THE INTRUDER.
That afternoon Jean remained in her room in a fierce fever of anxiety,
while Bracondale drove his car along the winding, shady road to Yvetot,
and home by St. Valery-en-Caux, and the sea-road which commences at
Fecamp.
Did he suspect? she wondered.
She could not help feeling mortified that the child should have made
that unfortunate remark. She felt also that her excuse was a lame one.
Did he really believe her story?
From the steel safe in her daintily-furnished room, with its silken
upholstery in old rose, she took the big, square, velvet-lined case,
and, opening it, gazed upon the string of splendid pearls. She took them
out tenderly and, standing before the long cheval-glass, put them round
her neck--for the last time.
As she examined herself in the mirror she sighed, her face hard, pale,
and full of anxiety and distress.
Would Bracondale notice the change in her?
She put away the pearls, and, replacing the case in the safe, locked it.
Bates, her rather sour-faced maid, entered at the moment. She was a
thin, angular person, very neat and prim, an excellent hairdresser, and
a model of what a first-class maid should be.
"Why, you don't look well this afternoon, madam," she said, glancing at
her inquiringly.
"No, Bates. It's the heat, I think. Will you bring me my
smelling-salts?" she asked, as she sank into an arm-chair, a pretty
figure in her pale-blue silk dressing-gown.
The maid brought the large, silver-topped bottle across from the
dressing-table and handed it to her mistress, who, after sniffing it,
dismissed her.
Then Jean sat for a full half-hour staring straight before her, looking
down the long vista of her own tragic past.
At midnight that letter would be safe in her hand. She consoled herself
with the thought that, by acceding to Ansell's demand, as she had done,
she would rid herself of him for ever.
Her honour would be preserved, and Bracondale would never know. For the
sake of her child, how could she confess to him?
He joined her in the _petit salon_, where she gave him tea, and then,
till dinner, he retired into the study to complete the despatches for
which Martin was to call and take to Downing Street.
At dinner she wore a pretty gown of cream lace, the waist and skirt
being trimmed with broad, pale-blue satin ribbon, fashioned into big,
flat bows; a Paris gown of the latest _mode_, which suited her
admirably. It was rather high in the neck, and all the jewellery she
wore was a single brooch.
He also looked smart in his well-cut dinner jacket, with a light grey
waistcoat and black tie; and as they sat opposite each other they
chatted merrily. She had composed herself, and was now bearing herself
very bravely.
It was, however, a relief to her when, just as they had finished
dessert, Jenner entered, saying:
"Captain Martin is in the study, m'lord."
"Oh, yes!" exclaimed the great statesman, rising at once. Then, turning
to Jean, he said: "You'll excuse me, dearest, won't you? I must get
Martin off. I've finished. Have you?"
"Yes, dear," was her reply. "You go. I'm just going to see Enid for a
little while."
"After I've got Martin off I shall go along to Polivin's. I'm sorry to
leave you this evening. But you won't mind, dear, will you?"
"Not at all," was her prompt reply. "I know it is a duty."
"I shall certainly not be back till one or two o'clock. They are a very
late lot--the men who go there," he remarked.
"I shall go to bed, so don't hurry, dear."
"Good night, then," he said, crossing to her and bending till he touched
her lips with his. Then he went along to the study, where the King's
Messenger was waiting.
"Halloa, Martin!" exclaimed his lordship, cheerily. "You're up to
time--you always are. You're a marvel of punctuality."
"I have to be, constantly catching trains, as I am," laughed the
nonchalant traveller, as he unlocked his despatch-box and took the seven
big sealed letters from the Foreign Secretary's hand.
Then he scribbled a receipt for them, packed them in a little steel box,
and carefully locked it with the tiny key upon his chain. That box often
contained secrets which, if divulged, would set Europe aflame.
"Don't forget my camera next time you come over," Bracondale urged. "And
tell Sir Henry that if Bartlett is back from Persia I would like him to
run over and report to me."
"I won't forget," was Martin's reply; and then, with a word of farewell,
he took up his precious despatch-box and left the room.
The evening was dark and oppressive, with black clouds threatening
thunder. Those hours passed very slowly.
Jean tried to read, but was unable. Then she went to the big _salon_
and, seating herself at the grand piano, played snatches of Grand Opera.
But she was too anxious, too impatient for midnight to come and end all
the suspense.
Miss Oliver joined her, as usual, about ten o'clock for half an hour's
chat. But the presence of the governess irritated her, and she was glad
when she retired. She wondered whether Enid had told her anything. The
child's chatter had, indeed, been extremely unfortunate.
Eleven o'clock!
She sat in her boudoir trying to occupy her mind by writing a letter,
but she could not. She had to go through the terrible ordeal of seeing
that man again.
At one moment she felt impelled to confess all to Bracondale, yet at the
next she thought of his honour, and of the child. No, at all hazards, at
all costs, even if it cost her her life, she must preserve her secret.
For wealth or for position she cared nothing--only for Bracondale's
love.
The little clock struck the quarter. It wanted fifteen minutes to
midnight.
With knit brows she rose quickly. The whole household had now retired;
all was silence, and she was alone. Outside Ralph was no doubt watching
for the light in the little _salon_.
She ascended the thickly-carpeted stairs noiselessly, and from the safe
in her room took the square morocco box. Then, assuring herself that no
servant could be watching, she carried it down to the little _salon_
and, switching on the light, placed the box upon a small Louis Quinze
table in the centre of the room.
It was a prettily-furnished apartment, with genuine old Louis Quinze
furniture. In a corner was a large palm, and upon a side-table a great
vase of fresh flowers. The gilt furniture shone beneath the bright
light, and the whole had an effect of artistic brilliancy and
daintiness.
She crossed to the drawn curtains of daffodil plush and, placing her
hand within, undid the latch of the long window which led out upon the
balcony and pushed it open slightly. Then, recrossing the room, she
stood near the door, waiting.
There was still time before he was due to enter there and give her the
letter in return for the pearls.
Of what use was it to wait there? So she switched off the light in case
Bracondale should return and wonder, and passed into the adjoining room.
What if Bracondale came back before the exchange were effected?
She stood holding her breath, listening in eager anxiety.
Suddenly the telephone-bell rang in the study, and in order that Jenner
might not hear it and descend to answer it, she hurried to the
instrument herself.
It was a call from the British Embassy in Paris. One of the secretaries
spoke to her, asking whether his Excellency the Ambassador might speak
to his lordship upon an important matter.
"Lord Bracondale is not in. I am Lady Bracondale," she replied.
"When do you expect Lord Bracondale back?" the voice inquired.
"Soon after twelve. Will you ring up again? Tell Sir Charles that I will
at once tell my husband when he returns," she said, and then rang off.
Meanwhile a dark figure, which had stealthily crept along the road,
entered the gate and stole noiselessly over the grass to the verandah.
The man had been watching the house for an hour past, and, as though
with sudden resolution, he made up his mind to enter.
At first he seemed fearful of discovery. Indeed, for a full half-hour
had he lurked motionless beneath a tree, waiting, and, though there was
complete silence in that still, oppressive night, yet he appeared to
hesitate.
All the rooms on the ground floor were in darkness save for the study,
the curtains of which were only half-closed. Therefore, as he approached
the house, he saw Lady Bracondale alone, speaking into the telephone.
Suddenly, with an agile movement, he scaled the verandah, and a few
seconds later, without making a sound, he stood before the window
against the entrance porch--the window of the little _salon_ which Jean
had indicated where the pearls would be. His movements betrayed that he
was an expert at moving without making a sound.
Bending, the dark figure, still moving stealthily, crept up to the long
window upon which there suddenly flashed a small zone of white light
from an electric pocket-lamp, revealing the fact that, though the heavy
curtain was drawn, the window was ajar.
For a few seconds the man listened. Then, having reassured himself that
there was no one in the room, he slowly pushed back the curtain and
peered into the darkness.
Suddenly he heard a footstep and, dropping the curtain instantly, stood
in the darkness, quite motionless.
Somebody entered the room, switched on the light, crossed to the centre
of the apartment, stood there for a few seconds, and then, receding,
switched off the light again and closed the door.
The intruder stood in the room behind the curtain without moving a
muscle.
He could hear sounds of footsteps within the house.
He had closed the long glass door when he had entered, and now stood
concealed behind the yellow plush curtain.
Suddenly he heard the piano being played--a song from "La Boheme." He
stood listening, for he was always fond of music. As he halted there the
sweet perfume of the flowers greeted his nostrils, and he murmured some
low words beneath his breath.
His hand sought his jacket pocket, and when he withdrew it he had in his
grasp a serviceable-looking revolver. He inhaled a long deep breath, for
he was desperate.
At last he summoned courage, and again drew back the curtain very
slowly. All was darkness within until he switched on his pocket-lamp and
slowly examined the place.
The light fell upon the table whereon stood the jewel-case, and he
walked straight to it and opened it.
The moment his eyes fell upon the magnificent string of pearls he stood
for a second as though in hesitation.
Then swiftly he took them up, and with a glance at them thrust his prize
into his jacket pocket.
It was the work of an instant.
He reclosed the lid. It snapped and startled him.
Next moment his light was switched off and he disappeared.
A second later, however, Jean turned the handle of the door, entered the
room, and again switched on the light.
The place became flooded with electricity, and she stood a pale, erect
figure, staring at the clock, which was just chiming the hour of
midnight.