two days passed; and small as was juliet's faith in madame veno, she did not stir from the house lest the woman should telephone in her absence.
the strain of constant suspense was like a screw tightening her nerves to breaking point. her irritation grew against jack, who persisted in warning her that she would repent her suspicions of lyda pavoya. to his mind apparently the dancer's story accounted for everything. lyda had volunteered a statement that she had touched the safe after claremanagh opened it, and she had offered to give sanders her own fingerprints in order that they might be identified with those taken on the door of the safe, the only ones found there with the exception of the duke's. even this fact—that there should be no other marks visible—didn't prejudice jack against the siren. according to him—and (he said) to sanders—the real thief or thieves had used rubber gloves.
as for sanders, he tried to calm the duchess's impatience by assuring her that everything possible was being done. he even had a theory. but, of what comfort was that to her, as he refused to tell her what it was until—or if—he could obtain positive proof? it hardly interested juliet that he should have cabled monsieur mayen and learned in reply that there was no scratch on the duplicate ring given mayen by pat. she hadn't for a moment supposed there would be! of course it merely made matters worse that mayen should be left-handed, and that a specimen seal he sent by cabled request should have an entirely different appearance from those on the covering of the packet. also, it seemed stupid rather than intelligent that defasquelle should be watched. the detective admitted that the frenchman seemed above suspicion. he had begged the duke to open the packet in his presence, which alone proved his innocence, as sanders couldn't help seeing. besides, the french police had replied to a wired demand for defasquelle's dossier, by saying that he was a person of unblemished character. he appeared to deserve the trust reposed in him by monsieur mayen; had saved up a little money and was engaged to a pretty girl with a good dot, the daughter of a hotel keeper in marseilles. not only that, defasquelle was remaining in new york for the purpose of giving what aid he could. altogether, juliet considered that sanders' activities were disappointing, and jack's no better.
she refused to meet lyda and talk with her in person as jack advised her to do, and between her sense of being deserted and her desperate anxiety for the truth about pat, she found more and more that her thoughts clung to the broken reed of hope held out by madame veno.
at last, when she was making up her mind to see the woman again without waiting longer, the message came.
juliet was in the act of answering a letter from nancy van esten, begging her to be at the dress rehearsal for the "great show" which was to benefit the armenians. there was an undertone of friendly insistence which juliet understood very well. nancy knew what people were saying about pat and pavoya and the pearls. if she—juliet—refused to attend this rehearsal to which all her most intimate "pals" were going, everyone would draw certain conclusions. she hated to go, but had written to say that she'd "drop in about five o'clock"—the rehearsal had to be in the afternoon, as the roof garden theatre was wanted in the evening for the last night of a revue—when the telephone bell rang almost in her ear. she picked up the receiver from the writing table, and her heart leaped at the sound of madame veno's voice.
"is that you yourself, duchess? yes? well, he's here! can you come around at once?"
"yes," said juliet, and putting down the receiver had begun to get ready, when she remembered the letter which ought to be left for jack. there was no time, after all, to write details. she ought to have had the note ready for emergencies, but it hadn't occurred to her till now. hurriedly she jotted down the address of madame veno and a request to jack to send there. then, when she had scrawled "captain manners, tarascon hotel," and sealed the envelope, the duchess rang for her maid.
"i'm going out, simone," she said. "it's now four-thirty. if i'm not back by six-thirty it will mean that—that i must miss an appointment with captain manners; so at that time take this to his hotel yourself. he tells me that he's always at home between six-thirty and seven-thirty, so he's sure to be there. but if not, you can ring up mr. sanders at his private address, which i'll jot down for you, and ask him to call for captain manners' letter which concerns his business as well. i expect to come in much sooner, however—in which case you will simply hand this envelope back to me. you quite understand?"
"i quite understand, madame la duchesse," echoed simone, pinning on her mistress's hat, and handing her a pair of gloves.
so well did she understand that, the moment juliet was out of the house (the car having been ordered), she examined the back of the said envelope. in her hurry juliet had not sealed it firmly. the flap was still wet, and came loose with almost ridiculous ease.
simone had been somewhat surprised by the duchess's instructions (her reason for wishing to acquaint herself with the contents of the letter) but she was still more surprised by the letter itself.
the duchess was going to madame veno's, evidently to keep an engagement already made, and it would seem that she considered herself in some danger. could madame veno mean to give away mademoiselle amaranthe's connection with the inner circle?
simone told herself that this was an absurd and far-fetched suspicion, because it was not probable that madame veno knew anything about her activities. besides, why should the woman—even if she knew them—betray valuable secrets of the paper and its best correspondents? it was but an idea born of an uncomfortable conscience—another name for fear.
juliet was admitted to madame veno's flat by the respectable creature in black silk who had impressed her so favourably two days before. again she was taken into the cubicle of a private waiting-room, and there madame came at once, from her own room.
"he's still here!" she announced, having closed the door. "everything is wonderful—but different from what i expected."
"who is the man?" juliet abruptly asked.
"i don't know. i haven't been able yet to make him tell me that. he seemed so obstinate that i thought i'd better extract more important details first, in case in his struggles not to obey i should lose mind-control of him—which does happen now and then in such experiments."
"you mean to tell me that this man—whoever he is—actually came to you from heaven knows where because you willed him to come, and that you hypnotized him to find out about my husband?"
"i mean just that," answered madame veno, triumphantly. "i've done this sort of thing before. it's the secret of my success over other psychics. i've found out that your husband was kidnapped, just as i thought. as for the pearls, so far as i can understand, he had them on him. anyhow, they're in these people's possession. but you'd better come into my room and talk to the man."
"is he still hypnotized?" juliet wanted to know, irritated by her feeling that she was being deceived, yet eager and curious.
"no, not now. i've released him from the influence. he was going pale about the lips, which shows a weak heart, and i was scared. i can't take big risks of that sort! but when i explained what i'd got out of him, and when i'd even made him put on paper a short statement of his own handwriting, he saw that he might as well be frank——"
"if the statement was signed, you must have got his name. and if not, what use is it?"
"he thinks he's signed it, for i covered up the place where the name should be as if accidentally, and snatched the paper away as though i was afraid he'd grab it from me. it was when i was willing him so hard to sign that he began to look queer. so i had to give it up."
"i see," said juliet. "well, take me into the next room, and let me try what i can get out of him!"
"you can get everything out of him, duchess, and you can get back your husband and your pearls. that is, if you're willing to pay the price this man asks. even in his sleep he was firm about that, and he hasn't told where the duke is."
juliet did not believe that the man knew where the duke was. it was so much more likely that the whole business was a trick to extract money and—give nothing of value in return! still, she was more eager to see the occupant of madame veno's room than she had ever been to see any one—except pat, in the blessed old days.
the green curtains were drawn, and though twilight was falling out of doors the only lamp was a small green-shaded one on the table of the crystal. the man who stood facing the two women as they entered was in shadow, all except his hands, which showed white and large, crossed on folded arms.
it was an instant before juliet realized that something more than shadow obscured the features. then her piercing eyes made out that a layer of black crape was drawn across them as far up as the forehead, as far down as the mouth. beneath this mask a beard protruded like a fringe, but juliet told herself it might be false.
"oh, you have masked yourself!" exclaimed madame veno. "he wasn't masked when i left him, duchess!"
juliet made no comment, though if the man and woman were in collusion it was probable that madame lied.
"there's no objection to my being masked, i suppose?" said the man. "i have a right to protect myself."
"does he speak rather like an englishman, or do i imagine it?" juliet wondered.
"i don't object," she said aloud. "i don't care who you are if you can give me news of my husband, and if—if you can bring him back to me."
"i can give you news now," the man replied. "and you can have him back to-morrow night if you choose."
"what are your conditions?" juliet asked.
"one million dollars for the duke and the pearls."
"oh!" said the duchess. "and what for the duke without the pearls?"
"we don't treat separately."
"indeed! and what if i refuse to treat at all?"
"in that case, you'll never see your husband again on this side the grave."
"you mean you'll murder him if i don't pay ransom!"
"not at all. this is the duke's own affair. he's in it with us. that is"—the man spoke quickly, when anger flamed on juliet's face and he must have feared that she would cease bargaining for a man capable of "holding up" his wife—"that is, he's in it to this extent: he's taken an oath not to give us away. he was hurt in an accident—an affair neither he nor you would like to have come out—and i and a friend of mine saved his life. when we'd done that, as we're poor men we didn't see why we shouldn't get something for ourselves. we're amateurs at these things, my mate and i, and we were at odds how to approach you, madam, without risking trouble. then i had a 'hunch' to consult this lady. dreamed about her, felt i must come!" madame veno gave juliet a look. "now i find she was mesmerizing me or something of the sort. but she's given me good advice, and she's brought you and me together, so maybe all's well that ends well."
"where's my husband?" asked juliet.
"where i live. and you could have me followed all around new york without finding out where that is. i'm up to every dodge of that kind, i can tell you! but what my friend and i—the duke standing by us because of what we've done for him—what we propose, is this: you get hold of a million dollars without telling any one what the money's for. we'll know if you play us false. we have our spies. it must be all in notes. then, if this lady—madame veno—is willing to see the thing through, you'll bring to her flat the whole sum, only with the notes cut in two. that plan is to prove my good faith. an hour after the duke shall arrive—with the pearls, in an auto—at your own house. and the remaining halves of the notes shall be handed to the chauffeur by you in person before your husband leaves the car. does that scheme look good to you?"
juliet paused for an instant, but not to consider the money question, for she would have given not one million but all the millions she possessed to have pat with her, alive and safe. nor did she now care a straw whether or not these two creatures were in a plot together. she hesitated only because it seemed too good to be true that pat should be given back to her so easily. she had suffered so much, had realized so bitterly her need of him—guilty or innocent—that she was actually dazzled by the man's offer. and when she had calmed herself by drawing a deep breath or two, she answered:
"yes, it seems good to me!"
"then it is good, all right!"
"how soon—can you do this?"
"how soon can you get hold of the money?"
"to-morrow. of course it's too late to-day."
"to-morrow then. come here at this same time. can you manage that?"
"i will manage it," juliet said. she remembered that she had written to nancy van esten, meaning to attend the rehearsal. the letter wasn't posted yet, but she would send it, and go to the theatre for a few minutes. from there, she would come here to madame veno's. no one could think then that she had avoided meeting lyda pavoya, but if she had a pressing engagement to keep, it wouldn't be her fault if there were no time for introductions!
besides, jack manners and sanders were supposed to be coming to-morrow afternoon, to discuss some new detail in the duke's study—what, juliet didn't know. the rehearsal would give her an excuse for absence while they were there, and as it was to meet lyda, jack would be pleased to have her go.
"remember, madam, if you don't keep this business strictly to yourself, the duke won't materialize," the man in the mask went on. "i assure you—not on my honour, because that's a minus quantity to you, but on your husband's—you can take my word for this. and furthermore, if you attempt to trick us you'll never have a chance again."
"if there were as little chance of your tricking me, as of my tricking you," juliet exclaimed, "i should be happy."
"be happy then!" retorted the man. "the thing's settled. i'm off. and i'll tell the duke that you send him a good message."
he was out of the room before juliet had realized that he meant to suit his action to his word! with a wild impulse she would have sprung after him to ask other questions, but the door slammed in her face. she was too late. and besides, what would have been gained by keeping the man a moment more?
"i don't think there's anything further to do or say. but let him go quietly," madame veno advised.
juliet turned upon her. "i believe you're in this!" she cried.
the elder woman smiled indulgently, as at a petulant child. "my dear, i'm not!" she said. "but i can't prove that, if you don't want to take my word."
"oh, well, it doesn't matter!" juliet sighed. "what do i owe you for—your services?"
"what you think they're worth. pay me to-morrow," madame replied.
to-morrow! it seemed that juliet could not live till then!
