The Yellow Crayon Part 56

"Now," Mr. Sabin said, "you are beginning to get interesting."

"Lucille must go--or run the risk of arrest for complicity in the murder of Duson."

"Are you serious?" Mr. Sabin asked, with admirably a.s.sumed gravity.

"Is it a jesting matter?" she answered fiercely. "Lucille bought poison, the same poison which it will be proved that Duson died of. She came here, she was the last person to enter your room before Duson was found dead. The police are even now searching for her. Escape is her only chance."

"Dear me," Mr. Sabin said. "Then it is not only for Brott's sake that she is running away."

"What does that matter? She is going, and she is going with him."

"And why," he asked, "do you come to give me warning? I have plenty of time to interpose."

"You can try if you will. Lucille is in hiding. She will not see you if you go to her. She is determined. Indeed, she has no choice. Lucille is a brave woman in many ways, but you know that she fears death. She is in a corner. She is forced to go."

"Again," he said, "I feel that I must ask you why do you give me warning?"

She came and stood close to him.

"Perhaps," she said earnestly, "I am anxious to earn your grat.i.tude.

Perhaps, too, I know that no interposition of yours would be of any avail."

Mr. Sabin smiled.

"Still," he said, "I do not think that it is wise of you. I might appear at the station and forcibly prevent Lucille's departure. After all, she is my wife, you know."

She shrugged her shoulders.

"I am not afraid," she said. "You will make inquiries when I have gone, and you will find out that I have spoken the truth. If you keep Lucille in England you will expose her to a terrible risk. It is not like you to be selfish. You will yield to necessity."

"Will you tell me where Lucille is now?" he asked.

"For your own sake and hers, no," she answered. "You also are watched.

Besides, it is too late. She was with Brott half an hour after the Duke turned us out of Dorset House. Don't you understand, Victor--won't you?

It is too late."

He sat down heavily in his easy-chair. His whole appearance was one of absolute dejection.

"So I am to be left alone in my old age," he murmured. "You have your revenge now at last. You have come to take it."

She sank on her knees by the side of his chair, and her arms fell upon his shoulders.

"How can you think so cruelly of me, Victor," she murmured. "You were always a little mistaken in Lucille. She loved you, it is true, but all her life she has been fond of change and excitement. She came to Europe willingly--long before this Brott would have been her slave save for your reappearance. Can't you forget her--for a little while?"

Mr. Sabin sat quite still. Her hair brushed his cheeks, her arms were about his neck, her whole att.i.tude was an invitation for his embrace.

But he sat like a figure of stone, neither repulsing nor encouraging her.

"You need not be alone unless you like," she whispered.

"I am an old man," he said slowly, "and this is a hard blow for me to bear. I must be sure, absolutely sure that she has gone."

"By this time to-morrow," she murmured, "all the world will know it."

"Come to me then," he said. "I shall need consolation."

Her eyes were bright with triumph. She leaned over him and kissed him on the lips. Then she sprang lightly to her feet.

"Wait here for me," she said, "and I will come to you. You shall know, Victor, that Lucille is not the only woman in the world who has cared for you."

There was a tap at the door. Lady Carey was busy adjusting her hat.

Pa.s.smore entered, and stood hesitating upon the threshold. Mr. Sabin had risen to his feet. He took one of her hands and raised it to his lips.

She gave him a swift, wonderful look and pa.s.sed out.

Mr. Sabin's manner changed as though by magic. He was at once alert and vigorous.

"My dear Pa.s.smore," he said, "come to the table. We shall want those Continental time-tables and the London A.B.C. You will have to take a journey to-night."

CHAPTER x.x.xVIII

The two women were alone in the morning-room of Lady Carey's house in Pont Street. Lucille was walking restlessly up and down twisting her handkerchief between her fingers. Lady Carey was watching her, more composed, to all outward appearance, but with closely compressed lips, and boding gleam in her eyes.

"I think," Lady Carey said, "that you had better see him."

Lucille turned almost fiercely upon her.

"And why?"

"Well, for one thing he will not understand your refusal. He may be suspicious."

"What does it matter? I have finished with him. I have done all that I pledged myself to. What more can be expected of me? I do not wish to see him again."

Lady Carey laughed.

"At least," she said, "I think that the poor man has a right to receive his conge from you. You cannot break with him without a word of explanation. Perhaps--you may not find it so easy as it seems."

Lucille swept around.

"What do you mean?"

Lady Carey shrugged her shoulders.

"You are in a curious mood, my dear Lucille. What I mean is obvious enough. Brott is a strong man and a determined man. I do not think that he will enjoy being made a fool of."

Lucille was indifferent.

"At any rate," she said, "I shall not see him. I have quite made up my mind about that."