‘I have something of serious import to say to you,’ were Mora’s first
words as he went forward a few steps and then halted. ‘Hector Laroche,
do you know that you are in imminent danger of your life?’
He gave a little start and looked at her fixedly for a moment or two.
‘No; I am not aware of anything of the kind,’ he answered with a sneer.
‘Madame, you are oracular!’
‘Oh, hush! This is no time for levity. Will you not believe me when
I tell you that your life is in danger? The assassins have tracked
you—they have followed you here—they have sworn to take your life!’
‘The assassins! What assassins?’ he shrieked as he bounded to his feet.
‘Can you not guess? Think, Laroche, think! Oh, how like you it was to
turn traitor to the cause to which you had bound yourself by oath, and
to betray your comrades! But your treachery has been discovered. The
penalty you cannot be ignorant of.’
He had turned livid with terror while Mora was speaking. A glassy film
had overspread his eyes, which looked dilated to twice their ordinary
size. His gaze wandered from corner to corner of the room with a sort
of stealthy fright, as if dreading that an assassin might spring upon
him at any moment. A cold perspiration bathed him from head to foot;
he trembled in every limb, and would have fallen had he not supported
himself with his back and hands against the bureau.
‘How am I to know that what you have just told me has any truth in
it?’ he asked at length, with a strange hoarseness in his voice.
‘What should you, Mora De Vigne, know of secret societies, plots, and
conspiracies? Who should speak to you of these things, the secrets of
which are known to the initiated alone? No; it is a lie—a lie! Some
wretched fool has imposed upon you, or else you have concocted this
story yourself in order to frighten me away.’
Looking straight at him, Mora said slowly: ‘_The right hand of the Czar
is frozen._’
A low cry burst from the wretched man’s lips; he buried his face in his
hands and fell on his knees; he knew that his doom was sealed.
A pang of compassion shot through Mora’s heart. She made a step or two
forward and then drew back with a shudder. All her womanly instincts
revolted against the man. Not even at that supreme moment could she
bring herself to go near him. ‘You must go away at once—to-night,’ she
said. ‘To-morrow may be too late.’ She found herself repeating the very
words of Jules.
‘Go away—where?’ he asked with a groan, turning his haggard face full
upon her. ‘All places are alike. There is no escape—none!’ He rose to
his feet and staggered across the room to the ottoman, on which he
sank, and buried his face in the cushions.
‘Will you allow me to send for Colonel Woodruffe? He will be able to
counsel you far better than I as to what had best be done for your
safety.’
As Laroche neither assented nor dissented, Nanette was at once
despatched in quest of the colonel, who was still with Sir William. He
followed close on Nanette’s heels. A few words aside from Mora put him
in possession of the facts of the case.
‘Laroche, this is a bad business—a very bad business,’ he said as he
crossed to the ottoman and laid a hand on the Frenchman’s shoulder.
‘But sit up, and let us look the situation in the face. Whining is of
no use—never is. We have to act. While there’s life there’s hope, and
I for one don’t despair of dragging you out of this dilemma, however
awkward it may look just now.’
‘No, monsieur; there is no hope—none,’ cried Laroche. ‘They have
tracked me here—they will track me everywhere, till one day their
opportunity will arrive. I know—I know!’ His nervous agitation was
still so extreme that the words seemed as if they could scarcely form
themselves on his lips.
‘Here—drink this,’ said the colonel, handing him a glass containing
brandy, which Mora had brought at his request.
Laroche swallowed the spirit greedily. It helped to steady his nerves
for the time being, if it did him no other good.
‘What Madame De Vigne says is quite true,’ resumed the colonel. ‘You
must get away from this place without an hour’s delay. I have thought
of a plan which will at least insure your safety for a little while
to come; after that, you will have to shift for yourself. I knew this
part of the country well when a boy. There is a farmhouse kept by an
old acquaintance of mine in a lonely valley about two miles from the
opposite shore of the lake. I will take you there to-night, and you can
stay there till you have decided what your future plans shall be.’
‘O monsieur, you are too good! I have not deserved this,’ cried the
abject wretch.
‘You speak the truth, Laroche; you have not deserved it,’ answered the
other gravely. ‘How soon can you be ready to start?’
‘In ten minutes, monsieur.’
‘Good.’
‘But I shall need money, monsieur.’
‘It shall be found you. Have you any idea as to what your plans will be
after you leave the farmhouse?’
‘I shall endeavour to make my way to London—it is the best hiding-place
in the world for those who know it. There I shall lie quiet for a
little while. After that’—— He ended with an expressive lifting of his
shoulders.
‘If you will get ready, then,’ said the colonel. ‘I too have a few
arrangements to make.’
Laroche nodded; then he went to the door, opened it, and gazed
furtively up and down the corridor. Not a creature was in sight. He
darted away and sped up the thickly carpeted staircase as noiselessly
as a shadow.
The colonel sent Nanette in search of Archie Ridsdale. He came at once,
and as soon as the situation of affairs had been partially explained
to him, he was despatched with a message to the boathouse. Then the
colonel in his turn left the room. He was only absent three or four
minutes, and when he came back he was carrying a small roll of notes in
his hand.
Mora had subsided into an easy-chair from the moment Colonel Woodruffe
had taken charge of the situation, and there she was still sitting. Who
could have analysed her thoughts during the last painful quarter of an
hour, or have adequately described the varied phases of emotion which
ebbed and flowed through her heart!
Immediately following on the return of the colonel, came Archie
Ridsdale. Each of them was muffled in his ulster, for although the
storm had not yet broken over the valley, it might do so at any moment.
A minute later the door opened and Laroche stole in. For a moment
or two none of them recognised him. His black beard and moustache
had vanished; a grizzled wig with long lanky tufts of hair, which
fell on his coat-collar behind, covered his head; his eyebrows had
been manipulated to match the wig; while a pair of heavy horn-rimmed
spectacles served to disguise him still further. There was no longer
the slightest trace of a Parisian dandy in his appearance; his clothes
were homely, and of the fashion of some years previously. He looked
like a small provincial shopkeeper who might have come over to England
for a holiday. But no disguise could hide the pallor of his face, the
nervous twitching of his thin lips, or the abject terror that lurked in
his eyes.
Archie and the colonel stood up. The moment of departure had come.
Laroche turned to his wife, who had also risen. Placing both his hands
over his heart and bending low in front of her, he said in a husky
whisper: ‘Mora, pardon, pardon! We shall never meet again.’
For a moment or two she hesitated; all the woman within her was
profoundly moved; then she went up to him. ‘Hector, with my whole heart
I forgive you!’ she said.
That was their farewell. A moment later Mora heard the door close
behind the three men.
She turned down the lamp and drew back one of the curtains. It was
pitch-dark outside; not a star was visible. She opened the window a
little way, in order that she might watch as well as listen. Presently
she heard a faint noise of footsteps on the gravel below. The three men
had left the hotel by way of the French-window in the sitting-room on
the ground floor.
Mora stood with straining eyes and ears. Suddenly the darkness was
shivered by a quivering flash of lightning, and in that instant she saw
the figures of the three men crossing the slope of the hill on their
way to the lake. At the same time, she imagined she saw the stealthy
form of Santelle disappear behind a clump of laurel, as if he were
watching the retreating figures.—Will he have known Laroche in spite of
his disguise?
The thought sent a cold tremor through her heart—half of horror, half
of regret. But darkness had come again in the twinkling of an eye, and
she saw nothing more. With a heavy sigh, she let the curtain drop into
its place just as the door opened and Clarice entered the room.