Louis appeared, as ever, punctual to the moment. He carried a menu card in his hand. He had the air of having come to take my orders for some projected feast. I closed the door of the outer hall and the door of my sitting-room.
"Now, Louis," I said, "we are not only alone, but we are secure from interruption. Tell me exactly what it is that you have in your mind."
Louis declined the chair to which I waved him. He leaned slightly back against the table, facing me.
"Captain Rotherby," he said, "I have sometimes thought that men like yourself, of spirit, who have seen something of the world, must find it very wearisome to settle down to lead the life of an English farmer gentleman."
"I am not proposing to do anything of the sort," I answered.
Louis nodded.
"For you," he said, "perhaps it would be impossible. But tell me, then, what is there that you care to do? I will tell you. You will give half your time to sport. The rest of the time you will eat and drink and grow fat. You will go to Marienbad and Carlsbad, and you will begin to wonder about your digestion, find yourself growing bald,—you will realize that nothing in the world ages a man so much as lack of excitement."
"I grant you everything, Louis," I said. "What excitement have you to offer me?"
"Three nights ago," Louis said, "I saw you myself take a man into your hands with the intention of killing him. You broke the law!"
"I did," I admitted, "and I would do it again."
"Would you break the law in other ways?" Louis asked.
"Under similar circumstances, yes!" I answered.
"Listen, monsieur," Louis continued. "It is our pleasure to save you from the unpleasant consequences which would certainly have befallen you in any other place than the Café des Deux Épingles after your—shall we say misunderstanding?—with James Tapilow."
"I admit my indebtedness, Louis," I answered.
"Will you do something to repay it?" Louis asked, raising his eyes to mine.
"You will have to tell me what it is first," I said.
"It is concerned with the disappearance of Mr. Delora," Louis said.
"But Mr. Delora has returned!" I exclaimed. "His niece told me so herself. He has returned, but he is very unwell—confined to his room, I believe."
"It is the story which has been agreed upon," Louis answered. "We were obliged to protect ourselves against the police and the newspaper people, but, nevertheless, it is not the truth. Mr. Delora has not returned!"
"Does mademoiselle know that?" I asked quickly.
"She does not," Louis admitted. "She has been told exactly what she told you,—that her uncle had returned, but that he was ill and must be kept quiet for a little time. It was necessary that she should believe his room occupied, for reasons which you will understand later. She shall be told the truth very soon."
I was conscious of a distinct sense of relief. The thought that she might have told me a falsehood had given me a sudden stab.
"Where is Mr. Delora, then?" I asked.
"That we can guess," Louis said. "We want you to go to him."
"Very well, Louis," I said. "I am perfectly agreeable, only you must tell me who this Mr. Delora is, why he is in hiding, and who you mean when you say 'we'."
"Monsieur," Louis said, "if it rested with me alone I would tell you all these things. I would give you our confidence freely, because we are a little company who trust freely when we are sure. The others, however, do not know you as I know you, and I have the right to divulge only certain things to you. Mr. Delora has come to this country on a mission of peculiar danger. He has a secret in his possession which is of immense value, and there are others who are not our friends who know of it. Mr. Delora had a signal at Charing Cross that there was danger in taking up his residence here. That is why he slipped away quietly and is lying now in hiding. If monsieur indeed desires an adventure, I could propose one to him."
"Go ahead, Louis," I said.
"Let it be understood that Mr. Delora has returned.—As I have already told you, he has not returned. The door of his room is locked, and no one is permitted to enter. It is believed that to-night an attempt will be made to force a way into that room and to rob its occupant."
"The room is empty, you say? There is no one there?" I interrupted.
"Precisely, monsieur," Louis said, "but if some one were there who was strong and brave it might be possible to teach a lesson to those who have played us false, and who have planned evil things! If that some one were you, Captain Rotherby, we should consider—Monsieur Decresson and the others would consider—that your debt to them was paid!"
I whistled softly to myself. I began to see Louis' idea. I was to enter, somehow or other, the room in which Mr. Delora was supposed to be, to remain there concealed, and to await this attack which, for some reason or other, they were expecting. And then, as the possibilities connected with such an event spread themselves out before me, my sense of humor suddenly asserted itself, and, to Louis' amazement, I laughed in his face. I came back from this world of fanciful figures, of mysterious robberies, of attempted assassinations, to the world of every-day things. It was Louis—themaître d'hôtel,the man who had ordered myPlat du Jourand selected my Moselle—who spoke of these things so calmly in my own sitting-room, with a menu card in his hand, and a morocco-bound wine list sticking out of his breast pocket. I was not in any imaginary city but in London,—city of tragedies, indeed, but tragedies of a homelier sort. It was not possible that such things could be happening here, in an atmosphere which, through familiarity, had become almost commonplace. Was I to believe that Louis, my favoritemaître d'hôtel, my fellow schemer in many luncheon and dinner parties, my authority upon vintages, my gastronomic good angel, was one of a band of conspirators, who played with life and death as though they had been the balls of a juggler? Was I to believe that there existed even in this very hotel, which for years had been my home, the seeds of these real tragical happenings which sometimes, though only half disclosed, blaze out upon the world as a revelation of the great underground world of crime? I found it almost impossible to take Louis seriously. I could not focus my thoughts.
"Louis," I said, "is this a great joke, or are you talking to me in sober, serious earnest?"
"I am talking in earnest, monsieur," Louis said slowly. "I have not exaggerated or spoken a word to you which is not the truth."
"Let me understand this thing a little more clearly," I said. "What has Ferdinand Delora done that he need fear a murderous assault? What has he done to make enemies? Is he a criminal, or are those who seek him criminals?"
"He carries with him," Louis said slowly, "a secret which will produce a great fortune. There are others who think that they have a right to share in it. It is those others who are his enemies. It is those others who hope to attain by force what they could gain by no other means."
A sudden inspiration prompted my next question.
"Was Tapilow one of those?" I demanded.
Louis nodded gravely.
"Monsieur Tapilow was one of those who claimed a share, but he was not willing to run the smallest risk," he assented.
"And for that reason," I remarked, "he is well out of the way! I understand. There is one more question, Louis, and it is one which you must answer me truthfully. You can imagine what it is when I tell you that it concerns mademoiselle!"
"Mademoiselle is innocent of the knowledge of any of these things," Louis declared earnestly. "She is a very charming and a very beautiful young lady, but if ever a young lady needed friends, she does!"
"Why is she here at all?" I demanded. "Why was she not left behind in Paris? If there is no part for her to play in this little comedy, it seems to me that she would have been much better out of the way."
"Captain Rotherby," Louis said, "there was a reason, and some day you will understand it—why it was necessary that she should come to London with her uncle. I can tell you no more. You must not ask me any more."
I looked into Louis' impenetrable face. I could learn nothing there. His words had left me partly unconvinced. Somehow I felt that the only time he had spoken the entire truth was when he had spoken of Felicia. Yet it was certainly true that I owed these people something, and I had no wish to shrink from paying my debt.
"Tell me," I said, "if I take Delora's place to-night, and if your scheme is successful, does that free him? Will he be able to come back? Will it be for the benefit of mademoiselle?"
"But most certainly!" Louis answered earnestly. "It is not an organization against which we fight. It is one or two desperate men who believe themselves robbed. Once they are out of the way, Delora can walk the streets a free man. There would be nothing," he added, "to prevent your seeking his friendship or the friendship of his niece."
"Very well," I agreed. "I will spend the night in Mr. Delora's rooms. I shall leave it to you to make all the arrangements."
Louis looked at me with a curious expression in his face.
"You understand, monsieur," he said slowly, "that there may be danger?"
"Naturally I understand," I said. "If it comes to a fight, I shall be prepared, and I have had a little experience."
"However well armed you may be," Louis said, "there will be a risk. Our enemies are swift and silent. One of them, at any rate, is an accomplished criminal. They are too clever for us unaided. I could take Mademoiselle Delora to Scotland Yard to-day, and I could tell them what we fear. They might patrol the hotel with the police, and even then you would wake in the night and find some one by your bedside."
"By the bye, Louis," I said, "why all this mystery? According to you, Delora is an honest man. Why don't you go to the police?"
Louis shook his head.
"We are not free to do that," he said. "Delora is honest, but it is a great secret which he controls, and the only chance of using it successfully is to keep it a secret from the whole world!"
"How am I to be introduced into the room, Louis?" I asked.
"That," he answered, "will be easy. There are two lifts, as you know,—one from the smoking-room and one from the entrance hall. The number of Mr. Delora's apartment is 157. Here, by the bye, monsieur, is a key."
I took it and put it in my waistcoat pocket.
"You will ascend by the lift from the smoking-room to the top floor," Louis continued. "You can then descend by the other lift to the fifth floor, and walk boldly into the sitting-room. The door on the right will be Mr. Delora's bedroom, and of that there will be, after midnight, a key upon the mantelpiece in the sitting-room."
"But Miss Delora?" I asked. "What of her? The sitting-room connects, also, with her apartments."
"Mademoiselle will be told something of this during the evening," Louis answered. "It will be better. She will have retired and be locked in her room long before it will be necessary for you to ascend."
"Very well," I said. "But now for the practical side of it. If anything really happens, what is to be my excuse for occupying those apartments to-night?"
"I will provide you with a sufficient one later on," Louis promised. "You will dine downstairs?"
"Possibly," I answered.
"In which case we can have a little conversation," Louis remarked.
"Louis," I said, "what sort of an affair is this, really, in which I am mixing myself up? Am I one of a gang of magnificent criminals, a political conspirator, or a fool?"
Louis smiled.
"Monsieur," he said, "I found you very weary of life. I will put you in the way of finding excitement. Monsieur should ask no more than that. There are many men of his temperament who would give years of their life for the chance."
He left me with his usual polite bow. I strolled after him down the corridor a moment or so later, but I just missed the lift in which he descended. Looking down, I saw that it had stopped at the fifth floor. It seemed as though Louis had gone to visit number 157!
I smoked two pipes, one after the other, in a vain attempt to draw out some definite sequence of facts from the tangled web of happenings into which I seemed to have strayed. I came to the conclusion that Fate, which had bestowed on me a physique of more than ordinary size, a sound constitution, and muscles which had filled my study with various kinds of trophies, had not been equally generous in her dispensation of brains. Try as I would, I could make nothing of the situation in which I found myself. The most reasonable thing seemed to be to conclude that Louis was one of a gang of thieves, that I was about to become their accomplice, and that Felicia was simply the Delilah with whom these people had summoned me to their aid. Such a conclusion, however, was not flattering, nor did it please me in any way. Directly I allowed myself to think of Felicia, I believed in her. There were none of the arts of the adventuress about her methods, her glances, or her words. She did not, for instance, in the least resemble the young lady with the turquoises, who had also been good enough to take an interest in me! I gave the whole thing up at last. Perhaps by the morrow I should know more,—if, indeed, I thought, a little grimly, I knew anything! I could not help feeling that this little enterprise to which I had committed myself might turn out to be a serious affair. Even Louis had not tried to minimize the risks. I felt, however, that if it led me to any better understanding of the situation, I could welcome whatever danger it involved.
A little before six o'clock I turned to look at the weather, which had been threatening all day, meaning to take a stroll. The rain, however, was coming down in sheets, so I descended instead to the little smoking-room, thinking that I might find there some one whom I knew. I had already ensconced myself in an easy-chair and ordered a whiskey and soda, when I became conscious that the very person with whom my thoughts were occupied was in the room and within a few feet of me.
Felicia was sitting on a couch, and by her side a man whom I recognized at once. It was the companion of my lady of the turquoises! Apparently they had not noticed my entrance. They continued for several moments to be unaware of it. Felicia was paler than ever. She seemed to be struggling, as she sat there, to conceal her fear and aversion for the man who leaned toward her, talking in rapid French, with many gesticulations. He was badly dressed in a travelling suit of French cut, with a waistcoat buttoned almost to the chin. A floppy black tie hung down over the lapels of his coat. His black moustache, which seemed to have suffered from the crossing, was drooping, and gave to his mouth a particularly sinister expression. He had a neck of unusual size, and the fat ran in ridges to the back of his scalp, worked up by his collar as he moved his head rapidly with every sentence. He seemed altogether unable to sit still or control himself. His boots—brown tops with narrow patent vamps—beat a tattoo upon the floor. No wonder that Felicia shrunk into the corner of her lounge! I felt that it was impossible for me to sit and watch them any longer. I rose to my feet.
Felicia saw me first,—then her companion. Felicia's first expression, to my intense joy, was one of relief. Her companion, on the other hand, darted towards me a perfectly murderous glance. I advanced toward them, and Felicia half rose.
"Capitaine Rotherby," she said, "oh, I am very glad to see you! This man here who sits by my side—he does not speak one word of English. Listen, I beg. Go and find some one in the café—you know whom I mean, I will not mention his name. Go and find him, and bring him here. Tell him that Bartot is here and is terrifying me, that he threatens all the time. Please bring him."
"I will go at once," I answered.
I bowed and turned away. Of Bartot I took no notice, though he rose at once and seemed about to address me. I hurried into the café, but it was a slack hour and there were no signs of Louis.
"Can you tell me where to find Louis?" I asked one of the waiters.
The man glanced at the clock and shrugged his shoulders.
"Perhaps in his office," he said, "but Monsieur Louis often goes out for an hour about this time."
"Where is his office?" I asked.
The man led me into the service room and turned to the left. He knocked at a closed door, and I heard a sleepy voice say—
"Come in!"
I entered, and found Louis in a tiny little sitting-room, curled up on a sofa. In his hand was a pocket-book and a pencil. He appeared to have been making memoranda. He sprang to his feet as I entered.
"Monsieur!" he exclaimed, putting away the pocket-book and rising to his feet.
"Sorry to disturb you, Louis," I said. "Miss Delora is in the little smoking-room, and Bartot is there,—just arrived, I suppose, from Paris. He is terrifying her. She sent me to fetch you."
I saw Louis' lips curl into something which I can only describe as a snarl. After that moment I never even partially trusted him again. He looked like a wild animal, one of those who creep through the hidden places and love to spring upon their prey unseen!
"So!" he muttered. "I come, monsieur. I come."
He followed me out and into the restaurant. As he passed along his features composed themselves. He bent courteously toward me. He even opened the door of the little smoking-room and insisted that I should precede him. I stood on one side then while he went up to the pair. I heard Felicia give a little murmur of relief. Bartot turned round fiercely. The two faced one another, and it seemed to me that unutterable things passed between them. They were like wild animals, indeed,—Louis silent, composed, serene, yet with a jaguar-like glare in his eyes, his body poised, as though to spring or defend himself, as circumstances might dictate. Bartot, who had risen to his feet, was like a clumsy but powerful beast, showing his fierce primitivism through the disguise of clothes and his falsely human form. To me those few seconds were absolutely thrilling! There was another man in the room, who continued writing as though nothing were happening. A couple of strangers passed through on their way to the bar, and seemed to see nothing except the meeting of Louis—themaître d'hôtel—with a possible client. Felicia had let fall her veil, so that her terror was no longer written in her face. She had separated herself now from Bartot, and with an involuntary movement I came over to her side. Then the tension was suddenly broken. It was Louis who showed his teeth, but it was with the razor-edge of civility.
"Monsieur Bartot is very welcome," he said, speaking in French. "Monsieur Bartot has promised so often to make this visit, and has always disappointed us."
Bartot was no match for this sort of thing. His few muttered words at first were scarcely coherent. Louis bent towards him, always with the same attitude of polite attention.
"If there is anything I can do," he said softly. "Monsieur has already, without doubt, selected his rooms. It will give us great pleasure to see him in the café this evening."
Bartot commenced to talk, but his voice was almost inaudible, it was so thick with passion.
"I come to know what it means! It is not for pleasure that I come to this villainous country! I come to know what the game is! I will be told! Mademoiselle here—she tells me that her uncle has been lost, and now that he is ill. She will not let me see him!"
Louis shrugged his shoulders.
"Alas!" he said. "That, I know, is quite impossible. Monsieur Delora was taken ill on the voyage over. This gentleman," he added, turning to me, "will bear me out when I say this. He is now in bed, and a doctor is with him. I am sorry, but it would not be possible to have him disturbed."
"Then I wait!" Bartot declared, folding his arms. "I wait till monsieur recovers!"
"Why not?" Louis asked. "It is what we most desire. We will do our best to make monsieur comfortable here."
I felt Felicia's fingers press my arm. I glanced towards her, and she made a motion toward the door. We moved off, unnoticed, and I rang the bell for the lift.
"Oh! Capitaine Rotherby," she exclaimed, "once more you have come to my help! I was so frightened at that man! He did speak to me so angrily, and he did not believe anything I told him. Indeed, it is true that my uncle is ill. You do not disbelieve that, do you, Capitaine Rotherby?"
The lift arrived a little opportunely for me. Then it stopped at the fifth floor.
"We must walk softly," she said. "My uncle is asleep, and the doctor says that he must not be wakened."
"You are going to have dinner with me?" I asked.
"I think so," she answered. "Yes, I think so! Let us go somewhere a long way off. Take me somewhere quiet, Capitaine Rotherby, where I shall not see any one I know."
"I will," I promised her. "Put on a high-necked gown and a hat. I will take you where there is plenty of music but few people. We will get a quiet table and talk. Indeed," I continued, "there are several things which I want to say to you, Miss Delora."
"And I," she murmured. "It will be delightful. But step gently, monsieur. He must not be awakened."
She pointed to that closed door, and I looked steadfastly into her eyes. It was not possible that she was acting. I was convinced that she believed that her uncle was really in the next room.
"I call for you here," I whispered, "at half-past seven."
"I shall be ready," she answered, "quite ready. You must not be late or I shall be impatient. Oh!" she added, with a little impulsive gesture, "I am beginning to hate this place. I begin to long to escape from it forever. I look forward so much to going away,—the further the better, Capitaine Rotherby! I shall be ready when you come. Good-bye!"
"By Jove, it's Bartot!" I exclaimed"
"By Jove, it's Bartot!" I exclaimed"
At seven o'clock that evening I passed through the café on my way to the American bar. There was already a good sprinkling of early diners there, and Louis was busy as usual. Directly he saw me, however, he came forward with his usual suave bow.
"The table in the left-hand corner," he said, "is engaged for monsieur. I have also taken the liberty of commanding a little dinner."
"But I am not dining here, Louis!" I protested.
Louis' expression was one of honest surprise.
"Monsieur is serious?" he inquired. "It is only a short time ago that I was talking with Mademoiselle Delora, and she told me that she was dining with you here."
"I am dining with Miss Delora," I answered, "but I certainly did not understand that it was to be here."
Louis smiled.
"Perhaps," he remarked, "mademoiselle had, for the moment, the idea of going away for dinner. If so, believe me, she has changed her mind. Monsieur will see when he calls for her."
I passed on thoughtfully. There was something about this which I scarcely understood. It seemed almost as though Louis had but to direct, and every one obeyed. Was I, too, becoming one of his myrmidons? Was I, too, to dine at his café because he had spoken the word?
I made my way to number 157 precisely at half-past seven. Felicia was waiting for me, and for a moment I forgot to ask any questions,—forgot everything except the pleasure of looking at her. She wore a black lace gown,—beautifully cut, and modelled to perfection to reveal the delicate outline of her figure,—a rope of pearls, and a large hat and veil, arranged as only those can arrange them who have learnt how to dress in Paris. She looked at me a little anxiously.
"You like me?" she asked. "I will do?"
"You are charming," I answered, "You take my breath away. Indeed, mademoiselle, I have never dined with any one so charming."
She dropped me a little curtsey. Then her face clouded over.
"There is something I have to ask," she said, looking at me ruefully. "Do you mind if we dine downstairs?"
"Louis has already told me that it is your wish," I answered.
She picked up the train of her gown. I fancied that she turned away in order that I should not see her face.
"He was so disappointed," she murmured, "and he has been so kind, I did not like to disappoint him."
"How is your uncle?" I asked.
"I have not yet been allowed to see him," she answered, "but they tell me that he is better. If he has a good night to-night, to-morrow morning I may go to him."
"I certainly hope that he will have a good night!" I remarked. "Shall we go down?"
"If you are ready," she answered. "There, you shall carry my purse and handkerchief while I put on my gloves. To put them on is foolish, is it not, when one does not leave the place? Still, one must do these things."
"Your purse is heavy," I remarked, swinging it on my finger.
"I carry always with me much money," she answered. "It is my uncle's idea. Some day, I tell him, one of us will be robbed. He has always one or two hundred pounds in his pocket. I have there fifty or sixty pounds. It is foolish, you think?"
"I do," I answered. "It rather seems like asking people to rob you."
"Ah, well, they do not know!" she answered, stepping into the lift. "I am hungry, Capitaine Rotherby. I have eaten so little to-day."
"Louis has chosen the dinner himself," I remarked, "so we shall probably find it everything that it should be."
We found our way to the table which had been reserved for us, escorted by one of Louis' subordinates. Louis himself was busy in the distance, arranging the seating of a small dinner-party. He came up to us directly, however. The waiter was serving us with caviare.
"I hope you will enjoy very much your dinner," he said, bowing. "I have taken special pains with everything. Two dinners to-night I have ordered with my own lips from the chef. One is yours, and the other the dinner of our friend Monsieur Bartot."
He pointed to a table a little distance away, where Monsieur Bartot was already dining. His back was towards us—broad and ugly, with its rolls of fat flesh around the neck, almost concealing the low collar.
"Some day," I remarked, "our friend Monsieur Bartot will suffer from apoplexy."
"It would not be surprising," Louis answered. "He is looking very flushed to-night. The chef has prepared for him a wonderful dinner. They say that he is never satisfied. We shall see to-night."
I looked away with a little gesture of disgust. Louis was summoned elsewhere, a fact for which I was duly grateful.
"Tell me, Miss Delora," I said, "how long have you known Louis?"
"Oh! for a very long time," she answered, a little evasively. "He is wonderful, they all say. There is no one quite like him. A rich man has built a great restaurant in New York, and he offered him his own price if he would go and manage it. But Monsieur Louis said 'No!' He loves the Continent. He loves London. He will not go so far away."
"Monsieur Louis has perhaps, too, other ties here," I remarked dryly.
She looked at me across the table meaningly.
"Ah!" she said, "Louis—he does interest himself in many things. He and my uncle always have had much to say to one another. What it is all about I do not know, but I heard my uncle say once that Louis very soon would be as rich as he himself."
"Tell me how long you thought of staying in London?" I asked.
"It is not sure," she answered. "My uncle's business may be settled in a few hours, or it may take him weeks."
"The selling of his coffee?" I asked dryly.
"But certainly!" she answered.
"And from here you go to where?" I asked.
"Back to Paris," she answered, "and then, alas, to South America. It is to be buried!"
"You have lived long in Paris?" I asked.
"Since I came there first to boarding-school," she answered. "A little child I was, with my hair in pigtails and frocks to my knees. I have learned to think, somehow, that Paris is my home. What I have heard of South America I do not love. I wish very much that my uncle would stay here."
"There is no chance of that, I suppose?" I asked.
"I think not," she answered. "In South America he is a very important man. They speak of him one day as President."
"Had you any idea," I asked, "that he had enemies over here?"
She shook her head.
"It is not that," she said. "We will not talk of it just now. It is not that he has enemies, but he has very, very important business to arrange, and there are some who do not think as he thinks about it. Shall we talk about something else, Capitaine Rotherby? Tell me about your friends or relations, and where you live? I would like so much to know everything."
"I am afraid there is not much to tell," I answered. "You see I am what is called over here a younger son. I have a brother who owns the house in which I was born, and all that sort of thing, and I have had to go out into the world and look for my fortune. So far," I continued, "I can't say that I have been very successful."
"You are poor, then?" she asked timidly.
"I am not rich," I answered. "Still, on the whole, I suppose for a bachelor I am comfortably off. Then my brother has no sons, and his health is always delicate. I do not count on that, of course, but I might have to succeed him."
"Tell me his name?" she asked.
"Lord Welmington," I answered,—"the Earl of Welmington he is called."
"And you would be that," she asked naïvely, "if he died?"
"I should," I answered, "but I should be very sorry to think that there was any chance of it. I am going to find something to do very soon, probably at one of the embassies on the Continent. The army at home, with no chance of a war, is dull work."
"You play games and shoot, of course," she asked, "like all your countrymen?"
"I am afraid I do," I admitted. "I have wasted a good deal of time the last few years. I have made up my mind definitely now, though, that I will get something to do. Ralph—that's my brother—wants me to stand for Parliament for the division of Norfolk, where we live, and has offered to pay all my expenses, but I am afraid I do not fancy myself as a politician."
"I would come and hear you speak," she murmured.
"Thank you," I answered, "but I have other accomplishments at which I shine more. I would rather—"
I broke off in the middle of my sentence, attracted by a sudden little exclamation from my companion. There was the sound of a heavy fall close at hand. I sprang to my feet.
"By Jove, it's Bartot!" I exclaimed.
The man was leaning half across the table, his arms stretched out in an unnatural fashion,—the wine which he had overturned streaming on to the floor. His face was flushed and blotchy. His eyes were closed. He was groaning quite audibly, and gasping.
"Empoisonné!"he muttered. "Empoisonné!"
"Poisoned?" I repeated. "What does the fellow mean?"
I stopped short. A sudden realization of what he did mean assailed me! He was desperately ill, there was no doubt about that. The word which he had uttered seemed likely to be his last for some time to come. They formed a sort of stretcher and carried him from the room. Felicia was sitting back in her chair, white to the lips. I was feeling a little queer myself. I called Louis, who had been superintending the man's removal.
"Louis," I whispered in his ear, "there were two dinners which you prepared yourself to-night!"
Louis smiled very quietly.
"You need have no anxiety, monsieur," he assured me,—"no anxiety at all!"
We sat out in the foyer and took our coffee. I did not suggest a visit to any place of entertainment, as I knew it was better for Felicia to retire early, in order that I might pass through the sitting-room to her uncle's room, unheard. The orchestra was playing delightful music; the rooms were thronged with a gay and fashionable crowd. Nevertheless, my companion's spirits, which had been high enough during dinner, now seemed to fail her. More than once during the momentary silence I saw the absent look come into her eyes,—saw her shiver as though she were recalling the little tragedy of a few minutes ago. I had hitherto avoided mentioning it, but I tried now to make light of the matter.
"I spoke to Louis coming out," I remarked. "The man Bartot has only had a slight stroke. With a neck like that, I wonder he has not had it before."
She found no consolation in my words. She only shook her head sadly.
"You do not understand," she said. "It is part of the game. So it goes on, Capitaine Rotherby," she said, looking at me with her sad eyes. "So it will go on to the end."
"Come," I said, "you must not get morbid."
"Morbid," she repeated. "It is not that. It is because I know."
"Do you believe, then," I asked, "that Bartot was poisoned?"
She looked at me as though in surprise. Her eyes were like the eyes of a child.
"I know it!" she answered simply. "There is not any question about it at all."
I listened to the music for several moments in silence. Once or twice I stole a glance at her. Notwithstanding a certain perfection of outline, and a toilette which removed her wholly from any suggestion of immaturity, there was yet something childish in the pale, drawn face,—in the eyes with their look of fear. My heart was full of sympathy for her. Such adventures as this one into which I seemed to have stumbled were well enough for men. She, at any rate, was wholly out of place in her present position! I had wild dreams at that moment. The wine and the music, and the absolute trustfulness with which she seemed, for the moment, to have committed herself to my keeping, fired my blood. I had thoughts of taking her hand in mine, of bidding her leave the hotel that night, that minute, with me,—of taking her away into the country, into some quiet place where we could be married, and where none of these things which terrified her could throw their shadows across her life! Yet barely had the thought come to me before I realized how impossible it all was. I, too, was an adventurer! If I were not actually in the power of these men, it was to them that I owed my liberty! My own spirits began to fall. It was a queer maze this into which I had been drawn.
The music changed its note. Even as we sat there its languorous, passionate rhythm passed away, to be succeeded by the quicker, cleaner notes of some old martial music. It came to me like a cold douche. I remembered that I had been—was still—a soldier. I remembered that my word was pledged to certain undertakings, and that after all I was fighting on her side. The momentary depression passed away. I found myself able to talk more lightly, until something of the old gayety came back to her also.
"Tell me," she said, as at last we rose to vacate our places,—"you spoke the other day of going down into the country."
"I am not leaving London just yet," I said decidedly.
If I had indeed made some great sacrifice, I should have been rewarded by the brilliant look which she flashed up at me. Her eyes for a moment were absolutely the color of violets. I heard people whisper as we passed by. We said very little more to one another. I left her at the lift, and she gave me both her hands with a little impulsive gesture which I had already learned to look for. Then one of those inexplicable moods seemed to take possession of her. As the lift shot away from me I saw that her eyes were full of tears.
I made my way back to the café. It was now almost deserted. All but one or two very late diners had gone, and the tables were being prepared for supper. Louis, however, was still there, sitting at the desk by the side of the cashier, and apparently making calculations. He came forward when he saw me enter, and we met by chance just as one of the under-managers of the hotel passed by.
"What can I do for you this evening, Captain Rotherby?" he asked, with his usual bow. "A table for supper, perhaps?"
"I want some coffee," I asked. "I want you to see that it is strong, and well made."
Louis turned and gave an order to a waiter. I sat down, and he stood by my side.
"Mademoiselle has gone to her room?" he asked.
"Five minutes ago," I answered.
"In an hour," he said, "it will be safe for monsieur to go to Mr. Delora's room. You need not pass through the sitting-room at all. There is a door into the bedroom connecting with the corridor. If mademoiselle hears anything, she will think that it is the doctor."
"I shall be quite ready," I answered. "There are only one or two things I want to ask you. One is this, what explanation is to be given of my occupying that room, if there is a row?"
"There will not be a row," Louis answered coolly. "If monsieur is hurt, I shall see to it that he is conveyed to his own apartment. If any one who attacks him, or tries to search the apartment, should be hurt by monsieur, I shall see, too, that they are removed quietly. These things are easy enough. The service through the night is almost abandoned. Monsieur may not know it, but on the floor on which he sleeps there is not a single servant."
"Supposing I ring my bell?" I asked.
"If it were answered at all," Louis said, "it would be by the lift man."
"On the whole," I remarked, "it seems to me that the residential side of the hotel is admirably suited to the nocturnal adjustment of small differences!"
Louis smiled.
"There has never been any trouble, sir," he said. "You see," he added, pointing to the clock, "it is now ten o'clock. In one hour monsieur should be there. I have ordered whiskey and soda to be put in the room."
"Shall I see anything of you, Louis?" I asked.
"It is not possible, monsieur," he answered. "I must be here until half-past twelve or one o'clock to attend to my supper guests."
I leaned back in my chair and laughed silently. It seemed to me a strange thing to speak so calmly of the service of the restaurant, while upstairs I was to lie quiet, my senses strained all the time, and the chances of life and death dependent, perhaps, on the quickness of my right arm, or some chance inspiration. I saw the usual throng come strolling in—I myself had often been one of them—actresses who had not time to make a toilette for the restaurant proper, actors, managers, agents, performers from all the hundreds of pleasure houses which London boasts, Americans who had not troubled to dress, Frenchwomen who objected to the order prohibiting their appearance in hats elsewhere,—a heterogeneous, light-hearted crowd, not afraid to laugh, to make jokes, certain to outstay their time, supping frugally orau prince, according to the caprice of the moment. And upstairs I saw myself waiting in a darkened room for what? I felt a thrill of something which I had felt just before the final assault upon Ladysmith, when we had drunk our last whiskey and soda, thrown away our cigarettes, and it had been possible to wonder, for a moment, whether ever again our lips would hold another. Only this was a very different matter. I might be ending my days, for all I knew, on behalf of a gang of swindlers!
"Louis," I said, "it would make me much more comfortable if you could be a little more candid. You might tell me in plain words what these men want from Delora. How am I to know that he is not the thief, and these others are seeking only their own?"
Louis was silent for a moment. He glanced carelessly around the room to assure himself that there were no listeners.
"I can tell you no more, sir," he said, "for if I told you more, I should tell you lies. I will only remind you that you owe us a debt which I am asking you to pay, and that it is the uncle of mademoiselle whose place you are taking."
"I am not in the least convinced," I said, "that I am aiding the uncle of mademoiselle in allowing myself to be attacked in his place."
"As for that," Louis answered, "you shall be assured to-morrow, and, if you will, there is another adventure still to be undertaken. You shall go to see Mr. Delora, and be thanked with his own lips."
"There is some sense in that, Louis," I allowed, lighting another cigarette, "but I warn you I shall make him tell me the truth."
Louis smiled inscrutably.
"Why not, monsieur?" he said.
"Tell me this, at any rate, Louis," I asked. "What is it that you hope for from this evening? You believe that some one will break in with the idea of robbing or else murdering Mr. Delora. They will find me there instead. What is it you hope,—that they will kill me, or that I shall kill them, or what?"
"That is a very reasonable question," Louis admitted. "I will answer it. In the first place, I would have them know that they have not all the wits on their side, and if they plot, we, too, can counterplot. In the second place, I wish you to see the man or the men face to face who make this attempt, and be prepared, if necessary, to recognize them hereafter. And in the third place, there is one man to whom, if he should himself make the attempt, I should be very glad indeed if harm came of it."
"Thank you, Louis," I said, "I am not proposing to do murder if I can help it."
"One must defend one's self," Louis said.
"Naturally," I answered, "up to a certain point. You have nothing more to tell me, then?"
"Nothing, sir," Louis answered calmly. "I wish you once morebonne fortune!"
I nodded, and left the café. Of the hall-porter I made an inquiry as to the man who had had a fit in the café earlier in the evening.
"The doctor has been to see him twice, sir," the man told me. "It was a sort of apoplectic stroke, brought on by something which he had eaten."
"Will he recover?" I asked.
"The doctor says it is serious," the man answered, "but that with careful nursing he will pull round. We have just sent a telegram to a lady in Paris to come over."
I smiled as I rang the bell for the lift. So I might see my lady of the turquoises again.