Part 41 (1/2)
”Dear me,” Mr. Sabin said, ”this is quite extraordinary.”
”I can tell monsieur the lady's name,” Emil continued, ”for she raised her veil, and everywhere the ill.u.s.trated papers have been full of her picture. It was the lady who was besieged in a little town of South Africa, and who carried despatches for the general, disguised as a man.”
”Lady Carey!” Mr. Sabin remarked quietly.
”That was the lady's name,” Emil agreed.
Mr. Sabin was thoughtful for a few moments. Then he looked up.
”Emil Sachs,” he said sternly, ”you have given out at least one portion of your abominable concoction which is meant to end my days. Whether I shall escape it or not remains to be seen. I am forced at the best to discharge my servant, and to live the life of a hunted man. Now you have done enough mischief in the world. To-morrow morning a messenger will place in your hands two hundred pounds. A larger sum will await you at Baring's Bank in New York. You will go there and buy a small restaurant in the business quarter. This is your last chance, Emil. I give it to you for the sake of Annette.”
”And I accept it, monsieur, with grat.i.tude.”
”For the present--”
Mr. Sabin stopped short. His quick ears had caught the swish of woman's gown pa.s.sing along the pa.s.sage outside. Emil too had heard it.
”It is the dark lady,” he whispered, ”who purchased from me the other powder. See, I open gently this door. Monsieur must both see and hear.”
The door at the end of the pa.s.sage was opened. A woman stepped out into the little bar and made her way towards the door. Here she was met by a man entering. Mr. Sabin held up his forefinger to stop the terrified exclamation which trembled on Emil's lips. The woman was Lucille, the man the Prince. It was Lucille who was speaking.
”You have followed me, Prince. It is intolerable.”
”Dear Lucille, it is for your own sake. These are not fit parts for you to visit alone.”
”It is my own business,” she answered coldly.
The Prince appeared to be in a complaisant mood.
”Come,” he said, ”the affair is not worth a quarrel. I ask you no questions. Only since we are here I propose that we test the cooking of the good Annette. We will lunch together.”
”What, here?” she answered. ”Absurd.”
”By no means,” he answered. ”As you doubtless know, the exterior of the place is entirely misleading. These people are old servants of mine. I can answer for the luncheon.”
”You can also eat it,” came the prompt reply. ”I am returning to the carriage.”
”But--”
Mr. Sabin emerged through the swing door. ”Your discretion, my dear Lucille,” he said, smiling, ”is excellent. The place is indeed better than it seems, and Annette's cookery may be all that the Prince claims. Yet I think I know better places for a luncheon party, and the ventilation is not of the best. May I suggest that you come with me instead to the Milan?”
”Victor! You here?”
Mr. Sabin smiled as he admitted the obvious fact. The Prince's face was as black as night.
”Believe me,” Mr. Sabin said, turning to the Prince, ”I sympathise entirely with your feelings at the present moment. I myself have suffered in precisely the same manner. The fact is, intrigue in this country is almost an impossibility. At Paris, Vienna, Pesth, how different! You raise your little finger, and the deed is done.
Superfluous people--like myself--are removed like the hairs from your chin. But here intrigue seems indeed to exist only within the pages of a s.h.i.+lling novel, or in a comic opera. The gentleman with a helmet there, who regards us so benignly, will presently earn a s.h.i.+lling by calling me a hansom. Yet in effect he does me a far greater service. He stands for a mult.i.tude of cold Anglo-Saxon laws, adamant, incorruptible, inflexible--as certain as the laws of Nature herself. I am quite aware that by this time I ought to be lying in a dark cellar with a gag in my mouth, or perhaps in the river with a dagger in my chest. But here in England, no!”
The Prince smiled--to all appearance a very genial smile.