Part 29 (1/2)

”Pretty hot, this thing,” he announced, as he threw it on the table.

”Got anything to drink about? I'm thirsty.”

Grace saw, as he turned toward her, that he bore a striking resemblance to the masked man who had given her the first message to Mr. Stapleton, in the room of the house on the road to Versailles. She trembled as she heard him ask for the drink. Suppose the bottle should be in the closet? She shrunk back in terror as the younger man rose and started toward her.

Her alarm was needless, however. The fellow drew open one of the drawers of a small dresser that stood on the opposite side of the room, and took out a light green bottle. ”Absinthe?” he inquired.

”All right. One won't do any harm. Don't take any more, though.” He began to pour out the drink into a gla.s.s which stood upon the table.

”When you get the signal from Francois,” he went on, ”you are to answer it, as usual, so he'll know you've seen him. He doesn't want to stay in his room very long--for fear he might be missed.”

”They suspect him, of course.”

”Yes. He's being watched right along; when he's out of the house, that is. They've searched his room, and all that; but they haven't found anything.” He chuckled, and began to sip his drink. ”Nothing to find.”

The other man sat down at the table, and the two began talking over their plans of escape. Grace could not hear all they said; but, as nearly as she could gather, they intended, as soon as the younger man had joined the other, to run for Brussels in the automobile. Near the frontier they would leave the machine, change their disguises, and cross the frontier on foot. Once in Belgium, they seemed to think they would be quite safe.

It was along toward noon when the older man readjusted his disguise and left the house. ”I'm going to get something to eat,” he announced. ”I won't be back. You'd better not leave the place again. I'll send you in something, if you like.” He glanced at the rolls and milk on the table.

”It won't be necessary. I've got all I need. Guess I'll take a nap this afternoon. Well, good luck,” he concluded, as the other started toward the door. ”See you later.”

”All right.” The black-bearded man pa.s.sed noiselessly into the hall.

”Don't sleep too long. Eight o'clock, remember.” In a moment he was gone.

Grace watched the other as he finished drinking his absinthe and lit a cigarette. Presently he went over to the cot and, throwing himself upon it, was soon snoring loudly.

The long hot afternoon wore itself on. Grace leaned back against the wall of the closet, weak from the nervous tension of the situation. The place was hot and close. She felt faint from lack of air, from hunger.

At times she dozed off, then recovered herself with a start, and stood trembling, fearful lest she had made some noise which might attract the attention of the sleeping man.

After a time, the low complaining of the child began again, at first faint and seemingly far off, then growing in volume, until the tearful cries of ”Let me out--let me out!” seemed to come from a point scarcely beyond the reach of her hand.

The child's complaints at last awoke the sleeping man. With a muttered curse he rose, crossed the room, and disappeared from sight. Grace heard a low sc.r.a.ping sound, as of a panel being drawn back, and presently the man again appeared with the child, and again supplied him with bread and milk.

After he had eaten, the man gave him a magazine with bright-colored pictures in it, to amuse him, and lay on the bed, smoking. The boy sat on the floor, looking at the book.

Once or twice he tried to speak, but the man sharply bade him be quiet.

About sundown, a step was heard on the stairs, and once again the boy was hastily placed in his hiding place, with threats of punishment if he cried.

The new arrival was only a model, in search of work. The man spoke to her gruffly, and informed her that he had all the models he needed.

After she left, he did not again release the child, but sat, reading, for a long time.

At last he rose, took up the short black cylinder, which Grace saw was an electric searchlight, from the table, and went over and sat in the sill of the large double window which faced to the north. The window was open, and the room in darkness.

Grace pushed the door of her closet open slightly, so as to get a better view. The window was directly opposite the closet, at the other end of the room. She could see the silent figure of the watcher, silhouetted blackly against the night sky without. Off to the north were many lights--the lights of the houses toward the Champs elysees, and the Arc de Triomphe.

For many minutes she watched, over the man's shoulder, waiting for the signal which would set both herself and Mr. Stapleton's boy free from their long confinement.

Presently she heard the man utter a quick oath, and saw him peer out of the window, his figure tense and rigid, a pair of field gla.s.ses held to his eyes. In another moment he had dropped the gla.s.ses, picked up his electric searchlight, and flashed a signal into the darkness.