 CHAPTER 32 Touch and Go Balmain relaxed his grip of the old man's throat as the knocking was repeated. Some accident might have happened, but on the other hand it was possible that there was some real and tangible danger here. I didn't mean to go quite so far, he muttered, only this time you have made the grand mistake of your life. Be silent now, and you shall get your jewels back. It is the only way. May Trank knotted breathlessly. He did not lack pluck, but he was an old man, and the rapidity of events dazed him. All the glittering electrics in the room were whirling like a wheel. I'm not going away till I've got them, he said doggedly. Balmain hastened to the door. He might want some ready lie. On the other hand his diplomacy might be needed. But he set his teeth a trifle closer as he saw Dr. Bruce standing there. I have been called, he said. In that case come this way, Balmain replied. He dared not ask a direct question. He was racking his brains to know who had summoned the doctor and why. There is nothing the matter. I did not gather that from Miss Lawrence's message, said Bruce uneasily. Balmain concealed a smile. He had got it. There was only one way in which Hedy could have summoned her lover, and that was by means of the telephone, that there was such an instrument in the house, he knew quite well. And why did Hedy do this thing? Was she merely frightened, or had she learned a great deal more than the conspirators imagined? In the garden she might have seen a great deal. She might have heard a great deal too, as Balmain was bound to admit. But then when she had disclosed herself in the garden her face was quite tranquil, and there had been nothing on it but a certain natural surprise. It was impossible to suspect Hedy of being an actress. The girl was too open and natural for that. And in his queer way Balmain admired the gentle womanliness of an innocent girl. Still it was just as well to be on the safe side. There must be no suspicion that there had been any foul play here. Miss Lawrence meant well, Balmain said, but really there was no occasion to send for you at all, a mere accident. Bruce bowed. He knew that he had done a foolish thing in betraying the fact that Hedy had sent for him, and her message would not have been in the nature of a prayer had not the need been urgent. You shall see our friend presently Balmain went on. Hermet Rank, I mean the Countess's friend, made a late call here. I had occasion to go out after he had left and found him lying unconscious in the road. Whilst there it seemed he was robbed of certain valuables. He was so good as to suggest that it might have been here that he lost his gems, I mean his valuables. The fellow was lying smoothly enough, but Bruce knew that he was lying. There would be awkward explanations presently when Hedy Lawrence came to speak. For instance, how would it tally with a pretty story that Balmain was bringing the unconscious form of Maytrank by the garden gate when he was found in the street? But already Balmain was prepared for that. His luminous, cunning brain saw the whole way clear. To save the situation a great sacrifice would have to be made. A coup de théâtre was necessary. Perhaps it was as well that Miss Lawrence took matters in her own hands and sent for you, he said thoughtfully. At any rate your presence may get us out of a certain degree of responsibility. The patient, if I may so call him, is quieter now, and he will have no difficulty with him. Of course that is if he will see you at all. If not you will acquit us of any discurtecy. Bruce bowed again. He would have given a good deal to know what the other was driving at. Was there any real meaning in the chatter, or was it all for the purpose of delay? Bruce hinted that it was late. And you want to get home, Balmain cried. Pardon me, I will go and see if they are ready for you. He passed out closing the door behind him. Then he sneezed loudly twice, and instantly Lyonna LeLage appeared at the head of the stairs. He flew up to her silently on the thick carpet, and laid his lips to her ear. Dr. Bruce is here, he whispered. That little fool of a governess of yours took it in her head to call him on the telephone. Of course she knows nothing, but if Bruce and our friend may trank meat, goodness knows what will happen. I see, I see, the Countess replied. If only we could scheme some plan. I have a plan already arranged. It requires a great sacrifice, but you will have to make it. Give me those diamonds. What? The diamonds that have caused all this trouble to get? Never! Give me the gems, Balmain said doggedly. Everything depends upon you doing what I tell you now. Besides we shall get them back again. By sheer force of circumstances the tables have been turned in Maytrank's favour. Give me the gems. He spoke fiercely with his eyes gleaming. He saw the heave of Lyonna's magnificent white breast, the look of anger on her face, and meanwhile the precious minutes were stealing on rapidly. Very well, he said, then I shall wash my hands of the whole business. Fool, do you want to stand in the dock? And there are other dupes with not a tithe of the wit and brains of Maytrank. The gems! The Countess turned on her heel and disappeared. A moment later she was back with the glittering stream of fire in her hand. There she whispered, take them! It is the bitterest moment of my life for—Balmain stopped to hear no more, but hurried quickly down the stairs. CHAPTER XXXIII The Way Blocked Lyonna Lalage had scarcely returned to her own room when Hedy came out of hers. She had heard the loud knocking at the door and had instantly guessed who it was, but the strange silence that followed the answering of that summons puzzled her. The whole house was wonderfully still now, a silence that seemed to tell of dark mysteries. She looked over into the hall below. She could not remain here any longer. She would go down into the library and wait there. Those two people were quite capable of murdering her lover as well as Maytrank. She opened the library door and to her great surprise, bruisted before her. As she would have cried out he laid his hand on her lips. He could feel that she was trembling from head to foot. My darling, he whispered, what does it all mean? I cannot tell you, Hedy said helplessly, but I have been seeing strange things all the evening. I got frightened and sent for you. And I am afraid I betrayed the fact, Bruce admitted. I might have thought of some other way of accounting for my presence here. Still that rather piratical-looking young man seemed to think you had done right. What's this about some man picked up in the garden? What did Mr. Balmain tell you, Hedy asked in reply. Bruce explained shortly. Hedy came closer to him. Lies, lies, lies, she whispered. There's not a word of truth in what he said. That old man came here because the Countess had robbed him of a lot of money. There were some diamonds that he was going to take in part payment. He had the diamonds. Then he was drugged and cleverly got out of the house. They had so managed it that a policeman saw him leave. A little farther on the drug took effect. Balmain brought the body back and carried it down the garden to the motor-car waiting at the back. I saw all this. Then I had an inspiration. With my ornamental hairpin I slashed open two of the tires of the car so that it was impossible to take the old man away. It was too risky to carry him back to the roadway where they left him, so they had to bring him back to the house and trust too luck for the rest. And you say you saw all this, Bruce asked? Every bit of it. Gordon put your ear down close to me. They were going to murder that poor old man in the garden. It took all my courage and all my nerve to appear at that moment because they might have done me a mischief also. Hedy ceased to speak for a moment. The recollection of what she had gone through overcame her. Bruce kissed her tenderly. But I managed it, Hedy went on. When the critical moment came I was astonished at my own calmness. They suspected nothing. I was merely out there because I had a headache and could not sleep. So I saved that man's life. It was some time after that I lost my nerve and telephoned for you. Are there more horrors to come, dearest? No, for the time being the horrors are all over. That old man came to himself again and swears that he has been robbed. He made an awful scene. He woke Mamie up, and I had to get her mother to come and see her. I believe Balmain was nearly making an end of his victim when you knocked. And oh, my dear boy, I shall be so glad to get away from this awful house. You shall leave it to-morrow, never to return, Bruce declared. No, not yet. The secret of the shadow that lies over you is bound up in this house, till it has passed away I stay here. But it is dreadful, the silence of it frightens me, how still it all is now. It was very silent then. To the casual eye here was everything that the heart could desire. It seemed hard to associate vulgar crime with all this artistic beauty, with the pictures and statues and flowers. Suddenly the silence was broken by a laugh. It was the croaking kind of laugh that could only have proceeded from the lips of an old man, but there was pleasure in it. It came strangely after the note of tragedy that had dominated the evening. A door opened somewhere, and the laugh came once more. Then there was the voice of Balmain in the key of mirth. The front door was opened, the call of a cab whistle thrilled down the street. It was almost as if there were two sets of people in the house, one family given over to the dark and gloomy, the other all comedy and smiles. On the impulse of the moment Bruce opened the library door and looked out. It was hard after what Heddy had told him to believe the evidence of his senses. There was the old man who twice within the last hour had been in danger of his life, chatting quietly with the man who had robbed him. The two were evidently on the best of terms, for Metrenk was laughing heartily, and Balmain stood opposite smoking a cigarette like a host who speeds a parting guest. Outside was the clatter of hoofs and the jingle of harness. The hall door stood open. Balmain politely helped Metrenk on with his heavy coat. Heddy, standing in the background, began to wonder if she was dreaming. What can it all mean, she whispered. Bruce could say nothing. At every turn of this mystery it seemed to grow more tangled and knotted. He waited until the two had passed into the roadway. He heard the exchange of good-nights, and then the cab rattled away. Balmain came back and looked quite carelessly into the library. Heddy had already stepped out of the side door and gone up to her room. She had no desire for Balmain to know that she had been with Bruce. You see our patient has gone, Balmain said smoothly. As a matter of fact the whole thing was a ridiculous mistake, but you must not blame us. The blame is due to the charming young lady who sent for you. But that is one of the drawbacks of your noble profession. Good-night! Bruce murmured something. He was too dazed for the moment to speak coherently. CHAPTER XXXIV A Clever Move Balmain's move had been a clever one and quite worthy of a mind like his. He recognized at once that Bruce's presence there meant danger. If May Trank in the excitement of the moment chose to speak out, all the delicately laid plans would be ruined. He must have the diamonds back again. The old man could never have proved that they had come back once more into Leona Lalage's possession by means of a clever plan, but he was in a position now to say and do a great deal of mischief. But for the accident to the motor things would have been different. But there was nothing to be gained by going back. With the diamonds stuffed in his pocket Balmain returned to the dining-room. May Trank sat on the sofa with his head between his hands moaning to himself. He had slipped off his heavy sable-lined coat for the atmosphere of the room was oppressive. His keen intellect had not quite come back to him. He was still suffering from the effects of the drug. He had been robbed just at the moment when everything seemed to be going in his favour. His vanity was touched. Balmain picked up the coat and laid it on the table. There was just a dexterous motion and a flash of his white hands. Then he smiled with the air of someone who is perfectly and wholly satisfied with something. Are you better now? he asked. May Trank looked up with a wolfish gleam in his eyes. I am getting to be myself again, he croaked. You have got the better of me this time, but it will never happen again. You are keen and you are clever, but the old wolf is ever wiser than the young one. I have been robbed. You are pleased to say so, Balmain said smoothly. I have been robbed, I tell you. What was the trick? I know not yet, but I shall find out. You left this house all right with the diamonds in your possession, Balmain went on. You cannot deny that fact. We can find a policeman who will be able to testify to the fact that you went unmolested. May Trank groaned. He was still more or less childish over his loss. Where are the diamonds, he asked? Tell me that rascal, taken from you by some prowling nightbird as you lay unconscious. Which pocket did you place them in? In the breast pocket of my inner coat. Bah! Why argue over it? You would be prepared to swear to that in a court of law? Well, perhaps not, may Trank admit it, but I had them in my possession. Then search once more, look everywhere. You might have changed them from one pocket to the other quite unconsciously. Be quick, because I have sent for a doctor to examine you. Keep the doctor to yourself, may Trank snapped. I am all right. See, there is nothing in any of my pockets. My overcoat could not. He paused with a dazed expression as he produced from his big coat a handful of what looked like streaming fire. He gave a glad cry, the cry of a mother who has found some child that she deemed to be lost. He carried the stones to his lips and kissed them. I must have changed them, he sobbed. I changed them and forgot. Perhaps I had them in my hands looking at the beauties. Bah! You grow old, you get senile, Balmaine said contemptuously. You have had an experience tonight that should be a warning to you. Now put it to yourself. We try to rob you, you above all men in the world who hold us in the hollow of your hands? Surely you pay us a very poor compliment. Our cue is to conciliate you, to find other victims to pay what we owe you and keep you silent. Once you are satisfied, you will never tell, you will enjoy the sport of seeing others bitten too well. But you keep a carriage in the future and have no more fits in the street. May Trank grinned in sinister fashion. You are a clever young man. Without doubt you are a very clever young man, he said. And perhaps I have been mistaken. And I am suspicious. I have good cause to be. One reads in books of honest men who are the souls of integrity. Ah! But then I have never met with such a one in business. And touching this doctor, Balmain asked. Go along with your doctor, said May Trank now, in great good humour. If you will have the goodness to call a cab, I will get back to my hotel. But Bruce knew nothing of this change of things. He was utterly puzzled. As he walked home he could make nothing of it. Hetty's story was too circumstantial to be anything but absolutely true. There must have been some strong reason for this change of part. Perhaps Lawrence could throw some light on it. He might even know the man May Trank. At any rate he was on very friendly terms with Isaac Isidor, who would be sure to have the names of all the European capitalists at his fingers ends. Bruce put the whole thing resolutely out of his mind and went to bed. It was not till after luncheon that he found time to see Lawrence, to whom he told Hetty's story and the strange scene he had witnessed the night before. This is a complication, Lawrence said, as he puffed at his cigarette thoughtfully. It has no part in the original scheme for your destruction, which was founded on my lost skeleton novel. There is no doubt in my mind now that the Countess has made up her mind to get you under her thumb. So far I can follow her. Indeed I have followed her in a fashion that would startle that lady if she knew everything. But people of that kind have many irons in the fire, and what you tell me looks like one that has nearly burnt her fingers. Our game is to sift the incident and try and turn it to advantage. I'm going to show you some pretty sport presently connected with those diamonds. Also I'm going to use them so that we shall get May Trank on our side. I wish I was as sanguine as you are, said Bruce. I'm more, said Lawrence. I'm certain I have gathered up pretty well all the cards by this time. Now put on your hat and come with me. I'm going to have a few words with Isaac Isidore. End of Chapter 34. End of Section 15. Section 16, chapters 35, 36 and 37 of The Corner House. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. The Corner House by Fred M. White. Chapter 35. A Powerful Ally. Isaac Isidore was lunching at his chambers in his own simple way, a hard, trying life like his, to say nothing of half his night spent in society, called for a careful regime. Plain food and a total absence from intoxicants enabled the man to get through an enormous amount of work and pleasure. He was glad to see Lawrence, as usual, had he not preferred the atmosphere of finance, Isidore would have made a fine novelist of the sensational order. His fine imagination enabled him to bring off so many of the surprises with which he constantly terrified his brother-capitalists. Anything to do with the mystery, he asked? I should say a great deal, Lawrence chuckled. In the first place I should like to hear something of the history of one May Trank. You don't mean to say he's in it, Isidore cried, grimly amused. The cunningest fox in all Europe. Truly the lelage is a wonderful woman, but I see our friend Dr. Bruce is burning to tell me a story. Pray go on! Bruce proceeded to relate all that had happened the previous evening. Isidore shook with suppressed laughter, though he never spoke a word. The narrator quite failed himself to see the humorous side of the matter. What do you think of it, Lawrence asked at length? I think that but for the pluck and courage of a girl, friend May Trank would have gone to his account before now, Isidore said more seriously. I must confess that I find the mystery of it all exceedingly fascinating. May Trank is not the kind of man who forgets and forgives in a moment. What on earth could have induced him to grow so friendly with that fellow Balmain all at once? That I leave you to guess, Bruce replied, it is beyond me. But it is not in the least beyond me, Lawrence remarked coolly as he reached for a cigarette. To a certain extent I hold the key to the situation. Accidents strengthens my hands, as it generally does in dealing with people of this kind. And I'm going to make a powerful new ally in this new business. I need not ask you if you are personally acquainted with May Trank, Isidore? Oh, I know the man well enough, Isidore replied. I will give you an introduction to him right enough, but you won't get much from that quarter. Lawrence begged to differ. In the first place he anticipated considerable entertainment. He was not selfish, he said, and had no desire to keep it to himself. You must have your comic relief to every drama, he said. We haven't had much humor up to now, but that is coming. By the way, I hope your continental friend is not subject to apoplexy? Lawrence chuckled to himself with the air of a man who has a joke which is too good for the world in general. Isidore was puzzled and interested. Tell you what he exclaimed, I'll try and get May Trank on the telephone. He has a sort of office at the Metropole. It was a little before five when the trio reached the Metropole. A suite of rooms had been chartered by the Hungarian capitalist, and there he had already established a secretary and a clerk or two to look after his affairs. He was seated in his shirt sleeves with a big black cigar in his mouth when his visitors entered. He extended two fingers to Isidore, to the others he merely bowed. And what can I do for you, he asked? You might be disposed to answer a few questions, said Bruce quietly. I was the doctor who was called in to see you last night, but for the courage of a young girl I might today have given evidence that the inquest held on the body of a most distinguished capitalist called May Trank. Lawrence nodded approvingly, Bruce had struck the right note. I should like to hear more of this, May Trank cried. Bruce plunged into his story. He had a most interested listener. The small gray eyes of the listener were fixed intently on the narrator's face. The black cigar died out between his fingers. He had no questions to ask. There was no doubt on his face. If ever a man was telling the simple truth it was Bruce at that moment. There was something like a smile on May Trank's face when Bruce came to the part that Hetty had played in the stirring drama of the previous night. I never forget a favour, said May Trank horsely. The young lady shall have a very practical evidence of my gratitude. She saved my life, and she ended up by getting my property returned to me. I don't want to pry into your affairs, said Lawrence, but would you mind telling me one thing? The Countess owes you money? Well yesterday she owed me nearly a hundred thousand pounds. I have got part of that back in the way of the jewels, hence my change of attitude last night. By a clever trick that woman robbed me of a fortune. When I found it out I said nothing. It was no cue of mine to make a fuss about it. If I had done so I should have lost everything. So I came to England. By way of a start I obtained possession of diamonds to the value of some thirty thousand pounds. You are quite certain of that, Lawrence asked meaningly. My dear sir there in my possession, if you are still cynical on the point I will show them to you. Lawrence desired nothing better. In a few moments the stones lay on the table. The novelist picked them up and took from his pocket a small file which he coolly rubbed on the facet of two of the larger stones. May Trank smiled. Any diamond would stand that test. With a grave look Lawrence handed the stones back. The tested diamonds were dull and flat. Paced, may Trank cried with a yell that rang through the building, paced as I am a sinner, diluted and fooled again, rich as I am I would sacrifice every penny to be even with that woman. CHAPTER 36 A Faint Clue It was a day or two later before Lawrence saw Prout again. In the meantime he had not been idle. In some vague way or another he felt sure he was on the track of the corner-house mystery. A dozen theories were formed and abandoned. If only Prout had possessed Lawrence's imagination. But is there anything in the letters, the latter asked, after Prout had given him a praisey of their contents, something we can go by? I'm afraid not, sir, Prout admitted. The only thing I have established so far is that my prisoner is the brother of the murdered man. Oddly enough he has no idea that the writer of those letters is dead, and as he declines to disclose his own name we cannot discover the identity of his murdered brother. Lawrence read over the letters carefully, there was less here than he expected. They were all full of vague schemes of making money by various shady ways, and all bewailed the fact that the writer could not obtain the necessary capital to start. Really the letters were hardly worth reading. But patience is generally rewarded. Here was a hiatus after a series of regular dates. The writer had been drinking heavily, somebody had got hold of him and was detaining him somewhere against his will. He was not allowed to say where he was. His last letter of the series hinted at a possibility of large sums of money. I'm afraid it's no good, sir, said Prout, when Lawrence had finished. I don't quite agree with you, Lawrence said. The man was detained against his will. Where was he detained, in the corner house? Because his jailer was afraid of his discretion. Now go a step further and ask who detained him yonder. You can answer that question for yourself. Countess Lalage, Prout muttered, but why? Ah, that is the point. Get to that, and the problem is solved. Now listen to me, Prout, the rascal who wrote those letters and the rascal who received them were brothers. They were fond of each other, which you will admit is possible. I see that for some reason of your own you have concealed the fact from the prisoner that his brother is no more. If you tell him the truth, he will probably make some startling admission. Prout nodded admiringly. Lawrence took a photograph from his pocket. Tell him the news abruptly, he said, and when the man has digested that, show him the photograph. It is a recent one of Countess Lalage. I want to know if he recognizes her. Prout departed on his errand. It was easy enough for him to obtain a private interview with the prisoner, who received him with polite mockery. His instinct told him that Prout wished to learn something. You are welcome, he said. It is so dull here that even the conversation of a mere detective is pleasing. The detective was sharp enough to get you here, Prout said. Ah, well, even the great Napoleon made a mistake or two. Which you are likely to do yourself, said Prout, if you try to be too smart. I want you to answer me a few questions which don't affect your case at all. Give me the desired information, and I'll make matters as easy as I can for you on your trial. I can't get you off, but I can lighten the case. The other man nodded. Prout was talking sense now. Go on, Mombrov, he said. I will do what I can for you and myself. It's about those letters I found in your possession, Prout said, the letters to you from your brother. I know there from your brother because I have seen him and also his handwriting. You need not be afraid of him because he is far beyond being injured by anyone in the world. Say, the other whispered fiercely, Poor Leon, is he dead? Prout nodded. It was some little time before the other spoke. His next question startled the detective. Was he murdered, came the horse whisper? He was. You didn't know he was dead, yet you guessed how he died. He was the victim of what you called the corner house. Ah, I remember now. I was too busy to read, but I heard people speaking about it. My poor brother, my poor Leon. Leon? Leon Lalage. Your brother's name was Leon Lalage, Prout asked. That is so, and my name is Renee, to think we were once happy boys together on my mother's flower farm in Corsica. Renee Lalage bowed his head and wept after the manner of his nation. He had offered Prout a far more valuable clue than he had expected. All sorts of possibilities were opening out before the eyes of the detective. I am interested in getting at the truth of your brother's death, he said. That is why I am here today. Before you knew how he came by his death, you asked me if your brother had been murdered. Why? Because there was one who hated him. I cannot and will not say more than that. He stood in the way of somebody. So long as he kept away it was all right. But Leon was not one of that sort. He was as brave as a lion. Had he not been so fond of the drink he might have done anything. But there was something in the blood of both of us that took us into evil ways. Thank God our mother is dead, the flower farm gone, and the secret of the wonderful perfume that made the name of Lalage famous for two centuries is buried in my mother's grave. One more question and I have done, said Prout. Your brother had someone to fear. Now is that someone a man or a woman? A woman. I can't say more than that. Prout was fairly satisfied. He produced a photo that Lawrence had given him. Is that the woman by any chance, he asked? Rene Lalage thought not. All the same he seemed puzzled, but he could not be definite and Prout was feigned to be content. This seems to be a great lady, the prisoner said. She conveys nothing to me except as to her eyes. No, it is not possible, and she would not be an English costume. Some years ago she was in England playing at one of the theatres or music halls. There was a fine picture of her in one of the papers, Lalage the Dancer. Prout felt that he was getting on. Can you tell me the name of the paper, he asked? Rene Lalage confessed himself puzzled. compatriots had shown him the paper, but he had forgotten. There was a headpiece to the paper with a woman on it, blowing a trumpet. It seemed to be all actors and the like. It has gone from my mind, he said. It is so long ago, even then my brother and this woman had drifted apart. I am not happy in my mind today, for your news has disturbed me more than I can tell. Even a rascal like myself can be possessed of a heart, eh? If I come again, can you refresh your memory? It is possible, it is not for me to say. Only poor Leon must be avenged. The speaker clutched Prout passionately by the arm. His whole frame was quivering with passion. The vengeance comes closer, said Prout. It is closer than you imagine, and I fancy that your evidence will hang the murderer. Lawrence was profoundly interested in what Prout had to say, the latter had given far more information than he had imagined. You have given me some valuable clues, he said. In the first place we now know the real name of the murdered man. Strange that it should be the same as the fascinating Countess, and stranger still that our brilliant adventurers did not call herself something else when she engineered herself into society. But probably that is part of the reckless audacity of her nature. It was very foolish, because it clogs up the brains of a man like myself who has knocked about artistic and theatrical London for so long. And I distinctly recollect a lelage, a dancer, who made a hit at the hall some seven or eight years ago. And whose portrait appeared in one of the smart papers, said Prout. I wonder if you can remember the name of the paper. It may be alive or it may be dead, but the ornamental heading had a woman playing a trumpet on it. This is in your line, sir, far more than in mine. Lawrence cogitated over the matter. Eight years ago his position had been very different to what it was now. Then he had to be eager and alert to study every journal that published fiction. In those days he had had the whole list at his finger ends. His face suddenly lightened. I've got it, he cried. The paper was called The Talk of the Town. It was a sort of pioneer to the sketch, but of a lower type. For a time it had a great vogue, but a prosecution for libel killed it. If it is possible to see a file. That's easy, Prout put in. You'll get a file right enough, and in all probability be in a position to purchase the copy you want. Framptons in Holburn make it a business to stock all papers and back numbers, charging a shilling for a penny paper and so on. They've got millions of more abundant journals. Lawrence remarked that he would make it his business to step round to Framptons without delay. It was just possible that he had not squeezed all the information that he wanted out of Prout. Did you find out anything about the past of those fellows, he asked? Well, I didn't, sir, Prout replied. The poor fellow seemed so cut up over the death of his brother. Very sentimental these foreigners. He kept talking of the days when they were together on the flower farm in Corsica. They come of a pretty good stock, for my man spoke of a scent that their family had made for two centuries, the secret of which was buried with. What, Lawrence shouted? What? Say that again! I hope there is nothing wrong, sir, asked Prout. Wrong, Lawrence cried as he paced the room. Not much. Why, you are giving me the master key to the situation. Look me up again this evening. I guess I shall be able to astonish you. I'm off to Framptons now. I must have a copy of that paper if it costs me a hundred pounds. Framptons' establishment consisted merely of cellars where grimy men seemed to be busy with piles of journals. After a little trouble and a reference or two to a ponderous ledger, a pile of the talk of the town was produced. There were not more than two hundred altogether, but Lawrence had the satisfaction of knowing that they were complete. Some of them were duplicated many times. At the end of an hour Lawrence found what he wanted. Here was the portrait of a striking woman in Spanish costume. Her eyes were dark, her hair wonderfully fair. Lawrence's hands trembled a little as he folded up the paper. And what do you want for this, he asked. Frampton incidentally replied that half a crown was the price. It would have been cheap to the purchaser at a thousand times the money. It was a little later that Bruce came round to the novelist's rooms in response to an urgent telephone message. He looked pale and anxious. He was fighting hard, but he found that the odds were terribly against him. Have you made any new discoveries, he asked? I flatter myself, I have, said Lawrence. Here is a copy of a paper now extinct called The Talk of the Town. On the front page is a photo of a Spanish dancer. Behold, she is called La Lage, the Spanish Premier. Look and see if you have ever seen her before. La Lage, Bruce cried, the Spanish, and the same name, why that is the same woman who received me on that fatal night at the corner house. End of Chapter 37 End of Section 16 Section 17, chapters 38, 39, and 40 of the corner house. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. The corner house by Fred M. White. Chapter 38 May Trank Strikes Meanwhile the brilliant society season was drawing to a close. Few smart functions remained, but there would be no more dashing affair than the forthcoming ball at Lytton Avenue. The supper was coming from Paris. The decorations were unique. The flowers were to cost upwards of a thousand pounds. The society papers had more or less voracious paragraphs. A score of lady journalists were making copy of the affair. Thus May Trank chuckled over his invitation. He was going to take his vengeance for the trick played on him in his own good time. He had purposely kept out of the way of the Countess. He set the cables in motion, and after a due response or two he was closeted with the head of a smart firm of lawyers in Eli Place. You are quite sure of my position, he croaked. Quite, sir, the lawyer responded. According to the papers drawn up at the time, you can take possession and demand your money at any moment. You are in the same position as a landlord distraining for rent. If you want us to act. I do, May Trank snapped. I wish you to act at eleven o'clock tomorrow night. No need to stare at me like that, sir. I know what I am doing, and I am prepared to pay you handsomely for your services. The lawyer bowed his strange client out. He had only to obey instructions. He went back to his desk, pondering on the sensation that society was going to get shortly. May Trank went straight away to Lawrence. I have done what you asked, he said curtly. You are a wonderful man, you novelist. See you at our dear friend the Countess's to-morrow. Good night. By the time that May Trank had bowed with humility over the hand of his hostess the following evening, nearly all fashionable London had gathered in those spacious suites of rooms. The decorations were superb, unique. There was no better music to be obtained in Europe. Folk were talking with bated breath of the great chef who had come from Paris to superintend his supper. It was the crowning glory of a wonderful woman's career. She stood smiling before her guests in a dress that had cost worth a sleepless night. A duke was just congratulating her upon her good taste. A couple of gorgeous footmen were casting back the curtains of the supper-room. Down below in the hall something like an altercation seemed to be going on. It's a man, my lady, a blushing footman stammered. He declined to go away. I called in a policeman, and he showed him a paper, after which the police went, saying it seemed all right and legal or something like that. The fellow says he must see you. Perhaps a creditor beyond all patience and in desperate need of money. Leona Lalage sailed out of the room into the hall, where two seedy-looking men awaited her. Well, what is it you want tonight, she demanded haughtily. A long slip of paper was thrust into her hand. Her quick brain grasped the significance. Maytrank had struck and struck hard. These men were in possession for nearly a hundred thousand pounds, vulgar bailiffs such as come and sell the goods of poor people who cannot pay their rent. Leona Lalage remembered now the conditions under which she had borrowed money from Maytrank. He had her in his power. It seemed a vile thing to do when she had put him off with the very jewels from about her neck, and she was powerless. She could not have these men turned into the street. Most of her guests would understand sooner or later. Tomorrow this would be public property. Once the tongue of rumour started the crash was bound to follow. Leona Lalage looked round her helplessly for the first time in her life. Maytrank stood there grinning like a hideous mask, enjoying her confusion. He had come to enjoy this, where a more sensitive man would have stayed away. Revenge to him was nothing unless he could feast his eyes upon it. You scoundrel, you currish, he hissed. If I had a weapon in my hand I would kill you and die happy. Why have you done this thing? Why do you foist me off with paced jewels, Maytrank asked coolly? You may stare with amazement. You are a very clever actress, madam. Paced, Lalage gasped. Paced! Why, for their sake! Impossible! I will sell them to you for the price of your bouquet, said Maytrank. It is my turn now. Won't you have your guests in to supper? The countess looked round her helplessly, the sound of the music, the ripple of laughter, the murmur of voices maddened her. She knew that the crash must come some time, but she had not dreamt of a humiliation like this. Lawrence came sauntering down the steps. She flew to him. Could he help her? She was in great trouble, and she knew that she could trust him. She owed Maytrank a lot of money. He had chosen to humiliate her by actually putting these vulgar bailiffs in to-night of all times. Those pleading eyes would have melted a heart of stone. Lawrence seemed to be greatly distressed. I fancy I can see a way out of the difficulty, he said. I do not wish to pry into your affairs, but in a novelist's business one gets to know things, and I too am in a great quandary. Do you recollect the flower farm near Ahasio? I'm going mad, Leona whispered, to allude to that to-night. Well, I have got on in the world like other people. No need to allude to that. What can it possibly have to do with the matter? One never knows, said Lawrence, but I see you remember. You also remember the marvellous secret of the tuberose scent. For my own purposes I require a little of it. My story demands it. I am talking business now. Give me the little bottle from the Antoinette Cabinet in your boudoir, and I will get rid of those men for you. Slowly Leona Lalage took the speaker in from head to foot. Her face had grown deadly pale, but she could make nothing of Lawrence's face. All the same it was quite evident that he meant every word that he said. You shall have it, she said suddenly. How you got to know so much of my history you shall tell me presently, but the tuberose is yours. She flashed along the hall. Directly she was gone Lawrence signalled to May Trank, who stood in the background. The latter produced a letter which he handed to the foremost of the two intruders. As you see this is from the solicitor who employs you, he said. If I like to change my mind and ask you to go, you are to obey. I ask you to go. Say nothing of this, and I will see you are suitably rewarded in the morning. The man looked and nodded. He winked at his companion, and together they strode out of the house. With a silent laugh May Trank crept up the stairs. I trust you, he croaked. You promised me a better vengeance than I could get for myself. See that I get it. More for the sake of others you shall get it, Lawrence cried. It's flattering to the vanity of a novelist to have a millionaire for one of his puppets. The Countess came sweeping back again with one tiny file in her hand. Lawrence did not need to look to see that it was the right one, unknown to the Countess he had had it in his possession before. There she cried, and now to keep your part of the compact. If you have got round May Trank you are a genius. Where are the men? Gone said Lawrence, I waved my hand and they have departed. Nobody but us three has any knowledge of the truth. A quiet sigh escaped from the listener. She smiled again. It is a debt I can never repay, she said. Will you stay after the others have gone and tell me how you learned my early history? That is just what I should like to do, Lawrence said coolly. End of Chapter 38 Chapter 39 Lawrence shows his hand The last guest had departed. The strains of music had died away. The lights were out and the flowers were wilting on the walls. Leona Lalage had discarded her dress for a fascinating wrap, and was seated in her boudoir making a cigarette, and trying to read something from the expression of Lawrence's face. And now what does it all mean, she asked gaily. In the first place tell me how you got your influence over May Trank. Knowledge is power, said Lawrence, so long as you keep it to yourself. Why did you tell me that you had never heard of the tuberose perfume? That is easy. I had no desire to speak of my humble past. I was brought up near that flower farm where Madame Lalage made that marvelous perfume. I am passionately fond of it, the more so that you cannot get it now. I use it sometimes in the evening after the others have gone to bed. But how did you know? Never mind that. Years ago I got a whiff of it in Vienna and it appealed to my imagination. I saw a way of bringing it into fiction, much as it was done in the case of the play called Dora. I'm going to do so. But how did you know that I had it? I noticed it one night, very faintly, I admit, but there it was. You denied the fact to me and I had to force your hand. It sounds very clever, but commonplace enough when you won't see how the trick is done. The Countess stirred uneasily in her chair. She felt there was more to follow. I have to my hand, Lawrence went on, the materials for a magnificent romance. Let us go back a little while. Some week or two ago here we discussed the corner house. I said it would make the scene of a capital romance. I went further and said I had already sketched the story out. You recollect that? The Countess nodded. Her lips were narrow and drawn in tightly. Strange to say, Lawrence proceeded. Almost immediately there was a tragedy at the corner house, just on the lines of my story, the story that I said I should probably never write. Now that was very strange. Very strange indeed, the Countess said hoarsely. The more I thought it over, the more certain I became that my brain had been picked and that my plot was being used by some designing person to bring trouble and disgrace upon a man who is destined to be related to me. I waited for a little time to see how matters were developing, and then decided to refresh my memory from the skeleton plot of that unwritten story. When I looked in my desk I could not find the plot. Why? Because it had been stolen. I was quite certain of the fact when I looked for it, and all the time this corner house tragedy was being enacted exactly as I should have written it. There were other complications, of course, but the plot was the same. It sounds incredible, the Countess said. Not to me, Lawrence replied meaningly. The person who stole my plot did not know that I had it thoroughly by heart, and when my young friend Bruce went to the corner house and got into all that trouble, I was in a position beforehand to tell him all that had happened. The scheme over those notes was also mine. I know perfectly well how the whole thing was worked so as to make an innocent man appear guilty. I knew before I heard Bruce's story all about the old German and the picture. Perhaps you knew also the culprit, the Countess suggested. Lawrence did not appear to hear the question, so he proceeded. There were other notes as well mentioned in that fateful letter, but what had become of the other notes nobody seemed to know or care about that. But the numbers were known, and strangely enough eventually they turned up in this very house. They were paid over the gambling table that night that Isitor gave a check to the Marchionettes. The question is, who paid those notes over? Who was it who first brought them into the room that night? A question that can never be solved, the Countess gasped. You are mistaken, Lawrence said quietly. I have handled those notes, and I have solved the problem. They were produced in the first instance by you. Leona Lalage was on her feet in a moment. Her face was pale as ashes. You are wrong, she cried. It could not have been so. It was so, because of the scent of them. Every one of those notes was, and is, very slightly impregnated with the smell of tuberose. There was a long, long silence, a silence that could be felt. End of Chapter 39 Chapter 40 Another Coil Lawrence stretched out his hand for a cigarette, as if he had said the most natural thing in the world, a less clever man would have shown something like triumph, but Lawrence had thought this all out as carefully as if it were really a new melodrama he was writing. The time had come when matters must be forced into the channel to suit himself. Already he had laid the lines carefully. This woman must be made to own that the missing notes had really come from her, or at least part of them. Once this was done, the novelist felt pretty sure of his game. But though he wanted to startle and alarm his companion, he didn't desire to expose his suspicions too far. A very singular circumstance, is it not, he asked quietly? Leona Lalage had recovered herself. She did not know that Lawrence had been purposely busy over his cigarette to give her an opportunity of doing so. Really, I ought to be indignant, she cried. Surely not, Lawrence murmured quietly. I have made no accusations. In taking up the matter on behalf of Gordon Bruce, I have to make searching inquiries. I naturally ask myself where are the rest of those notes? By a strange fate they turn up here. Isidore identifies the numbers, and I identify the scent. I am more or less able to prove that it was you who produced those notes on the night of the card-party. You went to your room to get some cash, which you changed into gold. Therefore the notes were in your possession. But I'll swear to you, the countess broke in vehemently. I'll swear. My dear friend, there is no occasion to do anything of the kind. Am I making any kind of accusation against you? Ridiculous. Why, black as things look against my friend Bruce, I don't suspect him. All I want you to do is to try and recollect whence you got those notes. Leona Lalage kept her face half hidden behind her fan, for the life of her she could not tell whether this man was playing with her or not. Hitherto men had been her puppets. Hitherto she had regarded all of them as fools. Lawrence smoked calmly on as if he were discussing the weather or something equally exciting. I'll try, she said, but then I handle so much money. I play cards, I bet on horses. There are scores of ways, but I'll try. Lawrence rose and took his leave. He dropped in at the nearest telephone call office and, late as it was, rang up Isidore. The letter was waiting. It's all right, he said. I have had Balmain here as you suggested, and I have told him exactly as much as you desired him to know. He's just gone off in a great hurry for any money to Lytton Avenue. As a matter of fact Balmain's cab passed Lawrence a minute or two later. The latter smiled as if well pleased with himself. Splendid so far, he murmured, she'll walk into the trap. In fact they both will, and now I think I have really earned a good night's rest. Leona Lalage was raging up and down the room as Balmain entered. The first saffron streaks of dawn were making the electrics thin and yellow. Evidently something had gone wrong, Balmain waited for his companion to speak. I came here with pretty bad news, he said after a pause. I went off with Isidore to talk business, and he let out something that absolutely startled me. It can't be as bad as my news, Leona said gloomily. They have traced the rest of the missing notes directly to my possession. What, Balmain cried, were you mad enough to— I'm afraid so. It is no time for idle recrimination. The gambling fever was on me the other night, and I felt that I must play. I tried to borrow money that evening, but not one of the wretches would trust me with a shilling. I had those notes upstairs. They formed my rescue in case of a collapse. It seemed to me that nobody would be any the wiser. I brought them down and gambled with them, and beyond all doubt Gilbert Lawrence has traced them to me. Will you be so good as to tell me how, Balmain said? In a few words the story was told. Balmain listened moodily, with his further knowledge of facts he saw the danger. This is dreadful, he said. The man who died in the corner house changed four hundred sovereigns into notes. Part of them he put into a letter to send to a certain person who appears to have been nameless. We know that he was going to send that money to his brother. Of course, but thank goodness we are the only people who know that. Exactly where you are mistaken, said Balmain bitterly. They all know it. Isidore let it out tonight. The fellow proud who has the corner house case in hand, by a piece of amazing luck, has arrested a criminal on another charge. In that criminal's possession were certain letters addressed to him by the— by Leona Lalage, in fact. In other words, the police have discovered the dead man's brother, Rene. The countess paused in her agitated walk. She had been striding up and down the room impatiently. She paused now with her hand to her head as if somebody had shot her in her stride and collapsed into a chair. Say that again, she groaned. Say that again. My words were perfectly plain, Balmain said impatiently. Rene Lalage is in the hands of the police. They know he is brother to the murdered man by certain letters found in his possession. Also, we know that in their queer way those two rascals were very fond of one another. There is not much suspicion yet, or Isidore would not have told me so much tonight. But when ill luck begins to dog one, it is amazing how far that ill luck goes. For instance— Well, go on, nothing could be worse than what has happened. Oh, can't it? It only wants Garrett Charlton to turn up now. We must get those notes from Isidore at any hazard. They will remain in his possession. In fact, he told me tonight that he had them. He said— But the countess did not heed. Absolutely worn out in mind and body. She had fainted. END OF CHAPTER XIV END OF SEXTION XVII CHAPTER XIV Heavy as were these blows, a few hours sleep braced Leona Lalage for what she knew to be a trying ordeal. By the time that breakfast was a thing of the past, she had sketched out a new plan of campaign. The terrible, unseen force from behind had driven her from her strong position. In future she would have to recognize the fact that she was hopelessly beaten, and that all she could expect now was to cover up her tracks and prevent the final solution of the mystery. On the whole an appearance of candor would be best. She would go straight to Prout, who had the corner-house tragedy in hand, and tell him everything—at least everything that Lawrence had found out. She never guessed for a moment that this was exactly what the novelist expected her to do. In fact, he had apparently told all he knew to gain this end. Also, at his suggestion, Isidore had blurted out the fact that Prout had succeeded in laying Leona Lalage's brother by the heels. On the whole this would be by far the best thing to do. It was just possible that her fascinations might elicit something further from Prout. Leona Lalage might not have felt quite so easy in her mind had she known that the little snake-headed detective was fresh from a long interview with Lawrence. He was profoundly impressed by the graciousness of his visitor. He even dusted an office chair for her with a clean handkerchief. He seemed a simple sort of man. Leona Lalage had not a high opinion of the police. I have come to have a chat with you, she said, with her most brilliant smile on the subject of the corner-house. They tell me you have made an arrest that by a wonderful chance will have an important bearing on the case. Prout grew wooden. His official manner caused Leona to hide a smile. Really it would be child's play to get the better of this man. I am afraid you are mistaken, madam, he said. Indeed, no. Mr. Isidor spoke of it quite freely. It appears that a brother of the dead man has come into your hands. Is not that so? Prout grudgingly admitted that it was. He was also severe on the indiscretion of certain people. Mr. Isidor ought to know better. The Countess was charmed. Evidently she was going to do exactly as she pleased with this man. Every question that she asked him he contrived to answer in some way that betrayed his knowledge. Not that I am asking for sheer curiosity, she said gaily. You see, I am also in a position to throw a little light in a dark place. Do you know that the rest of the missing notes have been in my possession? Prout was surprised. Not that he ought to have been surprised after the strange things that had come in his way professionally. The way he conveyed the impression that all this was new to him was artistic. He asked a score of questions he made voluminous notes solemnly in a large book. You have really been of great service to me, madam, he said. It was very good of you to come and tell me straightforwardly. Now let us see if we can trace these notes to the possession of the previous holder. Leona Lalage intimated that was the only thing she desired for the moment, but at the same time she made it pretty clear to Prout that the thing was impossible. Her keen desire was to show him the impossibility of the proceeding and induce him to give up any further investigations in that direction. You see, I have the good fortune to be exceedingly rich, she said, with her most fascinating smile. I don't value money as much as I should. To me it is a mere medium for enjoyment. I gamble and bet and all that kind of thing. In fact, I generally have a large sum of money and paper in the house. I might have got those notes from a betting man at Ascot or at Goodwood or even the card table. But at the same time I'll try my best to assist you. Prout was profuse. He was very anxious over those notes. He had certainly had the good fortune to take into custody one Rene Lalage, the brother to Leona Lalage, who had been murdered in the corner house. Strange they should be the same name as myself, the Countess said. Not in the least, Prout hastened to reply, I find the name is a very common one at Marseille and along the Mediterranean generally. The Countess smiled. She had risen prepared to take her departure if she had any knowledge of faces she had made a good impression. It seems hardly credible, she said. I mean the story of the corner house, as told by Dr. Bruce, that Spanish woman, for instance. Prout shook his head in a non-committal fashion. He had heard some amazing statements made by suspects in his time, statements so wild that they carried guilt on the face of them, and yet he had personally proved many of these statements to be true. The Countess smiled as she turned to the door. I'm not very easily impressed, she said, and as to that Spanish woman, Dr. Bruce must have been taking lessons from Mr. Lawrence. The woman did exist all the same, Prout said innocently. In fact, I don't mind admitting that I've got a portrait. He paused and looked down. The smile faded from Leona's face. Who told you that it was a portrait of—I mean, where did you—Renée Lalage, as you are interested, and as you came here to assist me, madam, I don't mind going so far as to show you the picture. It came from a weekly paper. I know—I mean—what do I mean, the Countess said hoarsely. Really, I don't know why I should be so interested. Prout took a sheet of paper from his desk and held it up. It was a portrait of a fair Spanish gypsy. The letterpress and border had been cut away. What do you think of that, Prout asked? Leona Lalage said nothing. She could only look and look in a fascinated way. It—it proves nothing, she said with an effort presently—a pleasant face. Don't you think that she is a little like me? End of Chapter 41 Chapter 42 Fear Leona Lalage held herself up talking bravely about the weather, whilst Prout was dumb with admiration of her audacity. Her very recklessness inspired his respect. He knew little of the deadly fear and suffering concealed behind that smiling mask. The last thing he saw as he closed the door of the broom was an averted face and a small hand. The blood-horses dashed on whilst Leona Lalage lay back against the cushions and fainted for the third time in her life. It had been a wonderful effort to put the deadly feeling off so long, but her iron will had conquered. She came to herself again with a shudder and a feeling of anguish in every limb. She was not suspected yet, or even a fool of an English detective would not have shown her that picture. Broken and agitated as she was, her quick brain began to work again. In the first place she must get those notes back from Isidor, even if they had to be obtained by force it must be done. She took a visiting card from her case, and in as steady a hand as possible, penciled a line or two on the back, asking Isidor to come round and dine with her that evening. Once this was done and left at the capitalist's rooms, she felt a little easier in her mind. She was doing something. Hence she drove on to the metropole with the hope of seeing Maytrank. She had to wait there till she was angry and impatient. Hitherto she had not had to wait. She was going to get to the bottom of that diamond business if she had to stay all day. A stolid clerk came out and said here Maytrank was disengaged. Maytrank, in his shirt sleeves, was smoking one of his black cigars. He made no apology for his attire, nor for the rank tobacco between his yellow teeth. How different the last time when they had met in the millionaire's office. Why did you keep me waiting so long, the Countess demanded? Maytrank chuckled. He admired a fighter, and here was one to his hand. It was pretty audacious in a woman who had swindled him out of a fortune. I was merely deferring the pleasure, my dear, he said. What can I do for you? Any fresh loan on the banks of the clouds, or castles in the air, or anything of that kind? Or do you wish to sell me any diamonds? I swear to you the Countess said that I was innocent over those diamonds. I honestly believe them to be genuine, and worth far more money than the sum for which I parted with them. I feel now that I have been tricked. You old wolf, you had the real stones taken away for some purpose of your own. She bent over the table and shook her clenched hand angrily in the old man's face. He showed his teeth in a snarl. Gently, gently he growled. Let us look at those gems. I have them here. See, are those the ones you passed over to me? He pitched the glittering gods contemptuously on the desk. Leona examined them carefully. So far as she could see no change had been made, and where the stones had been filed she could see the dull, scratched edges. Was this the work of the hidden enemy, or another cruel stroke of ill fortune? They looked the same, she admitted grudgingly. I'm afraid you're right there. Take them back to the place where you perloined them, may Trank grinned. Leona was silent. Quince the gems came was no business of her opponent. He seemed to be pleased about something, and he had made no allusion to his money, which was a very bad sign. The Countess brought up the subject. What are you going to do, she asked, meaningly? I'm going to do nothing for the present, may Trank replied. I'm going to pursue what that admirable diplomatist Beaconsfield called a policy of masterly inactivity. If I do not get my money in cash I shall in another way. But you are going to get it, Leona said eagerly. I have practically effected alone with the firm of Bernstein of New York. Why do you laugh? Because I am amused, because I am greatly amused. You are wasting your time and all your pretty schemes there. The name of a firm means nothing in business nowadays. I have a different name in every capital in Europe. Also, I have another different name in New York. For instance, my firm is called Bernstein and Company of 149 Broadway. Ah, ah! So I have been corresponding with you all the time. Yes, as the English say, that is about the size of it. Those letters of yours, oh, oh, the fun I have had out of this, and the magnificent lies. But may Trank was alone. The Countess had bounced in a fury out of the room. At every turn fate seemed to be against her now. That deadly fear was coming on her again. It was hard to be baffled and beaten at every turn like this, and yet not be able to strike a single blow in return. There was the haunting terror that her enemies knew too much, and that the sword would fall when they pleased. Otherwise the cruel, greedy nature of May Trank would never have held her off like this. He seemed to be resigned to the loss of the money, but he was evidently going to take it out in another way. Leona would have given years of her life to know which way. There was nobody to turn to, nobody to advise her now but Balmain. He had done pretty well on the whole. He had contrived to keep himself out of danger, and at the first sign of the collapse he would fly. But anybody was better than the sapping away of mind and body brooding alone. Balmain listened to everything with a grave face. I quite agree with you over those notes, he said. They must be recovered at any cost from Isidor. Think, Leona whispered, set your wits to work. Meanwhile I have asked him to come here to-night to dine. Between now and then we shall surely find some way. At present I can only think of drugging and stealing his keys, but with our experience we can surely find better methods than that. Isidor won't come, Balmain said curtly. The prophecy proved to be correct. Isidor regretted that he had another engagement to dine out this evening. Perhaps it was only a pleasure deferred to the end of the week. Leona tore the paper up passionately. End of Chapter 42 Chapter 43 A Slice of Luck Lytton Avenue was quiet for once and Leona Lalage was glad of it. She said truthfully that she had a splitting headache so that she was thankful to be alone and lie down on the couch in the drawing-room with the lights lowered and Oda Cologne on her temples. Hetty sat a little way off engaged on some fancy work. It seemed hard to imagine that all this refinement and enviable luxury covered crime and mystery. It was a little before eleven that Balmain came in. He was very quiet and subdued. He sat and unfolded an evening paper. He shot a sign across to the Countess from a pair of eyes that gleamed like flames. I should like a fresh handkerchief, Hetty, she said. Would you mind? Hetty was off at once. Balmain jumped to his feet. You must try and pull yourself together, he said. There has been an amazing piece of luck. Isidor was dining at the Lotus with Lawrence. We came down the steps together. There was a fire close by and a handsome backed on to the pavement to make a long story short. Isidor fainted with the pain of a broken collarbone and they took him to Charing Cross Hospital. You took him. In that case I need not ask. You need not. I didn't take him personally. I took his keys. Leona Lalage was off the sofa directly. She motioned at the door as Hetty came back the sufferer crossed the room languidly, saying she was going to lie down on her bed. She required no attention. She only wanted to be absolutely quiet. Once upstairs Balmain followed. There was nobody on the landing. Now is your chance, he said. It is a pretty neat turn of fortune for us. I've got the motor round and will meet you at the corner of the street. You had better be disguised. But I have only one disguise in the house, the old one. All the better. You are used to that and carry it off naturally. I have the key not only of the safe but of the street door as well. All you have to do is proceed to the sitting-room where you have been before and help yourself. Then you can slip into Isidor's bedroom and lay the keys on the dressing table. He will imagine that he left them behind when he changed his evening clothes. Are you up to it or not? Really you look fearfully ill to-night. The dark eyes were gleaming in the white face. Despite her racking head and her tired limbs, Leona was gradually summoning back her latent forces. Her hand no longer trembled. The wild beating of her heart was stilled. You can rely on me, she whispered. I shall not fail you. Too much depends upon my success or failure to-night. Go round and get the motor whilst I slip into my old disguise. The thing can be done swiftly. I can be back here again before anybody knows that I have gone. Lock your door as a precaution, Balmain whispered. I'm going now. In the shadows, Hetty listened to as much of the talk as she could hear, but nobody was going to leave the house without her knowledge. Behind the hangings in the hall she waited. Her patience was not unduly tried. There was a light footstep presently, a pause as if of precaution, and the countess came downstairs. Her hair had become blonde. There was a lace shawl over her head. Her skirts were short and trim. She flashed across the hall without the slightest sound, and had passed into the street before Hetty deemed it prudent to follow. The girl was taking a terrible risk for the sake of her lover, and she knew it, but she must follow. She did presently, keeping the Spanish figure in sight till the corner of the road was reached. There stood the black motor with its dull sides. The figure of the countess sprang into it lightly. There was a touch of the lever, a click of metal, and then the swift machine was out of sight like a flash. Well, I can do no more at present, Hetty told herself. I had better go to my room and wait for her return. What a wonderful woman, half dead a few minutes ago, and now ready for a desperate errand like this! The motor sped on until it came at length to the corner of the street where Isidor's chambers were situated. It was a very quiet road, and few people were about. Quite calmly and collectively Leona alighted. It's the fifth house, she said. I shall trust a chance that the people are in bed. If not, I daresay, I shall have a good tale to tell. Go in and win, Balmaine whispered. Always back your luck. Leona Lalage came to the house at length, so far as she could see no lights were anywhere except in the hall, where there was a faint spot of gas. Everything was going to turn out favourably. Evidently the landlady had gone to bed, or the gas would not be so low. It was easy to pick the latchkey out of the bunch that she held in her hand. The lock turned easily and smoothly, and she was in the hall. Silence everywhere. Evidently the whole household was in bed. There was another tiny crumb of gas burning on the landing, just outside Isidore's sitting-room door. The door of the room was closed. Leona opened it quietly and boldly, and entered. The place was in absolute darkness. Where was she to find the matches, for she had none of her own? She fumbled her way to the fireplace, but could find nothing she required. It seemed to her that she could hear somebody breathing in the room besides herself, but this she put down to the worn and disordered state of her nerves. Ah, there were the matches at last. She could hear them rattling as they fell to the floor. She struck one, and the sudden flare half-blinded her. Then she turned all the burners on, and the sudden glitter of it made her start. Really she was a good deal more ill and shaky than she had imagined. Light at last. The blinds were up, but that did not matter. Leona turned and looked around the room. A man seated in a chair, a dark and gloomy man with brooding eyes, rose and confronted her. A strange place to meet, he said, but we have met at last. Leona Lalage strove to speak, but the words froze on her lips. She was face to face with Garrett Charlton. End of Chapter 43. End of Section 18. Section 19, chapters 44, 45, and 46 of The Corner House. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. The Corner House by Fred M. White. Chapter 44. At last. For the first time in her life, Leona Lalage felt inclined to give up the struggle, turn whichever way she would fate was ever against her. The shock of these constant surprises was fast breaking down her iron nerves. She stood there face to face with the last man in the world she desired to see. Her breath came fast as if she had been running far, there was not a trace of colour on her cheeks. Charlton could see the black pupils dilating like those of a cat. The woman had been brought to bay. If only she could get away, but Charlton stood between her and the door. He would recognise her now as his late wife's companion, but once her disguise was put aside would he recognise the Countess Lalage? The shock was dying away. After all, what was the accusation? And yet Charlton was looking at her with the eyes of a man who has found out everything. They stood confronting one another for some time in silence. It was Charlton who first spoke. He came a step or two nearer. So we have met at last, he said. Well murderous? That is a word that does no harm, Leona said. What have I done? What I have said. You murdered my wife as surely as if you had driven a knife into her breast. She found you out in my absence, and to shield yourself and come between husband and wife you forged an infamous letter. Oh, you well know the emotional nature you had to deal with. You counted on it. That forgery had the desired effect, and my wife poisoned herself. You would have got that letter back, but I returned unexpectedly. I kept that letter which would have saved my good name, but I preferred to remain silent so that it might go to the world that my wife had found no suicides grave. I have that letter. I don't doubt it, Leona said coolly. Her restless eyes were seeking a way of escape. But many would say it was no forgery at all. You cannot prove that I had anything to do with it. There, let me pass. She advanced, but Charlton waved her back. Not yet, he said. I'm not going to throw this chance away. I came here to see Mr. Isidore, and I elected to wait. It was one of the best hours work I ever did. When you leave here it will be for a jail. Leona smiled scornfully. She had no fear of that. On what charge, may I ask, she demanded? On a charge of theft. You robbed my wife, and she found you out. One of the servants found you out as well. You had barely time to conceal those jewels and get away. After a time you came back for them. You stole them from their hiding place. Ah, this is serious. How did you know that? Because I saw you, you and your infamous accomplice Balmain. Then it really was your face in the window, Leona cried. There I have admitted it, though I had not meant to do so. Not that it matters. I could swear that I had denied it all along. If you have witnesses. I had witnesses. I was not in the house alone. There are other people interested in the Spanish woman with the fair hair and mantilla. The woman who was in the corner house at the time of the murder. The scornful smile froze on Leona's face. She had utterly forgotten for the moment that she stood face to face now with two grave perils. The name of your witness, she demanded hoarsely. All in good time, Charlton replied. Now I have found you once again. I can punish you and clear my wife's good name at the same time. I have only to lock the door and summon the police by way of the window. If everything else fails I can have you punished for the theft of those jewels. That is, if you can find any trace of them. I have seen them. I have had them in my hands. Charlton was about to say more, but he checked himself in time. After all, the woman and her accomplice had not stolen the real gems, but the paced imitations. But Lawrence would be in a position to clear that point. If I confess, Leona suggested. If I confess, will you promise? I promise nothing. You are in no position to dictate terms. Sit down and tell me the history of the forgery. The woman's eyes flashed again. All this was taking time. Balmain would wonder what had happened to her. From the bottom of her heart she was praying that he might come up and see. Not that there was much real hope of that. Physical courage was not one of Louis Balmain's strong points. No, if there was a way to safety she would have to find it herself. And there was a long knife under the folds of her dress, if she could only get a chance to use it. After that the fair Spaniard would disappear, never to be seen again. Of her real identity this man could not possibly know. I'll tell you, she said, I procured a letter of yours. I cut out words here and there and made a long letter of them. Then I had the whole thing photographed. After that my task was easy. It was only a matter of time. Even from a child I always had a gift that way. If you'll give me paper and pen I will show you. Charlton complied. Leona Lalage used the pen which she expressed herself as very dissatisfied with. She called for another. Charlton rummaged on the table with his head down. Like a cat Leona sprang forward, something bright glittered in the air. The man turned just in time to save the steel crashing between his ribs. It glanced off between his shoulders. There was a sharp spasm of pain as he fell. Just for an instant he was unconscious. Then as suddenly as it had gone reason came back to him. He heard the trip of feet down the stairs. He heard the rattle and banging of a door. He was bleeding freely but he managed to drag himself to the window. Murder! he yelled. Police! Arrest that woman. She has tried to kill me. End of Chapter 44 Chapter 45 A Chase Meanwhile Balmain had been waiting impatiently for the return of his companion. Half an hour passed and there was no sign of her return. There had been so many accidents and strokes of ill luck lately that even Balmain was nervous. He had half a mind to go and see what was wrong, but he changed his mind and lighted a cigarette instead. He was angry and afraid at the same time. Twice already the same policeman had passed the black motor and had examined it critically. The third time he came round he would be pretty sure to want to know why it was still there. If—a sudden cry smote the air. A yell of murder followed by the quick rush of footsteps. A police whistle screamed hoarsely. There were answering whistles out of the darkness. The rush of footsteps drew nearer. The next instant, sobbing breathlessly, Leona Lalage flung herself headlong into the car. What on earth Balmain began? What on earth? Don't stop to ask questions, Leona panted. Get along quickly. Go home by as long a route as you can. Ah, they're coming! A policeman was coming. He hailed the car. He could have no suspicion of its occupants as yet. He only sought information. Balmain pulled the lever and the car started. The officer yelled instructions to somebody in the darkness. From point to point the message went along. There was no escape unless good luck stood on their side. And the motor was terribly swift. And now perhaps you wouldn't mind telling me what it's all about, Balmain growled as the motor sped along. What was the fuss about? I found Charlton there, Leona panted. Above all persons in the world I found Charlton there. He was sitting in the darkness waiting for Isidor. Then you haven't even got the notes? The notes? I had more important matters to think of. I found matches and lighted the gas, and there, sitting opposite me, was Charlton. It was part of my wretched luck that I should have stumbled on him in this disguise. Had I been dressed differently he would never have recognized me. I—faster, faster! A policeman stepped out of the gloom and tried to pull up the car. It flashed by him at the rate of seventy miles an hour. I would have made some excuse and got away Leona went on. But he had me fast. He was going to send me to jail. That would have been a pretty thing for Countess Lalage. But he only knew me for what I used to be. If I could only get away and destroy the disguise he would never get on my track again. I pretended that I could not fight him any more. I lulled his suspicions to sleep. I was going to show him how the forgery was done. He stooped to get me a pen and the knife went into his shoulder. Had he not moved I should have killed him. He managed to creep to the window and give the alarm. Leona stopped for want of breath. Her face was streaming with moisture. The fierce rush of cold air cooled her heated temples. There was nothing else for it, she said. I wish I had killed him. Then I should have got the notes and returned home comfortably. As it is, half the officers in London are looking for the car at the present moment. See that? She tugged at Balmain's arm. A cordon of men was drawn up across the road. With marvellous dexterity Balmain whipped the car round almost into a set of men who scattered right and left. One clung to the back of the car for a moment, but Balmain beat him off at length. Turn down Churton Street, Leona whispered. There seems to be nobody at that corner. If we can only get round by way of Hill Crescent we may manage to escape yet. Once in the square we can baffle them. It was quiet enough in Churton Street, and again in Collins Crescent, which was so near home that the long line of Lytton Avenue could be seen. But there again standing figures came out of the gloom and the car sped on. So near and yet so far said Balmain between his teeth. The best thing would be to climb the railings and hide in one of the gardens. Only it would mean abandoning the car, and we might just as well give ourselves up as that. Leona nodded. The spirit of adventure was upon her now. It fired her blood, and there was something intoxicating about that maddening pace. Still they could not go on at that speed forever, another half an hour at that speed, and the petrol must give out. Balmain was growing anxious. Another dash round, then I must try the lane at the back of the house, he said. The car can't go on like this forever. They sped on again, finding the avenues of escape gradually closing in. Day and night there are always people in the London streets, and the news was flying far that murder had been committed, and that the culprits were escaping in a fast motor. By an extra spurt of speed a rope drawn across the roadway near the Avenue was just escaped. A yell of excretion followed from the crowd. The car flashed round the corner of Lytton Avenue on two wheels. There was a jolt and a crash as the flying machine went over a balk of wood laid across the road, and the next instant the occupants were rolling across the path. Just for the moment there was nobody in sight. Quick cried Balmain as he pulled his companion to her feet. You don't seem to be hurt. It's a mystery we were not killed. There's a rail out of the long line of rails in the square yonder. Close here. Ah, now you squeeze through and I'll follow. We shall save our skins yet. They crawled through and hid themselves in the black shrubs. A policeman came running up and surveyed the wreck thoughtfully. His lantern played all over it. He stooped down and rubbed at the dull framework vigorously. Why, what's this? he exclaimed. What does the game mean? Found out anything, mate? another officer asked. Found out a lot, said the first policeman. This motor's as bright as your lantern, really. It's all covered over with black lead. End of Chapter 45 Chapter 46 Hetty learned something. A search was being made for the fugitives in every place but the right one. The railings of the square were high so that it never occurred to anyone that the culprits might have escaped that way. They had got off somehow. In the opinion of most of the people there they had stopped the motor and started it again on its headlong course, after which they had mingled with the crowd. Gradually Lytton Avenue grew quiet again. Leona Lalage stood up so that the light of a lamp outside showed her up in a ghastly fashion. She had lost her fair wig somewhere. Her face was all cut and bleeding. Her left ankle was painfully sprained. Do I look very dreadful? she asked. Your face is all cut about, Balmaine growled. I should think that you will not be able to show up in society for some time to come. Leona Lalage thought little about that. She had about her those who were skillful in the way of paint and powder. An artist in face treatment would remove all traces of those cuts in a short time. What she was most anxious to do now was to find herself at home. Those nerves were coming back again. Let us get in, she said hoarsely. A cold bath to say nothing of a deep, deep drink. I want brandy, a lot of brandy, and soda water. Is the coast clear? The coast was clear, apparently, and the two culprits crept out. They reached the house at length and tried the door. It was fast. The countess shook her hands passionately. Where's the sense in making that noise, Balmaine growled? Why didn't you bring your latchkey as I suggested instead of leaving the front door open? Some zealous policeman found it open and rang the servants up. We must try the back gate, Leona suggested. They crept round there unseen by dint of this and that doorway, but there was no luck that night. The little gate was fast. Hedy had seen to that. She had made up her mind to know what time the countess returned, together with all other information possible. You'll have to knock them up, said Balmaine, between his teeth. It will take time, and it will be dangerous, but there's nothing else for it that I can see. Say you've had a spill out of a cab or something of that kind. When you've bustled them off upstairs again I'll sneak into the house. I could do with a cigarette and a brandy and soda quite as much as you can. It was hard work to make anybody here, especially as a watchful policeman might come along at any moment, but presently a light gleamed behind the stained glass of the front door, and then Hedy's face came into sight. She looked heavy and sleepy, a white wrap was about her shoulders. But her stare of amazement was quite unaffected. She it was who had locked the front door with the full determination of only opening at her will, but she had not expected to see a figure like this. I was nearly asleep, she stammered, when I heard the bell, and the moment I heard it I came down. Why, why, oh, what has happened? There was no acting here, at least not for the moment. Hedy's gentle heart was touched by the physical wreck before her. Here was a woman in distress who wanted the aid and assistance of a sister. Let me look at you, she said tenderly. Let me get water and some towels. But the Countess thrust her fiercely aside. I can do all that for myself presently, she said. I was lured on a fool's errand, and I have had a narrow escape of my life. Don't ask any questions yet. Go to the sideboard and get me brandy. There are some siphons of soda water there. Give me a lot. Fill the glass. More brandy. The soda water hissed and bubbled in the long glass. Leona raised it to her lips and drained it to the last drop. A little splash of colour crept into her scarred cheek. She drew a long, shuttering sigh. But Hedy's curious eyes were upon her. Surely some further information was needed of this midnight adventure, and just for the moment Leona Lalage could think of nothing that sounded like the truth. She would have to appeal to Hedy and throw herself on her kindly feeling. I'm going to my room now, she said. I feel better. Hedy, I have done a foolish thing to-night. I did it for the sake of another. It was a plot to rob and perhaps murder me, but I didn't know it. Promise me on your honour that you will never speak of this to a soul. The promise thrilled on Hedy's lips, but might not this be all part of the conspiracy by which her lover's good name had terribly suffered? Perhaps later on her testimony on this head might be all important. There was a faint moaning cry in the doorway. A tiny white figure stood there. Mamie had been awakened by the ringing of the bell. She had missed Hedy and had come down in her childish way to see what was the matter. Oh, mother, she cried. What is the matter? What have they been doing to you? She advanced, rubbing her terrified eyes, but Hedy barred the way and caught the little one up in her arms. It is nothing, darling, she said, as she kissed the white lips. Mother has been masquerading. It is a part of her dress. You must come to bed with me at once. There is a terrible draft here. Come along. Hedy swept out of the room and up the stairs, glad to escape without giving the word that would have sealed her lips. Tomorrow Bruce should know all of this. She slipped into her bedroom and locked the door. She was longing for the time when she could get away from this horrible house. She was staying for Gordon's sake, but how much longer would she be called upon for the sacrifice? Meanwhile Balmain had crept in downstairs. He crossed over and helped himself liberally to Brandy. He took a second glass and a third. But there came none of the glow of courage to his heart. What's to be done now? he asked. Leona made no reply. Her eyes were fixed moodily on space. End of chapter 46. End of section 19. Section 20 chapters 47, 48, and 49 of The Corner House This Librivox recording is in the public domain. The Corner House by Fred M. White Chapter 47. Flowne With a white oblong sheet of paper in his pocket, with the signature of the Chief Magistrate at Bow Street, Prout went down jauntily to call upon Lawrence. The latter looked at him smilingly. You're going to arrest Countess LaLage, he asked. Well, I don't know anything about that, Prout said, taken aback, but I've certainly got a warrant for the arrest of Leona LaLage. Mr. Lawrence, I've solved the problem of the black lead I found in The Corner House. That's clever, how did you manage it? Well, fortune was kind to me. I couldn't think what that black lead was doing there. I could have told you. I knew that as far back ago as the first inquest on Leona LaLage. Our friend the Countess has a fast motor. It was so fast that she could be in two places at once. But it became necessary to disguise the motor, the black motor that Miss Lawrence and the newspaper man saw. It must be a disguise that would come off easily. What better than black lead that could be removed from the bright parts with a damp rag and restored with a touch? The black motor came to grief last night, I see. Ah, you read that in the paper, sir, and of course you knew all about the attempt on the life of Mr. Charlton by the fair Spaniard. Well, she was seen to escape in that motor, and near the scene of the smash we found the wig. The manufacturer of the car has been seen, and he is prepared to swear whom he sold it to. Therefore, knowing what we do, I took the liberty of swearing and information before Sir John at Bow Street, and I've got the warrant for the arrest of Leona LaLage in my pocket. We shall get her on one charge if we fail in another. You can't fail, said Lawrence quietly. When I come to give evidence, the character of my friend Dr. Bruce will be restored beyond question. By the way, I have not heard how Mr. Charlton is today. Prout remarked that Charlton was better. Fortunately no great damage had been done. He was suffering from some loss of blood, but in a day or two the patient would be able to give evidence. There would be enough sensation for the papers, tomorrow. The detective went calmly on his way to Lytton Avenue. The countess was not down yet, but if the caller would send up his business it should be attended to. Prout was firm, but his business was for the private ear of the lady of the house alone, and he would wait her good pleasure. He was quite easy in his mind, seeing that he was not alone, but accompanied by two officers in plain clothes, one being stationed in front of the house, and the other at the rear. It was Hetty who came back with the second message that the countess would see her visitor presently in her dressing room. The girl started as she recognized the features of the detective. Is there anything wrong? she asked. Prout gave his information in a low voice. He could trust Hetty, and besides, she might have some valuable information to impart. Did you see anything queer last night, Miss? he asked. Hetty hesitated. It seemed hardly fair, and yet so much might depend upon her speaking. Nothing could save the countess from arrest now. Rapidly, but clearly, she told Prout all that there was to tell. That clenches it, he said. Now where did they hide themselves? A bell rang somewhere overhead, and Prout was summoned by a tall footman who sniffed at him suspiciously as he led the way upstairs. In a magnificent wrap, Lyonna Lalage sat. There was a cup of coffee before her. In a flash she saw exactly what had happened. Her hand did not shake now. The cigarette between her lips was steady. She had known that sooner or later this blow must fall. It was only in a very strong light that traces of last night's adventure could be seen on her face. Just a little sigh of passionate regret escaped her, and then she was her own calm, smiling self again. I fancy I've seen you before, she said. Are you not the detective who has the corner-house mystery in hand? Prout admitted that such was the case. I'm not here about that, he said, at least not for the present. I'm afraid that I have some bad news for you. I am speaking to the lady who is known to people generally as Countess Lalage. I am Countess Lalage, was the calm reply. As you like, Madame, Prout said indifferently, I have a warrant for the arrest of Lyonna Lalage on a charge of attempted murder. I can't say any more at present, and it will be as well for you to say as little as possible. The Countess bowed. Not for an instant did she change colour. I'll dress it once, she said. My bedroom door is locked, so this is the only way I can escape. Get out something dark for me to wear, Hannah. She called thus to her maid inside. With a smile she intimated to Prout that she might keep him a little time waiting. It did not matter how long, seeing that he had his bird fast in the toils. A quarter of an hour passed, and then a trim made with dark, short hair, and in the smart, starched style peculiar to good servants, appeared. She gave one glance of indifference at Prout, and then passed down the stairs. From his window he could see the very neat figure crossing the square. Time passed, and he grew impatient. He coughed as he looked into the bedroom. Then he said something strong under his breath. Nobody was there. The opposite door was locked, but the bird had flown. With a disturbed face, Prout passed into the street. The men were still there. See anybody leave the house, Prout asked? Nobody but a servant and a pretty one, the other said. Then you be after her as soon as possible, Prout groaned. We're done, Smithers. That smart lady's maid was Countess Lalage. End of Chapter 47 Chapter 48 Heddy speaks out. There was a good deal of whispering and talking in corners and under the trees at Longmere House. A fussy little man with an eyeglass seemed to have a great deal to say. Lady Longmere laughed somewhat scornfully as she watched him. A great pile of strawberries were on her plate. I have a great many faults, the pretty American era said, but scandal never was one of them. Look at that little wretch of a Mosley Harcourt. Nobody likes him, and nobody is free from his poisonous tongue, but he goes everywhere because he has the very latest gossip. Heddy nodded absently. In society parlance Lady Longmere had taken Heddy up. Since the night of the card party at Lytton Avenue, when her ladyship had foresworn cards for good and all, she had seen a good deal of Heddy, and she was one of the few who stuck loyally to Bruce. Here's your young man, she said presently. He didn't want to come, but I made a special journey and persuaded him. Never hide yourself at times like this. Gordon is very sensitive, said Heddy. That's the kind of thing that hurts. She clutched at the handle of her sunshade passionately as a society leader responded to Bruce's uplifted hat by a cold stare. And Gordon saved that woman's life, Heddy said. He sat up all one night with her and part of the second. It's very hard, Lady Longmere. Lady Longmere replied generally that it would benefit Bruce in the long run. Lady Rockingham came up and said it was very hot. After his rebuff, Bruce stood by as if unconscious of Lady Rockingham's presence. Surely our ladyship knows Dr. Bruce, Heddy said, with a vivid splash of colour on either cheek. A little time ago I understood that Dr. Bruce—Dr. Bruce perfectly understands Lady Rockingham said coldly. But you evidently don't, Heddy said coolly. I was going to give your ladyship a little information. I fancy you were present at Lytton Avenue the night of the card party when those mysterious notes were produced. It was never known exactly who paid them over to Mr. Isidore, but I know now. They came from Countess Lalage. Indeed, she admitted as much to my uncle, Mr. Lawrence. Bruce drew Heddy gently away. The girl was sore and angry and might be betrayed into saying something that she would be sorry for afterwards. After all, it did not matter much so long as they had one another. The grounds were large and secluded. There were plenty of spots there for lovers. They might have been far away in the country. I've been talking to Lawrence, Bruce said. My dear little girl, I have only learned lately what you have endured for me. If these people had found you out, they would most certainly have murdered you. Heddy smiled lightly. She had her own reward. It would be mainly due to her that her lover's good name would be cleared. But it makes my blood boil to see you treated in that way by that woman, she cried, especially after what you did for her. I longed to tell her who the real culprit was, and that in a few days a woman in whose house she had been would be arrested for the crime. I'm glad you didn't, Bruce smiled. What a sensation those good people will have presently, and most of them have been on intimate terms with our countess. My darling, I shall never be easy in my mind till you are out of that house. And I shall never go till I can make some arrangements for Mamie, Heddy said. Of course the secret cannot be kept much longer, and then I suppose everything will be seized by the creditors, but even the servants are in the dark as yet. Bruce nodded moodily. He seemed to have something on his mind that he could not throw off. The cloud lifted a little under Heddy's blandishments. It was impossible to sit looking into those clear eyes and be wholly unhappy. You have some trouble, Heddy said anxiously. I have, but I shan't tell it to you today. Let us talk of something else. Let us forget the world for ourselves. A band was playing somewhere. There were voices pitched high, close by, then came the clear laugh of Lady Longmere. Say, what a comedy, she said. What does it matter? It will be something to say afterwards that we knew the woman. I can't believe it, said Lady Rockingham. Mr. Harcourt, are you quite clear and certain of your facts? Who told you? Shouldn't dare to speak thus of the fascinating l'allage? Harcourt, the little man with the eyeglass, drawled, should be afraid of a knife in my back or something horribly Corsican of that kind. Can't tell you any more, except I know the police had a warrant for her arrest and that she's bolted. And she's got a diamond star of mine worth a thousand pounds, Lady Rockingham screamed. A stone was missing and she offered to have it replaced for me out of her stock of loose diamonds. I made a friend of that woman, a vulgar adventurist who steals brooches and the like. Be a lesson to us all, Harcourt said sapiently, for at least a month, and then we shall run after the next flashy adventurer who comes along. Give me the money and I'll put any gutter flower girl in society, and at the top of all in a month. It's only a question of cash. The speaker passed on, had he seemed amused about something. So the story has leaked out, she said, but it has its funny side. Fancy Leona Lalage getting Lady Rockingham's star like that. It was the sort of cynical thing she would have enjoyed. Bruce held up his hand for silence. What are the boys saying in Piccadilly, he asked. The cries came nearer. A familiar name was mentioned. Latest society scandal came the shrill voices. Latest society sensation, flight of the Countess Lalage. End of Chapter 48 Chapter 49 In the dead of the night The story flashed like lightning from one end of London to the other. Leona Lalage had been an important personage. Her face was familiar to the society paper window. No report of a great function was complete without a description of her dress. She was a constant source of copy to the paragraphists. Her dinners and her parties were things to imitate and envy. And now the crash had come. It was the sensation of the hour. Every penny paper had a portrait of sorts of Leona Lalage. The wildest rumours were afloat. As far as anybody knew for the present, the Countess was not at home and the servants could give no clue as to her whereabouts. Tomorrow a whole horde of tradesmen would be down upon Lytton Avenue, but for the present Hetty was left in peace. Mamie was very far from well, flushed and feverish, so that at eleven o'clock she decided to call in Bruce. She rang the bell, but no servant appeared. She rang again and went down presently into the basement to investigate. There was no sign of a servant to be seen anywhere. They had all packed up their boxes and fled, as rats quit a sinking ship. Hetty was alone in the house. At any rate there was the telephone. Dr. Bruce was out, they told her, but expected in shortly when he should have the message. It was not nice to be alone in so large a house with a sick child, but Hetty had no fear. All the horrors and all the tragedies had gone with the Countess. It was quite late when Bruce arrived. He asked no questions as Hetty let him in herself, and Hetty said nothing of the fact that she had been deserted. It would only make Gordon uneasy, and she was certain that she could manage alone. Of course you can, darling, Bruce said fondly. If ever there was a born nurse, you are one. I don't like the look of the child at all. She ought to be got away from here to the seaside. Fresh air and salt water is what she wants. The child lay between waking and sleeping. Her cry was for water. Not too much water, said Bruce. A little now and some fresh cold water later on. I shall give her a few of those drops I prescribed for her last week. Four now and four in an hour's time, but be very careful as to the dose. Hetty produced the little file marked Poison and examined the label. She had administered the medicine before. Usually she kept it locked up. As she poured out the drop she had a curious sensation that she was being watched. Her hand shook so that she had to try again before she was satisfied. Are you nervous tonight, Bruce asked? Not more than usual, said Hetty. Once I get away from this house I shall be all right, and that looks as if it won't be long. Bruce lingered as if loath to depart. The house seemed wonderfully silent. Bruce went down the stairs presently, accompanied by Hetty. Good night, my darling, he said, as he kissed her fondly. You'll be compelled to leave here tomorrow, and I only hope the child will be better. Thank goodness Gilbert Lawrence will be only too glad to have you. Hetty fastened the door carefully. Now that she was alone she was feeling more horribly nervous than ever. She locked most of the downstairs doors, and it was only sheer self-contempt that prevented her from fastening her bedroom door. It required a great deal of courage to sleep in a large empty house. Mamie had half dropped asleep, but she opened her eyes again as Hetty entered. You have been so long, she said pitifully, so very long, and why didn't you come when I heard you standing by the door? I wasn't standing by the door, Hetty said quietly. But indeed you were. I called out, and you said hush very quietly. Then I heard the rustle of your dress as you went down the stairs. Hetty murmured something to the effect that she had forgotten. There was no reason to contradict and argue over a child's fancies. Mamie murmured again. Take the drops first, Hetty suggested. Mamie declined fretfully. She wanted water, and that on the table was quite warm. With a patient smile Hetty went downstairs to get more. Mamie drank thirstily. Hetty picked up the little bottle to pour out the drops. By sheer habit she looked at the label. It was the same, and not the same. Hetty stifled a cry of surprise. She had made no mistake before, of that she was certain. Then what could possibly have happened? Somebody had crept into the room in her absence and changed the bottles. There could be no doubt about that. The label had the same chemist's name on it, with a red caution of poison underneath. The girl put the bottle to her nostrils and noticed the difference in the smell. The discovery turned her sick and faint that anyone should deliberately try to take an innocent life like this filled her with loathing. Mamie had dropped into what looked like a sound sleep. Hetty lay on the bed with the light out. She had the switch to her hand. She could lie there with the chance that the fiend who had done this thing would come back. More than one person in the house had known that that medicine was an experiment. If Mamie died it would do Bruce in calculable harm, and she herself might suffer. A thousand horrors rose out of the darkness and mocked at Hetty. She lay there waiting patiently. Soon it seemed to her that somebody was in the room. She could hear breathing that was not her own, and the creep-creep of drapery. There was the faint rattle on the stand where the medicine stood, so faint that it would not have been heard by any but strained ears. Hetty could stand it no longer. Her fingers went out to the electric switch. There was a sudden snap, and the room was bathed in light. There was a startling cry from a woman who stood just under the light with a bottle in her hand, the real bottle as Hetty could see quite plainly. Now I have got you, murderous! Hetty cried. The woman reached up a long white hand, and taking the bulb of the swinging electric light in her grasp desperately, crushed it to pieces. Then there was the swift darkness again, and the rush of flying feet.