The Chink in the Armour Part 16

Sylvia did her part by cutting some bread and b.u.t.ter, and, as she stood at the white table opposite the kitchen window, she saw that beyond the small piece of garden which lay at the back of the house was a dense chestnut wood, only separated from the Chalet des Muguets by a straggling hedge.

"Does the wood belong to you, too?" she asked.

Madame Wachner shook her head.

"Oh! no," she said, "that is for sale!"

"You must find it very lonely here at night," said Sylvia, musingly, "you do not seem to have any neighbours either to the right or left."

"There is a villa a little way down the road," said Madame Wachner quickly. "But we are not nervous people--and then we 'ave nothing it would be worth anybody's while to steal."

Sylvia reminded herself that the Wachners must surely have a good deal of money in the house if they gambled as much as Anna Wolsky said they did.

Her hostess could not keep it all in the little bag which she always carried hung on her wrist.

And then, as if Madame Wachner had seen straight into her mind, the old woman said significantly. "As to our money, I will show you where we keep it. Come into my bed-room; perhaps you will take off your hat there; then we shall be what English people call 'cosy.'"

Madame Wachner led the way again into the short pa.s.sage, and so into a large bed-room, which looked, like the kitchen, on to the back garden.

After the kitchen, this bed-room struck Sylvia as being the pleasantest room in the Chalet des Muguets, and that although, like the dining-room and drawing-room, it was extraordinarily bare.

There was no chest of drawers, no dressing-table, no cupboard to be seen.

Madame Wachner's clothes hung on pegs behind the door, and there was a large bra.s.s-bound trunk in a corner of the room.

But the broad, low bed looked very comfortable, and there was a bath-room next door.

Madame Wachner showed her guest the bath-room with great pride.

"This is the 'English comfortable,'" she said, using the quaint phrase the French have invented to express the acme of domestic luxury. "My 'usband will never allow me to take a 'ouse that has no bath-room. 'E is very clean about 'imself"--she spoke as if it was a fact to be proud of, and Sylvia could not help smiling.

"I suppose there are still many French houses without a bath-room," she said.

"Yes," said Madame Wachner quickly, "the French are not a clean people,"--she shook her head scornfully.

"I suppose you keep your money in that box?" said Sylvia, looking at the bra.s.s-bound trunk.

"No, indeed! _This_ is where I keep it!"

Madame Wachner suddenly lifted her thin alpaca skirt, and Sylvia, with astonishment, saw that hung round her capacious waist were a number of little wash-leather bags. "My money is all 'ere!" exclaimed Madame Wachner, laughing heartily. "It rests--oh, so cosily--against my petticoat."

They went back into the kitchen. The water was boiling, and Sylvia made the tea, Madame Wachner looking on with eager interest.

"La! La! it will be strong! I only put a pinch for ourselves. And now go into the dining-room, and I will bring the teapot there to you, Madame!"

"No, no," said Sylvia laughing, "why should we not drink our tea here, in this pretty kitchen?"

The other looked at her doubtfully. "Shall we?"

"Yes, of course!" cried Sylvia.

They drew up two rush-bottomed chairs to the table and sat down.

Sylvia thoroughly enjoyed this first taste of Madame Wachner's hospitality. The drive and the great heat had made her feel tired and languid, and the tea did her good.

"I will go and see if the carriage is there," said Madame Wachner at last.

While her hostess was away, Sylvia looked round her with some curiosity.

What an extraordinary mode of life these people had chosen for themselves! If the Wachners were rich enough to gamble, surely they had enough money to live more comfortably than they were now doing? It was clear that they hardly used the dining-room and drawing-room of the little villa at all. When Sylvia had been looking for the b.u.t.ter, she had not been able to help seeing that in the tiny larder there was only a small piece of cheese, a little cold meat, and a couple of eggs on a plate. No wonder Monsieur Wachner had heartily enjoyed the copious, if rather roughly-prepared, meal at the Pension Malfait.

"Yes, the carriage is there," said Madame Wachner bustling back. "And now we must be quick, or L'Ami Fritz will be cross! Do you know that absurd man actually still thinks 'e is master, and yet we 'ave been married--oh, I do not know 'ow many years! But he always loves seeing me even after we 'ave been separated but two hours or so!"

Together they went out, Madame Wachner carefully locking the door and hiding the key where she had found it, under the mat outside.

Sylvia could not help laughing.

"I really wonder you do that," she observed. "Just think how easy it would be for anyone to get into the house!"

"Yes, that is true, but there is nothing to steal. As I tell you, we always carry our money about with us," said Madame Wachner. She added in a serious tone, "and I should advise you to do so too, my dear young friend."

CHAPTER IX

A quarter of an hour's sharp driving brought Sylvia and Madame Wachner to the door of the Casino. They found Madame Wolsky in the hall waiting for them.

"I couldn't think what had happened to you!" she exclaimed in an anxious tone. "But here is your members.h.i.+p card, Sylvia. Now you are free of the Baccarat tables!"

Monsieur Wachner met his wife with a frowning face. He might be pleased to see Madame Wachner, but he showed his pleasure in an odd manner. Soon, however, the secret of his angry look was revealed, for Madame Wachner opened the leather bag hanging from her wrist and took out of it a hundred francs.

"Here, Fritz," she cried, gaily. "You can now begin your play!"

Sylvia Bailey felt very much amused. So poor "Ami Fritz" was not allowed to gamble unless his wife were there to see that he did not go too far.

No wonder he had looked impatient and eager, as well as cross! He had been engaged--that was clear--in putting down the turns of the game, and in working out what were no doubt abstruse calculations connected with his system.

The Club was very full, and it was a little difficult at that hour of the late afternoon to get near enough to a table to play comfortably; but a stranger had kindly kept Anna Wolsky's place for her.

"I have been quite lucky," she whispered to Sylvia. "I have made three hundred francs, and now I think I will rest a bit! Slip in here, dear, and I will stand behind you. I do not advise you to risk more than twenty francs the first time; on the other hand, if you feel _en veine_, if the luck seems persistent--it sometimes is when one first plays with gold--then be bold, and do not hesitate!"

Sylvia, feeling rather bewildered, slipped into her friend's place, and Anna kept close behind her.

With a hand that trembled a little, she put a twenty-franc piece down on the green table. After doing so she looked up, and saw that the Comte de Virieu was standing nearly opposite to her, on the other side of the table.

His eyes were fixed on her, and there was a very kind and indulgent, if sad, smile on his face. As their glances met he leant forward and also put a twenty-franc piece on the green cloth close to where Sylvia's money lay.

The traditional words rang out: "_Faites vos jeux, Messieurs, Mesdames!

Le jeu est fait! Rien ne va plus!_"