At The Villa Rose

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.