“If I had known you would ask that question,” he said sarcastically, “I would have had a guide book prepared. As it is, you must possess your soul in patience, and wait until you discover your destination.”
There was only one carriage on the train which was not a corridor car, and Digby had carefully chosen that for his reservation. It was a local car that would be detached at Rugby, as he knew, and the possibility of an interruption was remote. Once or twice he had looked up to the ceiling and frowned. The girl, who had caught a scratching sound, as though somebody was crawling along the roof of the carriage, watched him as he pulled down the window and thrust out head and shoulders. He drew in immediately, his face wet with rain.
“It is a filthy night,” he said as he pulled down the blinds again. “Now, Eunice, be a sensible girl. There are worse things that could happen to you than to marry me.”
“I should like to know what they were,” said Eunice calmly. The effect of the drug had almost worn oft and she was near to her normal self.
“I have told you before,” said Digby, puffing a ring of smoke to the ceiling, “that if your imagination will not supply you with a worse alternative, you are a singularly stupid young person, and you are not stupid.” He stopped. Suddenly he changed his tone and, throwing the cigarette on to the ground, he came over to her and sat by her side. “I want you, Eunice,” he said, his voice trembling and his eyes like fiery stars. “Don’t you understand I want you? That you are necessary to me. I couldn’t live without you now. I would sooner see you dead, and myself dead too, than hand you to Jim Steele, or any other man.” His arm was about her, his face so close to hers that she could feel his quick breath upon her cheek. “You understand?” he said in a low voice. “I would sooner see you dead. That is an alternative for you to ponder on.”
“There are worse things than death.”
“I’m glad you recognize that,” said Digby, recovering his self-possession with a laugh. He must not frighten her at this stage of the flight. The real difficulties of the journey were not yet passed.
As to Eunice, she was thinking quickly. The train must stop soon, she thought, and though he kill her she would appeal for help. She hated him now, with a loathing beyond description—seeing in him the ugly reality, and her soul shrank in horror from the prospect he had opened up to her. His real alternative she knew and understood only too well. It was not death—that would be merciful and final. His plan was to degrade her so that she would never again hold up her head, nor meet Jim’s tender eyes. So that she would, in desperation, agree to marriage to save her name from disgrace, and her children from shame.
She feared him more now in his grotesque woman garb, with that smile of his playing upon his thin lips, than when he had held her in his arms, and his hot kisses rained on her face. It was the brain behind those dark eyes, the cool, calculating brain that had planned her abduction with such minute care, that she had never dreamt she was being duped—this was what terrified her. What was his plan now? she wondered. What scheme had he evolved to escape from Rugby, where he must know the station officials would be looking for him?
Lady Mary had seen her and recognized her and would have telegraphed to the officials to search the train. The thought of Lady Mary started a new line of speculation. Her mother! That beautiful woman of whom she had been jealous. A smile dawned on her face, a smile of sheer joy and happiness, and Digby Groat, watching her, wondered what was the cause.
She puzzled him more than he puzzled her.
“What are you smiling at?” he asked curiously, and as she looked at him the smile faded from her face. “You are thinking that you will be rescued at Rugby,” he bantered.
“Rugby,” she said quickly. “Is that where the train stops?” And he grinned.
“You’re the most surprising person. You are constantly trapping me into giving you information,” he mocked her. “Yes, the train will stop at Rugby.” He looked at his watch and she heard him utter an exclamation. “We are nearly there,” he said, and then he took from the little silk bag he carried in his role of an elderly woman a small black case, and at the sight of it Eunice shrank back.
“Not that, not that,” she begged. “Please don’t do that.”
He looked at her.
“Will you swear that you will not make any attempt to scream or cry out so that you will attract attention?”
“Yes, yes,” she said eagerly. “I will promise you.”
She could promise that with safety, for if the people on the platform did not recognize her, her case was hopeless.
“I will take the risk,” he said. “I am probably a fool, but I trust you. If you betray me, you will not live to witness the success of your plans, my friend.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
SHE breathed more freely when she saw the little black case dropped into the bag, and then the speed of the train suddenly slackened and stopped with such a violent jerk that she was almost thrown from the seat.
“Is there an accident?”
“I don’t think so,” said Digby, showing his teeth mirthlessly. He had adjusted his wig and his bonnet and now he was letting down the window and looking out into the night. There came to his ears a sound of voices up the line and a vista of signal lamps. He turned to the girl as he opened the door.
“Come along,” he commanded sharply, and she stood aghast.
“We are not in the platform.”
“Come out quickly,” he snarled. “Remember you promised.”
With difficulty she lowered herself in the darkness and his arm supported her as she dropped to the permanent way. Still clutching her arm, they stumbled and slid down the steep embankment and came presently to a field of high grass. Her shoes and stockings were sodden by the rain which was falling more heavily than ever, and she could scarcely keep her feet, but the hand that gripped her arm did not relax, nor did its owner hesitate. He seemed to know the way they were going, though to the girl it was impossible to see a yard before her.
The pitiless rain soaked her through and through before she had half crossed the field. She heard Digby curse as he caught his foot in his skirt, and at any other time she might have laughed at the picture she conjured up of this debonair man, in his woman’s dress. But now she was too terrified to be even amused.
But she had that courage which goes with great fear. The soul courage which rises superior to the weakness of the flesh.
Once Digby stopped and listened. He heard nothing but the patter of the rain and the silvery splash of the water as it ran from the bushes. He sank on his knees and looked along the ground, striving to get a skyline, but the railway embankment made it impossible. The train was moving on when the girl looked back, and she wondered why it had stopped so providentially at that spot.
“I could have sworn I heard somebody squelching through the mud,” said Digby. “Come along, there is the car.”
She caught the faint glimmer of a light and immediately afterwards they left the rough and soggy fields and reached the hard road, where walking was something more of a pleasure.
The girl had lost one shoe in her progress and now she kicked off the other. It was no protection from the rain, for the thin sole was soaked through, so that it was more comfortable walking in her stockinged feet.
The distance they had traversed was not far. They came from the side-lane on to the main road, where a closed car was standing, and Digby hustled her in, saying a few low words to the driver, and followed her.
“Phew, this cursed rain,” he said, and added with a laugh! “I ought not to complain. It has been a very good friend to me.”
Suddenly there was a gleam of light in the car. He had switched on a small electric lamp.
“Where are your shoes?” he demanded.
“I left them in the field,” she said.
“Damn you, why did you do that?” he demanded angrily. “You think you were leaving a clue for your lover, I suppose?”
“Don’t be unreasonable, Mr. Groat. They weren’t my shoes, so they couldn’t be very much of a clue for him. They were wet through, and as I had lost one I kicked off the other.”
He did not reply to this, but sat huddled in a corner of the car, as it ran along the dark country road.
They must have been travelling for a quarter of an hour when the car stopped before a small house and Digby jumped out. She would have followed him, but he stopped her.
“I will carry you,” he said.
