As he did so Xavier Silva crept from the room on the left and poised his loaded cane. Jim heard the swish of the stick and, half turning, took the blow short on his shoulder. For a second he was staggered, and then driving left and right to the face of the man he sent him spinning.
Before he could turn, the noose of a rope dropped over his head and he was jerked to the ground, fighting for breath.
XLI
Whilst Jim had been making his search of the deserted house, Eunice had strolled to the edge of the terrace, and, leaning on the broken balustrade, was drinking in the beauty of the scene. Thin wraiths of mist still lingered in the purple shadows of the woods and lay like finest muslin in the hollows. In the still air the blue-grey smoke of the cottagers’ fires showed above the treetops, and the sun had touched the surface of a stream that wound through a distant valley, so that it showed as a thread of bubbling gold amidst the verdant green.
Somebody touched her gently on the shoulder. She thought it was Jim.
“Isn’t it lovely, Jim?”
“Very lovely, but not half as lovely as you, my dear.”
She could have collapsed at the voice. Swinging round she came face to face with Digby Groat, and uttered a little cry.
“If you want to save Steele’s life,” said Digby in a low urgent tone, “you will not cry out, you understand?”
She nodded.
He put his arm round her shoulder and she shivered, but it was no caress he offered. He was guiding her swiftly into the house. He swung open a door and, pushing her through, followed.
There was a man in the room, a tall, dour man, who held a rope in his hand.
“Wait, Masters,” whispered Digby. “We’ll get him as he comes back.” He had heard the footsteps of Jim in the hall and then suddenly there was a scuffle.
Eunice opened her lips to cry a warning, but Digby’s hand covered her mouth and his face was against her ear.
“Remember what I told you,” he whispered.
There was a shout outside, it was from Xavier, and Masters dashed out ahead of his employer. Jim’s back was turned to the open door, and Digby signalled. Immediately the rope slipped round Jim’s neck and he was pulled breathlessly to the ground; his face grew purple and his hands were tearing at the cruel noose. They might have choked him then and there, but that Eunice, who had stood for a moment paralysed, flew out of the room and, thrusting Masters aside, knelt down and with her own trembling hands released the noose about her lover’s neck.
“You beasts, you beasts!” she cried, her eyes flashing her hate.
In an instant Digby was on her and had lifted her clear.
“Rope him,” he said laconically, and gave his attention to the struggling girl. For now Eunice was no longer quiescent. She fought with all her might, striking at his face with her hands, striving madly to free herself of his grip.
“You little devil!” he cried breathlessly, when he had secured her wrists and had thrust her against the wall. There was an ugly red mark where her nails had caught his face, but in his eyes there was nothing but admiration.
“That is how I like you best,” he breathed. “My dear, I have never regretted my choice of you! I regret it least at this moment!”
“Release my hands!” she stormed. She was panting painfully, and, judging that she was incapable of further mischief, he obeyed.
“Where have you taken Jim? What have you done with him?” she asked, her wide eyes fixed on his. There was no fear in them now. He had told her that he had seen the devil in her. Now it was fully aroused.
“We have taken your young friend to a place of safety,” said Digby. “What happened this morning, Eunice?”
She made no reply.
“Where is Villa?”
Still she did not answer.
“Very good,” he said. “If you won’t speak I’ll find a way of making your young man very valuable.”
“You’d make him speak!” she said scornfully. “You don’t know the man you’re dealing with. I don’t think you’ve ever met that type in the drawing-rooms you visited during the war. The real men were away in France, Digby Groat. They were running the risks you shirked, facing the dangers you feared. If you think you can make Jim Steele talk, go along and try!”
“You don’t know what you’re saying,” he said, white to the lips, for her calculated insult had touched him on the raw. “I can make him scream for mercy.”
She shook her head.
“You judge all men by yourself,” she said, “and all women by the poor little shop-girls you have broken for your amusement.”
“Do you know what you’re saying?” he said, quivering with rage. “You seem to forget that I am—”
“I forget what you are!” she scoffed. The colour had come back to her face and her eyes were bright with anger. “You’re a half-breed, a man of no country and no class, and you have all the attributes of a half-breed. Digby Groat, a threatener of women and an assassin of men, a thief who employs other thieves to take the risks whilst he takes the lion’s share of the loot. A quack experimenter, who knows enough of medicines to drug women and enough of surgery to torture animals—I have no doubt about you!”
For a long time he could not speak. She had insulted him beyond forgiveness, and with an uncanny instinct had discovered just the things to say that would hurt him most.
“Put out your hands,” he almost yelled, and she obeyed, watching him
