CHAPTER XXXVIII

The two women were alone in the morning-room of Lady Carey’s house in

Pont Street. Lucille was walking restlessly up and down twisting her

handkerchief between her fingers. Lady Carey was watching her, more

composed, to all outward appearance, but with closely compressed lips,

and boding gleam in her eyes.

“I think,” Lady Carey said, “that you had better see him.”

Lucille turned almost fiercely upon her.

“And why?”

“Well, for one thing he will not understand your refusal. He may be

suspicious.”

“What does it matter? I have finished with him. I have done all that I

pledged myself to. What more can be expected of me? I do not wish to see

him again.”

Lady Carey laughed.

“At least,” she said, “I think that the poor man has a right to

receive his congé from you. You cannot break with him without a word of

explanation. Perhaps--you may not find it so easy as it seems.”

Lucille swept around.

“What do you mean?”

Lady Carey shrugged her shoulders.

“You are in a curious mood, my dear Lucille. What I mean is obvious

enough. Brott is a strong man and a determined man. I do not think that

he will enjoy being made a fool of.”

Lucille was indifferent.

“At any rate,” she said, “I shall not see him. I have quite made up my

mind about that.”

“And why not, Countess?” a deep voice asked from the threshold. “What

have I done? May I not at least know my fault?”

Lady Carey rose and moved towards the door.

“You shall have it out between yourselves,” she declared, looking up,

and nodding at Brott as she passed. “Don’t fight!”

“Muriel!”

The cry was imperative, but Lady Carey had gone. Mr. Brott closed the

door behind him and confronted Lucille. A brilliant spot of colour

flared in her pale cheeks.

“But this is a trap!” she exclaimed. “Who sent for you? Why did you

come?”

He looked at her in surprise.

“Lucille!”

His eyes were full of passionate remonstrance. She looked nervously from

him towards the door. He intercepted her glance.

“What have I done?” he asked fiercely. “What have I failed to do? Why

do you look as though I had forced myself upon you? Haven’t I the right?

Don’t you wish to see me?”

In Brott’s face and tone was all the passionate strenuousness of a great

crisis. Lucille felt suddenly helpless before the directness of his

gaze, his storm of questions. In all their former intercourse it had

been she who by virtue of her sex and his blind love for her had kept

the upper hand. And now the position was changed. All sorts of feeble

explanations, of appeals to him, occurred to her dimly, only to

be rejected by reason of their ridiculous inadequacy. She was

silent-abjectly silent.

He came a little closer to her, and the strength of the man was manifest

in his intense self-restraint. His words were measured, his tone quiet.

Yet both somehow gave evidence of the smouldering fires beneath.

“Lucille,” he said, “I find you hard to understand to-day. You have

made me your slave, you came once more into my life at its most critical

moment, and for your sake I have betrayed a great trust. My conscience,

my faith, and although that counts for little, my political career, were

in the balance against my love for you. You know which conquered. At

your bidding I have made myself the jest of every man who buys the

halfpenny paper and calls himself a politician. My friends heap abuse

upon me, my enemies derision. I cannot hold my position in this new

Cabinet. I had gone too far for compromise. I wonder if you quite

understand what has happened?”

“Oh, I have heard too much,” she cried. “Spare me the rest.”

He continued as though he had not heard her.

“Men who have been my intimate associates for many years, and whose

friendship was dear to me, cross the road to avoid: meeting me, day by

day I am besieged with visitors and letters from the suffering people

to whom my word had been pledged, imploring me for some explanation, for

one word of denial. Life has become a hell for me, a pestilent, militant

hell! Yet, Lucille, unless you break faith with me I make no complaint.

I am content.”

“I am very sorry,” she said. “I do not think that you have properly

understood me. I have never made you any promise.”

For a moment he lost control of himself. She shrank back at the blaze

of indignation, half scornful, half incredulous, which lit up his clear,

grey eyes.

“It is a lie!” he answered. “Between you and me it can be no question

of words. You were always very careful of your pledges, but there are

limits even to your caution--as to my forbearance. A woman does not ask

a man who is pleading to her for her love to give up everything else

he cares for in life without hope of reward. It is monstrous! I never

sought you under false pretenses. I never asked you for your friendship.

I wanted you. I told you so plainly. You won’t deny that you gave me

hope--encouraged me? You can’t even deny that I am within my rights if I

claim now at this instant the reward for my apostasy.”

Her hands were suddenly locked in his. She felt herself being drawn into

his arms. With a desperate effort she avoided his embrace. He still held

her left wrist, and his face was dark with passion.

“Let me go!” she pleaded.

“Not I!” he answered, with an odd, choked little laugh. “You belong to

me. I have paid the price. I, too, am amongst the long list of those

poor fools who have sold their gods and their honour for a woman’s kiss.

But I will not be left wholly destitute. You shall pay me for what I

have lost.”

“Oh, you are mad!” she answered. “How could you have deceived yourself

so? Don’t you know that my husband is in London?”

“The man who calls himself Mr. Sabin?” he answered roughly. “What has

that to do with it? You are living apart. Saxe Leinitzer and the Duchess

have both told me the history of your married life. Or is the whole

thing a monstrous lie?” he cried, with a sudden dawning sense of the

truth. “Nonsense! I won’t believe it. Lucille! You’re not afraid! I

shall be good to you. You don’t doubt that. Sabin will divorce you of

course. You won’t lose your friends. I--”

There was a sudden loud tapping at the door. Brott dropped her wrist

and turned round with an exclamation of anger. To Lucille it was a

Heaven-sent interposition. The Prince entered, pale, and with signs of

hurry and disorder about his usually immaculate person.

“You are both here,” he exclaimed. “Good! Lucille, I must speak with you

urgently in five minutes. Brott, come this way with me.”

Lucille sank into a chair with a little murmur of relief. The Prince led

Brott into another room, and closed the door carefully behind him.

“Mr. Brott,” he said, “can I speak to you as a friend of Lucille’s?”

Brott, who distrusted the Prince, looked him steadily in the face. Saxe

Leinitzer’s agitation was too apparent to be wholly assumed. He had all

the appearance of being a man desperately in earnest.

“I have always considered myself one,” Brott answered. “I am

beginning to doubt, however, whether the Countess holds me in the same

estimation.”

“You found her hysterical, unreasonable, overwrought!” the Prince

exclaimed. “That is so, eh?”

The Prince drew a long breath.

“Brott,” he said, “I am forced to confide in you. Lucille is in terrible

danger. I am not sure that there is anybody who can effectually help

her but you. Are you prepared to make a great sacrifice for her sake--to

leave England at once, to take her to the uttermost part of the world?”

Brott’s eyes were suddenly bright. The Prince quailed before the

fierceness of his gaze.

“She would not go!” he exclaimed sharply.

“She will,” the Prince answered. “She must! Not only that, but you will

earn her eternal gratitude. Listen, I must tell you the predicament in

which we find ourselves. It places Lucille’s life in your hands.”

“What?”

The exclamation came like a pistol shot. The Prince held up his hand.

“Do not interrupt. Let me speak. Every moment is very valuable. You

heard without doubt of the sudden death at the Carlton Hotel. It took

place in Mr. Sabin’s sitting-room. The victim was Mr. Sabin’s servant.

The inquest was this afternoon. The verdict was death from the effect

of poison. The police are hot upon the case. There was no evidence as

to the person by whom the poison was administered, but by a hideous

combination of circumstances one person before many hours have passed

will be under the surveillance of the police.”

“And that person?” Brott asked.

The Prince looked round and lowered his voice, although the room was

empty.

“Lucille,” he whispered hoarsely.

Brott stepped backwards as though he were shot.

“What damned folly!” he exclaimed.

“It is possible that you may not think so directly,” Saxe Leinitzer

continued. “The day it happened Lucille bought this same poison, and it

is a rare one, from a man who has absconded. An hour before this man was

found dead, she called at the hotel, left no name, but went upstairs

to Mr. Sabin’s room, and was alone there for five minutes, The man died

from a single grain of poison which had been introduced into Mr. Sabin’s

special liqueur glass, out of which he was accustomed to drink three or

four times a day. All these are absolute facts, which at any moment may

be discovered by the police. Added to that she is living apart from her

husband, and is known to be on bad terms with him.”

Brott as gripping the back of a chair. He was white to the lips.

“You don’t think,” he cried hoarsely. “You can’t believe--”

“No” the Prince answered quickly, “I don’t believe anything of the sort.

I will tell you as man to man that I believe she wished Mr. Sabin dead.

You yourself should know why. But no, I don’t believe she went so far

as that. It was an accident. But what we have to do is to save her. Will

you help?”

“Yes.”

“She must cross to the Continent to-night before the police get on the

scent. Afterwards she must double back to Havre and take the Bordlaise

for New York on Saturday. Once there I can guarantee her protection.”

“Well?”

“She cannot go alone.”

“You mean that I should go with her?”

“Yes! Get her right away, and I will employ special detectives and have

the matter cleared up, if ever it can be. But if she remains here I

fear that nothing can save her from the horror of an arrest, even if

afterwards we are able to save her. You yourself risk much, Brott. The

only question that remains is, will you do it?”

“At her bidding--yes!” Brott declared.

“Wait here,” the Prince answered.