They sat there, these two, hand locked in hand, saying little, satisfied now to be with each other and their new-found love. The time flew by far too fast, till at last Sir Charles, with a half-laugh, suggested:
“Do you know, dearest Countess—”
She corrected him in a soft, low voice.
“My name is Sabine—Charles.”
“Sabine, darling. It is very prosaic of me, perhaps, but do you know that I am nearly starved? I came on here at once. I have had no breakfast.”
“Nor have I,” she answered, smiling. “I was thinking of it when—when you appeared like a whirlwind, and since then, events have moved so fast.”
“Are you sorry, Sabine? Would you rather go back to—to—before?” She made a pretty gesture of closing his traitor lips with her small hand.
“Not for worlds. But you soldiers—you are terrible men! Who can resist you?”
“Bah! It is you who are irresistible. But there, why not put on your jacket and let us go out to lunch somewhere—Durand’s, Voisin’s, the Café de le Paix? Which do you prefer?”
“I suppose they will not try to stop us?”
“Who should try?” he asked.
“The people of the hotel—the police—I cannot exactly say whom; but I dread something of the sort. I don’t quite understand that manager. He has been up to see me several times, and he spoke rather oddly, rather rudely.”
“Then he shall answer for it,” snorted Sir Charles, hotly. “It is the fault of that brute of a detective, I suppose. Still they would hardly dare—”
“A detective? What? Here? Are you sure?”
“Perfectly sure. It is one of those from the Lyons Station. I knew him again directly, and he was inclined to be interfering. Why, I caught him trying—but that reminds me—I rescued this telegram from his clutches.”
He took the little blue envelope from his breast pocket and handed it to her, kissing the tips of her fingers as she took it from him.
“Ah!”
A sudden ejaculation of dismay escaped her, when, after rather carelessly tearing the message open, she had glanced at it.
“What is the matter?” he asked in eager solicitude. “May I not know?”
She made no offer to give him the telegram, and said in a faltering voice, and with much hesitation of manner, “I do not know. I hardly think—of course I do not like to withhold anything, not now. And yet, this is a business which concerns me only, I am afraid. I ought not to drag you into it.”
“What concerns you is very much my business, too. I do not wish to force your confidence, still—”
She gave him the telegram quite obediently, with a little sigh of relief, glad to realize now, for the first time after many years, that there was some one to give her orders and take the burden of trouble off her shoulders.
He read it, but did not understand it in the least. It ran: “I must see you immediately, and beg you will come. You will find Hortense here. She is giving trouble. You only can deal with her. Do not delay. Come at once, or we must go to you.—Ripaldi, Hôtel Ivoire, Rue Bellechasse.”
“What does this mean? Who sends it? Who is Ripaldi?” asked Sir Charles, rather brusquely.
“He—he—oh, Charles, I shall have to go. Anything would be better than his coming here.”
“Ripaldi? Haven’t I heard the name? He was one of those in the sleeping-car, I think? The Chief of the Detective Police called it out once or twice. Am I not right? Please tell me—am I not right?”
“Yes, yes; this man was there with the rest of us. A dark man, who sat near the door—”
“Ah, to be sure. But what—what in Heaven’s name has he to do with you? How does he dare to send you such an impudent message as this? Surely, Sabine, you will tell me? You will admit that I have a right to ask?”
“Yes, of course. I will tell you, Charles, everything; but not here—not now. It must be on the way. I have been very wrong, very foolish—but oh, come, come, do let us be going. I am so afraid he might—”
“Then I may go with you? You do not object to that?”
“I much prefer it—much. Do let us make haste!”
She snatched up her sealskin jacket, and held it to him prettily, that he might help her into it, which he did neatly and cleverly, smoothing her great puffed-out sleeves under each shoulder of the coat, still talking eagerly and taking no toll for his trouble as she stood patiently, passively before him.
“And this Hortense? It is your maid, is it not—the woman who had taken herself off? How comes it that she is with that Italian fellow? Upon my soul, I don’t understand—not a little bit.”
“I cannot explain that, either. It is most strange, most incomprehensible, but we shall soon know. Please, Charles, please do not get impatient.”
They passed together down into the hotel courtyard and across it, under the archway which led past the clerk’s desk into the street.
On seeing them, he came out hastily and placed himself in front, quite plainly barring their egress.
“Oh, madame, one moment,” he said in a tone that was by no means conciliatory. “The manager wants to speak to you; he told me to tell you, and stop you if you went out.”
“The manager can speak to madame when she returns,” interposed the General angrily, answering for the Countess.
“I have had my orders, and I cannot allow her—”
“Stand aside, you scoundrel!” cried the General, blazing up; “or upon my soul I shall give you such a lesson you will be sorry you were ever born.”
At this moment the manager himself appeared in reinforcement, and the clerk turned to him for protection and support.
“I was merely giving madame your message, M. Auguste, when this gentleman interposed, threatened me, maltreated me—”
“Oh, surely not; it is some mistake;” the manager spoke most suavely. “But certainly I did wish to speak to madame. I wished to ask her whether she was satisfied with her apartment. I find that the rooms she has generally occupied have fallen vacant, in the nick of time. Perhaps madame would like to look at them, and move?”
“Thank you, M. Auguste, you are very good; but at another time. I am very much pressed just now. When I return in an hour or two, not now.”
The manager was profuse in his apologies, and made no further difficulty.
“Oh, as you please, madame. Perfectly. By and by, later, when you choose.”
The fact was, the desired result had been obtained. For now, on the far side from where he had been watching, Galipaud appeared, no doubt in reply to some secret signal, and the detective with a short nod in acknowledgment had evidently removed his embargo.
A cab was called, and Sir Charles, having put the Countess in, was turning to give the driver his instructions, when a fresh complication arose.
Some one coming round the corner had caught a glimpse of the lady disappearing into the fiacre, and cried out from afar.
“Stay! Stop! I want to speak to that lady; detain her.” It was the sharp voice of little M. Floçon, whom most of those present, certainly the Countess and Sir Charles, immediately recognized.
“No, no, no—don’t let them keep me—I cannot wait now,” she whispered in earnest, urgent appeal. It was not lost on her loyal and devoted friend.
“Go on!” he shouted to the cabman, with all the peremptory insistence of one trained to give words of command. “Forward! As fast as you can drive. I’ll pay you double fare. Tell him where to go, Sabine. I’ll follow—in less than no time.”
The fiacre rattled off at top speed, and the General turned to confront M. Floçon.
The little detective was white to the lips with rage and disappointment; but he also was a man of promptitude, and before falling foul of this pestilent Englishman, who had again marred his plans, he shouted to Galipaud—
“Quick! After them! Follow her wherever she goes. Take this,”—he thrust a paper into his subordinate’s hand. “It is a warrant for her arrest. Seize her wherever you find her, and bring her to the Quai l’Horloge,” the euphemistic title of the headquarters of the French police.
The pursuit was started at once, and then the Chief turned upon Sir Charles. “Now it is between us,” he said, fiercely. “You must account to me for what you have done.”
“Must I?” answered the General, mockingly and with a little laugh. “It is perfectly easy. Madame was in a hurry, so I helped her to get away. That was all.”
“You have traversed and opposed the action of the law. You have impeded me, the Chief of the Detective Service, in the execution of my duty. It is not the first time, but now you must answer for it.”
“Dear me!” said the General in the same flippant, irritating tone.
“You will have to accompany me now to the Prefecture.”
“And if it does not suit me to go?”
“I will have you carried there, bound, tied hand and foot, by the police, like any common rapscallion taken in the act who resists the authority of an officer.”
“Oho, you talk very big, sir. Perhaps you will be so obliging as to tell me what I have done.”
“You have connived at the escape of a criminal from justice—”
“That lady? Psha!”
“She is charged with a heinous crime—that in which you yourself were implicated—the murder of that man on the train.”
“Bah! You must be a stupid goose, to hint at such a thing! A lady of birth, breeding, the highest respectability—impossible!”
“All that has not prevented her from allying herself with base, common wretches. I do not say she struck the blow, but I believe she inspired, concerted, approved it, leaving her confederates to do the actual deed.”
“Confederates?”
“The man Ripaldi, your Italian fellow traveller; her maid, Hortense Petitpré, who was missing this morning.”
The General was fairly staggered at this unexpected blow. Half an hour ago he would have scouted the very thought, indignantly repelled the spoken words that even hinted a suspicion of Sabine Castagneto. But that telegram, signed Ripaldi, the introduction of the maid’s name, and the suggestion that she was troublesome, the threat that if the Countess did not go, they would come to her, and her marked uneasiness thereat—all this implied plainly the existence of collusion, of some secret relations, some secret understanding between her and the others.
He could not entirely conceal the trouble that now overcame him; it certainly did not escape so shrewd an observer as M. Floçon, who promptly tried to turn it to good account.
“Come, M. le Général,” he said, with much assumed bonhomie. “I can see how it is with you, and you have my sincere sympathy. We are all of us liable to be carried away, and there is much excuse for you in this. But now—believe me, I am justified in saying it—now I tell you that our case is strong against her, that it is not mere speculation, but supported by facts. Now surely you will come over to our side?”
“In what way?”
“Tell us frankly all you know—where that lady has gone, help us to lay our hands on her.”
“Your own people will do that. I heard you order that man to follow her.”
“Probably; still I would rather have the information from you. It would satisfy me of your good-will. I need not then proceed to extremities—”
“I certainly shall not give it you,” said the General, hotly. “Anything I know about or have heard from the Contessa Castagneto is sacred; besides, I still believe in her—thoroughly. Nothing you have said can shake me.”
“Then I must ask you to accompany me to the Prefecture. You will come, I trust, on my invitation.” The Chief spoke quietly, but with considerable dignity, and he laid a slight stress upon the last word.
“Meaning that if I do not, you will have resort to something stronger?”
“That will be quite unnecessary, I am sure,—at least I hope so. Still—”
“I will go where you like, only I will tell you nothing more, not a single word; and before I start, I must let my friends at the Embassy know where to find me.”
“Oh, with all my heart,” said the little detective, shrugging his shoulders. “We will call there on our way, and you can tell the porter. They will know where to find us.”
