"Show the lady in, Smayle."
She followed the servant into the cosy sitting-room redolent of cigars.
She was gazing round the apartment, noting how comfortable it was, when
suddenly the door reopened and Tristram entered. He had evidently been
dining out, or to a theatre, and had now discarded his dress-coat for an
easy velvet lounge-jacket. When he had closed the door, he stood for a
moment regarding her in silence.
"Well," he said at length in Italian. "So you have come, eh?" His
welcome was certainly the reverse of cordial.
"Yes," she faltered; "I have come. How did you know I was in London?"
Certain furrows on Tristram's brow revealed profound thought.
"A woman who is wanted by the police always has some difficulty in
concealing her whereabouts," he answered meaningly. His countenance was
hard and vengeful; his features expressed so much disdain and cruelty at
that moment that one would scarcely believe they could ever be
susceptible of any gentle emotion.
"Why do you throw that in my face?" she asked angrily.
"My dear signorina," he answered, crossing the room, "come here to this
chair and sit down. I want to talk to you very seriously, if you'll
allow me."
She moved slowly across, and, sinking into the armchair near the fire,
unbuttoned her long coat.
"No," he said; "it's hot in this room: take it off, or you won't find
the benefit of it when you leave. See how solicitous I am after your
health;" and he laughed.
In silence she rose and allowed him to help her divest herself of the
heavy garment.
"How charming you look!" he said. "I really don't wonder that you
captivate the hearts of men--those who don't know you."
"It seems that you've invited me here for the purpose of raking up all
my past," she cried, darting at him a fierce look. "I have accepted
your invitation because you and I are old friends, because our interests
are identical."
"How?" he asked, puzzled.
"There is a certain episode in my career that must for ever remain a
profound secret," she said in a low but distinct tone. "And there is
one in yours which, if revealed, would bring you to disgrace, to ruin--
nay, to death."
He started, and his dark face paled beneath its bronze of travel.
"What do you mean?" he cried, standing astride before her, his back to
the fire, his arms folded resolutely.
"What I have said!"
"And you are foolish enough to think that I fear you?" he cried with
biting sarcasm.
"I think nothing, caro," she answered in a voice of the same intense
disdain. "The truth is quite obvious. We fear each other."
"I fear you?" And he laughed, as if the absurdity of the idea were
humorous.
"Yes," she said fiercely. "I am no longer powerless in your hands. You
know well my character, signore--you know what kind of woman I am."
"Yes, I do, unfortunately," he answered. "And what, pray, does all this
extraordinary exhibition of bitterness imply?" he asked.
"You force me to speak plainly," she said, her eyes flashing angrily.
"Well, then, reflect upon the strange death of Vittorina, and bear in
mind by whom was her death so ingeniously compassed."
He sprang towards her suddenly in a fierce ebullition of indignation,
his hand uplifted as if he intended to strike her.
"Enough! Curse you!" he muttered.
"Take care," she said calmly, without stirring from her seat. "If you
touch me, it is at your own peril."
"Threats?"
"Threats! And to prove to you that they are not in vain," she said,
"learn in the first place, that the police have discovered the identity
of the Major, and that a warrant is already issued for his arrest."
"I don't believe it," he cried. "You have no proof."
"Inquire of your friends at the Embassy," she replied ambiguously. "You
will there learn the truth."
"Listen!" he cried wildly, grasping her roughly by the wrist. "What
allegation do you make against me? Come, speak!"
"You have shown yourself at enmity with me, therefore it will remain for
you to discover that afterwards," she answered, shaking him off. "One
does not show one's hand to one's adversaries."
"You mentioned the death of your friend Vittorina--well?"
"Well?" she repeated, still coldly and calmly. "It is of no use to
further refer to that tragic circumstance, except to say that I am aware
of the truth."
"The truth!" he cried blankly. "Then who killed her?"
"You know well enough with what devilish ingenuity her young life was
taken; how at the moment when she least expected danger she was cut off
by a means so curious and with such swiftness as to baffle even the
cleverest doctors in London. You know the truth, Signor Capitano--so do
I."
"You would explain how her life was taken; you would tell the world the
strange secret by which she was held in bondage. But you shan't," he
cried, standing before her with clenched fists. "By Heaven, you
shan't!"
"Traitors die slowly in London, but they do die," she said slowly, with
deep meaning.
"Curse you!" he cried. "What do you intend to do?"
"Listen!" she answered, rising slowly from her chair and standing before
him resolute, desperate, and defiant. "I came here to-night for one
purpose--to make a proposal to you."
"A proposal! To marry me, eh?" he laughed.
"This is no time for weak jokes, signore," she answered angrily.
"Silence is best in the interests of us both, is it not?"
He paused, his eyes fixed on the hearthrug.
"I suppose it is," he admitted at last.
"Think," she urged, "what would be the result were the whole of those
strange facts exposed. Who would suffer?"
He nodded, but no word passed his hard lips. She noticed that what she
uttered now impressed him.
"Our acquaintance," she went on in a more sympathetic tone, "was formed
in curious circumstances, and it has only been fraught with unhappiness,
sorrow, and despair. I come to you to-night, Frank," she added in a low
despondent voice, "to ask you to help me to regain my freedom."
He laughed aloud a harsh, cruel laugh, saying--"You have already your
freedom. I hope you are enjoying it. No doubt Armytage loves you, and
London is a change after Tuscany."
His laugh aroused within her a veritable tumult of hatred.
"You speak as if I were not an honest woman," she cried, her eyes
glistening. "Even you shall not brand me as an adventuress."
"Well, I think your adventures in Florence and in Milan were curious
enough," he said, "even if we do not mention that night in Livorno when
Vittorina--"
"Ah no!" she exclaimed, interrupting him. "Why should you cast that
into my face? Now that we are friends no longer, you seek to heap
disgrace upon me by recalling all that has gone by. In this
conversation I have not sought to bring back to your memory any of the
many recollections which must be painful. My object in coming to you is
plain enough. I am perfectly straightforward--"
"For the first time in your life."