THE SEARCH
Hunt's expression was not polite, nor was it intended for ears feminine.
His almost eager face fell; he was evidently thinking of nothing else
but his paper. He would have ruined every kingdom in the universe,
including the State that gave him birth, to get a scoop on his rivals.
Just for a moment it flashed across his mind that he had been betrayed
for higher money.
But that was hardly possible. No English paper would have dared to give
that information to the world. It would have aroused the indignation of
every patriotic Briton, and the circulation of even the yellowest in the
world would have suffered. And the expression of the countess's face was
no acting.
"It seems almost incredible," Hunt said. "Please tell me all about it."
The countess proceeded to relate the story. It seemed to him that the
case was not quite hopeless after all. True, he would not be able to
enjoy the prospective triumph of his paper over the others, but as an
able and adroit journalist he would know how to get out of the
difficulty.
"Well, you have a clue anyway," he said. "Miss Galloway is a strikingly
beautiful girl, with a very marked type of loveliness, and if the thief
was so like her as to make your maid certain that Miss Galloway was the
real thief, the culprit is not far to seek. You don't think
yourself----"
"That Vera Galloway is the thief? Of course not. The thing is physically
impossible. Besides, Vera Galloway does not take the slightest interest
in politics. She is quite a butterfly. And yet the whole thing is very
strange. What puzzles me most is the infinite acquaintance the thief
appears to have with my house. She could not have walked in like that to
my bedroom unless she had a fine knowledge of the geography of the
place."
"I'll make a stirring half column of it," Hunt said--"showing no
connection between your loss and that Asturian business, of course.
We'll hint that the papers were stolen by somebody who fancied that she
had a claim on your vast Russian estates. See what I mean. And we'll
make fun of the fact that your maid recognized Miss Galloway as the
culprit. That will set people talking. We'll offer a reward of L100 for
a person who first finds the prototype of Miss Galloway. See? Unless I'm
greatly mistaken, we shall precious soon get to the bottom of this
business."
The countess nodded and smiled approvingly. The cunning little scheme
appealed to her. She pushed her plate and glass away with which she had
been toying. At the same moment a waiter came and handed her a note,
which she opened and read with a flushed face.
"It appears as if the police had actually succeeded in doing something
for once," she said. "This is from one of the Scotland Yard men, saying
that a woman in black dress and veil, answering to the description given
by Annette, has been taken to Charing Cross Hospital after being knocked
down by a passing cab. This may or may not mean anything, but it is
distinctly encouraging. I am told that I shall know more in the
morning. But that is not good enough for me."
"Don't do anything impetuous," Hunt said anxiously.
"I am not in the habit of doing impulsive things," the countess replied.
"At the same time, I am going to Charing Cross Hospital to-night to make
sure. It is quite time we finished this discussion, as you have to alter
your plans and write that paragraph. Let us be going."
A little later and the countess was proceeding in her brougham
eastwards. Hunt had parted from Lechmere, too, after the latter had
derived his useful piece of information from the startled editor. But
the countess did not know anything of that. And as she was approaching
the well-known hospital, Jessie Harcourt was reaching it in another
direction in the motor-car of Lascelles, otherwise known as "Pongo." The
nearer she approached to her destination the more nervous did the girl
become.
"Awfully jolly ride," Lascelles grinned. "Glad you put that black thing
over your head, though. It's a pity to cut the thing short, but I
suppose the joke has gone far enough?"
"Not quite," Jessie said between her teeth. "I am going to confide in
you, Mr. Lascelles----"
"Called me 'Pongo' just now," the other said in tones of deep reproach.
"It seems to me----"
"Well, Pongo, then--dear Pongo, if you like," Jessie said desperately.
"I am going to confide in you. I want you to put me down close to the
hospital, and then you go back without me. You may infer that I did not
care for the business, and that I returned home by the front door. Then
at the end of half an hour or so, you are to declare that the sport is
over for the night and ride off as if seeking your chauffeur. After that
you are to come here and fetch me back. You understand?"
It was quite plain, from the blank expression of Lascelles' face, that
he did not understand. The familiar air had left him; he had grown stiff
and almost stern.
"I don't quite follow," he said. "Of course, if I choose to play the
ass--which, by the way, I am getting a little tired of--why, that hurts
nobody. But when a lady who I respect and admire asks me to become a
party, don't you know, to what looks like some--er--vulgar
assignation----"
"You are wrong," Jessie cried. "You are a gentleman; you have more sense
than I expected. I pledge you my word of honour that this is no
assignation. It is a case of life and death, a desperate case. I am
going into the hospital; it is important that nobody should know of my
visit--none of my own friends, I mean. I could come back in a hansom,
but danger lies that way. I have no money for one thing. Mr. Lascelles,
please believe that I am telling the truth."
The girl's troubled eyes turned on the listener's face. Lascelles would
have been less than a man had he not yielded, sorely against his
judgment as it was.
"I'll do it," he said. "No woman ever yet appealed to me in vain.
Because I play the ass people think that I don't notice things, but they
are mistaken. I've never done anything yet to be ashamed of, anyway. And
I'm not going to begin now. It seems to me that you are making a great
sacrifice for somebody else. If I could feel quite sure that that
somebody else was a----"
"Woman? It _is_ a woman! I felt quite sure that I could rely upon you.
Now please go back and act exactly as I have suggested. When you come to
know the truth--as assuredly you shall some day--I am quite certain that
you will never repent what you are doing to-night."
Lascelles was equally certain of it. He was quite convinced now that he
was no party to anything wrong. All the same, his face was very grave as
he helped Jessie from the car, and placed her wrap more carefully around
her. It was a long black wrap, covering her head and face and reaching
to the ground, so that the girl's rich dress was quite hidden.
"Half an hour," Jessie whispered. "It may be a little longer. I can
trust your discretion. At first I was a little afraid that perhaps you
might--but in your new character you are quite reliable. Do not stay any
longer or we shall attract attention."
Lascelles wheeled his car round and started westward once more. Jessie
hesitated just a minute to make quite sure that she had her permit in
her pocket, when a two-horse brougham dashed up. Evidently some
fashionable doctor summoned in a hurry, Jessie thought. But when she
looked again at the perfectly appointed equipage, with its fine horses
and its silver harness, she knew better. The thing was too fashionable
and glittering for a doctor; besides, no man in the profession would use
such a turn-out at night. Then, as Jessie looked again, her heart beat
more violently as she recognized the face of the occupant. It was the
Countess Saens. What did she want at this hour of the night? No errand
of mercy, Jessie felt quite sure, for the Countess Saens did not bear
that reputation.
Then like a flash it came to the girl standing hesitatingly on the
pavement. The countess had found some clue, possibly through the
assertions of the maid Annette that the sham Miss Galloway was the thief
who was responsible for the burglary. It was possible for such a train
of thought to be started and worked out logically in that brilliant
brain. But there was one other thing that Jessie would have given a
great deal to know--How had the countess discovered that the real Miss
Galloway was detained by an accident at Charing Cross Hospital?
Well, Jessie would know in a very few minutes. The countess stepped out
of her carriage and made her way into the hall of the hospital. She
could be seen talking to the porter, who shook his head. Evidently the
countess was asking for something that was against the rules. Again the
man shook his head. Jessie felt that a crisis was at hand. She stood on
the pavement hesitatingly, so eager that her hand fell from her face;
her features were distinct and lovely in the strong rays of light. A man
walking past her in a great hurry stopped, and an exclamation broke from
him.
"Vera!" he said hurriedly. "Vera, won't you speak to me? Great heavens!
A chance like this----"
Instantly Jessie guessed what had happened. She was face to face with
Vera's lover, Charles Maxwell!