The Mysterious Three Part 18

The door of the fumoir opened at that moment, and Paulton and Henderson came out into the vestibule. At once they must have seen Faulkner and myself conversing, and for an instant a look of anger flashed into Paulton's eyes. The expression subsided quickly, and he and Henderson approached smiling calmly.

"I'm prepared to bet that I know what you two were talking about,"

Paulton said lightly, addressing Faulkner. "You were talking of Vera.

Ah! Am I wrong? No, I see I'm not. You have told our friend Ashton that she goes to Paris to-night. Well, you are mistaken. Information has reached me that there has been a landslip on the line beyond Beaulieu, and it is blocked in consequence."

Then he turned to me.

"Would you like to come over to Beaulieu, Ashton?" he said, as though making some quite ordinary request. "My car will be here presently. I can take you too, Faulkner, if you wish to see Miss Deroxe. I am going straight to the _Bristol_."

I was about to refuse, when Faulkner spoke.

"I should like to go, and Mr. Ashton will of course come."

"Good. My car should be here in a quarter of an hour."

He strolled over to the bureau, and I heard him inquire for letters.

There were several. He took them from the gold-laced porter, sank on to a settee, and began to tear them open.

"Why did you accept his offer?" I inquired of Faulkner, in an undertone, as I lit a cigarette.

"Never mind," he answered quickly. "I know what I'm doing. Leave everything to me now." At that moment the large glazed double doors leading into the Place in front of the Casino revolved slowly and a tall, imposing-looking woman of thirty-five or so, in rich black furs, which had all the appearance of being valuable, sailed in, followed by her maid carrying a small bag. Paulton, glancing up from his letters, noticed her, and at once sprang to his feet.

"Ah, Baronne, how pleasant to meet you again!" he exclaimed, as he approached her. "I expected you here sooner."

"I should have been here an hour ago," she exclaimed, "but the train was delayed. This storm is awful!"

She had a rich, deep contralto voice, one of those speaking voices that at once arouse interest and curiosity. It aroused interest now, for the guests seated in the hall simultaneously interrupted their conversation in order to look at the new arrival, so striking was her appearance.

"I went to the station quite a while ago," Paulton said. "They told me the train could not arrive."

"It has not arrived yet, I believe," she answered. "I got off at a wayside station, drove the two miles into Beaulieu, and then hired the car which has just brought me on here."

She was indeed a handsome woman, obviously a woman of singular personality. Exceedingly dark, with great coils of blue-black hair that her travelling-veil only partly concealed, she was very handsome still.

When I had watched her for nearly a minute, wondering whom she might be, my gaze unconsciously drifted to the quietly-dressed maid who stood respectfully and demurely a few feet behind her mistress, bearing a large leather dressing-case in her hand. Her appearance somehow seemed familiar. Suddenly she turned her face rather more towards me, and I recognised her at once.

It was Judith, the French girl who had been Lady Thorold's maid. Her beady little black eyes rested on me for an instant, then were quietly lowered. But instinctively I knew that in that single, swift glance she had recognised me--and I certainly held her in suspicion.

"The rooms have been retained for you Baronne," I heard Paulton say, "the rooms you had last year. Shall I order supper?"

"Certainly. Please do," the deep voice answered. "Tell Gustave to send it to my rooms in a quarter of an hour. Ma foi! I am famished."

For the first time I noticed that she spoke with a foreign accent. But it was not very marked.

"Then I shall see you later," Paulton said, as the new arrival moved towards the lift. "_A tantot_, Baronne."

"_A bientot_."

Paulton bent over her hand, and when the doors of the lift had shut he came across to us.

"You'd better get into your coats," he said. "My car is just coming round!"

"Who is the lady?" Faulkner asked carelessly.

"Who?" Paulton exclaimed. "You don't mean to say you don't know Baronne de Coudron? I thought everybody in Monte knew the Baronne--by sight. She's one of my best friends."

As the big grey Rolls-Royce sped through the darkness, the storm still raged. None of us spoke. Three glowing cigars alone indicated our whereabouts.

Whether or not it was the stiff brandy-and-soda I had had in the smoking-room, I know not, but I suddenly realised that I was becoming curiously drowsy. I tried to keep awake. My eyelids felt like lead.

They were smarting, too. Presently I was aware that something glowing red had fallen to the ground. Afterwards I came to know it had been Faulkner's cigar.

I do not know what happened immediately afterwards. My mind suddenly became a complete blank.

At last, hours afterwards, I suppose, I slowly struggled back to consciousness.

Where was I?

The room, and all in it, was strange to me. All was utterly unfamiliar.

My head ached very badly. My back and limbs were stiff. I got off the sofa where I had lain asleep, scrambled to my feet, and looked about me.

At once I saw Faulkner. He was asleep still, in a most uncomfortable att.i.tude, in a big leather armchair. His mouth was wide open.

A glance out of the window showed me that the house we were in was in the open country. Already it was broad daylight, and a perfect calm had succeeded the storm of the previous night. But had it been the previous night? I supposed so. Signs of the storm were still visible everywhere--trees blown down and lying on their sides, branches and great limbs lying about. The country all around was densely wooded.

Look in what direction I would, only trees, gra.s.s fields and mountains were visible. There was not a house in sight; not a cottage; not a hut.

I went over to Faulkner, and shook him roughly. He was still sleeping soundly, and it took me some minutes to arouse him into consciousness.

His first observation when at last fully awake, was characteristic of the young man--

"Where, in Heaven's name, am I?"

CHAPTER FOURTEEN.

THE PERFUME.

I dashed across to the door. It was locked. "Now tell me, what do you make of it?" Faulkner asked, when he had looked about the unfamiliar room and stared blankly out of the window.

"The solution seems pretty obvious," I said. "We've been drugged, or in some way made unconscious last night in Paulton's car, and driven here.

I distinctly remember trying to keep awake. You gave me that cigar I smoked. Was it one of your own?"

He paused, then said--

"Now I come to think of it, Ashton, I remember noticing I had three cigars in the case I left in the pocket of my overcoat when I hung it in the cloakroom. There were only two when I pulled the case out in the car. I wondered then if the cloakroom attendant had helped himself.

Paulton was the first to light up, you may remember, and he offered us cigars, whereupon I said I had some, and I gave you one of mine--one of the two. It struck me that my cigar had rather a peculiar flavour, but after a while it got all right. I believe those weeds must have been slipped into my case by Paulton and my own cigars removed. The ones we smoked last night were drugged, that I will swear."

I pulled out my watch.

"What time do you make it?" I asked. "My watch has stopped."

He produced his own and glanced at it.