Part 8 (1/2)

CHAPTER VI

IVOR HEARS THE STORY

They were gone. They had closed the door behind them. I looked at Maxine, but she did not speak. With her finger to her lips she got up, trembling still; and walking to the door, she opened it suddenly to look out. n.o.body was there.

”They may have gone into your bedroom to listen at that door,” she whispered.

I took the hint, and going quickly into the room adjoining, turned on the light. Emptiness there: but I left the door open, and the electricity switched on. They might change their minds, or be more subtle than they wished to seem.

Maxine threw herself on the sofa, gathering up the necklace from the cus.h.i.+on where it had fallen, and lifting it in both hands pressed the glittering ma.s.s against her lips and cheeks.

”Thank G.o.d, thank G.o.d--and thank you, Ivor, best of friends!” she said brokenly, in so low a voice that no ear could have caught her words, even if pressed against the keyhole. Then, letting the diamonds drop into her lap, she flung back her head and laughed and cried together.

”Oh, Ivor, Ivor!” she panted, between her sobs and hysterical gusts of laughter. ”The agony of it--the agony--and the joy now! You're wonderful. Good, precious Ivor--dear friend--saint.”

At this I laughed too, partly to calm her, and patted gently the hands with which she had nervously clutched my sleeve.

”Heaven knows I don't deserve one of those epithets,” I said, ”I'll just stick to friend.”

”Not deserve them?” she repeated. ”Not deserve them, when you've saved me--I don't yet understand how--from a horror worse than death--oh, but a thousand times worse, for I wanted to die. I meant to die. If they had found it, I shouldn't have lived to see to-morrow morning. Tell me--how did you work such a miracle? How did you get this necklace, that meant so much to me (and to one I love), and how did you hide the--other thing?”

”I don't know anything about this necklace,” I answered, stupidly, ”I didn't bring it.”

”You--_didn't bring it_?”

”No. At least, that red leather thing isn't the case I carried. When the fellow pulled it out from the sofa, I saw it wasn't what I'd had, so I thanked our lucky stars, and would have tried to let you know that all hope wasn't over, if I'd dared to catch your eye or make a signal.”

Maxine was suddenly calm. The tears had dried on her cheeks, and her eyes were fever-bright.

”Ivor, you can't know what you are talking about,” she said, in a changed voice. ”That red leather case is what you took out of your breast pocket and handed to me when I first came into the room. At the sound of the knock, I pushed it down as far as I could between the seat and back of the sofa, and then ran off to a distance before the door opened. You _did_ bring the necklace, knowingly or not; and as it was the cause of all my trouble in the beginning, I needn't tell you of the joy I had in seeing it, apart from the heavenly relief of being spared discovery of the thing I feared. Now, when you've given me the other packet, which you hid so marvellously, I can go away happy.”

I stared at her, feeling more than ever like one in a dream.

”I gave you the only thing I brought,” I said. ”It was in my breast pocket, inside my coat. I took it out, and put it in your hands. There was no other thing. Look again in the sofa. It must be there still. This red case is something else--we can try to account for it later. It all came through the lights not working. If it hadn't been dusk you would have seen that I gave you a dark green leather letter-case--quite different from this, though of about the same length--rather less thick, and--”

Frantically she began ransacking the crevice between the seat and back of the sofa, but nothing was there. We might have known there could be nothing or the Commissary of Police would have been before us. With a cry she cut me short at last throwing up her hands in despair. She was deathly pale again, and all the light had gone out of her eyes leaving them dull as if she had been sick with some long illness.

”What will become of me?” she stammered. ”The treaty lost! My G.o.d--what shall I do? Ivor, you are killing me. Do you know--you are killing me?”

The word ”treaty” was new to me in this connection, for the Foreign Secretary had not thought it necessary that his messenger should be wholly in his secrets--and Maxine's. Yet hearing the word brought no great surprise. I knew that I had been cat's-paw in some game of high stakes. But it was of Maxine I thought now, and the importance of the loss to her, not the national disaster which it might well be also.

”Wait,” I said, ”don't despair yet. There's some mistake. Perhaps we shall be able to see light when we've thrashed this out and talked it over. I know I had a green letter-case. It never left my pocket. I thought of it and guarded it every moment. Could those diamonds have been inside it? Could the Foreign Secretary had given me the necklace, _instead_ of what you expected?”

”No, no,” she answered with desperate impatience. ”He knew that the only thing which could save me was the doc.u.ment I'd sent him. I wired that I must have it back again immediately, for my own sake--for his--for the sake of England. Ivor! Think again. Do you want me to go mad?”

”I will think,” I said, trying to speak rea.s.suringly. ”Give me a moment--a quiet moment--”

”A quiet moment,” she repeated, bitterly, ”when for me each second is an hour! It's late, and this is the night of my new play. Soon, I must be at the theatre, for the make-up and dressing of this part for the first act are a heavy business. I don't want all Paris to know that Maxine de Renzie has been ruined by her enemies. Let us keep the secret while we can, for others' sakes, and so gain time for our own, if all is not lost--if you believe still that there's any hope. Oh, save me, Ivor--somehow. My whole life is in this.”

”Let your understudy take your part to-night, while we think, and work,”

I suggested. ”You cannot go to the theatre in this state.”