The dining-room, drawing-room and library of the Château Suvlac were arranged in a suite, the drawing-room being in the middle; and all of these rooms had windows to the ground opening upon the broad terrace. Diana, as soon as the elders were seated at the card-table, went into the library and set a gramophone playing. Within the minute all the young people were dancing upon the terrace. The connecting door between the salon and the library was shut, it is true, but the night was warm and all the windows stood open. So the music with its pleasant lilt floated in to the card players, and joined with the rhythmical scuffle of the dancing shoes upon the flags to distract Mr. Ricardo from his game. It was the time of moonlight, but the moon was obscured by a thin fleece of white clouds so that a pale silvery and rather unearthly light made the garden and the wide river beyond a fairyland of magic. On the far shore a light twinkled here and there through a mist, and close at hand, the long avenue of trees, now black as yews and motionless as metal, protected the terrace as though it was some secret and ancient place of sacrifice. But instead of sacrifices, Mr. Ricardo saw the flash of white shoulders, the sparkling embroideries upon the light frocks of the girls, the dancers appearing, disappearing, gliding, revolving, and altogether he made so many mistakes that his fellow players were delighted when the rubber came to an end.
Robin Webster came in from the terrace.
“You will excuse me, Mrs. Tasborough. The morning begins for me at daybreak, and I have still a few preparations to make before I can go to bed.”
“I too,” said the Vicomte de Mirandol, rising from his chair a trifle abruptly perhaps. “The Mirandol wine will not compare with the Château Suvlac, alas! Yet I must take just as much care of it.” He looked out of the window rather anxiously. “A good shower or two, not too violent, just for a couple of hours during the night—that would help us, Monsieur Webster. Yes, two hours of gentle rain—I beg you to pray for them, Monsieur l’Abbé.”
Mr. Robin Webster shook hands with Mr. Ricardo.
“You said that you would like to come round with me tomorrow,” he said. “I live in the chalet beyond the avenue. It is my office too. You will find me there or about the chäis.”
He went out through the window, Monsieur de Mirandol through the door to the front of the house, where his car waited for him. Jules Amadée brought in a tray of refreshments, and Mrs. Tasborough lifted her voice petulantly.
“Diana! Diana!” she cried. “Will you please come in at once and prepare his nightcap for Monsieur l’Abbé!”
The Abbé, however, would by no means break in upon the girl’s enjoyments.
“I can mix my grog very well for myself, madame. Let mademoiselle dance, and so I can put a little more of your excellent whisky into my glass than it would be seemly for me to allow mademoiselle to do.”
As he moved towards the table Joyce Whipple stood in his way.
“And I,” she said, laughing, “since I know nothing of the proper proportions, will in my ignorance put more whisky into your glass than you would.”
Joyce Whipple, in a word, took possession of the buffet. It was in a corner of the room and she stood with her back to the company. A lemonade for Mrs. Tasborough, a whisky and soda for Mr. Ricardo, a hot grog for Monsieur l’Abbé. The young people drifted back into the room. Joyce Whipple served them all in their turn with beer and sirops and spirits, laughing gaily all the while, and proclaiming that she had a future as a barmaid. Diana came from the library and was the last to join the group.
“I shall have a brandy-and-soda with a lot of ice,” she said, and again Mr. Ricardo was conscious of an unsteady note in her voice, and a laugh which threatened to rise out of gaiety into hysteria.
Joyce threw a quick glance backwards over her shoulder.
“So, after all, I do dispense the cold,” she cried, and in her case too the words and the laughter on which they were launched were edged with excitement, and undoubtedly the glass which she held clattered against the siphon when she filled it, as though her hands trembled.
The party, however, was already breaking up and within a very few minutes the Château Suvlac was silent and Mr. Ricardo back in his own room. He opened both of the windows. When engaged upon the side window, he saw that a light was still burning in a room upon the ground floor of the chalet. Mr. Robin Webster was still then at work in his office. Looking out from the front window his gaze wandered over the peaceful stretch of empty country. The white house upon the hill might have been black for all that he could make of it. Not a window glimmered anywhere. Mr. Ricardo wound up his watch and went to bed. It was then ten minutes to eleven.
V
Hanaud Reappears
Mr. Ricardo was not the man to sleep comfortably in a strange bed, and though he did fall asleep quickly, he awaked whilst it was still dark; and with a vague uneasiness. He reached up for the light-switch which in his house in Grosvenor Square was set into the wall above his head, and was disconcerted not
