The Yellow Crayon Part 41

"Dear me," Mr. Sabin said, "this is quite extraordinary."

"I can tell monsieur the lady's name," Emil continued, "for she raised her veil, and everywhere the ill.u.s.trated papers have been full of her picture. It was the lady who was besieged in a little town of South Africa, and who carried despatches for the general, disguised as a man."

"Lady Carey!" Mr. Sabin remarked quietly.

"That was the lady's name," Emil agreed.

Mr. Sabin was thoughtful for a few moments. Then he looked up.

"Emil Sachs," he said sternly, "you have given out at least one portion of your abominable concoction which is meant to end my days. Whether I shall escape it or not remains to be seen. I am forced at the best to discharge my servant, and to live the life of a hunted man. Now you have done enough mischief in the world. To-morrow morning a messenger will place in your hands two hundred pounds. A larger sum will await you at Baring's Bank in New York. You will go there and buy a small restaurant in the business quarter. This is your last chance, Emil. I give it to you for the sake of Annette."

"And I accept it, monsieur, with grat.i.tude."

"For the present--"

Mr. Sabin stopped short. His quick ears had caught the swish of woman's gown pa.s.sing along the pa.s.sage outside. Emil too had heard it.

"It is the dark lady," he whispered, "who purchased from me the other powder. See, I open gently this door. Monsieur must both see and hear."

The door at the end of the pa.s.sage was opened. A woman stepped out into the little bar and made her way towards the door. Here she was met by a man entering. Mr. Sabin held up his forefinger to stop the terrified exclamation which trembled on Emil's lips. The woman was Lucille, the man the Prince. It was Lucille who was speaking.

"You have followed me, Prince. It is intolerable."

"Dear Lucille, it is for your own sake. These are not fit parts for you to visit alone."

"It is my own business," she answered coldly.

The Prince appeared to be in a complaisant mood.

"Come," he said, "the affair is not worth a quarrel. I ask you no questions. Only since we are here I propose that we test the cooking of the good Annette. We will lunch together."

"What, here?" she answered. "Absurd."

"By no means," he answered. "As you doubtless know, the exterior of the place is entirely misleading. These people are old servants of mine. I can answer for the luncheon."

"You can also eat it," came the prompt reply. "I am returning to the carriage."

"But--"

Mr. Sabin emerged through the swing door. "Your discretion, my dear Lucille," he said, smiling, "is excellent. The place is indeed better than it seems, and Annette's cookery may be all that the Prince claims. Yet I think I know better places for a luncheon party, and the ventilation is not of the best. May I suggest that you come with me instead to the Milan?"

"Victor! You here?"

Mr. Sabin smiled as he admitted the obvious fact. The Prince's face was as black as night.

"Believe me," Mr. Sabin said, turning to the Prince, "I sympathise entirely with your feelings at the present moment. I myself have suffered in precisely the same manner. The fact is, intrigue in this country is almost an impossibility. At Paris, Vienna, Pesth, how different! You raise your little finger, and the deed is done.

Superfluous people--like myself--are removed like the hairs from your chin. But here intrigue seems indeed to exist only within the pages of a s.h.i.+lling novel, or in a comic opera. The gentleman with a helmet there, who regards us so benignly, will presently earn a s.h.i.+lling by calling me a hansom. Yet in effect he does me a far greater service. He stands for a mult.i.tude of cold Anglo-Saxon laws, adamant, incorruptible, inflexible--as certain as the laws of Nature herself. I am quite aware that by this time I ought to be lying in a dark cellar with a gag in my mouth, or perhaps in the river with a dagger in my chest. But here in England, no!"

The Prince smiled--to all appearance a very genial smile.

"You are right, my dear friend," he said, "yet what you say possesses, shall we call it, a somewhat antediluvian flavour. Intrigue is no longer a clumsy game of knife and string and bowl. It becomes to-day a game of finesse. I can a.s.sure you that I have no desire to give a stage whistle and have you throttled at my feet. On the contrary, I beg you to use my carriage, which you will find in the street. You will lunch at the Milan with Lucille, and I shall retire discomfited to eat alone at my club.

But the game is a long one, my dear friend. The new methods take time."

"This conversation," Mr. Sabin said to Lucille, "is interesting, but it is a little ungallant. I think that we will resume it at some future occasion. Shall we accept the Prince's offer, or shall we be truly democratic and take a hansom."

Lucille pa.s.sed her arm through his and laughed.

"You are robbing the Prince of me," she declared. "Let us leave him his carriage."

She nodded her farewells to Saxe Leinitzer, who took leave of them with a low bow. As they waited at the corner for a hansom Mr. Sabin glanced back. The Prince had disappeared through the swing doors.

"I want you to promise me one thing," Lucille said earnestly.

"It is promised," Mr. Sabin answered.

"You will not ask me the reason of my visit to this place?"

"I have no curiosity," Mr. Sabin answered. "Come!"

CHAPTER XXVIII

Mr. Sabin, contrary to his usual custom, engaged a private room at the Milan. Lucille was in the highest spirits.

"If only this were a game instead of reality!" she said, flas.h.i.+ng a brilliant smile at him across the table, "I should find it most fascinating. You seem to come to me always when I want you most. And do you know, it is perfectly charming to be carried off by you in this manner."

Mr. Sabin smiled at her, and there was a look in his eyes which shone there for no other woman.

"It is in effect," he said, "keeping me young. Events seem to have enclosed us in a curious little cobweb. All the time we are struggling between the rankest primitivism and the most delicate intrigue. To-day is the triumph of primitivism."

"Meaning that you, the medieval knight, have carried me off, the distressed maiden, on your shoulder."

"Having confounded my enemy," he continued, smiling, "by an embarra.s.sing situation, a little argument, and the distant view of a policeman's helmet."

"This," she remarked, with a little satisfied sigh as she selected an ortolan, "is a very satisfactory place to be carried off to. And you,"

she added, leaning across the table and touching his fingers for a moment tenderly, "are a very delightful knight-errant."

He raised the fingers to his lips--the waiter had left the room. She blushed, but yielded her hand readily enough.

"Victor," she murmured, "you would spoil the most faithless woman on earth for all her lovers. You make me very impatient."

"Impatience, then," he declared, "must be the most infectious of fevers.

For I too am a terrible sufferer."

"If only the Prince," she said, "would be reasonable."

"I am afraid," Mr. Sabin answered, "that from him we have not much to hope for."