The Yellow Crayon Part 47

"Do you mean to turn my head?" he asked her, with a humorous smile.

"It would be easier," she answered, "than to touch your heart."

Then Lucille looked across at them--and Mr. Sabin suddenly remembered that Reginald Brott knew them both only as strangers.

"Muriel," she said, "you are behaving disgracefully."

"I am doing my best," Lady Carey answered, "to keep you in countenance."

The eyes of the two women met for a moment, and though the smiles lingered still upon their faces Lady Carey at any rate was not able to wholly conceal her hatred. Lucille shrugged her shoulders.

"I am doing my best," she said, "to convert Mr. Brott."

"To what?" Lady Carey asked.

"To a sane point of view concerning the holiness of the aristocracy,"

Lucille answered. "I am afraid though that I have made very little impression. In his heart I believe Mr. Brott would like to see us all working for our living, school-teachers and dressmakers, and that sort of thing, you know."

Mr. Brott protested.

"I am not even," he declared, "moderately advanced in my views as regards matters of your s.e.x. To tell you the truth, I do not like women to work at all outside their homes."

Lady Carey laughed.

"My dear," she said to Lucille, "you and I may as well retire in despair. Can't you see the sort of woman Mr. Brott admires? She isn't like us a bit. She is probably a healthy, ruddy-cheeked young person who lives in the country, gets up to breakfast to pour out the coffee for some sort of a male relative, goes round the garden snipping off roses in big gloves and a huge basket, interviews the cook, orders the dinner, makes fancy waistcoats for her husband, and failing a sewing maid, does the mending for the family. You and I, Lucille, are not like that."

"Well, you have mentioned nothing which I couldn't do, if it seemed worth while," Lucille objected. "It sounds very primitive and delightful. I am sure we are all too luxurious and too lazy. I think we ought to turn over a new leaf."

"For you, dear Lucille," Lady Carey said with suave and deadly satire, "what improvement is possible? You have all that you could desire. It is much less fortunate persons, such as myself, to whom Utopia must seem such a delightful place."

A frock-coated and altogether immaculate young man approached their table and accosted Mr. Sabin.

"I beg your pardon, sir," he said, "but the manager would be much obliged if you would spare him a moment or two in his private room as soon as possible."

Mr. Sabin nodded.

"In a few minutes," he answered.

The little party broke up almost immediately. Coffee was ordered in the palm court, where the band was playing. Mr. Sabin and the Prince fell a little behind the others on the way out of the room.

"You heard my summons?" Mr. Sabin asked.

"Yes!"

"I am going to be cross-examined as regards Duson. I am no longer a member of the Order. What is to prevent my setting them upon the right track?"

"The fact," the Prince said coolly, "that you are hoping one day to recover Lucille."

"I doubt," Mr. Sabin said, "whether you are strong enough to keep her from me."

The Prince smiled. All his white teeth were showing.

"Come," he said, "you know better than--much better than that. Lucille must wait her release. You know that."

"I will buy it," Mr. Sabin said, "with a lie to the manager here, or I will tell the truth and still take her from you."

The Prince stood upon the topmost step of the balcony. Below was the palm court, with many little groups of people dotted about.

"My dear friend," he said, "Duson died absolutely of his own free will.

You know that quite well. We should have preferred that the matter had been otherwise arranged. But as it is we are safe, absolutely safe."

"Duson's letter!" Mr. Sabin remarked.

"You will not show it," the Prince answered. "You cannot. You have kept it too long. And, after all, you cannot escape from the main fact. Duson committed suicide."

"He was incited to murder. His letter proves it."

The Prince shrugged his shoulders.

"By whom? Ah, how your story would excite ridicule. I seem to hear the laughter now. No, my dear Souspennier, you would bargain for me with Lucille. Look below. Are we likely to part with her just yet?"

In a corner, behind a gigantic palm, Lucille and Brott were talking together. Lady Carey had drawn Opperman a little distance away. Brott was talking eagerly, his cheeks flushed, his manner earnest. Mr. Sabin turned upon his heel and walked away.

CHAPTER x.x.xII

Mr. Sabin, although he had registered at the hotel under his accustomed pseudonym, had taken no pains to conceal his ident.i.ty, and was well known to the people in authority about the place. He was received with all the respect due to his rank.

"Your Grace will, I trust, accept my most sincere apologies for disturbing you," Mr. Hertz, the manager, said, rising and bowing at his entrance. "We have here, however, an emissary connected with the police come to inquire into the sad incident of this afternoon. He expressed a wish to ask your Grace a question or two with a view to rendering your Grace's attendance at the inquest unnecessary."

Mr. Sabin nodded.

"I am perfectly willing," he said, "to answer any questions you may choose to put to me."

A plain, hard-featured little man, in a long black overcoat, and holding a bowler hat in his hand, bowed respectfully to Mr. Sabin.

"I am much obliged to you, sir," he said. "My name is John Pa.s.smore.

We do not of course appear in this matter unless the post-mortem should indicate anything unusual in the circ.u.mstances of Duson's death, but it is always well to be prepared, and I ventured to ask Mr. Hertz here to procure for me your opinion as regards the death of your servant."

"You have asked me," Mr. Sabin said gravely, "a very difficult question."

The eyes of the little detective flashed keenly.

"You do not believe then, sir, that he died a natural death?"

"I do not," Mr. Sabin answered.