Part 17 (2/2)
”It is only necessary,” he said, ”for me to be in the room for about ten minutes, and I do not need to carry anything away; my memory will serve me for all that I require. By some means or other I must have that ten minutes.”
”You will risk your life,” Lady Deringham said, ”for I cannot suggest any plan; I would help you if I could, but I am powerless.”
”I must have that ten minutes,” Mr. Sabin said slowly.
”Must!” Lady Deringham raised her eyebrows. There was a subtle change in the tone of the man, a note of authority, perhaps even the shadow of a threat; he noted the effect and followed it up.
”I mean what I say, Constance,” he declared. ”I am not asking you a great thing; you have your full share of woman's wit, and you can arrange this if you like.”
”But, Victor, be reasonable,” she protested; ”suggest a way yourself if you think it so easy. I tell you that he never leaves the room!”
”He must be made to leave it.”
”By force?”
”If necessary,” Mr. Sabin answered coolly.
Lady Deringham raised her hand to her forehead and sat thinking. The man's growing earnestness bewildered her. What was to be done--what could she say? After all he was not changed; the old fear of him was creeping through her veins, yet she made her effort.
”You want those papers for something more than a magazine article!” she declared. ”There is something behind all this! Victor, I cannot help you; I am powerless. I will take no part in anything which I cannot understand.”
He stood up, leaning a little upon his stick, the dull, green stone of which flashed brightly in the firelight.
”You will help me,” he said slowly. ”You will let me into that room at night, and you will see that your husband is not there, or that he does not interfere. And as to that magazine article, you are right! What if it were a lie! I do not fly at small game. Now do you understand?”
She rose to her feet and drew herself up before him proudly. She towered above him, handsome, dignified, angry.
”Victor,” she said firmly, ”I refuse; you can go away at once! I will have no more to say or to do with you! You have given me up my letters, it is true, yet for that you have no special claim upon my grat.i.tude. A man of honour would have destroyed them long ago.”
He looked up at her, and the ghost of an unholy smile flickered upon his lips.
”Did I tell you that I had given them all back to you?” he said. ”Ah! that was a mistake; all save one, I should have said! One I kept, in case---- Well, your s.e.x are proverbially ungrateful, you know. It is the one on the yellow paper written from Mentone! You remember it? I always liked it better than any of the others.”
Her white hands flashed out in the firelight. It seemed almost as though she must have struck him. He had lied to her! She was not really free; he was still the master and she his slave! She stood as though turned to stone.
”I think,” he said, ”that you will listen now to a little plan which has just occurred to me, will you not?”
She looked away from him with a shudder.
”What is it?” she asked hoa.r.s.ely.
CHAPTER XXVI.
MR. BLATHERWICK AS ST. ANTHONY.
”I am afraid,” Harcutt said, ”that either the letter was a hoax, or the writer has thought better of the matter. It is half an hour past the time, and poor Mr. Blatherwick is still alone.”
Wolfenden glanced towards the distant table where his father's secretary was already finis.h.i.+ng his modest meal.
”Poor old Blatherwick!” he remarked; ”I know he's awfully relieved. He's too nervous for this sort of thing; I believe he would have lost his head altogether if his mysterious correspondent had turned up.”
”I suppose,” Harcutt said, ”that we may take it for granted that he is not in the room.”
”Every soul here,” Wolfenden answered, ”is known to me either personally or by sight. The man with the dark moustache sitting by himself is a London solicitor who built himself a bungalow here four years ago, and comes down every other week for golf. The two men in the corner are land speculators from Norwich; and their neighbour is Captain Stoneham, who rides over from the barracks twice a week, also for golf.”
”It is rather a sell for us,” Harcutt remarked. ”On the whole I am not sorry that I have to go back to town to-night. Great Scott! what a pretty girl!”
”Lean back, you idiot!” Wolfenden exclaimed softly; ”don't move if you can help it!”
Harcutt grasped the situation and obeyed at once. The portion of the dining-room in which they were sitting was little more than a recess, divided off from the main apartment by heavy curtains and seldom used except in the summer when visitors were plentiful. Mr. Blatherwick's table was really within a few feet of theirs, but they themselves were hidden from it by a corner of the folding doors. They had chosen the position with care and apparently with success.
The girl who had entered the room stood for a moment looking round as though about to select a table. Harcutt's exclamation was not without justification, for she was certainly pretty. She was neatly dressed in a grey walking suit, and a velvet Tam-o-shanter hat with a smart feather. Suddenly she saw Mr. Blatherwick and advanced towards him with outstretched hand and a charming smile.
”Why, my dear Mr. Blatherwick, what on earth are you doing here?” she exclaimed. ”Have you left Lord Deringham?”
Mr. Blatherwick rose to his feet confused, and blus.h.i.+ng to his spectacles; he greeted the young lady, however, with evident pleasure.
”No; that is, not yet,” he answered; ”I am leaving this week. I did not know--I had no idea that you were in the vicinity! I am very pleased to see you.”
She looked at the empty place at his table.
”I was going to have some luncheon,” she said; ”I have walked so much further than I intended and I am ravenously hungry. May I sit at your table?”
”With much pleasure,” Mr. Blatherwick a.s.sented. ”I was expecting a--a--friend, but he is evidently not coming.”
”I will take his place then, if I may,” she said, seating herself in the chair which the waiter was holding for her, and raising her veil. ”Will you order something for me? I am too hungry to mind what it is.”
Mr. Blatherwick gave a hesitating order, and the waiter departed. Miss Merton drew off her gloves and was perfectly at her ease.
”Now do tell me about the friend whom you were going to meet,” she said, smiling gaily at him, ”I hope--you really must not tell me, Mr. Blatherwick, that it was a lady!”
Mr. Blatherwick coloured to the roots of his hair at the mere suggestion, and hastened to disclaim it.
”My--my dear Miss Merton!” he exclaimed, ”I can a.s.sure you that it was not! I--I should not think of such a thing.”
She nodded, and began to break up her roll and eat it.
”I am very glad to hear it, Mr. Blatherwick,” she said; ”I warn you that I was prepared to be very jealous. You used to tell me, you know, that I was the only girl with whom you cared to talk.”
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