TREASURE TROVE.
Just as she was, with her lace and silks and long flowing train, Leona
Lalage raced down the garden. With a bitter little smile she wondered
what her Society friends would say if they could see her at this
moment. The thorns of a rose bush caught a drooping mass of frippery
and tore it away, but the woman paid no heed. Her dressmaker's bill
need never be paid.
She came at length breathless with running to the end of the garden. A
little green gate led to the lane which divided Lytton Avenue from the
corner house. It was absolutely quiet there. Leona Lalage could catch
just the faintest humming noise, then a glaring white eye flamed out.
Behind it was a black motor and the form of Balmayne.
"Never can trust a woman as to time," he growled. There was not the
faintest shadow of politeness in his manner now. "Didn't I say twelve
sharp?"
"I was detained," the Countess gasped. "After all, what are a few
minutes?"
"Everything. Maitrank reaches Charing Cross in a little over half an
hour, and it is absolutely imperative that I should see the arrival
and find out where he stays. I suppose you can see that?"
The Countess had no more to say. She held out her hand silently. She
tore all her long train of lace and silk away as if it had been rags,
she buttoned a cloak over her dress; a blonde wig and lace shawl over
her head completed the disguise.
"Come along," she said. "I've got the key of the courtyard. Not that
we are in the least likely to find anything there?"
"And why not?" Balmayne growled. "Stranger things have happened. I
know a poor man at this minute who owns one of the richest gold mines
in the world. He won't work it because when the gold was found he
quarrelled with his partner on the spot and killed him. That's a
fact."
"I'd get it out of him," Leona said between her teeth. "I'd like to
bind him and torture him bit by bit until he yelled out the truth.
Well, Charlton was always a strange man, and the jewels may be there
yet. That is one of the reasons why I took up my abode in Lytton
Avenue."
"One of the reasons," Balmayne said sardonically.
"Never mind that, we know too much about one another to say much. I'll
open the door whilst you push the motor in. Quiet as the grave."
It was very quiet and still there when once the gates were closed.
Balmayne took one of the lamps from the motor and extinguished the
other. In the centre of the place was the well, partially covered over
by a flat stone. There was a windlass, but no rope. Balmayne produced
one. Very carefully he fitted it to the windlass. His dark eyes
gleamed and dilated.
Quickly he lowered the rope till the bulge of it showed that the
bottom was reached. He wound up the rope again, and as he did so a
grunt of satisfaction escaped him. It was far better than he had
expected.
"Here's a piece of rare good luck," he exclaimed. "Why, the well is
dry."
"I always heard that there was only a foot or two of water in there,"
the Countess said. "It was never used in my time--people don't care to
drink well water in London. Still, it is a slice of luck, as you say."
"Got to get down there all the same," Balmayne grunted. "I'll make a
loop in the rope and put my foot in it. You used to be pretty strong
at one time. I suppose you can manage to let me down safely?"
Leona smiled with contempt as she surveyed the slim figure before her.
She was always proud of her strength. She bared her beautiful white
arm and showed the strong sinews and muscles under the skin.
"You need not be afraid," she said. "If I couldn't--ah!"
She broke off, her voice rose to a scream. She grew whiter far than
the linen about her shoulders. Balmayne laid his hand on her mouth in
an instant.
"Fool," he exclaimed, hoarsely. "Do you want to bring the police upon
me?"
Leona pointed to the window, against which Charlton's face had been
pressed a moment before. The dimness of it, the stern accusing eyes
made up a picture so grim, so ghostly, that the woman's heart turned
to water within her. The fear of yesterday took the strength out of
her limbs.
"The face," she gasped, "the face of Charlton. At the window. It was
just for an instant, and seemed to read my soul. Can't you see it?"
Balmayne could see nothing, and said so bluntly. As a matter of fact,
the face was gone. But the terror of the Countess still remained.
"Of course, there was no face there," Balmayne flared out. "That's the
worst of doing this kind of thing with a woman--one never knows when
she's going to have an attack of nerves. The idea of Charlton standing
at the window and knowing what we are going to do is too good. Pull
yourself together."
The trembling fit passed away, the woman was herself again. All the
same, Balmayne was not without misgiving as he put his foot in the
loop. But the crank of the windlass turned steadily and smoothly, the
stone walls slid by, and presently the adventurer stood at the bottom
of the well. There was no water, nothing but a slight dampness
underfoot.
A moment later and Balmayne was up again. Leona Lalage looked at him
enquiringly. He had no breath to speak. With gleaming eyes Balmayne
held two rusty old cases over his head. Leona grasped the motor lamp,
and Balmayne forced back the clasps of the cases.
"Got them," he croaked, "What do you think of this, my noble
Countess?"
A stream of living fire, a ripple of all the colours of the rainbow.
Balmayne shut the cases as if jealous of the eyes of the night.
"Saved," he said. "Take these and hide them, take the rope and hide
that. I must be off to Charing Cross like the wind. This is, perhaps,
the best night's work I have had in my experience. Now begone." A
moment later and the courtyard was deserted.