The Mystery of the Four FingersWhite, Fred M. (Fred Merrick)
General
The Mystery of the Four Fingers
White, Fred M. (Fred Merrick)
Detective and mystery stories
The startled group on the stairs stood gazing at Fenwick as if they were
stricken dumb. There was not one of them who had the slightest advice to
offer, not one of them but felt that Fenwick's time was close at hand.
Every man there knew by heart the strange story of the Four Finger Mine,
and of the vengeance which had overtaken the Dutchman. The same unseen
vengeance was very near Fenwick now; he had had his three warnings, and
there was but one more to come before the final note of tragedy was
struck. Most of them looked with dazed fascination at the mutilated left
hand of their chief.
"How did you lose yours?" somebody whispered.
"Don't ask me," Fenwick said hoarsely. "I break into a cold sweat
whenever I think of it. But why don't you do what I tell you? Why don't
you find Zary? Find him out and bring him down here, and then I can laugh
at the vengeance of the Four Fingers. But I have my plans laid, and I
shall know how to act when the times comes. Now you all get off to bed
again and forget all my foolishness. I suppose I was startled by seeing
that accursed thing lying on my table, and lost my nerve."
The little group melted away, and once more the house became silent. When
morning came there was no sign or suggestion of the events of the night
before. For the first time for many months, Vera felt comparatively
happy. She felt, too, that at last she was reaping the reward of all her
self-sacrifice, and was approaching the time when she would be able to
throw off the yoke and take up her life at the point where she had
dropped it. She could afford to wait on events now; she could afford to
possess her soul in patience till the hour and the man came together.
Somewhat to her relief, Fenwick did not appear at breakfast, so that, for
once, she could partake of the meal in comparative comfort. Swaggering up
and down the terrace outside, with a large cigar in his mouth, was the
man who called himself Blossett. He had the air of one who is waiting for
something; possibly he was waiting for the parcel which had been the
means of breeding last night's disturbance in the billiard-room. Anyway,
Vera noticed that Fenwick was very busy up and downstairs, and that all
his parasites had gathered in the little room at the end of the corridor.
For the present, at any rate, Vera's curiosity was satisfied. She had no
intention of running any more risks, and as soon as she had finished her
breakfast she went out into the grounds, with no intention of returning
before lunch. She made her way across the wood which led to the high
road, on the possible chance of meeting Gerald. It was not Gerald,
however, who advanced from the deepest part of the copse to meet her, but
the thin, cadaverous form of Felix Zary. He advanced towards the girl,
and, in a grave, respectful way, he lifted her hand to his lips.
"You had not expected me, dear lady," he said.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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