It was Tony Standish who found himself practically ignored by Myra
after dinner that evening, and almost for the first time he began to
feel jealous, really jealous, of Don Carlos de Ruiz. Myra danced three
times with the Spaniard, and "sat out" two more with him in the
conservatory, flagrantly flirting with him, exercising all her powers
of attraction and fascination, continually tempting Don Carlos to break
his promise.
His dark eyes told her that she had fired his heart and set his pulses
throbbing with desire, but no word of love crossed his lips. When they
were dancing together, however, more than once he crushed her close to
his breast, but Myra did not rebuke him, and several times she squeezed
his hand and deliberately brushed his cheek with her hair during a
Tango.
"I rather fancy I am going to justify my boast and take my revenge, and
Don Carlos de Ruiz will learn to his cost that it isn't safe to trifle
with Myra Rostrevor," she reflected. "I suppose I am taking an unfair
advantage, but it serves Don Carlos right."
She was careful to lock and bolt her bedroom door that night before
retiring, and she left a light burning and sat up in bed waiting and
watching expectantly. Two o'clock chimed, and Myra was beginning to
nod drowsily, when a faint sound brought her to sudden wakefulness and
alertness. Someone was trying the door of her bedroom! She saw the
door-handle turn, and she held her breath and listened intently... The
handle turned again ... turned back to its original position.... And
that was all.
Listening with thudding heart, Myra could hear no sound from the other
side of her locked and bolted door, and the handle did not move again.
Slipping out of bed after a few minutes, she stole noiselessly across
the room and, dropping on one knee, put her ear to the keyhole and
listened, but heard no sound save the throbbing of her own heart.
She could not have explained what she expected, hoped, or dreaded to
hear as she crouched there, straining her ears, but it was
characteristic of her that suddenly she laughed aloud.
"So he was conceited enough to think that I would leave my bedroom door
unlocked!" she whispered, as she went back to bed and switched off the
light. "What sort of girl does he take me for? I don't know whether
to feel insulted or amused... But I'm glad I didn't forget to lock and
bolt the door. I wonder..."
Myra snuggled her head down in her pillow, but scarcely had she closed
her eyes when there was a crash against her bedroom door, a shout, and
then a shot, and the sound of more shouting. She sprang up
convulsively, her hands pressed to her breast, screamed involuntarily,
then, recovering herself, switched on the lights, sprung out of bed,
unbolted and unlocked the door, and flung it open--to find Don Carlos
de Ruiz, clad in pyjamas and dressing gown, engaged in a desperate
struggle with a burly, fully-dressed stranger on the floor of the
corridor outside her room.
In one swift glance Myra saw that the stranger had a pistol clutched in
his right hand, but that Don Carlos had a grip on the man's right wrist
and was desperately struggling to prevent his antagonist from using the
weapon against him. She screamed again, and even as she did so Don
Carlos, by some dexterous twist, got the armed man's elbow across his
knee, there was a howl of pain, and the pistol dropped from the
fellow's hand.
Quick as lightning Don Carlos released his grip, made a dive for the
pistol and got it, then leapt to his feet.
"Now lie where you are, you swine, or I'll kill you," he snarled
breathlessly.
"Blast you! You've broken my arm," the man on the floor snarled back
at him, writhing in agony. "Blast you! Don't shoot. I surrender...
Oh, Gawd! my arm! I wish I'd killed you, damn you!"
While this was happening, doors had been flung open, lights had been
switched on, and scared women and startled men had appeared in the
corridors from their bedrooms, excitedly demanding to know the cause of
the uproar. Tony, in a suit of purple pyjamas, and with his sandy hair
on end, was almost the first on the scene.
"What's up? What's happened? Who's this fellow?" he asked
breathlessly. "A burglar? Have you shot him, Carlos?"
"No, I think I have merely dislocated his elbow," Don Carlos answered,
without taking his eye off the brawny burglar, who was now sitting up
nursing his damaged elbow and muttering curses through his clenched
teeth. "He tried to shoot me when I surprised him as he was trying to
force the door of Miss Rostrevor's room. You'd better 'phone for the
police and have the house searched in case he has accomplices."
"You can save yourself the trouble," growled the burglar. "I'm on my
own. When you 'phone for the police, ask 'em to fetch a doctor with
'em. You've broken my ruddy arm, damn you!"
"Considering that you did your best to murder me, you dog, you can
think yourself lucky that I did not kill you as soon as I got
possession of your pistol," retorted Don Carlos, who had recovered his
breath.
There was little sleep for anyone at Auchinleven that night. The local
Police Inspector and a Constable arrived after a long interval and took
the burglar away, after making a search of the house, assisted by the
servants, without finding any accomplices of the man in custody.
Next morning, of course, Don Carlos was the hero of the hour, and
everyone was lavishing compliments and congratulations on him for
having tackled an armed burglar single-handed and getting the better of
the desperado.
"I thought I heard someone prowling about in the corridor and got up to
investigate," Don Carlos explained. "The fellow seemed to be trying to
force the door of Miss Rostrevor's room, and when I challenged him he
whipped out a pistol and fired at me. Fortunately for me, he missed,
and before he could fire again I grappled with him, managed to get a
grip on his arm, and dislocated his elbow by a trick taught me years
ago by an old wrestler."
"I wonder why he was trying to force my door, which was locked and
bolted, instead of discovering if some of the other doors had been left
unlocked," said Myra. "Oddly enough, I fancied I heard someone trying
my door some time before I heard the shot. And I still think there was
more than one burglar concerned," she added, with a direct and
challenging glance at Don Carlos.
"The Police Inspector tells me the man asserts he had no accomplices or
confederates," said Don Carlos, his face expressionless. "It is
strange, nevertheless, that he should have attempted to force his way
into your room in preference to any other."
"Very strange!" agreed Myra. "And how fortunate for me that I should
have happened to take the precaution of locking and bolting my door.
Oddly enough, I had a sort of presentiment that if I did not bolt my
door something dreadfully unpleasant might happen. Normally, you see,
I don't bolt the door or lock it. It I do, it means that I have to get
up when my maid brings my morning tea. But the night before last I
seemed to have a warning, so last night I took precautions against any
unwanted visitor. I shall always lock and bolt my door in future."
"Isn't there an old saying that love laughs at locksmiths?" inquired
Don Carlos, his expression still sphinx-like, but his eyes twinkling.
"You looked delicious in your nightie and boudoir cap, Myra."
"I shall remember to put on my dressing gown next time I am expecting
burglars," responded Myra, flushing slightly. "Thank you for saving
me, gallant sir."
She was wondering whether it was Don Carlos or the burglar who had
tried her door, and she could hazard a guess as to why Carlos had
happened to be in the corridor at two o'clock in the morning.
"I am thinking of becoming a burglar myself, dear lady, but please do
not wear your dressing gown on that account," laughed Don Carlos.
"I am wondering what might have happened if I had left my door
unlocked," said Myra, assuming a thoughtful expression, but avoiding
Don Carlos's eyes. "I feel half-inclined to leave it unlocked and
unbolted to-night and risk the consequences."
Again, however, she was careful to bolt and lock her bedroom door when
she retired that night, but again she sat up in bed, as on the previous
night, waiting and watching. And again, in the early hours of the
morning, she saw the door handle turn, and she trilled out a laugh,
hoping that the would-be "burglar" would hear it.
She continued to exercise her impish arts of tantalisation and her
wiles of fascination on Don Carlos during the remainder of her stay at
Auchinleven. Sometimes she would seem, metaphorically, to throw
herself at his head and appear to be eager to surrender herself, at
other times she would completely ignore him, and make open love to Tony
in his presence. As time went on she realised that she was driving the
Don almost to distraction, and she gloried in her powers.
"I feel certain that I have made him fall in love with me in earnest,"
Myra reflected triumphantly. "He boasted that no woman could resist
him. Women have been his playthings, and he must have fooled many.
Now he is being fooled himself. I think he is desperately in love with
me now."
She was right in her surmise. Don Carlos's love for her had become a
burning, consuming passion. It needed the exercise of all his will
power to keep it under control, and continually he had to curb his
ardent passion and remind himself of his promise not to make love. But
he was biding his time and had made a vow that he would make Myra pay
in full for her coquetry.
The house party broke up at length and the guests dispersed, Myra and
her aunt returning to London for the "Little Season" and to equip
themselves for the winter cruise in Tony's yacht, which was being
refitted at Southampton.
Don Carlos had begged to be allowed to call, and both Lady Fermanagh
and Myra had said graciously that they would be delighted to see him at
any time.
"My thanks to you for having succeeded in keeping your promise," said
Myra, as they parted. "Accept my congratulations."
"One reaches Heaven by way of Purgatory," responded Don Carlos
cryptically. "I am looking forward eagerly to our next meeting, when I
shall be free to express myself."
Expectant, and a trifle apprehensive, Myra awaited events. Nothing
happened. A week elapsed without her seeing, or hearing from, Don
Carlos, and when she made inquiries about him she learned from Tony
that he had returned to Spain.
"Said he had some business matters to attend to, and wanted to arrange
for our entertainment at his place out there," explained Tony. "He
promised to be back in time to join the yacht at Southampton."
Myra was piqued. It hurt her pride to think she had not made a
conquest after all, and had merely been flattering herself in imagining
she had made Don Carlos fall in love with her.
"What a fool I feel!" soliloquised Myra. "I was confident he was in
desperate earnest and was crazy about me, and I have been wondering how
to resist and repel him. He shows how little he cares by going off to
Spain without even calling to say good-bye, and with never a farewell
note. Oh, what an exasperating creature!"
Another ten days passed uneventfully, and Myra found herself oddly
discontented with life and things in general. It was a dismal November
afternoon, she had no engagements, and was feeling utterly bored as she
took tea alone in the drawing room of her aunt's house in Mayfair,
when, to her astonishment, Don Carlos de Ruiz was announced. Her heart
gave a convulsive leap at the mere mention of his name, and it was
throbbing faster than its wont as she rose to greet him, although she
assumed an attitude of cool indifference.
"Sure, and it's seriously annoyed with you, I am, Don Carlos, and you
needn't expect me to say I'm glad to see you," she said in her musical
Irish voice as she gave him her hand. "How very rude of you to
disappear without even a word of farewell. Rude, did I say? Perhaps
crude would be a better word. How rude and crude to dash back to Spain
to attend to some matter of business when you had been trying to
pretend to be hopelessly in love."
"Not 'hopelessly,' Myra," Don Carlos responded quietly, raising her
fingers to his lips. "Never have I been 'hopelessly' in love, for
always I have been sure at heart that I should win.... So you have
missed me, darling, and now your heart is throbbing because I have come
back to you? I am glad. I went away without a word in the hope that
by so doing I should punish you for your cruelty in tempting and
tantalising me as you did at Auchinleven."
"Tempting and tantalising you!" exclaimed Myra, and trilled out a
laugh. "And you think, you conceited man, that you were punishing me
by going to Spain for a fortnight or so without even having the
politeness to say au revoir! How very amusing! And how very crude and
rude! Didn't you understand I was paying you back in your own coin at
Auchinleven by pretending to be in love? So you went away with the
idea of punishing me!"
"I found it necessary to return to my home in order to take
precautionary measures against the bandit, El Diablo Cojuelo, who is
evidently planning fresh mischief," Don Carlos explained. "Now I have
come back to you to redeem my promise."
"Your promise?" queried Myra, forcing herself to meet his ardent
glance. "I don't understand. What promise?"
"My promise to kiss you in the way you wanted to be kissed by the man
who loves you," said Don Carlos quickly; and before Myra realised what
was happening she was crushed close to his breast and he was kissing
her as she had never been kissed before, hungrily, fiercely,
passionately, ardently.
For a few minutes she found herself, in some mysterious way, robbed of
all powers of resistance. Don Carlos's lips were crushed on her own,
and his burning kisses seemed to be drugging her brain and drawing the
very heart out of her. Then suddenly she struggled and broke from him,
her lovely face aflame, her bosom heaving tempestuously, her breath
coming and going in sobbing gasps.
"How dare you! Oh, how dare you!" she panted. "You brute! You brute!
I could kill you!"
She dropped limply into a chair and covered her burning face with her
hands. She was trembling, her heart was throbbing as if it would
burst, and her brain was in a turmoil. Don Carlos stood silent for a
few moments, his dark eyes still aflame with ardour as he looked down
at Myra. He, too, was trembling slightly, and a spot of hectic colour
glowed on each cheek-bone.
"Why blame or reproach me, Myra darling?" he said at last, his deep
voice vibrant. "Remember that you tempted me, challenged me. It was
to me that you spoke, and not to Standish, when you said you wanted to
be kissed by the man who loved you, and not by a cold-blooded
Englishman. I promised you that night I would kiss you in the way you
longed to be kissed, in the way I longed to kiss you, and I have
fulfilled my promise--in part. Myra, belovedest, the nectar of your
lips has increased my longing a thousandfold. Tell me, darling, that
my kisses have fired your heart with the love for which I crave,
and----"
"I hate you, hate you, and I shall never forgive you for this!" burst
out Myra passionately, starting to her feet. "Go away at once, and
don't dare to come near me again. How dare you, how dare you kiss me
like that! If I were to tell Tony----"
She broke off with a sharp intake of breath, for at that moment the
butler tapped at the drawing room door and opened it.
"Mr. Standish," he announced; and Tony walked in, as if he were an
actor taking his "cue."
Antony Standish could (but didn't) boast of a 'Varsity education, and
he prided himself on his smartness, but he was far from being "gleg at
the uptak'," as the Scots say, and his powers of observation and
deduction assuredly would not have qualified him for a position as a
Scotland Yard "sleuth." Seemingly he was quite unconscious of the
electrical atmosphere as he entered, and quite failed to notice Myra's
agitation.
"Hullo, Don Carlos! What a surprise!" he cried breezily. "How are
you, old fellow? ... Hello, Myra, my dear. Thought I'd blow in on the
chance of finding you at home this beastly afternoon and cadge a cup of
tea.... Where did you spring from, Don Carlos? Thought you were still
in Spain. Tremendously glad to see you again, old man. When did you
get back? You're looking tremendously fit."
"Thank you," said Don Carlos, forcing a smile as he shook hands. "I
got back to London less than an hour ago, and hastened to call on Miss
Rostrevor to assure her of my undying regard--and to redeem a promise."
He darted a side glance at Myra, who was nervously biting her lips and
trying to compose herself.
"Awfully nice of you, old chap. Glad you're back," drawled the
unobservant Tony. "I say, Myra, dear, aren't you going to offer me a
cup of tea? I suppose I may smoke as Lady Fermanagh isn't here?"
Myra found herself at a loss to know how to deal with the situation.
To tell Tony what had happened would inevitably lead to a painful
scene, perhaps even to violence; to refrain from telling him would seem
like condoning Don Carlos's conduct. She was torn by conflicting
emotions and could not make up her mind how to act. Act, however, she
did, in a literal sense, for although her heart was still throbbing
wildly and her mind was in a whirl, she managed somehow to assume an
almost casual air.
"Why, of course you may smoke, Tony," she said, after ringing the bell
and ordering more tea. "I'll have a cigarette myself to soothe my
nerves."
"Never noticed any signs of nerves about you, old thing," laughed Tony,
as he proffered his case and struck a match to light the cigarette Myra
accepted. "Nerves! The risks you have been taking of late in the
hunting field have made my blood run cold. The way you took that hedge
last week during the run with the Quorn made my heart stand still.
Honestly, Myra, I shall be glad when I have you safely aboard the
_Killarney_, and we are on our way to Spain."
"I am not going to Spain," said Myra, very abruptly.
"Not going to Spain?" repeated Tony, in surprise.
"No, Tony, I am not going to Spain. Don Carlos has offended me beyond
pardon."
"I say, Myra, you're ragging, aren't you?" asked Tony. "I thought you
had made it up with Don Carlos. Don't tell me the villain has been
making love to you again!"
"Why, of course I have," exclaimed Don Carlos. "I am madly in love
with Myra, and it is because she is afraid of falling as desperately in
love with me as I am with her, and being forced, in consequence, to
jilt you, that she has again decided not to go to Spain. She is afraid
of me--and of love."
"What a pair of leg-pullers you are!" chuckled Tony, assuming the whole
thing was a jest. "Half the men one meets are in love with Myra, but I
refuse to believe she is afraid of any of them."
"Ah, but she is afraid of me, my dear Standish, and you should realise
I am your most dangerous rival," Don Carlos said gravely, and again
Tony chuckled amusedly. "Perhaps it is not only of me but of herself,
and for herself, that Myra is afraid," Carlos continued, with a
challenging glance at Myra, who felt she would like to box his ears and
also to shake Tony for being so dense. "The lovely señorita is also
afraid of being captured by El Diablo Cojuelo, who would make her an
ideal husband."
"I say, that's hardly complimentary, old fellow!" Tony commented.
"Sort of _faux pas_, isn't it, to suggest that a brigand would be a
better husband for Myra than yours truly, and that Myra is a suitable
wife for a brigand?"
"That, of course, depends on the brigand," answered Don Carlos, with a
smile. "Of course, if Myra is really scared, and is genuinely afraid
to come to Spain lest she should lose her heart----"
"I am afraid of nothing!" interrupted Myra, exasperated beyond measure;
and immediately she regretted the impulsive words.
"So you will prove the fact by keeping your promise to come to Spain as
my guest?" queried Don Carlos quickly.
"That will depend on whether you know your duty to a guest and your
obligations as a host," retorted Myra curtly, and Tony raised his
eyebrows, surprised by her unusual rudeness.
"I flatter myself, dear lady, that I have a reputation as a host whose
hospitality is boundless," said Don Carlos gravely.
A footman entering with the tea-tray relieved the tension, and Tony
began to question Don Carlos about his trip, and to tell him what sport
he had been enjoying.