“In spite of my love for you, Ralph, I cannot suffer longer. Certain hidden things in your life frighten me. Farewell. Forget me.—Jean.”
“In spite of my love for you, Ralph, I cannot suffer longer. Certain hidden things in your life frighten me. Farewell. Forget me.—Jean.”
For a few seconds she was silent. Her face was white as paper.
Then, with a sudden outburst, she gasped, in a low, terrified voice, and putting up her arms with a wild gesture:
“No, no! You must not show that to him. You won’t, Ralph—for my sake, you won’t. Will you?”
“Well?” asked Ansell, looking at his wife with a distinctly evil grin.
“Well?” she answered blankly, for want of something else to say.
“What will you give me for this letter?” he asked, carefully replacing it in his wallet and transferring it to his pocket with an air of supreme satisfaction.
“I have nothing to give, Ralph.”
“But you can find something quite easily,” he urged, with mock politeness. “Your ladyship must control a bit of cash-money. Remember, I’ve already made enquiries, and I know quite well that this man Bracondale is extremely wealthy. Surely he doesn’t keep too tight a hold on the purse-strings!”
“I have already told you that I have no money except what Lord Bracondale gives me, and he often looks at my banker’s pass-book. He would quickly ask me where the money had gone to.”
“Bah! You are a woman, and a woman can easily make an excuse. He’ll believe anything if he is really fond of you, as I suppose he must be. You wouldn’t like him to have that letter—would you, now?”
“No. I’ve told you that,” she replied, her pale, dry lips moving nervously.
“Then we shall have to discuss very seriously ways and means, and come to terms, my girl,” was his rough rejoinder.
“But how can I make terms with you?”
“Quite easily—by getting money.”
“I can’t!” she cried.
“Well, I guess I’m not going to starve and see you living in luxury—a leader of London society. It isn’t likely, now, is it?”
“No; knowing you as well as I do, I suppose it isn’t likely.”
“Ah! You do me an injustice, Jean,” he said. “I only want just sufficient to get away from here—to America—and begin afresh a new life. I’ll turn over a new leaf—believe me, I will. I want to, but I haven’t the cash-money to do it. To be honest costs money.”
“Yes,” she sighed. “I suppose it does. And to be dishonest, alas! is always profitable in these days, when honour stands at a premium.”
“Well, how much can you get for me?” he asked roughly.
“Nothing,” she replied, holding out her hands in despair. “Where am I to get money from?”
“You know best, Jean. I don’t. All I know is, I want money—and I mean to have it.”
“But I tell you I can’t get any,” she protested.
“You’ll have to. You don’t want Bracondale to know the truth, do you?” he asked.
She shook her head. Her eyes were wild and haggard, her cheeks as pale as death.
“Well, look here,” he said, again thrusting his hands in the pockets of his jacket. “Give me five thousand pounds, and you shall have your letter. I will be silent, and we will never meet again. I’ll go back to America, and give my firm promise never to cross to Europe again.”
“Five thousand pounds!” echoed the distracted woman. “Why, I can’t get such a sum! You must surely know that.”
“You will do so somehow—in order to save your honour.”
“What is the use of discussing it?” she asked. “I tell you such a proposal is entirely out of the question.”
“Very well. Then you must bear the consequences. If you won’t pay me, perhaps Bracondale will.”
“What!” she gasped. “You would go to my husband?”
“Husband!” he sneered. “I’m your husband, my girl. And I mean that either you or Bracondale shall pay. You thought yourself rid of me, but you were mistaken, you see,” he added, with a hard laugh of triumph.
“I was misled by the newspapers,” she said, simply, as she stood with her back against the grey rocks. “Had I not believed that you had lost your life in the Seine I should not have married Lord Bracondale.”
“Deceived him, you mean, not married him,” he said harshly. “Well, I haven’t much time to wait. Besides, that governess of yours may come back. It won’t be nice for that little girl to be taken from you, will it?” he said. “But when Bracondale knows, that’s what will happen.”
“Never. He is not cruel and inhuman, like you, Ralph!” she responded, bitterly.
“I’m merely asking for what is due to me. I find that another man has usurped my place, and I want my price.”
“And that is—what?” she asked, after a few minutes’ pause, looking him straight in the face.
“Five thousand, and this interesting letter is yours.”
“Impossible!” she cried. “You might as well ask me for the crown of England.”
“Look here,” he said, putting out his hand towards her, but she shrank from his touch—the touch of a hand stained with the blood of Richard Harborne.
“No. I won’t hurt you,” he laughed, believing that she stood in fear of him. “I want nothing but the cash-money. I’ll call at Monplaisir this evening for it. By Jove!” he added.“That’s a nice, comfortable house of yours. You’ve been very happy there, both of you, I suppose—eh?”
“Yes,” she sighed. His threat to call at the villa held her appalled. She saw no way to appease this man, who was now bent upon her ruin. The present, with all its happiness, had faded from her and the future was only a grey vista of grief and despair.
“You know quite well,” he went on, “that when you tell me that you can’t get money, I don’t believe you. You surely aren’t going to stand by and see your husband starve, are you? I’ve had cursed bad luck of late. A year ago I was rich, but to-day I’m broke again—utterly broke, and, moreover, the police are looking for me. That’s why I want to get away to America—with your help.”
“But don’t I say I can’t help you?” she protested. “Ah!” she exclaimed, a second later. “You can have my brooch—here it is,” and she proceeded to take it from the breast of her white gown.
“Bah! What’s the good of that to me?” he laughed. “No. Keep it—why, it isn’t worth more than fifty pounds! You surely don’t think I’m going to let you have your affectionate letter for that sum, do you?”
“I’ve got nothing else.”
“But you have at home,” he urged. “What other jewels have you got?”
“Nothing of great value here. The Bracondalejewels are at Bracondale,” she replied slowly, after a few seconds’ deliberation. “I have nothing much here, except——”
And she drew herself up short.
“Except what?” he asked sharply.
“Nothing.”
“Oh, yes, you have,” he said, in a hard voice. “Now tell me. What have you got of real value?”
“I tell you I have nothing.”
“That’s a lie,” he declared. “You’ve got something you don’t want to part with—something you value very much.”
She was silent and stood there pale and trembling before him. He saw her hesitation, and knew that his allegation was the truth.
“Come, out with it! I mustn’t stay here any longer. We shall be seen,” he said. “What have you got?”
She bit her blanched lip.
“My pearls,” she replied in a voice scarcely above a whisper.
“What pearls?”
“Matched pearls which my husband gave me for my birthday.”
“Valuable—eh?”
“Yes,” she sighed. “But you can’t have them. I prize them very much.”
“Greater than your own honour?” he asked, seriously.
“You shall never have them. What excuse could I make to Bracondale?”
“Leave that to me. Pearls are easier negotiated than diamonds. I can sell them at once. If they are the good goods I’ll give you the letter in exchange for them. That’s a bargain.”
“They cost several thousands, I know.”
“Good! Then we’ll conclude the business to-night.”
“No, no!” she protested. “What could I tell my husband?”
“I wish you wouldn’t keep referring to him as husband, Jean, when he is not your husband.”
“To the world he is. I am no longer Jean Ansell, remember,” she protested.
“Well, we won’t discuss that. Let’s arrange how the exchange shall be made. Now, around your house is a verandah. You will accidentally leave the pearls on the table in one of the rooms at midnight, with the long window unfastened, and I’ll look in and get them. You will be in the room, and we can make the exchange. Next day you will discover your loss and tell the police that burglars have visited you. By that time I shall be in Amsterdam. It’s quite easy. Only keep your nerve, girl.”
“But——”
“There are no ‘buts.’ We are going to carry this thing through.”
She hesitated, thinking deeply. Then she openly defied him.
“I will not let you have those pearls. He gavethem to me, and I won’t arrange a mock burglary.”
“You won’t give them to me as price of your honour—eh? Then you’re a bigger fool than I took you for. I dare say they won’t fetch more than a thousand—perhaps not that. So it’s a sporting offer I am making you.”
“You can have anything except that.”
“I don’t want anything else. I want to do you a good turn by getting away from here—away from you for ever. I quite understand your feelings and sympathise with you, I assure you,” he said, his manner changing slightly.
But she was obdurate. Therefore he at once altered his tactics and resorted again to his bullying methods. He was a low-down blackguard, although he was dressed as a gentleman and cultivated an air of refinement. Yet he was a prince among thieves and swindlers.
“All this is mere empty talk,” he declared at last. “I tell you that if you refuse to do as I direct I shall call upon Bracondale this evening and ask for alms. Oh,” he laughed, “it will be quite amusing to see his face when I show him your letter, for he no doubt believes in you. Are you prepared to face the music?”
And, pausing, he fixed his cruel, relentless eyes, beady and brilliant as those of a snake, upon his trembling victim.
She did not answer, though she now realised that he held her future in his remorseless hands. This man whom she had once loved with a strong, all-consumingpassion, had risen to smite her and to ruin her.
“Will Bracondale be at home to-night?” he asked presently.
“No,” she responded in a low whisper. “He will be at his club. He has arranged to play bridge with M. Polivin, the Minister of Commerce. You won’t see him.”
“Good. Then you will be alone—to meet me and take the letter in exchange for the pearls, which I shall take,” he said, confidently. “I had a look around the house early this morning before anyone was about. It would be very easy to enter there—quite inviting, I assure you. I wonder you don’t take precautions against intruders. I speak as an expert,” and he laughed grimly.
But she made no response.
“I notice,” he went on—“I notice that the room on the left of the front entrance is a small salon. It has a long window leading to the balcony. Leave that unlatched, and I will come there at midnight. If you are there, leave the light on. If there is danger then put it out. I shall know.”
“But I can’t—I won’t.”
“You will! You want that letter, and I will give it to you in exchange for the pearls! He will suspect nothing. A thief got in and stole them. That was all. He is rich, and will buy you another set. So why trouble further?”
“No—I——”
“Yes—ah, look! That woman is coming back with the child. I must clear. Remember, it is all arranged. At midnight to-night I’ll bring you the letter.Au revoir!”
And next moment the evil shadow of her life disappeared around the corner of the rock and was gone.
At luncheon Jean met her husband, but so agitated was she that she scarce dare raise her eyes to his.
Before entering the dining-room where Bracondale awaited her she halted at the door, and with a strenuous effort calmed herself. Then she went forward with a forced smile upon her lips, though her cheeks were pale and she knew that her hand trembled.
His lordship had spent a strenuous morning with the papers Martin had brought from the Foreign Office. At least two of our Ambassadors to the Powers had asked for instructions, and their questions presented difficult and intricate problems which really ought to have gone before the Cabinet. But as there would not be another meeting just yet, everyone being away on vacation, it devolved upon Bracondale to decide the question of Britain’s policy himself.
In the pretty, cosy room, outside which the striped sun-blinds were down, rendering it cool and pleasant after the midday heat on the beach, the Foreign Minister stood thoughtfully stroking his moustache.
“Well, Jean,” he asked, “had a quiet morning, dear?”
“Yes, delightful,” was her reply. “The heat is, however, rather oppressive.”
“I’m awfully sorry I could not come down to fetch you, dear,” he said; “but I’ve been dreadfully busy all the morning—lots of worries, as you know. I’ve only this moment risen from my table. There are more complications between France and Austria.”
“Oh, I know how busy you are,” she replied as she seated herself at the daintily set-out table, with its flowers, bright silver, and cut glass.
Their luncheonstête-à-têtewere always pleasant, for on such occasions they sat at a small side-table, preferring it to the big centre-table when there were no guests.
“Did you see anyone you knew?” he asked, carelessly, for often Mme. Polivin, the rather stout wife of the Minister of Commerce, went to the sands with her children.
“Well, nobody particular,” was her reply, with feigned unconcern. “Enid enjoyed herself immensely,” she went on quickly. “She didn’t bathe, so I told her to make a sand castle. She was delighted, especially when the water came in under the moat.”
And then, as he seated himself opposite her, old Jenner entered with thehors d’œuvres.
Jean was thankful that the room, shaded as it was, was in half darkness, so that her husband could not see how pale she was. Through the open windows came the scent of flowers borne upon the warm air, and the silence of the room was over everything.
He began to discuss their plans for the autumn.
“Trevor asks us to go a cruise in his yacht up the Adriatic in October,” he said. “I had a letter from him this morning, dated from Stavanger. You remember what a good time we had with him when we went to Algiers and Tunis two years ago.”
“I’ve never been to the Adriatic,” she remarked.
“I went once, about nine years ago, with that financial fellow Pettigrew—the fellow who afterwards met with a fatal accident in a lift at the Grand in Paris. It was delightful. You would be interested in all the little places along the beautiful Dalmatian coast—Zara, where they make the maraschino; Sebenico, Pola, the Bay of Cattaro, and Ragusa, the old city of the Venetian Republic. Shall we accept?”
“It is awfully kind of your brother-in-law,” she replied. “Yes, I’d love to go—if you could get away.”
“I could come overland and join you at Venice or Trieste, and then we could put into Brindisi or Ancona for any urgent despatches. You see, there’sno convenient rail on the Dalmatian side. Yes, I think I could manage it.”
“Then accept by all means. I love the sea, as you know. Where do they sail from?”
“Marseilles. You will join theMaramathere. She will then touch at Genoa, Naples, and go through the Straits of Messina, and I’ll join you in the Adriatic.”
“Helen is going, I suppose?” she remarked, referring to Trevor’s wife. “Of course, and the two Henderson girls, and little Lady Runton. So we shall be a merry party.”
Jean was delighted. In the excitement of the moment she forgot the dark cloud that had fallen upon her.
Yet next second she reflected, and wished that her departure upon that cruiser was immediate, in order that she could escape the man who had so suddenly and unexpectedly returned into her life.
“We shall go to Scotland after our return,” he said. “Remember, we’ve got house parties on the eighth, seventeenth, and thirtieth of November.”
“And Christmas at Bracondale,” she said. “I love spending it there.”
“Or perhaps on the Riviera? Why not? It is warmer,” he suggested.
“It may be, but I really think that nowadays, with the change in the English climate, it is just as warm in Torquay at Christmas as at Nice.”
“Yes,” he replied with a smile. “Perhaps you are right, after all, Jean. If you want warmth andsunshine from December to April you must go to Egypt for it. People have begun to realise that it is often colder in Monte Carlo than in London. And yet it used not to be. I remember when I was a lad and went to Nice with the old governor each winter, we had real warm sunshine. Yes, the climate of the south of Europe has become colder, just as our English climate has become less severe in winter.”
And he ate his lobster salad and drank a glass of Chablis, thoroughly enjoying it after the hard mental strain of the morning.
“I think I shall go for a run in the car this afternoon. I feel to want some fresh air. Will you come?” he asked.
“I think not, dear,” was her reply. “I have a little headache—the sun, I think—so I shall rest.”
“Very well. I’ll have a drive alone.”
“Let’s see,” she exclaimed; “didn’t you say you were going out to-night?”
“Yes, dear, to Polivin’s. There’s a man-party this evening. You don’t mind, do you? I promised him some time ago, and for political reasons I desire to be friendly. I shan’t go till ten o’clock, and no doubt you will go to bed early.”
“By all means go, dear,” she said, very sweetly. “I—I had forgotten the day.”
It was not often he left her alone of an evening when they were together during the recess. In the London season she was, as a political hostess, often compelled to go out alone, while he, too, had frequently to attend functions where it was impossible for her to be present. Sometimes, indeed, daysand days passed and they only met at breakfast. Frequently, too, he was so engrossed in affairs of State that, though he was in the house, yet he was closeted hours and hours with Darnborough, with some high Foreign Office official, an ambassador, or a Cabinet Minister.
That big, sombre room of his in the dark, gloomy London mansion was indeed a room of political secrets, just as was his private room at the Foreign Office. If those walls could but speak, what strange tales they might tell—tales of clever juggling with the Powers, of ingenious counter-plots against conspiracies ever arising to disturb the European peace, plots concocted by Britain’s enemies across the seas, and the evolution of master strokes of foreign policy.
“Are you quite sure you prefer not to go for a drive this afternoon?” he asked, looking across at her.
“No, really, dear. I don’t feel at all fit. It is the excessive heat. It was awfully oppressive on the beach.”
“Very well, dear. Rest then, and get right by the time I get in for tea.”
She looked at him from beneath her half-closed lashes.
Why had he asked her whether she had met anyone she knew that morning? It was not a usual question of his.
Could he know anything? Had he been present and seen the meeting?
No, that was impossible. He had been at homeall the morning. She had made enquiry of Jenner as she came in, so as to satisfy herself.
Yet there was a strange suspicion in his manner, she thought. It may have been her fancy, nevertheless he seemed unduly curious, and that question of his had set her wondering.
For some moments she ate her dessert in silence.
Before her arose all the horror of that amazing meeting. The words of the criminal who was her husband rang in her ears, cruel, brutal, and relentless. He had threatened to call there at the villa, and hand her letter to Bracondale, a threat which, she knew, he would carry out if she did not appease him and bow to his will.
She was to exchange those pearls, Bracondale’s valued gift, for the silence of a blackmailer and assassin! Ah! the very thought of it drove her to desperation. Yet she was about to do it for Bracondale’s sake; for the sake of little Enid, whom she so dearly loved.
Every word the brute had uttered had burned into her brain. Her temples throbbed as though her skull must burst. But she fought against the evil and against a collapse. She put on a brave front, and when Bracondale addressed her she laughed lightly as though she had not a single care in all the world.
The meal over, she took a scarlet carnation from the silver épergne between them, broke the stem and, bending, placed it in the lapel of his coat, receiving as reward a fond, sweet kiss, old Jenner having finally left the room.
“Now go and rest, dearest,” his lordship said. “I have a few letters I will write before I go out.”
And he was about to cross to the door when it suddenly opened, and little Enid in her white muslin dress danced into the room, rushing up to her mother’s outstretched arms.
Bracondale caught the child and, taking her up, kissed her fondly.
Then, when he set her down again, she rushed to Jean, and in her childish voice asked:
“Mother, I was so afraid this morning when I saw you talking to that nasty man!”
“Nasty man!” echoed Jean, her heart standing still.
“Yes, mother. I ran across from Miss Oliver and was coming to you, but when I got round the rock I saw—oh, I saw a nasty man raising his hands, and talking. And you were so frightened—and so was I. So I ran back again. He was a nasty, bad man.”
For a second a dead silence fell.
Then Jean, with a supreme effort, collected her thoughts and exercised all her self-control.
“What was that, Jean?” inquired Bracondale quickly.
“Oh, nothing. A man came along begging—rather a well-dressed man he seemed to be. And because I refused to give him anything he commenced to abuse me. But I soon sent him away.”
“The child says you were afraid.”
“Afraid!” she laughed, with a strange, hysterical little laugh. “If I had been I should have called for help. He was only some loafer or other who, finding me alone, thought he could get a franc, I suppose.” And then, after a pause, she added, “I had a similar experience one day last year. The police really ought to keep the sands clear of such persons.”
“What was he like? I’ll tell the chief of police about it.”
“Well, really, I didn’t take very much notice,” she replied. “I was reading, and looking up suddenly found him standing before me. I had no idea that Enid saw him. He asked me for money in a very rough manner. And naturally I declined, and told him that if he did not clear off I would shout for help. So—well, after a few more abusive words, he slunk away.”
“He might have stolen your brooch,” Bracondale remarked.
“He might, certainly,” she said. “Not until after he had gone did I realise how helpless I had been.”
“Yes, mother,” exclaimed the little girl, “but you were frightened, weren’t you? I thought he was going to hit you, for you put up your hands, and he clenched his fists and put his face right into yours. Oh! it did frighten me!”
“Didn’t you tell Miss Oliver?” asked her father.
“No; but I will. I went digging, and forgot all about it.”
“If I were you, Enid, I shouldn’t tell MissOliver,” her mother said, very quietly. “You were frightened for nothing. It was only a man who wanted money.”
“But he was such a nasty man—he had a horrid face, and such big, big eyes!” declared the child, and then, turning, she danced away out of the room, leaving Bracondale facing Jean in silence.
That afternoon Jean remained in her room in a fierce fever of anxiety, while Bracondale drove his car along the winding, shady road to Yvetot, and home by St. Valery-en-Caux, and the sea-road which commences at Fécamp.
Did he suspect? she wondered.
She could not help feeling mortified that the child should have made that unfortunate remark. She felt also that her excuse was a lame one. Did he really believe her story?
From the steel safe in her daintily-furnished room, with its silken upholstery in old rose, she took the big, square, velvet-lined case, and, opening it, gazed upon the string of splendid pearls. She took them out tenderly and, standing before the long cheval-glass, put them round her neck—for the last time.
As she examined herself in the mirror she sighed, her face hard, pale, and full of anxiety and distress.
Would Bracondale notice the change in her?
She put away the pearls, and, replacing the case in the safe, locked it.
Bates, her rather sour-faced maid, entered at the moment. She was a thin, angular person, very neat and prim, an excellent hairdresser, and a model of what a first-class maid should be.
“Why, you don’t look well this afternoon, madam,” she said, glancing at her inquiringly.
“No, Bates. It’s the heat, I think. Will you bring me my smelling-salts?” she asked, as she sank into an arm-chair, a pretty figure in her pale-blue silk dressing-gown.
The maid brought the large, silver-topped bottle across from the dressing-table and handed it to her mistress, who, after sniffing it, dismissed her.
Then Jean sat for a full half-hour staring straight before her, looking down the long vista of her own tragic past.
At midnight that letter would be safe in her hand. She consoled herself with the thought that, by acceding to Ansell’s demand, as she had done, she would rid herself of him for ever.
Her honour would be preserved, and Bracondale would never know. For the sake of her child, how could she confess to him?
He joined her in thepetit salon, where she gave him tea, and then, till dinner, he retired into the study to complete the despatches for which Martin was to call and take to Downing Street.
At dinner she wore a pretty gown of cream lace, the waist and skirt being trimmed with broad, pale-blue satin ribbon, fashioned into big, flat bows;a Paris gown of the latestmode, which suited her admirably. It was rather high in the neck, and all the jewellery she wore was a single brooch.
He also looked smart in his well-cut dinner jacket, with a light grey waistcoat and black tie; and as they sat opposite each other they chatted merrily. She had composed herself, and was now bearing herself very bravely.
It was, however, a relief to her when, just as they had finished dessert, Jenner entered, saying:
“Captain Martin is in the study, m’lord.”
“Oh, yes!” exclaimed the great statesman, rising at once. Then, turning to Jean, he said: “You’ll excuse me, dearest, won’t you? I must get Martin off. I’ve finished. Have you?”
“Yes, dear,” was her reply. “You go. I’m just going to see Enid for a little while.”
“After I’ve got Martin off I shall go along to Polivin’s. I’m sorry to leave you this evening. But you won’t mind, dear, will you?”
“Not at all,” was her prompt reply. “I know it is a duty.”
“I shall certainly not be back till one or two o’clock. They are a very late lot—the men who go there,” he remarked.
“I shall go to bed, so don’t hurry, dear.”
“Good night, then,” he said, crossing to her and bending till he touched her lips with his. Then he went along to the study, where the King’s Messenger was waiting.
“Halloa, Martin!” exclaimed his lordship,cheerily. “You’re up to time—you always are. You’re a marvel of punctuality.”
“I have to be, constantly catching trains, as I am,” laughed the nonchalant traveller, as he unlocked his despatch-box and took the seven big sealed letters from the Foreign Secretary’s hand.
Then he scribbled a receipt for them, packed them in a little steel box, and carefully locked it with the tiny key upon his chain. That box often contained secrets which, if divulged, would set Europe aflame.
“Don’t forget my camera next time you come over,” Bracondale urged. “And tell Sir Henry that if Bartlett is back from Persia I would like him to run over and report to me.”
“I won’t forget,” was Martin’s reply; and then, with a word of farewell, he took up his precious despatch-box and left the room.
The evening was dark and oppressive, with black clouds threatening thunder. Those hours passed very slowly.
Jean tried to read, but was unable. Then she went to the bigsalonand, seating herself at the grand piano, played snatches of Grand Opera. But she was too anxious, too impatient for midnight to come and end all the suspense.
Miss Oliver joined her, as usual, about ten o’clock for half an hour’s chat. But the presence of the governess irritated her, and she was glad when she retired. She wondered whether Enid had told her anything. The child’s chatter had, indeed, been extremely unfortunate.
Eleven o’clock!
She sat in her boudoir trying to occupy her mind by writing a letter, but she could not. She had to go through the terrible ordeal of seeing that man again.
At one moment she felt impelled to confess all to Bracondale, yet at the next she thought of his honour, and of the child. No, at all hazards, at all costs, even if it cost her her life, she must preserve her secret.
For wealth or for position she cared nothing—only for Bracondale’s love.
The little clock struck the quarter. It wanted fifteen minutes to midnight.
With knit brows she rose quickly. The whole household had now retired; all was silence, and she was alone. Outside Ralph was no doubt watching for the light in the littlesalon.
She ascended the thickly-carpeted stairs noiselessly, and from the safe in her room took the square morocco box. Then, assuring herself that no servant could be watching, she carried it down to the littlesalonand, switching on the light, placed the box upon a small Louis Quinze table in the centre of the room.
It was a prettily-furnished apartment, with genuine old Louis Quinze furniture. In a corner was a large palm, and upon a side-table a great vase of fresh flowers. The gilt furniture shone beneath the bright light, and the whole had an effect of artistic brilliancy and daintiness.
She crossed to the drawn curtains of daffodilplush and, placing her hand within, undid the latch of the long window which led out upon the balcony and pushed it open slightly. Then, recrossing the room, she stood near the door, waiting.
There was still time before he was due to enter there and give her the letter in return for the pearls.
Of what use was it to wait there? So she switched off the light in case Bracondale should return and wonder, and passed into the adjoining room. What if Bracondale came back before the exchange were effected?
She stood holding her breath, listening in eager anxiety.
Suddenly the telephone-bell rang in the study, and in order that Jenner might not hear it and descend to answer it, she hurried to the instrument herself.
It was a call from the British Embassy in Paris. One of the secretaries spoke to her, asking whether his Excellency the Ambassador might speak to his lordship upon an important matter.
“Lord Bracondale is not in. I am Lady Bracondale,” she replied.
“When do you expect Lord Bracondale back?” the voice inquired.
“Soon after twelve. Will you ring up again? Tell Sir Charles that I will at once tell my husband when he returns,” she said, and then rang off.
Meanwhile a dark figure, which had stealthily crept along the road, entered the gate and stole noiselessly over the grass to the verandah.
The man had been watching the house for an hourpast, and, as though with sudden resolution, he made up his mind to enter.
At first he seemed fearful of discovery. Indeed, for a full half-hour had he lurked motionless beneath a tree, waiting, and, though there was complete silence in that still, oppressive night, yet he appeared to hesitate.
All the rooms on the ground floor were in darkness save for the study, the curtains of which were only half-closed. Therefore, as he approached the house, he saw Lady Bracondale alone, speaking into the telephone.
Suddenly, with an agile movement, he scaled the verandah, and a few seconds later, without making a sound, he stood before the window against the entrance porch—the window of the littlesalonwhich Jean had indicated where the pearls would be. His movements betrayed that he was an expert at moving without making a sound.
Bending, the dark figure, still moving stealthily, crept up to the long window upon which there suddenly flashed a small zone of white light from an electric pocket-lamp, revealing the fact that, though the heavy curtain was drawn, the window was ajar.
For a few seconds the man listened. Then, having reassured himself that there was no one in the room, he slowly pushed back the curtain and peered into the darkness.
Suddenly he heard a footstep and, dropping the curtain instantly, stood in the darkness, quite motionless.
Somebody entered the room, switched on the light, crossed to the centre of the apartment, stood there for a few seconds, and then, receding, switched off the light again and closed the door.
The intruder stood in the room behind the curtain without moving a muscle.
He could hear sounds of footsteps within the house.
He had closed the long glass door when he had entered, and now stood concealed behind the yellow plush curtain.
Suddenly he heard the piano being played—a song from “La Bohême.” He stood listening, for he was always fond of music. As he halted there the sweet perfume of the flowers greeted his nostrils, and he murmured some low words beneath his breath.
His hand sought his jacket pocket, and when he withdrew it he had in his grasp a serviceable-looking revolver. He inhaled a long deep breath, for he was desperate.
At last he summoned courage, and again drew back the curtain very slowly. All was darkness within until he switched on his pocket-lamp and slowly examined the place.
The light fell upon the table whereon stood the jewel-case, and he walked straight to it and opened it.
The moment his eyes fell upon the magnificent string of pearls he stood for a second as though in hesitation.
Then swiftly he took them up, and with a glance at them thrust his prize into his jacket pocket.
It was the work of an instant.
He reclosed the lid. It snapped and startled him.
Next moment his light was switched off and he disappeared.
A second later, however, Jean turned the handle of the door, entered the room, and again switched on the light.
The place became flooded with electricity, and she stood a pale, erect figure, staring at the clock, which was just chiming the hour of midnight.
Hardly had the sound of the silvery bells died away when a second figure scaled the balcony, and, seeing the light over the top of the curtain, as arranged, he placed his hand upon the long glass door and slowly opened it.
He drew aside the curtain slightly to ascertain if Jean were there awaiting him, and, seeing her, he entered boldly.
Ralph was dressed just as he had been in the morning, only he wore yellow lisle-thread gloves, so as to conceal his finger-prints, which, alas! were too well known to the police.
Husband and wife faced each other, in ignorance that an intruder stood concealed behind that curtain within two or three feet of them.
The intruder had fixed his eyes upon Jean, and stood staring at her as though fascinated by her amazing beauty.
“At last, Ralph!” she gasped. “I—I thought perhaps you would not come—that you would think the risk too great.”
“Bah! What risk?” he asked. “Even if I were discovered, Bracondale could easily be satisfied that we are husband and wife.”
She shrank back at those words.
“The child saw you with me this morning and told her father.”
“Awkward. What did you say?”
“I made an excuse. One which, I hope, satisfied him.”
“Trust you, Jean, for a good excuse,” he laughed brutally.
Then, with a glance at the jewel-case on the table, he added: “But if I were you I’d be very wary. I suppose I did wrong in meeting you openly as I did. I ought to have been more circumspect. But, my girl, we need not have necessity to meet again, need we?”
“I hope not—for my sake,” was her reply, as she turned her pale face to his.
“If you play the game, I shall also do the same. So you needn’t fear. Only I must have an address where to write to you.”
“No,” she protested. “You must not write. It will be far too dangerous. And, besides, you made me a promise that if I gave you those,” and she glanced at the table, “you would give me back my letter, and go away, never to see me again.”
He regarded her in silence for a few moments, a sinister smile playing about his mobile lips. But he made no reply.
“Ah, Ralph,” she went on, “I—I can’t somehowtrust you. When you have spent this money you will come back again. I know you will. Ah! you do not know all that this means to me.”
“Well, doesn’t it mean a lot to me—eh?”
“But I am a woman.”
“You have money, while I’m without a sou. You surely can’t blame me for getting a bit to go on with!” he exclaimed. “Is anybody about?”
“No. Bracondale has not yet returned, and all the servants are in bed.”
“By Jove! This is a pretty house of yours, Jean!” he remarked, gazing around. He had not removed his hat. “You ought to consider yourself deuced lucky. While I’ve been having all my ups and downs, you’ve been living the life of a lady. When I saw you in your car at Havre I couldn’t believe it. But to see you again really did my eyesight good.”
“And benefited your pocket,” she added bitterly.
He grinned. His nonchalant air irritated her. He was just the same as he had been in those days of their poverty, even though he now wore the clothes of a gentleman.
“Well,” he said at last, “I’ve been thinking things over this evening. You can’t expect me, Jean, to accept a lump payment for my silence, can you? If you had a respectable sum which you could hand over so that my wants would, in future, be provided for, it would be different. I——”
“Your wants!” she interrupted in anger. “What are your wants? Money—money—money always!Ah, Ralph! I know you. You brought me to ruin once, and you will do so again. I know it!”
“Not unless you are a fool!” he replied roughly. “You want your letter back—which is only natural. For it you give me your pearls. It is not a gift. I take them. I find the window unlatched, and come in and help myself. To-morrow you will raise a hue and cry—but not before noon, as I shall then be nearing old Uncle Karl, in Amsterdam. Bracondale will be furious, theSüretéwill fuss and be busy, and you will be in picturesque tears over your loss. Bracondale will tell you not to worry, and promptly make you another present—perhaps a better one—and then all will be well.”
“But you said you would leave Europe,” she replied anxiously.
“So I shall.”
“But——” and she hesitated.
“Ah! I see you don’t trust me.”
“I trusted you—once—Ralph. Do you recollect how brutally you treated me—eh?” she asked, in deep reproach.
“I recollect that, because of you, I quarrelled with Adolphe. He loved you, and now he’s in prison, and serve him right, the idiot!”
The concealed intruder was watching them between the wall and the curtain, yet hardly daring to breathe for fear of discovery. He had the pearls in his pocket, and as the glass door was closed he was unable to reopen it and escape, lest he should reveal himself.
He heard Ansell’s words, and understood thesituation. If the lid of the jewel-case were raised the thief would be discovered, and the alarm given.
Those were moments of breathless peril.
“Adolphe protected me from your violence,” she replied, simply. “He was my friend, but he did not love me, because I loved you—only you!”
“And you care for me no longer?”
“The fire of my love for you burned itself out on that tragic night,” she replied.
“How very poetic,” he sneered. “Is it your habit to talk to Bracondale like that?”
She bit her lip. Mention of Bracondale’s name caused a flood of great bitterness to overwhelm her.
“I did not expect, when you came here, that you would insult me in addition to blackmailing me.”
“Blackmail, you call it—eh?”
“What else is it?”
“A simple purchase, my girl. I have a letter, and you wish to buy it. The transaction is surely a fair one! Besides, if you do not wish to buy my silence, it is quite immaterial to me. I shall soon find another purchaser in Bracondale.”
“He won’t believe you.”
“He has only to have a search made of the marriage register. Perhaps you don’t remember the date. I do.”
“And I, worse luck! Ah, how grossly you deceived me!” she exclaimed bitterly. “I thought I married a gentleman, only, alas! to discover that I had a notorious thief as husband.”
“You expected too much. You thought you had become a lady, and were disappointed when you found that you were not. Yes—I suppose when I told you the truth, it must have been a bit of a jag for you. That fool, Adolphe, wanted me to keep the truth from you. But what was the use?”
“Yes,” she sighed. “You were at least frank—perhaps the only occasion upon which you ever told me the truth.”
“The truth is generally unwelcome,” he laughed. “Lies are always pleasant.”
“To the liar.”
“I’m afraid you’ll have, in future, to lie to Bracondale.”
“I shall use my own discretion,” she responded. “Perhaps I shall confess.”
“And if so, what then?”
“I shall tell him that you entered here and stole my pearls.”
“How very generous that would be,” he laughed angrily. “And I wonder what Bracondale would think of you if you endeavoured to send your own husband to prison—eh?”
“Ah, you will drive me to desperation!” she cried, her dark eyes glaring at him angrily. “Give me the letter and go—go! Bracondale may be back now—at any moment!”
“I assure you I fear neither Bracondale nor you—nor even the result of your confession. And I feel quite loath to-night to leave you; you look so extremely charming in that pretty gown.”
“Don’t be foolish. At least have some consideration for me—for my future.”
“It is my own future I am thinking of,” he declared harshly. “Your future is assured, so long as you play the game with Bracondale. If you act indiscreetly, and give way to silly moods, then you will only have yourself to blame for your ruin. Besides,” he added, with his lip curling slightly, “you have the child to consider. What’s her name?”
“Her name is of no matter to you,” was Jean’s hot response. “She is mine, not yours.”
“I’m rather glad of that,” he responded. “But I don’t think this is really a fit opportunity to waste time in mutual recrimination.”
“No. Go, I tell you. If you remain longer, it will be dangerous—dangerous for us both.”
He looked at the clock, and then his gaze wandered to the closed jewel-case upon the Louis Quinze table. The small room, closed as it was, was filled with the perfume of the great bunch of flowers in the long Chinese vase—a perfume that seemed almost overpowering.
“But I tell you I see no danger,” was his careless reply, for it seemed his object to taunt her. He had already hinted at a continued tax upon her resources if she desired him to keep his lips sealed, and she, on her part, realising his true character, clearly foresaw that all her efforts could have but one result. To satisfy his demands would be impossible.
A shadow had fallen upon her eventful life, one that would never again be lifted.
“Will you have no pity for me?” she implored.“Have you come here with the express intent of goading me to madness?”
“No—simply in order to have a straight talk with you—a chat between husband and wife.”
“Well, we have had it. Take the pearls and go. Get clear away before you are discovered. Bracondale may now be back at any moment,” she added in fear of his sudden return.
“I’m in no great hurry, I assure you,” was his reply, as he seated himself upon the arm of a chair.
“Give me the letter, Ralph. Do—if you please.”
He laughed in her face, his hands stuck in his jacket pockets, as was his habit.
She looked around her with an expression of terror and despair. She listened, for she fancied she heard a footstep.
They both listened, but no other sound could be distinguished.
“A false alarm,” remarked the man. Then, suddenly rising from where he was seated, he placed his hand in his breast pocket, and, drawing out his wallet, took therefrom the well-worn letter.
“Well,” he said reluctantly, “here you are. I suppose you’d better have it. And now you can’t say but what I’m not generous—can you?”
Jean almost snatched the precious note from his fingers, glanced at it to reassure herself that she was not being tricked, and then, striking a match which she took from a side-table, she applied it to one corner of the farewell letter, and held it till only a black piece of crackling tinder remained.
“Now you are satisfied, I hope,” he remarked in a harsh voice.
“Yes. Take the pearls. Take the box, and go,” she urged quickly, placing her hand upon his arm to emphasise her words, and pushing him across to the table where stood the big morocco case.
“All right,” he laughed. “Let’s look at these wonderful pearls of yours. I wonder how much they are worth?”
He halted at the table, fingering the spring-fastening of the case, and at last raised the lid.
It was empty!
“You vixen! You infernal woman!” he cried, turning upon her, white with anger, and with clenched fists. “You’ve played a slick trick on me—you’ve had me—and now—by gad! I—I’ll have my revenge!”
Ralph Ansell made a sudden dash at his wife, gripping her by the throat with his gloved hands.
She staggered to the table, and he bent her backwards across it. His evil face was distorted by a look of murderous hatred, his big eyes started from their sockets in his wild frenzy of anger.
“Where are those pearls?” he demanded. “Speak! Give them to me at once, or, by Heaven, I’ll strangle you!”
“I—I don’t know,” she managed to gasp. “They were in there. I—I—I thought they were there.”
“You liar! You got the letter and burned it, well knowing that the jewels were not in the box! Where are they?” he demanded, tightening his grip upon her throat and shaking her roughly. “Speak, woman—speak! Tell me where they are!”
Jean struggled frantically to free herself from his murderous grip. He was throttling her.
“I—I don’t know—where—they are!” she protested, with great difficulty.
“You do! You’ve kept them!” he hissed between his teeth, for he was in a fury of fierce anger at having been so deceived. “It’s no use lying. I mean to have them, or go straight to this man Bracondale.”
“I’m telling the truth!” protested the unhappy woman. “They were there half an hour ago. I put them there.”
“Bah! Don’t tell me that! They could not have gone without hands. No, you’ve worked a real slick trick! And I was fool enough to trust you! Come, hand them over at once—if you don’t want Bracondale to know,” and he again forced her farther back over the table. “He’ll be here in a minute. What a nice scene for him—eh? Come, where are those pearls?”
“I’ve told you I don’t know. It’s the truth, Ralph, I swear it!” she cried, in wild despair. “Somebody must have stolen them!”
“You liar!” he cried, his face white with evil passion. “Do you dare to tell me that? Do you think I’m a fool to believe such a story? Stolen! Of course they’re not stolen. You’ve hidden them. Yes,” he added, “you’ve been devilish clever to get that letter out of me, and burn it before my eyes—haven’t you—eh? But you shall pay for it!” he cried, between his teeth, as his strong hands compressed her throat until she went scarlet and her wild, glaring eyes started from her head.
She tried to cry out—tried to shriek and raise analarm, for she knew her life was in danger. But she could utter no sound beyond a low gurgle.
“You refuse to give me the pearls—eh?” he said, his dark brows knit, and murder in his piercing eyes. “You think to trick me—your husband! By gad! You shall pay for this! Tell me where they are. This is your last moment. You shall die—die—curse you!” And his grip tightened upon her thin, white throat—the grip of a murderer.
Jean, unable to move, unable to cry out, felt herself fainting, when next second she was startled by a sharp pistol shot.
“Ah!” gasped her assailant, releasing his hold instantly and clapping his right hand to his back.
The shot had been fired from behind.
“Ah!” cried the wounded man in wild despair. “I—why, I——”
Then he reeled completely round and fell backward upon the carpet—inert—dead!
At the same instant Jean, staggered by the suddenness of it all, was confronted by a ragged, unkempt, hatless man in a striped jacket some sizes too big for him. Around his neck was a dirty scarf in lieu of a collar, and his dark hair was curly and ruffled.
She saw the man emerge from the curtain, and started back in increased alarm.
“Madame!” cried the newcomer, “it is me! Don’t you know me?”
She stood rooted to the spot.
“Adolphe!” she gasped, staring at him.
“Yes, madame. I came here, not knowing thatthis was yourchâteau,” he explained, in a low whisper. “I found the window open just before that man arrived. I came in and took your pearls. Here they are!”
And he drew them from the pocket of his shabby jacket and handed them back to her.
“Where—where did you come from? You have saved my life,” she faltered in blank amazement.
“I came out of prison nine months ago,” was his reply. “They brought me to Paris, but I could find no work, so I tramped to Havre, hoping to get a job at the docks, or to work my passage to New York. But all to no avail, so I—I had, alas! to return to my old profession. And the first house I enter I find, to my dismay, is yours!”
“You heard us talking?” she asked quickly.
“I heard everything—and I understood everything,” was the quick reply. “That man,” he went on, “robbed me and gave me deliberately into the hands of the police. I swore to be avenged, and I have killed him—as he deserves. He was an assassin, and I am his executioner!”
“But the servants will be alarmed by the shot!” she gasped suddenly. “There is no time to lose. You must want money. I shall send you some to thePoste Restantein Havre—to-morrow. Now go—or you may be discovered.”
“But how will you explain?” he asked hurriedly. “Ah, madame, through those long, dreary years at Devil’s Island I have thought of you, and wondered—and wondered what had become of you. I amso glad to know that you are rich and happy, as you assuredly deserve.”
She sighed, for a flood of memories came over her.
“Yes, Adolphe, I am greatly indebted to you. Twice you have saved me from that man’s violence. Ah, I shall not forget.”
“But, madame, think of yourself! If he comes—if the servants come—how can you explain his body in your room? Let me think!”
Already Jean fancied she heard sounds of someone moving in the house, and of subdued and frightened voices.
Yes, the servants had been alarmed, and were searching from room to room! Not an instant was to be lost.
“I have an idea!” exclaimed “The Eel.” “Here, take this, madame,” and he held out his revolver to her with both hands.
But she shrank back.
“Take it—take it, I beg of you,” he implored.
She obeyed, moving like one in a dream.
Swiftly he took up the pearls and, bending, placed them in the dead man’s pocket. Then, having done this, he said:
“Your explanation is quite a simple one. You came in here unexpectedly, and found the man—a perfect stranger to you, and a burglar, evidently, from the fact that he wore gloves—taking your pearls from their case. You demanded them back, but he turned upon you with a revolver. There was a struggle for the weapon. You twisted hishand back, and in the fight it went off. And he fell dead. Keep cool. That is your story.”
“But I——”
“That is the only story, madame,” he said firmly. “It is a lie, I admit—but a white lie—the only explanation you can give, if you would still preserve your secret.”
Footsteps sounded out in the hall, and therefore there was not a second to waste.
The thief grasped her thin, white hand and, bending devotedly, kissed it.
“Adieu, madame. May Heaven assist and preserve you in future!” he whispered, and next moment he had disappeared behind the curtain and dropped over the verandah.