De Chauxville looked uneasy. His was a ready wit, and fear was the only feeling that paralyzed it. Etta looked at him. Was his wit going to desert him now when he most needed it? He had ridden boldly into the lion’s den. Such a proceeding requires a certain courage, but a higher form of intrepidity is required to face the lion standing before the exit.
De Chauxville looked at Steinmetz with shifty eyes. He was very like the mask of the lynx in the smoking-room, even to the self-conscious, deprecatory smile on the countenance of the forest sneak.
“Keep your temper,” he said; “do not let us quarrel in the presence of a lady.”
“No; we will keep the quarrel till afterward.”
Steinmetz turned to Etta.
“Princess,” he said, “will you now, in my presence, forbid this man to come to this or any other house of yours? Will you forbid him to address himself either by speech or letter to you again?”
“You know I cannot do that,” replied Etta.
“Why not?”
Etta made no answer.
“Because,” replied De Chauxville for her, “the princess is too wise to make an enemy of me. In that respect she is wiser than you. She knows that I could send you and your prince to Siberia.”
Steinmetz laughed.
“Nonsense!” he said. “Princess,” he went on, “if you think that the fact of De Chauxville numbering among his friends a few obscure police spies gives him the right to persecute you, you are mistaken. Our friend is very clever, but he can do no harm with the little that he knows of the Charity League.”
Etta remained silent. The silence made Steinmetz frown.
“Princess,” he said gravely, “you were indignant just now because I made so bold as to put the most natural construction upon the circumstances in which I found you. It was a prearranged meeting between De Chauxville and yourself. If the meeting was not the outcome of an intrigue such as I mentioned, nor the result of this man’s hold over you on account of the Charity League, what was it? I beg of you to answer.”
Etta made no reply. Instead, she raised her eyes and looked at De Chauxville.
“Without going into affairs which do not concern you,” said the Frenchman, answering for her, “I think you will recognize that the secret of the Charity League was quite sufficient excuse for me to request a few minutes alone with the princess.”
Of this Steinmetz took no notice. He was standing in front of Etta, between De Chauxville and the door. His broad, deeply lined face was flushed with the excitement of the moment. His great mournful eyes, yellow and drawn with much reading and the hardships of a rigorous climate, were fixed anxiously on her face.
Etta was not looking at him. Her eyes were turned toward the window, but they did not see with comprehension. She was stony and stubborn.
“Princess,” said Steinmetz, “answer me before it is too late. Has De Chauxville any other hold over you?”
Etta nodded, and the little action brought a sudden gleam to the Frenchman’s eyes.
“If,” said Steinmetz, looking from one to the other, “if you two have been deceiving Paul I will have no mercy, I warn you of that.”
Etta turned on him.
“Can you not believe me?” she cried. “I have practised no deception in common with M. de Chauxville.”
“The Charity League is quite enough for you, my friend,” put in the Frenchman hurriedly.
“You know no more of the Charity League than you did before—than the whole world knew before—except this lady’s share in the disposal of the papers,” said Steinmetz.
“And this lady’s share in the disposal of the papers will not be welcome news to the prince,” answered De Chauxville.
“Welcome or unwelcome, he shall be told of it tonight.”
Etta looked round sharply, her lips apart and trembling.
“By whom?” asked De Chauxville.
“By me,” replied Steinmetz.
There was a momentary pause. De Chauxville and Etta exchanged a glance. Etta felt that she was lost. This Frenchman was not one to spare either man or woman from any motive of charity or chivalry.
“Even if that is so,” he said, “the princess is not relieved from the embarrassment of her situation.”
“No?”
“No, my astute friend. There is a little matter connected with Sydney Bamborough which has come to my knowledge.”
Etta moved, but she said nothing. The sound of her breathing was startlingly loud.
“Ah! Sydney Bamborough,” said Steinmetz slowly. “What about him?”
“He is not dead; that is all.”
Karl Steinmetz passed his broad hand down over his face, covering his mouth for a second.
“But he died. He was found on the steppe, and buried at Tver.”
“So the story runs,” said De Chauxville, with easy sarcasm. “But who found him on the steppe? Who buried him at Tver?”
“I did, my friend.”
The next second Steinmetz staggered back a step or two as Etta fell heavily into his arms. But he never took his eyes off De Chauxville.
XXXVII
À Deux
Steinmetz laid Etta on a sofa. She was already recovering consciousness. He rang the bell twice, and all the while he kept his eye on De Chauxville. A quick touch on Etta’s wrist and breast showed that this man knew something of women and of those short-lived fainting fits that belong to strong emotions.
The maid soon came.
“The princess requires your attention,” said Steinmetz, still watching De Chauxville, who was looking at Etta and neglecting his opportunities.
Steinmetz went up to him and took him by the arm.
“Come with me,” he said.
The Frenchman could have taken advantage of the presence of the servant to effect a retreat, but he did not dare to do so. It was essential that he should obtain a few words with Etta. To effect this, he was ready even to face an interview with Steinmetz. In his heart he was cursing that liability to inconvenient fainting fits that make all women unreliable in a moment of need.
He preceded Steinmetz out of the room, forgetting even to resent the large, warm
