Part 57 (1/2)

”Traitor!--liar!--coward!” she gasped breathlessly. ”Let me go!”

Smarting with the pain of the blow, he unconsciously loosened his grasp--she rushed to the ”Venus” panel, and to his utter discomfiture and amazement he saw it open and close behind her. She disappeared suddenly and noiselessly as if by magic. With a fierce exclamation, he threw his whole weight against that secret sliding door--it resisted all his efforts. He searched for the spring by which it must have opened,--the whole panel was perfectly smooth and apparently solid, and the painted ”Venus” reclining on her dolphin's back seemed as though she smiled mockingly at his rage and disappointment.

While he was examining it, he heard the sudden, sharp, and continuous ringing of an electric bell somewhere in the house, and with a guilty flush on his face he sprang to the drawing-room door and unlocked it. He was just in time, for scarcely had he turned the key, when Morris made his appearance. That venerable servitor looked round the room in evident surprise.

”Did her ladys.h.i.+p ring?” he inquired, his eyes roving everywhere in search of his mistress. Sir Francis collected his wits, and forced himself to seem composed.

”No,” he said coolly. ”_I_ rang.” He adopted this falsehood as a means of exit. ”Call a hansom, will you?”

And he sauntered easily into the hall, and got on his hat and great-coat. Morris was rather bewildered,--but, obedient to the command, blew the summoning cab-whistle, which was promptly answered. Sir Francis tossed him half a crown, and entered the vehicle, which clattered away with him in the direction of Cromwell Road. Stopping at a particular house in a side street leading from thence, he bade the cabman wait,--and, ascending the steps, busied himself for some moments in scribbling something rapidly in pencil on a leaf of his note-book by the light of the hanging-lamp in the doorway. He then gave a loud knock, and inquired of the servant who answered it--

”Is Mr. Snawley-Grubbs in?”

”Yes, sir,”--the reply came rather hesitatingly--”but he's having a party to-night.”

And, in fact, the sc.r.a.ping of violins and the shuffle of dancing feet were distinctly audible overhead.

”Oh, well, just mention my name--Sir Francis Lennox. Say I will not detain him more than five minutes.”

He entered, and was ushered into a small ante-room while the maid went to deliver her message. He caught sight of his own reflection in a round mirror over the mantel-piece, and his face darkened as he saw a dull red ridge across his forehead--the mark of Thelma's well-directed blow,--the sign-manual of her scorn. A few minutes pa.s.sed, and then there came in to him a large man in an expensive dress-suit,--a man with a puffy, red, Silenus-like countenance--no other than Mr. Snawley-Grubbs, who hailed him with effusive cordiality.

”My dear, Sir Francis!” he said in a rich, thick, uncomfortable voice.

”This is an unexpected pleasure! Won't you come upstairs? My girls are having a little informal dance--just among themselves and their own young friends--quite simple,--in fact an unpretentious little affair!”

And he rubbed his fat hands, on which twinkled two or three large diamond rings. ”But we shall be charmed if you will join us!”

”Thanks, not this evening,” returned Sir Francis. ”It's rather too late.

I should not have intruded upon you at this hour--but I thought you might possibly like this paragraph for the _Snake_.”

And he held out with a careless air the paper on which he had scribbled but a few minutes previously. Mr. Snawley-Grubbs smiled,--and fixed a pair of elegant gold-rimmed eye-gla.s.ses on his inflamed crimson nose.

”I must tell you, though,” he observed, before reading, ”that it is too late for this week, at any rate. We've gone to press already.”

”Never mind!” returned Sir Francis indifferently. ”Next week will do as well.”

And he furtively watched Mr. Snawley-Grubbs while he perused the pencilled scrawl. That gentleman, however, as Editor and Proprietor of the _Snake_--a new, but highly successful weekly ”society” journal, was far too dignified and self-important to allow his countenance to betray his feelings. He merely remarked, as he folded up the little slip very carefully.

”Very smart! very smart, indeed! Authentic, of course?”

Sir Francis drew himself up haughtily. ”You doubt my word?”

”Oh dear, no!” declared Mr. Snawley-Grubbs hastily, venturing to lay a soothing hand on Sir Francis's shoulder. ”Your position, and all that sort of thing--Naturally you _must_ be able to secure correct information. You can't help it! I a.s.sure you the _Snake_ is infinitely obliged to you for a great many well-written and socially exciting paragraphs. Only, you see, I myself should never have thought that so extreme a follower of the exploded old doctrine of n.o.blesse oblige, as Sir Philip Bruce-Errington, would have started on such a new line of action at all. But, of course, we are all mortal!” And he shook his round thick head with leering sagacity. ”Well!” he continued after a pause. ”This shall go in without fail next week, I promise you.”

”You can send me a hundred copies of the issue,” said Sir Francis, taking up his hat to go. ”I suppose you're not afraid of an action for libel?”

Mr. Snawley-Grubbs laughed--nay, he roared,--the idea seemed so exquisitely suited to his sense of humor.

”Afraid? My dear fellow, there's nothing I should like better! It would establish the _Snake_, and make my fortune! I would even go to prison with pleasure. Prison, for a first-cla.s.s misdemeanant, as I should most probably be termed, is perfectly endurable.” He laughed again, and escorted Sir Francis to the street-door, where he shook hands heartily.

”You are sure you won't come upstairs and join us? No? Ah, I see you have a cab waiting. Good-night, good-night!”