CHAPTER XXIV
It was nearly nine o'clock, and for the moment the Casino was very empty,for the afternoon players had left, and the evening _serie_, as M.Polperro contemptuously called them--the casual crowd of night visitorsto Lacville--had not yet arrived from Paris.
"And now," said Madame Wachner, suddenly, "is it not time for us to goand 'ave our little supper?"
The "citizeness of the world" had been watching her husband and Sylviaplaying at Baccarat; both of them had won, and Sylvia had welcomed,eagerly, the excitement of the tables.
Count Paul's muttered farewell echoed in her ears, and the ornatelydecorated gambling room seemed full of his presence.
She made a great effort to put any intimate thought of him away. Thenext day, so she told herself, she would go back to England, to MarketDalling. There she must forget that such a place as Lacville existed;there she must banish Paul de Virieu from her heart and memory. Yes,there was nothing now to keep her here, in this curious place, where shehad eaten, in more than one sense, of the bitter fruit of the tree ofknowledge.
With a deep, involuntary sigh, she rose from the table.
She looked at the green cloth, at the people standing round it, with anodd feeling that neither the table nor the people round her were quitereal. Her heart and thoughts were far away, with the two men both of whomloved her in their very different ways.
Then she turned with an unmirthful smile to her companions. It would notbe fair to let her private griefs sadden the kindly Wachners. It wasreally good of them to have asked her to come back to supper at theChalet des Muguets. She would have found it terribly lonely this eveningat the Villa du Lac....
"I am quite ready," she said, addressing herself more particularly toMadame Wachner; and the three walked out of the Club rooms.
"Shall we take a carriage?" Sylvia asked diffidently; she knew her stoutfriend disliked walking.
"No, no," said Monsieur Wachner shortly. "There is no need to take acarriage to-night; it is so fine, and, besides, it is not very far."
He so seldom interfered or negatived any suggestion that Sylvia felt alittle surprised, the more so that it was really a long walk from theCasino to the lonely Chalet des Muguets. But as Madame Wachner had noddedassent to her husband's words, their English guest said no more.
They started out into the moonlit night, Sylvia with her light, springingstep keeping pace with L'Ami Fritz, while his wife lagged a step behind.But, as was usual with him, M. Wachner remained silent, while hiscompanions talked.
To-night, however, Madame Wachner did not show her usual tact; she begandiscussing the two travellers who were now well started, no doubt, ontheir way to Switzerland, and she expressed contemptuous surprise thatthe Comte de Virieu had left Lacville.
"I am glad 'e 'as gone away," she said cheerfully, "for the Count is whatEnglish people call so supercilious--so different to that excellent Mr.Chester! I wonder Mr. Chester was willing for the Count's company. Butyou 'ave not lost 'im, my pretty Sylvia! 'E will soon be back!"
As she spoke she laughed coarsely, and Sylvia made no answer. She thoughtit probable that she would never see the Comte de Virieu again, and theconviction hurt intolerably. It was painful to be reminded of him now,in this way, and by a woman who she knew disliked and despised him.
She suddenly felt sorry that she had accepted the Wachner's invitation.
To-night the way to the Chalet des Muguets seemed longer than usual--farlonger than it had seemed the last time Sylvia had walked there, whenCount Paul had been her companion. It seemed as if an immense time hadgone by since then....
Sylvia was glad when at last the three of them came within sight of thefamiliar white gate. How strangely lonely the little house looked,standing back in the twilit darkness of a summer night.
"I wonder"--Sylvia Bailey looked up at her silent companion, L'Ami Fritzhad not opened his lips once during the walk from the Casino, "I wonderthat you and Madame Wachner are not afraid to leave the chalet alone forso many hours of each day! Your servant always goes away after lunch,doesn't she?"
"There is nothing to steal," he answered shortly. "We always carry allour money about with us--all sensible people do so at Lacville and atMonte Carlo."
Madame Wachner was now on Sylvia's other side.
"Yes," she interposed, rather breathlessly, "that is so; and I 'ope thatyou, dear friend, followed the advice we gave you about the matter? Imean, I 'ope you do not leave your money in the hotel?"
"Of course I don't," said Sylvia, smiling. "Ever since you gave me thosepretty little leather pouches I always carry all my money about with me,strapped round my waist. At first it wasn't very comfortable, but I havegot quite used to it now."
"That is right," said Madame Wachner, heartily, "that is quite right!There are rogues everywhere, perhaps even in the Villa du Lac, if we kneweverything!" and Sylvia's hostess laughed in the darkness her hearty,jovial laugh.
Suddenly she bent forward and addressed her husband. "By the way, AmiFritz, have you written that letter to the Villa du Lac?" She nodded,explaining to Sylvia, "We are anxious to get a room in your beautifulpension for a rich friend of ours."
Sylvia had the instant feeling--she could not have told why--that hiswife's question had greatly annoyed Monsieur Wachner.
"Of course I have written the letter!" he snapped out. "Do I ever forgetanything?"
"But I'm afraid there is no room vacant in the Villa du Lac," saidSylvia. "And yet--well, I suppose they have not yet had time to let theComte de Virieu's room. They only knew he was going this morning. But youneed not have troubled to write a letter, Monsieur Wachner. I could havegiven the message when I got back to-night. In any case let me take yourletter."
"Ah! but the person in question may arrive before you get back," saidMadame Wachner. "No, no, we have arranged to send the letter by a cabmanwho will call for it."
Monsieur Wachner pushed opened the white gate, and all three beganwalking up through the garden. The mantle of night now draped everystraggling bush, every wilted flower, and the little wilderness wasfilled with delicious, pungent night scents.
When they reached the front door L'Ami Fritz stooped down, and beganlooking under the mat.
Sylvia smiled in the darkness; there seemed something so primitive, sosimple, in keeping the key of one's front door outside under the mat! Andyet foolish, prejudiced people spoke of Lacville as a dangerous spot, asthe plague pit of Paris.
Suddenly the door was opened by the day-servant. And both the husband andwife uttered an involuntary exclamation of surprise and displeasure.
"What are you doing here?" asked Madame Wachner harshly. There was a noteof dismay, as well as of anger, in her voice.
The woman began to excuse herself volubly. "I thought I might be of someuse, Madame. I thought I might help you with all the last details."
"There was no necessity--none at all--for doing anything of the kind,"said her mistress, in a low, quick voice. "You had been paid! You had hadyour present! However, as you _are_ here, you may as well lay a thirdplace in the dining-room, for, as you see, we have brought Madame Baileyback to have a little supper. She will only stay a very few moments, asshe has to be at the Villa du Lac by ten o'clock."
The woman turned and threw open the door of the dining-room. Then shestruck a match, and lighted a lamp which stood on the table.
Sylvia, as is often the case with those who have been much thrown withFrench people, could understand French much better than she could speakit, and what Madame Wachner had just hissed out in rapid, mumbling tones,surprised and puzzled her.
It was quite untrue that she, Sylvia, had to be back at the Villa du Lacby ten o'clock--for the matter of that, she could stay out as long and aslate as she liked.
Then, again, although the arrangement that she should come to supperat the Chalet des Muguets to-night had been made that afternoon, theWachners had been home, but they had evidently forgotten to tell theirservant that they were expecting a visitor, for only two
places were laidin the little dining-room into which they all three walked on enteringthe house.
Propped up against the now lighted lamp was a letter addressed toMonsieur Polperro in a peculiar, large handwriting. L'Ami Fritz, againuttering that queer guttural exclamation, snatched up the envelope, andhurriedly put it into his breast-pocket.
"I brought that letter out of M'sieur's bed-room," observed theday-servant, cringingly. "I feared M'sieur had forgotten it! WouldM'sieur like me to take it to the Villa du Lac on my way home?"
"No," said Monsieur Wachner, shortly. "There is no need for you to dothat; Madame Bailey will kindly take it for me."
And again Sylvia felt surprised. Surely he had said--or was it MadameWachner?--that they had arranged for a man to call for it.
His wife shouted out his name imperiously from the dark passage, "Fritz!Fritz! Come here a moment; I want you."
He hurried out of the room, and Sylvia and the servant were thus leftalone together for a few moments in the dining-room.
The woman went to the buffet and took up a plate; she came and placed itnoisily on the table, and, under cover of the sound she made, "Do notstay here, Madame," she whispered, thrusting her wrinkled, sharp-featuredface close to the Englishwoman's. "Come away with me! Say you want me towait a bit and conduct you back to the Villa du Lac."
Sylvia stared at her distrustfully. This _femme de menage_ had adisagreeable face; there was a cunning, avaricious look in her eyes,or so Mrs. Bailey fancied; no doubt she remembered the couple of francswhich had been given to her, or rather extorted by her, on the occasionof the English lady's last visit to the Chalet des Muguets.
"I will not say more," the servant went on, speaking very quickly, andunder her breath. "But I am an honest woman, and these people frightenme. Still, I am not one to want embarrassments with the police."
And Sylvia suddenly remembered that those were exactly the words whichhad been uttered by Anna Wolsky's landlady in connection with Anna'sdisappearance. How frightened French people seemed to be of the police!
There came the sound of steps in the passage, and the Frenchwoman movedaway quickly from Sylvia's side. She took up the plate she had justplaced on the table, and to Sylvia's mingled disgust and amusement beganrubbing it vigorously with her elbow.
Monsieur Wachner entered the room.
"That will do, that will do, Annette," he said patronisingly. "Come here,my good woman! Your mistress and I desire to give you a further littlegift as you have shown so much zeal to-day, so here is twenty francs."
"_Merci, M'sieur._"
Without looking again at Sylvia the woman went out of the room, and amoment later the front door slammed behind her.
"My wife discovered that it is Annette's fete day to-morrow, and gave hera trifle. But she was evidently not satisfied, and no doubt that was whyshe stayed on to-night," observed Monsieur Wachner solemnly.
Madame Wachner now came in. She had taken off her bonnet and changed herelastic-sided boots for easy slippers.
"Oh, those French people!" she exclaimed. "How greedy they are for money!But--well, Annette has earned her present very fairly--" She shrugged hershoulders.
"May I go and take off my hat?" asked Sylvia; she left the room beforeMadame Wachner could answer her, and hurried down the short, darkpassage.
The door of the moonlit kitchen was ajar, and to her surprise she sawthat a large trunk, corded and even labelled, stood in the middle of thefloor. Close to the trunk was a large piece of sacking--and by it anothercoil of thick rope.
Was it possible that the Wachners, too, were leaving Lacville? If so, howvery odd of them not to have told her!
As she opened the door of the bed-room Madame Wachner waddled up behindher.
"Wait a moment!" she cried. "Or perhaps, dear friend, you do not want alight? You see, we have been rather upset to-day, for L'Ami Fritz has togo away for two or three days, and that is a great affair! We are so veryseldom separated. 'Darby and Joan,' is not that what English people wouldcall us?"
"The moon is so bright I can see quite well," Sylvia was taking off herhat; she put it, together with a little fancy bag in which she kept theloose gold she played with at the gambling tables, on Madame Wachner'sbed. She felt vaguely uncomfortable, for even as Madame Wachner hadspoken she had become aware that the bed-room was almost entirely clearedof everything belonging to its occupants. However, the Wachners, likeAnna Wolsky, had the right to go away without telling anyone of theirintention.
As they came back into the dining-room together, Mrs. Bailey's host, whowas already sitting down at table, looked up.
"Words! Words! Words!" he exclaimed harshly. "Instead of talking so muchwhy do you not both come here and eat your suppers? I am very hungry."
Sylvia had never heard the odd, silent man speak in such a tone before,but his wife answered quite good-humouredly,
"You forget, Fritz, that the cabman is coming. Till he has come and gonewe shall not have peace."
And sure enough, within a moment of her saying those words there came asound of shuffling footsteps on the garden path.
Monsieur Wachner got up and went out of the room. He opened the frontdoor, and Sylvia overheard a few words of the colloquy between her hostand his messenger.
"Yes, you are to take it now, at once. Just leave it at the Villa du Lac.You will come for us--you will come, that is, for _me_"--Monsieur Wachnerraised his voice--"to-morrow morning at half-past six. I desire to catchthe 7.10 train to Paris."
There was a jingle of silver, and then Sylvia caught the man's answering,"_Merci, c'est entendu, M'sieur._"
But L'Ami Fritz did not come back at once to the dining-room. He went outinto the garden and accompanied the man down to the gate.
When he came back again he put a large key on the dining-table.
"There!" he said, with a grunt of satisfaction. "Now there will benothing to disturb us any more."
They all three sat down at the round dining-table. To Sylvia's surprisea very simple meal was set out before them. There was only one small dishof galantine. When Sylvia Bailey had been to supper with the Wachnersbefore, there had always been two or three tempting cold dishes, andsome dainty friandises as well, the whole evidently procured from theexcellent confectioner who drives such a roaring trade at Lacville.To-night, in addition to the few slices of galantine, there was onlya little fruit.
Then a very odd thing happened.
L'Ami Fritz helped first his wife and himself largely, then Sylvia morefrugally. It was perhaps a slight matter, the more so that MonsieurWachner was notoriously forgetful, being ever, according to his wife,absorbed in his calculations and "systems." But all the same, thisextraordinary lack of good manners on her host's part added to Sylvia'sfeeling of strangeness and discomfort.
Indeed, the Wachners were both very unlike their usual selves thisevening. Madame Wachner had suddenly become very serious, her stout redface was set in rather grim, grave lines; and twice, as Sylvia was eatingthe little piece of galantine which had been placed on her plate by L'AmiFritz, she looked up and caught her hostess's eyes fixed on her with acurious, alien scrutiny.
When they had almost finished the meat, Madame Wachner suddenly exclaimedin French.
"Fritz! You have forgotten to mix the salad! Whatever made you forgetsuch an important thing? You will find what is necessary in the drawerbehind you."
Monsieur Wachner made no answer. He got up and pulled the drawer of thebuffet open. Taking out of it a wooden spoon and fork, he came back tothe table and began silently mixing the salad.
The two last times Sylvia had been at the Chalet des Muguets, herhost, in deference to her English taste, had put a large admixture ofvinegar in the salad dressing, but this time she saw that he soused thelettuce-leaves with oil.
At last, "Will you have some salad, Mrs. Bailey?" he said brusquely, andin English. He spoke English far better than did his wife.
"No," she said. "Not to-night, thank you!"
And Sylvia, smiling, loo
ked across at Madame Wachner, expecting to see inthe older woman's face a humorous appreciation of the fact that L'AmiFritz had forgotten her well-known horror of oil.
Mrs. Bailey's dislike of the favourite French salad-dressing ingredienthad long been a joke among the three, nay, among the four, for AnnaWolsky had been there the last time Sylvia had had supper with theWachners. It had been such a merry meal!
To-night no meaning smile met hers; instead she only saw that odd, grave,considering look on her hostess's face.
Suddenly Madame Wachner held out her plate across the table, and L'AmiFritz heaped it up with the oily salad.
Sylvia Bailey's plate was empty, but Monsieur Wachner did not seemto notice that his guest lacked anything. And at last, to her extremeastonishment, she suddenly saw him take up one of the two pieces of meatremaining on the dish, and, leaning across, drop it on his wife's plate.Then he helped himself to the last remaining morsel.
It was such a trifling thing really, and due of course to her host'ssingular absent-mindedness; yet, even so, taken in connection with boththe Wachners' silence and odd manner, this lack of the commonest courtesystruck Sylvia with a kind of fear--with fear and with pain. She felt sohurt that the tears came into her eyes.
There was a long moment's pause--then,
"Do you not feel well," asked Madame Wachner harshly, "or are yougrieving for the Comte de Virieu?"
Her voice had become guttural, full of coarse and cruel malice, and evenas she spoke she went on eating voraciously.
Sylvia Bailey pushed her chair back, and rose to her feet.
"I should like to go home now," she said quietly, "for it is gettinglate,"--her voice shook a little. She was desperately afraid ofdisgracing herself by a childish outburst of tears. "I can make myway back quite well without Monsieur Wachner's escort."
She saw her host shrug his shoulders. He made a grimace at his wife; itexpressed annoyance, nay, more, extreme disapproval.
Madame Wachner also got up. She wiped her mouth with her napkin, and thenlaid her hand on Sylvia's shoulder.
"Come, come," she exclaimed, and this time she spoke quite kindly, "youmust not be cross with me, dear friend! I was only laughing, I was onlywhat you call in England 'teasing.' The truth is I am very vexed andupset that our supper is not better. I told that fool Frenchwoman to getin something really nice, and she disobeyed me! I was 'ungry, too, for I'ad no dejeuner to-day, and that makes one 'ollow, does it not? But nowL'Ami Fritz is going to make us some good coffee! After we 'ave 'ad ityou shall go away if so is your wish, but my 'usband will certainlyaccompany you--"
"Most certainly I will do so; you will not move--no, not a singlestep--without me," said Monsieur Wachner solemnly.
And then Madame Wachner burst out into a sudden peal oflaughter--laughter which was infectious.
Sylvia smiled too, and sat down again. After all, as Paul de Virieu hadtruly said, not once, but many times, the Wachners were not refinedpeople--but they were kind and very good-natured. And then she, Sylvia,was tired and low-spirited to-night--no doubt she had imagined the changein their manner, which had so surprised and hurt her.
Madame Wachner was quite her old self again; just now she was engaged inheaping all the cherries which were in the dessert dish on her guest'splate, in spite of Sylvia's eager protest.
L'Ami Fritz got up and left the room. He was going into the kitchen tomake the coffee.
"Mr. Chester was telling me of your valuable pearls," said Madame Wachnerpleasantly. "I _was_ surprised! What a lot of money to 'ang round one'sneck! But it is worth it if one 'as so lovely a neck as 'as the beautifulSylvia! May I look at your pearls, dear friend? Or do you never take themoff?"
Sylvia unclasped the string of pearls and laid it on the table.
"Yes, they are rather nice," she said modestly. "I always wear them, evenat night. Many people have a knot made between each pearl, for that, ofcourse, makes the danger of losing them much less should the stringbreak. But mine are not knotted, for a lady once told me that it made thepearls hang much less prettily; she said it would be quite safe if I hadthem restrung every six months. So that is what I do. I had them restrungjust before coming to France."
Madame Wachner reverentially took up the pearls in her large hand; sheseemed to be weighing them.
"How heavy they are," she said at length, and now she spoke French.
"Yes," said Sylvia, "you can always tell a real pearl by its weight."
"And to think," went on her hostess musingly, "that each of these tinyballs is worth--how much is it worth?--at least five or six hundredfrancs, I suppose?"
"Yes," said Sylvia again, "I'm glad to say they have increased in valueduring the last few years. You see, pearls are the only reallyfashionable gems just now."
"And they cannot be identified like other fine jewels," observed MadameWachner, "but I suppose they are worth more together than separately?"she was still speaking in that thoughtful, considering tone.
"Oh, I don't know that," said Sylvia, smiling. "Each separate pearl isworth a good deal, but still I daresay you are right, for these arebeautifully matched. I got them, by a piece of great luck, without havingto pay--well, what I suppose one would call the middle-man's profit! Ijust paid what I should have done at a good London sale."
"And you paid?--seven--eight 'undred pounds?" asked Madame Wachner,this time in English, and fixing her small, dark eyes on the fairEnglishwoman's face.
"Oh, rather more than that." Sylvia grew a little red. "But as I saidjust now, they are always increasing in value. Even Mr. Chester, who didnot approve of my getting these pearls, admits that I made a goodbargain."
Through the open door she thought she heard Monsieur Wachner coming backdown the passage. So she suddenly took the pearls out of the otherwoman's hand and clasped the string about her neck again.
L'Ami Fritz came into the room. He was holding rather awkwardly a littletray on which were two cups--one a small cup, the other a large cup, bothfilled to the brim with black coffee. He put the small cup before hisguest, the large cup before his wife.
"I hope you do not mind having a small cup," he said solemnly. "Iremember that you do not care to take a great deal of coffee, so I havegiven you the small cup."
Sylvia looked up.
"Oh dear!" she exclaimed, "I ought to have told you before you made it,Monsieur Wachner--but I won't have any coffee to-night. The last time Itook some I lay awake all night."
"Oh, but you must take coffee!" Madame Wachner spoke good-humouredly, butwith great determination. "The small amount you have in that little cupwill not hurt you; and besides it is a special coffee, L'Ami Fritz's ownmixture"--she laughed heartily.
And again? Sylvia noticed that Monsieur Wachner looked at his wifewith a fixed, rather angry look, as much as to say, "Why are you alwayslaughing? Why cannot you be serious sometimes?"
"But to-night, honestly, I would really rather not have any coffee!"
Sylvia had suddenly seen a vision of herself lying wide awake during longdark hours--hours which, as she knew by experience, generally bring tothe sleepless, worrying thoughts.
"No, no, I will not have any coffee to-night," she repeated.
"Yes, yes, dear friend, you really must," Madame Wachner spoke verypersuasively. "I should be truly sorry if you did not take this coffee.Indeed, it would make me think you were angry with us because of the verybad supper we had given you! L'Ami Fritz would not have taken the troubleto make coffee for his old wife. He has made it for you, only for you; hewill be hurt if you do not take it!"
The coffee did look very tempting and fragrant.
Sylvia had always disliked coffee in England, but somehow French coffeewas quite different; it had quite another taste from that of the mixturewhich the ladies of Market Dalling pressed on their guests at theirdinner-parties.
She lifted the pretty little cup to her lips--but the coffee, this coffeeof L'Ami Fritz, his special mixture, as his wife had termed it, had arather curious taste, it was slightl
y bitter--decidedly not so nice asthat which she was accustomed to drink each day after dejeuner at theVilla du Lac. Surely it would be very foolish to risk a bad night fora small cup of indifferent coffee?
She put the cup down, and pushed it away.
"Please do not ask me to take it," she said firmly. "It really is verybad for me!"
Madame Wachner shrugged her shoulders with an angry gesture.
"So be it," she said, and then imperiously, "Fritz, will you please comewith me for a moment into the next room? I have something to ask you."
He got up and silently obeyed his wife. Before leaving the room heslipped the key of the garden gate into his trousers pocket.
A moment later Sylvia, left alone, could hear them talking eagerly to oneanother in that strange, unknown tongue in which they sometimes--notoften--addressed one another.
She got up from her chair, seized with a sudden, eager desire to slipaway before they came back. For a moment she even thought of leaving thehouse without waiting for her hat and little fancy bag; and then, with astrange sinking of the heart she remembered that the white gate waslocked, and that L'Ami Fritz had now the key of it in his pocket.
But in no case would Sylvia have had time to do what she had thought ofdoing, for a moment later her host and hostess were back in the room.
Madame Wachner sat down again at the dining-table,
"One moment!" she exclaimed, rather breathlessly. "Just wait till I 'avefinished my coffee, Sylvia dear, and then L'Ami Fritz will escort you'ome."
Rather unwillingly, Sylvia again sat down.
Monsieur Wachner was paying no attention either to his guest or to hiswife. He took up the chair on which he had been sitting, and placed itout of the way near the door. Then he lifted the lighted lamp off thetable and put it on the buffet.
As he did so, Sylvia, looking up, saw the shadow of his tall, lank figurethrown grotesquely, hugely, against the opposite wall of the room.
"Now take the cloth off the table," he said curtly. And his wife, gulpingdown the last drops of her coffee, got up and obeyed him.
Sylvia suddenly realised that they were getting ready for something--thatthey wanted the room cleared.
As with quick, deft fingers she folded up the cloth, Madame Wachnerexclaimed, "As you are not taking any coffee, Sylvia, perhaps it is timefor you now to get up and go away."
Sylvia Bailey looked across at the speaker, and reddened deeply. She feltvery angry. Never in the course of her pleasant, easy, prosperous lifehad anyone ventured to dismiss her in this fashion from their house.
She rose, for the second time during the course of her short meal, to herfeet--
And then, in a flash, there occurred that which transformed her angerinto agonised fear--fear and terror.
The back of her neck had been grazed by something sharp and cold, and asshe gave a smothered cry she saw that her string of pearls had parted intwo. The pearls were now falling quickly one by one, and rolling all overthe floor.
Instinctively she bent down, but as she did so she heard the man behindher make a quick movement.
She straightened herself and looked sharply round.
L'Ami Fritz was still holding in his hand the small pair of nail scissorswith which he had snipped asunder her necklace; with the other he was inthe act of taking out something from the drawer of the buffet.
She suddenly saw what that something was.
Sylvia Bailey's nerves steadied; her mind became curiously collected andclear. There had leapt on her the knowledge that this man and woman meantto kill her--to kill her for the sake of the pearls which were stillbounding about the floor, and for the comparatively small sum of moneywhich she carried slung in the leather bag below her waist.
L'Ami Fritz now stood staring at her. He had put his right hand--the handholding the thing he had taken out of the drawer--behind his back. He wasvery pale; the sweat had broken out on his sallow, thin face.
For a horrible moment there floated across Sylvia's sub-conscious mindthe thought of Anna Wolsky, and of what she now knew to have been AnnaWolsky's fate.
But she put that thought, that awful knowledge, determinedly away fromher. The instinct of self-preservation possessed her wholly.
Already, in far less time than it would have taken to formulate thewords, she had made up her mind to speak, and she knew exactly what shemeant to say.
"It does not matter about my pearls," Sylvia said, quietly. Her voiceshook a little, but otherwise she spoke in her usual tone. "If you aregoing into Paris to-morrow morning, perhaps you would take them to berestrung?"
The man looked questioningly across at his wife.
"Yes, that sounds a good plan," he said, in his guttural voice.
"No," exclaimed Madame Wachner, decidedly, "that will not do at all! Wemust not run that risk. The pearls must be found, now, at once! Stoop!"she said imperiously. "Stoop, Sylvia! Help me to find your pearls!"
She made a gesture as if she also meant to bend down....
But Sylvia Bailey made no attempt to obey the sinister order. Slowly,warily she edged herself towards the closed window. At last she stoodwith her back to it--at bay.
"No," she said quietly, "I will not stoop to pick up my pearls now,Madame Wachner. It will be easier to find them in the daylight. I am surethat Monsieur Wachner could pick them all up for me to-morrow morning. Isnot that so, Ami Fritz?" and there was a tone of pleading, for the firsttime of pitiful fear, in her soft voice.
She looked at him piteously, her large blue eyes wide open, dilated--
"It is not my husband's business to pick up your pearls!" exclaimedMadame Wachner harshly.
She stepped forward and gripped Sylvia by the arm, pulling her violentlyforward. As she did so she made a sign to her husband, and he pushed achair quickly between Mrs. Bailey and the window.
Sylvia had lost her point of vantage, but she was young and lithe; shekept her feet.
Nevertheless, she knew with a cold, reasoned knowledge that she was verynear to death--that it was only a question of minutes,--unless--unlessshe could make the man and woman before her understand that they wouldgain far more money by allowing her to live than by killing her now,to-night, for the value of the pearls that lay scattered on the floor,and the small, the pitiably small sum on her person.
"If you will let me go," she said, desperately, "I swear I will give youeverything I have in the world!"
Madame Wachner suddenly laid her hand on Sylvia's arm, and tried to forceher down on to her knees.
"What do you take us for?" she cried, furiously. "We want nothing fromyou--nothing at all!"
She looked across at her husband, and there burst from her lips a torrentof words, uttered in the uncouth tongue which the Wachners used forsecrecy.
Sylvia tried desperately to understand, but she could make nothing ofthe strange, rapid-spoken syllables--until there fell on her ear, twicerepeated, the name _Wolsky_....
Madame Wachner stepped suddenly back, and as she did so L'Ami Fritz moveda step forward.
Sylvia looked at him, an agonised appeal in her eyes. He was smilinghideously, a nervous grin zig-zagging across his large, thin-lippedmouth.
"You should have taken the coffee," he muttered in English. "It wouldhave saved us all so much trouble!"
He put out his left hand, and the long, strong fingers closed,tentacle-wise, on her slender shoulder.
His right hand he kept still hidden behind his back--
The Chink in the Armour Page 24
