“There is only one stipulation.” De Saules’ cool eyes were very close. “That is, that you devote your attention to welfare work from now on.”
“From now on?”
The cool eyes inclined forward.
“That means, from this morning on?”
De Saules’ eyebrows rose, fell. “We understand each other perfectly, Miss Grey.”
Sandra ran her tongue between her lips. She was a fool ever to have closed the apartment door. She felt the blood pound, racing in her ears.
“And if I do not accept this – contribution?”
De Saules studied her. His eyes narrowed very slightly, as though he thought there might be some misunderstanding between them.
“Perhaps you have not seen the morning papers?”
“No.”
De Saules unfolded an edition from his pocket. The headline screamed in blackface:
COMPLETE REVERSAL OF TESTIMONY
Three Witnesses Admit Delaunay
Took Poison in their Presence
Sandra’s mind went blank. A reversal of testimony! It was impossible! Impossible! Admitted he took the poison! What on-
De Saules’ voice cut across her stupefaction. “It happened late last night. Captain Corrigan is extremely bewildered, but he will be obliged to accept the fact.”
Sandra gasped: “All… all of you… you and Marceline-”
“Precisely.”
“The Chinese maid, too?”
De Saules smiled with his eyes. “In her position it is, shall we say, difficult to get another job if discharged under suspicion of murder. She is a very level-headed girl.”
Sandra managed to get the words out of her mouth.
“You want me to corroborate this absurd lie?”
“Not at all, Miss Grey.” De Saules’ tone was unruffled. “The gift – I mean the settlement gift, of course-will enable you to study conditions abroad very comfortably, even luxuriously, provided you take the boat that leaves at noon. There are excellent airplane connections which I have already arranged.”
Sandra sprang up. She was already at the telephone before De Saules cried:
“What are you doing?”
“I will call up Captain Corrigan at once.”
De Saules was across like the crack of a whip. He snatched the telephone from her.
“No. I do not think so.” His voice was low, staccato. “If you do not make it easy for me, you will make it hard. If you will not go as I suggest, you will stay – here – and see no one.”
Sandra hurled the words in his face. “Until after the appointment at half past nine, is that it?”
“Perhaps.” His eyes were very narrow. “Perhaps much longer.”
Sandra laughed in his face. “How will you keep me?”
There was nothing cool or composed about De Saules’ face now. Everything had been wiped off it but the elementals – a savage locked bleakness like a bird of prey. “You are dealing with someone much more intelligent than you, Miss Grey. One who has thought of every contingency. I would hardly have come up here without being prepared for your refusal.”
Sandra should have screamed then. The next moment she could not. One supple movement and his arm snaked under hers, a grip had her by the neck such as she had never felt before in her life. It was like two points of fire-freezing fire at the base of her brain-two closing, clamping points of a vice that flooded paralysis through her whole muscular system. She knew then. The man was a jujitsu expert. She felt herself crumpling, as weak as a doll. His topcoat was half over her head. From it his free hand had snatched a glass atomizer with a long, thin nose.
His breath was close to her ear. “Cycloprophane is a relatively new anesthetic. Mixed with oxygen, it induces a very sound sleep. You will rest very quietly, quietly be carried downstairs, out of the house.”
He had her over the chair back, crushing her down, the coat tented over her head. Fumes were pouring in her face, sickening, suffocating fumes. She tried to hit, kick, whirl, felt the strength suck out of her with each gasp of that sickening flood. The cold nose of the atomizer was between her teeth. He had to shift his hand for that. His thumb slued down across her mouth, keeping her lips open. With every last ounce of strength she bit his thumb. He gave a cry, dropped the atomizer on the front of her dress. She snatched it, blind, wild, smashed it into his face. She saw the bulb burst, the contents splash starwise over his face.
It was like the long, slow, incredibly endless movements of a nightmare. The room was reeling around her; the space to the door seemed to stretch out to infinity. He was there on the floor, gasping, clawing weakly, no longer able to make coordinated movements. She blundered into the table, sent it crashing. Her bag was there on the floor, spinning like a top before the door. She caught it up, plunged sobbing, gasping, through the door.
The taxi driver stared at Sandra. She was very pale.
“You feel all right, lady?”
“Yes! Yes!” She gasped out the Delaunay address. “Please hurry! Hurry!”
The cab buzzed like a hornet through early morning traffic. Sandra sat in the window corner, gulped in great mouthfuls of fresh air. Her head was steadying; if the nausea would only subside- The appointment! Dow and Marceline! Sandra glanced for the twentieth time at her watch, watched the minutes crawl across the dial. 9:39… 9:40… Would she be too late? Too late?
The cab swung into the sweeping lawns, the rippling trees of the Delaunay street. She rapped hard on the glass partition.
“Pull over to the side behind those trees.”
She was out the door almost before the cab reached the curb. “Wait here!” She was gone between the massed shrubbery of the Delaunay drive.
Before her the big house stood quiet, dappled with sun and shade. She darted around the side, in the service door. Bulky packages from market were lying, still unretrieved, within – that told her Marceline had dismissed the servants. As Sandra’s feet sounded in the kitchen, she heard Marceline’s startled voice:
“Who’s there?”
Sandra whirled through the kitchen, down the hall, straight into the library.
Marceline was standing bolt upright against the very casement Dow had used for his ghoul’s visit. She was alone. In the blaze of yellow light behind her, her face looked extraordinarily white, her black eyes feverishly brilliant. Whatever movements she had had time to make between Sandra’s entrance and Sandra’s appearance in the library were few and brief. She wore an ornate house coat, whose gorgeous flowers of scarlet and gold emphasized her frightful pallor, the brilliance of her eyes. She let her hands drop from behind her back as she exclaimed:
“You!”
Then Sandra knew what she had been doing with her hands. She had been closing the casement. That told her the story; that and the faint but unmistakable reek of violet in the air. Dow had just gone; Sandra had caught her almost in the act of receiving what Dow had brought; she had not had time to dispose of it. The crisis of the whole affair swung like a pendulum in the quiet room. Sandra felt strangely cool, knife-hard. It was woman against woman, and it was going to be fought out with women’s weapons.
Her velvety eyes were as soft as Irish honey. “Why, darling, how upset you look! Did I frighten you by running in?”
Marceline sat down on the sofa. It was a quick, crouching movement. Sandra could see the pulse beat in her throat. Her voice was unkeyed.
“What are you doing here?”
“I’ve the most wonderful thing to tell you!” Sandra’s voice rippled with excitement. That wasn’t hard. Under that locked coolness she had never been so excited in her life. She crossed to the sofa, sat quickly by Marceline. “Mr de Saules has just made me the most wonderful gift for my welfare work!”
Marceline stared at her. It could be seen from her wild, uncollected eyes just how unready this sidelong shot caught her. Their brilliant depths had almost a stupid blankness. She was in the position of one who cannot estimate her antagonist, has no idea what she knows, and is so caught by the jeopardy of her own position that she cannot collect herself to fence. Sandra didn’t give her time to marshal herself. She burst out: