The Red Symbol. Ironside John

counsel – impossible to “forget that such a person as Anne Pendennis ever existed;” but I would only think of her as the girl I loved, the girl whom I would see in Berlin within a few days.

      I wrote to her that night, saying nothing of the murder, but only that I was unexpectedly detained, and would send her a wire when I started, so that she would know when to expect me. Once face to face with her, I would tell her everything; and she would give me the key to the mystery that had tortured me so terribly. But I must never let her know that I had doubted her, even for an instant!

      The morning mail brought me an unexpected treasure. Only a post-card, pencilled by Anne herself in the train, and posted at Dover.

      It was written in French, and was brief enough; but, for the time being, it changed and brightened the whole situation.

      “I scarcely hoped to see you at the station, mon ami; there was so little time. What haste you must have made to get there at all! Shall I really see you in Berlin? I do want you to know my father. And you will be able to tell me your plans. I don’t even know your destination! The Reichshof, where we stay, is in Friedrich Strasse, close to Unter den Linden. Au revoir!

A. P.”

      A simple message, but it meant much to me. I regarded it as a proof that her hurried journey was not a flight, but a mere coincidence.

      Mary had a post-card, too, from Calais; just a few words with the promise of a letter at the end of the journey. She showed it to me when I called round at Chelsea on Monday evening to say good-bye once more. The inquest opened that morning, and was adjourned for a week. Only formal and preliminary evidence was taken – my own principally; and I was able to arrange to leave next day. Inspector Freeman made the orthodox statement that “the police were in possession of a clue which they were following up;” and I had a chat with him afterwards, and tried to ferret out about the clue, but he was close as wax.

      We parted on the best of terms, and I was certain he did not guess that my interest in the affair was more than the natural interest of one who was as personally concerned in it as I was, with the insatiable curiosity of the journalist superadded. Whatever I had been yesterday, I was fully master of myself to-day.

      Jim was out when I reached Chelsea, somewhat to my relief; and Mary was alone for once.

      She welcomed me cordially, as usual, and commended my improved appearance.

      “I felt upset about you last night, Maurice; you weren’t a bit like yourself. And what on earth did you mean in the drawing-room – about Anne?” she asked.

      “Sheer madness,” I said, with a laugh. “Jim made that peg too strong, and I’m afraid I was – well, a bit screwed. So fire away, if you want to lecture me; though, on my honor, it was the first drink I’d had all day!”

      I knew by the way she had spoken that Jim had not confided his suspicions to her. I didn’t expect he would.

      She accepted my explanation like the good little soul she is.

      “I never thought of that. It’s not like you, Maurice. But I won’t lecture you this time, though you did scare me! I guess you felt pretty bad after finding that poor fellow. I felt shuddery enough even at the thought of it, considering that we knew him, and had all been together such a little while before. Has the murderer been found yet?”

      “Not that I know of. The inquest’s adjourned, and I’m off to-morrow. I’ll have to come back if necessary; but I hope it won’t be. Any message for Anne? I shall see her on Wednesday.”

      “No, only what I’ve already written: that I hope her father’s better, and that she’d persuade him to come back with her. She was to have stayed with us all summer, as you know; and I’m not going to send her trunks on till she writes definitely that she can’t return. My private opinion of Mr. Pendennis is that he’s a cranky and exacting old pig! He resented Anne’s leaving him, and I surmise this illness of his is only a ruse to get her back again. Anne ought to be firmer with him!”

      I laughed. Mary, as I knew, had always been “firm” with her “poppa,” in her girlish days; had, in fact, ruled him with a rod of iron – cased in velvet, indeed, but inflexible, nevertheless!

      I started on my delayed journey next morning, and during the long day and night of travel my spirits were steadily on the up-grade.

      Cassavetti, the murder, all the puzzling events of the last few days, receded to my mental horizon – vanished beyond it – as boat and train bore me swiftly onwards, away from England, towards Anne Pendennis.

      Berlin at last. I drove from the Potsdam station to the nearest barber’s, – I needed a shave badly, though I had made myself otherwise fairly spick and span in the toilet car, – and thence to the hotel Anne had mentioned.

      She would be expecting me, for I had despatched the promised wire when I started.

      “Send my card up to Fraulein Pendennis at once,” I said to the waiter who came forward to receive me.

      He looked at me – at the card – but did not take it.

      “Fraulein Pendennis is not here,” he asserted. “Herr Pendennis has already departed, and the Fraulein has not been here at all!”

      CHAPTER X

      DISQUIETING NEWS

      I stared at the man incredulously.

      “Herr Pendennis has departed, and the Fraulein has not been here at all!” I repeated. “You must be mistaken, man! The Fraulein was to arrive here on Monday, at about this time.”

      He protested that he had spoken the truth, and summoned the manager, who confirmed the information.

      Yes, Herr Pendennis had been unfortunately indisposed, but the sickness had not been so severe as to necessitate that the so charming and dutiful Fraulein should hasten to him. He had a telegram received, – doubtless from the Fraulein herself, – and thereupon with much haste departed. He drove to the Friedrichstrasse station, but that was all that was known of his movements. Two letters had arrived for Miss Pendennis, which her father had taken, and there was also a telegram, delivered since he left.

      Both father and daughter, it seemed, were well known at the hotel, where they always stayed during their frequent visits to the German capital.

      I was keenly disappointed. Surely some malignant fate was intervening between Anne and myself, determined to keep us apart. Why had she discontinued her journey; and had she returned to England, – to the Cayleys? If not, where was she now? Unanswerable questions, of course. All I could do was to possess my soul in patience, and hope for tidings when I reached my destination. And meanwhile, by breaking my journey here, for the sole purpose of seeing her, I had incurred a delay of twelve hours.

      One thing at least was certain, – her father could not have left Berlin for the purpose of meeting her en route, or he would not have started from the Friedrichstrasse station.

      With a rush all the doubts and perplexities that I had kept at bay, even since I received Anne’s post-card, re-invaded my mind; but I beat them back resolutely. I would not allow myself to think, to conjecture.

      I moped around aimlessly for an hour or two, telling myself that Berlin was the beastliest hole on the face of the earth. Never had time dragged as it did that morning! I seemed to have been at a loose end for a century or more by noon, when I found myself opposite the entrance of the Astoria Restaurant.

      “When in difficulties – feed,” Jim Cayley had counselled, and a long lunch would kill an hour or so, anyhow.

      I had scarcely settled myself at a table when a man came along and clapped me on the shoulder.

      “Wynn, by all that’s wonderful. What are you doing here, old fellow?”

      It was Percy Medhurst, a somewhat irresponsible, but very decent youngster, whom I had seen a good deal of in London, one way and another. He was a clerk in the British Foreign Office, but I hadn’t the least idea that he had been sent to Berlin. He had dined at the Cayleys only a week or two back.

      “I’m feeding