THE GENEVA ROAD
The car had nearly reached Annecy before Celia woke to consciousness.
And even then she was dazed. She was only aware that she was in the
motor-car and travelling at a great speed. She lay back, drinking in
the fresh air. Then she moved, and with the movement came to her
recollection and the sense of pain. Her arms and wrists were still
bound behind her, and the cords hurt her like hot wires. Her mouth,
however, and her feet were free. She started forward, and Adele
Rossignol spoke sternly from the seat opposite.
"Keep still. I am holding the flask in my hand. If you scream, if you
make a movement to escape, I shall fling the vitriol in your face," she
said.
Celia shrank back, shivering.
"I won't! I won't!" she whispered piteously. Her spirit was broken by
the horrors of the night's adventure. She lay back and cried quietly in
the darkness of the carriage. The car dashed through Annecy. It seemed
incredible to Celia that less than six hours ago she had been dining
with Mme. Dauvray and the woman opposite, who was now her jailer. Mme.
Dauvray lay dead in the little salon, and she herself--she dared not
think what lay in front of her. She was to be persuaded--that was the
word--to tell what she did not know. Meanwhile her name would be
execrated through Aix as the murderess of the woman who had saved her.
Then suddenly the car stopped. There were lights outside. Celia heard
voices. A man was speaking to Wethermill. She started and saw Adele
Tace's arm flash upwards. She sank back in terror; and the car rolled
on into the darkness. Adele Tace drew a breath of relief. The one point
of danger had been passed. They had crossed the Pont de la Caille, they
were in Switzerland.
Some long while afterwards the car slackened its speed. By the side of
it Celia heard the sound of wheels and of the hooves of a horse. A
single-horsed closed landau had been caught up as it jogged along the
road. The motor-car stopped; close by the side of it the driver of the
landau reined in his horse. Wethermill jumped down from the chauffeur's
seat, opened the door of the landau, and then put his head in at the
window of the car.
"Are you ready? Be quick!"
Adele turned to Celia.
"Not a word, remember!"
Wethermill flung open the door of the car. Adele took the girl's feet
and drew them down to the step of the car. Then she pushed her out.
Wethermill caught her in his arms and carried her to the landau. Celia
dared not cry out. Her hands were helpless, her face at the mercy of
that grim flask. Just ahead of them the lights of Geneva were visible,
and from the lights a silver radiance overspread a patch of sky.
Wethermill placed her in the landau; Adele sprang in behind her and
closed the door. The transfer had taken no more than a few seconds. The
landau jogged into Geneva; the motor turned and sped back over the
fifty miles of empty road to Aix.
As the motor-car rolled away, courage returned for a moment to Celia.
The man--the murderer--had gone. She was alone with Adele Rossignol in
a carriage moving no faster than an ordinary trot. Her ankles were
free, the gag had been taken from her lips. If only she could free her
hands and choose a moment when Adele was off her guard she might open
the door and spring out on to the road. She saw Adele draw down the
blinds of the carriage, and very carefully, very secretly, Celia began
to work her hands behind her. She was an adept; no movement was
visible, but, on the other hand, no success was obtained. The knots had
been too cunningly tied. And then Mme. Rossignol touched a button at
her side in the leather of the carriage.
The touch turned on a tiny lamp in the roof of the carriage, and she
raised a warning hand to Celia.
"Now keep very quiet."
Right through the empty streets of Geneva the landau was quietly
driven. Adele had peeped from time to time under the blind. There were
few people in the streets. Once or twice a sergent-de-ville was seen
under the light of a lamp. Celia dared not cry out. Over against her,
persistently watching her, Adele Rossignol sat with the open flask
clenched in her hand, and from the vitriol Celia shrank with an
overwhelming terror. The carriage drove out from the town along the
western edge of the lake.
"Now listen," said Adele. "As soon as the landau stops the door of the
house opposite to which it stops will open. I shall open the carriage
door myself and you will get out. You must stand close by the carriage
door until I have got out. I shall hold this flask ready in my hand. As
soon as I am out you will run across the pavement into the house. You
won't speak or scream."
Adele Rossignol turned out the lamp and ten minutes later the carriage
passed down the little street and attracted Mme. Gobin's notice. Marthe
Gobin had lit no light in her room. Adele Rossignol peered out of the
carriage. She saw the houses in darkness. She could not see the
busybody's face watching the landau from a dark window. She cut the
cords which fastened the girl's hands. The carriage stopped. She opened
the door. Celia sprang out on to the pavement. She sprang so quickly
that Adele Rossignol caught and held the train of her dress. But it was
the fear of the vitriol which had made her spring so nimbly. It was
that, too, which made her run so lightly and quickly into the house.
The old woman who acted as servant, Jeanne Tace, received her. Celia
offered no resistance. The fear of vitriol had made her supple as a
glove. Jeanne hurried her down the stairs into the little parlour at
the back of the house, where supper was laid, and pushed her into a
chair. Celia let her arms fall forward on the table. She had no hope
now. She was friendless and alone in a den of murderers, who meant
first to torture, then to kill her. She would be held up to execration
as a murderess. No one would know how she had died or what she had
suffered. She was in pain, and her throat burned. She buried her face
in her arms and sobbed. All her body shook with her sobbing. Jeanne
Rossignol took no notice. She treated Celie just as the others had
done. Celia was LA PETITE, against whom she had no animosity, by whom
she was not to be touched to any tenderness. LA PETITE had
unconsciously played her useful part in their crime. But her use was
ended now, and they would deal with her accordingly. She removed the
girl's hat and cloak and tossed them aside.
"Now stay quiet until we are ready for you," she said. And Celia,
lifting her head, said in a whisper:
"Water!"
The old woman poured some from a jug and held the glass to Celia's lips.
"Thank you," whispered Celia gratefully, and Adele came into the room.
She told the story of the night to Jeanne, and afterwards to Hippolyte
when he joined them.
"And nothing gained!" cried the older woman furiously. "And we have
hardly a five-franc piece in the house."
"Yes, something," said Adele. "A necklace--a good one--some good rings,
and bracelets. And we shall find out where the rest is hid--from her."
And she nodded at Celia.
The three people ate their supper, and, while they ate it, discussed
Celia's fate. She was lying with her head bowed upon her arms at the
same table, within a foot of them. But they made no more of her
presence than if she had been an old shoe. Only once did one of them
speak to her.
"Stop your whimpering," said Hippolyte roughly. "We can hardly hear
ourselves talk."
He was for finishing with the business altogether to-night.
"It's a mistake," he said. "There's been a bungle, and the sooner we
are rid of it the better. There's a boat at the bottom of the garden."
Celia listened and shuddered. He would have no more compunction over
drowning her than he would have had over drowning a blind kitten.
"It's cursed luck," he said. "But we have got the necklace--that's
something. That's our share, do you see? The young spark can look for
the rest."
But Helene Vauquier's wish prevailed. She was the leader. They would
keep the girl until she came to Geneva.
They took her upstairs into the big bedroom overlooking the lake. Adele
opened the door of the closet, where a truckle-bed stood, and thrust
the girl in.
"This is my room," she said warningly, pointing to the bedroom. "Take
care I hear no noise. You might shout yourself hoarse, my pretty one;
no one else would hear you. But I should, and afterwards--we should no
longer be able to call you 'my pretty one,' eh?"
And with a horrible playfulness she pinched the girl's cheek.
Then with old Jeanne's help she stripped Celia and told her to get into
bed.
"I'll give her something to keep her quiet," said Adele, and she
fetched her morphia-needle and injected a dose into Celia's arm.
Then they took her clothes away and left her in the darkness. She heard
the key turn in the lock, and a moment after the sound of the bedstead
being drawn across the doorway. But she heard no more, for almost
immediately she fell asleep.
She was awakened some time the next day by the door opening. Old Jeanne
Tace brought her in a jug of water and a roll of bread, and locked her
up again. And a long time afterwards she brought her another supply.
Yet another day had gone, but in that dark cupboard Celia had no means
of judging time. In the afternoon the newspaper came out with the
announcement that Mme. Dauvray's jewellery had been discovered under
the boards. Hippolyte brought in the newspaper, and, cursing their
stupidity, they sat down to decide upon Celia's fate. That, however,
was soon arranged. They would dress her in everything which she wore
when she came, so that no trace of her might be discovered. They would
give her another dose of morphia, sew her up in a sack as soon as she
was unconscious, row her far out on to the lake, and sink her with a
weight attached. They dragged her out from the cupboard, always with
the threat of that bright aluminium flask before her eyes. She fell
upon her knees, imploring their pity with the tears running down her
cheeks; but they sewed the strip of sacking over her face so that she
should see nothing of their preparations. They flung her on the sofa,
secured her as Hanaud had found her, and, leaving her in the old
woman's charge, sent down Adele for her needle and Hippolyte to get
ready the boat. As Hippolyte opened the door he saw the launch of the
Chef de la Surete glide along the bank.