"Then I will drive round to Dorset House and fetch the d.u.c.h.ess. It is only a few yards."
The Prince hesitated. His cheeks were very white, and something like a scowl was blackening his heavy, insipid face.
"Lucille," he said, "you are very foolish. It is not much I ask of you, but that little I will have or I pledge my word to it that things shall go ill with you and your husband. There is plain speech for you. Do not be absurd. Come within, and let us talk. What do you fear? The house is full of servants, and the carriage can wait for you here."
Lucille smiled at him--a maddening smile.
"I am not a child," she said, "and such conversations as I am forced to hold with you will not be under your own roof. Be so good as to tell the coachman to drive to Dorset House."
The Prince turned on his heel with a furious oath.
"He can drive you to h.e.l.l," he answered thickly.
Lucille found the d.u.c.h.ess and Lady Carey together at Dorset House. She looked from one to the other.
"I thought that there was a meeting to-night," she remarked.
The d.u.c.h.ess shook her head.
"Not to-night," she answered. "It would not be possible. General Dolinski is dining at Marlborough House, and De Broullae is in Paris.
Now tell us all about Mr. Brott."
"He has gone to Scotland," Lucille answered. "I have failed."
Lady Carey looked up from the depths of the chair in which she was lounging.
"And the prince?" she asked. "He went to meet you!"
"He also failed," Lucille answered.
CHAPTER XXVII
Mr. SABIN drew a little breath, partly of satisfaction because he had discovered the place he sought, and partly of disgust at the neighbourhood in which he found himself. Nevertheless, he descended three steps from the court into which he had been directed, and pushed open the swing door, behind which Emil Sachs announced his desire to supply the world with dinners at eightpence and vin ordinaire at fourpence the small bottle.
A stout black-eyed woman looked up at his entrance from behind the counter. The place was empty.
"What does monsieur require she asked, peering forward through the gloom with some suspicion. For the eightpenny dinners were the scorn of the neighbourhood, and strangers were rare in the wine shop of Emil Sachs."
Mr. Sabin smiled.
"One of your excellent omelettes, my good Annette," he answered, "if your hand has not lost its cunning!"
She gave a little cry.
"It is monsieur!" she exclaimed. "After all these years it is monsieur!
Ah, you will pardon that I did not recognise you. This place is a cellar. Monsieur has not changed. In the daylight one would know him anywhere."
The woman talked fast, but even in that dim light Mr. Sabin knew quite well that she was shaking with fear. He could see the corners of her mouth twitch. Her black eyes rolled incessantly, but refused to meet his. Mr. Sabin frowned.
"You are not glad to see me, Annette!"
She leaned over the counter.
"For monsieur"s own sake," she whispered, "go!"
Mr. Sabin stood quite still for a short s.p.a.ce of time.
"Can I rest in there for a few minutes?" he asked, pointing to the door which led into the room beyond.
The woman hesitated. She looked up at the clock and down again.
"Emil will return," she said, "at three. Monsieur were best out of the neighbourhood before then. For ten minutes it might be safe."
Mr. Sabin pa.s.sed forward. The woman lifted the flap of the counter and followed him. Within was a smaller room, far cleaner and better appointed than the general appearance of the place promised. Mr. Sabin seated himself at one of the small tables. The linen cloth, he noticed, was spotless, the cutlery and appointments polished and clean.
"This, I presume," he remarked, "is not where you serve the eightpenny table d"hote?"
The woman shrugged her shoulders.
"But it would not be possible," she answered. "We have no customers for that. If one arrives we put together a few sc.r.a.ps. But one must make a pretense. Monsieur understands?"
Mr. Sabin nodded.
"I will take," he said, "a small gla.s.s of fin champagne."
She vanished, and reappeared almost immediately with the brandy in a quaintly cut liqueur gla.s.s. A glance at the clock as she pa.s.sed seemed to have increased her anxiety.
"If monsieur will drink his liqueur and depart," she prayed. "Indeed, it will be for the best."
Mr. Sabin set down his gla.s.s. His steadfast gaze seemed to reduce Annette into a state of nervous panic.
"Annette," he said, "they have placed me upon the list."
"It is true, monsieur," she answered. "Why do you come here?"
"I wanted to know first for certain that they had ventured so far," Mr.
Sabin said. "I believe that I am only the second person in this country who has been so much honoured."
The woman drew nearer to him.
"Monsieur," she said, "your only danger is to venture into such parts as these. London is so safe, and the law is merciless. They only watch.
They will attempt nothing. Do not leave England. There is here no machinery of criminals. Besides, the life of monsieur is insured."
"Insured?" Mr. Sabin remarked quietly. "That is good news. And who pays the premium?"
"A great lady, monsieur! I know no more. Monsieur must go indeed. He has found his way into the only place in London where he is not safe."