On that same Thursday afternoon Virginia Revel had been playing tennis
at Ranelagh. All the way back to Pont Street, as she lay back in the
long, luxurious limousine, a little smile played upon her lips, as
she rehearsed her part in the forthcoming interview. Of course it
was within the bounds of possibility that the blackmailer might not
reappear, but she felt pretty certain that he would. She had shown
herself an easy prey. Well, perhaps this time there would be a little
surprise for him!
When the car drew up at the house, she turned to speak to the chauffeur
before going up the steps.
“How’s your wife, Walton? I forgot to ask.”
“Better I think, ma’am. The doctor said he’d look in and see her about
half-past six. Will you be wanting the car again?”
Virginia reflected for a minute.
“I shall be away for the week-end. I’m going by the 6.40 from
Paddington, but I shan’t need you again—a taxi will do for that. I’d
rather you saw the doctor. If he thinks it would do your wife good to
go away for the week-end, take her somewhere, Walton. I’ll stand the
expense.”
Cutting short the man’s thanks with an impatient nod of the head,
Virginia ran up the steps, delved into her bag in search of her
latchkey, remembered she hadn’t got it with her, and hastily rang the
bell.
It was not answered at once, but as she waited there a young man came
up the steps. He was shabbily dressed, and carried in his hand a sheaf
of leaflets. He held one out to Virginia with the legend on it plainly
visible: “Why Did I Serve my Country?” In his left hand he held a
collecting-box.
“I can’t buy two of those awful poems in one day,” said Virginia
pleadingly. “I bought one this morning. I did, indeed, honour bright.”
The young man threw back his head and laughed. Virginia laughed with
him. Running her eyes carelessly over him, she thought him a more
pleasing specimen than usual of London’s unemployed. She liked his
brown face, and the lean hardness of him. She went so far as to wish
she had a job for him.
But at that moment the door opened, and immediately Virginia forgot all
about the problem of the unemployed, for to her astonishment the door
was opened by her own maid, Élise.
“Where’s Chilvers?” she demanded sharply, as she stepped into the hall.
“But he is gone, madame, with the others.”
“What others? Gone where?”
“But to Datchet, madame—to the cottage, as your telegram said.”
“My telegram?” said Virginia, utterly at sea.
“Did not madame send a telegram? Surely there can be no mistake. It
came but an hour ago.”
“I never sent any telegram. What did it say?”
“I believe it is still on the table _là-bas_.”
Élise retired, pounced upon it, and brought it to her mistress in
triumph.
“_Voilà_, madame!”
The telegram was addressed to Chilvers and ran as follows:
“Please take household down to cottage at once, and make preparations
for week-end party there. Catch 5.49 train.”
There was nothing unusual about it, it was just the sort of message she
herself had frequently sent before, when she had arranged a party at
her riverside bungalow on the spur of the moment. She always took the
whole household down, leaving an old woman as caretaker. Chilvers would
not have seen anything wrong with the message, and like a good servant
had carried out his orders faithfully enough.
“Me, I remained,” explained Élise, “knowing that madame would wish me
to pack for her.”
“It’s a silly hoax,” cried Virginia, flinging down the telegram
angrily. “You know perfectly well, Élise, that I am going to Chimneys.
I told you so this morning.”
“I thought madame had changed her mind. Sometimes that does happen,
does it not, madame?”
Virginia admitted the truth of the accusation with a half smile. She
was busy trying to find a reason for this extraordinary practical joke.
Élise cut forward a suggestion.
“_Mon Dieu!_” she cried, clasping her hands. “If it should be the
malefactors, the thieves! They send the bogus telegram and get the
_domestiques_ all out of the house, and then they rob it.”
“I suppose that might be it,” said Virginia doubtfully.
“Yes, yes, madame, that is it without a doubt. Every day you read in
the papers of such things. Madame will ring up the police at once—at
once—before they arrive and cut our throats.”
“Don’t get so excited, Élise. They won’t come and cut our throats at
six o’clock in the afternoon.”
“Madame, I implore you, let me run out and fetch a policeman now, at
once.”
“What on earth for? Don’t be silly, Élise. Go up and pack my things
for Chimneys if you haven’t already done it. The new Cailleuax evening
dress, and the white crêpe marocain, and—yes, the black velvet—black
velvet is so political, is it not?”
“Madame looks ravishing in the eau de nil satin,” suggested Élise, her
professional instincts reasserting themselves.
“No, I won’t take that. Hurry up, Élise, there’s a good girl. We’ve got
very little time. I’ll send a wire to Chilvers at Datchet, and I’ll
speak to the policeman on the beat as we go out and tell him to keep an
eye on the place. Don’t start rolling your eyes again, Élise—if you
get so frightened before anything has happened, what would you do if a
man jumped out from some dark corner and stuck a knife into you?”
Élise gave vent to a shrill squeak, and beat a speedy retreat up the
stairs, darting nervous glances over each shoulder as she went.
Virginia made a face at her retreating back, and crossed the hall to
the little study where the telephone was. Élise’s suggestion of ringing
up the police station seemed to her a good one, and she intended to act
upon it without any further delay.
She opened the study door and crossed to the telephone. Then, with
her hand on the receiver, she stopped. A man was sitting in the big
arm-chair, sitting in a curious huddled position. In the stress of the
moment, she had forgotten all about her expected visitor. Apparently he
had fallen asleep whilst waiting for her.
She came right up to the chair, a slightly mischievous smile upon her
face. And then suddenly the smile faded.