Part 42 (2/2)
The Countess Tcherny's gaze traveled over her from head to heel, the gaze of one who looks at a person one has never seen before. She looked long but replied not; then her chin was lowered quickly the fraction of an inch, after which she raised the gun, broke it and threw out the sh.e.l.l from the still smoking barrel.
”Stupid of me, wasn't it?” she said coolly. ”I forgot it was loaded.”
”It's lucky you didn't hurt yourself,” said Hermia.
”Isn't it? How dreadful, Hermia, if I had peppered the trap door!”
”I rather think you did,” said Hermia. She walked across to the fireplace with a queer laugh. ”Well! You've brought down the game.
Now whistle for your dogs!”
Olga's face was quite serious.
”I'm sure that I don't in the least know what you're talking about.
Your presence is surprising enough--”
Hermia looked defiance.
”Is it? Why? You've outwitted me. I'm simply acknowledging the fact.
John Markham and I have been traveling together for a week--as you perceive--_en vagabond_. We like it. It's most amusing. Indiscreet?
Perhaps. If so, I'll take the consequences. Can I say more?”
Olga's smile came slowly--with difficulty. The bravado of fear? Or of indifference? She had never really measured weapons with Hermia.
”I'm the last person in the world whose censure you need fear, my dear,” she said suavely.
”I don't fear it,” said Hermia promptly. ”I'm quite sure I'd rather have had you fin me out than any one I know.”
Bravado again.
”I'm glad, darling,” Olga purred. ”It's sweet of you to say so.”
”I don't mean that I wanted to be discovered. If I had I shouldn't have fled from the _roulotte_ of the Fabiani family yesterday when you were looking for me. You traced us from Alenon, of course--”
”I? Why should I follow you?”
”I haven't the slightest idea--unless your conversation a moment ago with John Markham explains it.”
”You heard--that!”
”Oh, yes,--didn't you want me to? I'm not deaf. But you needn't be at all worried about it.” She paused and brushed the dust of the loft from her coat sleeve. ”You know, Olga, I don't believe it--_any_ of it.”
Olga smiled sagely, but Markham, who all this while had been standing like a figure of wax, now showed signs of animation.
”It was all a joke, of course, Hermia,” he began, moving forward.
”Olga knows as well as I do that--”
But Hermia had waved him into silence.
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