CHAPTER XXVIII

THE THREAT

Following the adventure with the rose bush in its tinsel basket, there came three days of tortured conflict for Hester Storm, conflict with red-lipped, sinister-eyed Anton, who pursued her ceaselessly; conflict also with herself, for now the imps of greed seemed to dance about her day and night, urging her to take this hidden treasure and escape with it. In the zeal of her first repentant impulse it would have been easy for the girl to give back the money to Miss Thompson and then go; she was equal to that single act of renunciation, but to stay here wearily through days of useless waiting, unable to do anything or confide in anyone, and all the time to have, burning in her breast, the knowledge of those wonderful banknotes there in the bottom of the flower-pot, all unsuspected, and hers for the easy taking--this was too much for Hester Storm.

Through sleepless night hours she sought some way of deliverance. Should she take the money and carry it to Miss Thompson in Brighton? No, no! She dared not trust herself, she dared not touch the money, not even to hide it in a securer place. The very sight of that fortune might be too strong a temptation for her; indeed, whenever her duties required her to pass through the conservatory, the troubled girl found herself hurrying away with hands clenched and face averted from that beckoning rose bush. Once she stopped and almost yielded; she was actually reaching toward the basket when the words that Merle had taught her sounded in her ears. "To be honest, to be kind. To ask God every day to give me strength against temptation. For Jesus' sake. Amen." And she staggered on out of the room.

To banish these wicked thoughts Hester threw herself with feverish zeal into her household duties. She helped the countess in the kitchen, she helped Lionel in the garden, she helped Merle in the dining room. She made the beds, she scrubbed the floors, she welcomed the humblest drudgery, anything to fill her mind and fight back the devils that were tempting her.

On the evening of the third day she realized that the situation was intolerable. Not only was she doubtful of her own strength, but she lived in growing terror of Anton, whose looks and whispered words made it all too clear what his intentions were. Thus far she had avoided being alone with him, but she saw that he would not be put off any longer.

"See here, kid," he had threatened that afternoon as Hester passed him on the drive, "if you think you can play tag with me any longer you've got another guess coming. Either you come to the garage to-night after supper, or----" The leer on his evil face was so full of menace that she shrank away trembling.

"I'll come to the garage," she said.

"At nine o'clock?"

She nodded slowly. "At nine o'clock."

Then she hurried to her room to think. She must leave this place at once, that was certain. She could hardly bear to wait another day. And as Betty Thompson was the only person to whom she could give this money, the only person she could trust--yes, that was it, as she could not go to Betty, Betty must come to her, Betty must come back from Brighton, she must come back immediately. And straightway Hester sat down and wrote the following letter:

"MY DEAR MISS THOMPSON:

"Please start for Bainbridge Manor as soon as you get this letter, which will be to-morrow morning. Take the first train and don't let anything stop you from coming. And don't tell anyone why you are coming. Say you must get some clothes or make up any excuse. I am only a poor girl, but take my word that there will be big trouble if you don't come and nobody else will do. I never gave you the right reason why I came here, but you will be glad to hear this secret and it will do a lot of good if you come at once. I'm absolutely on the level now, but I don't know if I can hold out another day, and then it will be too late.

"Respectfully yours, "HESTER STORM."

Having addressed this urgent summons to the Grand Hotel in Brighton, where the Baxters were stopping, Hester carefully stamped the envelope and gave it personally to the postman when he passed. Then, with a long sigh, she came down to her supper, confident that relief would be there within twenty-four hours. Alas, how many things may happen within twenty-four hours!

At nine o'clock the girl went to the garage to keep her appointment with Anton. She longed to stay away, but dared not, feeling that he was capable of some desperate act if she trifled with him further. Besides, she had managed this man before and now she trusted to her wits to manage him again.

When Hester entered the garage she found the chauffeur bending over a table absorbed in something that seemed to require close attention. As he heard her step he rose and came forward with a sort of mock politeness that frightened her more than his usual rough aggressiveness.

"Ah, Miss Storm! It's good of you to keep your little date with me--for a change. If you'll make yourself comfortable, Miss Storm, I'll tell you a few things that may interest you."

Keenly watchful, the girl sat down. On the table before Anton were a pair of shears, a paste pot and a sheet of paper on which he had, apparently, been pasting words and letters cut from a newspaper. She noticed also a bottle of whiskey and a thick glass.

"Go on," she said quietly.

"I have been attending to my correspondence, Miss Storm," he continued in the same facetious way. "Here is something that may amuse you." He handed her an envelope on which she read, in large, black letters of uneven size, cut from a printed page, the name in all the world that she dreaded most:

SCotLAnd yARd LOnDoN

"Not such a wonderful job of pasting, Miss Storm, but I guess it will get there."

With a great effort she fought back her weakness, her terror, and asked quietly. "What is it you--you want?"

"Ah!" he smiled, and his gold tooth gleamed. "You have a logical mind. You came straight to the point. What do I want?" He poured some whiskey into the glass and gulped it down. "What do you think I want? If you'll run your beautiful dark eyes over the letter inside that envelope you may get an idea of what I want, friend Hester."

She lifted the flap of the envelope and was about to draw forth the letter when he leaned forward and added, with a queer, twisted smile, "and please get one thing into your head, little lady: it ain't a question of what I want, but of what I'm going to have. Now read it."

With a sickening sense of helplessness Hester opened the sheet and read the following message, also made up of ill-assorted words and letters cut from a newspaper:

"SCOTLAND YARD, "LONDON.

"If you want a line on the party who stole five thousand pounds from the bishop of Bunchester, you can get it by sending a man to Ipping House, Ippingford, Surrey."

As the Storm girl read these words her cheeks blanched like the paper before her.

"You--you're going to send that?"

He nodded. "I'm going to send it to-night unless you deliver the goods. Mind this, it isn't a case of 'perhaps' or 'meet me to-morrow in the summer house' or any other fool fake excuse. I've had enough of that and I've waited all I'm going to. Either you deliver the goods right now or----" He pointed in grim menace to the letter.

"What goods are you talking about? What is it you want delivered?" she asked.

"My share of that money, my half. Don't say you didn't get it. I know you did. I've found out things, little Hester, since you played me for a sucker the other day."

She faced him steadily now. If she could only draw him into an argument. She didn't believe the man was born that she couldn't get the best of in a talking match.

"What have you found out? Go on, tell me."

"About Henderson, for one thing. You said you reported to him every day over the telephone."

"Well?"

"It was a lie. You never reported to Henderson. And you said there was a little man in a brown derby hat--who stuttered. Remember?"

"What of it?"

"You said he employed you to spy on me. That was another lie. There wasn't any little man."

Hester's mind worked quickly. It was likely Anton had discovered her deception, but she mustn't acknowledge it.

"I suppose they told you that at Henderson's office?" she laughed. "Of course they wouldn't spy on you. Oh, no! Say, you're easy, boy."

"It wasn't at Henderson's they told me. It was at the Ippingford telephone office. There are no records of any calls for 724 Chelsea except my calls."

The girl started to speak, but he cut her short. "Wait! If you'll let me finish you can get up a better lie. Just take a look at this--Exhibit B." He opened the table drawer and produced the false arm that Hester had hidden on the high shelf of the conservatory. "I found this where you threw it on that very busy day. Ha! Now, then, what has the dear, innocent child got to say?"

Hester sat silent for a moment, looking him straight in the eyes; then, slowly, a smile began to play about her mouth and presently she burst into a half mischievous, half impudent laugh.

"I tried to do you up, Anton," she acknowledged, "but I didn't get away with it."

"You went through the purse while I was kissing you in the car?"

"Sure I did, but the purse was empty."

"Was, eh? We'll see if it was. And you lied about Henderson?"

She shrugged her shoulders carelessly. "Oh, I was stringing you about Henderson!"

Anton looked at her almost admiringly. "You're a wonder, kid; but--you're in awful bad with me. It don't make any difference what you say--after this. I'll believe what I see. And I'm going to have what I told you, I'm going to have the goods--right now--the goods or the girl--do you get me?"

The Storm girl sprang to her feet, eyes blazing, hands clenched.

"If you dare----" she defied him, but he waved aside her immediate alarm with a reassuring gesture.

"You can cork up the sky rockets, kid. I'm not going to touch you or--kiss you or--anything, unless you want me to."

"Want you to?" she stared at him. "Well, of all the conceited----"

"No, no," he interrupted, "I don't mean that you're stuck on me, girlie. I know how you feel, but if it's a question between going to jail and--er----" now he leered at her disgustingly, "giving me a sort of--er--half interest in your tender young beauty----"

"You beast! You coward!" she cried, her cheeks flaming.

He rose slowly and faced her with hard, narrowing eyes, but he kept his distance.

"It's that or the money," he answered, "you can take your choice."

"I tell you I haven't got the money."

"What you tell me doesn't cut any ice, kid; it's what I tell you, and that is--now listen--this is your last chance--either you give me what I want--you understand--or I walk straight out of here and put that letter in the postoffice. Now, then."

He stood before her, insolent, pitiless, holding the letter addressed to Scotland Yard.

Hester moistened her lips and began to speak in a low voice. She realized that the crisis had come. This was, perhaps, the most important moment of her life.

"I admit I've done wrong, Anton," she said. "I didn't play fair with you, but--I had a reason that----" she looked at his cruel mouth and cynical eyes and turned away in despair. "I guess you wouldn't understand the reason."

"I understand the reason, all right," he sneered; "you thought you could get away with my share of the coin and you fell down."

"No, that wasn't the reason. I meant to keep straight, Anton. When I got on that train from Paris I had cut out crooked work, I swear I had. I was going back to New York to see my sister Rosalie. She's sick and----"

"Never mind your sister Rosalie. You stole that purse." He poured out another drink of whiskey and tossed it down, while she pleaded dumbly with her beautiful dark eyes. "And you've lied to me all along." He wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. "You're a smooth article, Hester. You say you didn't land that money. Maybe you didn't. The chances are you did, but suppose you didn't? Then where do I come in? I get the grand laugh all around, is that it? No, no, girlie, if I don't get my half of that five thousand pounds, then, as sure as you're standing there, I get you."

"You'll never get me." She shrank away in disgust and defiance.

Anton walked slowly to the wall and took down his cap from a nail.

"Is that what you mean?"

"Yes," she flung back.

With a look of grim purpose he moved to the door, opened it and turned, holding the letter.

"Is that your last word, kid?"

For a second she hesitated, then all the strength of her nature, all the pride of her outraged young womanhood rose in fierce revolt.

"Yes," she cried. "You can post your letter; you can do what you please. You're a coward and a beast. A coward and a beast. Now, go! Go!"