The Corner House. Fred M. White
give me the first offer."
She passed up the steps with a face white but smiling, a queer lingering smile that boded ill to some one.
A few guests of the higher Bohemian type still lingered, but with easy tact the hostess contrived to get rid of them. Her absence had not been noticed, the little escapade on the motor was not mentioned.
The took of triumph faded from her eyes, she had grown worn and weary. The roses were wilting on the walls, the lights were mostly down now. Hetty, looking in to see if anything was wanted, found herself driven away almost fiercely.
"I am tired, weary, worn-out," the Countess cried. "I am sick of it all, sick of the world, and sick to death of myself. Go to bed."
The house was quiet at last, there was a passing cab or two, the heavy tramp of a policeman. Up in the nursery little Mamie was still sleeping, she was flushed and uneasy and murmuring as she slept. The recreant nurse lay on her back snoring loudly. Well, Hetty was a light sleeper, and her room was just opposite the nursery. Nurse would have slept through an earthquake.
Hetty returned to her room, but not to sleep. The vague shadow of some coming trouble lay upon her. She was young and healthy, and she was engaged to one of the best men on earth. And they were going to be married soon. She ought to have been superlatively happy.
Yet she was restless and uneasy. She had never known what it was to be nervous before. There was a dull booming noise somewhere, a knocking that seemed to proceed from the Corner House. Hetty heard something fall with a thud, she could have sworn to a stifled cry. A door opened and closed somewhere, there was a strong draught as if the basement had been opened. Hetty's heart was beating in some strange, unaccountable way. A little cry brought her to her feet.
But it was only Mamie whimpering and crying for her. The child was awake and sitting up in bed, whilst the nurse still slept. Mamie was hot and feverish.
"I am so sorry," she said, "but my throat is all parched up. Dearest, do please get me some soda-water."
"All right, darling," Hetty whispered. "Lie down and be quiet, and I will see what I can do for you. I shan't be long."
There was everything that Hetty required in the dining-room. She crept softly down the marble staircase in her stockinged feet; down below in the hall a solitary point of flame in the electric corona made fitful shadows everywhere. There was one light also in the big, dark, dining-room, which was always left there, so that Hetty had no difficulty in finding a syphon of soda-water. She crept out into the hall again and paused.
Cigarette smoke. Smoke of a pungent acrid kind that might have been smoked in the house, but never beyond the kitchens. And it was fresh, too, for a trailing wreath of it hung heavy on the air. Without a doubt somebody was in the morning room.
Yes, Hetty could hear the chink of a glass, the fizz of something aerated. Her heart was beating painfully, but she was not afraid. Dimly, in a mirror opposite, she could see a hand reflected. But she could not see the face. The girl deflected the mirror slightly, so that the head and shoulders of the intruder were dimly focused upon it.
A cry rose to her lips, but she stifled it. In a sudden, blind, unreasoning fear she fled noiselessly up the stairs. She had seen that man's features. It was the face of the man from the Corner House!
CHAPTER V.
IN THE MORNING ROOM.
The house seemed suddenly to have developed into a place of horrors. Hetty had never been quite happy there. She had always distrusted and been a little afraid of Countess Lalage. There was something inscrutable about her face, a Satanic suggestion behind her brilliant beauty.
There were little signs, too, that only a woman notices. It was as if the girl had found herself in a house of criminals. It was all wonderfully refined and luxurious, a perfectly appointed house, but after a year there Hetty knew absolutely nothing as to the past of her employer.
She flew up the stairs headlong with that blind unreasoning terror upon her. A big clock suddenly striking two went off in her ears like a rifle shot. She caught a glimpse of her own face in a mirror. Was that white scared visage her own sunny, happy face?
Without ceremony she darted into Countess Lalage's bedroom. The lights were still up, and the mistress of the house was brushing out her long black hair. She was cool and collected enough now.
"What is the meaning of this?" she demanded.
"A man in the morning room," gasped Hetty. "A man with a horrid crooked nose and hands all over queer orange spots. Shall I alarm the house----"
"Come with me," Leona Lalage replied. "You are dreaming. Of course, there is no man in the house. Come along."
There was no sign of fear or dismay or anything else about the woman in white with the long black hair streaming over her shoulders. Yet she was annoyed, and her brains were working quickly. It was quiet in the corridor, save the little fretful whine from the child for something to drink.
"Ah, you have been down for Mamie," the Countess exclaimed. "She had one of her turns again. Give the poor child some of that soda-water and then follow me. Be quick."
Mamie drank greedily and thirstily. Then her head dropped and her eyes closed. With her heart still beating furiously, Hetty ran down the stairs. There was nobody in the morning room but Countess Lalage. She was smiling in a contemptuous manner.
"I have been in every room," she said. "There is positively nobody there. I shall have to send you away for a change of air. If you have no further dreams to tell me we had better go to bed."
Hetty had nothing to say. She was tired and worn out, and the cool contempt of her employer was galling. The Countess came into her bedroom presently; all her coldness had gone. She was the winning, gracious woman now as the world knew her. She had a little medicine glass in her hand.
"I am sorry I spoke harshly to you just now," she said. "Drink this. It is my own pet mixture of sal volatile and a spirit of my own. It will act like a charm on those frayed nerves of yours."
Hetty drank the mixture gratefully. The few kind words were soothing. If there was anything really wrong the Countess could not have behaved like that. Her head touched the pillow, something delicious and warm seemed to float over her, and she was sound asleep.
Leona closed the door behind her with a snap. She was alert and vigorous as a general in action now. She passed downstairs swiftly but firmly, and into the morning room. One by one she snapped up the electric lights till the whole room was bathed in a golden glow.
"Now, you scoundrel, come out," she cried.
The heavy curtains parted and the figure of a man emerged. He was short, yet powerfully made, with a curious twist from the hip as if he were deformed in some way. Ragged hair fringed his chin and lips. His long nose was crooked on one side; his equally long hands were covered with great orange freckles. An object of mistrust and suspicion everywhere.
The man's eyes were perhaps the worst part of him--dull, red, and bloated, full of a certain ferocious cowardliness. They were the eyes of a man who drank to excess. The red rims twitched.
"None of that with me," he growled. "Do you know who I am, Countess Lalage? I am Leon Lalage, Count of the Holy Roman Empire, and your husband. Incomparable woman, you cannot alter that fact. For better or worse, for richer or poorer, till death do us part!"
Death was near parting them now if the gleam in Leona Lalage's eyes meant anything. She would have given half her splendour, years of her life, to see that man lying dead at her feet. If she could have slain him and safely disposed of his body she would have done so.
"How did you get here?" she asked curtly. "How did you find me out?"
The man laughed silently, horribly, his body twisting as if set on wires.
"Never mind that,"