Her own voice....
For an indeterminable time she hung in dread upon the issue of that
swaying combat: while Bel clung to the woman's arm, muttering and
panting in futile efforts to wrest her weapon away; while Nelly clawed,
bit, kicked, pounded her free fist repeatedly into Bel's face, and
wrenched madly at her captive wrist.
Of a sudden, from her hand a spiteful tongue of fire licked out at Bel,
his right arm flailed back and fell useless, agony convulsed his
features; and free, the woman bounded away and with the laugh of a
maniac swung the pistol to bear upon his head.
Lucinda's faculties clicked together then as gears mesh when the motor
has been idling; the call of the emergency met with response in the form
of instant and direct action. Without knowing what she did, she flung
herself upon Nelly's arm and bore it down. With deflected muzzle the
pistol exploded for the last time. Dropping it, Nelly turned on Lucinda
and dealt with her as might a madwoman. Impressions grew confused beyond
assortment, of flopping wildly this way and that, of hot breath beating
into her face, of her bare flesh suffering a rain of cruel blows; of
elemental lusts to maim and kill awakening from lifelong slumber, in
this moment of close grips with a warm, living, hating and hateful human
body....
Thrown off without warning, how she couldn't guess, she felt herself
reeling back, tripping, falling. Something struck the back of her head
a stunning blow, and she knew flickering nausea while dense night like a
moving cloud on every hand closed in upon her, and the world, in the
likeness of a rainbow swirl streaked with fiery paths of sparks,
guttered into blank nullity....
Nothingness absolute and still received her, harboured her for a space,
spewed her back into life again.
Cold rain spattering cheeks and brows ... once more the heart-rending
perfume of roses ... anguish incomparable racking her temples ... her
heart a wild thing caged ... ammonia in strangling whiffs....
Choking and coughing she unclosed her eyes upon the vision of Bel's
face. A hand holding a bottle of smelling salts dropped away from her
nose. Bel saluted her reviving intelligence with an even growl: "Coming
round, eh? About time. You'll do now, I guess. Try to pull yourself
together. No time to lose."
She was on the floor, the bulk of the lounge between her and the spot
where Summerlad had fallen; her shoulders propped against Bel's knee,
her head resting in the crook of his arm. Summerlad's Jap boy was
standing by with water in a silver vessel. At a nod from Bel he filled a
glass and, bending over, set it to Lucinda's lips. While she was gulping
thirstily, Bel said something she didn't catch; but as soon as she
turned her head from the glass, the Japanese took it away and himself as
well.
The living-room, with its softly lighted walls and draped black
rectangles of windows open to the night, presented itself in a guise
inexplicably unfamiliar. She felt as if she had been a long time away.
In mystification, looking back to Bel, she asked: "I fainted, didn't I?"
He grunted: "You struck your head, when that hell-cat threw you--went
out for ten minutes by the clock. How do you feel now?"
"My head aches...." She discovered that Bel was in his shirt-sleeves,
with the cuff turned back above his right elbow, the forearm rudely
bandaged with torn linen on which a deep stain was spreading. "But
Bel--your arm----?"
"Hurts like hell, but that's the worst of it, thank God. Bullet ploughed
through the underside from wrist to elbow, nearly. I'd be dead if you
hadn't jumped for her."
"And I, if you hadn't come through the window when you did."
"If you're grateful for that--try to get up."
"But ... Lynn?"
Bel laughed shortly. "The excellent Mr. Summerlad's all right--I mean to
say, still breathing. That's all we can tell till the surgeon gets here.
I've telephoned. The fellow ought to show up any minute now. If you can
manage to get a grip on yourself, I'd be glad to get you out of here
first."
"I don't understand.... What became of--her?"
"Got away clean, worse luck!--ducked past me and through the window like
a shot. I tried to follow but she gave me the slip in the dark. _That's_
all right: she won't trouble us again. She left her pistol
behind--anyway, it was empty--and the police will pick her up before
morning.... Now: how about getting up?"
"I'll try," Lucinda said meekly. "Please help me." But then,
appreciating that she was in no way incapacitated, she got up unaided,
and steadied herself with a hand on the back of the lounge.
Summerlad lay where he had fallen, on the far side of that piece of
furniture. His face, upturned to the staring light, was like a thing of
sculptured ivory, expressionless and bleached; the lips ajar, the whites
of his eyes alone visible under the half-shut lids with their effeminate
lashes. The shirt beneath the flowered dressing-gown was hideously
blotted. He was so deathly still that terror took hold on Lucinda's
heart and mind.
"You think.... O Bel! do you really think he will live?"
"No fear," Bel sneered. "He'll make a fool of many another woman before
he's finished. Here: put this on, will you?"
He was proffering her wrap. Like an automaton Lucinda accepted it, but
seemed to forget that the thing was meant for wear.
"Where's your car?"
"I told my driver to call up about ten----"
"I'll attend to that, then. My chauffeur will run you down to the hotel.
I think he's to be trusted. Wish I felt as sure of that Jap."
"Sure of him?"
"Why do you suppose I'm hurrying you away? Do you want the papers to get
hold of the fact you were keeping an assignation with this actor when
his wife caught you and shot him?"