Part 45 (1/2)

He shook his head.

”I have no idea. It is the most mysterious doc.u.ment in the world, so far as I am concerned.”

”Why not open it and read it?” she suggested; ”then you will know exactly what it is all about. You can learn it by heart and tear it up.”

”I must think that over,” he said. ”One second before we go out.”

He took from his pocket the revolver which La.s.sen had dropped. It was a perfect little weapon, and fully charged. He replaced it in his pocket, keeping his finger upon the trigger.

”Now, Zoe, if you are ready,” he said, ”come along.”

They stepped out and entered the taxi, unmolested, and Laverick ordered:

”To the Milan Hotel.”

CHAPTER XXIX

La.s.sEN'S TREACHERY DISCOVERED

About twenty minutes past six on the same evening, Bellamy, his clothes thick with dust, his face dark with anger, jumped lightly from a sixty horse-power car and rang the bell of the lift at number 15, Dover Street. Arrived on the first floor, he was confronted almost immediately by the sad-faced man-servant of Mademoiselle Idiale.

”Mademoiselle is in?” Bellamy asked quickly.

The man's expression was one of sombre regret.

”Mademoiselle is spending the day in the country, sir. Bellamy took him by the shoulders and flung him against the wall.

”Thank you,” he said, ”I've heard that before.”

He walked down the pa.s.sage and knocked softly at the door of Louise's sleeping apartment. There was no answer. He knocked again and listened at the key-hole. There was some movement inside but no one spoke.

”Louise,” he cried softly, ”let me in. It is I--David.”

Again the only reply was the strangest of sounds. Almost it seemed as though a woman were trying to speak with a hand over her mouth.

Then Bellamy suddenly stiffened into rigid attention. There were voices in the small reception room,--the voice of Henri, the butler, and another. Reluctantly he turned away from the closed door and walked swiftly down the pa.s.sage. He entered the reception room and looked around him in amazement. It was still in disorder. La.s.sen sat in an easy-chair with a tumbler of brandy by his side. Henri was tying a bandage around his head, his collar was torn, there were marks of blood about his s.h.i.+rt. Bellamy's eyes sparkled. He closed the door behind him.

”Come,” he exclaimed, ”after all, I fancy that my arrival is somewhat opportune!”

Henri turned towards him with a reproachful gesture.

”Monsieur La.s.sen has been unwell, Monsieur,” he said. ”He has had a fit and fallen down.”

Bellamy laughed contemptuously.

”I think I can reconstruct the scene a little better than that,” he declared. ”What do you say, Mr. La.s.sen?”

The man glared at him viciously.

”I do not know what you are talking about,” he said. ”I do not wish to speak to you. I am ill. You had better go and persuade Mademoiselle to return. She is at Dover, waiting.”