The Mystery of the Four Fingers | Page 4

my word, he seems to
know this Mark Fenwick as well as I do."
The maimed crippled figure in the armchair had dragged himself
almost to his feet, with his powerful, muscular arm propping him
against the table. His unusually handsome face was all broken and
twisted up with an expression of malignant fury. He stood there for a
moment or two like a statue of uncontrollable passion, rigid, fixed, and
motionless, save for the twitching of his face. Then, gradually he
dropped back into his chair again, a broken and huddled heap,
quivering from head to foot with the pain caused by his recent exertion.
A moment later he took from his breast pocket a silk shade, which he

proceeded to tie over his eyes, as if the light hurt him. Watching his
every movement with intense eagerness, the two friends saw that he
had also taken from his pocket a small silver case, about the same size
as an ordinary box of safety matches. Indeed, the case looked not
unlike the silver coverings for wood matches, which are generally to be
seen in well-appointed households. Then, as if nothing interested him
further, he leaned back in his chair, and appeared to give himself over
entirely to his enjoyment of the orchestra. In all probability no diner
there besides Venner and Gurdon had noticed anything in the least out
of the common.
"This is very dramatic," Gurdon said. "Here is a melo-drama actually
taking place in a comedy 'set' like this. I am glad you will be in a
position later on to gratify my curiosity. I confess I should like to learn
something more about this Mark Fenwick, who does not appear to be in
the least like one's idea of the prosaic money spinner."
"He isn't," Venner said grimly. "Anything but that. Why, three years
ago that man was as poor and desperate as the most wretched outcast
who walks the streets of London to-night. And one thing you may be
certain of--wherever you dine from now to your dying day, you will be
under the roof of no more diabolical scoundrel than the creature who
calls himself Mark Fenwick."
There was a deep note in Venner's voice that did not fail to stimulate
Gurdon's curiosity. He glanced again at the millionaire, who appeared
to be talking in some foreign tongue with his companion. The tall, fair
girl with the shining hair had her back to the friends, so they could not
see her face, and when she spoke it was in a tone so low that it was not
possible to catch anything more than the sweetness of her voice.
"I wonder what she is doing with him?" Gurdon said. "At any rate, she
is English enough. I never saw a woman with a more thoroughbred air.
She is looking this way."
Just for a moment the girl turned her head, and Venner caught a full
sight of her face. It was only for an instant; then the fair head was
turned again, and the girl appeared to resume her dinner. Venner

jumped from his chair and took three strides across the room. He
paused there as if struggling to regain possession of himself; then he
dropped into his chair again, shielding his face from the light with his
hands. Gurdon could see that his companion's face had turned to a
ghastly grey. Veritably it was a night of surprises, quick, dramatic
surprises, following close upon one another's heels.
"What, do you mean to say you know her, too?" Gurdon whispered.
Venner looked up with a strange, unsteady smile on his face. He
appeared to be fighting hard to regain his self-control.
"Indeed, I do know her," he said. "My friend, you are going to have all
the surprises you want. What will you say when I tell you that the girl
who sits there, utterly unconscious of my presence, and deeming me to
be at the other end of the world, is no less a person than--my own
wife?"
CHAPTER II
THE FIRST FINGER
Gurdon waited for his companion to go on. It was a boast of his that he
had exhausted most of the sensations of life, and that he never allowed
anything to astonish him. All the same, he was astonished now, and
surprised beyond words. For the last twenty-five years, on and off, he
had known Venner. Indeed, there had been few secrets between them
since the day when they had come down from Oxford together. From
time to time, during his wanderings, Venner had written to his old
chum a fairly complete account of his adventures. During the last three
years the letters had been meagre and far between; and at their meeting
a few days ago, Gurdon had noticed a reticence in