books.jibble.org

Page 107

"Old hunting-lodge of Maria Theresa," replied Peter, still
preoccupied with Marie and what was coming. "Rather interesting
old place."

"Rather," commented Stewart, "with goddesses in the garden and
all the usual stunts."

"Goddesses?"

"Ran into one just now among the trees. 'A woman I forswore, but
thou being a goddess I forswore not thee.' English-speaking
goddess, by George!"

Peter was staring at him incredulously; now he bent forward and
grasped his arm in fingers of steel.

"For Heaven's sake, Stewart, tell me what you mean! Who was in
the garden?"

Stewart was amused and interested. It was not for him to belittle
a situation of his own making, an incident of his own telling.

"I lost my way in your garden, wandered among the trees, broke
through a hedgerow or two, struck a match and consulted the
compass--"

Peter's fingers closed.

"Quick," he said.

Stewart's manner lost its jauntiness.

"There was a girl there," he said shortly. "Couldn't see her. She
spoke English. Said she didn't live here, and broke for the gate
the minute I got to the path."

"You didn't see her?"

"No. Nice voice, though. Young."

The next moment he was alone. Peter in his dressing-gown was
running down the staircase to the lower floor, was shouting to
the Portier to unlock the door, was a madman in everything but
purpose. The Portier let him out and returned to the bedroom.

"The boy above is worse," he said briefly. "A strange doctor has
just come, and but now the Herr Doktor Byrne runs to the drug
store."

The Portier's wife shrugged her shoulders even while tears filled
her eyes.

"What can one expect?" she demanded. "The good Herr Gott has
forbidden theft and Rosa says the boy was stolen. Also the
druggist has gone to visit his wife's mother."

"Perhaps I may be of service; I shall go up."

"And see for a moment that hussy of the streets! Remain here. I
shall go."

Slowly and ponderously she climbed the stairs.

Stewart, left alone, wandered along the dim corridor. He found
Peter's excitement rather amusing. So this was where Peter lived,
an old house, isolated in a garden where rambled young women with
soft voices. Hello, a youngster asleep! The boy, no doubt.

He wandered on toward the lighted door of the salon and Marie.
The place was warm and comfortable, but over it all hung the
indescribable odor of drugs that meant illness. He remembered
that the boy was frail.

Marie turned as he stopped in the salon doorway, and then rose,
white-faced. Across the wide spaces of the room they eyed each
other. Marie's crisis had come. Like all crises it was bigger
than speech. It was after a distinct pause that she spoke.

"Hast thou brought the police?"

Previous Page | Next Page

Books | Photos | Paul Mutton | Sun 28th Dec 2025, 22:33

The Street of Seven Stars by Mary Roberts Rinehart