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Show S The Vanishing Men 1 By Richard Washburn Child j 2 r ( W fT. rj. Sirvlr) N (Copyrlxht by B. P. Dntton A Co.) W SYNOPSIS Out of uniform, ut the end of the World war, wUh the rank of major, i'eier IteWolfa, younjf imirl:an of weftlih and family, la urRd by an lnKli.ih comrade In arniM, J-Jveraby bcnham, tu vlnlt the Urnhatn home and med the KnKllHhnian'a mother und Hl.iler, and, incidentally, Urena Se Icons, younK woman about whom there la an air of myjjtery. Muriel Ben-hani, Ben-hani, Kvernby'a i.itr. becomes Infatuated with I'eier, but h la Interented only In the mysterious tlrenu Ke Icons, of whom he has had only a Kllmpae. Muriel urgea him to forget her, warning him that if hhe (Brena) should like him he la In dunKr of "vanlsh-Ihk "vanlsh-Ihk like the othera." Peter meets Mrena. in a tea room. After a few days' comLnlonshlp the felinK between Ivter and Brena ripens Into love. Brena confesses that she Is married and that her husband hus-band has "vanished." Brena'a life atory Is out of the ordinary. Her father had been forced to leave Greece because of revolutionary adulations, and his doath, following1 follow-ing1 quickly upon that of his wife, leavea Brena pennlfess, at Dallas, Texas, Hhe secures work, and meets Jim Hennepin. He falls in love with her. He urges her to meet him in St. Louis. CHAPTER VI Continued Tills whs the man who withheld his questions, hided his time and gazed at Iirenu Selcoss with frank admiration admira-tion on his absurdly youthful and academic aca-demic face. He turned away from her, walked to the window and looked out at the nlKht, at the wall of the neighboring neigh-boring house upon which the light of the full moon was bluish white, and then, like au actor who has rehearsed the purt of a cool and collected man he walked toward Brena and said clearly and calmly, "I've come for information." He could not see the slightest quiver In the girl's eyes, though he looked for It. "Yes," said he. "May I close this door?" Mrs. Wllkie, who was outside pre- i tending to rend the names In the tele phone book, saw the front room door i gently swing to and heard the latch. "How olu are you?" Parmalee was ' asking ISrena. "Eighteen this month," she said. ; "Well, thnt's surprising very, In deed," he said. "You are more of a woman than a girl." lirena was not pleased by the patronizing pat-ronizing manner of this rich cotton man. She said promptly: "The Information you wanted? Was It about me?" Parmalee looked up vlth a single ; sharp thrust of his glance; he adjust ed his tie and his opinion of Miss Selcoss Sel-coss at one time. He put upon his unwrlnkled, clean-shaven face a typical typ-ical Ingratiating smile. He took his pointed chin, which, combined with his upslantlng eyebrows to give him a satanlc expression, not uupleaslng, In his small, white, cold hand. He said: "Oh, no; the Information I seek Is about a certain man." She glanced around her quickly, as If to be sure that no one else had come with hlra and was sitting outside out-side the circle of radiance from the gas mantle that made the faces of human beings suddenly turn livid and ghastry as Parmalee's had turned and as she felt her own had turned. "Yes. You want me to be more specific," spe-cific," he said in a low voice. "I will be. The man Is" He stopped, simulating perhaps a reluctance to speak the name. Brena held her breath. "Jim Hennepin," he said. "An employee em-ployee or perhaps a better word Is associate." Without a flutter in her dark eyes, Brena said: "Oh, then you do not want to see me you want to see Mr. Hennepin's aunt Mrs. Wilkie." Parmalee shook his head from side to side. "Perhaps we'd better sit down," he suggested. Her face flushed as she told him she would prefer to stand, but he only shrugged his shoulders. "Has she heard from him?" he usked. "Today?" "No," said Brena. "she hasn't had a line from him since he left Pallas. There Isn't anything at the office?" "No, hlj accounts are all right." replied re-plied Parmalee. "It appears that you are anxious on that point in his behalf. be-half. Are you fond of him?" "Not in the slightest." Brena answered an-swered with a voice which showed no emotion whatever: she might have been asked whether she liked cold raw-sliced raw-sliced tomatoes. "Well, that's surprising very. Indeed." In-deed." he said with a thrust of his glance. "You were friendly?" "Yes." she said. "I suppose that we were very friendly. I do not know why you are asking me these questions." ques-tions." "That will appear," he said gravely. "You will see that I am your friend In this. Miss Selcoss. I think you will say that I rtme here to do you a service." For just a flick of time something rose from the depths of Compton Parmalee Par-malee and Brena saw it. It was almost al-most au effluvium of the buried best in him the stir of a dying thing trying try-ing to come to life. It was half a benevolent love of his fellow man: half the call of an Isolated, warped and lonely soul. It was the thing which she saw later and to which she gave In her folly, but now It flickered for a moment on that strange esthetic gambler's face and was gone. "You telegraphed to Jim Hennepin from .St. Louis." he said. "That telegram tele-gram was opened." "When?" asked Brena. "When it came? Of course." He did not deny It. He said: "It wns Just your message, 'I am waiting,' wait-ing,' and It was signed, 'B.' It took a little Inquiry for me to know that tills telegram was probably sent by you." "But nearly five months have gone." "I know." "And why now do you come to me?" "You needn't tell me anything you do not wish to tell. I assume that you arranged to meet him In St. Louis." Brena put her hand up and felt her throat. It was hot the skin was hot under the cold hand. "It was a great mistake," she said In a low voice "a great mistake." "The idea was marriage?" "It was my Idea If I had any clear Idea." "You were very young." "Yes, I think so looking back." "You know what was in Jim Hennepin's Henne-pin's mind?" She did not answer. "The dirty dog!" said Parmalee. "What a smiling face he had!" Brena shuddered. "Well, here is the telegram," said the visitor. "I opened it myself. There Is no one else who knows It was ever sent." He wet his thin Hps; he said: "It is a secret ours," nnd stretched out his hand with the yellow envelope held daintily in his Angers. The girl, however, was looking searchingly into his eyes; she was young but not too young to be suspicious sus-picious of a secret shared by two, when one treats that secret as If it were a kind of asset. Apparently he read her thoughts, for he said hurriedly, "You needn't feel under any obligation to me for keeping the secret. I have my stains and blights, but they are not of that kind. As I said, all I came for was information." She took the telegram, which he had held toward her, and nodded. "Of course, If he were to meet you he probably told you more. He probably prob-ably told you where he was going, eh and why?" He leaned forward as he asked this question and turned one side of his face as if the answer could best be heard by his right ear alone. "No," she said. "He spoke of making mak-ing a great sum of money, of getting it from some place." "He did not say where?" "No." Parmalee sighed as if he had gone up a blind alley and had found its end. "He spoke of some call some message," mes-sage," said Brena. The broker's eyes widened until they were in a staring distention. "Ha ! So he did ! What did he tell you?" "Nothing." Parmalee sat down in a chair and stared at the carpet for a long time. "It Is very peculiar," he said at last. "He left you to meet him in St. Louis. He went on an errand of some strange kind and refused to tell you what It was. v. ell ! Well! And then you waited In St. Louis In vain." "How did you know he didn't come?" "Your telegram." Brena said: "I waited there three days. I waited. I was frightened. But 1 grew more In those three days than I have ever grown In three years." "Yes," said Parmalee with a flicker of tenderness again. "I can understand." under-stand." "Y'ou have heard no word from him since?" "No word. And I thought that it might be my duty to tell " "No, no, no !" exclaimed the man. Jumping up. "If there is any duty in the world it is not to tell. Few would ever understand as I understand. It would do no good. If I can do nothing, what purpose would it serve you to try? For God's sake think of vour-self." vour-self." "And I promised him," she said. "What difference does It make that I see clearly now what a man he is my promise to keep silent." "Quiet!" commanded Parmalee. "Not so loud. No purpose Is served by stirring up a search." "A search? You mean that you do not know where he is. Mr. Parmalee?" The broker lowered his voice: "Yes." said he. "Not only have you and Mrs. Wllkie heard nothing and his father heard nothing, but I have heard nothing. noth-ing. Apparently after he had decided to take you away from Dallas this thing described as a call came." "Yes." "There Is still a balance of a considerable con-siderable sum to his credit In the office of-fice I will tell you confidentially that he has not claimed It. As far as I can find out, no man, woman or child for nearly half a year has seen Jim Hennepin. No one misses him, to be sure. And for you to sacrifice yourself your-self that would be utter folly! He has gone like this!" Parmalee held up his small clenched fist, opened It suddenly and blew an Imaginary speck of dust from Its palm into oblivion. CHAPTER VII Midwinter had come before Brena saw Compton Parmalee again. He sent for her two days after Christmas Christ-mas ; he asked If she could come to his office. The call had come over the telephone tele-phone to the store where she was still employed and Brena answered that she would try to leave an hour earlier than usual so that she could come at four. Winter dusk had begun to settle over the city before she was shown into the broker's office by a stenographer, stenog-rapher, who, never having seen a woman caller before, raised her eyebrows eye-brows as she closed the door after the entrance of this beautiful stranger. Through the great plate glass windows win-dows of the luxurious office Brena could see the flaming sunset in the west and against it, In dark outline, the figure of Parmalee who had risen as she had come In. With a gesture of gallantry he took her furs from her and put them across the white papers on his desk, and when she sat down he touched these furs caressingly for several moments. He might have been thrusting his glances at her, but she could not tell. "There Are So Many Things You Can Buy With Your Money," She Said. Dusk had entered the office, too, and he became only a figure of two dimensions, dimen-sions, without thickness, from which after a moment there came a voice which Brena scarcely recognized, so weary was It and yet so unrelated and tense. "Y'ou are sure that all you told me was accurate," he said. She needed no explanation; she said at once. "Of course," In a tone of Indignation. In-dignation. "I know," said he. "But there was just one more thing. Did he leave a paper with you?" "A paper? No, he left no paper. He gave me " She hesitated and went on : "He gave me some money, and there was a little scrap of paper in it. I remember, remem-ber, because I did not know whether to keep it or throw it away. He might have wanted it. It had on it an arrow drawn with ink and a lizard drawn beside it and two words underneath, under-neath, 'This sign.' " "Well, that was nothing." said Parmalee. Par-malee. "Where is It now?" "It disappeared. Y'ou haven't " "No. Not a word. He has gone." She was silent. "In fact, it was not because of anything any-thing to do with it that I wanted to see you," the man said. "You will say when you know why I sent for you that you have never heard of anything like it In all your life." Brena sat down. "Did you ever hear of a man who had made a final killing who a year ago was juggling riches and Insolvency Insolv-ency in one hand and success and failure fail-ure in the other, wanting to talk about himself to an eighteen-year-old orphan?" or-phan?" "No," she said with a little laugh, "I never heard of that." "I sent for you to tell you about myself my-self not about what I have been but about what I am. I did this after having seen you once and once only. It Is because there was a sympathy between us that was most extraordinary extraor-dinary more than you know." "I think I understand." "It is not love," said he. "Let me I make it plain that I am not deluded. that I am not in love with you. You will never hear me talking about the love of youth. I am not old, but the passion and Idealism of love have gone worn out perhaps In taking risks and jarring to pieces within while like a carved marble on the outside. No, I will not make love to you." "No," said Brena, giving affirmation. He played with the furs a little more. "Ten months ago I scraped together all the money I could and I threw It Into a final play. That's neither here nor there. I am now worth a little over two million dollars, I am through with business, with trading, with speculation, spec-ulation, with this office, and with Dallas, Dal-las, Texas forever !" "And now ?" asked Brena. He laughed. "That Is it! What?" The fur stole on the desk In front of him he smoothed gently with his open hand. Brena made no suggestion as to what he should do with his life, and after a moment he went on, "There is left to me now collecting books, travel, perhaps an opportunity to do some one a kindness now and then and taking good care of my health. I shall buy a painting occasionally. Can you think ot anything else?" To Brena the problem was new ; she did not have a ready answer. "I have burned out," said Parmalee. "I am ashes." Of this he spoke cheerfully as If he had repeated it over and over to himself him-self until It had lost its blackness and now gave the strange pleasure that all final conclusions of human limitations and disasters give at last when they nrc accepted. "You see, I am not a great man," he explained. "It was necessary for me to throw all of myself into the fight every resource I could summon. I do not smoke. I know as much about smoking as any man alive. I have measured its effect with accuracy. It Is a greater devltnilzer than alcohol. But I do not drink, either. I have conserved and guarded all my sensations sensa-tions until I have none. All my life my last twenty years of life I have promised myself Indulgences Indulgences Indul-gences of gigantic and exquisite design, de-sign, but now that I can have them, this body of mine rejects them all, refuses re-fuses them all. Fate laughs in my ear and says, 'You're done for. The most sensuous pleasure you shall have will be the flavor of that apple sauce you have eaten for lunch for fifteen years and will eat for lunch for the rest of your days.' Isn't this a grim Joke, Miss Selcoss?" "I do not know," said Brena uneasily-Even in the dark he sensed ber desire de-sire to go. "Don't leave me," he said with a voice which almost broke into a low sob. "You are the only one who can understand." "All right," she said, astonished that she had become important to anyone. "I'm sorry, Mr. Parmalee." ' "Let me tell you something else," he went on. "I have dreamed of a certain cer-tain prestige a kind of background of life that I would enjoy when I was ready. To that end I have given liberally lib-erally to campaign funds. Next year If I wish I can be minister to Portugal. Portu-gal. Personally I think this Is a grim jest. It is the system, however." Brena clasped her ungloved hands in her lap and thrust her arms out until It appeared that she was expressing express-ing something of the thrill of Imagination Imagina-tion which the picture of diplomatic life in a European capital had given her. "But I shall not take the office," said Parmalee. Brena uttered an exclamation. "No, I shall not take It. I do not want more brilliance. I want more dim light. I like the dusk. I do not want to see my name In printed let-ers. let-ers. I never want to see It again. I do not want men and women to say, 'That Is Compton Parmalee.' I want all strangers to neglect me. I want to live In a dim light like this now In this office." He sighed. "I've made many mistakes," he said "I want now to become buried, to be unseen like a ghost." Brena protested. "There are so many things you can buy with your money " she said. "Only one," he replied sharply "And that " "Is you." She pushed her chair back from the desk with both her hands. "You need not be alarmed," said his calm voice. "I have stated It purpose-y purpose-y at Its worst. It Is better for you to have this thought presented at first and perhaps we can overcome it later I Put it In the terms the world will' use; Dallas will say, .He bought her' But, after all. we will not be in Dai-Us. Dai-Us. We will be In Peking or In Bom-bay Bom-bay or in sight of the Pyramid, Tn the crags of the Norway coast. I aiD more than twenty years older th. ,"u are But the varied and Inte,tC md .important persons with whoa we may dine will only say, 'He has f aeautlful young wife with a ft" f Her father was a patriot f "You know" Greece. But it has been a long time. Brena Bre-na said as if cross-examination might bring ciarlty to display her puzzled mind. "You did not-" r.mie back?" he asked. " Outle the plate glass wiudow the rising wind tuned mournfully. You are very young," he said You would not foresee as I foresaw that I could not see you without parting the tongues of scandal. You are penniless, voung, working. I am rich, worldly conspicuous. I should have liked to send you extravagant presents, lou would not have understood. Ton would have thought I was an old fool trying to be a lover. I was not that, but the others would have said even worse of me. So I waited, clinging to a single strand that brings ua together." to-gether." "Us '" Yes sympathy. Because you saw In me the one thing left that you might salvage and find valuable. Not because be-cause I am a man and you are a woman wom-an but because I am a human being and you, who can see with a vision of the gods, saw in my ashes one un-burned un-burned thing." "You knew!" "Yes, I knew," he said sadly. No one else could see. Underneath there Is something left a kind of tenderness for humanity. It is to fan this spark that I want to buy you." Brena said nothing; he had made good his promise that he would tell her something she had never heard of before. "I do not want a wife," he said. "That would be the title, but I do not want a wife. It is too late. I want a mother. I want you to make my spirit clean and white as it was when I was ten." "And yet," said Brena, "you do not think of me." Suddenly this unhappy man rose to his feet trembling, Intense, gesticulating. gesticulat-ing. "Think of you," he said. "How can you say that I have not thought of you? Is this thing I propose so unnatural un-natural as the foolish world has said of it? Is It base of me to want to take a diamond from the mud where no one else has seen It? Is it an ugly thought that I feel repulsion when I see you, who are made of the rarest materials, wasted upon cheap labors and cheap, garish surroundings and being be-ing worn down like a fine, wonderful machine, abused by coarse use? Am I a fool to believe that with the only contacts available to you, you will only meet the vulgar men yon can never marry? Did I not see that you had a vision as from Olympic heights which was being blinded in this routine rou-tine of middle-class horrors?" Brena's face, upon which the last light fell, was white and frightened as If she had seen a ghost. It was enough to tell him that she knew that he spoke trnly. "I do not ask you to give anything to me except your help to make me new again," he said. "I do not ask young love. I have none to give. I cannot take you away or keep you near me without marriage. It would blast us both. But if you marry me you shall be made free whenever the day comes that you wish to go. I ask no promises." Brena got up and stood looking out the window. The tall office building overlooked not only the old center of the city and the red angular prisms of brick and the square roofs laid out like fields upon level farmland, but i also the distant strtfhoo nt ,in,. prairies. There was an Impulse to go over that distant horizon: the same strong impulse of youth, adventure, ambition that runs like current in the blood of animals and men. To be free 1 To grow ! To range 1 To know I To be emancipated from the sordid round of days ! "Do not answer now," said Parmalee. Parma-lee. "I have said all I can. It has taken me several weeks to plan how I should say this. I have said it all In a cold fair statement. No one could say I had made love to you, Brena." She took his hand; it was as cold as "Write me," said he brusquely A week later he got her letter: it was on his desk apart from the bust-ness bust-ness envelopes. He tore It open Mh'ng you said to me can be denied de-nied she wrote. "You have inquired "bout me; I have no hesitation in tell tag you that I have Inquired about you hing by my Inquiry, for It Is true that here comes to me at strange moment a clear vision and an insight. iZn you are, above all, honorable" (TO BE CONTINUED.) ' |
