The de Bercy Affair

"Found!" he whispered hoarsely, "Pauline found!"

"Yes, and the dagger found, too!"

"Found! dearest of my heart! my sweet sister!"

Janoc clasped to his bosom a phantom form, and kissed thrice at the air.

"Yes, and the dagger found that she did it with – "

"The dagger?"

"Yes, and the lady is this minute taking it to Inspector Furneaux – "

"Lady? – Oh, found! found! dear, sweet sister, why didst thou hide thyself from me?"

Janoc spread his arms with a face of rapture. He could only assimilate the one great fact in his joy.

"But Janoc – listen – the lady – "

"Lady?"

"The lady who has the dagger! Listen, my friend – she is on the way to Inspector Furneaux with Pauline's dagger – "

"Mille diables!"

"Janoc, what is to be done? O, arouse yourself, pour l'amour de Dieu– Pauline will be hanged – "

"Hanged? Yes! They hang women, I know, in England – the only country in Europe – this ugly nest of savages. Yes! they hang them by the neck on the gallows here – the gallant gentlemen! But they won't hang her, Antonio! Let them touch her, and I, I set all England dancing like a sandstorm of the Sahara! Furneaux's house No. 12?"

"Yes."

"And the lady's address?"

"Porchester Gardens – unfortunately I did not notice the number of the house."

"Pity: weak. What is she like, this lady?"

"Middle-size – plentiful brown hair – eyes blue – beautiful in the cold English way, elegant, too – yes, a pretty woman – I saw her in Tormouth – "

"Come with me" – and Janoc was in action, with a suddenness, a fury, a contrast with his previous stillness of listening that was very remarkable – as if he had waited for the instant of action to sound, and then said: "Here it is! I am ready!"

Out stretched his long leg, as he bent forward into running, catching at his cap and revolver with one sweep of his right arm, and at Antonio with a snatch of the left; and from that moment his motions were in the tone of the forced marches of Napoleon – not an instant lost in the business he was at.

He took Antonio in a cab to Furneaux's house in Sinclair Street. There he was nudged by Antonio, as they drove up, with a hysterical sob of "See! There she is!"

Rosalind was driving away at the moment. She had, then, seen Furneaux? told Furneaux? given Furneaux the dagger? In that case, the battle would lie between Furneaux and Janoc that day. Janoc's flesh was pale, but it was the paleness of iron, his eyes were full of fire. In his heart he was a hero, in brain and head an assassin!

He alighted at the detective's house, letting Rosalind go. But the landlady of the flat told him that Furneaux had not been at home for two hours, and was not expected for another hour. Rosalind, then, had not seen him; and the battle swung back to its first ground as between Rosalind and Janoc. Had the lady who had just called left any parcel, or any weapon for Mr. Furneaux? The answer was "No." He hurried down into his cab, to make for Rosalind's boarding-house.

But Antonio had not noted the number, and, to discover it, Janoc started off to Osborne's house, to ask it of Miss Prout.

Now, Rosalind was herself driving to the same place. On learning that Furneaux was not at home, she had paced his sitting-room a little while, undecided whether to wait, or to leave a message and go home. Then the new impulse had occurred in her to go to Osborne's in the meantime, and then return to Furneaux. Hylda Prout had contrived to put a lump in her throat and a firebrand in her bosom, an arrogance, a hot rancor. How much of what the hussy had said against Osborne might contain some truth she did not know; it had so scorched her, and inflamed her gorge, and kindled her eyes, that she had not had time to question its probability in her preoccupation with the gall and smart of it. But that Osborne should have opened the letter, and then written to say he had not – this was a vileness that the slightest reflection found to be incredible. The creature with the red hair certainly knew what was in the letter, but – might she not have opened it herself? And if any part of her statements were false, all might be false. An impatience to see Osborne instantly seized and transported Rosalind. He had honest eyes – had she not whispered it many a time to her heart? She hurried off to him… And by accident Janoc went after her.

Osborne himself had arrived home some ten minutes before this, after a very cold reception from Mrs. Marsh at Porchester Gardens.

As he entered the library, he saw Hylda Prout standing in the middle of the room with a face of ecstasy which astonished him. She, lately arrived back from her visit to the Italian, had heard him come, and had leapt up to confront him, her heart galloping in her throat.

"Anything wrong?" he asked with a quick glance at her.

"Miss Marsh has been here."

"Ah?.. Miss Marsh?"

She made a mad step toward him. The words that she uttered rasped harshly. She did not recognize her own voice.

"I told her straight out that it is not the slightest good her running after you."

"You told her what?"

Amazement struggled with indignation in his face. All the world seemed to have gone mad when the pale, studiously sedate secretary used such words of frenzy.

"I meant to stop – her pursuit of you… Mr. Osborne – hear me – I – I…" Excessive emotion overpowered her. In attempting to say more she panted with distress.

"What is it all about, Miss Prout? Calm yourself, please – be quiet" – he said it with some effort to express both his resentment and his authority.

"Mr. Osborne – I warn you – I cannot endure – any rival – "

"Who can't? you speak of a rival!"

"Oh, Heaven, give me strength – words to explain. Ah!.."

She had been standing with her left hand resting on a table, shivering like a sail in the wind, and now the hand suddenly gave way under her, and she sank after it, falling to the ground in a faint, while her head struck the edge of the table in her descent.

"Well, if this isn't the limit," muttered Osborne, as he ran to her, calling loudly for Jenkins. He lifted her to a sofa, and, in his flurry, not knowing what else to do, wet her forehead with a little water from a carafe. Jenkins had not heard his call, and by the time he looked round for a bell to summon help, her eyes unclosed themselves, and she smiled at him.

"You are there…"

"You feel better now?" He sat on a chair at her head, looking down on her, wondering what inane words he should use to extricate both himself and her from an absurd position.

"It is all right… I must have fainted. I have undergone a great strain, a dreadful strain. You should be sorry for me. Oh, I have loved – much."

"Miss Prout – "

"No, don't call me that, or you kill me. You should be sorry for me, if you have any pity, any shred of humanity in your heart. I have – passed through flames, and drunk of a cup of fire. Ten women, yes, ten – have hungered and wailed in me. I tell you– yet to whom should I tell it but to you?"

She smiled a ravished smile of pain; her hand fell upon his heavily; her restless head swung from side to side.

"Well, I am very sorry," said Osborne, forced to gentleness in spite of the anger that had consumed him earlier. "It is impossible not to believe you sincere. But, you will admit, all this is very singular and unexpected. I am afraid now that I shall have to send you on a trip to – Switzerland; or else go myself. Better you – it is chilling there, on the glaciers."