Chapter XXII: The Valley of Lies

That night Darville found Edris most charming. He almost thought that he had been mistaken in his suspicions, and was on the point of being annoyed with himself for having been so foolish as to doubt her.

At the dance she smiled at him each time she passed with her partner and, later, they sat in a cozy corner together drinking orangeade and eating sandwiches. Curiously enough, she seemed pleased that Karl had gone. Her sudden attitude puzzled him, so amazingly clever was she. But that love-look--that one expression in a woman’s eyes that can never be feigned--was, alas! absent.

On the following Tuesday at half-past six in the evening Edris had left him to go and dress, when the page knocked at his door and announced that a gentleman had called to see him.

A few moments later his secretary, Bennett, stood upon the threshold. He had come from London with a dispatch-case, the replica of Darville’s, full of papers requiring his signature.

Seton greeted him warmly, closed the door, and locked it. Without any preliminary, and without removing his overcoat, the ex-naval officer unlocked the case, and drew out a pile of documents.

From them he selected three, one of them being upon pale green paper.

“These require reading,” he said abruptly. “The others only want your signature.”

“Had a good journey?” asked Darville, taking one of the reports which his secretary handed him.

“Excellent; I came through in the sleeper from Calais to Interlaken. I’ve been waiting there at the Hotel du Lac for two days until you telephoned to me to come up.”

“I couldn’t ’phone before. I’ve--I’ve been busy,” Darville said, and, seating himself again at his table, he digested the three documents which required his decision.

“H’m! Pretty serious,” he remarked. “Send Maynard to Madrid, and Boyd had better go to Warsaw. But the Moscow problem is a facer. Whom shall we send?”

“I can’t suggest anybody. The mission is most dangerous,” Bennett replied. “It would mean torture and death to anyone we sent there at the present time. We can’t forget poor Harding’s fate.”

“That’s true. I’ll think it over, and let you know, Bennett.”

When dealing with Secret Service problems Seton Darville was always a different man. The duality of his strong character was now shown, for the grief and despair into which he had been plunged of late had, in a moment, been succeeded by a hard-headed alertness, tact, and foresight that were amazing.

“By the way,” Darville said, when they had been chatting for nearly a quarter of an hour. “Karl Weiss is staying in Interlaken, and I have an interest in him. To-morrow morning he will meet a young English lady at the East Station at 10.23. The lady will wear a dark blue ski-ing costume with a scarlet tam-o’-shanter. I want you to report to me their movements and their attitude towards each other. I shall be at the Hotel du Lac at four o’clock. Meet me in the café there and report to me. But doesn’t Eicher--the man we employed in the Marbach affair--live somewhere in this neighborhood?”

“He lives in Thun.”

“Then find him at once, and get him to help you. Being Swiss, he can keep observation better.”

And he gave Bennett Karl’s address, after which the Secret Service official took up his dispatch-case, and left without Edris being aware of his visit. Wherever Darville traveled Bennett usually came to him each fortnight or three weeks with papers that could not be intrusted to the post.

As soon as he had gone a dark look settled again upon Darville’s features, as he passed into his bedroom and hurriedly dressed for dinner, and when he came forth again he found Edris, in a beautiful dance-frock of silver tissue and geranium, seated in his arm-chair awaiting him.

Next morning they took breakfast together at eight, and, after he had kissed her, he walked to the station with her.

“I don’t like you going, darling. I shall be so lonely here without you,” he declared. “You will not forget that you belong to me--will you, dearest?”

“Of course not, Seti,” she answered seriously. “I belong to no other man than you, therefore you can trust me implicitly. I am only going to spend the day at Karl’s house and be introduced to his mother. Why don’t you come, too?”

“I’m awfully busy,” he said. “I’ll come down to Interlaken and fetch you. Meet me at the Hotel du Lac at five.”

The electric train moved away down the snowy side of the Wengernalp to Lauterbrunnen in the deep valley below.

Seton Darville took a long walk, impatient for the hours to pass, and, after lunch, left Wengen full of anxiety to know what Edris had been doing.

At four o’clock he entered the café of the Hotel du Lac, one of the most popular hotels in Switzerland, where he found Bennett seated alone drinking his café-Kirsch. He took a seat at the same table, when, in a low voice, so that other men in the café should not overhear, he said:

“Eicher and I have kept the lovers in sight all day.”

“Lovers!” gasped the other. “Are they lovers?”

“Not the slightest doubt of that. They have been up on the Heimwehfluh all day; she in his arms, and he has been kissing her many times. Eicher was up there all the time, and watched.”

“Then they have not been to Weiss’s home?”

“No. When they came down just now they went to tea at a place somewhere along the Höheweg, and are there now.”

“Then they are lovers, eh?”

“Most certainly. She seems desperately fond of him.”

“Thanks, Bennett,” he managed to exclaim. “You’ll return by the Boulogne express to-night. I shall be home next week.”

He left his secretary and passed across the café into the hotel, where he sat to chat with Mr. Haller, the courteous proprietor, who was his personal friend. Edris and Karl entered the lounge with only five minutes to spare to catch the train. Therefore they lost no time in going across to the station.

It was with difficulty that Seton controlled his fierce hatred of the man who had replaced him in Edris’s affection, and, as the train moved off, he bade him a cold farewell.

“Why are you so silent, my darling?” asked the girl of the man seated beside her.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know I was silent,” Seton replied. “Well, tell me what you have been doing.”

“Oh, nothing much. We went to Karl’s mother’s house, and then we went for a walk along the Höheweg,” she replied. “To tell you the truth, I’ve been rather bored. I would sooner have been with you, darling.”

Darville said nothing. He was silent and broken, for she lied to him! He knew the truth now. All his great hopes, his high ideals, his longing for happiness, his confidence in her loyalty, and his belief in her affection, had, on that afternoon, been swept away at one great, staggering blow. He knew that his action in having her watched by those two expert secret agents was a mean one. But, after all, she was only playing with his affections, hence it was justifiable.

They spoke but very little on their journey back to Wengen, and Edris was frightened at his silence, for her conscience told her that she was cruelly deceiving him, and she dreaded lest he might discover it, even though Karl had assured her that he was blinded by his intense affection.

That night Seton, when alone, broke down and gave way to tears, bitterly regretting that he had brought his beloved to Switzerland and introduced her to the man who had become his rival. Then he dried his eyes, and, through the evening, behaved as though nothing unusual had happened, while Edris, on her part, made pretense of loving him even more fondly than before.

Every word of affection she uttered, every kiss she gave him, nauseated him. She was false, and yet in ignorance that he had discovered her cruel baseness and the extent of her lies.

He was determined to take her back before she met Karl again. It had all been his own fault: the exhibition of the man’s photograph at Hove, the introduction on their arrival in Switzerland, the incident of the mistletoe, and his foolishness in allowing her to accompany him on the mountain-climb. He regretted it all, but, alas! the mischief was already done.

Edris avoided him that evening, as she sat out most of the dances with various partners, but, before she went up to bed, he met her in his sitting-room, and she kissed him good-night.

She saw he was pale and troubled. In the ballroom he had smiled gayly, keeping a brave face, but now his brow was clouded, and when he wished her good-night his kiss was cold and passionless. Her hand trembled when he took it, yet he said nothing. He was determined to keep his secret knowledge to himself.

When she had gone he locked the door, and again burst into a torrent of tears. He loved her with a great, all-consuming love. He loved for the first time in all his life, but the hideous truth had been forced upon him that his age was insurmountable, and a barrier to his happiness.

“She told me that my age was nothing to her!” cried the grief-stricken man aloud in his agony of mind. “But even then she lied to me! Yes--she lied to me!”

Next day they were, at Edris’s suggestion, walking together just outside the town, when she said:

“Really, Seti, I do wish you would try and get Karl a job. Won’t you? He would appreciate it so much.”

Darville bit his lip.

“Well, darling, if you are so keen to help him, I’ll see what I can do when we get back to England.”

“That’s awfully good of you,” she cried, delighted. “I know that you have such lots of influence. I don’t want him to go to Canada if it can be helped.”

“No,” he said meaningly, in rather a strained voice. “I’ll see what can be done for him. I’ve thought of a friend who might perhaps help him.” And he smiled within himself at the vengeance he intended to wreak upon the man who had come between them. Yes, Karl Weiss should have a job which would last him his lifetime.

Two days later Mr. Haller telephoned to Darville from Interlaken inviting Edris and himself down there to a unique village festival at Merligen, a picturesque little place on the shore of the Lake of Thun. Two old peasant couples were celebrating their golden wedding, and the national costumes were to be worn for the occasion. At first he hesitated, as Edris would no doubt meet Karl there, but his friend Haller pressed him, saying that he had reserved rooms in his hotel for them both. Therefore, against his better judgment, and in order to please his intimate friend, he accepted.

Three days later they traveled down to Interlaken, where at the station they were met by Karl, who had previously received an invitation to join the party, Mr. Haller, of course, being in ignorance of the strained relations between the two men. In the car which drove them in the evening around the Lake of Thun, Edris sat between her two lovers, and Darville was quick to discover that beneath the rug Karl was holding her hand in his. But he said nothing. His should be a quick and bitter revenge. He laughed within himself when he reflected upon what he intended to do.

That glorious moonlight night Darville, whose great devoted passion Edris had cast down and spurned, looked on at the village feast with stony eyes. It was interesting--but not to him. Afterwards they dined at a big hotel at Gunten, the lake-side village near by, and, leaving the table early upon a paltry excuse, he paced the terrace upon the lake-side, gazing across the moon-lit waters to the great snow-peaked Niesen, high, silvery, and mysterious.

Within the pair were chatting and laughing, taking no heed of him, while he, deceived and deserted, paced the terrace with a broken heart.

In the early hours of the morning they drove back to Interlaken, and Seton bade her good-night. In the deserted corridor she kissed him, but he felt her lips cold and unresponsive. He entered his room and, locking the door, burst into a torrent of hot tears. Karl Weiss, the man he had befriended, had taken his place!

His paroxysm of grief was terrible. His sobs were loud and constant in the silence of the night, for his agony was uncontrollable, and would have brought pain to any beholder. But, strong, honest, and devoted, he was wearing out his heart in secret, and no sleep came to his eyes that night. He who had jeered at love contemplated seriously taking his own life!

Edris, on her part, was perfectly happy in Karl’s love. The only thing that marred her bliss was the dreadful uncertainty of how much Seton knew. She reassured herself that he could know but little, yet sometimes there came to her a feeling of remorse that she was deceiving the one man who had ever honestly loved her--the one man she admired for his achievements, and for his straight talk and straight dealing.

The world praised Seton Darville, and he was a popular figure everywhere, yet that night, as he stood at the window of his room, gazing out upon the moon-lit waters that led to the Lake of Brienz, with the high pine woods opposite, he knew that for him life had no further interest now that Edris, with all her vows of eternal affection and her Judas-kisses, was playing him false.

Next morning they went back up to Wengen, but thoughts and conversation were of Karl. The fellow exercised over her an uncanny, irresistible influence, until she had become infatuated with him, and her love for Seton was now but a hollow sham.

Darville had been longing for the day of their return to England, and at last it approached.

“Seti, will you do me a great favor, darling?” Edris asked the day before their departure, as she threw her arms about his neck while he sat writing. “Will you let me spend the last day down in Interlaken with Karl?”

“Why? I suppose that you find his companionship more congenial than mine, eh?” he asked bitterly.

“Not in the least, Seti. I like him, and--well, I thought you wouldn’t mind. I can go in the morning, and you can bring the luggage down in the afternoon.”

“No,” he said decisively. “I don’t wish you to meet Karl again.”

Her dark brows narrowed in annoyance.

“Very well. I shall go, whether you like it or not!” she said defiantly.

“Which shows that you have been deceiving me!” the man said, slowly rising and facing her.

“No! no!” cried the girl, “don’t say that! It is too cruel of you--too cruel--but--but I like Karl, and you told me that I might enjoy myself. I shall never see him again. He goes to Canada the week after next. Do let me see him to-morrow--do.” She begged so earnestly that, after some further protest, he unwillingly acquiesced.

So next morning she took train down to Lauterbrunnen, and at Interlaken was met by the man who held her in that evil fascination. Their greeting was affectionate, and they spent the wintry day wandering about together to secluded spots, blissfully content in each other’s love.

“You are mine, Edris!” he declared times without number. “You shall never belong to that man! We love each other. You have admitted it.”

“I know,” she answered reflectively. “But I still belong to Seti. Besides, you are going to Canada.”

“I’ve postponed my sailing for a month. I sail from Cherbourg,” he said. “Perhaps I may come to London and sail from Southampton.”

“Do!” she cried eagerly. “Then we can meet again, Karl. But Seti must not know.”

“No,” said the unprincipled Swiss, who had stolen her heart from his friend. “You must be careful to conceal everything--most careful.”

And so it was arranged that their parting that night was not to be final.

At seven o’clock Edris entered the Hotel du Lac, where she found Seton sitting with Mr. Haller in the hall. The Swiss of bad principles are few and far between, and men of the type of Karl Weiss are happily very few in Switzerland.

She greeted Darville cheerily, and whispered to him that she had been terribly bored, and that, after dinner, she was meeting Karl, and would never see him again. So clever was she, and so complete her perfidy, that he became reassured, and believed her. After dinner she left them for half an hour, met the man near the station, and they went for a walk until near the time due for the departure of the Oberland Express with its sleeping-cars for Boulogne.

She joined Darville on the dimly-lit platform five minutes before the train left. Mr. Haller, Mr. Reichel, and Mr. Müller were all present to see them off, and she greeted them merrily as she climbed into the sleeping-car of the Oberland Express, and, later, both she and Darville waved farewell to their friends, Karl, of course, not being present.

As soon as they had left the station he drew Edris into his compartment, and in a calm, unruffled voice said:

“You must be terribly tired, Carina. No doubt you have walked about a great deal to-day. I’ve been considering the favor you asked me to do for Karl, and I have thought of a means by which I can secure for him a very lucrative, but secret, appointment. I’ll see about it as soon as we get to London.”

“Oh, Seti! How good it is of you. Poor fellow! He’s so worried that he can get nothing to do here.”

“Well,” he said in an unusually hard voice, “leave it to me. If I get the appointment for him it will be a berth for life.”

“How good of you, Seti!” she cried enthusiastically, raising his hand to her lips and kissing it, little dreaming what the appointment would be, the terrible result it must inevitably lead to. When Seton Darville decided upon revenge he always struck a relentless blow, swift, staggering, and fatal.