They found shelter in one of the big cellars of the Restaurant, and Miss
Keane by degrees got back some of her courage. There were about twenty
other persons in the same refuge, and she probably derived fortitude
from their temporary companionship, and common danger. Tommy Esmond
recovered himself very quickly, and hastened to observe the conventions.
"It is a queer time and place in which to make introductions," he
remarked genially. "But even in times of peril, one should preserve the
usages of good society. I don't suppose you know the name of your
gallant rescuer. Let me make you known, in a formal fashion. Mr
Spencer--Miss Keane."
The beautiful Stella bowed her dark head, and the ghost of a smile
flitted over her still pale face.
"I know Mr Spencer very well by sight. When I have recovered my wits,
I will thank him properly and prettily. Perhaps he will come and see us
at my cousin's flat."
"I was bringing him on there to-night, as a matter of fact," explained
Esmond. "But I presume all that is knocked on the head, even supposing
we get out of this disgusting hole in reasonable time. Mrs L'Estrange
won't be in a mood to receive visitors, after this disquieting
experience, I am sure."
"I am afraid you don't know Mrs L'Estrange," replied the girl, with a
little mocking laugh. Her tones were not yet quite steady, but she was
rapidly recovering herself. "The card-tables were laid before we
started, and we intended to be back early. If we get out safely from
this disgusting hole, as you call it, my cousin will resume her ordinary
pursuits, as if nothing had occurred to disturb them."
Desultory conversation, the irresponsible chatter of the drawing-room
kind, was almost impossible under the circumstances. And although Miss
Keane did her best to assume a brave front, it was easy to see that she
was inwardly quivering. At every roar of the guns, she shivered all
over, and her cheek alternately flushed and then grew deadly pale with
her inward terror.
"Poor child," whispered Spencer to his companion; "she must be a bundle
of nerves. Every second, she is experiencing the pangs of death in
anticipation. By the way, the gallant Desmond doesn't seem to have
troubled himself much about her. If I hadn't taken her forcibly away, I
believe she would be rooted to that chair now."
Esmond shrugged his shoulders. "Of course, a chap like Desmond doesn't
know the meaning of fear, and he can't understand the sensation in
others. The other woman took possession of him, and dragged him away.
No doubt, he thought she was following. Mrs L'Estrange, so far as I
can judge, would never think of anything but number one."
And as Spencer's glance stole to the fair face, he felt a strange
feeling of pity for her. The poignant happenings of the last few
moments had revealed to him her loneliness, the tragedy of her
dependence upon others. In a supreme moment of peril, she, who ought to
have lovers and friends by the score, was left by herself, and thrown
upon the compassion of a stranger.
An anxious half-hour passed, and then messengers came down with tidings
of a reassuring nature. The raiders had been driven off, after
inflicting considerable damage. Gay London was free to pursue its
natural course of pleasure.
At once the tension was relaxed. Drooping forms resumed an erect
carriage, the roses bloomed again in the pale cheeks of the women.
There was a flutter, a stir. They all moved away from the refuge which
had been so welcome, and now had become unbearable.
In the hall they encountered the Colonel, cool and collected, as if he
were on parade, Mrs L'Estrange fluttering and full of protestations.
"Oh, my poor Stella! I have been distracted about you. Why did you not
follow us? I thought you were close behind us all the time, till we got
to one of these abominable cellars, and looked back to find you were
missing."
The Colonel pulled at his moustache a little nervously.
"I shall never forgive myself, Miss Keane, not to have assured myself
you were with us at the start. I would have come back to search for
you, but Mrs L'Estrange was in such a nervous state I could not leave
her." Miss Keane answered him very coldly, and to her cousin she did
not vouchsafe any reply.
"Please do not apologise. It was a question of _sauve qui peut_.
Fortunately, I found some kind friends who took compassion on a forlorn
damsel, shaking and terror-stricken." She turned to Mrs L'Estrange.
"Mr Esmond is, of course, an old friend. But you do not know Mr
Spencer who got to me first."
Mrs L'Estrange was quite equal to the occasion; she extended her
perfectly-gloved hand with an air of effusive cordiality.
"A thousand thanks to you both. My darling Stella was fortunate in
finding such protectors. We are both terrible cowards, I don't know
which is the greater."
"I, without question," flashed out Miss Keane. "Otherwise I should have
had the sense to scurry away like yourself. We were both frightened
rabbits, but you could run to a place of safety while I stood
paralysed."
Mrs L'Estrange turned away the awkward thrust with a charming smile.
"I have made up my mind to one thing," she remarked with an air of
conviction. "Never, so long as the War lasts, will I dine out of my own
home. This night's experience has taught me a lesson. I don't want a
second one."
At this juncture, Tommy Esmond interposed. "I was going to bring my
friend Spencer round to you to-night. But I suppose you feel a bit too
shattered, eh? You would like to get home and rest."
"Oh dear, no!" replied the lady vivaciously. "I never alter my habits
for anything or anybody. Let us all go along at once. I will go with
Colonel Desmond. You and Mr Spencer can continue your charge of
Stella." But Guy had a small duty to perform. "I think if you will
excuse me, I will join you a little later. I want to go round to
inquire after my uncle and cousin. He is a very old man, and I should
like to know he is quite safe."
So it was arranged. The others drove off to Mrs L'Estrange's flat, and
Spencer, finding he would have some time to wait for a taxi, walked to
Carlton House Terrace, where Lord Southleigh had his town house.
The footman who opened the door informed him that his lordship and Lady
Nina were still in the dining-room with a small party. The earl had
taken it all very calmly, and his daughter, who, unlike poor Stella
Keane, was a young woman of remarkable courage, had not been disturbed
at all.
"Are they alone, Robert?"
"No, sir, two old friends of his lordship's came to dinner to-night and
are still with them. But, of course, they will be glad to see you."
However, his duty being performed, and learning that all was
satisfactory, Spencer thought he might, as well get along to the flat.
He had been strangely attracted by the beautiful girl, whom even her
obvious terror and lack of self-control could not deprive of her charm.
"No, I won't come in. Tell them I called round to make sure they were
all safe. And say to her ladyship I will look in to-morrow afternoon
about tea-time."
He went into his club for a few moments to see if there were any
letters, and half an hour later was at Mrs L'Estrange's door.
She occupied the first floor of an imposing block of flats, recently
erected in one of the semi-fashionable quarters of London. She might
not be in very affluent circumstances, as Esmond had hinted, but she
would have to pay a very handsome rent for her abode.
The door was opened by a decorous-looking butler, with the air of one
who had served in good families. A man passed out as Spencer entered.
He was a good-looking young fellow of about twenty-five, in khaki.
Spencer knew him well by sight as the eldest son and heir of a rich
brewer.
His face did not wear a very happy expression. It did not require a
Sherlock Holmes to surmise that his visit had been an expensive one, and
that he was hurrying away to avoid further temptation.
In the centre of a rather spacious hall, Stella Keane and Tommy Esmond
stood chatting.
She greeted the newcomer with a bright and friendly smile. She no
longer looked pale, in fact he thought there was a slight suspicion of
rouge on the fair cheeks. She was too good-looking to need the aid of
art, but perhaps she wanted to conceal the ravages inflicted on her
beauty by that terrible time at the "Excelsior."
"You are not very long after us. I conclude you found your friends were
quite safe."
She had gathered from the garrulous Tommy what she had not known before,
that Spencer was next in succession to the earldom, also that Lord
Southleigh had a very pretty daughter, who was an accomplished young
sportswoman, a daring rider to hounds, an adept at golf, fishing, and
other pastimes of a strenuous nature.
She had pricked up her ears at mention of the cousin. Artfully she
pumped Tommy as to whether there was any tender feeling between the
relatives.
But Tommy could give no information on this point. Spencer was a very
reticent man about his private affairs, he explained. Personally, he
should not consider him particularly susceptible to female influence.
But he had heard that the old earl, who had a shockingly weak heart, and
was likely to go off at any moment, would have viewed a marriage between
the cousins with favour.
She mused over his words. He did not think him particularly susceptible
to female influence. And yet she was sure there was admiration, open,
undisguised admiration, in the glances he had bestowed upon her
to-night. He was evidently not deeply in love with his pretty sporting
cousin, or she would have been Mrs Guy Spencer before now, assuming, of
course, that she was ready to obey her father's wishes.
It was after a short silence that Miss Keane put a somewhat abrupt
question to him: "Are you fond of play, Mr Spencer? Everybody is who
comes here."
"Not really. I am a very lukewarm gambler. I don't mind a little
flutter now and then, as a diversion. I always enjoy a small gamble at
Monte Carlo, for example, but I never get carried away. When I have
lost enough, I stop. Nothing could induce me to stake another _sou_."
"Can you stop as easily when you are winning? That, I fancy, is where
the self-control comes in. But I think I am rather glad you are not one
of the infatuated ones. I was brought up in an atmosphere of gambling."
There was a pathetic shadow in the beautiful brown eyes as she spoke.
Spencer's interest in her, a girl he had only known for a couple of
hours, quickened. The glance he turned on her was full of sympathy,
although he did not utter a word. It said as plainly as if he had
spoken: "Tell me more about yourself, you will find an attentive
listener."
"My father and mother were both desperate gamblers. They staked and
lost everything they had at cards, on the race-course, at Monte Carlo.
My poor cousin, Mrs L'Estrange, has the same fever in her veins."
Now that he had invited her confidence, he was a little embarrassed by
it. He did not know her well enough to condole with her. By way of
relieving the tension, he uttered a few trite remarks on the subject of
gambling generally.
"Very sad when people are bitten by it to that extent. In my small
experience, and I am only speaking of cards, I have found that, at the
end of twelve months, you leave off pretty well where you started, good
players or bad. You lose a hundred this week, you win a hundred the
next, and so on, and so forth. If you are a good player, you get bad
cards; if a duffer, you get good cards. And so the bad player has a
pretty even chance with his more skilful opponent."
Miss Keane threw aside her momentary sadness, and laughed at his
scientific exposition.
"You have evidently thought it all out," she said brightly. "But please
don't inflict these cheerful theories on my cousin. She is a most
tragic being when she loses. She thinks herself, and I believe is, one
of the most scientific bridge-players in England, and she cannot be
brought to understand why the duffers should have a look in."
At this juncture Tommy Esmond interposed. It may have occurred to him
that they were wasting precious time. They had come here for the
special purpose of gambling.
"What do you say to joining the others? We are in the very temple of
gambling, and I know my young friend would like a little flutter."
"Certainly. When I last peeped in, Amy looked the spirit of despair. I
think she must have been losing heavily."
She turned to lead the way, but at that instant the door bell rang, and
she halted, in readiness to greet the visitor, whoever it might be; and
there entered a florid-looking, stout man, who advanced towards her with
effusion, and both hands outstretched.
"My dear Stella, I have been thinking of you ever since the raid began;
I know how terribly you suffer when they are on. And I knew you were
dining out to-night. I am rejoiced to see you safe and sound. I came
round here the moment I could get away." Miss Keane flushed slightly as
he took her hands and wrung them impressively to show his gratitude at
her escape from peril. Tommy Esmond had given him a cool nod. But she
felt Spencer's calm, critical gaze upon this ebullient expression of
young English manhood.
It was not so much what he said, as his manner of saying it. Bounder
was written all over him, in his appearance, his manners, his gestures.
She answered him very briefly, almost curtly, as if she were
administering a cold douche. Then the flush deepened as she turned to
Spencer.
"May I introduce my cousin, Mr Dutton?" The florid man bowed with an
exaggerated air of cordiality. Spencer, who had taken a violent dislike
to him from the first second he saw him, acknowledged the salutation
with chilling gravity; and Stella Keane could almost read his thoughts,
as his gaze travelled from one to the other.
How could this imperial-looking girl have such an unmitigated bounder
for a relative? What was the mystery about her that could make a
creature like this claim kinship with her?