The Brother of Daphne Part 52

In another ten minutes I shall be sitting at your feet. Half an hour later--"

"You will be just running into Fladstadt. It's straight on. You can't miss the way."

"And St. Martin? Have you ever heard of it?"

She puckered her brows.

"Isn't that where some English people have a place? People called--er--Waring, is it?"

"Bairling," said I.

"Bairling. That's it. Let's see. I'm afraid it's some miles from Fladstadt."

"Twenty, I'm told."

"About that."

"And this is how far?"

"From Fladstadt? About twenty-three."

I groaned. "Forty-three miles to go, and a flat tire," I said.

"Now far's the next village?"

"Why?"

"I want to get another wheel on."

"If you like to wait here a little longer, my brother'll be back with the car. He's on the way from Fladstadt now. That's why I'm sitting up. He'll give you a jack."

"You're awfully good, Silvia. But have you forgotten what I said?"

"About sitting at my feet? No, but I don't think you meant it. If I did, I should have rung long ago."

"Thank you," said I.

"Of course," she went on; "you're only a burglar, but you are--English."

"Yes, Silvia. I mightn't have been, though."

"You mean, I didn't know whether you were English or not, till after you'd climbed up? Nor I did. But one of the men's up, and there's a bell-push under the flap of the table."

She slipped a hand behind her. "I'm touching it now," she added.

"I wondered why you didn't sit in a chair," I said, with a slow smile.

A deep flush stole over the girl's features. For a moment she looked at me with no laughter in her eyes. Then she slipped off the table and moved across the room to an open bureau. She seemed to look for something. Then she strolled back to the table and took her seat on its edge once more.

"Is that a car coming?" she said suddenly, her dark eyes on the floor.

I listened. "I don't think so," I said, and stepped out on to the balcony.

There was no sound at all. It was the dead of night indeed. I glanced over the bal.u.s.trade at the car. Her headlights burned steadily, making the moonlit road ahead more bright.

"I can hear nothing," I said, coming back into the boudoir.

"Look," said Silvia, pointing over my shoulder.

As I turned, something struck me on the cheek. I stooped and picked it up. A piece of flexible cord about five inches long. I swung round and looked at the girl. On the table a pair of scissors lay by her side.

"Why have you done this?" I demanded.

She raised her eyebrows by way of answer and reached for a cigarette.

As she lighted it, I saw that her hand was trembling.

"Silvia, dear, surely you don't think--"

"Must you go?"

"It was a poor joke of mine, I know; but--"

"It was. I don't think a count or a baron would have said such a rotten thing."

Her eyes flashed and she was trembling all over. From being pretty, she had become beautiful.

"Perhaps not," said I steadily. "But if they had, they would have meant it, Silvia."

"As you did."

I coiled the flexible cord about a finger, loosed it and thrust it into my pocket.

"I'll go now," I said, "as I came."

"Like a thief."

"Like a thief. You have been wonderfully kind, and I--I have spoiled everything. Let's try and forget this evening. For you, a car pa.s.sed in the night, the hum of its engine swelling up, only to fade again into the silence. For me, I lingered to listen to the words of a song, and when it was done, sped on into the shadows. I wish you hadn't cut that bell, la.s.s."

"Why?"

I walked out on to the balcony and swung myself over the coping.

"Because then I should have asked if I might kiss you."

When I had lowered myself on to the seat of the car, I unbuckled the strap and started to pull it down. But the buckle caught on the bal.u.s.ter, and I had to stand on my old perch to reach and loosen it. I did so, balancing myself with one hand on the balcony's door. As the strap slipped free, there was a burning pain in my fingers. With a cry I tore them away, lost my balance, and fell sideways into the car on to the back of the front seat. I stood up unsteadily. It hurt me to breathe rather, and there was a stabbing pain in my right side.

"Are you hurt?" said a quick voice above me. Dazedly I raised my head.

Silvia was leaning over the balcony, one hand to her white throat. I could hear her quick-coming breath.

"No," I said slowly, "I'm not. But until you tell me that you know I did not mean what I said, I will not believe that you did not mean to stand upon my fingers."