All Celia's heart and youth rose in revolt against her extremity.
If she could only free her lips! The footsteps came round the
corner of the house, they sounded on the drive outside the very
window of this room. One cry, and she would be saved. She tossed
back her head and tried to force the handkerchief out from between
her teeth. But Wethermill's hand covered her mouth and held it
closed. The footsteps stopped, a light shone for a moment outside.
The very handle of the door was tried. Within a few yards help was
there--help and life. Just a frail latticed wooden door stood
between her and them. She tried to rise to her feet. Adele
Rossignol held her legs firmly. She was powerless. She sat with
one desperate hope that, whoever it was who was in the garden,
he would break in. Were it even another murderer, he might have
more pity than the callous brutes who held her now; he could have
no less. But the footsteps moved away. It was the withdrawal of all
hope. Celia heard Wethermill behind her draw a long breath of relief.
That seemed to Celia almost the cruellest part of the whole tragedy.
They waited in the darkness until the faint click of the gate was heard
once more. Then the light was turned up again.
"We must go," said Wethermill. All the three of them were shaken.
They stood looking at one another, white and trembling. They spoke
in whispers. To get out of the room, to have done with the
business--that had suddenly become their chief necessity.
Adele picked up the necklace and the rings from the satin-wood
table and put them into a pocket-bag which was slung at her waist.
"Hippolyte shall turn these things into money," she said. "He
shall set about it to-morrow. We shall have to keep the girl now--
until she tells us where the rest is hidden."
"Yes, keep her," said Helene. "We will come over to Geneva in a
few days, as soon as we can. We will persuade her to tell." She
glanced darkly at the girl. Celia shivered.
"Yes, that's it," said Wethermill. "But don't harm her. She will
tell of her own will. You will see. The delay won't hurt now. We
can't come back and search for a little while."
He was speaking in a quick, agitated voice. And Adele agreed. The
desire to be gone had killed even their fury at the loss of their
prize. Some time they would come back, but they would not search
now--they were too unnerved.
"Helene," said Wethermill, "get to bed. I'll come up with the
chloroform and put you to sleep."
Helene Vauquier hurried upstairs. It was part of her plan that she
should be left alone in the villa chloroformed. Thus only could
suspicion be averted from herself. She did not shrink from the
completion of the plan now. She went, the strange woman, without a
tremor to her ordeal. Wethermill took the length of rope which had
fixed Celia to the pillar.