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 a couch in the drawing-room with
the lights lowered and eau de Cologne on her temples. Hetty sat a
little way off engaged on some fancywork. It seemed hard to imagine
that all this refinement and enviable luxury covered crime and
mystery.
It was a little before eleven that Balmayne 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. Balmayne jumped to his feet.
"You must try and pull yourself together," he said. "There has been an
amazing piece of luck. Isidore was dining at the Lotus with Lawrence.
We came down the steps together. There was a fire close by, and a
hansom backed on to the pavement. To make a long story short, Isidore
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 to 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 Balmayne 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 to proceed to the sitting-room where you have been
before and help yourself. Then you can slip into Isidore'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 tonight."
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 upon me," she whispered. "I shall not fail you. Too much
depends upon my success or failure tonight. 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," Balmayne 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 Isidore's chambers were situated. It was a very quiet road, and
few people were about. Quite calmly and collectedly Leona alighted.
"It's the fifth house," she said. "I shall trust to chance that the
people are in bed. If not, I dare say I shall have a good tale to
tell."
"Go in and win," Balmayne 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 round 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!