If Sinners Entice Thee Part 30

"How extraordinary!" she said, deeply interested in his statement. "Has the woman been found?"

"Yes. I discovered her yesterday," he replied. "You discovered her!

Then she is here, in Nice?"

"Yes, strangely enough, she is here."

"What's her name?"

"Mariette Lepage."

Instantly her face went pale as death.

"Mariette Lepage!" she gasped hoa.r.s.ely.

"Yes. The woman whose strange letter was found upon Nelly after her death," he answered. "What my father could have known of her I am utterly at a loss to imagine."

"And she is actually here, in Nice," she whispered in a strange, terrified voice, for in an instant there had arisen before her vision the dark angry eyes of the woman in mask and domino who had pelted her so unmercifully on that Sunday afternoon during Carnival.

"Yes, she is here," he said, glancing at her sharply. "She was evidently well acquainted with poor Nelly. What do you know of her?"

"I--I know nothing," she answered in an intense, anxious tone, as one consumed by some terrible dread. "Mariette Lepage is not my friend."

And she sat panting, her chin sunk upon her breast as if she had been dealt a blow.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN.

THE GOLDEN HAND.

When a few minutes later they rose Liane declared that she must return to lunch; therefore they walked together in the sun-glare along the Promenade, at that hour all but deserted, for the cosmopolitan crowd of persons who basked in the brilliant suns.h.i.+ne during the morning had now sought their hotels for dejeuner. Few words they uttered, so full of gloom and sadness were both their hearts. Liane had insisted that this must be their last meeting, but time after time he had declared that he would never allow her to marry Zertho, although he could make no suggestion whereby she could escape the cruel fate which sooner or later must overwhelm her.

They had strolled about half-way towards the villa in which she and the Captain were staying, when suddenly he halted opposite a short narrow lane, which opened from the Promenade into the thoroughfare running parallel--the old and narrow Rue de France. On either side were high garden walls, and half-way along, these walls, taking a sudden turn at right angles, opened wider; therefore the way was much narrower towards where they stood than at the opposite end.

"Let us go down here," George suggested. "There is more shade in the street, and you can then reach your villa by the back entrance."

"No," she answered, glancing with repugnance at the narrow lane, and turning away quickly. He fancied she shuddered; but, on glancing at the clean little thoroughfare only about a hundred paces in length, he could detect nothing which could cause her repulsion, and at once rea.s.sured himself that he had been mistaken.

"But it is so terribly hot and dazzling along here," he urged.

"You should carry a sun-umbrella," she smiled. "But there, I suppose men don't care to be seen with green ginghams."

"But surely this glare upon the footway hurts your eyes," he continued.

"It is so much cooler in the Rue de France."

"No," she replied. And again he thought he detected a gesture of uneasiness as, turning from him, she walked on, her sunshade lowered to hide her face. Puzzled, he stepped forward and quickly caught her up.

There was, he felt certain, some hidden reason why she declined to pa.s.s along that small unnamed lane. But he did not refer to the subject again, although after he had left her he pondered long and deeply upon her curious att.i.tude, and in walking back to the town he turned into the narrow pa.s.sage and pa.s.sed through it to the Rue de France, whence he took the tram down to the Place Ma.s.sena.

A dozen times had she urged him to leave her and return to London, but so full of mystery seemed all her actions that he was more than ever determined to remain and strive to elucidate the reason of her dogged silence, and solve the curious problem of her strange inexplicable terror.

It was plain that she feared Mariette Lepage, and equally certain also that this mysterious woman who feigned to be her friend was nevertheless her bitterest foe. The reason of her visit to him was not at all plain.

Her inquiries regarding the tragic circ.u.mstances of Nelly Bridson's death were, he felt confident, mere excuses. As he sat in the tram-car while it jogged slowly along the narrow noisy street, it suddenly occurred to him that from her he might possibly obtain some information which would lead him to an explanation of Liane's secret.

He thought out the matter calmly over a pipe at his hotel, and at last decided upon a bold course. She had given him her address, he would, therefore, seek her that afternoon.

In pursuance of his plan he alighted about four o'clock from the train at Monaco Station and inquired his way to the Villa Fortunee. Following the directions of a waiter at the Hotel des Negociants, he walked down the wide read to the foot of the great rock whereon the town is situated, then ascended by the broad footway, so steep that no vehicles can get up, and pa.s.sing through the narrow arches of the fort, found himself at last upon the ramparts, in front of the square Moorish-looking palace of the Prince. Around the small square were mounted several antiquated cannon, while near them were formidable-looking piles of heavy shot which are carefully dusted each day, and about the tiny review ground there lounged several gaudily-attired soldiers in light blue uniforms, lolling upon the walls smoking cigarettes. The Princ.i.p.ality is a small one, but it makes a brave show, even though its defences remind one of comic opera, and its valiant soldiers have never smelt any other powder save that of the noon-day gun. The silence of the siesta was still upon the little place, for the afternoon was blazing hot. On one side of the square the sentry at the Palace-gate leaned upon his rifle half-asleep, while on the other the fireman sat upon the form outside the engine-house, and with his hands thrust deep in his trousers-pockets moodily watched the slowly-moving hands of the clock in its square, white castellated tower.

George stood for a few moments in the centre of the clean, carefully-swept square, the centre of one of the tiniest governments in the world, then making further inquiry of the sleepy fireman, was directed along the ramparts until he found himself before a fine, square, flat-roofed house, with handsome dead white front, which, facing due south and situated high up on the summit of that bold rock, commanded a magnificent view of Cap Martin, the Italian coast beyond, and the open Mediterranean. Shut off from the ramparts by a handsome iron railing, the garden in front was filled with high palms, fruitful oranges, variegated aloes and a wealth of beautiful flowers, while upon a marble plate the words "Villa Fortunee" were inscribed in gilt letters. The closed sun-shutters were painted white, like the house, and about the exterior of the place was an air of prosperity which the young Englishman did not fail to notice.

Its situation was certainly unique. Deep below, on the great brown rocks descending sheer into the sea, the long waves lashed themselves into white foam, while away sea-ward the water was a brilliant blue which, however, was losing its colour each moment as the shadows lengthened. Within sight of gay, dazzling Monte Carlo, with all her pleasures and flaunting vices, all her fascinating beauty and hideous tragedy, the house was nevertheless quiet and eminently respectable.

For an instant he paused to glance at the beautiful view of sea-coast and mountain, then entering the gate, rang the bell.

An Italian man-servant opened the door and took his card, and a few moments later he was ushered into the handsome salon, resplendent with gilt and statuary, where Mariette Lepage had evidently been dozing. The jalousies of the three long windows were closed; the room, perfumed by great bowls of violets, was delightfully cool; and the softly-tempered light pleasant and restful after the white glare outside.

"This is an unexpected pleasure," Mariette exclaimed in English, rising to allow her hand to linger for an instant in his, then sinking back with a slight yawn upon her silken couch. In the half-light, as she reclined in graceful abandon upon the divan, her head thrown back upon a great cus.h.i.+on of rose silk, she looked much younger than she really was.

George had guessed her age at thirty-five when she had called at his hotel, but in that dimly-lit room, with her veil removed and attired in a thin light-coloured gown she looked quite ten years younger, and certainly her face was eminently handsome.

She stretched out her tiny foot, neat in its silk stocking and patent leather shoe, with an air of coquetry, and in doing so displayed either by accident or design that _soupcon_ of _lingerie_ which is no indiscretion in a Frenchwoman.

He had taken a seat near her, and was apologising for calling during her siesta.

"No, no," she exclaimed, with a light laugh. "I am extremely glad you've come. I retire so late at night that I generally find an afternoon doze beneficial. We women suffer from nerves and other such things of which you men know nothing."

"Fortunately for us," he observed. "But then we are liable to a malady of the heart of far greater severity than that to which your s.e.x is subject. Women's hearts are seldom broken; men's often are. A woman can forget as easily as a child forgets; but the remembrance of a face, of a voice, of a pair of eyes, to him brighter and clearer than all others, is impressed indelibly upon a man's memory. Every woman from the moment she enters her teens is, I regret to say, a coquette at heart. In the game of love the chances are all against the man."

"Why are you so pessimistic?" she asked, raising herself upon her elbow and looking at him amused. "All women are not heartless. Some there are who remember, and although evil and vicious themselves, are self-denying towards others."

"Yes," he answered. "A few--a very few."

"Of course you must be forgiven for speaking thus," she said, in a soft, pleasant tone. "Your choice of a woman has been an exceedingly unhappy one."

"Why?" he exclaimed, with quick suspicion. "What allegation do you make against Liane?"

"I make no allegation, whatever, m'sieur," she answered, with a smile.

"It was not in that sense my words were intended. I meant to convey that your love has only brought unhappiness to you both."

"Unfortunately it has," he sighed. "In vain have I striven to seek some means in which to a.s.sist Liane to break asunder the tie which binds her to Prince Zertho, but she will not explain its nature, because she says she fears to do so."

"I am scarcely surprised," she answered. "Her terror lest the true facts should be disclosed is but natural."

"Why?" he inquired, hastily.

But she shook her head, saying: "Am I not striving my utmost to a.s.sist her? Is it therefore to be supposed that I shall explain facts which she desires should remain secret? The object of your present visit is surely not to endeavour to entrap me into telling you facts which, for the present, will not bear the light? Rather let us come to some understanding whereby our interests may be mutual."

"It was for that reason I have called," he said, in a dry, serious tone.

Her gaze met his, and he thought in that half-light he detected in her dark, brilliant eyes a keen look of suspicion.

"I am all attention," she answered, pleasantly, moving slightly, so that she faced him.

"Well, mine is a curious errand," he began, earnestly, bending towards her, his elbows on his knees. "There is no reason, as far as I'm aware, why, if you are really Liane's friend, we should not be perfectly frank with one another. First, I must ask you one question--a strange one you will no doubt regard it. But it is necessary that I should receive an answer before I proceed. Did you ever live in Paris--and where?"