Part 39 (1/2)
”Then I will drive round to Dorset House and fetch the d.u.c.h.ess. It is only a few yards.”
The Prince hesitated. His cheeks were very white, and something like a scowl was blackening his heavy, insipid face.
”Lucille,” he said, ”you are very foolish. It is not much I ask of you, but that little I will have or I pledge my word to it that things shall go ill with you and your husband. There is plain speech for you. Do not be absurd. Come within, and let us talk. What do you fear? The house is full of servants, and the carriage can wait for you here.”
Lucille smiled at him--a maddening smile.
”I am not a child,” she said, ”and such conversations as I am forced to hold with you will not be under your own roof. Be so good as to tell the coachman to drive to Dorset House.”
The Prince turned on his heel with a furious oath.
”He can drive you to h.e.l.l,” he answered thickly.
Lucille found the d.u.c.h.ess and Lady Carey together at Dorset House. She looked from one to the other.
”I thought that there was a meeting to-night,” she remarked.
The d.u.c.h.ess shook her head.
”Not to-night,” she answered. ”It would not be possible. General Dolinski is dining at Marlborough House, and De Broullae is in Paris.
Now tell us all about Mr. Brott.”
”He has gone to Scotland,” Lucille answered. ”I have failed.”
Lady Carey looked up from the depths of the chair in which she was lounging.
”And the prince?” she asked. ”He went to meet you!”
”He also failed,” Lucille answered.
CHAPTER XXVII
Mr. SABIN drew a little breath, partly of satisfaction because he had discovered the place he sought, and partly of disgust at the neighbourhood in which he found himself. Nevertheless, he descended three steps from the court into which he had been directed, and pushed open the swing door, behind which Emil Sachs announced his desire to supply the world with dinners at eightpence and vin ordinaire at fourpence the small bottle.
A stout black-eyed woman looked up at his entrance from behind the counter. The place was empty.
”What does monsieur require she asked, peering forward through the gloom with some suspicion. For the eightpenny dinners were the scorn of the neighbourhood, and strangers were rare in the wine shop of Emil Sachs.”
Mr. Sabin smiled.
”One of your excellent omelettes, my good Annette,” he answered, ”if your hand has not lost its cunning!”
She gave a little cry.
”It is monsieur!” she exclaimed. ”After all these years it is monsieur!
Ah, you will pardon that I did not recognise you. This place is a cellar. Monsieur has not changed. In the daylight one would know him anywhere.”
The woman talked fast, but even in that dim light Mr. Sabin knew quite well that she was shaking with fear. He could see the corners of her mouth twitch. Her black eyes rolled incessantly, but refused to meet his. Mr. Sabin frowned.