Messengers of Evil Part 30

The stranger remained stationary until the girl had gone some way; then pressing against the wall, concealing his movements with practised ability, he followed her at a discreet distance....

"There can be no doubt about it," he murmured. "I recognised her voice directly!... It's the very deuce!... It's going to complicate matters!... A lover's meeting? Not likely!... She must be going to the post, as she said.... She will return in about a quarter of an hour, and then ... then!..."

The girl was far from suspecting that she was being followed. She had walked down rue Mozart, turned into rue Poussin, posted her letter, and then walked quietly back to the house.

The stranger had not followed her into the more frequented streets: he awaited her return in a dark and deserted side street. When she came into view again, he sighed a sigh of great satisfaction.

"Ah, there is the dear child!... That's all right.... Now we shall have some fun!... or, rather, I shall!"

Anyone seeing his face, whilst making these significant exclamations, would have been frightened by his sneering chuckle, his hideous grin.

A few minutes later, the girl re-entered the little garden of the house in the rue Raffet. A stout woman opened to her ring.

"Ah, there you are, darling." There was relief in her tone.

"Yes, here I am, safe and sound, madame!"

"Nothing unpleasant--no one molested you, Elizabeth?"

Elizabeth Dollon, for she it was, shook her head and smiled a smile both sad and sweet.

"Ah, no, madame!... I was sure you would be waiting for me--I am so sorry!"

"No, not at all!... Tell me, Elizabeth.... Jules has told me that you would not be going out to-morrow. The poor fellow is so stupid that I ask myself if he has not made a mistake?"

"No," said Elizabeth. "It is quite true.... I do not think I shall go out, either in the morning or the afternoon."

"You expect a caller?"

"It is possible someone may come to see me.... If by any chance I have to go out for a few minutes, to get something or other, I must warn Jules: he must make the visitor wait: I shall not go far in case..."

"All right! That's settled then, darling. Now, good night, I am going to my room."

"Good evening, madame, and good night!"

Leaving stout and kindly Madame Bourrat, owner of this private boarding-house where Elizabeth Dollon had found a refuge, the poor girl, still with a smile on her pale lips, made her way upstairs, entered her bedroom, and carefully locked the door. She lit the lamp. Her face now wore a tragic look: its expression was wild and desperate....

"If only he would come!" she sighed.... "Ah, I am afraid! I am afraid!... I am terribly afraid!"

Elizabeth stood motionless--a frozen image of fear--all but her eyes: they were casting terrified glances about her....

And no wonder! Elizabeth was neatness personified, and her room was kept with exquisite care--but now, everything was in the greatest disorder.... The drawers of her chest of drawers were piled one on top of the other in a corner of the room; their contents were thrown down in heaps a little way off; books had been cast pell-mell on a sofa; a great wicker trunk, wherein Elizabeth had packed numerous papers belonging to her brother, was overturned on the floor, the lid open.

Its contents were scattered near--a confused ma.s.s of doc.u.ments and crumpled papers.

Elizabeth stared about her for a long minute, and again she cried:

"Oh, if only he would come! What is the meaning of all this?..."

She regained her self-control. Her usual expression of serene gravity returned.

"To go to sleep," she murmured. "That is the best thing--to-morrow will come more quickly so--and, oh, I am so sleepy, so very, very tired!"

Soon Elizabeth blew out her lamp--darkness reigned in her room.

It was about half-past ten o'clock, and the light in Elizabeth Dollon's room had been extinguished for some little while, when the front door of the little house was opened again....

Noiselessly, with infinite precautions, with searching and suspicious glances, taking care to keep off the gravel of the paths, tip-toeing on the gra.s.s edging the flower beds, where his steps made no sound, a man left the house and went towards the garden gate.

He quickly reached it; and there he commenced to whistle a soft, slow, monotonous, and continuous whistle.

Second succeeded second; then another whistle, identical in rhythm, replied: soon a voice asked:

"It's you, Jules?"

"It is I, master!"

The man whom Jules named "master," was the stranger, who, for two weary hours, had kept strict watch over the goings and comings of the house....

"All well, Jules?"

"All well, master!"

"And nothing new?..."

"I don't know about that, master: she has written a letter...."

"To whom?..."

"I couldn't say.... I could not see the address, master...."

"You red-headed idiot!"

The servant protested.

"No, it was not my fault!... She did not write in the drawing-room, but in her own room.... I couldn't get a squint at her paper...."

"Did she not say anything?"

"Nothing."

"Did she look upset?"

"A little."

"No one suspects anything?"