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Page 83

Peter put in a bad day. Marie was not about, could not be
located. Stewart, suffering from concussion, lay insensible all
day and all of the night. Peter could find no fracture, but felt
it wise to get another opinion. In the afternoon he sent for a
doctor from the Kurhaus and learned for the first time that Anita
had also been hurt--a broken arm. "Not serious," said the
Kurhaus man. "She is brave, very brave, the young woman. I
believe they are engaged?" Peter said he did not know and
thought very hard. Where was Marie? Not gone surely. Here about
him lay all her belongings, even her purse.

Toward evening Stewart showed some improvement. He was not
conscious, but he swallowed better and began to toss about.
Peter, who had had a long day and very little sleep the night
before, began to look jaded. He would have sent for a nurse from
the Kurhaus, but he doubted Stewart's ability to stand any extra
financial strain, and Peter could not help any.

The time for supper passed, and no Marie.

The landlady sent up a tray to Peter, stewed meat and potatoes, a
salad, coffee. Peter sat in a corner with his back to Stewart and
ate ravenously. He had had nothing since the morning's coffee.
After that he sat down again by the bed to watch. There was
little to do but watch.

The meal had made him drowsy. He thought of his pipe. Perhaps if
he got some fresh air and a smoke! He remembered the balcony.

It was there on the balcony that he found Marie, a cowering thing
that pushed his hands away when he would have caught her and
broke into passionate crying.

"I cannot! I cannot!"

"Cannot what?" demanded Peter gently, watching her. So near was
the balcony rail!

"Throw myself over. I've tried, Peter. I cannot!"

"I should think not!" said Peter sternly. "Just now when we need
you, too! Come in and don't be a foolish child."

But Marie would not go in. She held back, clinging tight to
Peter's big hand, moaning out in the dialect of the people that
always confused him her story of the day, of what she had done,
of watching Stewart brought back, of stealing into the house and
through an adjacent room to the balcony, of her desperation and
her cowardice.

She was numb with cold, exhaustion, and hunger, quite childish,
helpless. Peter stood out on the balcony with his arm round her,
while the night wind beat about them, and pondered what was best
to do. He thought she might come in and care for Stewart, at
least, until he was conscious. He could get her some supper.

"How can I?" she asked. "I was seen. They are searching for me
now. Oh, Peter! Peter!"

"Who is searching for you? Who saw you?"

"The people in the Russian villa."

"Did they see your face?"

"I wore a veil. I think not."

"Then come in and change your clothes. There is a train down at
midnight. You can take it."

"I have no money."

This raised a delicate question. Marie absolutely refused to take
Stewart's money. She had almost none of her own. And there were
other complications--where was she to go? The family of the
injured girl did not suspect her since they did not know of her
existence. She might get away without trouble. But after that,
what?

Peter pondered this on the balcony, while Marie in the bedroom
was changing her clothing, soaked with a day in the snow. He came
to the inevitable decision, the decision he knew at the beginning
that he was going to make.

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Books | Photos | Paul Mutton | Fri 26th Dec 2025, 17:30

The Street of Seven Stars by Mary Roberts Rinehart