Part 62 (2/2)

”Yes, that's all logical,” said Speed, ”but how could Buckhurst know the secret-code signals which the cruiser must have received before she sailed? To hoist them on the semaph.o.r.e, he must have had a code-book.”

I thought a moment. ”Suppose Mornac is with him?”

Speed fairly jumped. ”That's it! That's the link we were hunting for!

It's Mornac--it must be Mornac! He is the only man; he had access to everything. And now that his Emperor is a prisoner and his Empress a fugitive, the miserable hound has nothing to lose by the anarchy he once hoped to profit by. Tell me, Scarlett, does the tail wag the dog, after all? And which is the dog, Buckhurst or Mornac?”

”I once thought it was Buckhurst,” I said.

”So did I, but--I don't know now. I don't know what to do, either. I don't know anything!”

I began to walk about the room, carefully, for my knees were weak, though I had no headache.

”It's a shame for a pair of hulking brutes like you and me to desecrate this bedroom,” I muttered. ”Mud on the floor--look at it!

Sawdust and candle-wax over everything! What's that--all that on the lounge? Has a dog or a cat been rolling over it? It's plastered with tan-colored hairs!”

”Lion's hairs from your coat,” he observed, grimly.

I looked at them for a moment rather soberly. They glistened like gold in the early suns.h.i.+ne.

Speed opened his mouth to say something, but closed it abruptly as a very faint tapping sounded on our door.

I opened it; Sylvia Elven stood in the hallway.

”Oh,” she said, in ungracious astonishment, ”then you are not on the grave's awful verge,... are you?”

”I hope you didn't expect to discover me there?” I replied, laughing.

”Expect it? Indeed I did, monsieur,... or I shouldn't be here at sunrise, scratching at your door for news of you. This,” she said, petulantly, ”is enough to vex any saint!”

”Any other saint,” I corrected, gravely. ”I admit it, mademoiselle, I am a nuisance; so is my comrade. We have only to express our deep grat.i.tude and go.”

”Go? Do you think we will let you go, with all those bandits roaming the moors outside our windows? And you call that grat.i.tude?”

”Does Madame de Va.s.sart desire us to stay?” I asked, trying not to speak too eagerly.

Sylvia Elven gave me a scornful glance.

”Must we implore you, monsieur, to protect us? We will, if you wish it. I know I'm ill-humored, but it's scarcely daybreak, and we've sat up all night on your account--Madame de Va.s.sart would not allow me to go to bed--and if I am brusque with you, remember I was obliged to sleep in a chair--and I hope you feel that you have put me to very great inconvenience.”

”I feel that way ... about Madame de Va.s.sart,” I said, laughing at the pretty, pouting mouth and sleepy eyes of this amusingly exasperated young girl, who resembled a rumpled Dresden shepherdess more than anything else. I added that we would be glad to stay until the communist free-rifles took themselves off. For which she thanked me with an exaggerated courtesy and retired, furiously conscious that she had not only slept in her clothes, but that she looked it.

”That was Madame de Va.s.sart's companion, wasn't it?” asked Speed.

”Yes, Sylvia Elven ... I don't know what she is--I know what she was--no, I don't, either. I only know what Jarras says she was.”

Speed raised his eyebrows. ”And what was that?”

”Actress, at the Odeon.”

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