SHORT STORIES.

Otago Witness, Issue 3025, 6 March 1912, Page 89

SHORT STO R IES .

By Noweix Cat.

[An Rights Reserved.] THE MYSTERIOUS APPOINTMENT.

The eound of a postman's doirble knock at the door downstairs reminded Montressor that he -was alone in the house. An hour ago his landlady had explained the position with many apologies. In the firm expectation that he would follow his invariable custom and spend Sunday evening at Richmond with his married sister, Mrs Smith had herself accepted a longstanding invitation to a birthday party. And now, at the last moment, her one, maid whom she was depending upon to attend to Mr Montressor's requirements during her absence had received a telegram summoning her home to her mother's deathbed. Mrs Smith had felt compelled to let the girl go, and if Mr Montressor wished it, she would remain to prepare supper for him, although she would be sorry to disappoint her friends, and had been looking forward to the little outing, the only one she had promised herself for six months. If, however, Mr Montressor would not object to a cold supper, which she could lay ready for him before she started Montressor gave the answer which she had no doubt confidently expected when he was always so considerate for others, and the sight of his meal waiting only for the hour when he was in the habit of eating had helped already to make him feol what a creature of routine he actually was. The life of routine is satisfying only if it is never interrupted, and the mere fact that his sister had gone with her family to the seaside and left him with no particular use for his Sunday evening, had made Montressor restless and unsatisfied. To-morrow lie would write, eat, and take his constitutional like a machine, and not think of asking himself whether such a life was enjoyable, but this evening the force of habit left him consciously desiring human companionship, and he felt an unreasoning resentment against his sister and his landlady for not satisfving it. It was only natural, he tofd himself, that Mrs Smith should prefer the company of her relatives, that his sister should consider her children, who had been ill and needed the sea air. He could not expect to be first in the thoughts of anybody, and the sense of loneliness, freshly realised, was very bitter to him. He ought to provide himself with a wife and a home, as other men did, and his thoughts went back to Elsa Dene as they always did when the solitariness of his existence chanced to make itself felt. She was the one woman whom he had ever wished to marry, and it was three years now since he had last seen her, and dropped consciously and deliberately out of the circle in which it had been possible for them to meet. It was wiser to do so, lie had told himself, before he had learnt to care too much, and for three years he had been trying to persuade himself that he had done well, and was quite resigned to the sacrifice. For Miss Dene was not only beautiful but an heiress, and she had many suitors. What possibility was there that she should prefer him to them all. The fact that she showed herself veryfriendly to him, and seemed to like his companionship, did not deceive him or make hiin forget that he was—well! three years ago it had been a poor and insignificant Government clerk, and although since then his great book of philosophy had come out arid given him a European reputation, his income was still a very modest niie that would look ridiculous by the side of hers: so even the recognition of his work had not encouraged liim to renew acquaintance with the heiress. She was, nil doubt, married long ago. He had not even left himself in touch with any of her friends, who would render resignation harder, by detailing news of her, and for three years he had heard nothing. Of course she was married, he was tellipg himself again emphatically, as the doubleknock sounded below, and brought a welcome if trifling relief to bis boredom. The letter might give a change to his mood if it was for himself, and he was halfway down the stairs of the silent house to get it before he remembered that thus was Sunday, and the knock could not be a postman's. There was an envelope in the letterbox, however, addressed to him, and halfmechanically Montressor opened the hall door to see whether the messenger who had brought it was still in sight. The road was quite empty, as far as he. could see, and it occurred to him that the person must have got away very expeditiously as he tore the envelope without interest. The interest came when he read the note which it contained: Dear Mr Montressor, —Can you meet me at 6 by Diana's Pond. I have something of importance to communicate to yon. Tf I am not able to get there in time, please wait for me till 7. It is most important that I should see you The startling message was not signed, and the handwriting, a clumsy but laborious imitation of print, suggested deliberate disguise. It was impossible for him. therefore, to guess the sender, and he stood in the hall puzzling h,{* mind to think who in the world could be sufficiently interested in him to make the appointment. He could think of nobody. ; h'i:k of anvbodv sufficientiv interested in him i > make him the victim of u hoax. During the five months that he had been living at Hampton Hill he had made no friojidfi. and he doubted whether any

body there beyond half a dozen tradespeople and lus landlady knew his name. But the fact only made his curiosity the more keen, and mad© it inevitable that ho should put on his hat and stroll down to the suggested meeting-place. It was probably the only way in wliich he could ever rind out who his unknown correspondent was, or leam whether the r "communication" of which they spoke waa really of importance, and he glanced at his watch. It was already half-past 5, and the walk would take him iully 20 minutes. The sender of the note had left him very little margin, and Montressor was glad of the fact. OcHring as it did at one of the dullest moments of a very quiet life, the incident had excited his interest, and left him impatient to solve its apparent mya* terv. As he left the quiet road in the direct tion of Bus'hey Park, where, as everybody knows, Diana's Pond is to be found near the Hampton. Court entrance, he came upon a young man in ill-fitting Sunday clothes loitering at the corner. Montressor put him down as a "follower" waiting for the appearance of his servant girl sweetheart, and stopped to question him. "Do you happen to have seen anybody pass here within the last five minutes'/" The "follower" answered with his cheap cigarette between his teeth. "Only a young lady who seemed in a hurry, just a minute ago. She went that way." He pointed in the direction Montressor was about to take. He tried to get a description, but found his informant's powers vague, only gathering that the "young laxly in a hurry" was the person blue dress. But the information, scanty as it was, had served to increase the philosopher'i interest. If, as he was justified in believing, the "young lady in a hurry' 'was the person who wished to make a communication to him, there was added to his adventure the touch of romance for which more or less consciously he had been yearning at the moment when her knock sounded on the door. But if she had delivered the note herself, why had she fixed a meetingrdace more than a mile away ? Her action certainly seemed a little inexplicable, and he puzzled his mind over" it as he hastened onward, looking out eagerlv now for thi sight of a blue dress in advance of him Sorely he must catch sight of it when h< entered the park. But no sign of blue greeted his eye aa lie turned at the Hampton Hill gate and looked ahead down the long stretch of green. Here and there a couple of village lovers strolled aimlessly, a woman with her family was wheeling a perambulator down the path, some ,dozen or so people in all were in sight, but not one who answered remotely to the picture he had in his mind. His lady of the letter had made good use of her few minutes' start, be told himself, and walked on vigorously, to reach the ornamental pool, with its gilded statue of Diana In the centre, fully 13 minutes before the appointed hour. And still no sign of a young lady in «

blue dress. Here, within a stoaesthrow of that popular Sunday resort, Hampton Court, there were many more people, but, strangely enough, none seemed to affect the colour of which he was in quest. It was true that one lady was conspicuous in a dress of the de-pest indigo. But she was a middle-aged, vulgar-looking matron wheeling a perambulator, and Montressor did not give her a second glance. It was not, however, until he had walked -twice round the pond, that he to question whether he might not after all be following a false clue, the young lady whom the man at the street corner had seen might have nothing at all to do with the letter or the mysterious appointment which it made, and he put the description into the background of Ins mind, and looked around him at men and women alike, searching for any individual he recognised,, ot who showed signs of recognising him. Nobody took the slightest notice of him. It was evident that he had reached the meeting place too soon for his unknown correspondent. When the hour had struck, his vigilance became if possible more alert. His glance no longer travelled round the mere margin of the pool, but extended itself to the neighbouring glades, beautiful now in the evening sunshine. A figure on one of the seato under the trees excited his interest. It was that of a young lady, in a black dress, who was seated alone in an attitude that suggested weariness or dejection or both. The unconscious pose struck hun as graceful and artistic, and served to distinguish her among a crowd of very commonplace holiday-makers, and he moved across the grass to wateh her more closely. As he did so she moved her head, and seemed to be awaiting hun. He was right then ; this was his correspondent. This was his first conclusion. His next, as ho recognised her, was that his correspondent was Elsa Dene. As he realised the wonderful fact, he realised aiso that it gave him no surprise. Deep down, unadmitted in his heart, he had thought of this, hoped for it, although it had appeared to him so utterly improbable, and it was the unacknowledged hope that had given his adventure its interest and excitement. His face was bright with pleasure and anticipation as he quickened his step to join her. The three years had made her face sadder and paler, but even more beautiful and appealing to him. The sadness sounded in her voice. "I scarcely thought that you would recognise me, Mr Montressor." "As though I could fail to do so," he said warmly. "I am only surprised that I did not know your figure instantly. But I have never seen you in black. You have had a loss since we met?" "My uncle. Nearly a year ago. Did you not hear?" "I have been living very much out of the world, and have heard nothing," he said, and noticed that his answer ■ left her silent and constrained. She was sorry that he had not read the newspapers, and made himself acquainted with her guardian's shameful insolvency and cowardly death. Montressor broke the awkward silence abruptly. "You have something of importance to tell me. I shall feel honoured by your confidence." She cast at him a quick glance, in which a momentary wonder was lost in grateful relief. The cold self-restraint which had held her face seemed to melt suddenly. "You were always so sympathetic," she said, "it would be a relief to tell you, if it does not bore you to hear of other people's troubles." "When the troubles are yours, they cannot possibly bore me," he said, with an earnestness that made the words more than a mei*e politeness. The ready gratitude flashed into her speaking eyes again. "And I was telling myself to-day that I had not a single friend in the world," she said. Montressor was surprised and said so. Three years ago she had semed to have so many friends. "Pretended friends," she said a little bitterly. "It requires only adversity to show how little their protestations are worth." "You have had adversity?" His low voice was full of sympathy, and Elsa was encouraged by it to tell the history of her troubles quite freely. It seemed that the uncle who had been appointed her guardian under her father's will had abused his trust, to speculate wildly with her money, and when the day of reckoning came, had met it in the coward's fashion by taking his life. The story of it had been in all the papers, and it was clearly a surprise to her to meet with one of her former friends who had not heard the details and was unacquainted with the fact of her conseuent poverty. But if she was expecting to see the friendliness fade from his face and the cold apologetic indifference, to which she had become accustomed, take its place, Elsa was very pleasantlv surprised. For his own part he was glad that she was no longer a nheiress, since it seemed to draw them closer together, and his undoubted sympathy encouraged her to ask his advice in the difficult decision which she must make before the morrow, and which she had wandered cut into the park to think over She was living at Molesey, as companion to an irritable old woman, who made her life as nearly as possible unbearable. Despite the many accomplishments which had gained her praise and flattery as an heiress, this appeared in practice to be the only means of earning a livelihood that was open to her unless she went on the stage. A provincial manager whom she had met at the house of her employer had offered her a small part, and to-night she was to write 'definitely to say •whether she would accept it The engagement offered her a chance of escape from the life at Molesey, which «he found so uncongenial, but she had a

natural shrinking from the life of an actress, and ibe man who had made the offer was one whose interest in herself she did not wholly trust. So the decision had been a difficult one to make, and after the long wearying consideration of two unwelcome alternatives it was a great relief to Elsa, as her hesitating words told him, to pour her uncertainty into the ear of a friend whose judgment could be relied on. Montressor was a diffident man, and had their meeting been an accidental one he would not have dared to hope even now that he had it in his power to solve Elsa's difficulties for her by suggesting a third course. But the wonderful fact that of all the friends she had known in the past she had singled him out and invited him to meet her and help her with his advice gave him courage, and when Elsa had told her story and asked him to advise whether she should accept the manager's offer or remain in servitude at Molesey, he answered almost with assurance. '"Don't do either, Elsa. Marry me and make my lonely life a happy one." In liis inmost heart he was scarcely prepared for her startled surprise. Ther.e was no doubting its reality. v For a moment her face had flushed scarlet, only to grow pale again. Her lips tightened, and she seemed to control her voice with difficulty, when she answered allmkxst coldly: "You are very kind, very generous, Mr Montressor, but you cannot think that I should avail mvself of your generosity." "Generosity," he repeated, genuinely shocked by the word. "Don't y'ou know that I have always loved you, that I have been silent only because I never dared to hope that you could possibly think of me';" His words poured out hotly and impulsively, as emotional and unprepared as if he were just an ordinary man very much in love, and not a great and serious philosopher, and as he spoke, the cold control of her face gave place to a half-timid expression of tremulous questioning, and then the pretty blush came back. "But you left me three years ago," she said when he paused. "Because you were rich and I was poor, and I " "Was very foolish and very cruel," she said, finishing the sentence for him with bright eyes, and Montressor meeting them, realised that heaven had opened, and that the happiness he had dreamed of hopelesly in his loneliness was his, not because it enabled Elsa to avoid a painful alternative, but only because it had been waiting through the three years for him to demand it. Possibly nobody noticed when two lovers, seated in comparative seclusion on one of the seats under the chestnuts, allowed their lips to meet in a kiss 'of betrothal. They had a hundred things to say to one another, wonderful Confessions to make, plans to draw up, and it was not until the hour struck that Elsa remembered she had to be back by 7. It was when they were crossing Molesey bridge together that she remembered a little mystery still to be explained. "How did you know that I should be in tlie park, dear?" she asked. "You seemed not only to be expecting to find me there, but you knew without a word that I was in trouble and wanted your help and advice. It seemed almost like mind-reading, because I had been thinking of you and wishing that 'we could meet." Montressor was a little puzzled. "It was your letter, of course, darling. T shall never thank you enough for sending it. But how did you know my address?" It was Elsa's turn to be puzzled. "I do not know your address. What letter?" Montressor produced the mysterious communication, aheady realising that it could not ba his sweetheart's work, and 'flushed under the smiling Condemnation in his sweetheart's eyes. "What a very forward young person you have been imagining me," she said. " T am afraid I am, but not quite so forward as that. I have never seen the letter before. Who can have written it? Shall you keep the appointment?" "I am glad to say it is too late; T have met already the only person in the world who could interest me." The letter, with all the curiosity and interest which it had roused in him, had indeed become a matter of no importance in his mind, and when after leaving Elsa at the house which was to be her home for only a week more, he returned by way of Diana's Pond, he passed it almost indifferently, and only quickened his steps when he noticed that a young lady in a distinctly blue dress did happen this time to be among the loiterers round the margin of the pool. He had letters to write, arrangoir.ents to make for the wonderful ending of his loneliness, and lie walked home quickly to find a little crowd round the house and a policeman in iv.>c=^ssi<in. Montressor was wanted to go to the Police Station to identify part of his valuable collection of old silver, which had Ikvmi stolen from his room and recovered during his absence from the house. It seemed that an unusually astute member of the force had noticed a man leaving the plac>? with a suspicious-look-huo- bundle on his shoulder, which he threw down in order to run away 'is soon as the policeman accosted him. He had been captured, however, and was now at the Police Station. When Montressor recognised him as the 'follower" who had sent him in fruitless pursuit of a non-existent "yoizng lady in a blue dress," the philosopher could not but feel some' admiration for that young man's ingenuity KtA astuteness. As it transpired at" his trial, the young house-breaker was in with the servant girl, and the robbing of the house had been

planned some time beforehand., for tihe Sunday evening- when her mistress would be awaj'j The telegram summoning the gill home had been part of the carefully laid plot to enable her to avoid suspicion. The unexpected discovery that Mr Montressor was breaking his invariable, rule, and spending Sunday evening in his rooms, had interfered with their plans, and made it necessary to device same means 'of getting him out of the way. Montressor, no longer liabb to morbid moods: of loneliness, always wonders how he could allow him-elf to be deluded by a transparent, but he and his wife never cease, to congratulate themselves that the appeal to his curiosity was effective. [The End.]