The Crystal Claw by William Le Queux

I had been fortunate enough in my life to escape many of the shadows that lie in wait for most men. No serious betrayal of friendship had come to make me bitter or cynical: I did not -- as even my profession might have taught me to do -- look upon men with suspicion and distrust. I preferred to give them my confidence.

But in spite of this I found myself growing more and more distrustful of old Feng, more suspicious of his motives, more convinced that, for some reason I could not fathom, he was playing a double game.

I knew that he was on a footing with Thelma quite different from what he allowed me to believe. So much their secret interview at Bexhill had shown me. And his attitude towards the attempt made upon my life went to increase my distrust.

Had it not been that the handwriting of the note left beside my bed differed so completely from my own -- why no attempt to imitate my hand had been made completely puzzled me -- I should undoubtedly have been charged with attempted suicide. The local police if not very brilliant, were keen enough on the affair. I wanted to give them a detailed account of everything that had led up to the attack on me -- to tell them the whole amazing story. To have done this would have shown them that there was far more behind the affair than they could possibly imagine. They, of course, looked upon the matter as being within a very narrow circle. I knew, as Feng knew, that much more complicated issues were involved.

Feng, however, strenuously opposed my proposal to tell the police anything more than the barest facts, which, indeed, could not be concealed. I wondered why, and asked him.

"It will serve no good purpose," he argued. "These local policemen have already confessed their ignorance of the man from Bradford. He was not seen to leave by train, and as, from your description of him his appearance was rather striking, I think, we may assume he did not go that way. Probably he had a car in readiness and escaped unnoticed. If you tell the police more than they know already you must inevitably drag Mrs. Audley and her husband's affairs into a very unpleasant publicity. No, let us keep our own counsel."

I remained in hospital two days longer. Thelma and Feng visited me each day and I could not help noticing the queer bond of understanding that seemed to have grown up between them. Not a word was said by either of them to indicate that they were more than mere friends but -- perhaps my growing suspicions were responsible -- I seemed to see or to imagine evidence that their association implied very much more than I was intended to believe. Feng had always opposed my association with Thelma -- had seemed, indeed, decidedly hostile to her. His hostility, at least, had apparently evaporated. Yet I found he was as strongly as ever opposed to the continuance of my intimacy with her.

Did he fear for me? Did he fear for her? Did he fear for both of us?

I could not tell. But there was no mistaking the advice he gave.

"Look here, Yelverton," he said to me a few hours before I was to leave the hospital, "you have had a very narrow escape. You owe your life to the merest chance and you may not be so lucky in the future."

"In the future! " I echoed. "Surely you don't think there will be another attempt to get me out of the way?"

"Indeed, I do," he replied very gravely. "I don't pretend to understand the reason, but I should think it must be perfectly clear that your friendship with Mrs. Audley is involving someone in a danger so grave that they will not stick at trifles to avert it."

"But how on earth can my friendship with Thelma affect anyone else to such a degree as that? " I demanded, with some heat. "Stanley Audley might perhaps object, but even he could hardly imagine that it was a cause for murder. And even if he did the rather elaborate plot evolved by someone would hardly have been the line he would have chosen."

Feng shook his head. "You can rule Stanley Audley, as the husband, out of your reckoning. But what about Stanley Audley, the bank-note forger. Suppose he and his associates know that your constant efforts to find him might mean bringing the whole gang to justice? Desperate men would not hesitate at murder when the stakes involved are so great. My own belief is they fear that by your continued friendship with Mrs. Audley you will pick up a hint that will set you -- and the police -- on the right track. Probably they think that is your real motive. Take my advice -- I mean it very seriously -- and cut yourself adrift from the whole thing. Go back to London, take up your work afresh -- and forget Thelma ever existed."

"I can't and I won't," I declared passionately. "I'm going to try to get the man who attacked me, and I'm going to try to find Stanley Audley. Thelma thinks he is dead. I'm going to leave no stone unturned to find out the truth. If he is really alive and returns to her -- well, I should have to keep away. In the meantime I want to discover the man who tried to murder me."

"He will be discovered some day, you can be quite certain," was Feng's reply.

His tone surprised me completely: there was in it a curious ring of certainty entirely unexpected. It was as if he knew with certainty and positive conviction.

I glanced at him sharply. "You seem very certain of it," I said.

"Well, I am pretty certain," was his reply, with a curious expression on his usually inscrutable face. And once again came to my mind the uncanny conviction that the old fellow really knew a great deal more than he would tell me. My suspicions of him redoubled.

"Drop it, my boy," he said kindly enough. "If you had taken my advice at first this would never have happened."