"I am seeking delicately to suggest it would be a pity to give Monsieur
Morphew any excuse for jumping at a conclusion which, however
flattering to my unworthy self, might prove difficult to correct, not to
say painful . . ."
"Painful?"
"To him."
"But you aren't a bit fair, you know, to keep on making me like you when
you know very well you haven't been playing the game."
"Madame wrongs me: one can play only such cards as chance deals to one's
hand."
"O dear!" Folly sighed. "I'm afraid I'm too impressionable, or I'd never
trust you at all, with appearances so black for you."
"Innocence," he modestly opined, "is so shining a garment, black
appearances can only lend it an enhancing background." She wavered
between a smile and a frown. "But you have trusted me so far"--judging
the moment ripe, Lanyard passed from trifling to earnest
entreaty--"surely you can afford to trust me still farther. I want you
out of the way when Soames shows Morphew in--let him say you will be
down directly, nothing more--I want Morphew to meet me alone and without
any warning. On the other hand, I wish you to hear every word that
passes; so all that seems mysterious now will be made clear. While
Morphew is busy trying to dissemble his joy at meeting me so
unexpectedly, you will be able to come downstairs without making too
much noise--"
"You aren't suggesting that I eavesdrop--!"
"Why not? I did as much for you an hour ago--and very much to your
advantage, you'll agree. Take my word for it, in this instance you will
have even more excuse . . ."
"Heaven knows how you always manage to get round me, but you do." Folly
went to the door, but there paused, looking back over her shoulder with
provocative eyes, pretty to death as she stood with head perked pertly,
her dainty body less hidden than set off by its frothy déshabillé. "And
it's well for me, I'm afraid," she confided, "if its true, as Liane
says, you're madly in love with another woman!"
She vanished, was heard briefly conferring with the butler in the
entrance hall, then scampering up the stairs.
"And well for me!" Lanyard admitted then, with a wry grimace of
self-knowledge; and forthwith closed his mind to the troubling concept
of Folly as a woman too kindly inclined, a thought it wouldn't do to
dally with for weightier reasons than that it was the truth Liane had
babbled.
Against this impending interview of precarious issue he had to make all
his dispositions, mental and environmental, in minutes of grace he had
no means of knowing how few. Everything depended on how soon Morphew
might leave his quarters in response to Folly's call, on whether or not
he would learn before leaving of the reverse which had waited on the
Mallison coup. Lanyard asked no longer odds than to have Morphew arrive
uninformed and unsuspicious; if he didn't, Lanyard would need to mind
his eye, likewise his step, if he meant to go on living . . .
Swift review of four walls and all they enclosed made careful note of
the heavier articles of furniture and their arrangement in respect of
one another and even more particularly of the four exits: the door to
the entrance hall, the draped opening that communicated with the
drawing-room, the two French windows that gave on the roof of the
extension.
Wall-sconces with shields of painted parchment bathed the study in a
glareless glow; these darkened, a shaded table lamp was left for all
illumination. And this in its turn having been extinguished, it was
feasible to reconnoitre at the windows without risking detection by any
spy who might be stationed in the vacant land back of the house. But
when Lanyard had gently parted the draperies and put his nose to a pane,
his vision spent itself fruitlessly on the welter of blacks, from dense
to dusky, that blotted out the kitchen-yard within its wooden walls and
the open foundation pit beyond. Footfarers on the sidewalks to the north
were well-defined by the bleak shine of a street light on the Lexington
avenue corner; but if any living thing lurked in the waste between it
was lost to the cunning of Lanyard's eyes.
Notwithstanding, he watched on, to make sure the avenues of escape were
not stealthily picketed in advance of Morphew's call, till the
house-bell dictated retreat from the window to relight the table lamp
and take the place and pose which Lanyard most fancied, in an easy chair
screened from the hall by the door that opened inward.
The professional soft-shoes of the butler padded from pantry to front
door, bolts thumped, the latch rattled, Morphew was heard to salute
Soames with gruff condescension, the colourless voice of the servant
responded: and having surrendered his hat and coat, the Sultan of Loot
paraded into the study with a strut (or the observation of his audience
erred) coloured by a lively sense of gratification in unction yet to
come. With Folly netted in his toils--no mistake about it, Morphew in
this moment was on the best of terms with the business of life in a
richly rewarding world. And viewing the man revealed in this humour,
Lanyard ceased to entertain a doubt as to the best course to take with
him.
Near the table whose lamp painted with stagey shadows his pale and
crudely modelled features, Morphew halted. He cleared his throat
importantly, consulted his watch, pricked an ear impatient for Folly's
footfalls on the stairs, frowned ever so slightly over failure to hear
them and, tickled by some furtive thought, flashed his rare, unholy
smile. Then becoming cognizant of Lanyard sitting quietly in his corner,
watchfully waiting, the man all at once grew taut in body and limb, like
a dog confronted by some sudden shape of danger, and wiped his
countenance clean of every treacherous trace of legibility. This much,
and the swift veer of his eyes toward the doorway, alone confessed the
facer to his expectations. The blinkless gaze that steadied to Lanyard's
told nothing. Neither did it put any question. Pending the first move,
which he was plainly resolved Lanyard must make, Morphew constrained
himself to a set of dull, impassive patience.
An attitude Lanyard was nothing loath to humour. If the enemy preferred
to resign the initiative, he didn't mind. If it came to that, he had
meant all along, if it should appear, as now it did, that Morphew hadn't
as yet heard what had happened in the last hour, to force the fighting.
He got up and performed his courtliest bow.
"Good evening, monsieur. It was gracious of you to come round so
promptly. Won't you be seated."
Morphew ignored the gesture that singled out a chair for him, but after
a measured instant observed rather than asked: "You were expecting
me . . ."
"It was even I who advised Mrs. McFee to call monsieur into
consultation."