THE THREAT
Following the adventure with the rose bush in its tinsel basket,
there came three days of tortured conflict for Hester Storm, conflict
with red-lipped, sinister-eyed Anton, who pursued her ceaselessly;
conflict also with herself, for now the imps of greed seemed to dance
about her day and night, urging her to take this hidden treasure and
escape with it. In the zeal of her first repentant impulse it would
have been easy for the girl to give back the money to Miss Thompson
and then go; she was equal to that single act of renunciation, but to
stay here wearily through days of useless waiting, unable to do
anything or confide in anyone, and all the time to have, burning in
her breast, the knowledge of those wonderful banknotes there in the
bottom of the flower-pot, all unsuspected, and hers for the easy
taking--this was too much for Hester Storm.
Through sleepless night hours she sought some way of deliverance.
Should she take the money and carry it to Miss Thompson in Brighton?
No, no! She dared not trust herself, she dared not touch the money,
not even to hide it in a securer place. The very sight of that
fortune might be too strong a temptation for her; indeed, whenever
her duties required her to pass through the conservatory, the
troubled girl found herself hurrying away with hands clenched and
face averted from that beckoning rose bush. Once she stopped and
almost yielded; she was actually reaching toward the basket when the
words that Merle had taught her sounded in her ears. "To be honest,
to be kind. To ask God every day to give me strength against
temptation. For Jesus' sake. Amen." And she staggered on out of
the room.
To banish these wicked thoughts Hester threw herself with feverish
zeal into her household duties. She helped the countess in the
kitchen, she helped Lionel in the garden, she helped Merle in the
dining room. She made the beds, she scrubbed the floors, she
welcomed the humblest drudgery, anything to fill her mind and fight
back the devils that were tempting her.
On the evening of the third day she realized that the situation was
intolerable. Not only was she doubtful of her own strength, but she
lived in growing terror of Anton, whose looks and whispered words
made it all too clear what his intentions were. Thus far she had
avoided being alone with him, but she saw that he would not be put
off any longer.
"See here, kid," he had threatened that afternoon as Hester passed
him on the drive, "if you think you can play tag with me any longer
you've got another guess coming. Either you come to the garage
to-night after supper, or----" The leer on his evil face was so full
of menace that she shrank away trembling.
"I'll come to the garage," she said.
"At nine o'clock?"
She nodded slowly. "At nine o'clock."
Then she hurried to her room to think. She must leave this place at
once, that was certain. She could hardly bear to wait another day.
And as Betty Thompson was the only person to whom she could give this
money, the only person she could trust--yes, that was it, as she
could not go to Betty, Betty must come to her, Betty must come back
from Brighton, she must come back immediately. And straightway
Hester sat down and wrote the following letter:
"MY DEAR MISS THOMPSON:
"Please start for Bainbridge Manor as soon as you get this letter,
which will be to-morrow morning. Take the first train and don't let
anything stop you from coming. And don't tell anyone why you are
coming. Say you must get some clothes or make up any excuse. I am
only a poor girl, but take my word that there will be big trouble if
you don't come and nobody else will do. I never gave you the right
reason why I came here, but you will be glad to hear this secret and
it will do a lot of good if you come at once. I'm absolutely on the
level now, but I don't know if I can hold out another day, and then
it will be too late.
"Respectfully yours,
"HESTER STORM."
Having addressed this urgent summons to the Grand Hotel in Brighton,
where the Baxters were stopping, Hester carefully stamped the
envelope and gave it personally to the postman when he passed. Then,
with a long sigh, she came down to her supper, confident that relief
would be there within twenty-four hours. Alas, how many things may
happen within twenty-four hours!
At nine o'clock the girl went to the garage to keep her appointment
with Anton. She longed to stay away, but dared not, feeling that he
was capable of some desperate act if she trifled with him further.
Besides, she had managed this man before and now she trusted to her
wits to manage him again.
When Hester entered the garage she found the chauffeur bending over a
table absorbed in something that seemed to require close attention.
As he heard her step he rose and came forward with a sort of mock
politeness that frightened her more than his usual rough
aggressiveness.
"Ah, Miss Storm! It's good of you to keep your little date with
me--for a change. If you'll make yourself comfortable, Miss Storm,
I'll tell you a few things that may interest you."
Keenly watchful, the girl sat down. On the table before Anton were a
pair of shears, a paste pot and a sheet of paper on which he had,
apparently, been pasting words and letters cut from a newspaper. She
noticed also a bottle of whiskey and a thick glass.
"Go on," she said quietly.
"I have been attending to my correspondence, Miss Storm," he
continued in the same facetious way. "Here is something that may
amuse you." He handed her an envelope on which she read, in large,
black letters of uneven size, cut from a printed page, the name in
all the world that she dreaded most:
SCotLAnd yARd
LOnDoN
"Not such a wonderful job of pasting, Miss Storm, but I guess it will
get there."
With a great effort she fought back her weakness, her terror, and
asked quietly. "What is it you--you want?"
"Ah!" he smiled, and his gold tooth gleamed. "You have a logical
mind. You came straight to the point. What do I want?" He poured
some whiskey into the glass and gulped it down. "What do you think I
want? If you'll run your beautiful dark eyes over the letter inside
that envelope you may get an idea of what I want, friend Hester."
She lifted the flap of the envelope and was about to draw forth the
letter when he leaned forward and added, with a queer, twisted smile,
"and please get one thing into your head, little lady: it ain't a
question of what I want, but of what I'm going to have. Now read it."
With a sickening sense of helplessness Hester opened the sheet and
read the following message, also made up of ill-assorted words and
letters cut from a newspaper:
"SCOTLAND YARD,
"LONDON.
"If you want a line on the party who stole five thousand pounds from
the bishop of Bunchester, you can get it by sending a man to Ipping
House, Ippingford, Surrey."
As the Storm girl read these words her cheeks blanched like the paper
before her.
"You--you're going to send that?"
He nodded. "I'm going to send it to-night unless you deliver the
goods. Mind this, it isn't a case of 'perhaps' or 'meet me to-morrow
in the summer house' or any other fool fake excuse. I've had enough
of that and I've waited all I'm going to. Either you deliver the
goods right now or----" He pointed in grim menace to the letter.
"What goods are you talking about? What is it you want delivered?"
she asked.
"My share of that money, my half. Don't say you didn't get it. I
know you did. I've found out things, little Hester, since you played
me for a sucker the other day."
She faced him steadily now. If she could only draw him into an
argument. She didn't believe the man was born that she couldn't get
the best of in a talking match.
"What have you found out? Go on, tell me."
"About Henderson, for one thing. You said you reported to him every
day over the telephone."
"Well?"
"It was a lie. You never reported to Henderson. And you said there
was a little man in a brown derby hat--who stuttered. Remember?"
"What of it?"
"You said he employed you to spy on me. That was another lie. There
wasn't any little man."
Hester's mind worked quickly. It was likely Anton had discovered her
deception, but she mustn't acknowledge it.
"I suppose they told you that at Henderson's office?" she laughed.
"Of course they wouldn't spy on you. Oh, no! Say, you're easy, boy."
"It wasn't at Henderson's they told me. It was at the Ippingford
telephone office. There are no records of any calls for 724 Chelsea
except my calls."
The girl started to speak, but he cut her short. "Wait! If you'll
let me finish you can get up a better lie. Just take a look at
this--Exhibit B." He opened the table drawer and produced the false
arm that Hester had hidden on the high shelf of the conservatory. "I
found this where you threw it on that very busy day. Ha! Now, then,
what has the dear, innocent child got to say?"
Hester sat silent for a moment, looking him straight in the eyes;
then, slowly, a smile began to play about her mouth and presently she
burst into a half mischievous, half impudent laugh.
"I tried to do you up, Anton," she acknowledged, "but I didn't get
away with it."
"You went through the purse while I was kissing you in the car?"
"Sure I did, but the purse was empty."
"Was, eh? We'll see if it was. And you lied about Henderson?"
She shrugged her shoulders carelessly. "Oh, I was stringing you
about Henderson!"
Anton looked at her almost admiringly. "You're a wonder, kid;
but--you're in awful bad with me. It don't make any difference what
you say--after this. I'll believe what I see. And I'm going to have
what I told you, I'm going to have the goods--right now--the goods or
the girl--do you get me?"
The Storm girl sprang to her feet, eyes blazing, hands clenched.
"If you dare----" she defied him, but he waved aside her immediate
alarm with a reassuring gesture.
"You can cork up the sky rockets, kid. I'm not going to touch you
or--kiss you or--anything, unless you want me to."
"Want you to?" she stared at him. "Well, of all the conceited----"
"No, no," he interrupted, "I don't mean that you're stuck on me,
girlie. I know how you feel, but if it's a question between going to
jail and--er----" now he leered at her disgustingly, "giving me a
sort of--er--half interest in your tender young beauty----"
"You beast! You coward!" she cried, her cheeks flaming.
He rose slowly and faced her with hard, narrowing eyes, but he kept
his distance.
"It's that or the money," he answered, "you can take your choice."
"I tell you I haven't got the money."
"What you tell me doesn't cut any ice, kid; it's what I tell you, and
that is--now listen--this is your last chance--either you give me
what I want--you understand--or I walk straight out of here and put
that letter in the postoffice. Now, then."
He stood before her, insolent, pitiless, holding the letter addressed
to Scotland Yard.
Hester moistened her lips and began to speak in a low voice. She
realized that the crisis had come. This was, perhaps, the most
important moment of her life.
"I admit I've done wrong, Anton," she said. "I didn't play fair with
you, but--I had a reason that----" she looked at his cruel mouth and
cynical eyes and turned away in despair. "I guess you wouldn't
understand the reason."
"I understand the reason, all right," he sneered; "you thought you
could get away with my share of the coin and you fell down."
"No, that wasn't the reason. I meant to keep straight, Anton. When
I got on that train from Paris I had cut out crooked work, I swear I
had. I was going back to New York to see my sister Rosalie. She's
sick and----"
"Never mind your sister Rosalie. You stole that purse." He poured
out another drink of whiskey and tossed it down, while she pleaded
dumbly with her beautiful dark eyes. "And you've lied to me all
along." He wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. "You're a
smooth article, Hester. You say you didn't land that money. Maybe
you didn't. The chances are you did, but suppose you didn't? Then
where do I come in? I get the grand laugh all around, is that it?
No, no, girlie, if I don't get my half of that five thousand pounds,
then, as sure as you're standing there, I get you."
"You'll never get me." She shrank away in disgust and defiance.
Anton walked slowly to the wall and took down his cap from a nail.
"Is that what you mean?"
"Yes," she flung back.
With a look of grim purpose he moved to the door, opened it and
turned, holding the letter.
"Is that your last word, kid?"
For a second she hesitated, then all the strength of her nature, all
the pride of her outraged young womanhood rose in fierce revolt.
"Yes," she cried. "You can post your letter; you can do what you
please. You're a coward and a beast. A coward and a beast. Now,
go! Go!"