CHAPTER XV
Let us go back a little in point of time, and follow the movements of Sir Charles Collingham.
It was barely 11 A.M. when he left the Lyons Station with his brother, the Reverend Silas, and the military attaché, Colonel Papillon. They paused for a moment outside the station while the baggage was being got together.
"See, Silas," said the General, pointing to the clock, "you will have plenty of time for the 11.50 train to Calais for London, but you must hurry up and drive straight across Paris to the Nord. I suppose he can go, Jack?"
"Certainly, as he has promised to return if called upon."
And Mr. Collingham promptly took advantage of the permission.
"But you, General, what are your plans?" went on the attaché.
"I shall go to the club first, get a room, dress, and all that. Then call at the Hôtel Madagascar. There is a lady there,–one of our party, in fact,–and I should like to ask after her. She may be glad of my services."
"English? Is there anything we can do for her?"
"Yes, she is an Englishwoman, but the widow of an Italian–the Contessa di Castagneto."
"Oh, but I know her!" said Papillon. "I remember her in Rome two or three years ago. A deuced pretty woman, very much admired, but she was in deep mourning then, and went out very little. I wished she had gone out more. There were lots of men ready to fall at her feet."
"You were in Rome, then, some time back? Did you ever come across a man there, Quadling, the banker?"
"Of course I did. Constantly. He was a good deal about–a rather free-living, self-indulgent sort of chap. And now you mention his name, I recollect they said he was much smitten by this particular lady, the Contessa di Castagneto."
"And did she encourage him?" "Lord! how can I tell? Who shall say how a woman's fancy falls? It might have suited her too. They said she was not in very good circumstances, and he was thought to be a rich man. Of course we know better than that now."
"Why _now?_"
"Haven't you heard? It was in the _Figaro_ yesterday, and in all the Paris papers. Quadling's bank has gone to smash; he has bolted with all the 'ready' he could lay hands upon."
"He didn't get far, then!" cried Sir Charles. "You look surprised, Jack. Didn't they tell you? This Quadling was the man murdered in the sleeping-car. It was no doubt for the money he carried with him."
"Was it Quadling? My word! what a terrible Nemesis. Well, _nil nisi bonum_, but I never thought much of the chap, and your friend the Countess has had an escape. But now, sir, I must be moving. My engagement is for twelve noon. If you want me, mind you send–207 Rue Miromesnil, or to the Embassy; but let us arrange to meet this evening, eh? Dinner and a theatre–what do you say?"
Then Colonel Papillon rode off, and the General was driven to the Boulevard des Capucines, having much to occupy his thoughts by the way.
It did not greatly please him to have this story of the Countess's relations with Quadling, as first hinted at by the police, endorsed now by his friend Papillon. Clearly she had kept up her acquaintance, her intimacy to the very last: why otherwise should she have received him, alone, been closeted with him for an hour or more on the very eve of his flight? It was a clandestine acquaintance too, or seemed so, for Sir Charles, although a frequent visitor at her house, had never met Quadling there.
What did it all mean? And yet, what, after all, did it matter to him?
A good deal really more than he chose to admit to himself, even now, when closely questioning his secret heart. The fact was, the Countess had made a very strong impression on him from the first. He had admired her greatly during the past winter at Rome, but then it was only a passing fancy, as he thought,–the pleasant platonic flirtation of a middle-aged man, who never expected to inspire or feel a great love. Only now, when he had shared a serious trouble with her, had passed through common difficulties and dangers, he was finding what accident may do–how it may fan a first liking into a stronger flame. It was absurd, of course. He was fifty-one, he had weathered many trifling affairs of the heart, and here he was, bowled over at last, and by a woman he was not certain was entitled to his respect.
What was he to do?
The answer came at once and unhesitatingly, as it would to any other honest, chivalrous gentleman.
"By George, I'll stick to her through thick and thin! I'll trust her whatever happens or has happened, come what may. Such a woman as that is above suspicion. She _must_ be straight. I should be a beast and a blackguard double distilled to think anything else. I am sure she can put all right with a word, can explain everything when she chooses. I will wait till she does."
Thus fortified and decided, Sir Charles took his way to the Hôtel Madagascar about noon. At the desk he inquired for the Countess, and begged that his card might be sent up to her. The man looked at it, then at the visitor, as he stood there waiting rather impatiently, then again at the card. At last he walked out and across the inner courtyard of the hotel to the office. Presently the manager came back, bowing low, and, holding the card in his hand, began a desultory conversation.
"Yes, yes," cried the General, angrily cutting short all references to the weather and the number of English visitors in Paris. "But be so good as to let Madame la Comtesse know that I have called."
"Ah, to be sure! I came to tell Monsieur le Général that madame will hardly be able to see him. She is indisposed, I believe. At any rate, she does not receive to-day."
"As to that, we shall see. I will take no answer except direct from her. Take or send up my card without further delay. I insist! Do you hear?" said the General, so fiercely that the manager turned tail and fled up-stairs.
Perhaps he yielded his ground the more readily that he saw over the General's shoulder the figure of Galipaud the detective looming in the archway. It had been arranged that, as it was not advisable to have the inspector hanging about the courtyard of the hotel, the clerk or the manager should keep watch over the Countess and detain any visitors who might call upon her. Galipaud had taken post at a wine-shop over the way, and was to be summoned whenever his presence was thought necessary.
There he was now, standing just behind the General, and for the present unseen by him.
But then a telegraph messenger came in and up to the desk. He held the usual blue envelope in his hand, and called out the name on the address:
"Castagneto. Contessa Castagneto."
At sound of which the General turned sharply, to find Galipaud advancing and stretching out his hand to take the message.
"Pardon me," cried Sir Charles, promptly interposing and understanding the situation at a glance. "I am just going up to see that lady. Give me the telegram."
Galipaud would have disputed the point, when the General, who had already recognized him, said quietly:
"No, no, Inspector, you have no earthly right to it. I guess why you are here, but you are not entitled to interfere with private correspondence. Stand back;" and seeing the detective hesitate, he added peremptorily:
"Enough of this. I order you to get out of the way. And be quick about it!"
The manager now returned, and admitted that Madame la Comtesse would receive her visitor. A few seconds more, and the General was admitted into her presence.
"How truly kind of you to call!" she said at once, coming up to him with both hands outstretched and frank gladness in her eyes.
Yes, she was very attractive in her plain, dark travelling dress draping her tall, graceful figure; her beautiful, pale face was enhanced by the rich tones of her dark brown, wavy hair, while just a narrow band of white muslin at her wrists and neck set off the dazzling clearness of her skin.
"Of course I came. I thought you might want me, or might like to know the latest news," he answered, as he held her hands in his for a few seconds longer than was perhaps absolutely necessary.
"Oh, do tell me! Is there anything fresh?" There was a flash of crimson colour in her cheek, which faded almost instantly.
"This much. They have found out who the man was."
"Really? Positively? Whom do they say now?"
"Perhaps I had better not tell you. It may surprise you, shock you to hear. I think you knew him–"
"Nothing can well shock me now. I have had too many shocks already. Who do they think it is?"
"A Mr. Quadling, a banker, who is supposed to have absconded from Rome."
She received the news so impassively, with such strange self-possession, that for a moment he was disappointed in her. But then, quick to excuse, he suggested:
"You may have already heard?"
"Yes; the police people at the railway station told me they thought it was Mr. Quadling."
"But you knew him?"
"Certainly. They were my bankers, much to my sorrow. I shall lose heavily by their failure."
"That also has reached you, then?" interrupted the General, hastily and somewhat uneasily.
"To be sure. The man told me of it himself. Indeed, he came to me the very day I was leaving Rome, and made me an offer–a most obliging offer."
"To share his fallen fortunes?"
"Sir Charles Collingham! How can you? That creature!" The contempt in her tone was immeasurable.
"I had heard–well, some one said that–"
"Speak out, General; I shall not be offended. I know what you mean. It is perfectly true that the man once presumed to pester me with his attentions. But I would as soon have looked at a courier or a cook. And now–"
There was a pause. The General felt on delicate ground. He could ask no questions–anything more must come from the Countess herself.
"But let me tell you what his offer was. I don't know why I listened to it. I ought to have at once informed the police. I wish I had."
"It might have saved him from his fate."
"Every villain gets his deserts in the long run," she said, with bitter sententiousness. "And this Mr. Quadling is–But wait, you shall know him better. He came to me to propose–what do you think?–that he–his bank, I mean–should secretly repay me the amount of my deposit, all the money I had in it. To join me in his fraud, in fact–"
"The scoundrel! Upon my word, he has been well served. And that was the last you saw of him?"
"I saw him on the journey, at Turin, at Modane, at–Oh, Sir Charles, do not ask me any more about him!" she cried, with a sudden outburst, half-grief, half-dread. "I cannot tell you–I am obliged to–I–I–"
"Then do not say another word," he said, promptly.
"There are other things. But my lips are sealed–at least for the present. You do not–will not think any worse of me?"
She laid her hand gently on his arm, and his closed over it with such evident good-will that a blush crimsoned her cheek. It still hung there, and deepened when he said, warmly:
"As if anything could make me do that! Don't you know–you may not, but let me assure you, Countess–that nothing could happen to shake me in the high opinion I have of you. Come what may, I shall trust you, believe in you, think well of you–always."
"How sweet of you to say that! and now, of all times," she murmured quite softly, and looking up for the first time, shyly, to meet his eyes.
Her hand was still on his arm, covered by his, and she nestled so close to him that it was easy, natural, indeed, for him to slip his other arm around her waist and draw her to him.
"And now–of all times–may I say one word more?" he whispered in her ear. "Will you give me the right to shelter and protect you, to stand by you, share your troubles, or keep them from you–?"
"No, no, no, indeed, not now!" She looked up appealingly, the tears brimming up in her bright eyes. "I cannot, will not accept this sacrifice. You are only speaking out of your true-hearted chivalry. You must not join yourself to me, you must not involve yourself–"
He stopped her protests by the oldest and most effectual method known in such cases. That first sweet kiss sealed the compact so quickly entered into between them.
And after that she surrendered at discretion. There was no more hesitation or reluctance; she accepted his love as he had offered it, freely, with whole heart and soul, crept up under his sheltering wing like a storm-beaten dove reëntering the nest, and there, cooing softly, "My knight–my own true knight and lord," yielded herself willingly and unquestioningly to his tender caresses.
Such moments snatched from the heart of pressing anxieties are made doubly sweet by their sharp contrast with a background of trouble.
CHAPTER XVI
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."