THE HAND IN THE MIRROR.

Otago Witness, Issue 3757, 16 March 1926, Page 86

THE HAND IN THE MIRROR.

Bv Lilian Quiller-Couch. (Copyright.—For the Witness.) Julian Arke walked into the Roy Restaurant; his air was preoccupied, and his face troubled. For two or three hours lie had been striding about the quieter stretches of Hyde Bark, trying to foree lib bram, dreading the return to his studio and lib task. He was beginning to hate studio with that white, unfinished block beneath the sheet, that white, unfinished block that seemed to defy completion. Julian Arke, the sculptor, was still a young man, his work was good, his name was know’ll. He had always felt a power within him. He had worked to carry out his ideals; he had seldom worked to please others. And then came that day when, a little against his will, he had accepted the commission to execute tw’o woman figures, “ Good ” and “ Evil,” to be completed for exhibition by a certain date. The idea, which at first he treated with ridicule, had gradually gripped him; he realised that it need not be merely sentimental and obvious, but that it might become his best achievement, and he attacked his task with enthusia m and inspiration. The figure “Good” camt with ease; it was calm, beautiful, living, with a suggestion of struggle, and temptations overcome. It was strikingly impressive, in what Arke himself called “ the grand manner.” He knew that “ Evil ” would be more difficult, hut the inspiration was still upon him, and he knew his w r ork w’as beyond mere excellence. For months he slaved at it, fascinated, absorbed by the face that grew under his hands, the poem that expressed so much. And then suddenly came the dead stop! The woman as yet had no hands. And he, her creator, had no hands to give her. The whole of his artist-being felt that in the hands would be the final strength of his work. In brow, eyes, mouth, poise he had subtly suggested the temptress, the cruel, the selfish woman, lacking ideals; but in the hands he wanted to suggest actual mean crime, cheating, thieving, even murder. And no inspiration came. For weeks he had wandered among high and low, had haunted police courts, society gatherings, markets, sales; had observed rich hands, poor hands, clean, diHy, but found nothing to .quicken his {.noughts or inspire his skill. And on this day, in an agony of impotence, lie had left his work and walked, and w’alked, and walked, till tired and hungry he had turned in at the ornate door of the Roy, and strolled on to the quiet, narrow, “ bottle-neck ” which opened out of the large hall. As soon as he had sat down to the small table lie regretted having come to such a con-

ventionally “ grand ” place. “ How ever,” he thought, “it is quiet, and I may cease the struggle for a time. At 2 o’clock, the most unromantic hour of the day, nothing much could happen anywhere.” So lie ordered luncheon, and uninterestedly glanced about him. And then, after the long days of nerveracking struggle, suddenly “the thing” happened. Looking across the narrow space with a casual glance towards the wall of mirrors, with startling suddennessJulian knew that his quest had ended. The thing that his own bra it d refused to conceive was before eyes. In the mirror be saw the hand— . hand he needed—the evil hand. A white hand it was, with a strong white wrist; it held a cigarette and was waved in careless gesticulation—and beyond the wrist was mystery, all palms and ferns, hiding the table at which the “evil woman” sat. For a few moments Julian’s head swam, the help was so unlooked-for. Then with quick intense gaze he watched the mirror, striving to impress every line and curve upon his brain before the hapd disappeared. He could picture the dark, painted woman behind the palms, and cynically he wondered what her price would be as a model.

“But she has reached the cigarette, stage,” he realised. “I shall lose her!” And he felt a wild impulse to leave the hall and intercept her at the door, but the waiter’s arrival with his luncheon prevented this, and taking a note book from his pocket he hurriedly sketched a rough idea of the hand which the mirror revealed. It was not an ugly hand, but he felt that it was the hand of a thief. Then even as he sketched he saw a pale glove drawn on, and he knew that his “quarry” was about to escape him. And with intense eyes he watched to see the Lady of the Hand appear round the comer of palms. And then Julian Arke experienced one of the shocks of his life. The face that came into sight was the most beautiful he had ever seen. The calm, perfect face of a good woman, and following her came a charming girl with red-brown hair. The beautiful woman was tall and dark, with soft, compelling eyes that could draw all hearts towards her in chivalry and devotion. Forgetting politeness, Julian gazed upon her with eager intensity, which seemed in turn to attract her attention, but with one long, seemingly indifferent glance, she was passing by, when the little gold bag she was carrying slipped from her hand and fell, scattering its contents upon the marble floor. In an instant Julian was upon his feet. “How kind of you,” said a soft, cultivated voice, as he stooped to collect her treasures. “Please do not trouble. lam sure there was very little.” The voice was as compelling as the eyes. The lady stooped, too, the waiters hurried to the spot, there were a few moments of confusion, and then, with more soft words of thanks and a wonderful smile, the lady passed on again. Her beauty was intoxicating, uplifting. Then he glanced at the brown-liaired girl, and his eyes were arrested by the expression on her face. Was it scorn! Was it distress? Was it fear? Was it mere vexation at the accident? Then she, too, was gone, and Julian remained with tlie questions unanswered and chaos in bis mind. And, oddly* enough, it was tne face of the girl rather than that of Xhe woman, that most persistently came back to him. That was a day of happenings for Julian, for it was the day on which he was robbed cf his gold cigarette case containing a considerable number of onepound” notes. The gold case was the gift cf a friend, and Julian, who was a man cf simple tastes, did not use it for his cigarettes, but it had a strong clasp, and was useful as a note case. The loss was a fairlv heavy one, for he had that morning drawn money from his bank, but try as°he would, he could throw no light on the matter to the police when he told them of the occurrence. “A black day,” he concluded, as he lit his pipe that night, “for though I found the hand cannot make up my mind to use it. It seems tor utterly mean—a violence of decency —to attach the hand of a good woman to mv sinner.” Then he recalled the scene in the restaurant, and saw again that wonderfully beautiful face; and again it was not that face on which his thoughts lingered, but the curve of the white hand and the elusive expression on the face of the brown-haired girl.

“Are you Mr Julian Arke?” Julian turned quickly, key in hand, on the threshold of his studio. To his astonishment the girl whose face had haunted him stood before him. “I am,” he replied. “Do you want me?”

“There is something I have to sav to you,” slie answered, her voice trembling a little.

“Wili you come inside? This is my studio.” The girl hesitated a moment, then with a haughty lift of her head she said, “Yes, I will.” . Julian realised that he wsb asking her to do an unconventional thing, and he saw that she, too, realised it, but he felt instinctively that she would be glad to he away from the eyes of the paesers-by; and he felt eager to see more of her. As soon as they were inside the long room with its shrouded forms, the girl spoke. “Does this belong to you?” she asked, almost Toughly. She held a gold cigarette case towards him, and he recognised it as his own. Startled, he took it in his hand. “Indeed it ie.” he said, “My initials are on it, and—” aa he pressed open the clasp, “see my card is still in it. The girl looked at him in silent distress. “How did you find it? Where— w “Please, please,” she raised her hand, “I cannot answer any questions. I can give no explanation—unless,” her voice shook, “unless you wish to call the police.”

Julian’s horrified exclamation brought a swift, beautiful colour to her pale face. “There was, probably, somethin., inside it,” she said hesitatingly—‘‘not cigarettes?” “There was.” “Much?” she faltered.

“Forty pounds.” She caught her breath. “The empty shell must be tantalising.” she said with bitterness, “but perhaps it is better than nothing.” “Indeed it is,” he hastened to assure her. “I thank you sincerely. I may not ask you questions, but I may mention the reward.”

‘Ah, no, no,” she cried, “I found it Your loss has been great. . I w..nt only that you will do your best to forget how it came back to you.” “I shall not be able to do that,” he said quietly. Then, w’lth a swift impulse, “i have a strong feeling,” he added gravely, that you are in some trouble. Can’t l help you?” “No,” she said, turning quickly to the door. “Good-day.” And again the haughty lift of the head checked him. But as she hurried away Julian could have sworn that her eyes were s 7 i ram mg with tears.

“Well, of ail—!” He exclaimed to himself as he lit a cigarette. “1 seem to have stepped into a chapter of mystery, but—ah, well, I suppose that is the end of that.” He drew the sheet from the mocking face of “Evil” and tried to settle to worn. But cigarette after cigarette was smoked, and unconsciously “th& hand” of “Evil” was taking, at any rate, temporarily, a second place in his thoughts. The face of that girl had become more important. And the question was “How did she get the cigarette case?” We often criticize, we often ridicule, coincidence in fiction. When we meet it m real life we are impressed, and take it quite seriously. Perhaps there was nothing wonderful in that sight of the hana in the mirror at the moment when such a sight meant a great deal to Julian Arke. Perhaps, even in London there was nothing wonderful in seeing fo- a second tune a beautiful woman, if she happened to be frequenting places of a certain standard of luxuriousness. But Julian Arke was a man a little out of the ordinary, an artist with an artist's temperament, and he felt something the effect of a physical blow when, as he came casually, slowly down the broad staircase oi the Imperial Theatre, pressed bv a crowo of laughing, talking, well-dressed people, he glanced in the large sheet of mirror close on his right, and saw again, in u flash, the hand, “the hand of evil,” as he named it. For a moment he had a wild fear that his brain was affected, that his struggle and anxiety had obsessed him, that his imagination was playing him tricks. With eyes rivetted ‘he watched the hand. Indeed it was no vision. It was real enough, white, bare, an d—!! “What !!” he thought with swift horror! With a new fascination he fixed his eyes on the spot, be heeded no person, he moved down a stair mechanically. In a flash quicker than it takes to describe, he saw the hand moving stealthily from the folds of a golden cloak towards the loose rich draperies of the cloak before it, a step below. A little sudden pressure in the crowd, a little confusion—! His straining eyes flickered. And then—

A stooping figure in a golden cloak rose upright. Julian saw again the beautiful face of the lady of the restaurant. Then, in one swift moment it was beautiful no longer. He turned from the mirfor and saw, in the unheeding, chattering crowd the girl who had come to his studio, who had brought him his cigarette case. Her face was white, her eyes blazing with anger, at white heat. In silence for that one moment the woman and girl looked at one another, understanding: and then the girl—snatched. The terrible, implacable hatred on the face of the woman w’as too much for Julian, he pressed towards the girl, he heard amidst the hubbub of laughter the few bitter words the woman hurled at her; then it was over; the golden cloak mingled witli tlie crowd and disappeared. Julian forced his way to tlie girl, who, with w’hite, stricken face, swaved and looked as if she would fall.

In another moment Julian's arm w r as firmly holding her elbow. She looked at him, almost unseeing, in dazed misery. In her hands slie grasped a tangled inass of diamonds and gold. Julian drew her cloak over it, drew her arm through his, and in silence supported her down the stairs. Still holding her arm he ordered a taxi and helped her into it. In dumb maze slie had allowed him, this stranger, to take command, but when they were seated she asked in a shaking voice, “Where are you taking me?” “To my sister’s club,” he replied. “She and I are both members. I want some quiet place where you can rest for a while.”

“Thank you,” she said, faintly, and they spoke no more till they were seated in a deserted corner of the club drawing room. Then, with a desperate return to life and action, she said in an agonised voice, “You think I stole this,” and she laid her gripped hand upon the table hopelessly. “I know you didn’t,” he replied, quietly.

“How ?” “I saw tlie woman do it.* “You saw?” “In the mirror,” he said. The girl suddenly laid her head upon the table and burst into tears.

“I think you mustn’t cry,” he said very gently. “1 think you may be very glad.” She raised her head. “From the lady’s last words I gather that yon are not needed by her any more. Is she a relation I”

“Oil, no—no! 1 didn’t know her—l didn’t know anything ” “I hope you-don’t object to my asking you some questions?” said Julian. “Oh, no.”

“Will you tell me just who you are and how you came to be with that lady?”

“My name is Mary Le Mesurier, mv father was vicar of Torland. He died four months ago, leaving me quite alone, with no money and no training that would bring money. I tried and tried to get a post.” “And this beautiful ladv ?”

“Advertised for a secretary. With very little hope, I applied for the post, and to my astonishment was engaged. The was so great, the duties so easy,

“You suspected nothing?’ “Nothing—at first.” “And then?”

“Things began to puzzle me. She seemed so good, she looked so good. The few friends she had seemed of a lower world, yet over-familiar; but I didn’t suspect until I chanced to see things that at first were inexplicable, and then were —awful. I didn’t know what to do. I had become almost certain before that day in the ‘Roy’ Restaurant ” “Good heavens! Did she ?” he exclaimed, and strong man though he was, a sick horror filled him.

‘Yes,” said Mary Lo Mesurier quietly. ‘And you?”

“I could do nothing. But when she was unexpectedly called away one day she left the gold case in the drawer of her writingtable where I worked. I opened the drawer for envelopes and saw the case. I opened it and saw your card, and I went straight to you with it.” “She must have missed it.”

“Yes. But she said nothing, and I said nothing. AfteT that I think she had a growing doubt and dislike for me.” “I wonder she did not dismiss you.”

“I was useful to her. She couldn’t well go about alone, and I suppose I looked honest, which was useful. And then to-night I saw it with my own eves. I don’t know why she happened to he less skilful—hut I saw it, and I snatched it. It was valuable, and she was furious. It ii a horrible blow to vou.”

“What do you mean?” “She is so wonderful, so fascinating. She fascinated all men. I saw vour face that, day, I feared—l was go sorry ” “I wondered,” said Julian slowly, “what vour expression meant. And I, too, thought her fascinating—for an hour. But. believe me, it was your face that haunted me.” When Julian had arranged that Miss Le Mesurier should have a room at the Club for the night, and returned to the drawing room, Mary met him with a startled face.

“But these?” she exclaimed, holding out the glittering string of diamonds which she had still been grasping in her hand. “They will he advertised for. They were lost in the vestibule. I will take them to Scotland Yard to-niglit. And I will come to you in the morning. It is,” he added with a smile that seemed to give her strength and hope as he held her hand at parting, “a kindly and determined fate that has brought us together.”

There is, of course, a proverb about marrying in haste and repenting at leisure; hut there is also one that declares “Happy is the wooing that’s not long a-doing.” No one but themselves ever knew the details of the wooing of Julian Arke and Mary Le Mesurier, hut that they were deeply in love with one another there was no doubt. The most beautiful woman that Arke had ever seen crossed the Channel before the detectives were upon her. And both Mr anil Mrs Arke were thankful that it was finally for some far-reaching robberies on the Continent that she was caught at last.

When Julian recalled the face of evil fury he had seen turned upon the girl he, even then, lovecl, he had no longer any compunction about perpetuating in stone the beautiful, criminal hand he had first seen in the mirror.