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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 analogies 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 gay and 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 getaway,' 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 Conquerant 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 mctre d'hotel.

  The August day was one of torrid heat so they decided on a cold luncheon: Consomme en gele, Canard Montmorency, and Praises 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 queer streak in him leapt to the defence of the beautiful, the precious, and the rare, utterly regardless of all manmade 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.

  The car park was deserted and, all unsuspecting, Gregory turned from its strong sunlight into the deep shadow of the ancient stables. As he rounded the corner a tall figure with raised arms leapt forward casting a cloud of black dust straight into his face.

  It was pepper. Too late, he shut his eyes and thrust up his hands. Searing red-hot pains seemed to stab through his eyeballs. The infernal stuff was in his mouth and nostrils making him choke and gasp. Then, as he staggered back, blind and helpless, a powerful fist caught him a terrific blow in the stomach and he doubled up, writhing in agony upon the ground.

  4

  Enter an Eminent Edwardian

  'And that,' said Gregory two nights later, 'was the last I saw of the delectable Sabine.'

  Sir Pellinore Gwaine-Cust sat back and roared with laughter.

  'Well, I'll be devilled!' he exclaimed when he had somewhat recovered. 'The minx fooled you properly, and no wonder your eyes are in such a state. Still, there are as good fish you know.., Have some more brandy, my boy, have some more brandy.'

  'Thanks.' Gregory picked up the decanter and poured a further ration into the big Ballon glass that stood on a little table at his elbow. His host's brandy was as rich, as full flavoured, and of as fine a vintage as the man himself.

  Sir Pellinore was one of those remarkable products which seem peculiar to England. Born in 1870, the heir to a pleasant property on the Welsh border, which had been in his family since the Wars of the Roses, he came into his inheritance in the naughty 'nineties, while still a subaltern in a crack cavalry regiment. He had an eye for a horse and a pretty woman, and an infinite capacity for vintage port, but no one had ever accused him of having any brains. He was distantly connected with royalty, and numbered three dukes among his first cousins, so from his youth upward he had known everyone who mattered by their Christian names, yet not one in a ‘hundred thousand of the general public had ever heard of him. He had shot everything that is shoot able, including men, and received a brief notoriety from a particularly well deserved V.C. in the South African war, but as he had never courted publicity he soon slipped from public notice again.

  Early in King Edward VII's reign a crisis had occurred in Sir Pellinore's financial affairs which had made him consider it desirable to resign his commission rather than sacrifice his ancient patrimony. Some people in the city had offered him a directorship, entirely, of course, on account of his social standing, but curiously enough they found him a surprisingly regular attendant at their board meetings, where he displayed a blunt persistence in acquainting himself with the minutest details of the company's affairs. After a little, the people in the city discovered that if they had a particularly tricky transaction to negotiate with an Armenian or a Greek the best thing to do was to leave it to Sir Pellinore; true he had no brains, but he possessed a strange direct way of putting matters to such people. He was so transparently honest that they never quite knew what had come over them, until they were back in the Levant. Other directorships had been accepted by Sir Pellinore, although he always modestly declined the chairmanship of any company with which he was connected.

  For services in the Great War he had been offered a peerage, but declined it on the score that there had been a Gwaine-Cust for so many centuries at Gwaine Meads that the tenants would think he had sold the place if he became Lord something or o
ther.

  He had always dealt with his co directors with that same disarming frankness which he displayed to Americans and Greeks; his formula being, 'Well now, you fellows, just pay me what you think the job was worth say half what I've saved the company, eh? That's fair. No cheating there. Mustn't rob the shareholders, must we?' He was now exceedingly rich.

  He inhabited a vast mansion in Carlton House Terrace to which admirals, generals, diplomats and cabinet ministers came to unburden themselves when their affairs proved particularly difficult. Not for advice, oh no! because everybody knew that Sir Pellinore had no brains, but he was as safe as the grave and a decent sort one of the old school with a curiously direct way of thinking, an eye for a horse or a pretty woman, and an infinite capacity for vintage port.

  His only son had died of wounds during the Great War, and it was Gregory who, as a very young subaltern, had carried him back out of the hell of Thiepval Wood on the Somme, in 1916, at imminent risk to his own life. That was how he had come to meet Sir Pellinore who, times without number, had offered him lucrative permanent posts in his companies, but Gregory had a loathing of routine and just enough money of his own to be independent.

  He had a direct way of thinking too, however. That was why they liked each other and why, when one of the great corporations which Sir Pellinore virtually controlled, found their interests threatened, he had said to the board, 'I think I can get you a man. Very able feller. Much more likely to get to the bottom of this business for us than one of those beastly agencies. If you care to leave the matter in my hands…'

  Now, Gregory warmed the precious liqueur in the bowl shaped glass with his palms, before sniffing its ethers appreciatively. Then he glanced round the big quiet library where they were sitting after dinner. 'She didn't fool me, you know,' he said.

  Sir Pellinore closed one bright blue eye under a bushy white eyebrow. 'Tell that to the marines, my boy. Been fooled often enough myself by women. Not afraid to admit it either. She tipped off that Limper feller and he did the rest. Gad, I'd have given a packet to see you afterwards. How mad you must have been.' He gave his long thigh a ringing slap, and roared with laughter again.