The Yellow Dove. Gibbs George

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      “Cyril shall know of this,” laughed Betty, as they went toward the door. “They say that absence makes the heart grow fonder—of the other fellow.”

      Doris led the way to the gun-room, a place used by Algie Heathcote for his sporting implements and trophies of the chase. It was comfortably furnished in leather and oak and a cheerful fire was burning in the grate. Doris sank into the davenport and motioned to her companion to the place at her side. She was thoroughly alive to her danger, but the sportswoman in her made her keen to put it to the test.

      “We are quite alone here,” she said coolly. “The others are not even within call. Now what do you want of me?”

      Her audacity rather startled him, but he folded his arms and leaned back smiling.

      “The papers of Riz-la-Croix, of course,” he said amiably.

      “And how do you know they’re in my possession?”

      He shrugged.

      “Because they couldn’t possibly be anywhere else.”

      “How do you know?”

      “Because I have exhausted every other resource.”

      “You’re frank at least—including the burglary at Ashwater Park and the messing in my box upstairs?”

      “And since you must know the full truth,” he continued politely, “the careful search of your room in your absence this evening—including the removal of the rugs and bedding. Oh, don’t be disturbed, I beg of you,” as she made a movement of alarm, “they have all been replaced with a nice care for detail.”

      “And if I told Lady Heathcote of this–”

      “I am quite sure that the best interests of all,” he said politely, “are conserved—by silence.”

      She meditated a moment, her gaze on the coals.

      “Yes,” she said slowly, “you’re clever—more than ordinarily clever. I can’t understand how I could ever have refused you. But don’t you think your methods have been a little—er—unchivalrous?”

      “The importance of my objects admitted of no delay. I hope you have not been inconvenienced–”

      “Not in the least,” calmly. “My recollection of your many civilities merely made me think that your agents were overzealous.”

      “I am sorry,” he said genuinely. “It could not be helped. You and I are merely pawns in a game greater than anything the world has ever known.”

      “I didn’t want you to apologize. I merely thought in order to avoid comment that you might have come to me yourself.”

      “I thought I might save you the unpleasantness of a controversy which can only have one end.”

      “You mean—that you will win.”

      “I do.”

      “How?”

      “You will give me the papers—here, tonight.”

      “And if I told you that I had destroyed them?”

      “That would be manifestly untrue, since at the present moment in the position of your body their outline is quite clearly defined on the inside of your right knee.”

      Doris put both slippers upon the ground, her feet together, her face flushing warmly.

      “I hope you will forgive my frankness,” she heard him say gently, “but the method of your challenge—is—unusual.”

      She clasped her hands around her knees and frowned into the fire.

      “You mistake, I think, my friend. It is not a challenge. It is merely a method of defense—the safest, I am sure, against John Rizzio.”

      He bowed low with deep ceremony.

      “Of course, I am helpless.” And then, “I can only rely on your good sense and”—here his voice sunk a note lower—“and on your loyalty to the cause of England.”

      This was the opening that she had been waiting for. She thrust quickly.

      “And if the cause is England’s why didn’t Scotland Yard come to Ashwater Park?”

      “Dunsinane to Burnam Wood!” he shrugged. “They would have made asinine mistakes as they always do—the chief of which would have been that of denouncing Miss Doris Mather as an agent of England’s enemies.”

      The girl tapped her toe reflectively upon the rug.

      “I won’t attempt subterfuge. Of course, I know the contents of that packet.”

      “You wouldn’t be a woman if you didn’t.”

      “And how it was passed from Captain Byfield to Cyril Hammersley.” This was a random shot but it hit the mark. Rizzio’s eyes dilated slightly, but she saw them.

      “Byfield! Impossible.”

      “Not at all. Cyril told me,” she lied.

      “He told you–?” he paused aghast, for now she was laughing at him.

      “No—but you have.”

      His brow tangled and he folded his arms again.

      “Of course, you know the importance to Cyril and Captain Byfield of keeping such a matter secret.”

      He had not heard! He did not know! She remembered that the subject of the dreadful news from London had not been reopened and Jack Sandys’ sources of information were probably semiofficial.

      She controlled her voice with an effort.

      “I would hardly be the one to mention names under the circumstances—since my own fortunes seem to be involved in the matter, but as for Captain Byfield, I’m afraid that further secrecy will hardly help him.”

      “What do you mean?”

      “Merely that he was arrested late yesterday afternoon as he was leaving the War Office.”

      She had not counted on the effect she created. She knew that her last thrust had put him more carefully on guard, but he could not hide the sudden intake of breath and the quick searching glance his dark eyes shot at her.

      “What is your source of information?”

      “Jack Sandys. He came here directly from Downing Street.”

      She saw Rizzio’s lips meet under his mustache in a thin line.

      “So. It has come sooner—than I expected.”

      He got up and paced the floor, his fingers twitching behind his back. She said nothing, waiting for him to rejoin her. When he did, it СКАЧАТЬ