. In the meanwhile you will be my sole attendant. My cousin will so arrange that you will have no other work to do."

"Ah!"

"Your principal duty will be to defend this cabin from the curiosity of others—servants and passengers alike. Of course my cousin the Earl will always be welcome here, but if you ever permit another person to intrude upon my hermitage, I shall give you five pounds instead of fifty at the end of the voyage!"

"Ah!"

"You will, of course, bring me my bath, meals, and so on, and serve me in other ways; but you will have lots of leisure on your hands, so you need not look so discontented."

"I—I—am not discontented, sir. I—I was thinking——"

"What?"

"That something might happen to prevent me leaving Sydney."

The veiled figure started. "No, no—what! go through all this again!" he cried in tones of deep emotion; "I could not. Impossible, Simon, you must not be caught."

Simon's eyes gleamed. "If the police were to search the ship, they would be sure to find my valise!" he muttered.

"Where is it?"

"For safety's sake I gave it to another steward to mind for me."

"He was very like you in appearance, Simon, eh?"

Simon paled. "You must be the devil himself," he cried.

"Go and bring your valise here immediately. Lock the door behind you!"

When Simon returned the veiled man was lying down again, but he still smoked.

"Put your bag under the clothes at the foot of my bed," he commanded quietly.

Simon obeyed.

"My name is John Deen."

"Yes, sir."

"Why do the police want you, Simon?"

"Forgery, sir."

"So! a respectable crime. Well, well."

"A man must live," muttered Simon.

"Certainly, Talleyrand to the contrary, notwithstanding."

"Talleyrand was a shallow wit, Mr. Deen."

"A profound cynic, Simon."

"But an insincere philosopher; he committed worse crimes than theft."

A knock sounded on the door, it opened, and the Earl of Cawthorne entered.

"Baggage is all right, Jack," he announced. "But I shan't be able to get your books here for a while yet. The cabin trunks are all in my diggings. Simon can help me with them later on."

"Thank you, John."

"The police have just unearthed a stowaway from the steerage," went on the Earl.

"Ah," murmured Simon.

"A little rat of a man he looks, but for all that a desperate criminal. It seems that he half murdered a detective at some hotel here early this morning."

"What is his name, John?"

"Simon Vicars. Well, ta-ta, Jack. I'll look you up again as soon as we start."

"Don't hurry back, John!"

When the door closed, Simon dropped limply on the couch; his knees had declined to support him.

"We are in luck's way, Vicars," said Mr. Deen.

But Simon buried his face in his hands and fell to crying like a child.

The veiled figure uttered one short laugh, and then was silent.