enough for an instantaneous glance through the draperies--a fugitive
survey that discovered the impasse Stanislas no more abandoned to the
wind and rain, but tenanted visibly by one at least who lounged beneath
the lonely lamp-post, a shoulder against it: a featureless civilian
silhouette with attention fixed to the little house.
But Lanyard didn't doubt this one had a dozen fellows stationed within
call....
Springing up the stairs, he paused prudently at the top-most step, one
quick glance showing him the huge rent gaping black in the skylight,
the second the missile of destruction lying amid a litter of broken
glass--a brick wrapped in newspaper, by the look of it.
Swooping forward, he retrieved this, darted back from the exposed space
beneath the shattered skylight, and had no more than cleared the
threshold than a second something fell through the gap and buried
itself in the parquetry. This was a bullet fired from the roof of one
of the adjoining buildings: confirming his prior reasoning that the
first missile must have fallen from a height, rather than have been
thrown up from the street, to have wrought such destruction with those
tough, thick panes of clouded glass....
Swearing softly to himself, he descended to the kitchen.
"As I thought," he said coolly, exhibiting his find.
"They're on the roof of the next house--though they've posted a sentry
in the street, of course."
"But that second thump--?" the girl demanded.
"A bullet," he said, placing the bundle on the table and cutting the
string that bound it: "they were on the quivive and fired when I showed
myself beneath the skylight."
"But I heard no report," she objected.
"A Maxim silencer on the gun, I fancy," he explained, unwrapping the
brick and smoothing out the newspaper.... "Glad you thought to put on
your hat before you came down," he added, with an approving glance for
the girl; "it won't be safe to go up to the studio again--of course."
His nonchalance was far less real than it seemed, but helped to steady
one who was holding herself together with a struggle, on the verge of
nervous collapse.
"But what are we to do now?" she stammered. "If they've surrounded the
house--!"
"Don't worry: there's more than one way out," he responded, frowning at
the newspaper; "I wouldn't have picked this place out, otherwise. Nor
would Solon have rented it in the first instance had it lacked an
emergency exit, in event of creditors.... Ah--thought so!"
"What--?"
"Troyon's is gone," he said, without looking up. "This is to-night's
Presse.... '_Totally destroyed by a fire which started at six-thirty
this morning and in less than half an hour had reduced the ancient
structure to a heap of smoking ashes_'! ..." He ran his eye quickly
down the column, selecting salient phrases: "'_Believed to have been of
incendiary origin though the premises were uninsured_'--that's an
intelligent guess!... '_Narrow escape of guests in their
'_whatyemaycallems...._'Three lives believed to have been lost ... one
body recovered charred almost beyond recognition_'--but later
identified as Roddy--poor devil! ... '_Two guests missing, Monsieur
Lanyard, the well-known connoisseur of art, who occupied the room
adjoining that of the unfortunate detective, and Mademoiselle Bannon,
daughter of the American millionaire, who himself escaped only by a
miracle with his secretary Monsieur Greggs, the latter being overcome
by fumes_'--what a shame!... '_Police and firemen searching the
ruins_'--hm-hm--' _extraordinary interest manifested by the Préfecture
indicates a suspicion that the building may have been fired to conceal
some crime of a political nature_.'"
Crushing the newspaper between his hands, he tossed it into a corner.
"That's all of importance. Thoughtful of Popinot to let me know, this
way! The Préfecture, of course, is humming like a wasp's-nest with the
mystery of that telegram, signed with Roddy's name and handed in at the
Bourse an hour or so before he was 'burned to death.' Too bad I didn't
know then what I do now; if I'd even remotely suspected Greggs'
association with the Pack was via Bannon.... But what's the use? I did
my possible, knowing the odds were heavy against success."
"What was written on the paper?" the girl demanded obliquely.
He made his eyes blank: "Written on the paper--?"
"I saw something in red ink at the head of the column. You tried to
hide it from me, but I saw.... What was it?"
"Oh--that!" he laughed contemptuously: "just Popinot's impudence--an
invitation to come out and be a good target."
She shook her head impatiently: "You're not telling me the truth. It
was something else, or you wouldn't have been so anxious to hide it."
"Oh, but I assure you--!"
"You can't. Be honest with me, Mr. Lanyard. It was an offer to let you
off if you'd give me up to Bannon--wasn't it?"
"Something like that," he assented sheepishly--"too absurd for
consideration.... But now we're due to clear out of this before they
find a way in. Not that they're likely to risk a raid until they've
tried starving us out; but it would be as well to put a good distance
between us before they find out we've decamped."
He shrugged into his borrowed raincoat, buttoned it to his chin, and
turned down the brim of his felt hat; but when he looked up at the girl
again, he found she hadn't moved; rather, she remained as one
spellbound, staring less at than through him, her expression
inscrutable.
"Well," he ventured--"if you're quite ready, Miss Shannon--?"
"Mr. Lanyard," she demanded almost sharply--"what was the full wording
of that message?"
"If you must know--"
"I must!"
He lifted a depreciative shoulder. "If you like, I'll read it to
you--or, rather, translate it from the thieves' argot Popinot
complimented me by using."
"Not necessary," she said tersely. "I'll take your word for it.... But
you must tell me the truth."
"As you will.... Popinot delicately suggested that if I leave you here,
to be reunited to your alleged parent--if I'll trust to his word of
honour, that is, and walk out of the house alone, he'll give me
twenty-four hours in which to leave Paris."
"Then only I stand between you and--"
"My dear young woman!" he protested hastily. "Please don't run away
with any absurd notion like that. Do you imagine I'd consent to treat
with such canaille under any circumstances?"
"All the same," she continued stubbornly, "I'm the stumbling-block.
You're risking your life for me--"
"I'm not," he insisted almost angrily.
"You are," she returned with quiet conviction.
"Well!" he laughed--"have it your own way!..."
"But it's _my_ life, isn't it? I really don't see how you're going to
prevent my risking it for anything that may seem to me worth the risk!"
But she wouldn't laugh; only her countenance, suddenly bereft of its
mutinous expression, softened winningly--and her eyes grew very kind to
him.
"As long as it's understood I understand--very well," she said quietly;
"I'll do as you wish, Mr. Lanyard."
"Good!" he cried cheerfully. "I wish, by your leave, to take you out to
dinner.... This way, please!"
Leading through the scullery, he unbarred a low, arched door in one of
the walls, discovering the black mouth of a narrow and tunnel-like
passageway.
With a word of caution, flash-lamp in his left hand, pistol in right,
Lanyard stepped out into the darkness.
In two minutes he was back, with a look of relief.
"All clear," he reported; "I felt pretty sure Popinot knew nothing of
this way out--else we'd have entertained uninvited guests long since.
Now, half a minute...."
The electric meter occupied a place on the wall of the scullery not far
from the door. Prying open its cover, he unscrewed and removed the fuse
plug, plunging the entire house in complete darkness.
"That'll keep 'em guessing a while!" he explained with a chuckle.
"They'll hesitate a long time before rushing a dark house infested by a
desperate armed man--if I know anything about that mongrel lot!...
Besides, when they do get their courage up, the lack of light will
stave off discovery of this way of escape.... And now, one word more."
A flash of the lamp located her hand. Calmly he possessed himself of
it, if without opposition.
"I've brought you into trouble enough, as it is, through my stupidity,"
he said; "but for that, this place should have been a refuge to us
until we were quite ready to leave Paris. So now we mustn't forget,
before we go out to run God-only-knows-what gauntlet, to fix a
rendezvous in event of separation.... Popinot, for instance, may have
drawn a cordon around the block; we can't tell until we're in the
street; if he has, you must leave me to entertain them until you're
safe beyond their reach.... Oh, don't worry: I'm perfectly well able to
take care of myself....But afterwards, we must know where to find each
other. Hotels, cafés and restaurants are out of the question: in the
first place, we've barely money enough for our dinner; besides, they'll
be watched closely; as for our embassies and consulates, they aren't
open at all hours, and will likewise be watched. There remain--unless
you can suggest something--only the churches; and I can think of none
better suited to our purposes than the Sacré-Cour."
Her fingers tightened gently upon his.
"I understand," she said quietly; "if we're obliged to separate, I'm to
go direct to the Sacré-Cour and await you there."
"Right! ...But let's hope there'll be no such necessity."
Hand-in-hand like frightened children, these two stole down the
tunnel-like passageway, through a forlorn little court cramped between
two tall old tenements, and so came out into the gloomy, sinuous and
silent rue d'Assas.
Here they encountered few wayfarers; and to these, preoccupied with
anxiety to gain shelter from the inclement night, they seemed, no
doubt, some student of the Quarter with his sweetheart--Lanyard in his
shabby raincoat, striding rapidly, head and shoulders bowed against the
driving mist, the girl in her trim Burberry clinging to his arm....
Avoiding the nearer stations as dangerous, Lanyard steered a roundabout
course through by-ways to the rue de Sèvres station of the Nord-Sud
subway; from which in due course they came to the surface again at the
place de la Concorde, walked several blocks, took a taxicab, and in
less than half an hour after leaving the impasse Stanislas were
comfortably ensconced in a cabinet particulier of a little restaurant
of modest pretensions just north of Les Halles.
They feasted famously: the cuisine, if bourgeois, was admirable and,
better still, well within the resources of Lanyard's emaciated purse.
Nor did he fret with consciousness that, when the bill had been paid
and the essential tips bestowed, there would remain in his pocket
hardly more than cab fare. Supremely self-confident, he harboured no
doubts of a smiling future--now that the dark pages in his record had
been turned and sealed by a resolution he held irrevocable.
His spirits had mounted to a high pitch, thanks to their successful
evasion. He was young, he was in love, he was hungry, he was--in
short--very much alive. And the consciousness of common peril knitted
an enchanting intimacy into their communications. For the first time in
his history Lanyard found himself in the company of a woman with whom
he dared--and cared--to speak without reserve: a circumstance
intrinsically intoxicating. And stimulated by her unquestionable
interest and sympathy, he did talk without reserve of old Troyon's and
its drudge, Marcel; of Bourke and his wanderings; of the education of
the Lone Wolf and his career, less in pride than in relief that it was
ended; of the future he must achieve for himself.
And sitting with chin cradled on the backs of her interlaced fingers,
the girl listened with such indulgence as women find always for their
lovers. Of herself she had little to say: Lanyard filled in to his
taste the outlines of the simple history of a young woman of good
family obliged to become self-supporting.
And if at times her grave eyes clouded and her attention wandered, it
was less in ennui than because of occult trains of thought set astir by
some chance word or phrase of Lanyard's.
"I'm boring you," he surmised once with quick contrition, waking up to
the fact that he had monopolized the conversation for many minutes on
end.
She shook a pensive head. "No, again.... But I wonder, do you
appreciate the magnitude of the task you've undertaken?"
"Possibly not," he conceded arrogantly; "but it doesn't matter. The
heavier the odds, the greater the incentive to win."
"But," she objected, "you've told me a curious story of one who never
had a chance or incentive to 'go straight'--as you put it. And yet you
seem to think that an overnight resolution to reform is all that's
needed to change all the habits of a life-time. You persuade me of your
sincerity of today; but how will it be with you tomorrow--and not so
much tomorrow as six months from tomorrow, when you've found the going
rough and know you've only to take one step aside to gain a smooth and
easy way?"
"If I fail, then, it will be because I'm unfit--and I'll go under, and
never be heard of again.... But I shan't fail. It seems to me the very
fact that I want to go straight is proof enough that I've something
inherently decent in me to build on."
"I do believe that, and yet..." She lowered her head and began to trace
a meaningless pattern on the cloth before she resumed. "You've given me
to understand I'm responsible for your sudden awakening, that it's
because of a regard conceived for me you're so anxious to become an
honest man. Suppose ... suppose you were to find out ... you'd been
mistaken in me?"
"That isn't possible," he objected promptly.
She smiled upon him wistfully--and leniently from her remote coign of
superior intuitive knowledge of human nature.
"But if it were--?"
"Then--I think," he said soberly--"I think I'd feel as though there
were nothing but emptiness beneath my feet!"
"And you'd backslide--?"
"How can I tell?" he expostulated. "It's not a fair question. I don't
know what I'd do, but I do know it would need something damnable to
shake my faith in you!"
"You think so now," she said tolerantly. "But if appearances were
against me--"
"They'd have to be black!"
"If you found I had deceived you--?"
"Miss Shannon!" He threw an arm across the table and suddenly
imprisoned her hand. "There's no use beating about the bush. You've got
to know--"
She drew back suddenly with a frightened look and a monosyllable of
sharp protest: "No!"
"But you must listen to me. I want you to understand.... Bourke used to
say to me: 'The man who lets love into his life opens a door no mortal
hand can close--and God only knows what will follow in!' And Bourke was
right.... Now that door is open in my heart, and I think that whatever
follows in won't be evil or degrading.... Oh, I've said it a dozen
different ways of indirection, but I may as well say it squarely now: I
love you; it's love of you makes me want to go straight--the hope that
when I've proved myself you'll maybe let me ask you to marry me....
Perhaps you're in love with a better man today; I'm willing to chance
that; a year brings many changes. Perhaps there's something I don't
fathom in your doubting my strength and constancy. Only the outcome can
declare that. But please understand this: if I fail to make good, it
will be no fault of yours; it will be because I'm unfit and have proved
it.... All I ask is what you've generously promised me: opportunity to
come to you at the end of the year and make my report.... And then, if
you will, you can say no to the question I'll ask you and I shan't
resent it, and it won't ruin me; for if a man can stick to a purpose
for a year, he can stick to it forever, with or without the love of the
woman he loves."
She heard him out without attempt at interruption, but her answer was
prefaced by a sad little shake of her head.
"That's what makes it so hard, so terribly hard," she said.... "Of
course I've understood you. All that you've said by indirection, and
much besides, has had its meaning to me. And I'm glad and proud of the
honour you offer me. But I can't accept it; I can never accept it--not
now nor a year from now. It wouldn't be fair to let you go on hoping I
might some time consent to marry you.... For that's impossible."
"You--forgive me--you're not already married?"
"No...."
"Or promised?"
"No...."
"Or in love with someone else?"
Again she told him, gently, "No."
His face cleared. He squared his shoulders. He even mustered up a smile.
"Then it isn't impossible. No human obstacle exists that time can't
overthrow. In spite of all you say, I shall go on hoping with all my
heart and soul and strength."
"But you don't understand--"
"Can you tell me--make me understand?"
After a long pause, she told him once more, and very sadly: "No."
XV
SHEER IMPUDENCE
Though it had been nearly eight when they entered the restaurant, it
was something after eleven before Lanyard called for his bill.
"We've plenty of time," he had explained; "it'll be midnight before we
can move. The gentle art of house-breaking has its technique, you know,
its professional ethics: we can't well violate the privacy of Madame
Omber's strong-box before the caretakers on the premises are sound
asleep. It isn't _done_, you know, it isn't class, to go burglarizing
when decent, law-abiding folk are wide-awake.... Meantime we're better
off here than trapezing the streets...."
It's a silent web of side ways and a gloomy one by night that backs up
north of Les Halles: old Paris, taciturn and sombre, steeped in its
memories of grim romance. But for infrequent, flickering, corner lamps,
the street that welcomed them from the doors of the warm and cosy
restaurant was as dismal as an alley in some city of the dead. Its
houses with their mansard roofs and boarded windows bent their heads
together like mutes at a wake, black-cloaked and hooded; seldom one
showed a light; never one betrayed by any sound the life that lurked
behind its jealous blinds. Now again the rain had ceased and, though
the sky remained overcast, the atmosphere was clear and brisk with a
touch of frost, in grateful contrast to the dull and muggy airs that
had obtained for the last twenty-four hours.
"We'll walk," Lanyard suggested--"if you don't mind--part of the way at
least; it'll eat up time, and a bit of exercise will do us both good."
The girl assented quietly....
The drum of their heels on fast-drying sidewalks struck sharp echoes
from the silence of that drowsy quarter, a lonely clamour that rendered
it impossible to ignore their apparent solitude--as impossible as it
was for Lanyard to ignore the fact that they were followed.
The shadow dogging them on the far side of the street, some fifty yards
behind, was as noiseless as any cat; but for this circumstance--had it
moved boldly with unmuffled footsteps--Lanyard would have been slow to
believe it concerned with him, so confident had be felt, till that
moment, of having given the Pack the slip.
And from this he diagnosed still another symptom of the Pack's
incurable stupidity!
Supremely on the alert, he had discovered the pursuit before they left
the block of the restaurant. Dissembling, partly to avoid alarming the
girl, partly to trick the spy, he turned this way and that round
several corners, until quite convinced that the shadow was dedicated to
himself exclusively, then promptly revised his first purpose and,
instead of sticking to darker back ways, struck out directly for the
broad, well-lighted and lively boulevard de Sébastopol.
Crossing this without a backward glance, he turned north, seeking some
café whose arrangements suited his designs; and, presently, though not
before their tramp had brought them almost to the Grand Boulevards,
found one to his taste, a cheerful and well-lighted establishment
occupying a corner, with entrances from both streets. A hedge of
forlorn fir-trees knee-deep in wooden tubs guarded its terrasse of
round metal tables and spindle-shanked chairs; of which few were
occupied. Inside, visible through the wide plate-glass windows, perhaps
a dozen patrons sat round half as many tables--no more--idling over
dominoes and gossip: steady-paced burghers with their wives, men in
small ways of business of the neighbourhood.
Entering to this company, Lanyard selected a square marble-topped table
against the back wall, entrenched himself with the girl upon the seat
behind it, ordered coffee and writing materials, and proceeded to light
a cigarette with the nonchalance of one to whom time is of no
consequence.
"What is it?" the girl asked guardedly as the waiter scurried off to
execute his commands. "You've not stopped in here for nothing!"
"True--but lower, please!" he begged. "If we speak English loud enough
to be heard it will attract attention.... The trouble is, we're
followed. But as yet our faithful shadow doesn't know we know
it--unless he's more intelligent than he seems. Consequently, if I
don't misjudge him, he'll take a table outside, the better to keep an
eye on us, as soon as he sees we're apparently settled for some time.
More than that, I've got a note to write--and not merely as a
subterfuge. This fellow must be shaken off, and as long as we stick
together, that can't well be done."
He interrupted himself while the waiter served them, then added sugar
to his coffee, arranged the ink bottle and paper to his satisfaction,
and bent over his pen.
"Come closer," he requested--"as if you were interested in what I'm
writing--and amused; if you can laugh a bit at nothing, so much the
better. But keep a sharp eye on the windows. You can do that more
readily than I, more naturally from under the brim of your hat.... And
tell me what you see...."
He had no more than settled into the swing of composition, than the
girl--apparently following his pen with closest attention--giggled
coquettishly and nudged his elbow.
"The window to the right of the door we came in," she said, smiling
delightedly; "he's standing behind the fir-trees, staring in."
"Can you make out who he is?" Lanyard asked without moving his lips.
"Nothing more than that he's tall," she said with every indication of
enjoying a tremendous joke. "His face is all in shadow...."
"Patience!" counselled the adventurer. "He'll take heart of courage
when convinced of our innocence."
He poised his pen, examined the ceiling for inspiration, and permitted
a slow smile to lighten his countenance.
"You'll take this note, if you please," he said cheerfully, "to the
address on the envelope, by taxi: it's some distance, near the
Etoile.... A long chance, but one we must risk; give me half an hour
alone and I'll guarantee to discourage this animal one way or another.
You understand?"
"Perfectly," she laughed archly.
He bent and for a few moments wrote busily.
"Now he's walking slowly round the corner, never taking his eyes from
you," the girl reported, shoulder to his shoulder and head
distractingly near his head.
"Good. Can you see him any better?"
"Not yet...."
"This note," he said, without stopping his pen or appearing to say
anything "is for the concierge of a building where I rent stabling for
a little motor-car. I'm supposed there to be a chauffeur in the employ
of a crazy Englishman, who keeps me constantly travelling with him back
and forth between Paris and London. That's to account for the
irregularity with which I use the car. They know me, monsieur and
madame of the conciergerie, as Pierre Lamier; and I _think_ they're
safe--not only trustworthy and of friendly disposition, but quite
simple-minded; I don't believe they gossip much. So the chances are De
Morbihan and his gang know nothing of the arrangement. But that's all
speculation--a forlorn hope!"
"I understand," the girl observed. "He's still prowling up and down
outside the hedge."