Upon a veranda overlooking the clear, rippling Ourthe, and protected
from the hot sun by a striped awning, Valerie and Pierre were laughing
and sipping kummel. Lounging lazily in a loose-fitting cotton dress she
looked cool and piquante, while he, attired in a suit of light tweed,
with a soft felt hat set jauntily on his head, sat on the edge of the
table, smoking a cigarette with an air of insouciance.
In the whole of rural Belgium it would probably be difficult to find
scenery more picturesque than that surrounding the small town of
Laroche. Ten miles distant from the Liege-Marloye Railway, it lies in
the very heart of the Ardennes, nestling beside the gurgling Ourthe at
the junction of five beautiful valleys. Above, rise bold, bare crags
and high hills covered with sombre pines, while from a dark, rugged
height frown the ivy-clad ruins of an ancient chateau.
The little place is charming, although to the gregarious, who find
pleasure amid the summer turmoil of the Rhine, with its crowd of
cheap-trippers and overflowing hotels, it presents the aspect of a
veritable village of the dead. Its inhabitants have not yet become
demoralised by the advance of progress; for, although a few rusticating
Belgians from Brussels and Liege and one or two English families visit
it during the summer, still its beauties are comparatively unknown. The
streets are crooked and narrow, the houses quaint and old-fashioned, and
pervading the whole town is an old-world air that is distinct and
delightful. Kindly, genial, and honest, the people are an average
specimen of the simple, rustic dwellers in the Walloon country, who look
askance at the increasing number of tourists who intrude upon their
solitude and alight at their unpretentious hotels. Modern improvement
is almost unknown in this Arcadia. True, there is a steam tramway to
Malreux, forming the link which connects the Larochois with the outside
world, but the place itself is still, quiet, even lethargic; in fact, it
is very much the same to-day as it was a century ago. The dusty,
lumbering old diligences, with bells upon the horses, rumble through the
streets at frequent intervals, always stopping at the Bureau de Poste;
and it is so antiquated as to possess a guardian of the town in the
person of a _garde du nuit_, who blows every hour upon his tin
_trompette_ from eleven o'clock at night until five in the morning--
truly a relic of an age bygone.
It was a month since Hugh had left London, and the weeks that passed in
Brussels after the reunion had been pleasant ones. He saw her daily,
and was only content when in her company, driving in the Bois de la
Cambre, shopping in the Montagne de la Cour, or taking her to the
theatre. During this time he had been introduced to one of her
relatives--the first he had known. When he called upon her as usual one
evening, he found a man some ten years her senior seated in the
drawing-room. His bearing was that of a gentleman. He was
well-dressed, wearing in his coat the crimson button of the French
Legion of Honour, and was introduced by Valerie as the Comte
Chaulin-Serviniere, her cousin.
The men shook hands, and quickly became friends. At first Hugh was
inclined to regard him with suspicion and distrust, but on closer
acquaintance found him a genial, reckless man of the world, who was
possessed of plenty of money, and whose tastes were similar to his own.
Being apparently a prominent figure in Brussels society, he introduced
Hugh to various people worth knowing, and soon became his constant
companion.
Had he known that the Comte Lucien Chaulin-Serviniere was the same
person as one Victor Berard whose name was inscribed upon a rather bulky
file preserved in the archives of the Prefecture of Police in Paris, it
is probable that he would have shunned his companionship, and many evil
consequences would thereby have been avoided.
Blissfully ignorant, however, and confident of Valerie's love and
devotion, Hugh was perfectly happy as the weeks glided by, until one day
she announced that she was compelled to depart at once for Namur to
visit an aunt who was ill, and not expected to recover.
It was thereupon arranged that she should travel to Namur by herself,
visit her relative, and that the Comte and Hugh should meet her three
days later at Laroche. The suggestion was the Comte's, for he declared
she was looking worn, and that a sojourn of a week or two in the
invigorating and health-promoting Ardennes would do her good.
Valerie left on the following morning, but the dying aunt was a pure
invention, and instead of remaining at Namur, she proceeded at once to
Malreux, and thence to Laroche, where she arrived after spending the
greater part of the day in performing the journey. At the Hotel Royal
she found Pierre Rouillier awaiting her, for the meeting had been
prearranged, and it was for a more important and beneficial purpose than
exploring the beauties of the neighbourhood that Mademoiselle Dedieu had
journeyed so far.
Like everything else in the little town, the arrangements of the hotel
were of Walloon simplicity, and scarcely suited to patrician taste,
although there was a decided touch of novelty in dining at midday with
only the "beer of the country" as beverage, and suppers at seven
consisting of fresh eggs, the fare throughout being of a genuinely
homely character.
They were sitting on the veranda on the second morning after her
arrival. Having finished their liqueurs, Pierre suggested that, as he
desired to talk confidentially, they should take a stroll in order to
avoid the possibility of eavesdroppers. To this Valerie readily
acquiesced, and, having obtained her sunshade, the pair started off up a
by-path for a ramble up the steep hillside.
"You know your way about this place very well, I suppose?" she remarked,
as they walked together.
"Yes, considering I have buried myself here for several months, and have
no other occupation beyond strolling about or killing time in deserted
_estaminets_. The winter here was most abominably dull; in fact, were
it not for your sake--"
"You mean for the sake of your own neck," interrupted mademoiselle,
smiling.
"Well, I admit it is not for your sake alone that I'm in hiding, but
personating a dead man has its drawbacks. Within twenty-four hours of
leaving London I arrived at this sleepy hole, and my name has since been
Adolphe Chavoix, gentleman, living on his means. From the time I first
set foot in the place I've never been five miles from it, and I expect I
shall be compelled to remain here for months, perhaps for a year
longer," he said dismally.
"Is it a safe retreat?"
"Safe! I should think it is! Why, I'm as well-known as the _doyen_
himself. The rustics fancy I'm a decent sort of fellow, and I'm on
visiting terms with almost everybody, from the imbecile old Burgomaster
downwards. Why, the police commissary of the district is one of my
closest friends. Bless you, I'm as safe here as if I lay in my coffin.
But, tell me, what progress are you making?"
"As much as can be expected," she replied, taking his arm and leaning
upon him in the stiff ascent. "I explained to you yesterday the plan we
propose; but, of course, it is highly dangerous."
"For boldness and impudence I've never heard its equal," declared Pierre
candidly.
"_Bien_, then you recognise how imperative it is that our arrangements
should be elaborated before the _coup_ is made. There were many
obstacles in our path, but one by one these are being removed. When the
course is quite open we shall act."
"He still loves you?"
"Yes," she replied with a grim smile.
"It will prove an expensive pastime for him," exclaimed her companion,
laughing.
"But profitable to us. Think what it will mean if we succeed."
"We must succeed, sooner or later."
"Never draw hasty conclusions," remarked mademoiselle. "One awkward
incident and the whole scheme might collapse. Even now I'm almost at a
standstill for want of funds."
"Have you spent all the last?"
"Yes; and moreover, the man who furnished my place in Brussels two years
ago threatens to take possession because I can't pay him, while I have
heaps of other unpaid bills."
"Can't you sell your jewels?" suggested Pierre.
"They went long ago. All that I have now are only paste," she replied
disconsolately.
"Wouldn't Trethowen lend you some if you told him some pitiful tale?"
"How could I ask him? You forget that he believes me to be rich, with
the fabulously wealthy Comte Chaulin-Serviniere as my cousin."
"Rather a new character for Victor," laughed the smart young man at her
side.
"Oh, but he has assumed the part well, I assure you," she declared. "He
looks after my welfare to just the right extent in the circumstances,
and his bearing and appearance give him the stamp of the aristocrat,
which is, of course, only due in some degree to the new suit he had for
the occasion."
Pierre laughed heartily. He had never seen Hugh Trethowen, yet with the
instinct of the adventurer who wages war against those possessed of
money, it was a source of satisfaction to him to know that the victim
was falling an easy prey.
By this time they had ascended the Chemin des Morts, and were pausing at
the summit gazing upon the charming landscape outspread like a panorama
at their feet. The spot itself was interesting, inasmuch as a quaint
legend is connected with it. As they rested there he related it to her.
It is alleged that once on a time a Seigneur of Harze, who had died
leaving behind him an unenviable reputation, was being carried to his
last resting-place in the parish churchyard, when one of the bearers
slipped, and the body fell over the cliff, and then from rock to rock,
till it reached the river. The affrighted mourners saw in this terrible
accident an unmistakable judgment of heaven, and did not dare to
interfere.
When he had narrated the circumstance they continued their walk, passing
through a small fir plantation until they came to a time-worn rustic
cross. Near it, and overshadowed by some large bushes, was an old seat,
upon which they sat continuing the discussion of Berard's merits.
The shade was welcome after toiling up the hill, and Valerie, taking off
her hat, allowed the soft breeze to fan her temples, while he lit a
cigarette, handing her one also.
"I'm puzzled to know how we are to bring matters to a crisis without
more money than we have at present," she said reflectively, after they
had been talking some time.
"That's really a difficult problem," her companion replied quickly.
"Don't you know anybody who would advance you a little?"
"No. Besides, it would be unsafe. We must now be exceedingly careful
how to act."
"There is only one thing that I can suggest," said Pierre thoughtfully
watching the smoke curling upward.
"How?" she inquired expectantly.
"Rook him at cards."
"_Ma foi_! An excellent suggestion!" she ejaculated enthusiastically.
"You could work it easily enough. Victor and he will be here to-morrow,
therefore I should suggest that I start to-night for Spa. You three can
follow after a day or two. There you can meet me, introduce me as a
friend, and then I can proceed to pluck him of a few hundreds. I'm
quicker with the paste-boards than Victor."
"He's a good player, I believe."
"That doesn't matter. If you can persuade him to play, I'll soon have
some money."
"My dear Pierre," Valerie said, laughing, "he will do anything for me.
I'm sure he would lose ten thousand francs without a murmur, if he
thought he was pleasing me by tempting fortune. He does think such a
lot of me that--that I sometimes feel inclined to love him genuinely.
I'm almost sick of the base part I am playing."
Her face assumed a serious look, and she sighed. Pierre regarded her in
astonishment.
"What? Giving way to sentiment, now we have gone so far!" he exclaimed.
"It's all nonsense. To think of throwing up the game now would be
sheer folly. Such a chance as the present does not always fall to our
lot; therefore, it is only right, in our own interests, that we should
take advantage of it. If you really love him--well, it will, perhaps,
add to the realism of the incident, and won't do much harm to either of
you. But then, you've loved others before--in fact, you loved me once--
yet now I'm nothing in your eyes beyond a willing assistant in your
various little affairs. No," he continued bitterly, "you have no real
affection for any one. I am able to speak from personal experience.
Yet you would bar our way and wreck our chance of making our fortunes,
because you fancy you've fallen in love with this ass of an Englishman?
You must be mad to think of such a thing."
"You misunderstand me," she said, her beauty heightened by the flush of
anger that suffused her face. "Although I have neither intention nor
desire to depart from the plan already laid down, I regret that it will
be necessary to resort to the extreme measure in order to accomplish our
purpose. That is all. As for your suggestion, it shall be carried out.
You will go to Spa to-night, if you think there is no danger in the
visit."
"Don't trouble yourself. I shall run no risk. You get him to play,
then leave the rest to me. Within a week the money shall be yours.
What do you think of the suggestion of making him defray the cost of his
own misfortune, eh?" he asked, laughing.
"Decidedly ingenious, but it won't work!" shouted a voice in English,
causing them to start.
There was a rustling among the thick bushes behind them, and next second
Jack Egerton emerged into the path.
"Why are you here, spying upon us?" demanded Pierre, springing to his
feet, and assuming a threatening attitude.
"Merely for my own information," replied the artist, with perfect
_sang-froid_.
"Then, I hope you have obtained the knowledge you desire," Valerie said,
her eyes flashing angrily.
"I have ascertained the depth of your vile scheme, if that is what you
mean," he cried. "You little thought I should keep observation upon
your movements. For a fortnight I've been watching you in Brussels as
closely as a cat watches a mouse. The ingenious tricks I learned under
your tuition stood me in good stead, and I have now seen your duplicity,
and discovered the extent of your infamy. You are playing the old game,
the--"
"My affairs do not concern you!" she cried, stamping her foot angrily.
"My friend's interests are my own."
"Your friend--bah!"
"Yes; I repeat it. I have overheard more than one of your interesting
conversations, and am quite aware of your nefarious intention. You are
using your beauty to lure him to his ruin."
"Quite heroic!" sneered Pierre. "This is indeed interesting."
"Before I have finished you'll probably find it more interesting, and to
your cost," he replied fiercely. Then, turning to mademoiselle, he
said: "You think I fear you, but you make a huge mistake. When we last
met you threatened me with exposure if I dare tell him what I knew of
your past."
"I did, and I mean it!" she screamed, with an imprecation in French.
"Thwart me, and I'll show you no mercy."
"Then you will have an opportunity of exhibiting your vindictiveness,"
he observed calmly.
"What do you mean? If self-conceit did not furnish its own buoyancy,
some men would never be able to carry their load."
"I mean that before to-morrow Hugh Trethowen will be upon his guard; he
will understand the deep and complicated game you and your jail-birds of
Montmartre are playing."
"You--you dare not breathe a word to him."
She spoke defiantly, her lips compressed, and her hands tightly
clenched.
"Spare yourself," he replied, waving his hand deprecatingly. "Threats
are utterly useless. I am determined to acquaint him with your cunning
plot."
"The consequences will be upon your own head," said she, with affected
indifference.
"I'm perfectly willing that they should," he answered, with a coolness
that astounded her.
"When you stand in a criminal court you'll alter your tone," she
declared, although unnerved at his willingness to face her vengeance.
"Possibly, when you accompany me there, you will do the same."
"Oh! How's that, pray?"
"Death is the penalty for murder," the artist exclaimed meaningly.
"Murder?" gasped Valerie wildly. "What--what do you mean? What do you
infer?"
"Nothing, beyond the fact that if you give me up to the police, you
yourself will also be deprived of liberty."
"Of what do you accuse me, pray?" she demanded haughtily.
"It is the business of the police to investigate crime, not mine."
In a moment Valerie vaguely conceived that the power she had exercised
over him no longer existed. It was possible that he was in possession
of some information which removed all fear he had of her. Apprehensive
lest he should have learned her secret, she continued to question him,
in order, if possible, to ascertain how much he knew.
But he was as wary as herself, replying to her sarcasm with pointed
retorts that puzzled her.
Pierre in the meantime stood silent and thoughtful. He, too, saw
plainly that their scheme might be checkmated, and that they were on the
horns of a serious dilemma. If Egerton imparted the secret to Hugh, the
whole of their plans would be frustrated, besides placing them in a very
undesirable position. Moreover, the artist had desired to know the
reason he had assumed the name of Chavoix instead of his own, and
inquiries upon that point, if pressed, might result in extremely awkward
revelations. He was therefore trying to devise some feasible means by
which to avert a catastrophe that seemed imminent.
"Then, you really mean to carry your threat into execution?" asked
mademoiselle, after they had exchanged several sharp passages of words.
Jack Egerton declared that he did.
The colour vanished from her face, and she clenched her fists in anger.
"Dare to do so, and you will rue the consequences till your dying day.
You little think how completely you are in my power, or the character of
the evidence I hold against you--evidence which is beyond dispute, since
you yourself admit your guilt. Remember that at once I could, if I
chose, demand your arrest. If you provoke me, I shall adopt that
course--"
"And expose your own villainy," he remarked superciliously.
"I should adopt it as a measure of self-protection," she replied, with
calmness. "I assure you, however, I have no desire to resort to such a
measure, and I have, therefore, a proposal to make," she added.
"I have no desire to hear it."
"Listen, and I'll tell you," she continued determinedly. "You know that
I have certain evidence in my possession, which it is most desirable
that you should destroy--you know to what I refer. Were it ever placed
in the hands of the police, you would spend the remainder of your days
in a convict's cell. Well, my proposal is that it shall be placed in
your hands on the day I marry Hugh Trethowen."
"You--marry him! You intend doing so?" he asked in abject astonishment,
for he had not believed her desirous of an honourable union.
"Of course I do. And I repeat that, in consideration of your preserving
silence regarding my past I am ready to do what I have told you. If
not, there is but one alternative, as I have already explained--
imprisonment and ruin. It is for you to decide."
This suggestion, the desperate device of a crafty woman, presented
matters in a different light. It appeared to him that, after all, if
she married Hugh she might reform and become an honest woman, while he
himself would, by accepting her terms, render his own position secure.
The proposal, he reflected, was one that required careful consideration,
for he could not dispute the fact that he really feared her. He knew
she could wreck his life.
"What is your answer?" she asked, watching his thoughtful face narrowly,
and noticing with satisfaction his perplexity.
"I cannot give one now. I must think," he replied.
"Very well. Think well over the matter and its consequences before
acting rashly. I fancy you will come to the same conclusion as myself--
that a policy of silence is wisest." Turning to the young man beside
her, she said, "Come, Pierre, we will return and leave him to his
solitary reflection."
Rouillier laughed at the other's discomfiture, and turned upon his heel.
"_Bon jour, monsieur_," she said, addressing the artist, making a stiff
curtsey, which he acknowledged with an impatient gesture.
Then she joined her companion, and they retraced their steps through the
fir plantation towards the drowsy little town.
"Your nerve and ingenuity are really marvellous, Valerie," exclaimed
Pierre enthusiastically, when they were out of hearing. "I should never
have thought of such a scheme. We have got out of an ugly situation
very neatly indeed."
"Yes," replied she confidently. "_Qu'il fasse ce qu'il lui plaira_.
He's afraid to utter a word to Hugh."
And they both laughed gaily.