Part 48 (1/2)

”May I convey them, Prince?”

”Why?” The smiling eyes were keenly questioning.

Ruxton laughed.

”Because I would like to make a small arrangement with him, which will in no way interfere with any orders you may give him.”

”I see.” The Prince was silent for some moments, pondering deeply.

Then, quite abruptly, he seemed to reach a decision. ”Yes,” he said at last, ”I will send him his orders in writing, with permission to receive certain instructions from you. But my orders must be obeyed implicitly. Remember that. You must not change them in one single detail. Your word of honor, and I will thank you for conveying them.”

”My word of honor,” said Ruxton solemnly.

CHAPTER XXVII

THE WEEK-END BEGINS

Vita stood up. The swift rise and fall of her bosom bespoke an emotion which found added reflection in the light of her beautiful grey eyes.

Her att.i.tude was tense. It was full of that suggestion of urgency which straining ears ever convey. She was listening. And every muscle of her fair body was tuned to the pitch of her nerves.

Her eyes were upon the face of a small bra.s.s lantern clock. The figures on the dial were indistinct in the artificial light, but she read them with ease under the influence of the emotion stirring her. The dull metal hands were almost together. It was on the stroke of half-past six.

Her ma.s.ses of red-gold hair were completely hidden under a brimless hat, which sank low upon her head. A streaming veil fell to her shoulders, completely covering her hat, and ready to be secured closely about the fair oval of her anxious face. Her costume was a stout dark coat and skirt which displayed to perfection the beauty of her tall figure. Across the back of a chair lay a heavy overcoat of semi-military fas.h.i.+oning. It was thick and warm. It was a man's coat.

The moments ticked away. Vita made no movement. The room was still; a deathly silence reigned throughout the house. And yet, to the waiting woman, a hundred ominous sounds blended with the solemn ticking of the clock. The long hand was within the smallest fraction of the half-hour point. At last she raised one long gloved hand, and the slim fingers were pressed to the temples hidden under the enveloping hat. Her hand was trembling.

When she removed her fingers it was with a gesture of impatience. And the gesture was followed by swift movement. She seized the overcoat and flung it across her arm, picked up a small hand-bag and moved towards the door. Again she paused. Her hand was on the k.n.o.b of the door. She turned it softly and gently pulled the door ajar. Her eyes sought the crack.

Lights were burning beyond in the wide hallway. All was still, silent; and a deep sigh as of relaxing nerves escaped her. She opened the door wider. It creaked, and her fine brows drew together in anxiety. Then they smoothed again as the creaking ceased. Almost imperceptibly the opening widened. Then, in a twinkling it seemed, she had vanished, and the room was left empty.

As she went a door opened at the far end of the room she had left, and a woman's dark face appeared round it. For a moment she surveyed the empty apartment. Then she smiled softly. A moment later the face was withdrawn and the door reclosed.

A creaking stair set panic raging through Vita's heart. The great staircase was old--so old. She stood, scarcely daring to breathe, wondering in what direction the betrayal would display itself. The moments pa.s.sed and no sign was given. She moved again, and, in a fever of apprehension, she left the step and essayed another.

This time there was no alarm. She pa.s.sed on down the stairs, swiftly, stealthily. Only the dainty rustle of her skirts betrayed her movements. This she gave no heed to. It was always with her. Therefore it possessed no significance. The bottom of the great oak staircase was reached. Her breathing was hurried, not with exertion, but as a result of the nervous tension. She was relying on a man's word--a Prussian's.

She believed it honest, but---- A swift glance about the wide hall-place, and, for a moment, her nerves eased. The man was proving as good as his word. The doors into the various apartments were closed.

The hall was empty.

Fresh courage flowed through her veins. She tiptoed across the polished marble, avoiding the loose rugs lest a slip might betray her. Then, in the centre of it, she stopped dead, her heart pounding out the alarm which had suddenly possessed her. Voices, men's voices, had reached her. And they came from immediately beyond a pair of heavy folding doors. She listened. The sound was slightly deadened. The doors made it impossible to hear the words.

Quite suddenly she realized that there was not a moment to lose.

Without any further hesitation she flitted like a ghost, silently, towards the gla.s.s swing-doors which opened upon the entrance doors.

She thrust them apart. She pa.s.sed down half a dozen wide, shallow steps. The outer doors yielded to her hand. Then she breathed the fresh, chill night air of the valley beyond. It was good, so good. It was the first breath of freedom. Deeply, deeply, she drank in the delight of it.

As the door swung gently to behind her, the folding doors of the apartment in which had sounded the men's voices were thrust apart. Von Salzinger and Johann Stryj stood framed in the archway.

”See, there is movement in the gla.s.s doors,” observed Von Salzinger.