CHAPTER XXV
The great open-air restaurant in the Champs Elysees was full offoreigners, and Paul de Virieu and Bill Chester were sitting opposite toone another on the broad terrace dotted with little tables embowered inflowering shrubs.
They were both smoking,--the Englishman a cigar, the Frenchman acigarette. It was now half-past seven, and instead of taking the firstexpress to Switzerland they had decided to have dinner comfortably inParis and to go on by a later train.
Neither man felt that he had very much to say to the other, and Chesterstarted a little in his seat when Paul de Virieu suddenly took hiscigarette out of his mouth, put it down on the table, and leant forward.He looked at the man sitting opposite to him straight in the eyes.
"I do not feel at all happy at our having left Mrs. Bailey alone atLacville," he said, deliberately.
Chester stared back at him, telling himself angrily as he did so that hedid not in the least know what the Frenchman was driving at!
What did Paul de Virieu mean by saying this stupid, obvious thing, andwhy should he drag in the question of his being happy or unhappy?
"You know that I did my best to persuade her to leave the place," saidChester shortly. Then, very deliberately he added, "I am afraid, Count,that you've got quite a wrong notion in your mind concerning myself andMrs. Bailey. It is true I am her trustee, but I have no power of makingher do what I think sensible, or even what I think right. She isabsolutely her own mistress."
He stopped abruptly, for he had no wish to discuss Sylvia and Sylvia'saffairs with this foreigner, however oddly intimate Mrs. Bailey hadallowed herself to get with the Comte de Virieu.
"Lacville is such a very queer place," observed the Count, meditatively."It is perhaps even queerer than you know or guess it to be, Mr.Chester."
The English lawyer thought the remark too obvious to answer. Of courseLacville was a queer place--to put it plainly, little better than agambling hell. He knew that well enough! But it was rather strange tohear the Comte de Virieu saying so--a real case, if ever there was one,of Satan rebuking sin.
So at last he answered, irritably, "Of course it is! I can't think whatmade Mrs. Bailey go there in the first instance." His mind was full ofSylvia. He seemed to go on speaking of her against his will.
"Her going to Lacville was a mere accident," explained Paul de Virieu,quickly. "She was brought there by the Polish lady, Madame Wolsky, ofwhom you must have heard her speak, whom she met in an hotel in Paris,and who disappeared so mysteriously. It is not a place for a young ladyto be at by herself."
Bill Chester tilted back the chair on which he was sitting. Once more heasked himself what on earth the fellow was driving at? Were these remarksa preliminary to the Count's saying that he was not going to Switzerlandafter all--that he was going back to Lacville in order to take care ofSylvia.
Quite suddenly the young Englishman felt shaken by a very primitive and,till these last few days, a very unfamiliar feeling--that of jealousy.
Damn it--he wouldn't have that. Of course he was no longer in love withSylvia Bailey, but he was her trustee and lifelong friend. It was hisduty to prevent her making a fool of herself, either by gambling awayher money--the good money the late George Bailey had toiled so hard toacquire--or, what would be ever so much worse, by making some wretchedmarriage to a foreign adventurer.
He stared suspiciously at his companion. Was it likely that a realcount--the French equivalent to an English earl--would lead the sort oflife this man, Paul de Virieu, was leading, and in a place like Lacville?
"If you really feel like that, I think I'd better give up my trip toSwitzerland, and go back to Lacville to-morrow morning."
He stared hard at the Count, and noted with sarcastic amusement theother's appearance--so foppish, so effeminate to English eyes;particularly did he gaze with scorn at the Count's yellow silk socks,which matched his lemon-coloured tie and silk pocket handkerchief. Fancystarting for a long night journey in such a "get-up." Well! Perhaps womenliked that sort of thing, but he would never have thought Sylvia Baileyto be that sort of woman.
A change came over Paul de Virieu's face. There was unmistakablerelief--nay, more--even joy in the voice with which the Frenchmananswered,
"That is excellent! That is quite right! That is first-rate! Yes, yes,Mr. Chester, you go back to Lacville and bring her away. It is not rightthat Mrs. Bailey should be by herself there. It may seem absurd to you,but, believe me, Lacville is not a safe spot in which to leave anunprotected woman. She has not one single friend, not a person to whomshe could turn to for advice,--excepting, of course, the excellentPolperro himself, and he naturally desires to keep his profitableclient."
"There's that funny old couple--I mean the man called FritzSomething-or-other and his wife. Surely they're all right?" observedChester.
Paul de Virieu shook his head decidedly.
"The Wachners are not nice people," he said slowly. "They appear to bevery fond of Mrs. Bailey, I know, but they are only fond of themselves.They are adventurers; 'out for the stuff,' as Americans say. Old Fritzis the worst type of gambler--the type that believes he is going to getrich, rich beyond dreams of avarice, by a 'system.' Such a man will doanything for money. I believe they knew far more of the disappearance ofMadame Wolsky than anyone else did."
The Count lowered his voice, and leant over the table.
"I have suspected," he went on--"nay, I have felt sure from the veryfirst, Mr. Chester, that the Wachners are _blackmailers_. I am convincedthat they discovered something to that poor lady's discredit, and--aftermaking her pay--drove her away! Just before she left Lacville they weretrying to raise money at the Casino money-changer's on some worthlessshares. But after Madame Wolsky's disappearance they had plenty of goldand notes."
Chester looked across at his companion. At last he was really impressed.Blackmailing is a word which has a very ugly sound in an English lawyer'sears.
"If that is really true," he said suddenly, "I almost feel as if I oughtto go back to Lacville to-night. I suppose there are heaps of trains?"
"You might, at all events, wait till to-morrow morning," said Paul deVirieu, drily.
He also had suddenly experienced a thrill of that primitive passion,jealousy, which had surprised Chester but a few moments before. But theCount was a Frenchman. He was familiar with the sensation--nay, hewelcomed it. It showed that he was still young--still worthy to be oneof the great company of lovers.
Sylvia, his "petite amie Anglaise," seemed to have come very near tohim in the last few moments. He saw her blue eyes brim with tears athis harsh words--he thrilled as he had thrilled with the overmasteringimpulse which had made him take her into his arms--her hand lay once morein his hand, as it had lain, for a moment this morning.
Had he grasped and retained that kind, firm little hand in his, anentirely new life had been within his reach.
A vision rose before Paul de Virieu--a vision of Sylvia and himselfliving heart to heart in one of those small, stately manor-houses whichare scattered throughout Brittany. And it was no vague house of dreams.He knew the little chateau very well. Had not his sister driven him thereonly the other day? And had she not conveyed to him in delicate, generouswords how gladly she would see his sweet English friend established thereas chatelaine?
A sense of immeasurable loss came over Paul de Virieu--But, no, he hadbeen right! Quite right! He loved Sylvia far too well to risk making heras unhappy as he would almost certainly be tempted to make her, if shebecame his wife.
He took off his hat and remained silent for what seemed to his companionquite a long time.
"By the way, what is Mrs. Bailey doing to-night?" he asked at last.
"To-night?" replied Chester. "Let me see? Why, to-night she is spendingthe evening with those very people--the Wachners, of whom you werespeaking just now. I heard her arranging it with them this afternoon."He added, stiffly, "But I doubt if your impression as to these people isa right one. They seem to me a very respectable couple."
Paul de Virieu shrugged his shoulders. He felt suddenly uneasy--afraid hehardly knew of what.
There was no risk that Sylvia Bailey would fall a victim toblackmailers--she had nothing to be ashamed of, nothing to conceal. Butstill he hated to think that she was, even now, alone with a man andwoman of whom he had formed such a bad impression.
He took his watch out of his pocket. "There's a train for Lacville ata quarter to ten," he said slowly. "That would be an excellent trainfor--for _us_--to take--"
"Then are you thinking of going back to Lacville too?" There was thatsarcastic inflection in the Englishman's voice which the Count hadlearned to look for and to resent.
"Yes."
Count Paul looked at Bill Chester significantly, and his look said, "Takecare, my friend! We do not allow a man to sneer at another man in thiscountry unless he is willing to stand certain unpleasant consequences.Our duels are not always _pour rire_!"
During the short train journey back to Lacville they hardly spoke. Eachthought that the other was doing a strange and unreasonable thing--athing which the thinker could have done much better if left to himself.
At Lacville station they jumped into a victoria.
"I suppose we had better drive straight to the Villa du Lac," saidChester, hesitatingly.
"Yes, we had better go first to the Villa du Lac, for Mrs. Bailey shouldbe home by now. By the way, Mr. Chester, you had better ask to have myroom to-night; we know that it is disengaged. As for me, I will go onsomewhere else as soon as I know you have seen our friend. Please do nottell Mrs. Bailey that I came with you. Where would be the use? I may goback to Paris to-night." Paul de Virieu spoke in a constrained,preoccupied voice.
"But aren't you coming in? Won't you stay at Lacville at least tillto-morrow?"
Chester's voice unwittingly became far more cordial; if the Frenchman didnot wish to see Sylvia, why had he insisted on coming back, too, toLacville.
The hall of the Villa du Lac was brightly lit up, and as the victoriaswept up the short drive to the stone horseshoe stairway, the Comte deVirieu suddenly grasped the other's hand.
"Good luck!" he exclaimed, "Good luck, fortunate man! As the Abbot at myEnglish school used to say to me when he met me, as a little boy, runningabout the cloisters, 'God bless you!'"
Chester was rather touched, as well as surprised. But what queer,emotional fellows Frenchmen are to be sure! Although Count Paul, asSylvia used to call him, had evidently been a little bit in love with herhimself, he was quite willing to think of her as married to another man!
But--but there was the rub! Chester was no longer so sure that he wantedto marry Sylvia. She had become a different woman--she seemed to beanother Sylvia to the one he had always known.
"I'll just come out and tell you that it's all right," he said a littleawkwardly. "But I wish you'd come in--if only for a minute. Mrs. Baileywould be so pleased to see you."
"No, no," muttered the other. "Believe me, she would not!"
Chester jumped out of the carriage and ran quickly up the stone steps,and rang the bell.
The door was opened by M. Polperro himself. Even busier than usual wasthe merry, capable little chef, for as it happened Madame Polperro hadhad to go away for two or three days.
"I want to know," said Chester abruptly, "if you can let me have a roomfor to-night? The room the Comte de Virieu occupied is, I suppose,disengaged?"
"I will see, M'sieur--I will inquire!"
M. Polperro did not know what to make of this big Englishman who had comein out of the night, bringing no luggage with him but one little bag.
Then he suddenly remembered! Why, of course, this was the friend of thepretty, charming, wealthy Madame Bailey; the English gentleman who hadbeen staying during the past few days at the Pension Malfait! A gentlemanwho was called after a well-known cheese--yes, Chester was his name.
Then this Mr. Chester's departure from Lacville had been a _faussesortie_--a _ruse_ to get rid of the Comte de Virieu, who was also in lovewith the lovely young English widow?
Ah! Ah! M. Polperro felt very much amused. Never had he heard of anythingso droll! But the Englishman's tale of love was not to run smooth afterall, for now another complication had arisen, and the very last one anysensible man would have expected!
"Yes, M'sieur," said M. Polperro demurely, "it is all right! I hadforgotten! As you say, the Comte de Virieu's room is now empty, but"--hehesitated, and with a sly look added, "indeed we have another room emptyto-night--a far finer room, with a view over the lake--the room MadameBailey occupied."
"The room Mrs. Bailey occupied?" echoed Chester. "Has Mrs. Bailey changedher room to-day?"
"Oh, no, M'sieur! She left Lacville this very evening. I have but justnow received a letter from her."
The little man could hardly keep serious. Oh! those Englishmen, who aresaid to be so cold! When in love they behave just like other people.
For Chester was staring at him with puzzled, wrathful eyes.
"Ah! what a charming lady, M'sieur; Madame Polperro and I shall miss hergreatly. We hoped to keep Madame Bailey all the summer. But perhaps shewill come back--now that M'sieur has returned." He really could notresist that last thrust.
"Left Lacville!" repeated Chester incredulously. "But that's impossible!It isn't more than three hours since we said good-bye to her at thestation. She had no intention of leaving Lacville _then_. Do you sayyou've received a letter from her?"
"Yes, M'sieur."
"Will you please show it me?"
"Certainly, M'sieur."
M. Polperro, followed closely by the Englishman, trotted off into hisoffice, a funny little hole of a place which had been contrived under thestaircase. It was here that Madame Polperro was supposed to spend herbusy days.
M. Polperro felt quite lost without his wife. Slowly, methodically, hebegan to turn over the papers on the writing-table, which, with onechair, filled up all the place.
There had evidently been a lovers' quarrel between these two peculiarEnglish people. What a pity that the gentleman, who had very properlyreturned to beg the lady's pardon, had found his little bird flown--insuch poetic terms did the landlord in his own mind refer to SylviaBailey.
The pretty Englishwoman's presence in the Villa du Lac had delighted M.Polperro's southern, sentimental mind; he felt her to be so decorative,as well as so lucrative, a guest for his beloved hotel. Mrs. Bailey hadnever questioned any of the extras Madame Polperro put in her weeklybills, and she had never become haggard and cross as other ladies did wholost money at the Casino.
As he turned over the papers--bills, catalogues, and letters with whichthe table was covered, these thoughts flitted regretfully through M.Polperro's mind.
But he had an optimistic nature, and though he was very sorry MadameBailey had left the Villa du Lac so abruptly, he was gratified by thefact that she had lived up to the ideal he had formed of his Englishguest. Though Madame Bailey had paid her weekly bill only two daysbefore--she was en pension by the day--she had actually sent him ahundred francs to pay for the two days' board; the balance to bedistributed among the servants....
There could surely be no harm in giving this big Englishman the lady'sletter? Still, M. Polperro was sorry that he had not Madame Polperro athis elbow to make the decision for him.
"Here it is," he said at last, taking a piece of paper out of the drawer."I must have put it there for my wife to read on her return. It is a verygratifying letter--M'sieur will see that for himself!"
Chester took the folded-up piece of notepaper out of the littleFrenchman's hand with a strange feeling of misgiving.
He came out into the hall and stood under the cut-glass chandelier--
"You have made a mistake," he exclaimed quickly; "this is not Mrs.Bailey's handwriting!"
"Oh, yes, M'sieur, it is certainly Mrs. Bailey's letter. You see there isthe lady's signature written as plainly as possible!"
Chester looked down to where the man's fat finger pointed.
In the strange,
the alien handwriting, were written two words which fora moment conveyed nothing to Chester, "Silvea" and "Baylee"; as for thewriting, stiff, angular, large, it resembled Sylvia's sloping Englishcaligraphy as little as did the two words purporting to be her signatureresemble the right spelling of her name.
A thrill of fear, of terrifying suspicion, flooded Bill Chester's shrewdbut commonplace mind.
Slowly he read the strange letter through:
"Monsieur Polperro (so ran the missive in French)--
"I am leaving Lacville this evening in order to join my friend Madame Wolsky. I request you therefore to send on my luggage to the cloak room at the Gare du Nord. I enclose a hundred-franc note to pay you what I owe. Please distribute the rest of the money among the servants. I beg to inform you that I have been exceedingly comfortable at the Villa du Lac, and I will recommend your hotel to all my friends.
"Yours very cordially,
"Sylvea Baylee."
Turning on his heel, and without even throwing a word of apology to theastonished, and by now indignant, M. Polperro, Chester rushed out of thehall and down the stone steps, below which stood the victoria.
"Well?" cried out Paul de Virieu.
"Come into the house--now, at once!" cried Chester, roughly. "Somethingextraordinary has happened!"--
The Count jumped out of the carriage, and a moment later the two menstood together in the hall, careless of the fact that M. Polperro wasstaring at them with affrighted eyes.
"This letter purports to be from Sylvia Bailey," exclaimed Chesterhoarsely, "but of course it is nothing of the sort! She never wrote aline of it. It's entirely unlike her handwriting--and then look at theabsurd signature! What does it mean, Virieu? Can you give me any clue towhat it means?"
The Comte de Virieu raised his head from over the thin sheet ofnotepaper, and even Chester, frightened and angry as he now was, couldnot help noticing how the other man's face had changed in the last fewmoments. From being of a usual healthy sunburn, it had turned so white asto look almost green under the bright electric light.
"Yes, I think I know what it means," said Count Paul between his teeth."A letter like this purported to come from Madame Wolsky when shedisappeared. But do not let us make a scene here. Let us go at once whereI believe she is, for if what I fear is true every moment is of value."
He plucked the Englishman by the sleeve, and hurried him out into thegrateful darkness.
"Get into the carriage," he said, imperiously. "I will see toeverything."
Chester heard him direct the driver to the police-station. "We may needtwo or three gendarmes," muttered Count Paul. "It's worth the threeminutes delay."
The carriage drew up before a shabby little house across which waspainted in large black letters the word "Gendarmerie."
The Count rushed into the guard-room, hurriedly explained his errand tothe superintendent, and came out, but a moment later, with three men.
"We must make room for these good fellows somehow," he said briefly, androom was made. Chester noticed with surprise that each man was armed, notonly with a stave, but with a revolver. The French police do not stand onceremony even with potential criminals.
"And now," said the Count to the coachman, "five louis, my friend, if youcan get us to the Chalet des Muguets in seven minutes--"
They began driving at a breakneck pace, the driver whipping up his horse,lashing it in a way that horrified Chester. The light little carriagerocked from side to side.
"If the man doesn't drive more carefully," cried out the Englishman, "weshall be spilt--and that won't do us any good, will it?"
The Count called out, "If there's an accident you get nothing, my friend!Drive as quickly as you like, but drive carefully."
They swept on through the town, and so along the dimly-lighted shadyavenues with which even Chester had become so familiar during the lastfew days.
Paul de Virieu sat with clenched hands, staring in front of him. Remorsefilled his soul--remorse and anguish. If Sylvia had been done to death,as he now had very little doubt Anna Wolsky had been done to death, thenhe would die too. What was the vice which had meant all to him for somany years compared to his love for Sylvia?
The gendarmes murmured together in quick, excited tones. They scentedthat something really exciting, something that would perhaps lead topromotion, was going to happen.
At last, as the carriage turned into a dark road, Count Paul suddenlybegan to talk, at the very top of his voice.
"Speak, Mr. Chester, speak as loud as you can! Shout! Say anything thatyou like! They may as well hear that we are coming--"
But Chester could not do what the other man so urgently asked him to do.Not to save his life could he have opened his mouth and shouted as theother was now doing.
"We are going to pay an evening call--what you in England call an eveningcall! We are going to fetch our friend--our friend, Mrs. Bailey; she isso charming, so delightful! We are going to fetch her because she hasbeen spending the evening with her friends, the Wachners. That oldshe-devil--you remember her, surely? The woman who asked you concerningyour plans? It is she I fear--"
"_Je crois que c'est ici, Monsieur?_" the man turned round on his seat."I have done it in six minutes!"
The horse was suddenly brought up short opposite the white gate. Was thiswhere the Wachners lived? Chester stooped down. The place looked verydifferent now from what it had looked in the daylight.
The windows of the small, low house were closely shuttered, but where theshutters met in one of the rooms glinted a straight line of light.
"We are in time. Thank God we are in time," said the Count, with a queerbreak in his voice. "If we were not in time, there would be no light. Thehouse of the wicked ones would be in darkness."
And then, in French, he added, turning to the gendarmes:
"You had better all three stay in the garden, while my friend and I go upto the house. If we are gone more than five minutes, then you follow usup to the house and get in somehow!"
In varying accents were returned the composed answers, "_Oui, M'sieur._"
There came a check, for the little gate was locked. Each man helpedanother over very quietly, and then the three gendarmes dispersed withswift, noiseless steps, each seeking a point of vantage commanding thehouse.
Chester and Paul de Virieu walked quickly up the path.
Suddenly a shaft of bright light pierced the moonlit darkness. Theshutters of the dining-room of the Chalet des Muguets had been unbarred,and the window was thrown wide open.
"_Qui va la?_" the old military watchword, as the Frenchman rememberedwith a sense of terrible irony, was flung out into the night in theharsh, determined voice of Madame Wachner.
They saw her stout figure, filling up most of the window, outlinedagainst the lighted room. She was leaning out, peering into the gardenwith angry, fear-filled eyes.
Both men stopped simultaneously, but neither answered her.
"Who goes there?" she repeated; and then, "I fear, Messieurs, that youhave made a mistake. You have taken this villa for someone else's house!"But there was alarm as well as anger in her voice.
"It is I, Paul de Virieu, Madame Wachner."
The Count spoke quite courteously, his agreeable voice thickened, madehoarse by the strain to which he had just subjected it.
"I have brought Mr. Chester with me, for we have come to fetch Mrs.Bailey. In Paris Mr. Chester found news making her return home to Englandto-morrow a matter of imperative necessity."
He waited a moment, then added, raising his voice as he spoke: "We haveproof that she is spending the evening with you," and he walked onquickly to where he supposed the front door to be.
"If they deny she is there," he whispered to his companion, "we willshout for the gendarmes and break in. But I doubt if they will dare todeny she is there unless--unless--"
He had hoped to hear Sylvia's voice, but Madame Wachner had shut thewindow, and a deathly silence reigned in the villa.
The two m
en stood in front of the closed door for what seemed to them avery long time. It was exactly two minutes; and when at last the dooropened, slowly, and revealed the tall, lanky figure of L'Ami Fritz, theyboth heard the soft, shuffling tread of the gendarmes closing in roundthe house.
"I pray you to come in," said Monsieur Wachner in English, and then,addressing Bill Chester,
"I am pleased to see you, sir, the more so that your friend, Mrs. Bailey,is indisposed. A moment ago, to our deep concern, she found herself quitefaint--no doubt from the heat. I will conduct you, gentlemen, into thedrawing-room; my wife and Mrs. Bailey will join us there in a minute,"and only then did he move back sufficiently to allow the two men to crossthe threshold.
Paul de Virieu opened his lips--but no sound came from them. The suddensense of relief from what had been agonised suspense gripped him by thethroat.
He brushed past Wachner, and made straight for the door behind which hefelt sure of finding the woman whom some instinct told him he had savedfrom a terrible fate....
He turned the handle of the dining-room door, and then stopped short, forhe was amazed at the sight which met his eyes.
Sylvia was sitting at a round table; behind her was the buffet, stillladen with the remains of a simple meal. Her face was hidden in herhands, and she was trembling--shaking as though she had the ague.
But what amazed Paul de Virieu was the sight of Sylvia's hostess. MadameWachner was crawling about on her hands and knees on the floor, and sheremained in the same odd position when the dining-room door opened.
At last she looked up, and seeing who stood there, staring down at her,she raised herself with some difficulty, looking to the Frenchman'ssharpened consciousness, like some monstrous greedy beast, suddenlybaulked of its prey.
"Such a misfortune!" she exclaimed in English. "Such a very greatmisfortune! The necklace of our friend 'as broken, and 'er beautifulpearls are rolling all over the floor! We 'ave been trying, Fritz andmyself, to pick them up for 'er. Is not that so, Sylvia? Mrs. Bailey isso distressed! It 'as made 'er feel very faint, what English people call'queer'. But I tell 'er we shall find them all--it is only a matter of alittle time. I asked 'er to take some cognac my 'usband keeps for suchbad moments, but no, she would not! Is not that so, Sylvia?"
She stared down anxiously at the bowed head of her guest.
Sylvia looked up. As if hypnotised by the other woman's voice, she roseto her feet--a wan, pitiful little smile came over her white face.
"Yes," she said dully, "the string of my pearls broke. I was taken faint.I felt horribly queer--perhaps it was the heat."
Paul de Virieu took a sudden step forward into the room. He had justbecome aware of something which had made him also feel what Englishpeople call "queer."
That something had no business in the dining-room, for it belonged to thekitchen--in fact it was a large wooden mallet of the kind used by Frenchcooks to beat meat tender. Just now the club end of the mallet wassticking out of the drawer of the walnut-wood buffet.
The drawer had evidently been pulled out askew, and had stuck--as is theway with drawers forming part of ill-made furniture.
Chester came to the door of the dining-room. M. Wachner had detained himfor a moment in the hall, talking volubly, explaining how pleasant hadbeen their little supper party till Mrs. Bailey had suddenly felt faint.
Chester looked anxiously at Sylvia. She was oddly pale, all the colourdrained from her face, but she seemed on quite good terms with MadameWachner! As for that stout, good-natured looking woman, she also wasunlike her placid smiling self, for her face looked red and puffy. Butstill she nodded pleasantly to Chester.
It seemed to the lawyer inconceivable that this commonplace couple couldhave seriously meant to rob their guest. But there was that letter--thatstrange, sinister letter which purported to be from Sylvia! Who hadwritten that letter, and with what object in view?
Chester began to feel as if he was living through a very disagreeable,bewildering nightmare. But no scintilla of the horrible truth reachedhis cautious, well-balanced brain. The worst he suspected, and that onlybecause of the inexplicable letter, was that these people meant toextract money from their guest and frighten her into leaving Lacvillethe same night.
"Sylvia," he said rather shortly, "I suppose we ought to be going now. Wehave a carriage waiting at the gate, so we shall be able to drive youback to the Villa du Lac. But, of course, we must first pick up all yourpearls. That won't take long!"
But Sylvia made no answer. She did not even look round at him. She wasstill staring straight before her, as if she saw something, which theothers could not see, written on the distempered wall.
L'Ami Fritz entered the room quietly. He looked even stranger than usual,for while in one hand he held Mrs. Bailey's pretty black tulle hat andher little bag, in the other was clutched the handle of a broom.
"I did not think you would want to go back into my wife's bed-room," hesaid, deprecatingly; and Mrs. Bailey, at last turning her head round,actually smiled gratefully at him.
She was reminding herself that there had been a moment when he had beenwilling to let her escape. Only once--only when he had grinned at her sostrangely and deplored her refusal of the drugged coffee, had she feltthe sick, agonising fear of him that she had felt of Madame Wachner.
Laying the hat and bag on the table, L'Ami Fritz began sweeping the floorwith long skilful movements.
"This is the best way to find the pearls," he muttered; and three of thefour people present stood and looked on at what he was doing. As for theone most concerned, Sylvia had again begun to stare dully before her, asif what was going on did not interest her one whit.
At last Monsieur Wachner took a long spoon off the table; with its helphe put all that he had swept up--pearls, dust, and fluff--into the littlefancy bag.
"There," he said, with a sigh of relief, "I think they are all there."
But even as he spoke he knew well enough that some of the pearls--perhapsfive or six--had found their way up his wife's capacious sleeve.
And then, quite suddenly, Madame Wachner uttered a hoarse exclamation ofterror. One of the gendarmes had climbed up on to the window-sill, andwas now half into the room. She waddled quickly across to the door, onlyto find another gendarme in the hall.
Sylvia's eyes glistened, and a sensation which had hitherto been quiteunknown to her took possession of her, soul and body. She longed forrevenge--revenge, not for herself so much as for her murdered friend. Sheclutched Paul by the arm. "They killed Anna Wolsky," she whispered. "Sheis lying buried in the wood, where they meant to put me if you had notcome just--only just--in time!"
Paul de Virieu took Sylvia's hat off the dining-room table, and placed itin her hand, closing her fingers over the brim. With a mechanical gestureshe raised her arms and put it on her head. Then he ceremoniously offeredher his arm, and led her out of the dining-room into the hall.
While actually within the Chalet des Muguets Count Paul only once brokesilence. That was when Madame Wachner, still talking volubly, held outher hand in farewell to the young Englishwoman.
"I forbid you to touch her!" the Count muttered between his teeth, andSylvia, withdrawing her half-outstretched hand, meekly obeyed him.
Paul de Virieu beckoned to the oldest of the police officials present.
"You will remember the disappearance from Lacville of a Polish lady? Ihave reason to believe these people murdered her. When once I have placedMadame Bailey under medical care, I will return here. Meanwhile you, ofcourse, know what to do."
"But M'sieur, ought I not to detain this English lady?"
"Certainly not. I make myself responsible for her. She is in no state tobear an interrogation. Lock up these people in separate rooms. I willsend you reinforcements, and to-morrow morning _dig up the little woodbehind the house_."
Behind them came the gruff and the shrill tones of L'Ami Fritz and hiswife raised in indignant expostulation.
"Are you coming, Sylvia?" called out Chester impatient
ly.
He had gone on into the garden, unwilling to assume any responsibility asto the police. After all, there was no _evidence_, not what English lawwould recognise as evidence, against these people.
Out in the darkness, with the two men, one on either side of her, Sylviawalked slowly to the gate. Between them they got her over it and into thevictoria.
Paul de Virieu pulled out the little back seat, but Chester, taking quickpossession of it, motioned him to sit by Mrs. Bailey.
"To Paris, Hotel du Louvre," the Count called out to the driver. "You cantake as long as you like over the journey!"
Then he bent forward to Chester, "The air will do her good," he murmured.
By his side, huddled up in a corner of the carriage, Sylvia lay backinertly; but her eyes were wide open, and she was staring hungrily at thesky, at the stars. She had never thought to see the sky and the starsagain.
They were now moving very slowly, almost at a foot's pace.
The driver was accustomed to people who suddenly decided to drive all theway back to Paris from Lacville after an evening's successful or, for thematter of that, unsuccessful play. He had been very much relieved to seehis two gentlemen come back from the chalet and to leave the gendarmesbehind. He had no wish to get mixed up in a _fracas_, no wish, that is,to have any embarrassments with the police.
They drove on and on, into the open country; through dimly-lit, leafythoroughfares, through long stretches of market gardens, till they cameon to the outskirts of the great city--and still Sylvia remainedobstinately silent.
Paul de Virieu leant forward.
"Speak to her," he said in an urgent whisper. "Take her hand and try torouse her, Mr. Chester. I feel very anxious about her condition."
Chester in the darkness felt himself flushing. With a diffident, awkwardgesture he took Sylvia's hand in his--and then he uttered an exclamationof surprise and concern.
The hand he held was quite cold--cold and nerveless to the touch, asif all that constitutes life had gone out of it. "My dear girl!" heexclaimed. "I'm afraid those people frightened you badly? I suppose youbegan to suspect they meant to steal your pearls?"
But Sylvia still remained obstinately silent. She did not want to speak,she only wanted to live.
It was so strange to feel oneself alive--alive and whole at a time whenone had thought to be dead, having been done to death after an awful,disfiguring struggle--for Sylvia had determined to struggle to the endwith her murderers.
"My God!" muttered Paul de Virieu. "Do you not understand, Chester, whathappened to-night? They meant to kill her!"
"To kill her?" repeated Chester incredulously.
Then there came over him a rush and glow of angry excitement. Good God!If that was the case they ought to have driven back at once to theLacville police-station!
"Sylvia!" he exclaimed. "Rouse yourself, and tell us what took place! Ifwhat the Count says is true, something must be done, and at once!"
He turned to Paul de Virieu: "The police ought to take Mrs. Bailey's fullstatement of all that occurred without any loss of time!" All the lawyerin him spoke angrily, agitatedly.
Sylvia moved slightly. Paul de Virieu could feel her shuddering by hisside.
"Oh, Bill, let me try to forget!" she moaned. And then, lifting up hervoice, she wailed, "They killed Anna Wolsky--"
Her voice broke, and she began to sob convulsively. "I would not think ofher--I forced myself not to think of her--but now I shall never, neverthink of anyone else any more!"
Paul de Virieu turned in the kindly darkness, and putting his arm roundSylvia's slender shoulders, he tenderly drew her to him.
A passion of pity, of protective tenderness, filled his heart, andsuddenly lifted him to a higher region than that in which he had hithertobeen content to dwell.
"You must not say that, _ma cherie_," he whispered, laying his cheek tohers as tenderly as he would have caressed a child, "it would be toocruel to the living, to those who love you--who adore you."
Then he raised his head, and, in a very different tone, he exclaimed,
"Do not be afraid, Mr. Chester, those infamous people shall not beallowed to escape! Poor Madame Wolsky shall surely be avenged. But Mrs.Bailey will not be asked to make any statement, except in writing--inwhat you in England call an affidavit. You do not realise, although youdoubtless know, what our legal procedure is like. Not even in order tosecure the guillotine for Madame Wachner and her Fritz would I exposeMrs. Bailey to the ordeal of our French witness-box."
"And how will it be possible to avoid it?" asked Chester, in a low voice.
Paul de Virieu hesitated, then, leaning forward and holding Sylvia stillmore closely and protectively to him, he said very deliberately thefateful words he had never thought to say,
"I have an announcement to make to you, Mr. Chester. It is one which Itrust will bring me your true congratulations. Mrs. Bailey is about to dome the honour of becoming my wife."
He waited a moment, then added very gravely, "I am giving her anundertaking, a solemn promise by all I hold most sacred, to abandonplay--"
Chester felt a shock of amazement. How utterly mistaken, how blind he hadbeen! He had felt positively certain that Sylvia had refused Paul deVirieu; and he had been angered by the suspicion, nay, by what he hadthought the sure knowledge, that the wise refusal had cost her pain.
But women are extraordinary creatures, and so, for the matter of that,are Frenchmen--
Still, his feelings to the man sitting opposite to him had undergone acomplete change. He now liked--nay, he now respected--Paul de Virieu. Butfor the Count, whom he had thought to be nothing more than an effeminatedandy, a hopeless gambler, where would Sylvia be now? The unspoken answerto this question gave Chester a horrible inward tremor.
He leant forward, and grasped Paul de Virieu's left hand.
"I do congratulate you," he said, simply and heartily; "you deserve yourgreat good fortune." Then, to Sylvia, he added quietly, "My dear, it isto him you owe your life."
The Chink in the Armour Page 25
