The Wheel Spins (10 page)

Suddenly—for no reason at all—she thought of the doctor in Miss Froy’s tale of horror.

Although she was conscious of the interest she aroused, Iris was too overwrought to care. Raising her voice she made a general appeal.

“Please. Is there any one English here?”

The spectacle of a pretty girl in distress made a young man leap to his feet. He was of rather untidy appearance with a pleasant ordinary face and audacious hazel eyes.

“Can I be of use?” he asked quickly.

The voice was familiar to Iris. She had heard it at the railway station, just before her sunstroke. This was the young man who had been opposed to trial by jury. He looked exactly as she had pictured him; he had even a rebellious tuft of hair, of the kind that lies down under treatment, as meekly as a trained hound, but which springs up again, immediately the brush is put away.

In other circumstances she would have been attracted to him instinctively; but in this crisis he seemed to lack ballast.

“Gets fresh with barmaids and cheeks traffic-cops,” she reflected swiftly.

“Well?” prompted the young man.

To her dismay Iris found it difficult to control her voice or collect her thoughts when she tried to explain the situation.

“It’s all rather complicated,” she said shakily. “I’m in a jam. At least, it’s nothing to do with me. But I’m sure there’s some horrible mistake and I can’t speak a word of this miserable language.”

“That’s all right,” said the young man encouragingly. “I speak the lingo. Just put me wise to the trouble.”

While Iris still hesitated, doubtful of her choice of champion, a tall, thin man rose reluctantly from his seat, as though chivalry were a painful duty. In this case his academic appearance was not misleading, for directly he spoke Iris recognised the characteristic voice of the professor of modern languages.

“May I offer my services as an interpreter?” he asked formally.

“He’s no good,” broke in the young man. “He only knows grammar. But I can swear in the vernacular and we may need a spot of profanity.”

Iris checked her laugh for she realised that she was on the verge of hysteria.

“An Englishwoman has disappeared from the train,” she told the professor. “She’s a
real
person, but the baroness says—”

Her voice suddenly failed as she noticed that the doctor was looking at her with fixed attention. The professor’s glacial eye also reminded her that she was making an exhibition of herself.

“Could you pull yourself together to make a coherent statement?” he asked.

The chill in his voice was tonic for it braced her to compress the actual situation into a few words. This time she was careful to make no allusion to the baroness but confined herself to Miss Froy’s non-return to the carriage.

To her relief the professor appeared to be impressed for he rubbed his long chin gravely.

“You said—an
English
lady?” he asked.

“Yes,” replied Iris eagerly. “Miss Froy. She’s a governess.”

“Ah, yes. Now, are you absolutely certain that she is nowhere on the train?”

“Positive. I’ve looked everywhere.”

“H’m. She would not be likely to leave her reserved seat for an inadequate reason. At what time precisely did she leave the compartment?”

“I don’t know. I was asleep. When I woke up she wasn’t there.”

“Then the first step is to interview the other passengers. If the lady does not return by that time, I may consider calling the guard and asking for an official examination of the train.”

The young man winked at Iris, to direct her attention to the fact that the professor was in his element.

“Gaudy chance for you to rub up the lingo, professor,” he said.

The remark reminded Iris that while the professor’s acquaintance with the language would be academic, the young man probably possessed a more colloquial knowledge. This was important, since she was beginning to think that the confusion over Miss Froy sprang from the baroness’ imperfect command of English. Her accent was good, but if she could not understand all that was said she would never admit ignorance.

Determined to leave nothing to chance, Iris appealed to the frivolous youth.

“Will you come, too, and swear for us?” she asked.

“Like a bird,” he replied. “A parrot, I mean, of course. Lead on, professor.”

Iris’ spirits rose as they made their way back through the train. Although she was still worried about Miss Froy, her companion infused her with a sense of comradeship.

“My name’s ‘Hare,’” he told her. “Much too long for you to remember. Better call me Maximilian—or, if you prefer it, Max. What’s yours?”

“Iris Carr.”

“Mrs.?”

“Miss.”

“Good. I’m an engineer, out here. I’m building a dam up in some mountains.”

“What fun. I’m nothing.”

Full of confidence in the support of her compatriots, Iris felt exultant as they neared her carriage. Tourists—seated on their suitcases—blocked the way and children chased each other, regardless of adult toes. As a pioneer Hare was better than Miss Froy. While she hooted to warn others of their approach, he rammed a clear passage, like an ice-plough.

The professor stood aside to allow Iris to enter the compartment first. She noticed immediately that the spade-bearded doctor was seated beside the baroness and was talking to her in low rapid tones. He must have left the restaurant-car in a hurry.

The fact made her feel slightly uneasy.

“He’s one jump ahead of me,” she thought.

The family party shared a bag of nectarines and took no notice of her, while the blonde was absorbed in rebuilding the curves of her geranium lips. The baroness sat unmoved as a huge black granite statue.

There was a glint in Iris’ eyes when she made her announcement.

“Two English gentlemen have come to make some inquiries about Miss Froy.”

The baroness reared up her head and glared at her, but made no comment. It was impossible to tell whether the announcement were a shock.

“Will you kindly allow me to enter?” asked the professor.

In order to make more room for the investigation, Iris went out into the corridor. From where she stood she could see the invalid’s carriage and the nursing-sister who sat at the window. In spite of her preoccupation, she noticed that the woman’s face was not repulsive but merely stolid.

“Am I exaggerating everything?” she wondered nervously. “Perhaps, after all, I’m
not
reliable.”

In spite of her pity for the wretched patient it was a real relief when the original nurse, with the callous expression, appeared at the door. The fog of mystery, together with the throb of her temples, combined to make her feel uncertain of herself.

She smiled when Hare spoke to her.

“I’m going to listen-in,” he told her. “The professor’s bound to be a don at theory, but he might slip up in practice, so I’ll check up for you.”

Iris looked over his shoulder as she tried to follow the proceedings. The professor seemed to carry out his investigation with thoroughness, patience and personal dignity. Although he bowed to the baroness with respect, before he explained the situation, he conveyed an impression of his own importance.

The personage inclined her head and then appeared to address a general question to her fellow passengers. Iris noticed how her proud gaze swept each face and that her voice had a ring of authority.

Following her lead the professor interrogated every person in turn—only to receive the inevitable shake of the head, which appeared the language of the country. Remembering her own experience Iris whispered to Hare.

“Can’t they understand him?”

He replied by a nod which told her that he was listening closely and did not wish to be disturbed. Thrown on her own resources she made her own notes and was amused to remark that—in spite of being accustomed to teach mixed classes—the professor was scared of the ladies, including the little girl.

Very soon he confined his questions to the business man, who answered with slow deliberation. He was obviously trying to be helpful to a foreigner, who might have difficulty in understanding him. In the end he produced his card and gave it to the professor, who read it, and then returned it with a bow of thanks.

In spite of the general atmosphere of politeness Iris grew impatient and tugged Hare’s arm.

“Is he finding out anything about Miss Froy?” she asked.

She was unpleasantly surprised by his grave face.

“Oh, it’s rather involved,” he told her. “All about where is the pen of the aunt of my gardener?”

Her confidence began to cloud as she grew conscious of an unfriendly atmosphere. The baroness did not remove her eyes from her face during her short speech, to which the professor listened with marked respect. At its end she made a sign to the doctor, as though ordering him to support her statement.

Hitherto he had been a silent witness of the scene. His white impassive face and dead eyes made him resemble one newly-returned from the grave, to attend a repeat performance of the revue of life—to its eternal damnation.

But as he began to talk at his patron’s bidding he grew vital and even vehement, for he used his hands to emphasise his words.

When he had finished speaking the professor turned to Iris.

“You appear to have made an extraordinary mistake,” he said. “No one in this carriage knows anything about the lady you
say
is missing.”

Iris stared at him incredulously.

“Are you telling me I invented her?” she asked angrily.

“I hardly know what to think.”

“Then I’ll tell you. All these people are telling lies.”

Even as she spoke Iris realised the absurdity of her charge. It was altogether too wholesale. No rational person could believe that the passengers would unite to bear false witness. The family party in particular looked solid and respectable, while the father was probably the equivalent to her own lawyer.

The professor was of the same opinion, for his manner grew stiffer.

“The people whom you accuse of being liars are citizens of good standing,” he said, “and are known personally to the baroness, who vouches for their integrity. The gentleman is not only a well-known banker in the district, but is also the baroness’ banker. The young lady”—he glanced warily at the blonde—“is the daughter of her agent.”

“I can’t help that,” protested Iris. “All I know is that I’m owing Miss Froy for my tea. She paid for me.”

“We can check up on that,” interrupted Hare. “If she paid, you’ll be so much to the good. Just count up your loose cash.”

Iris shook her head.

“I don’t know how much I had,” she confessed. “I’m hopeless about money. I’m always getting R.D. cheques.”

Although the professor’s mouth turned down at the admission, he intervened in proof of his sense of fair play.

“If you had tea together,” he said, “the waiter should remember your companion. I’ll interview him next, if you will give me a description of the lady.”

Iris had been dreading this moment because of her clouded recollection of Miss Froy. She knew that she had barely glanced at her the whole time they were together During tea she had been half-blinded by the sun, and when they returned to the carriage she had kept her eyes closed on account of her headache. On their way to and from the restaurant-car, she had always been either in front or behind her companion.

“I can’t tell you much,” she faltered. “You see, there’s nothing much about her to catch hold of. She’s middle-aged, and ordinary—and rather colourless.”

“Tall or short? Fat or thin? Fair or dark?” prompted Hare.

“Medium. But she said she had fair curly hair.”

“‘Said’?” repeated the professor. “Didn’t you notice it for yourself?”

“No. But I think it looked faded. I remember she had blue eyes, though.”

“Not very enlightening, I’m afraid,” remarked the professor.

“What did she wear?” asked Hare suddenly.

“Tweed. Oatmeal, flecked with brown. Swagger coat, finger-length, with patch pockets and stitched cuffs and scarf. The ends of the scarf were fastened with small blue-bone buttons and she wore a natural tussore shirt-blouse, stitched with blue—a different shade—with a small blue handkerchief in the breast-pocket. I’m afraid I didn’t notice details much. Her hat was made of the same material, with a stitched brim and a Récamier crown, with a funny bright-blue feather stuck through the band.”

“Stop,” commanded Hare. “Now that you’ve remembered the hat, can’t you make another effort and put a face under it?”

He was so delighted with the result of his experiment that his dejection was ludicrous when Iris shook her head in the old provoking manner.

“No, I can’t remember any face. You see, I had such a frantic headache.”

“Exactly,” commented the professor dryly. “Cause and effect, I’m afraid. The doctor has been telling us that you had a slight sunstroke.”

As though awaiting his cue the doctor—who had been listening intently—spoke to Iris.

“That blow of the sun explains all,” he said, speaking in English, with slow emphasis. “It has given you a delirium. You saw some one who is not there. Afterwards, you went to sleep, and you dream. Then, presently, you awake and you are much better. So you saw Miss Froy no more. She is nothing but a delirium—a dream.”

At first Iris was too surprised to protest. She had the bewildered sensation of being the one sane person in a mad world. Her astonishment turned to indignation when the professor caught Hare’s eye and gave a nod of mutual understanding.

Then he spoke to Iris in a formal voice.

“I think we may accept that as final. If I had known the circumstances I should not have intervened. I hope you will soon feel better.”

“We’d better clear and let Miss Carr get some quiet,” suggested Hare, with a doubtful grin.

Iris felt as though she were being smothered with featherbed opposition. Controlling her anger she forced herself to speak calmly.

“I’m afraid it’s not so simple as that. As far as I’m concerned the matter’s by no means ended. Why should you imagine I’m telling a lie?”