Half an hour passed, another half hour; twice Mr. Blaine had come in and asked hurried, anxious questions, and twice he had departed reassured by Stranway's answers. Stranway during this time had not moved from the lounging chair—the receiver had not been lifted from its hook.
But now he got up and began to pace the room a little nervously. Suddenly, he stopped near the door. A light step caught his ear. He had been expecting it, waiting for it, but, at the sound, he felt his pulse mount rapidly. The door opened. The Orchid came swiftly forward into the room. And then, before Stranway could speak, she produced a revolver from the folds of her dress and held it out to him.
"If you had your revolver with you out there," she said quickly, "it was, of course, taken from you; in any case, you have no time now to go to your room for one, so here is another, and——"
Stranway moved suddenly between her and the door.
"Thanks," he interrupted with a determined little smile, as he took the weapon from her hand; "but we can discuss 'business' a little later, can't we? You—you always begin that way—and after that I never have an earthly hope. We're going to work it the other way round this time, and begin by discussing you. You know, really, this simply can't, mustn't, and won't go on! I made up my mind when I met you in the hall before dinner that——"
The colour was flooding into her cheeks and her eyes were half veiled by their long lashes, as she, in turn, broke in upon him hurriedly.
"Perhaps some day, perhaps some other time, I—I do not know"—her voice was low, with a tremor in it that for once, it seemed, she was unable to control—"but I do not think that even you would choose that it should be now. I came to tell you that he is in his room now—and that he is not alone. You know what that means, and for how long the one opportunity we have may last. You can reach his room by the back staircase. His door is unlocked—I took the key while you were out."
For an instant Stranway stared at her in hopeless chagrin, as the full significance of her words forced themselves upon him.
"Damn!" he ejaculated with whole-hearted fervency—and bolted from the room.
There wasn't any time! It was only too obvious to him that there had been no thought of subterfuge on her part. There wasn't time even to allow his personal feelings, his disappointment, the ironical repetition of circumstances which had upset his over-confident little scheme in respect of her, to linger for an instant now in his thoughts. Afterwards, yes—but for the moment, if ever in his life he needed a single mind and all his wits, it was now.
The library was at the rear of the house; the back staircase was just ahead of him. From the ballroom came the sound of music, the talk and laughter of many voices. No one was in sight. He took the stairs three at a time, reached the hall above, and ran along it swiftly, his steps noiseless on the rich, heavy carpets. But as he approached the end door on the right, he moved more cautiously—and reached the door itself on tip-toe. Here he stooped for an instant to listen at the keyhole, then his face set grimly, and his fingers closed upon the door knob. With a sudden jerk he straightened up, flung open the door, sprang across the threshold with levelled revolver, and, shutting the door behind him, threw his back against it, as his eyes narrowed on the scene that confronted him.
Bending over the table near the centre of the room stood the Count De Moreau. On the table itself, in a glittering heap, lay the diamond necklace. A little to one side stood another man, that Stranway knew to be the Count's valet.
For an instant there was silence; then a guttural oath from the valet, and a snarl like that of a trapped wolf from the Count, greeted Stranway.
Stranway smiled coldly.
"The game's up, Count!" he said evenly. "This time you lose the rubicon!"
The colour came and went from the Count's face.
"You—Stranway!" he choked—and suddenly seized upon the necklace as though to hide it.
"No, you don't! I'll take care of that necklace!" Stranway snapped out, and jumped forward as he spoke—and the next instant, tripping on a rug, his revolver went spinning from his hand, and he pitched his length upon the floor. And then, in a flash, the valet was upon him, and, as Stranway felt the other's hands lock like a vice around his throat, he saw the Count stoop quickly for the revolver and snatch it up.
"All right, you can let him up now!" directed the Count hoarsely.
The valet, a big man with an ugly, murderous look, shook his head, and his grip tightened ominously.
"It's him, or us," he snarled. "We're caught, and our only chance is to croak him."
"Well, take your hands away from his throat for a minute anyway so that he can talk!" There was a nasty ring in the Count's low vicious tones. He came around the table and bent over Stranway, as the valet reluctantly loosened his hold. "Curse you for a meddling fool!" he rasped, his face contorted with fury. "You've ruined me! How did you find this out? Speak quick—I've no time to fool with you!"
Stranway fumbled at his collar where the valet's fingers had been.
"I thought I recognised the 'Bill' of the hold-up as your valet here," he answered in a strained voice.
"And you thought you'd play amateur detective, did you?" sneered the Count. "You fool, I'll teach you!"
"It looks as though I'd foozled it," said Stranway with a sickly smile.
"You didn't have that pocketbook of yours with you in the car," said the Count suddenly. "What did you do with it?"
"Why," Stranway answered readily, "I left it in my room that time I went back for my handkerchief. I thought it was foolish to carry it in a loose pocket like that if I was going motoring, and——"
"I tell you," broke in the valet, with a savage growl, "that our only chance is to croak him, if we don't want twenty years."
The Count laughed low, brutally.
"Do you hear that, Stranway? He's right; it's you, or us—and it's not going to be us!"
Stranway flung out his arm to ward off a blow that was suddenly aimed at him by the valet.
"Wait!" he pleaded quickly. "If you murder me here in this room you'll be found out sooner or later, and you know it—but that won't do me any good. I—I'm not anxious to be murdered! You've got me at your mercy, and I'll tell you what I'll do. Let me go, and I give you my word of honour that I won't lay any information against you, provided you leave the United States by the first steamer and that you never come back to this country again—my life's more valuable to me than that necklace, but it's another thing if you have anything more to do with Miss Blaine."
"Ah! And if I refuse to leave?" The Count was mockingly polite.
"You wouldn't dare to stay in the country if you murdered me," returned Stranway judicially. "It's as broad as it is long."
"You are very ingenious!" jeered the Count. "But do you think I am a fool? The detectives you telephoned to—you've already told them all you know."
"I didn't telephone to a soul," said Stranway, making a wry face. "This wouldn't have happened if I had."
"What's that!" exclaimed the Count sharply; and then for the first time a smile, but a not over-pleasant one, flickered on his lips. "I see! You thought you wouldn't need them, eh?"
"Look here," said Stranway eagerly, "it's pretty nearly an even break. The sensible thing to do is to pool our interests. I have caught you, and the way out I'm suggesting is the only way—short of your alternative of murder. You were going back to New York to-morrow anyway, so your leaving here won't excite any suspicion. You can't go to-night, of course, for that would give it away; but you can go in the morning. I dare say you're pretty hard up or you wouldn't have done this, but you won a thousand from me to-day so you've funds enough to get you and your accomplices out of the country without running the risk of trying to raise anything on the necklace on this side of the water. And as for me, to avoid any awkward questions to-night, I'll write a note, which you can give to Mr. Blaine yourself, saying that the detectives arrived, that I went out with them, and that I will report in the morning."
"And what guarantee have I that you will keep your mouth shut?" demanded the Count abruptly.
"My word," said Stranway simply. "And you know I'll keep it."
"I'm for takin' it," announced the valet suddenly. "Some gentlemen's words is good, an' I'll bank on this one's. It suits me. We get the sparklers, an' I ain't got no interest in the girl."
"Hold your tongue!" flared the Count furiously. He walked up and down the room several times, the scowl on his face deepening every instant, and finally halted over Stranway. "Curse you!" he burst out. "Well, get up and write that note!"
Stranway rose to his feet and went to the table. The Count tossed him a sheet of paper, which, after hastily scribbling a few lines upon it, Stranway handed back.
The Count read the note, folded it, and put it in his pocket.
"Go!" he flung out in an ugly undertone—and added a vicious string of oaths.
At the door Stranway turned around.
"You understand the bargain?" he said—and suddenly his voice was level and deliberate. "If you ever come back to this country, if you ever make any advances to Miss Blaine—I speak. You understand about to-morrow morning—to save my own self I must be here not later than eleven o'clock, and by that time you are to be gone."
He closed the door without waiting for any reply, went quickly to his own room, opened his dress-suit case, and, with a grim smile, secured his pocketbook; then he descended the back staircase, left the house by a rear door and walked rapidly toward the stables and garage. A car was standing outside. Flint, who had driven him over that afternoon, sat in the driver's seat.
"Dominic Court, Flint!" he said tersely. "Keep your lights off, and get out of here without attracting any attention if you can possibly help it."