Part 16 (1/2)

She was lavishly generous to the Hippodrome staff, and there was always a certain tribute claimed from all its adherents by the Cause.

He did not hunt further for valuables. If there was either money or jewellery in Arith.e.l.li's possession it was sure to be found in quite a conspicuous place.

The varied life of the city surged to and fro beneath the window, the varied noises floated up into the room, and under the faded red brocade curtains, Arith.e.l.li turned from side to side and moaned with closed eyes. A seller of fruit pa.s.sed, crying his wares.

Emile went down into the street and bought a couple of oranges, and squeezed the juice into the cup that had been destined for the coffee.

He had not the least idea as to what particular malady Arith.e.l.li had developed, but he knew that fever and delirium always went together, and that with fever there is invariably thirst. He lifted her up and pushed the pillow higher to relieve her breathing, but he could hardly do more than moisten her parched and bitten lips. Then he ”tidied” the bed with masculine pulls and jerks till it was even more untidy than before, and went back to his chair. There was nothing more to be done for her in the way of alleviation till the doctor came.

He took up a book, and tried to shut his ears and distract his thoughts. As he stared unseeingly at the printed pages, there suddenly flashed into his brain the name of Count Vladimir, the owner of ”_The Witch_.” Here was the very man to whom he could confidently apply for help in the present difficulties, for the Russian had made it his business in life to bestow his wealth in a.s.sisting the revolutionaries.

Emile decided that he would write tomorrow, when he had acquired certain particulars as to the address he wanted.

Fatalite had done good work for the Cause, he argued, therefore let those who supported the organisation keep her till she was able to work again.

The next task he would have to undertake would be that of bullying or bribing the landlady into a promise to undertake at least some of the duties of a sick-room. The rest of the nursing he proposed to do himself. He grinned as he lit another evil-smelling cigarette, at the thought of Vardri's proposal.

He possessed an artistic sense of the fitness of things, and the suggested _Soeur de Charite_ appealed to him as being quite out of the picture. Besides Arith.e.l.li had no respect for priests or nuns; Emile remembered her inimitable descriptions of the spying ”Children of Mary,” and she should not be worried with either if he could help it.

Yes, certainly the incapable old landlady would be preferable to a white-capped _religeuse_, for the latter, though not likely by virtue of her training to be scared by the physical atmosphere, would undoubtedly be appalled by the mental and moral one. Most likely she would take advantage of Arith.e.l.li's weakness to persuade her of the danger of her present way of living. The Church of Rome is never slow at seizing the chance of making a convert, and the power of the Church in Spain is a byword.

Though Emile had a profound scorn for conventions, he had at one time had his place among that cla.s.s of human beings that calls itself ”Society,” and he knew its rules and ways as he despised its hypocrisies. He could look at Arith.e.l.li's position quite judicially, and as an outsider. The world, religious and otherwise, would certainly not give her the benefit of the doubt.

She was young, she was possessed of a weird and haunting beauty, she had no women friends, no relations, and no companions but a set of law-breakers, all of whom were men. No one would believe that she was untouched, unawakened, that she had been treated as a boy, and her womanhood not so much respected as ignored. If anyone put the wrong ideas into her head, Emile reflected, it was sure to be one of her own s.e.x.

Having matured his plans he descended to the kitchen regions, manufacturing impressive threats _en route_.

Here an answer to his problem presented itself, or rather herself. The landlady had a niece who came in daily to a.s.sist in household matters, and take part in a duet of feminine gossip.

She was a solid young woman of unmoved countenance, who was quite prepared to nurse the ten plagues of Egypt, providing she received sufficient remuneration. She proposed to get married at the earliest opportunity and what Emile offered her would be of great a.s.sistance in providing her bridal finery.

The two came to an agreement rapidly, and Emile climbed the stairs again, triumphant.

He began to feel anxious about the doctor. Two hours had pa.s.sed and there was no sight of him. He might be out, or he might be drunk.

Emile knew the little weakness of Michael Furness, and as Vardri had not returned it meant that he was still searching.

At last the horse-doctor arrived, grunting and ruffling up his crest of curly black hair. He had a large heart by way of counterbalance to his many failings, and he was interested in Arith.e.l.li, for he had come across her once or twice in the stables, and had heard various picturesque stories of her exploits. He might have been a success in his own profession, but for the two temptations that beset every Irishman--whisky and horses.

He had left his practice in the city of Cork, as Emile had said, somewhat under a cloud, and had given up whisky for the _absinthe_ of the _cafes_, and had not regretted the exchange. He made his examination quickly, handling the girl with a surprising skill and deftness, in spite of his big clumsy-looking hands.

When he touched her she opened her eyes.

”_Mais, ou suis je_?” she murmured, painfully dragging out the words.

Then followed Emile's name.

The doctor laid her back gently, and stood holding one of her wrists.

”She thinks it's you, Poleski! 'Tis diphtheria. A bad case, too.

Shall want some looking afther. Who's seeing to her?”

”I am,” responded Emile, coolly.