Run away to Mrs. Jack--ask her to let you share her room to-night.

[_Pointing to the writing-table._] Ah--! scribble a message--

[_The_ d.u.c.h.eSS _seats herself at the writing-table and writes agitatedly at his dictation._

QUEX.

[_Dictating._] "The d.u.c.h.ess of Strood has been seized with a dreadful fit of nerves and has gone to Mrs. Eden's room. Come to her there at eight." Lay that upon the bed. [_Indicating the bedroom._] Is there a door in there?

d.u.c.h.eSS.

[_Rising breathlessly._] Yes.

QUEX.

Locked?

d.u.c.h.eSS.

Yes.

QUEX.

The key. [_Imperatively._] Give me the key. [_She runs into the bedroom and, having laid the written message upon the bed, disappears for a moment. He refills his tumbler and drinks, chuckling sardonically as he does so._] Ha, ha, ha! [_She returns with the key, which he pockets._]

The bell that rings in your maid's room--? [_She points to the bell-rope hanging beside the pa.s.sage-door._] Good. [_Motioning to her to go_.]

Now--[_She is going towards the other door; he detains her._] Hist!

[_Thoughtfully._] If anything unusual should occur, remember that we were simply discussing books and pictures in the Italian garden before dinner.

d.u.c.h.eSS.

[_Intently._] Books and pictures--of course. [_In an outburst._] Oh, you are certain you can save my reputation?

QUEX.

[_Politely._] _Yours_ at least, my dear d.u.c.h.ess. Sleep well.

[_She is about to open the door when a thought strikes her and she again runs up to the bed._

d.u.c.h.eSS.

Ah--!

QUEX.

Hey?

[_She returns, carrying her night-dress case--a thing of white satin with a monogram and coronet embroidered upon it. She holds it up to him in explanation; he nods, and she lets herself out. He immediately locks the door at which she has departed and slips the key into his waistcoat pocket. This done, he pulls the bell-rope communicating with the maid's room and takes up a position against the wall so that the opening of the pa.s.sage door conceals him from the view of the person entering. After a pause the door is opened and_ SOPHY _appears. The frills of her night-dress peep out from under the Mandarin's robe, and she is wearing a pair of scarlet cloth slippers; altogether she presents an odd, fantastic figure. She pauses in the doorway hesitatingly, then steadies herself and, with a defiant air, stalks into the bedroom. Directly she has moved away,_ QUEX _softly closes the door, locks it, and pockets the key. Meanwhile_ SOPHY, _looking about the bedroom for the_ d.u.c.h.eSS, _discovers the paper upon the bed. She picks it up, reads it and replaces it, and, coming back into the boudoir, encounters_ QUEX.

SOPHY.

Oh!

QUEX.

[_With a careless nod._] Ah?

SOPHY.

[_Recovering herself, and speaking with a contemptuous smile._] So her Grace has packed herself off to Mrs. Eden's room. [_Firmly._] Who rang for me, please?

QUEX.

_I_ rang.

SOPHY.

You? what for?

QUEX.

Oh, you and I are going to have a cosy little chat together.

SOPHY.

[_Haughtily._] I don't understand you.

QUEX.

We'll understand one another well enough, in a minute.

[_He lights another cigarette and seats himself upon the settee. She moves to the back of a chair, eyeing him distrustfully._

QUEX.

Now then! You've been at the key-hole, have you?

SOPHY.

[_Slightly embarra.s.sed._] Y--yes.

QUEX.

[_Sharply._] Eh?

SOPHY.

[_Defiantly._] Yes; you know I have.

QUEX.