The Mask | Page 9

to keep their less fortunate fellow men in servile subjection. I want to be rich, very rich, but I will use my wealth for good. With it I will help my fellow man rise from the mire. I will help him throw off the shackles with which conscienceless capitalism has fettered him. I want to be such a power for good. I want----"
The maid re?ntered the room.
"Fran?ois is not in his room, m'm."
Kenneth gave vent to an exclamation of impatience. Turning to his wife, he asked:
"Where is he? Did you send him anywhere?"
Helen shook her head. Quickly she said:
"He's never around except when he's not wanted."
It was so seldom that his wife displayed irritation at any one that Kenneth looked up in surprise.
"He's shopping, too, I suppose. You know there's little time left and he has things to get ready the same as I have."
Helen made a gesture of disapproval. Quickly she said:
"I wish you were going with someone else, with anyone but that man. I never liked him."
Her husband laughed. Carelessly he replied:
"I know you never did and it's the only instance since we're married where I've found dear little wife to be absolutely unfair. Seriously, sweetheart, your baseless prejudice against Fran?ois is unworthy of you. I can't go without a servant of some kind. He's an honest fellow and a faithful servant."
Helen shrugged her shoulders.
"I'm not so sure about that," she retorted quickly. "What do you know about him or his honesty? He's a perfect stranger that blew in three months ago from nowhere. He had written recommendations which may be forged. You never took the trouble to look them up."
"Yes, I did. I asked Keralio about him."
Helen looked up in surprise.
"Signor Keralio? I didn't know Fran?ois was ever with him."
"He was with him nearly a year. Keralio warmly recommends him and says he is a very faithful fellow. He only left him because he objected to being compelled to practise sword-play with his master. One day Keralio's foil slipped. Fran?ois got a puncture and it made him nervous."
"No wonder I don't like him. Like master, like valet--as the French say."
Her husband smiled.
"You are down on Keralio, aren't you?"
"I detest him. How could any self-respecting woman like such a man? His every glance is an insult. With his polished manners and sardonic smile he reminds one of Mephistopheles."
"I don't fancy the fellow much myself, but I have to be polite to him. As I told you, he's in with the people who own that silver mine. I've found him useful."
"Don't trust him," replied Helen warningly. "If he makes himself useful to you, depend upon it, he has some ulterior motive in view. Now I know Fran?ois was once with him I shall dislike him more than ever."
"Come--come dear," protested Kenneth, "that is carrying things too far. Fran?ois is quite a decent chap if you understand him--I find him faithful, discreet."
"Discreet!" echoed Helen mockingly. "I beg to differ."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean that you are blinded in the man. Discreet indeed! Only the other day I caught him at your desk reading a letter which you had left there."
"A letter?" exclaimed Kenneth, looking up in surprise. "What letter?"
"The letter from your agent at Cape Town, telling of the astonishing diamond find, and suggesting that an officer of the Company be sent out to bring home the big stone--the letter you read at the director's meeting and which decided them to send you out there."
Kenneth bit his lip. Quickly he said:
"I'm sorry he saw that. It was careless of me to leave it around. Are you sure he was reading it?"
"He had a pencil and paper in hand and appeared to be copying from the letter. When he saw me, he crushed the paper up in his hand and turned away."
Kenneth gave an expressive whistle.
"The deuce you say! The fellow's smarter than I took him to be. All the more reason why I should take him along with me. Then I'm sure he can't tell tales out of school. I----. Hush, here he is!"
The door opened cautiously and there entered a man about thirty years of age, of medium height and slightly, even delicately, built. That he was a Frenchman was apparent even at a glance. The dark closely cropped hair, worn in the so-called pompadour or military style, the pale, saturnine features, the manner and general bearing all loudly proclaimed his Gallic nationality. His smooth shaven face showed a firm mouth with bloodless lips so thin as to be hardly perceptible. His eyes, when they could be seen at all, were greenish in color, and small and restless as those of a ferret. He advanced into the room with the obsequious deferential manner which in all well-trained servants becomes second nature, moving across the thickly carpeted floor with the