"I should like to go, and Mr. Ashton will of course come."
"Good. My car should be here in a quarter of an hour."
He strolled over to the bureau, and I heard him inquire for letters.
There were several. He took them from the gold-laced porter, sank on to
a settee, and began to tear them open.
"Why did you accept his offer?" I inquired of Faulkner, in an
undertone, as I lit a cigarette.
"Never mind," he answered quickly. "I know what I'm doing. Leave
everything to me now." At that moment the large glazed double doors
leading into the Place in front of the Casino revolved slowly and a
tall, imposing-looking woman of thirty-five or so, in rich black furs,
which had all the appearance of being valuable, sailed in, followed by
her maid carrying a small bag. Paulton, glancing up from his letters,
noticed her, and at once sprang to his feet.
"Ah, Baronne, how pleasant to meet you again!" he exclaimed, as he
approached her. "I expected you here sooner."
"I should have been here an hour ago," she exclaimed, "but the train was
delayed. This storm is awful!"
She had a rich, deep contralto voice, one of those speaking voices that
at once arouse interest and curiosity. It aroused interest now, for the
guests seated in the hall simultaneously interrupted their conversation
in order to look at the new arrival, so striking was her appearance.
"I went to the station quite a while ago," Paulton said. "They told me
the train could not arrive."
"It has not arrived yet, I believe," she answered. "I got off at a
wayside station, drove the two miles into Beaulieu, and then hired the
car which has just brought me on here."
She was indeed a handsome woman, obviously a woman of singular
personality. Exceedingly dark, with great coils of blue-black hair that
her travelling-veil only partly concealed, she was very handsome still.
When I had watched her for nearly a minute, wondering whom she might be,
my gaze unconsciously drifted to the quietly-dressed maid who stood
respectfully and demurely a few feet behind her mistress, bearing a
large leather dressing-case in her hand. Her appearance somehow seemed
familiar. Suddenly she turned her face rather more towards me, and I
recognised her at once.
It was Judith, the French girl who had been Lady Thorold's maid. Her
beady little black eyes rested on me for an instant, then were quietly
lowered. But instinctively I knew that in that single, swift glance she
had recognised me--and I certainly held her in suspicion.
"The rooms have been retained for you Baronne," I heard Paulton say,
"the rooms you had last year. Shall I order supper?"
"Certainly. Please do," the deep voice answered. "Tell Gustave to send
it to my rooms in a quarter of an hour. Ma foi! I am famished."
For the first time I noticed that she spoke with a foreign accent. But
it was not very marked.
"Then I shall see you later," Paulton said, as the new arrival moved
towards the lift. "_A tantot_, Baronne."
"_A bientot_."
Paulton bent over her hand, and when the doors of the lift had shut he
came across to us.
"You'd better get into your coats," he said. "My car is just coming
round!"
"Who is the lady?" Faulkner asked carelessly.
"Who?" Paulton exclaimed. "You don't mean to say you don't know
Baronne de Coudron? I thought everybody in Monte knew the Baronne--by
sight. She's one of my best friends."
As the big grey Rolls-Royce sped through the darkness, the storm still
raged. None of us spoke. Three glowing cigars alone indicated our
whereabouts.
Whether or not it was the stiff brandy-and-soda I had had in the
smoking-room, I know not, but I suddenly realised that I was becoming
curiously drowsy. I tried to keep awake. My eyelids felt like lead.
They were smarting, too. Presently I was aware that something glowing
red had fallen to the ground. Afterwards I came to know it had been
Faulkner's cigar.
I do not know what happened immediately afterwards. My mind suddenly
became a complete blank.
At last, hours afterwards, I suppose, I slowly struggled back to
consciousness.
Where was I?
The room, and all in it, was strange to me. All was utterly unfamiliar.
My head ached very badly. My back and limbs were stiff. I got off the
sofa where I had lain asleep, scrambled to my feet, and looked about me.
At once I saw Faulkner. He was asleep still, in a most uncomfortable
attitude, in a big leather armchair. His mouth was wide open.
A glance out of the window showed me that the house we were in was in
the open country. Already it was broad daylight, and a perfect calm had
succeeded the storm of the previous night. But had it been the previous
night? I supposed so. Signs of the storm were still visible
everywhere--trees blown down and lying on their sides, branches and
great limbs lying about. The country all around was densely wooded.
Look in what direction I would, only trees, grass fields and mountains
were visible. There was not a house in sight; not a cottage; not a hut.
I went over to Faulkner, and shook him roughly. He was still sleeping
soundly, and it took me some minutes to arouse him into consciousness.
His first observation when at last fully awake, was characteristic of
the young man--
"Where, in Heaven's name, am I?"