Читать книгу The Vanishing Point - Coningsby Dawson - Страница 6

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Hindwood's face had gone ashen—not through fear for his own safety, but for hers. He was determined not to believe a word of what he had heard, and yet he was curious to learn. There was such an air of complete conviction about the stranger; it was impossible to doubt the integrity of his intentions. What he hoped was to discover some flaw in his logic. Sinking back into his chair, he stared in silence at the man who believed he knew everything.

Remembering that his cigar had gone out, he commenced searching through his pockets for a match.

“They're at your elbow,” the stranger informed him. “No, not there. On the table. I've upset you more than I intended.”

Again they lapsed into silence.

At last Hindwood said: “I owe you an apology. I've been insulting, but the blame is partly yours. You didn't explain yourself; you withheld your identity. I was expecting a kind of policeman. But I think you understand. Anyhow, I regret my rudeness. Now tell me, who are you?”

“I'm Major Cleasby, formerly of the Indian Army. My main hobby is studying the Asiatic.” Hindwood looked up sharply. He remembered the impression Santa had made on him, that if her eyes had been darker, she could have passed for a Hindoo princess.

“I don't see what studying the Asiatic has to do with the disappearance of Prince Rogovich,” he said. “If we're going to arrive anywhere, what we need is frankness. I think you ought to understand my side of the affair.”

The Major nodded.

“Then, to start with, I'm unmarried—not that I'm a woman-hater, but my life has been too packed with important undertakings to leave me much time to spare on women. I've been a kind of express, stopping only at cities and rushing by all the villages. On the Ryndam I was forced to come to rest; it so happened that Santa Gorlof was the village at which I halted. The Ryndam, as you know, isn't one of these floating palaces; she doesn't attract the flashy type of traveler. The company on this last voyage was dull—dull to the point of tears. The Prince and Santa Gorlof were the two exceptions. I got to know her first and the Prince later. It was I who introduced her to him. We were each of us a bit stand-offish at first; we drifted together against our wills, in an attempt to escape from boredom. Then we began to expect each other, till finally—We were two men and a woman, with nothing to distract us; it's an old story—the usual thing happened. I suppose you'd call it a three-cornered flirtation in which the Prince and I were rivals.

“At first Santa was strictly impartial; toward the end it was the Prince she favored. I'm afraid I got huffy, which was distinctly childish, for none of us was serious. We were two men and a beautiful woman at loose ends, rather dangerously amusing ourselves. At Plymouth, if things had terminated normally, we should have come to our senses and gone our separate ways. At most we should have said good-by on reaching London. In none of our dealings had there been the least hint of anything serious—nothing that would suggest a love-affair. Speaking for myself, my interest in Santa had been on the wane for several days before we landed. I should have parted with her on the dock without compunction, if this extraordinary disappearance hadn't occurred. It was that that again drew us together. Neither of us was willing to believe the worst; we both tried to persuade ourselves that he'd changed his plans at the last moment. At the same time we were both a little anxious lest we might be bothered with questions and detained. Probably it was to avoid any such annoyance that she dodged her breakfast engagement with me and escaped so early this morning.”

The Major thrust himself forward, resting his chin on the handle of his cane. “That wasn't her reason.”

“You're presuming her guilt. Why wasn't it?”

“You forget the foreigner who wore goggles and pretended he couldn't speak English. She couldn't possibly have sent him word. The necessity for her escape must have been foreseen and the means prearranged.”

Hindwood puzzled to find some more innocent explanation. “He might have been her husband.”

“He wasn't.”

“You speak as though you knew everything.” Then, with a catch in his breath, “She isn't arrested?”

“If she were, I shouldn't tell you.”

“Then what makes you so positive that he wasn't her husband?”

The Major drew himself erect, smiling palely. “Because I am her husband.”