"What's all this?" she cried in great agitation. "Wait, do not speak,
Philpotts, leave him to me.... Do you go back to our place this
instant; we cannot be away together, you know that; _it_ must not be
left alone, one of us must be on guard over it. Hurry, hurry, I never
feel that _it_ is safe out of our sight.
"Now, sir," Mrs. Blair turned on me fiercely, "will you be so good as
to explain how I find you quarrelling with my maid, permitting
yourself to cast aspersions, to make imputations upon two unprotected
women?"
"How much have you overheard?" I asked, feeling very small already. My
self-reproach was aroused even before I quailed under the withering
contempt of her tone.
"Enough to expect ample apology. How dare you, how dare you say such
things? What you may imagine, what unworthy idea you may have formed,
is beyond me to guess, but you can know nothing. You can have no real
reason for condemning me."
"Let me admit that, and leave the matter there," I pleaded. I could
not bring myself to tell her that she was self-condemned, that she was
the principal witness against herself. It would have been too cruel,
ungenerous, to take an unfair advantage. Why should I constitute
myself her judge?
She looked at me very keenly, her eyes piercing me through and
through. I felt that she was penetrating my inmost thoughts and
turning me inside out.
"I will not leave it at that. I insist upon your speaking plainly. I
must know what is in your mind."
"And if I refuse, distinctly, positively, categorically; if I deny
your contention, and protest that I have nothing to tell you?"
"I shall not believe you. Come, please, let there be no more evasion.
I must have it out. I shall stay here until you tell me what you think
of me, and why."
She seated herself by my side in the narrow velvet seat of the small
compartment, so close that the folds of her tweed skirt (she had
removed her ulster) touched and rubbed against me. I was invaded by
the sweet savour of her gracious presence (she used some delightful
scent, _violette ideale_, I believe), by putting forth my hand a few
inches I might have taken hers in mine. She fixed her eyes on me with
an intent unvarying gaze that under other conditions would have been
intoxicating, but was now no more than disquieting and embarrassing.
As I was still tongue-tied, she returned to her point with resolute
insistence.
"Come, Colonel Annesley, how long is this to go on? I want and will
have an explanation. Why have you formed such a bad opinion of me?"
"How do you know I have done so?" I tried to fence and fight with her,
but in vain.
"I cannot be mistaken. I myself heard you tell my maid that you wished
to have nothing to say to us, that we were not your sort. Well! why is
that? How do I differ from the rest of--your world, let us call it?"
"You do not, as far as I can see. At least you ought to hold your own
anywhere, in any society, the very best."
"And yet I'm not 'your sort.' Am I a humbug, an impostor, an
adventuress, a puppet and play-actress? Or is it that I have
forfeited my right, my rank of gentlewoman, my position in the world,
your world?"
I was silent, moodily, obstinately silent. She had hit the blot, and
could put but one interpretation upon it. I saw she guessed I knew
something. Not how much, perhaps, but something to her discredit. She
still was not satisfied; she would penetrate my reserve, overcome my
reticence, have it out of me willy nilly, whether I would or no.
"You cannot surely refuse me? I have my reasons for desiring to know
the very worst."
"Why drive me to that?" I schooled myself to seem hard and
uncompromising. I felt I was weakening under the subtle charm of her
presence, and the pretty pleading of her violet eyes; but I was still
resolute not to give way.
"If you will only tell me why you think such evil I may be able to
justify myself, or at least explain away appearances that are against
me."
"You admit there are such appearances? Remember, I never said so."
"Then on what do you condemn me? You do condemn me, I am certain of
it," she insisted, seeing my gesture of negation. "Are you treating
me fairly, chivalrously, as a gentleman and a man of honour should?
How can you reconcile it to your conscience?"
"Some people talk very lightly of conscience, or use it when it is an
empty meaningless word," I said severely.
"You imply that I have no conscience, or that I should feel the
qualms, the prickings of conscience?"
"After what you've done, yes," I blurted out.
"What have I done? What do you know of it, or what led me to do it?
How dare you judge me without knowing the facts, without a shadow of
proof?" She sprang to her feet and passed to the door, where she
turned, as it were, at bay.
"I have the very best proof, from your own lips. I heard you and your
maid talking together at Calais."
"A listener, Colonel Annesley? Faugh!"
"It was forced on me. You stood under my window there." I defended
myself indignantly. "I wish to heaven I had never heard. I did not
want to know; your secrets are your own affair."
"And my actions, I presume?" she put in with superb indifference.
"And their consequences, madam," but the shot failed rather of effect.
She merely smiled and shook her head recklessly, contemptuously. Was
she so old a hand, so hardened in crime, that the fears of detection,
arrest, reprisals, the law and its penalties had no effect upon her?
Undoubtedly at Calais she was afraid; some misgiving, some haunting
terror possessed her. Now, when standing before me fully confessed for
what she was, and practically at my mercy, she could laugh with cool
and unabashed levity and make little of the whole affair.
If I had hoped that I had done with her now, when the murder was out,
I was very much mistaken. She had some further designs on me, I was
sure. She wanted to make use of me, how or in what way I could not
imagine; but I soon perceived that she was anxious to be friends. The
woman was in the ascendant, and, as I thought, the eternal feminine
ever agog to attract and subjugate the male, she would conquer my
admiration even if she could not secure my esteem.
Suddenly, and quite without my invitation or encouragement, she
reseated herself by my side.
"See, Colonel Annesley, let us come to an understanding." She said it
quite gaily and with no shadow of apprehension left in her, not a sign
of shame or remorse in her voice. Her mood had entirely changed. She
was _débonnaire_, frolicsome, overflowing with fun.
"What do you mean to do? Give me into custody? Call in the gendarmes
at the next station? Have me taken red-handed with the--stolen
property--the 'swag,' you know the word, perhaps, in my possession?"
"I am not a police officer; it's not my business," I answered gruffly.
I thought this flippancy very much misplaced.
"Or you might telegraph back to England, to London, to Scotland Yard:
'The woman Blair in the Engadine express. Wire along the line to
authorities, French and Swiss, to look out for her and arrest
preparatory to extradition.'"
"I would much rather not continue this conversation, Mrs. Blair."
"I am not 'Mrs. Blair,'" she cried, laughing merrily as at a
tremendous joke. "It is only one of my aliases. I am better known as
Slippery Sue, and the Countess of Plantagenet, and the Sly American,
and dashing Mrs. Mortimer, and--"
"Oh, please, please spare me. It does not matter, not a row of pins,
what you are called. I would rather not have the whole list," I
interrupted her, but could not check her restless tongue.
"You shall hear, you must know all about me and my famous exploits. I
was the heroine of that robbery at Buckingham Palace. I was at the
State Ball, and made a fine harvest of jewels. I have swept a dozen
country-houses clean; I have picked pockets and lifted old lace from
the shop counters, and embezzled and forged--"
"And turned pirate, and held up trains, and robbed the Bank of
England," I added, falling into her humour and laughing as she rose to
her full height; and again her mood changed, dominating me with
imperious air, her voice icily cold in manner, grave and repellent.
"Why not? I am a thief; you believe me to be a common thief."