"The Baroness was good enough to ask us all," I explained, "and Monsieur
Huber likes his artistes to accept the hospitality of his patrons."
She pouted a little.
"You do not treat me with confidence, Monsieur," she complained, "and I
am your wellwisher."
"Madame," I replied, "if you would search my heart, which, alas! is in
your possession, you would realise that I don't understand a word of
what you are talking about."
She laughed as though but half convinced. We danced again, drank wine
together, and talked a great deal of nonsense. All the time I kept my
eye on Rose, who found many partners and seemed to be enjoying the
evening exceedingly. As the night wore on, I thought it was almost time
for a counterattack.
"Tell me, Madame," I begged, as we sat enjoying a cigarette in a remote
corner of the room, "what made you think that I might have other affairs
in Brussels?"
She looked at me meditatively. I could see that she had not as yet made
up her mind about me.
"There are so many," she said, "who come to Brussels for another
purpose."
"But what purpose?"
We were resting in a deep window seat. She drew aside the curtains for a
moment. Before us stretched the black, unlit wing of the chateau.
"Just that, monsieur," she whispered.
"Come, we dance again. This is the waltz we both love."
And after that, Madame would dance but she would not talk. So we all
went back to our rooms in the Hotel de l'Univers more than a little
puzzled.
Things began to shape themselves on the following day, when Monsieur
Huber handed me another typewritten communication. My instructions were
concise but a trifle embarrassing:
Cultivate Madame Sara Clèry. She is at home from five to seven.
At all hazards be there on Thursday. Leave report of visit with
Monsieur Huber, addressed Thomson.
Rose made a little grimace as she read over my shoulder.
"Perhaps," she exclaimed, with her head in the air, "you won't have so
much to say about poor Mr. Kinlosti now."
"This isn't of my seeking, is it?" I protested.
"Nor was L'Affaire Kinlosti mine," she retorted. "There was a wonderful
little Belgian Count, with moustaches half an inch long, the other
night. I shall let him call upon me."
"I shall leave you in Leonard's charge," I replied stiffly.
"Dear old Len!" she mocked. "He won't have an earthly chance if I take
it into my head to be frisky, and I'm sure I shall. It isn't natural for
a girl to see no men except two ogres of guardians."
"You be thankful you've got us to look after you," Leonard intervened.
"From what I've seen of this city, Sodom and Gomorrah weren't in it for
levity."
"I can take care of myself," Rose declared, tossing her head.
"Perhaps," I replied. "In the meantime, when I am away on duty--on duty,
mind you--Leonard is going to play watchdog."
She dropped a little curtsey to both of us.
"One would think that I were a masquerading princess," she observed.
"You're our princess," I answered quickly.
The peevishness passed from her face in a moment.
"If only you'd tell me so sometimes!" she murmured.
I was at no time quite able to make up my mind how Sara Clèry really
regarded my visits. On the first day, she received my present of roses
and my compliments with unmistakable pleasure. On the second day, she
was still amiable but a little puzzled. On the third day she received me
with greater intimacy than ever before, and I was never so relieved as
when the opportune arrival of one of her regular admirers--the tenor
with whom she was singing--enabled me to beat a graceful retreat. On the
fourth afternoon, the specially indicated Thursday, I found her in a
state of agitation. It is my confident belief that on that occasion, but
for my _douceur_ to her maid, which ensured my prompt entry, I should
have been denied admission. She welcomed me with mingled
affection--simulated--and suspicion. There was no return of her previous
day's attitude.
"You find me distracted," she declared presently. "A terrible tragedy
has happened."
I murmured a word or two of sympathy. She looked at me earnestly, as
though anxious to probe my mind, to assure herself of my sincerity.
"If I dared to confide in you!" she murmured.
"Dear Sara," I ventured--we had progressed so far--"what is to prevent
it? You know that I am your slave."
She drew a dispatch from the bosom of her gown.
"Listen," she said. "There is a secret in my life which has troubled me
many times--more than ever," she murmured, dropping her eyes, "since I
have known you."
I did not hesitate to play her game, because in my mind I knew that she
was deceiving me.
"Tell me?" I begged. "I am impatient to hear."
"There is one in my family," she continued, "who is a criminal."
"What does that matter," I answered, "so long as it is not you?"
"You feel like that, Maurice?" she exclaimed earnestly.
"Indeed I do," I assured her.
"You are English," she went on. "You fought in the War for Belgium's
deliverance. The halo of heroism still rests around your head. You can
do what others dared not. Listen. This telegram is from my brother. He
has escaped from prison in Antwerp. Never mind the charge. The police
search for him everywhere, but he promises that he will reach my flat at
ten o'clock to-night."
"In disguise?"
"He comes as the victim of a motor accident, in an ambulance car, his
face bandaged. But here--how can I keep him here! The Chief of the
Police is amongst my intimates. There are people coming and going all
day."
"You have a suggestion?" I ventured.
"Yes," she answered. "I was at the Café des Quatres Etoiles when you did
your imitations the other night. You have a wonderful gift of making up.
My cousin has undertaken to hide Albert at the chateau, if we can get
him there. Good! You must come here, make up my brother, say, to imitate
your friend Monsieur Cotton, whom he is not unlike. Then you drive out
to the chateau quite openly to one of my cousin's supper parties.
Albert will disappear and all will be well."
"And when is this to be?" I asked.
"To-night," she answered. "You consent?"
She leaned towards me. I hesitated merely out of policy. Her lips almost
touched my cheek.
"You have perhaps a price, a reward to ask?" she murmured.
I knew then that I was in love with Rose, if I had ever doubted it. I
have always flattered myself that I displayed great presence of mind.
"Sara," I said, giving a very excellent extempore performance of British
stupidity and magnanimity combined, "I ask for no reward beforehand. I
wait till the task is done."
I was vain enough to think that she was almost disappointed. She brushed
my cheek with her lips and murmured in my ear.
"You shall not be the loser, Maurice. At eleven o'clock to-night you
will come? I am not singing and you must finish early."
"At eleven o'clock," I promised.
That evening I wrote my report and left it with Monsieur Huber, and at
eleven o'clock, with my make-up outfit, I presented myself at Madame
Clèry's flat. She herself opened the door and detained me for a moment
in the hall.
"All is well, so far," she murmured. "Albert arrived in a motor
ambulance, all bandaged up. We are alone in the flat. If he is a little
nervous, you will forgive him."
She led me into the sitting room. A man of medium height, thin and with
a hard, square face, rose from an easy-chair, and turned a
half-enquiring, half-suspicious gaze upon me. I was thankful then for
the obscurity of the room, no longer ashamed of my deceit, a willing
coadjutor in this scheme, whatever it might be. I knew, too, why my
services were so earnestly required. The photographer's art had made the
face before me infamous.
"This is Monsieur Lister," Sara said. "He has promised to disguise you,
Albert."
"Let him be quick about it, then," was the harsh reply.
I never had a more distasteful task, but in the end I succeeded. I
concealed the cruel mouth and softened the brutal jaw, until at last a
very passable imitation of Leonard appeared. Sara was loud in her
praises and exuberant in her gratitude. Her pseudo-brother did nothing
save make my task more difficult by his irritation and impatience. In
the end, when all was finished, I handed him an overcoat of Leonard's
which I had brought, and we three started out in a large motor car,
which was waiting below, for the chateau. We arrived there a little
before the accustomed hour for Madame's reception, and the whole place
seemed dark and deserted. A strange manservant let us in and disappeared
almost immediately. The Baroness came out of the shadows. She, too,
seemed affected by the tragedy of the moment. Her cheeks were unusually
pale. Her almost Flemish stolidity had disappeared.
"The passages are unlocked," she whispered. "Let us go quickly. In half
an hour there may be people who arrive."
She led the way up the broad staircase. I hesitated, but Sara thrust her
arm through mine.
"We trust you," she said. "You must come with us."
Arrived on the first floor, we traversed what seemed to be an
interminable corridor until we came at last to a green baize door which,
on being swung open, revealed an inner one, which the Baroness unlocked.
Immediately I was conscious that we were in the uninhabited part of the
chateau. The Baroness, who was in front, came to a stop and we all
paused.
"We make a mistake," she said in a low tone. "There is no place here for
strangers."
She inclined her head towards me. The man laughed a little brutally.
"Stranger or not," he replied, "do you think I am going to let him go
until this little affair is finished?"
"And after then, what about us?" the Baroness demanded. "Safety, with
you, is a matter of an hour or so, but we remain."
"Bah!" was the contemptuous reply. "He will not inform against women.
Sara will see to that."