He smiled, and laid a hand on her shoulder.
‘Don’t worry please,’ he said softly. ‘I hope we are going to see quite a lot of each other in the future, so the last thing I want is to make you think me a bore. I only want to help you. I’m sure it’s best for you to stay here the night. You can have my bed and I’ll shake down with some cushions and the eiderdown in the bathroom. We’ll talk things over in the morning.’
She nodded slowly, not doubting for an instant that he meant exactly what he said.
‘I think I might have guessed that I need have no fear of you. How wise you are, too, if you really wish to gain my fren’ship.’
‘May our friendship ripen quickly,’ he replied, and they smiled into each other’s eyes like two expert swords-men about to enjoy a test of skill with buttoned foils.
‘Pyjamas!’ Gregory drew a clean pair, of peach-coloured silk, from a drawer and threw them on the bed. ‘You’ll have to use your fur coat as a dressing-gown I’m afraid—I’ll need mine if I’m to sleep hard. They key’s in the door, so you can lock it if you wish—but you needn’t bother. Your virtue is as safe as the crown jewels for, shall we say, the next eight hours—or until you leave this suite—but after that, gardez vous ma belle Sabine. Je deviendrai le loup dans le bois.’
She arched her splendid eyebrows. ‘Is that a challenge?’
‘It is. I know nothing of your dealings with your elderly friend but I mean to take you from him even if I have to swing for it.’
As he spoke Gregory had been gathering up his things together with the cushions and the coverlet from the bed. He had no intention of losing the maximum effect of his withdrawal by prolonging the conversation. In the doorway he turned, ‘Good night, little Red Ridinghood.’
Sabine inclined her head. ‘Dormez bien, my Big Bad Wolf.’
She was now a little uncertain if she was altogether glad to see him leave her so quickly.
Outside he locked the door on to the corridor, made up a couch for himself on the bathroom floor, undressed and, putting out the light, lay down to think.
His unusual resting-place did not trouble him at all. Gregory Sallust could sleep anywhere but his brain was busy with the events of the evening.
His tour through Normandy, spying out the land for the organisation which had engaged him in London, had proved completely abortive until this, the very last evening of his visit. Even now he had no certain knowledge that this strange adventure, into which he had been led by following Sabine, had any bearing upon the operations which he had been asked to investigate, yet he had a strong feeling that this might be so. The officer from Scotland Yard, who’d been attacked, might have been in Deauville for half a hundred different reasons, but it was Sabine’s connection with that strange little man, with whom he had first seen her in the Casino, which intrigued him. That almost dwarf-like figure with the powerful head, pale stone-cold eyes, and shock of white hair above the broad forehead, was known to Gregory as one who had been engaged for years in great, and always sinister, undertakings. It might well be that he was at the bottom of the whole business. Even if that were not so, Gregory had found Sabine, a woman in a million; one of those rare beings who possessed all the attributes which appealed to his fastidious nature. Gregory Sallust felt that his evening had not been wasted. For a time he amused himself by conjuring up her face again in the darkness; then he turned over and slept peacefully.
Gregory made a practice of never being called and usually slept late in the morning, so he would probably not have woken until nine o’clock, but at half-past eight the bathroom door creaked and Sabine put her dark head round the corner.
As his eyes opened he stared at her in bewilderment; then the events of the few hours before flooded back to him and he sat up.
‘I am so sorry if I disturb you,’ she said, ‘but I have been awake a long time and I am hungry; also, I would like a bath.’
‘Right oh! Give me ten minutes, will you, and I’ll see what we can do about some breakfast. Feeling better this morning?’
‘A lot, t’ank you.’ She smiled and shut the door.
He shaved his lean face with quick sure strokes, brushed his tumbled hair, slipped on his dressing-gown, and then joined her in the bedroom.
Her evening dress and stockings were still lying over a chair and she sat perched on the edge of the bed muffled up in her big fur coat.
‘I’ve turned on the bath,’ he told her, ‘so in you go, and don’t come out before I call you. In the meantime I’ll order breakfast. What would you like? Just coffee and rolls, or something more sustaining?’
‘May I have some canteloupe, also an omelette—fines herbe—I think.’
‘You little glutton,’ he laughed, ‘of course you may, but we’ll have to eat it off one set of plates, or else they’ll tumble to it that I’ve got a visitor, Run along now and when you hear the waiter come in mind you stop splashing.’
As she left him, carrying away her clothes, he gave the order by telephone, and a quarter of an hour later the floor waiter appeared with the dishes and coffee upon a tray. He was accompanied by an under porter carrying a cabin trunk, which he set down carefully as he said: ‘This has just arrived, Monsieur. I was ordered to bring it up to you at once.’
When the men had gone Gregory examined the trunk. It was addressed to him and he found it to be unlocked. On opening it, he saw a note inside; it read:
Dear Mr. Sallust,
I trust that you have taken care of my little friend, Sabine. Some people in my position might find grounds for serious annoyance in her desertion of me, but at my age I can afford to be tolerant towards the escapades of young people. I only hope she was not disappointed in you.
Now that this little frolic is over, however, she will naturally wish to return to my care at the earliest possible moment. To facilitate that end I send under your name a complete outfit of her day clothes. Should she fail to rejoin me by midday I shall consider you lacking in appreciation of the courtesy I have extended to you and proceed to teach you a sharp lesson in good manners.
I do not sign this as Sabine will know from whom it comes.
P.S. My apologies to Sabine, please, that my servants are unable to find her Bassana powder. Also, although she is fond of it, I should be obliged if you will exercise your influence to restrain her from eating any fish for breakfast, since I am always a little doubtful of it in the summer months abroad.
Gregory grinned. He did not need to ask Sabine from whom the letter had come and, knowing something of the sender, he felt that the veiled threat was by no means an empty one; yet he had no intention of truckling to it. Sabine was far too beautiful a prisoner to be released because some risk might be incurred by a continuance of her company. Gregory was already planning in his mind the manner in which they might most pleasantly spend the day together. He slipped the note in his pocket and, knocking on the bathroom door, reported the arrival both of the trunk and breakfast.
Sabine joined him a few moments later clad in her evening dress and looking beautiful but slightly incongruous in the bright morning sunshine which was now streaming through the window.
Breakfast proved a pleasant meal. They had to drink from the single cup and shared the melon and omelette with the happy laughter that springs from quick mutual attraction. All the distrust she had shown of him the previous night had disappeared.
When the meal was over he waved a hand towards the trunk. ‘You had better change now, I think, into day clothes, while I have a bath and get dressed myself. But what shall we do afterwards? How would you like to spend the day?’
She became grave at once. ‘I must get back and rejoin my friend. Otherwise he will be angry and when he is angry it is not good.’
Gregory raised one eyebrow, the left, until it met the white scar running down from his forehead, which gave him at times such a Mephistophelean appearance. ‘You’re not out of the wood with the police yet, you know,’ he said, ‘and if you go off on your own they may
pinch you for that affair last night.’
‘If that is so, they may do so if I am with you, n’est ce pas?’
He shook his head. ‘I don’t think you need worry as long as you remain with me because, you know, that Scotland Yard man owes me something. By turning up when I did I probably saved his life. He’s bound to take that into account so the chances are that if you’re caught with me they’ll prove much more reasonable about you than if they catch you on your own. Besides, the wolf knows the forest and you’re much more likely to escape altogether if you let him be your guide.’
‘That may be so—but my friend? He will make trouble if I do not return.’
‘Listen.’ Gregory leaned forward eagerly and took her hands. ‘I’ll put it to you another way. If you wish to do so you are perfectly free to walk out of this room now. From the beginning I’ve never had the least intention of turning you over to the police, I’m sure you know that, but if you go now I may never see you again. All I’m asking is for another hour or two with you. This is the last day of my holiday. I’m returning to England this evening by the five o’clock boat. You said last night you might give me your friendship for sheltering you here and asking nothing of you in return. Now is the time then. Won’t you be very sweet and kind, risk a spot of trouble with the old man, and spare me a few hours today? Just long enough to drive somewhere and lunch together in the sunshine. I’ll have you back in Deauville and safe at home by four o’clock. I promise.’
‘You have been kind—and generous.’ She hesitated a second. ‘But this may be most dangerous for you.’
‘Danger has never stopped me doing anything I wanted to yet, nor you my dear. We’re two of a kind and thrive on it—be honest now—aren’t we?’
‘C’est vrai,’ she said softly. ‘All right then, I will do as you wish, but the consequences—they must be upon your own head.’
‘Splendid!’ With a quick gesture Gregory pulled her to her feet and kissed her on the cheek. ‘Quick now and change—while I get my clothes on.’ With a happy laugh he swung away from her and two minutes later he was singing lustily in his bath.
When he returned he found her dressed in an airy primrose summer frock and large picture hat, which suited her dark beauty to perfection. She had repacked the cabin trunk with her evening clothes and, but for the tumbled bed, the room now showed no traces of her occupation.
‘Now to make our get-away,’ he exclaimed and, picking up the telephone, he gave swift orders in French that his car should be driven round from the garage and left outside Van Cleffe et Appel, the jewellers, at the side of the hotel.
‘We’ll give them ten minutes,’ he said, turning back to her, ‘then slip down the service staircase, just in case there’s a large blue policeman waiting to wish you good morning in the lounge, although they can hardly know you went to earth here last night.’
Only a good-natured chambermaid hid a smile of understanding as she passed them hand in hand on the service stairs. They slipped through a side door into the restaurant then, under cover of the cider-apple trees, out through the courtyard. The car was waiting at the spot to which Gregory had ordered it. His plan had worked without a hitch yet those few minutes of suspense made a bond between them; for both felt a little like naughty children who were slipping away to play some forbidden game in spite of the prohibition of stern elders.
Gregory turned the car to the left, along the front, then left again on to the fine main road, and so out of the town between the rows of big Edwardian villas. He had already settled it in his mind that they should lunch at the famous Guillaume Conquérant Restaurant at Dives, but it was still only ten o’clock, so he drove straight through to Cabourg and then turned inland along the road to Caen.
When he discovered that Sabine had never visited the old Norman capital, except to dine at that resort of gourmets, the Champs d’Hiver, he parked the car in the square and they got out.
They spent an hour laughing and talking as they walked round the market and inspected the Cathedral then, after an early cocktail, they picked up the car again and drove back to Dives, that little village at the mouth of the river, from which William the Conqueror set out so many centuries ago with his Norman knights to invade England.
Neither Gregory nor Sabine were strangers to the celebrated hostelry, which is the principal centre of interest at Dives today, and they were soon seated at one of the small tables in its ancient flower-decked courtyard, receiving the ministrations of the maître d’hôtel.
The August day was one of torrid heat so they decided on a cold luncheon: Consomme en gelé. Canard Montmorency, and Fraises de bois.
Sabine had lost all trace of the anxiety which she had previously shown in playing truant to that powerful and sinister figure whom she termed her friend. She was protesting gaily that she could not possibly manage a third helping of the excellent cold duck, dressed with foie gras and cherries, when Gregory saw her face go suddenly blank.
‘What is it?’ he inquired anxiously.
She leaned across the table, laying her hand swiftly on his; her smooth forehead creased into a frown. ‘That man,’ she whispered. ‘Quick, he is just going through the gate. Oh, but you must be careful.’
Gregory glanced over his shoulder and was in time to catch one glimpse of a tall broad-shouldered well-dressed fellow, who dragged one leg slightly as he walked.
‘Who is it?’ he asked.
‘The Limper; that is the name by which they call him,’ she murmured. ‘Is it by chance, I wonder, that he is here, or has my friend sent him? Be careful of yourself, please. It would make me miserable now if any misfortune were to happen to you.’
‘Is he so dangerous then?’
‘Very, I t’ink. At least, many people are afraid of him.’
‘Well, I’m not,’ Gregory laughed, ‘but thanks for the warning, and thank you far more for your concern for me. But tell me this: why do you mix with such people? Have you got to or is it from choice?’
She shrugged. ‘It is my life.’
‘I wish you’d tell me more of yourself, and more of your, er—friend.’ As he spoke he was speculating again as to whether Sabine could possibly be the old man’s mistress. The thought that it might be so filled him momentarily with one of those gusts of cold fierce rage which made him capable, at times, of sacrificing his egoism to become a killer; not from jealousy, but because some streak in him leapt to the defence of the beautiful, the precious, and the rare, utterly regardless of all man-made laws, conventions, shibboleths. He had been born five hundred years after his time, knew it and, even in his more sober moments, was inclined to glory in the fact.
She shrugged again. ‘I prefer that you should not question me. In a little time now we must part and it is better that you should know nothing of me.’
‘Yet I mean to. Believe me Sabine, we shall meet again—and soon.’
‘I do not say I would be averse to that—but no! At this time I am apart from men. It is too dangerous—dangerous for you. Please, after today forget that we have ever met. It would be better so.’
‘Tell me one thing,’ he urged. ‘When you speak of your friend, do you really mean your lover?’
‘How absurd you are,’ she laughed. ‘But no, perhaps, not altogether absurd, for he is a most fascinating and interesting person. He has no time for women though, I t’ink, and uses me only as a cog in his machine.’
‘To lure unsuspecting young policemen to their death, eh?’ He smiled, his flaming anger having evaporated as quickly as it had come.
‘No, no, not that. Those thugs, as you call them, would not have killed him. Their orders were only to get back the telegram that he had stolen.’
She spoke hastily in her anxiety to deny the suggestion that she might have led the officer to his death and, in so doing, had said more than she had intended. Gregory was quick to note the flush that mounted to her cheeks. The telegram was now reposing in his breast pocket and as soon as he had the chance he meant to get a
cipher expert on to decoding it, if possible, since he had felt from the beginning that it might hold the key to the mystery in which he was so interested.
‘Do you know the code in which that telegram was drafted?’ he asked casually.
She helped herself to a few more wood strawberries from the little wicker basket which reposed between them then said slowly: ‘If I did I would not tell you and, since you speak of it, much trouble could be saved if you would give that telegram to me. If I could hand it to my friend on my return I should escape his anger. Also, he would be grateful to you and perhaps allow that we meet again.’
Gregory shook his head. ‘I’m sorry, but I’m afraid that’s impossible. I’m sure you’ll be able to make your peace with him when you get home in an hour or so now, and I mean to keep the telegram at least, as a small souvenir of our adventure.’
She shrugged and lifted up her coffee cup. ‘As you will—but you would be far wiser to do as I suggest.’
‘No. I have to return to England in any case tonight, so even with your friend’s permission I should not be able to see you again for a day or two, although I mean to, whether he likes it or not, as soon as I can. Here’s to our next merry meeting.’ He tossed off his liqueur of vintage Calvados and beckoned the waiter to bring the bill.
As he was paying it she stood up, saying that she must leave him for a moment, but would rejoin him at the car. He watched her go, a gracious sylvan figure, then he stood up himself and walked slowly through the creeper-covered gateway round to the garage.
His car was not where he had left it in the car park, but a blue-overalled mechanic met him and told him that, having noticed the car had a flat tyre, he had run it into the garage. Then the man hurried off on some errand saying that he would be back again in one moment.
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