"Oh, you prefer creme de menthe, do you?" he said quite loud. "Yes, there's creme de menthe." He filled a gla.s.s and brought it to me.

"Cognac," he whispered. "It will steady you."

I put my shaking lips to the gla.s.s. I did not drink.

"Ah, you are afraid," he said. And he looked at me with his unhappy eyes.

My hand was shaking. Some of the stuff spilt out on my new dress.

"Give it to me," he said, and he drank it off--"just to show" me.

I was conscious that Betty was singing--And that the door had opened.

The Grey Hawk stood there with, as I thought at first, a thick-set boy dressed in a man's evening clothes. As she dismissed him I saw he was a hunchback. She shut the door behind the hunchback and the Colonel left the piano and came towards her. He was laughing. They stood and talked.

"Bend down. Bend low----" the voice said in my ear.

The Colonel's croaking laugh came nearer.

The man at my side called out: "Look here, Colonel. No poaching on my preserves. We are deep in a discussion about Art. You're not to interrupt."

"Oh, Art is it?" The old man had come behind our sofa, and was leaning down between us. I smelt a foul breath. With a sense of choking I lifted my head. The Colonel's watery eyes went from me to the strange ugly picture in the ill.u.s.trated paper. I did not understand it. I do not think I would have been conscious of having looked at it, but for the expression on the Colonel's face.

Bettina finished her song. They all clapped. In the buzz, Bettina raised her voice. No, no. She couldn't dance, and sing, as well as accompany herself, she said.

"What time is it in?" the grey woman asked. She took Bettina's place at the piano.

Still Bettina hesitated, while The Tartar urged.

"Oh, _I_ don't mind," Bettina said, "if you like such babyish songs."

"Of course we do,"--the Colonel went back to them.

Bettina said pertly: "I should think you'd be ashamed." She stood beside the grey woman and hummed the old tune. She helped by striking a few notes.

"Now!" the grey woman said to Betty.

The word was echoed in my ear.

"Now?" I repeated.

"But first"--he caught my hand. "Bite your lip a little.... Ah! not blood." He smuggled his handkerchief to me behind the cushion. "You'll be all right," he whispered. "But I wish I could go with you! You see that I must stay behind----"

"Yes, oh yes," I looked at Betty.

"I must stay," he said, "to give you time. Then when I've seen you out of this ... a door open, a door shut--and I shall never see you again...."

"Now! _Now!_" I hardly noticed that he took his blood-stained handkerchief out of my hand. For Bettina had come forward and stood poised, holding her green skirt with both hands, like a child about to curtsey. I stood up. All the room was dancing with my little sister. I got to the door.

"_Where are you going to...?_"

Betty sang. But she was too amused and excited to notice me.

My companion had crossed the room, and was bending over the Grey Hawk.

She looked round at him surprised, mocking....

Some power came to help me across the threshold. A footman started up out of the floor and stood before me. "Where are you going?" He echoed Betty.

"I am waiting for--one of the gentlemen," I said, and I steadied myself against a chair. If Betty's song stopped, I should know we had failed.

I held my breath, as I leaned over and took my last look into the room.

Our friend was leaving the grey woman. She played on. Bettina was dancing, a hand on her hip, the other twirling moustachios--playing the gallant. Such a baby she looked!

And I had done her hair like that----

"_What is your fortune, my pretty maid?_"

The man had come out and softly shut the door. He gave the footman a strange look and pa.s.sed him something. "It's all right," he said.

The footman looked in his hand and stared. "Mais, merci--merci, monsieur." He vanished.

I went towards the stairs.

"_That's_ not the way," the voice said harshly.

"Shan't I get a cloak----"

"For G.o.d's sake, no! It's a question of moments now." He was undoing the door. "Run for your life. First to the left--second to the right--a cab-rank."

I fled out of the house.

CHAPTER XXIX

WHERE?

I stood ringing. I thundered at the knocker.

I beat the door with my fist.

An old man opened at last.

"Mrs. Harborough! Where is she?" The old man tried to keep me out. But he was gentle and frail. I forced my way past. I called and ran along a pa.s.sage, trying doors that opened into the darkness.

At last! A room where a woman sat alone--reading by a shaded light.

"Who are you?" I cried out. She laid her book in her lap. "Are _you_ Mrs. Harborough? Then come--come quickly ... I'll tell you on the way----"