The Complete Detective Sgt. Elk Series (6 Novels in One Edition). Edgar Wallace

      The door at the farther end of the room opened. He looked up eagerly, half expecting to see Grayson himself smiling upon the threshold.

      It was Doris. She stood there for a moment, uncertain, gazing at them rather strangely. In her white morning dress, slightly crumpled, and her dark hair arranged in smooth bandeaux, she was amazingly like a child. The somewhat cold spring sunlight which streamed through the window showed her pallid, as though the event of the night had already set its mark upon her. There were faint violet shadows beneath her eyes.

      Cord came forward hastily, everything blotted from his mind but the sight of her white, grief-stricken face. He took both her hands in his own warm clasp. All he found to say, huskily, was, “Doris! Doris!”

      The girl gave him a wide, deep look. Suddenly her lips dipped and quivered uncontrollably. With a short, smothered sob, she flung herself into his arms and hid her face on his shoulder.

      Cord held her tenderly. “Don’t!” he whispered unsteadily. “Don’t cry, dear!”

      In her sorrow, she was inexpressibly sweet and precious to him.

      The moment recalled vividly an incident in their childhood, when her pet collie had died, and the little girl of seven had flown down the path with streaming eyes to meet him and sobbed out her grief in his arms.

      He bent down and smoothed with gentle fingers the soft dusky hair. The fragrance of it filled his nostrils. Its softness sent a delicious ecstasy thrilling from his fingertips up his arm. He trembled throughout his entire frame. All his life, he declared to himself with passionate sincerity, he would love her like this. All his life he would remember this one moment. He gazed down at her tenderly, a wonderful light in his young face.

      “Dear!” he whispered again.

      She lifted a pallid face tr, him. Her violet eyes were misty, and tiny drops of dew were still tangled in her lashes.

      “You — you are good to me,” she murmured.

      At his answering look, a faint colour swept into her cheeks. She disengaged herself and sat down.

      Lady Dinsmore came forward, and seating herself beside the girl upon the divan, drew her close within the shelter of her arms.

      “Now, Cord,” she said cheerily, indicating a chair opposite, “sit down, and let us take counsel together. And first of all,” she pressed the girl’s cold hand, “let me speak my strongest conviction. Gerald is not dead. Something tells me that he is safe and well.”

      Doris turned her eyes to the young man wistfully. “You have heard something — later?” she asked.

      He shook his head. “There has been no time for fresh developments yet. I came past the newspaper office, and they are doing what they can.

      Scotland Yard is in charge of the affair, and T.B. Smith has been put upon the case.”

      She shuddered and covered her face with her hands.

      “How strange and ghastly it all is!” she whispered. “I — I cannot get it out of my head. The dark river — my father — I can see him there—” She broke off with a low moan.

      Lady Dinsmore looked helplessly across to the young man. Tears were in her kind eyes.

      The curtain at the lower end of the room parted, and a footman stood framed in the opening.

      “A message for Miss Grayson,” he announced discreetly.

      Lady Dinsmore arched her eyebrows significantly. “Poltavo!” she breathed.

      Doris darted forward and snatched the letter from the man’s hand. She broke the seal and tore out the contents at a glance. A little strangled cry of joy escaped her. Her face, which had been pale, flushed a rosy hue. She bent to read it again, her lips parted. Her whole aspect breathed renewed hope and radiance. She folded the note, slipped it into her bosom, and, without a word, glided from the room.

      Cord stared after her, white to the lips with rage and wounded love.

      Lady Dinsmore rose briskly to her feet. “Excuse me, dear Cord,” she murmured, “and wait here!” She rustled after her niece.

      Van Ingen paced up and down the room distractedly, momentarily expecting her reappearance.

      Alternate waves of jealousy and grief inundated his being. Only a short half-hour ago, with Doris’ head pillowed upon his breast, he had felt supremely happy; now he was plunged into an abyss of utter wretchedness. What were the contents of that brief note which had affected her so powerfully? Why should she secrete it with such care unless it conveyed a lover’s assurance? His foot came into contact with a chair, and he swore under his breath. Then he sighed.

      The servant, who had entered unobserved, coughed deprecatingly. “Her ladyship sends her excuses, sir,” he said, “and says she will write you later.” He ushered the young man to the outer door.

      Upon the top step Van Ingen halted stiffly. He found himself face to face with Poltavo.

      The count greeted him gravely. “A sad business!” he murmured. “You have seen the ladies? How does Miss Grayson bear it? She is well?”

      Van Ingen gazed at him darkly. “Your note recovered her!” he said with harsh bitterness.

      “Mine!” Surprise was in the count’s voice.

      “But I have not written. I am come in person.”

      Cord’s face expressed scornful incredulity. He lifted his hat grimly and descended the steps.

5. Count Poltavo Offers His Services

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      The footman who had shown Van Ingen to the door ushered the count into the morning-room, replenished the fire in the grate which had burned low, and departed noiselessly.

      The newcomer sank wearily into a deep chair, and closed his eyes. He looked spent and haggard, as if his night had been a sleepless one. The clear olive of his skin showed slightly sallow, and fine wire-lines were etched about his eyes. Perhaps he did not hear the light footfalls which approached. Doris came nearer, soft-footed, and pausing before the fire, regarded him with deep attention.

      She had changed into a dark dress which accentuated her youth and slenderness.

      The count opened his eyes and looked at her. A slight smile touched his lips. “I was dreaming of you!” he murmured softly. He sprang to his feet. “Forgive me!” he exclaimed contritely. “I must have dozed. I had a wakeful night.” She gave him her hand. “And I disturbed you with my message!”

      “I was glad to come,” he replied simply. “But you — this terrible news!” He released her hand and fell back a pace, scrutinising her sharply.

      “But you do not look sad! And yet your letter — the morning paper which I bought upon the way — it is not true, then?”

      “Something is true — but not — not the ghastly thing I feared when I wrote you.” She seated herself, and the count resumed his chair by the fire. His face was hidden in the shadows. “You mean that your father—”

      “Is alive and well!” Her voice quivered and broke. Two shining tears trembled for a moment upon her lashes., and then sped down her cheeks. Others followed. She smiled through them. “I am so happy — so thankful!” she murmured.

      “How did you learn this — wonderful news?”

      The count’s voice, though low, rang like steel on stone.

      She gave him a startled look, and withdrew the note from its warm resting place and handed it silently to him.

      “May I take it to the light?” Without waiting