Part 25 (2/2)
”I am not ready for you yet, little fool,” said the old woman, and she bent again to her work.
Ricardo's brain whirled. Here was the girl whom they had come to arrest, who had sprung from the salon with so much activity of youth across the stretch of gra.s.s, who had run so quickly and lightly across the pavement into this very house, so that she should not be seen. And now she was lying in her fine and delicate attire a captive, at the mercy of the very people who were her accomplices.
Suddenly a scream rang out in the garden--a shrill, loud scream, close beneath the windows. The old woman sprang to her feet. The girl on the sofa raised her head. The old woman took a step towards the window, and then she swiftly turned towards the door. She saw the men upon the threshold. She uttered a bellow of rage. There is no other word to describe the sound. It was not a human cry; it was the bellow of an angry animal. She reached out her hand towards the flask, but before she could grasp it Hanaud seized her. She burst into a torrent of foul oaths. Hanaud flung her across to Lemerre's officer, who dragged her from the room.
”Quick!” said Hanaud, pointing to the girl, who was now struggling helplessly upon the sofa. ”Mlle. Celie!”
Ricardo cut the st.i.tches of the sacking. Hanaud unstrapped her hands and feet. They helped her to sit up. She shook her hands in the air as though they tortured her, and then, in a piteous, whimpering voice, like a child's, she babbled incoherently and whispered prayers.
Suddenly the prayers ceased. She sat stiff, with eyes fixed and staring. She was watching Lemerre, and she was watching him fascinated with terror. He was holding in his hand the large, bright aluminium flask. He poured a little of the contents very carefully on to a piece of the sack; and then with an exclamation of anger he turned towards Hanaud. But Hanaud was supporting Celia; and so, as Lemerre turned abruptly towards him with the flask in his hand, he turned abruptly towards Celia too. She wrenched herself from Hanaud's arms, she shrank violently away. Her white face flushed scarlet and grew white again.
She screamed loudly, terribly; and after the scream she uttered a strange, weak sigh, and so fell sideways in a swoon. Hanaud caught her as she fell. A light broke over his face.
”Now I understand!” he cried. ”Good G.o.d! That's horrible.”
CHAPTER XIII
IN THE HOUSE AT GENEVA
It was well, Mr. Ricardo thought, that some one understood. For himself, he frankly admitted that he did not. Indeed, in his view the first principles of reasoning seemed to be set at naught. It was obvious from the solicitude with which Celia Harland was surrounded that every one except himself was convinced of her innocence. Yet it was equally obvious that any one who bore in mind the eight points he had tabulated against her must be convinced of her guilt. Yet again, if she were guilty, how did it happen that she had been so mishandled by her accomplices? He was not allowed, however, to reflect upon these remarkable problems. He had too busy a time of it. At one moment he was running to fetch water wherewith to bathe Celia's forehead. At another, when he had returned with the water, he was distracted by the appearance of Durette, the inspector from Aix, in the doorway.
”We have them both,” he said--”Hippolyte and the woman. They were hiding in the garden.”
”So I thought,” said Hanaud, ”when I saw the door open downstairs, and the morphia-needle on the table.”
Lemerre turned to one of the officers.
”Let them be taken with old Jeanne in cabs to the depot.”
And when the man had gone upon his errand Lemerre spoke to Hanaud.
”You will stay here to-night to arrange for their transfer to Aix?”
”I will leave Durette behind,” said Hanaud. ”I am needed at Aix. We will make a formal application for the prisoners.” He was kneeling by Celia's side and awkwardly dabbing her forehead with a wet handkerchief. He raised a warning hand. Celia Harland moved and opened her eyes. She sat up on the sofa, s.h.i.+vering, and looked with dazed and wondering eyes from one to another of the strangers who surrounded her.
She searched in vain for a familiar face.
”You are amongst good friends, Mlle. Celie,” said Hanaud with great gentleness.
”Oh, I wonder! I wonder!” she cried piteously.
”Be very sure of it,” he said heartily, and she clung to the sleeve of his coat with desperate hands.
”I suppose you ARE friends,” she said; ”else why--?” and she moved her numbed limbs to make certain that she was free. She looked about the room. Her eyes fell upon the sack and widened with terror.
”They came to me a little while ago in that cupboard there--Adele and the old woman Jeanne. They made me get up. They told me they were going to take me away. They brought my clothes and dressed me in everything I wore when I came, so that no single trace of me might be left behind.
Then they tied me.” She tore off her gloves and showed them her lacerated wrists. ”I think they meant to kill me--horribly.” And she caught her breath and whimpered like a child. Her spirit was broken.
”My poor girl, all that is over,” said Hanaud. And he stood up.
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