A WAY OUT.
Leona retorted scornfully that she had no desire for flight. But as
for the food that René demanded, it was a different matter. Still,
Lytton Avenue had always been an extravagant household, and there
might be welcome food here that would have been looked upon with
disdain a few days ago.
There was nothing in the kitchen, but there were some boxes in the
storeroom beyond--a tin or two of sardines and some biscuits. Also in
a wine cellar Leona found a flask or two of Chianti.
These she handed up to René, who returned to the dining-room with
them. His mood had changed for the moment, but Leona was by no means
out of danger yet. He might have been trying her all the time, he
might be gloating over his vengeance. If she could only get rid of
him, only scare him away.
She looked round as if seeking inspiration. She found it presently in
the housekeeper's room. Just in front of her was the glitter and sheen
of the telephone. The scheme that she wanted came to her like a flash.
She closed the door of the room softly and gave a call. It was late at
night, the exchange was quiet, and the answer came swiftly.
"Give me number--well, I forget the number," she said almost in a
whisper. "I want to be put on to the nearest police-station quick."
"Vine Street," came the staccato reply. "Number 107--there you are.
You are wanted Vine Street. . . . There you are--speak up."
A hoarse voice wanted to know what was wrong. But it mattered little
what noise the speaker made at the other end of the wire so long as
the caller spoke under her breath. She proceeded to explain.
"I'm at No. 1, Lytton Avenue," she said, "Countess Lalage's, you know.
Yes, I am quite aware of the fact that it is an empty house. But there
is a lot of stuff here that is worth fetching. In fact, there is
somebody in the dining-room now. Are you going to do anything, or
shall I give the alarm?"
The gruff voice suggested diplomacy, and promised immediate
assistance. The caller had only to lie low and the desired aid should
be on hand immediately. With a sense of pride and exultation Leona
Lalage hung up the receiver and made her way to the dining-room.
Unless some unforeseen event took place she had saved her own life.
But all the same there was danger. The police would probably get René,
but also they might get her, which was a much more serious matter. She
softly opened the catch of the back drawing-room window so that she
could reach the garden.
René had opened the tin with the point of his knife, and was eating
sardines and biscuits in a wolfish way. The Chianti he drank from the
bottle.
"That is like a breath of old times," he growled, as he finished the
flask. "Let me light a cigarette and then we'll talk again. I am going
to try you high, dear lady. I am going to test your story."
The old gleam was coming back to his eyes. Leona drew a deep breath.
She had half expected this at the time; there was always the chance
that this man knew a great deal more than she imagined. But help must
be near her by this time, and she could always prevaricate.
"Pooh, I am not afraid," she said, with easy contempt. "Say on, say
on."
"Ah, I am coming to that fast enough," René growled. "You say that you
gave my brother four hundred pounds in gold----"
He paused as he saw Leona listening eagerly, not to himself, but to
something outside. She was acting perfectly. There was just a
suggestion of alarm in her manner that gave the situation.
"Didn't you hear something?" she whispered.
René shook his head. He could hear nothing at all. He said so
impatiently. It seemed to him that his companion was playing with him.
"You or I, or both of us, are followed," she said. "Come this way.
Peep out of the window without lifting the blind. What do you see?"
A policeman, standing rigidly outside the house, making signs with his
hands to somebody. A sound of feet creeping down the area steps, the
sudden pop and bang of a door forced in by a lever.
"Look to yourself," Leona cried, "they are here. There is a ladder in
the garden that leads out to the roof. Never mind me."
René had no intention of doing anything of the kind. A dim,
blue-coated figure stood in the doorway of the dining-room. With one
spring René was upon him, and carried him to the floor. There was a
groan and a snarl and a snore, and the policeman lay on his back
utterly oblivious for the moment.
René Lalage raced up the stairs. The house was not familiar to him,
but he quite understood the meaning of what Leona had said about the
ladder. As to the woman herself, she was quite at home there. She
slipped into the back drawing-room, and thence across the hall into
the drawing-room. The window catch was unfastened, as she had looked
forward to this way out, and an instant later she was in the cool air.
She could hear the shouts and yells in the house; presently she heard
the cry of a policeman far overhead. René's means of escape had been
discovered, and he was being pursued over the housetops.
"I hope they get him," Leona said between her teeth. "I hope they get
him. And may they keep him for the rest of his life."
She hurried down the garden to the green gate. A little way beyond it
was a policeman. No escape that way for the present. The garden was
all right, but it would be light in two or three hours. There was a
yell from the roof, and then a policeman's hoarse roaring, saying that
he had "got him." The next time Leona looked out the policeman outside
the green gate was gone.
When and where should Leona go now? She was utterly outcast. If it was
possible----
"It is possible," she cried aloud. "Fool not to have thought of it
before. What better hiding-place could I have than in the Corner
House!"