35 A masterful manner — уверенная в себе

36 Ill omen — дурное предзнаменование

28

"It may be my fancy, but I distinctly felt there was something evil about them."

"How curious. These are Polish ladies — of very good family. I must look at them more closely and see if I agree with you..."

She looked at her watch.

"Tea-time. Can you ring the bell, Mr. Waring?" "Certainly, Mrs. Rice."

He did so and then as he returned to his seat he asked:

"Where is your daughter this afternoon?"

"Elsie? We went for a walk together. She had a letter from her husband. She won't come down to tea."

"Her husband?" Harold was surprised, "I thought she was a widow."

Mrs. Rice shot him a sharp glance.³⁷ She said dryly: "Oh no, Elsie isn't a widow. Unfortunately." "You don't like her husband?"

"Alcohol is responsible for a lot of unhappiness, Mr. Waring."

"Does he drink?"

"Yes. And he's insanely jealous and has an extraordi­narily violent temper." She sighed. "It is a difficult world, Mr. Waring. I'm devoted to Elsie, she's my only child — and to see her unhappy isn't an easy thing for me."

Harold felt a wave of indignation and pity sweep over him. Elsie Clayton could not be more than twenty-five. He recalled her friendly blue eyes, her soft gentle smile. He realized suddenly that his interest in her was a little more than friendship.

And she was tied to a brute..-

II

Harold Waring, like many other Englishmen, was a bad linguist Up to now, this had not worried him. In most hotels on the Continent, he had always found everyone spoke English, so why worry?

But in this out-of-the-way place where the native language was a form of Slovak and even servants spoke only German it was difficult for Harold to understand them. So he was grateful to Mrs. Rice and Elsie when they acted as interpreters for him.

37 Shot him a sharp glance —бросила на него проницательный взгляд

9

The morning was fine and after writing some letters, Harold looked at his watch and saw there was still time for an hour's stroll before lunch. He went down towards the lake and then turned into the pinewoods. He had walked there for perhaps five minutes when he heard an unmistakable sound. Somewhere not far away some woman was sobbing. Harold went in the direction of the sound. The woman was Elsie Clayton and she was sitting on a fallen tree with her face buried in her hands and her shoulders quivering with the violence of her grief.

Harold hesitated a minute, then he came up to her. He said gently:

"Mrs. Clayton —Elsie?"

She started and looked up at him. He sat down beside her. He said with real sympathy: "Is there anything I can do?" She shook her head.

"No — no — you're very kind. But there's nothing that any one can do for me..."

"Is it because of your husband?"

She nodded and said in a trembling voice:

"I didn't want Mother to worry. She's upset when she sees me unhappy."

Harold said: "I'm terribly sorry."

She threw him a grateful glance. Then she said hur­riedly:

"He terrifies me — absolutely terrifies — when he gets in one of his rages. You see, part of the trouble is that he's insanely jealous. If—if I just speak to another man he makes the most frightful scenes."

Harold's indignation rose. He had heard many women complaining of the jealousy of a husband, and secretly justified the husband. But Elsie Clayton was not one of these women.

Elsie glanced up at the sky:

"The sun's gone," she said. "It's quite cold. We'd better get back to the hotel."

They got up and turned in the direction of the hotel. They had walked for perhaps a minute when they saw a figure going in the same direction. They recognized her by the flapping cloak she wore. It was one of the hor­rible ladies.

Harold felt suddenly hot. He wondered if the woman had seen him sitting by Elsie on the tree trunk. If so, she probably thought... Harold felt a little uneasy.

30

III

That evening Harold went to his room a little after ten. He had written three letters and was just starting on the fourth when the door was suddenly flung open and Elsie Clayton rushed into the room. She looked frightened to death.

She gasped out: "It's my husband! He arrived unex­pectedly. I — I think he'll kill me. He's mad — quite mad. I came to you. Don't — don't let him find me."

She took a step or two forward, swaying so much that she almost fell. Harold put out an arm to support her.

As he did so, the door was flung open and a man stood in the doorway. He was of medium height with thick eyebrows and dark hair. In his hand he carried a heavy spanner. His voice was high and shook with rage.

"So that Polish woman was right: You are flirting with this fellow!"

Elsie cried: "No, no, Phillip. It's not true. You're wrong!"

"Wrong, am I? When I find you here in this room. You, devil. I'll kill you for this."

He seized her arm. Elsie, terrified, rushed out of the room. Phillip Clayton dashed after her, and Harold, with not a moment's hesitation, followed him.

Elsie had run back into her own bedroom at the end of the corridor. She wanted to lock the door but Phillip Clayton pushed it open. He disappeared into the room and Harold heard Elsie's frightened cry. In another minute Harold burst in after them.

Elsie was standing against the curtains of the window. As Harold entered Phillip Clayton rushed at her with the spanner in his hand. She gave a terrified cry, then snatch­ing up a heavy presse-papiers from the desk beside her, she threw it at him.

Clayton fell down like a log. Elsie screamed. Harold stopped half-dead in the doorway. The girl fell on her knees beside her husband. He lay quite still where he had fallen.

There was the sound of steps behind the door. Elsie jumped up and ran to Harold.

"Please — please — " Her voice was low and breathless. "Go back to your room. They'll come — they'll find you here."

Harold nodded. He took in the situation like lightning.³⁸