Part 81 (1/2)

Bernadine, I know, has dealt in great affairs; but he was a diplomat by instinct, experienced and calculating. One does not keep incriminating papers.”

She leaned a little forward. The car had swung round a corner now and was making its way up an avenue as dark as pitch.

”The wisest of us, Monsieur le Marquis,” she whispered, ”reckon sometimes without that one element of sudden death. What should you say, I wonder, to a list of agents in France pledged to circulate in certain places literature of an infamous sort? What should you say, monsieur, to a copy of a secret report of your late maneuvers, franked with the name of one of your own staff officers? What should you say,” she went on, ”to a list of Socialist deputies with amounts against their name, amounts paid in hard cash? Are these of no importance to you?”

”Madame,” Sogrange answered, simply, ”for such information, if it were genuine, it would be hard to mention a price which we should not be prepared to pay.”

The car came to a sudden standstill. The first impression of the two men was that the Baroness had exaggerated the loneliness and desolation of the place. There was nothing mysterious or forbidding about the plain, brownstone house before which they had stopped. The windows were streaming with light; the hall door, already thrown open, disclosed a very comfortable hall, brilliantly illuminated. A man-servant a.s.sisted his mistress to alight, another ushered them in. In the background were other servants. The Baroness glanced at the clock.

”About dinner, Carl?” she asked.

”It waits for madame,” the man answered.

She nodded.

”Take care of these gentlemen till I descend,” she ordered. ”You will not mind?” she added, turning pleadingly to Sogrange. ”To-day I have eaten nothing. I am faint with hunger. Afterwards, it will be a matter but of half an hour. You can be in London again by ten o'clock.”

”As you will, madame,” Sogrange replied. ”We are greatly indebted to you for your hospitality. But for costume, you understand that we are as we are?”

”It is perfectly understood,” she a.s.sured him. ”For myself, I rejoin you in ten minutes. A loose gown, that is all.”

Sogrange and Peter were shown into a modern bathroom by a servant who was so anxious to wait upon them that they had difficulty in sending him away. As soon as he was gone and the door closed behind him, Peter put his foot against it and turned the key.

”You were going to write something to me in the car?”

Sogrange nodded.

”There was a moment,” he admitted, ”when I had a suspicion. It has pa.s.sed. This woman is no Roman. She sells the secrets of Bernadine as she would sell herself. Nevertheless, it is well always to be prepared.

There were probably others beside Bernadine who had the entree here.”

”The only suspicious circ.u.mstance which I have noticed,” Peter remarked, ”is the number of men-servants. I have seen five already.”

”It is only fair to remember,” Sogrange reminded him, ”that the Baroness herself told us that there were no other save men-servants here and that they were all spies. Without a master, I cannot see that they are dangerous. One needs, however, to watch all the time.”

”If you see anything suspicious,” Peter said, ”tap the table with your forefinger. Personally, I will admit that I have had my doubts of the Baroness, but on the whole I have come to the conclusion that they were groundless. She is not the sort of woman to take up a vendetta, especially an unprofitable one.”

”She is an exceedingly dangerous person for an impressionable man like myself,” Sogrange remarked, arranging his tie.

The butler fetched them in a very few moments and showed them into a pleasantly-furnished library, where he mixed c.o.c.ktails for them from a collection of bottles upon the sideboard. He was quite friendly and inclined to be loquacious, although he spoke with a slight foreign accent. The house belonged to an English gentleman from whom the honored Count had taken it, furnished. They were two miles from a station and a mile from the village. It was a lonely part, but there were always people coming or going. With one's work one scarcely noticed it. He was gratified that the gentlemen found his c.o.c.ktails so excellent. Perhaps he might be permitted the high honor of mixing them another? It was a day, this, of deep sadness and gloom. One needed to drink something, indeed, to forget the terrible thing which had happened. The Count had been a good master, a little impatient sometimes, but kind-hearted. The news had been a shock to them all.

Then, before they had expected her, the Baroness reappeared. She wore a wonderful gray gown which seemed to be made in a single piece, a gown which fitted her tightly, and yet gave her the curious appearance of a woman walking without the burden of clothes. Sogrange, Parisian to the finger-tips, watched her with admiring approval. She laid her fingers upon his arm, although it was towards Peter that her eyes traveled.

”Will you take me in, Marquis?” she begged. ”It is the only formality we will allow ourselves.”

They entered a long, low dining-room, paneled with oak, and with the family portraits of the owner of the house still left upon the wall.

Dinner was served upon a round table and was laid for four. There was a profusion of silver, very beautiful gla.s.s, and a wonderful cl.u.s.ter of orchids. The Marquis, as he handed his hostess to her chair, glanced towards the vacant place.

”It is for my companion, an Austrian lady,” she explained. ”To-night, however, I think that she will not come. She was a distant connection of Bernadine's and she is much upset. We leave her place and see. You will sit on my other side, Baron.”

The fingers which touched Peter's arm brushed his hand, and were withdrawn as though with reluctance. She sank into her chair with a little sigh.