crime by his conscience--or whatever it was, what for want of a better
name he must call his conscience: this thing within him that revolted
from his purpose, mutinied against the dictates of his Self, and
stopped his hand from reaping the harvest of his cunning and daring;
this sense of honour and of honesty that in a few brief days had grown
more dear to him than all else in life, knitting itself inextricably
into the fibre of his being, so that to deny it were against Nature....
He closed his eyes to shut out the accusing vision, and knelt on,
unstirring, though torn this way and that in the conflict of man's dual
nature.
Minutes passed without his knowledge.
But in time he grew more calm; his hands relaxed, the muscles of his
brow smoothed out, he breathed more slowly and deeply; his set lips
parted and a profound sigh whispered in the stillness. A great
weariness upon him, he rose slowly and heavily from the floor, and
stood erect, free at last and forever from that ancient evil which so
long had held his soul in bondage.
And in that moment of victory, through the deep hush reigning in the
house, he detected an incautious footfall on the parquetry of the
reception-hall.
XXII
TRAPPED
It was a sound so slight, so very small and still, that only a
super-subtle sense of hearing could have discriminated it from the
confused multiplicity of almost inaudible, interwoven, interdependent
sounds that make up the slumberous quiet of every human habitation, by
night.
Lanyard, whose training had taught him how to listen, had learned that
the nocturnal hush of each and every house has its singular cadence,
its own gentle movement of muted but harmonious sound in which the
introduction of an alien sound produces immediate discord, and to
which, while at his work, he need attend only subconsciously since the
least variation from the norm would give him warning.
Now, in the silence of this old mansion, he detected a faint flutter of
discordance that sounded a note of stealth; such a note as no move of
his since entering had evoked.
He was no longer alone, but shared the empty magnificence of those vast
salons with one whose purpose was as furtive, as secret, as wary as his
own; no servant or watchman roused by an intuition of evil, but one who
had no more than he any lawful business there.
And while he stood at alert attention the sound was repeated from a
point less distant, indicating that the second intruder was moving
toward the library.
In two swift strides Lanyard left the shelter of the screen and took to
cover in the recess of one of the tall windows, behind its heavy velvet
hangings: an action that could have been timed no more precisely had it
been rehearsed; he was barely in hiding when a shape of shadow slipped
into the library, paused beside the massive desk, and raked the room
with the light of a powerful flash-lamp.
Its initial glare struck squarely into Lanyard's eyes, dazzling them,
as he peered through a narrow opening in the portières; and though the
light was instantly shifted, for several moments a blur of peacock
colour, blending, ebbing, hung like a curtain in the darkness, and he
could see nothing distinctly--only the trail traced by that dancing
spot-light over walls and furnishings.
When at length his vision cleared, the newcomer was kneeling in turn
before the safe; but more light was needed, and this one, lacking
Lanyard's patience and studious caution, turned back to the desk, and,
taking the reading-lamp, transferred it to the floor behind the screen.
But even before the flood of light followed the dull click of the
switch, Lanyard had recognized the woman.
For an instant he felt dazed, half-stunned, suffocating, much as he had
felt with Greggs' fingers tightening on his windpipe, that week-old
night at Troyon's; he experienced real difficulty about breathing, and
was conscious of a sickish throbbing in his temples and a pounding in
his bosom like the tolling of a great bell. He stared, swaying....
The light, gushing from the opaque hood, made the safe door a glare,
and was thrown back into her intent, masked face, throwing out in sharp
silhouette her lithe, sweet body, indisputably identified by the
individual poise of her head and shoulders and the gracious contours of
her tailored coat.
She was all in black, even to her hands, no trace of white or any
colour showing but the fair curve of the cheek below her mask and the
red of her lips. And if more evidence were needed, the intelligence
with which she attacked the combination, the confident, business-like
precision distinguishing her every action, proved her an apt pupil in
that business.
His thoughts were all in a welter of miserable confusion. He knew that
this explained many things he would have held questionable had not his
infatuation forbidden him to consider them at all, lest he be disloyal
to this woman whom he adored; but in the anguish of that moment he
could entertain but one thought, and that possessed him
altogether--that she must somehow be saved from the evil she
contemplated....
But while he hesitated, she became sensitive to his presence; though he
had made no sound since her entrance, though he had not even stirred,
somehow she divined that he--someone--was there in the recess of the
window, watching her.
In the act of opening the safe--using the memorandum of its combination
which he had jotted down in her presence--he saw her pause, freeze to a
pose of attention, then turn to stare directly at the portière that hid
him. And for an eternal second she remained kneeling there, so still
that she seemed not even to breathe, her gaze fixed and level, waiting
for some sound, some sign, some tremor of the curtain's folds, to
confirm her suspicion.
When at length she rose it was in one swift, alert movement. And as she
paused with her slight shoulders squared and her head thrown back
defiantly, challengingly, as one without will of his own but drawn
irresistibly by her gaze, he stepped out into the room.
And since he was no more the Lone Wolf, but now a simple man in agony,
with no thought for their circumstances--for the fact that they were
both house-breakers and that the slightest sound might raise a
hue-and-cry upon them--he took one faltering step toward her, stopped,
lifted a hand in a gesture of appeal, and stammered:
"Lucy--you----"
His voice broke and failed.
She didn't answer, more than by recoiling as though he had offered to
strike her, until the table stopped her, and she leaned back as if glad
of its support.
"Oh!" she cried, trembling--"why_--why_ did you do it?"
He might have answered her in kind, but self-justification passed his
power. He couldn't say, "Because this evening you made me lose faith in
everything, and I thought to forget you by going to the devil the
quickest way I knew--this way!"--though that was true. He couldn't say:
"Because, a thief from boyhood, habit proved too strong for me, and I
couldn't withstand temptation!"--for that was untrue. He could only
hang his head and mumble the wretched confession: "I don't know."
As if he hadn't spoken, she cried again: "Why--_why_ did you do it? I
was so proud of you, so sure of you, the man who had turned straight
because of me!... It compensated... But now...!"
Her voice broke in a short, dry sob.
"Compensated?" he repeated stupidly.
"Yes, compensated!" She lifted her head with a gesture of impatience:
"For this--don't you understand?--for this that I'm doing! You don't
imagine I'm here of my own will?--that I went back to Bannon for any
reason but to try to save you from him? I knew something of his power,
and you didn't; I knew if I went away with you he'd never rest until he
had you murdered. And I thought if I could mislead him by lies for a
little time--long enough to give you a chance to escape--I
thought--perhaps--I might be able to communicate with the police, s
denounce him----"
She hesitated, breathless and appealing.
At her first words he had drawn close to her; and all their talk was
murmurings. But this was quite instinctive; for both were beyond
considerations of prudence, the one coherent thought of each being that
now, once and forever, all misunderstanding must be done away with.
Now, as naturally as though they had been lovers always, Lanyard took
her hand, and clasped it between his own.
"You cared as much as that!"
"I love you," she told him--"I love you so much I am ready to sacrifice
everything for you--life, liberty, honour----"
"Hush, dearest, hush!" he begged, half distracted.
"I mean it: if honour could hold me back, do you think I would have
broken in here tonight to steal for Bannon?"
"He sent you, eh?" Lanyard commented in a dangerous voice.
"He was too cunning for me... I was afraid to tell you... I meant to
tell--to warn you, this evening in the cab. But then I thought perhaps
if I said nothing and sent you away believing the worst of me--perhaps
you would save yourself and forget me----"
"But never!"
"I tried my best to deceive him, but couldn't. They got the truth from
me by threats----"
"They wouldn't dare----"
"They dare anything, I tell you! They knew enough of what had happened,
through their spies, to go on, and they tormented and bullied me until
I broke down and told them everything... And when they learned you had
brought the jewels back here, Bannon told me I must bring them to
him--that, if I refused, he'd have you killed. I held out until
tonight; then just as I was about to go to bed he received a telephone
message, and told me you were driving a taxi and followed by Apaches
and wouldn't live till daylight if I persisted in refusing."
"You came alone?"
"No. Three men brought me to the gate. They're waiting outside, in the
park."
"Apaches?"
"Two of them. The other is Captain Ekstrom."
"Ekstrom!" Lanyard cried in despair. "Is he----"
The dull, heavy, crashing slam of the great front doors silenced him.
XXIII
MADAME OMBER
Before the echo of that crash ceased to reverberate from room to room,
Lanyard slipped to one side of the doorway, from which point he could
command the perspective of the salons together with a partial view of
the front doors. And he was no more than there, in the shadow of the
portières, when light from an electrolier flooded the reception-hall.
It showed him a single figure, that of a handsome woman, considerably
beyond middle age but still a well-poised, vigorous, and commanding
presence, in full evening dress of such magnificence as to suggest
recent attendance at some State function.
Standing beneath the light, she was restoring a key to a brocaded
hand-bag. This done, she turned her head and spoke indistinguishably
over her shoulder. Promptly there came into view a second woman of
about the same age, but even more strong and able of appearance--a
serving-woman, in plain, dark garments, undoubtedly madame's maid.
Handing over the brocaded bag, madame unlatched the throat of her
ermine cloak and surrendered it to the servant's care.
Her next words were audible, and reassuring in as far as they indicated
ignorance of anything amiss.
"Thank you, Sidonie. You may go to bed now."
"Madame will not need me to undress her?"
"I'm not ready yet. When I am--I'm old enough to take care of myself.
Besides, I prefer you to go to bed, Sidonie. It doesn't improve your
temper to lose your beauty sleep."
"Many thanks, madame. Good night."
"Good night."
The maid moved off toward the main staircase, while her mistress turned
deliberately through the salons toward the library.
At this, swinging back to the girl in a stride, and grasping her wrist
to compel attention, Lanyard spoke in a rapid whisper, mouth close to
her ear, but his solicitude so unselfish and so intense that for the
moment he was altogether unconscious of either her allure or his
passion.
"This way," he said, imperatively drawing her toward the window by
which he had entered: "there's a balcony outside--a short drop to the
ground." And unlatching the window, he urged her through it. "Try to
leave by the back gateway--the one I showed you before--avoiding
Ekstrom----"
"But surely you are coming too?" she insisted, hanging back.
"Impossible: there's no time for us both to escape undetected. I shall
keep madame interested only long enough for you to get away. But take
this"--and he pressed his automatic into her hand. "No--take it; I've
another," he lied, "and you may need it. Don't fear for me, but go--O
my heart!--go!"
The footfalls of Madame Omber were sounding dangerously near, and
without giving the girl more opportunity to protest, Lanyard closed the
windows, shot the latch and stole like a cat round the farther side of
the desk, pausing within a few feet of the screen and safe.
The desk-lamp was still burning, where the girl had left it behind the
cinnabar screen; and Lanyard knew that the diffusion of its rays was
enough to render his figure distinctly and immediately visible to one
entering the doorway.
Now everything hung upon the temper of the house-holder, whether she
would take that apparition quietly, deceived by Lanyard's mumming into
believing she had only a poor thievish fool to deal with, or with a
storm of bourgeois hysteria. In the latter event, Lanyard's hand was
ready planted, palm down, on the top of the desk: should the woman
attempt to give the alarm, a single bound would carry the adventurer
across it in full flight for the front doors.
In the doorway the mistress of the house appeared and halted, her quick
bright eyes shifting from the light on the floor to the dark figure of
the thief. Then, in a stride, she found a switch and turned on the
chandelier, a blaze of light.
As this happened, Lanyard cowered, lifting an elbow as though to guard
his face--as though expecting to find himself under the muzzle of a
revolver.
The gesture had the calculated effect of focussing the attention of the
woman exclusively to him, after one swift glance round had shown her a
room tenanted only by herself and a cringing thief. And immediately it
was made manifest that, whether or not deceived, she meant to take the
situation quietly, if in a strong hand.
Her eyes narrowed and the muscles of her square, almost masculine jaw
hardened ominously as she looked the intruder up and down. Then a
flicker of contempt modified the grimness of her countenance. She took
three steps forward, pausing on the other side of the desk, her back to
the doorway.
Lanyard trembled visibly....
"Well!"--the word boomed like the opening gun of an engagement--"Well,
my man!"--the shrewd eyes swerved to the closed door of the safe and
quickly back again--"you don't seem to have accomplished much!"
"For God's sake, madame!" Lanyard blurted in a husky, shaken voice,
nothing like his own--"don't have me arrested! Give me a chance! I
haven't taken anything. Don't call the flics!"
He checked, moving an uncertain hand towards his throat as if his
tongue had gone dry.
"Come, come!" the woman answered, with a look almost of pity. "I
haven't called anyone--as yet."
The fingers of one strong white hand were drumming gently on the top of
the desk; then, with a movement so quick and sure that Lanyard himself
could hardly have bettered it, they slipped down to a handle of a
drawer, jerked it open, closed round the butt of a revolver, and
presented it at the adventurer's head.
Automatically he raised both hands.
"Don't shoot!" he cried. "I'm not armed----"
"Is that the truth?"
"You've only to search me, madame!"
"Thanks!" Madame's accents now discovered a trace of dry humour. "I'll
leave that to you. Turn out your pockets on the desk there--and,
remember, I'll stand no nonsense!"
The weapon covered Lanyard steadily, leaving him no choice but to obey.
As it happened, he was glad of the excuse to listen for sounds to tell
how the girl was faring in her flight, and made a pretence of trembling
fingers cover the slowness with which he complied.
But he heard nothing.
When he had visibly turned every pocket inside out, and their contents
lay upon the desk, the woman looked the exhibits over incuriously.
"Put them back," she said curtly. "And then fetch that chair over
there--the one in the corner. I've a notion I'd like to talk to you.
That's the usual thing, isn't it?"
"How?" Lanyard demanded with a vacant stare.
"In all the criminal novels I've ever read, the law-abiding householder
always sits down and has a sociable chat with the house-breaker--before
calling in the police. I'm afraid that's part of the price you've got
to pay for my hospitality."
She paused, eyeing Lanyard inquisitively while he restored his
belongings to his pockets. "Now, get that chair!" she ordered; and
waited, standing, until she had been obeyed. "That's it--there! Sit
down."
Leaning against the desk, her revolver held negligently, the speaker
favoured Lanyard with a more leisurely inspection; the harshness of her
stare was softened, and the anger which at first had darkened her
countenance was gone by the time she chose to pursue her catechism.
"What's your name? No--don't answer! I saw your eyes waver, and I'm not
interested in a makeshift alias. But it's the stock question, you
know.... Do you care for a cigar?"
She opened a mahogany humidor on the desk.
"No, thanks."
"Right--according to Hoyle: the criminal always refuses to smoke in
these scenes. But let's forget the book and write our own lines. I'll
ask you an original question: Why were you acting just now?"
"Acting?" Lanyard repeated, intrigued by the acuteness of this
masterful woman's mentality.
"Precisely--pretending you were a common thief. For a moment you
actually made me think you afraid of me. But you're neither the one nor
the other. How do I know? Because you're unarmed, your voice has
changed in the last two minutes to that of a cultivated man, you've
stopped cringing and started thinking, and the way you walked across
the floor and handled that chair showed how powerfully you're made. If
I didn't have this revolver, you could overpower me in an instant--and
I'm no weakling, as women go. So--why the acting?"
Studying his captor with narrow interest, Lanyard smiled faintly and
shrugged, but made no answer. He could do no more than this--no more
than spare for time: the longer he indulged madame in her whim, the
better Lucy's chances of scot-free escape. By this time, he reckoned,
she would have found her way through the service gate to the street.
But he was on edge with unending apprehension of mischance.
"Come, come!" Madame Omber insisted. "You're hardly civil, my man.
Answer my question!"
"You don't expect me to--do you?"
"Why not? You owe me at least satisfaction of my curiosity, in return
for breaking into my house."
"But if, as you suggest, I am--or was--acting with a purpose, why
expect me to give the show away?"
"That's logic. I knew you could think. More's the pity!"
"Pity I can think?"
"Pity you can get your own consent to waste yourself like this. I'm an
old woman, and I know men better than most; I can see ability in you.
So I say, it's a pity you won't use yourself to better advantage. Don't
misunderstand me: this isn't the conventional act; I don't hold with
encouraging a fool in his folly. You're a fool, for all your
intelligence, and the only cure I can see for you is drastic
punishment."
"Meaning the Santé, madame?"
"Quite so. I tell you frankly, when I'm finished lecturing you, off you
go to prison."
"If that's the case I don't see I stand to gain much by retailing the
history of my life. This seems to be your cue to ring for servants to
call the police."
A trace of anger shone in the woman's eyes. "You're right," she said
shortly; "I dare say Sidonie isn't asleep yet. I'll get her to
telephone while I keep an eye on you."
Bending over the desk, without removing her gaze from the adventurer,
his captor groped for, found, and pressed a call-button.
From some remote quarter of the house sounded the grumble of an
electric bell.
"Pity you're so brazen," she observed. "Just a little less side, and
you'd be a rather engaging person!"
Lanyard made no reply. In fact he wasn't listening.
Under the strain of that suspense, the iron control which had always
been his was breaking down--since now it was for another he was
concerned. And he wasted no strength trying to enforce it. The stress
of his anxiety was both undisguised and undisguisable. Nor did Madame
Omber overlook it.
"What's the trouble, eh? Is it that already you hear the cell door
clang in your ears?"
As she spoke, Lanyard left his chair with a movement in the execution
of which all his wits co-operated, with a spring as lithe and sure and
swift as an animal's, that carried him like a shot across the two yards
or so between them.
The slightest error in his reckoning would have finished him: for the
other had been watching for just such a move, and the revolver was
nearly level with Lanyard's head when he grasped it by the barrel,
turned that to the ceiling, imprisoned the woman's wrist with his other
hand, and in two movements had captured the weapon without injuring its
owner.
"Don't be alarmed," he said quietly. "I'm not going to do anything more
violent than to put this weapon out of commission."
Breaking it smartly, he shot a shower of cartridges to the door, and
tossed the now-useless weapon into a wastebasket beneath the desk.
"Hope I didn't hurt you," he added abstractedly--"but your pistol was
in my way!"
He took a stride toward the door, pulled up, and hung in hesitation,
frowning absently at the woman; who, without moving, laughed quietly
and watched him with a twinkle of malicious diversion.
He repaid this with a stare of thoughtful appraisal; from the first he
had recognized in her a character of uncommon tolerance and amiability.
"Pardon, madame, but----" he began abruptly--and checked in constrained
appreciation of his impudence.
"If that's permission to interrupt your reverie," Madame Omber
remarked, "I don't mind telling you, you're the most extraordinary
burglar I ever heard of!"
Footfalls became audible on the staircase--the hasty scuffling of
slippered feet.
"Is that you, Sidonie?" madame called.
The voice of the maid replied: "Yes, madame--coming!"
"Well--don't, just yet--not till I call you."
"Very good, madame."
The woman returned complete attention to Lanyard.
"Now, monsieur-of-two-minds, what is it you wish to say to me?"
"Why did you do that?" the adventurer asked, with a jerk of his head
toward the hall.
"Tell Sidonie to wait instead of calling for help? Because--well,
because you interest me strangely. I've got a theory you're in a
desperate quandary and are about to throw yourself on my mercy."
"You are right," Lanyard admitted tersely.
"Ah! Now you do begin to grow interesting! Would you mind explaining
why you think I'll be merciful?"
"Because, madame, I've done you a great service, and feel I can count
upon your gratitude."
The Frenchwoman's eyebrows lifted at this. "Doubtless, monsieur knows
what he's talking about----"
"Listen, madame: I am in love with a young woman, an American, a
stranger and friendless in Paris. If anything happens to me tonight, if
I am arrested or assassinated----"
"Is that likely?"
"Quite likely, madame: I have enemies among the Apaches, and in my own
profession as well; and I have reason to believe that several of them
are in this neighbourhood tonight. I may possibly not escape their
attentions. In that event, this young lady of whom I speak will need a
protector."
"And why must I interest myself in her fate, pray?"
"Because, madame, of this service I have done you ... Recently, in
London, you were robbed----"
The woman started and coloured with excitement: "You know something of
my jewels?"
"Everything, madame: it was I who stole them."
"You? You are, then, that Lone Wolf?"
"I was, madame."
"Why the past tense?" the woman demanded, eyeing him with a portentous
frown.
"Because I am done with thieving."
She threw back her head and laughed, but without mirth: "A likely
story, monsieur! Have you reformed since I caught you here----?"
"Does it matter when? I take it that proof, visible, tangible proof of
my sincerity, more than a meaningless date, would be needed to convince
you."
"No doubt of that, Monsieur the Lone Wolf!"
"Could you ask better proof than the restoration of your stolen
property?"
"Are you trying to bribe me to let you off with an offer to return my
jewels?"
"I'm afraid emergency reformation wouldn't persuade you----"
"You may well be afraid, monsieur!"