Seeing that his victim had lost consciousness, the man paused in his
work, and turned around to Lamont with a loud laugh.
"A capital night's work," he declared. "You ought to have made good your
time by having three or four simpletons like this one, who wears
expensive jewels, fall in love with you."
It was fully an hour after Victor Lamont's accomplices--for such they
were--had retreated, that Sally opened her eyes to consciousness.
For a moment she was dazed. Where was she? This was certainly not her
room at the Ocean House.
In an instant all the terrible scenes she had passed through recurred to
her. She was in the cab--_alone_! With a spasmodic gesture, she caught
at her neck. Ah, Heaven! the diamond necklace, all her jewels, were
indeed gone!
With a cry that was like nothing human, she sprung to her feet, and at
that moment she heard a deep groan outside, and she realized that it
must be Victor Lamont. Perhaps they had hurt him; perhaps he was dying.
"Oh, Mr. Lamont," she cried out in agony, "where are you?" and waited
breathlessly for his response.
"Here," he groaned; "bound fast hand and foot to the wheel of the cab.
Can you come to my aid?"
With feet that trembled under her, and hands shaking like aspen leaves,
she made her way to him, crying out that her diamonds were gone.
"How shall I ever forgive myself for this night's work!" he cried. "Oh,
Mrs. Gardiner--Sally--why don't you abuse me? Why don't you fling it
into my face that it was all my fault, persuading you to take this ride
that has ended so fatally? For myself I care not, though I am ruined.
They have taken every penny I had with me. But it is for you I grieve."
Sally listened, but made no reply. What could she say?
She tried her utmost to undo the great cords which apparently bound her
companion; but it was quite useless. They were too much for her slender
fingers.
"Never mind," he said, speaking faintly. "I have borne the torture of
these ropes cutting into my flesh so many hours now, that I can stand it
until that cabman returns. I bribed him to return within an hour; but
his horse is so lame, that will be almost impossible."
"How dark it is!" moaned Sally. "Oh, I am fairly quaking with terror!"
"It is the darkness which precedes the dawn," he remarked; and as he
uttered the words, he coughed twice.
A moment later, Sally cried out, joyfully:
"Oh, I hear the sound of carriage wheels! That cabman is returning at
last, thank the fates."
Yes, it was the cabman, who seemed almost overwhelmed with terror when
he saw the condition of the two passengers, and heard of the robbery
which had taken place.
"I'll get you back to Newport by daylight, sir," he cried, turning to
Victor Lamont, "and we can drive direct to the police-station, where you
can report your great loss."
"No, no, no!" cried Sally, clinging to Lamont's arm, as she imagined
herself standing before a police magistrate, and trying to tell him the
story.
"I understand your feelings perfectly," whispered Lamont, pressing her
arm reassuringly. "The story of our losses must not get out. No, we
_dare not_ ask the police to help us recover your diamonds and my money,
because of the consequences."
Wretched Sally was obliged to agree with this line of thinking.
Neither spoke much on that homeward ride. Sally was wondering if she
would be able to evade suspicion, and gain her rooms unrecognized; and
Lamont was wondering if the beautiful married flirt realized how
completely she was in his power.
He had concocted a brilliant scheme, and he meant to put it into
execution with as little delay as possible.
Jay Gardiner was lavish in giving money to his young wife, and
he--Lamont--meant to have some of that cash--ay, the most of it. He had
thought of a clever scheme to obtain it.
The driver was as good as his word this time. He landed them as near to
the hotel as possible, and that, too, when the early dawn was just
breaking through the eastern horizon.
With cloak pulled closely about her, and veil drawn close over her face,
Sally accompanied the driver of the coach to the servants' entrance.
It was not without some shame and confusion that she heard the ignorant
coachman pass her off as his sweetheart, and ask his brother, the
night-watchman, to admit her on the sly, as she was one of the girls
employed in the house.
She fairly flew past them and up the broad stairway, and never paused
until she reached her own room, threw, open the door, and sprung into
it, quaking with terror.
Antoinette, her French maid, lay dozing en a velvet couch. She hoped
that she would be able to slip past her without awakening her; but this
was destined not to be.
Antoinette heard the door creak, and she was on her feet like a flash.
"Oh, my lady, it is you!" she whispered, marveling much where her
mistress got such a queer bonnet and cloak. "Let me help you take off
your wrap. You look pale as death. Are you ill?"
"No, no, Antoinette," replied Mrs. Gardiner, flushing hotly, annoyed
with herself, the inquisitive maid, and the world in general. But she
felt that she must make some kind of an excuse, say something. "Yes, I'm
tired out," she replied, quickly. "I was called away to see a sick
friend, and had to go just as I was, as there was not a moment to lose."
"You were very prudent, my lady, to remove your magnificent jewels.
Shall I not take them from your pocket, and replace them in their
caskets, and lock them safely away?"
"I will attend to them myself, Antoinette," she panted, hoarsely. "Help
me off with this--this ball-dress, and get me to bed. I am fagged out
for want of sleep. I do not want any breakfast; do not awake me."
Looking at her mistress keenly from beneath her long lashes, Antoinette
saw that she was terribly agitated.
Long after the inner door had closed on her, Antoinette sat thinking,
and muttered, thoughtfully:
"I shall find out where my lady was last night. Trust me to learn her
secret, and then she will be in my power!"