He listened. He could not see her face--only the blurred outline of her
figure. Except for the sound of her movements, the silence was unbroken.
At the end of a passage, leading from the hall, a streak of gold escaped
along the carpet.
“Santa!”
No answer.
“Santa, why have you brought me?”
Gliding past him down the passage, she darted into the lighted room,
leaving the door ajar behind her. He followed gropingly. As he entered,
he was momentarily confused by the sudden change from darkness.
She was addressing him in a small, strained voice. “There's no need to
be afraid.”
He looked about him, searching for the inspirer of fear. There was no
one save themselves. Then he noticed how she trembled. She was making
a brave effort to appear collected, but it was plain that she was wild
with terror. Her eyes were wide and dilated. She stood on the defensive,
backed against the fireplace, as though she were expecting violence. Her
right hand was in advance of her body. It held something which caught
the glow of the flames--a nickel-plated revolver, cocked and ready for
immediate action. His reception was so different from anything he had
anticipated that he stared with an amused expression of inquiry.
At last he asked, “You knew from the start that I thought you were
Santa?”
Biting her lip to prevent herself from crying, she nodded. Far from
being Santa, she was fair as any Dane, with China-blue eyes and the
complexion of a wild rose. He noted the little wisps of curls which made
a haze of gold about her forehead. She wore turquoise earrings. They
were her only adornment. She herself was a decoration. She was like a
statue of the finest porcelain, so flawless that she seemed unreal. Had
it not been for her widow's mourning, he would have said that she was
untouched by passionate experience. She had an appearance of provoking
innocence, which made the paleness of her beauty ardent as a flame.
Speaking quietly, “I'm not easily frightened,” he said; “and you, while
you keep me covered with that revolver, have no reason to be afraid. Any
moment you choose you can kill me--you've only to press the trigger.”
Tears of horror sprang into her eyes. “But I don't want to kill you.”
[Illustration: 0136]
“Then why don't you lay it aside?”
“Because--” She gazed at him appealingly.
“Because I'm alone. I may need it to protect myself.”
“From me? No. I should think you can see that.” Was the house really
empty? He listened. It was possible that some one might steal up from
behind. He did not dare to turn. His only chance of preventing her from
shooting him was to keep her engaged in conversation.
“If you feel this way, why did you go to such elaborate pains to force
me to visit you to-night? You must have known that I didn't want to
come. It isn't I who have intruded.” He smiled cheerfully. “At the risk
of appearing rude, I'll be frank with you. When you crossed my path at
the Ritz, I was on the point of keeping a most important engagement.
When I followed you out of the hotel, it was because of a message I'd
found pinned to my pillow, 'Follow the widow.' So it wasn't you in
particular that I was following; I'd have followed any widow. I
expected that you'd speak to me as soon as we were in the street. I'd
no intention of giving up my appointment. You didn't; you led me on,
further and further, a step at a time. I don't mind telling you that
when I found myself in the train, I was extremely annoyed. By the time
I'd arrived at Lewes, I'd fully made up my mind to abandon the chase.
Then you spoke to me. I'd wasted so much of my afternoon that I didn't
like being beaten. You'd roused my curiosity. Here in Seafold, you
dodged me and left me standing in the road like a dummy. That used up
the fag-end of my patience; I was mad clean through. I didn't care if
I never saw you again. When you signaled me on the headland, I signaled
back that I was coming. I wasn't. I was tired of being led on and
eluded. When you caught me at the gate, I was flirting with temptation,
but I'd already laid my plans to be back in London by midnight. So you
see you can scarcely blame me for being here. The shoe's on the other
foot entirely. You've put me to great inconvenience merely to tell me,
it would seem, that you don't want to shoot me.”
“I don't.”
“Then why not throw the thing away? You're far more scared of it than I
am.”
“Because I may have to use it.”
“On whom?”
“You.”
“Why?”
A sweet, slow smile turned up the edges of her mouth. “My orders were to
keep you here, if once I'd managed to persuade you inside.”
He laughed outright. “You hate having me here, and you'd hate to see me
go. Isn't that the way the land lies? I'm more or less in the same fix:
I didn't want to come, and I don't want to stay. The fact remains that
we're both here. Why not make the best of it? If you'll stop brandishing
that weapon, I'll feel much more comfortable. I'm not trying to escape.”
“You might.”
For the first time he dared to shift his position. “Don't be alarmed,”
he warned her. “That's easier. I was stiff. Now, if you'll listen, I've
a proposal to make. You're treating me like a burglar, which isn't fair.
You may know, but I've not the least idea how long you intend to hold me
prisoner. I guess you're waiting for some one else to arrive, but that's
neither here nor there. Before the third person comes, you may have shot
me--of course, by accident. Revolvers go off if you keep them too long
pointed. You know nothing about firearms, and I'm beginning to be rather
fond of life. Here's what I propose: if you'll put it away, I'll give
you my parole not to come within two yards of you or to attempt to
escape. If I want my parole back, you shall have a full five minutes'
notice.”
“If I thought that I could trust you--”
“You can. Is it a bargain?”
Without answering, placing her weapon on the mantelpiece, she turned
her back on him. She seemed waiting to hear him advance further into the
room. He did not stir.
“What is it, Mr. Hindwood?”
“It's that I've just remembered one thing for which our armistice has
not provided. You'd better pick up your gun again. It's that I haven't
dined. I wonder whether you'd let me into the village--” He left
his sentence unended. He suddenly perceived that she was shaken with
sobbing. In his concern, he forgot his compact as to distance and
hurried over to her side. She swung round, her face blinded with tears.
As she stumbled past him, she muttered: “You've beaten me. You're not
afraid. I couldn't shoot you now if I wanted.”