The Greatest Works of Fergus Hume - 22 Mystery Novels in One Edition. Fergus Hume

for?’ he asked, as they threaded their way through the crowded room. ‘Is it important?’

      ‘Very,’ she replied, looking straight at him; ‘it is essential to our comedy.’

      M. Vandeloup shrugged his shoulders.

      ‘My faith!’ he murmured, as they entered the fernery; ‘this comedy is becoming monotonous.’

Chapter X.

       In the Fernery

       Table of Contents

      The fernery was a huge glass building on one side of the ballroom, filled with Australian and New Zealand ferns, and having a large fountain in the centre sending up a sparkling jet of water, which fell into the shallow stone basin filled with water lilies and their pure white flowers. At the end was a mimic representation of a mountain torrent, with real water tumbling down real rocks, and here and there in the crannies and crevices grew delicate little ferns, while overhead towered the great fronds of the tree ferns. The roof was a dense mass of greenery, and wire baskets filled with sinuous creepers hung down, with their contents straggling over. Electric lights in green globes were skilfully hidden all round, and a faint aquamarine twilight permeated the whole place, and made it look like a mermaid’s grotto in the depths of the sea. Here and there were delightful nooks, with well-cushioned seats, many of which were occupied by pretty girls and their attendant cavaliers. On one side of the fernery a wide door opened on to a low terrace, from whence steps went down to the lawn, and beyond was the dark fringe of trees wherein Pierre was concealed.

      Kitty and Vandeloup found a very comfortable nook just opposite the door, and they could see the white gleam of the terrace in the luminous starlight. Every now and then a couple would pass, black silhouettes against the clear sky, and around they could hear the murmur of voices and the musical tinkling of the fountain, while the melancholy music of the valse, with its haunting refrain, sounded through the pale green twilight. Barty Jarper was talking near them, in his mild little way, to a tall young lady in a bilious-looking green dress, and further off Mr Bellthorp was laughing with Mrs Riller behind the friendly shelter of her fan.

      ‘Well,’ said Vandeloup, amiably, as he sank into a seat beside Kitty, ‘what is this great matter you wish to speak about?’

      ‘Madame Midas,’ retorted Kitty, looking straight at him.

      ‘Such a delightful subject,’ murmured Gaston, closing his eyes, as he guessed what was coming; ‘go on, I’m all attention.’

      ‘You are going to marry her,’ said Miss Marchurst, bending towards him and closing her fan with a snap.

      Vandeloup smiled faintly.

      ‘You don’t say so?’ he murmured, opening his eyes and looking at her lazily; ‘who told you this news—for news it is to me, I assure you?’

      ‘Then it’s not true?’ added Kitty, eagerly, with a kind of gasp.

      ‘I’m sure I don’t know,’ he replied, indolently fingering his moustache; ‘I haven’t asked her yet.’

      ‘You are not going to do so?’ she said, rapidly, with a flush on her face.

      ‘Why not?’ in surprise; ‘do you object?’

      ‘Object? my God!’ she ejaculated, in a low fierce tone; ‘have you forgotten what we are to one another?’

      ‘Friends, I understand,’ he said, looking at his hands, admiringly.

      ‘And something more,’ she added, bitterly; ‘lovers!’

      ‘Don’t talk so loud, my dear,’ replied Vandeloup, coolly; ‘it doesn’t do to let everyone know your private business.’

      ‘It’s private now,’ she said, in a voice of passion, ‘but it will soon be public enough.’

      ‘Indeed! which paper do you advertise in?’

      ‘Listen to me, Gaston,’ she said, taking no notice of his sneer; ‘you will never marry Madame Midas; sooner than that, I will reveal all and kill myself.’

      ‘You forget,’ he said, gently; ‘it is comedy, not tragedy, we play.’

      ‘That is as I choose,’ she retorted; ‘see!’ and with a sudden gesture she put her hand into the bosom of her dress and took out the bottle of poison with the red bands. ‘I have it still.’

      ‘So I perceive,’ he answered, smiling. ‘Do you always carry it about with you, like a modern Lucrezia Borgia?’

      ‘Yes,’ she answered quietly; ‘it never leaves me, you see,’ with a sneer. ‘As you said yourself, it’s always well to be prepared for emergencies.’

      ‘So it appears,’ observed Vandeloup, with a yawn, sitting up. ‘I wouldn’t use that poison if I were you; it is risky.’

      ‘Oh, no, it’s not,’ answered Kitty; ‘it is fatal in its results, and leaves no trace behind.’

      ‘There you are wrong,’ replied Gaston, coolly; ‘it does leave traces behind, but makes it appear as if apoplexy was the cause of death. Give me the bottle?’ peremptorily.

      ‘No!’ she answered, defiantly, clenching it in her hand.

      ‘I say yes,’ he said, in an angry whisper; ‘that poison is my secret, and I’m not going to have you play fast and loose with it; give it up,’ and he placed his hand on her wrist.

      ‘You hurt my wrist,’ she said.

      ‘I’ll break your wrist, my darling,’ he said, quietly, ‘if you don’t give me that bottle.’

      Kitty wrenched her hand away, and rose to her feet.

      ‘Sooner than that, I’ll throw it away,’ she said, and before he could stop her, she flung the bottle out on to the lawn, where it fell down near the trees.

      ‘Bah! I will find it,’ he said, springing to his feet, but Kitty was too quick for him.

      ‘M. Vandeloup,’ she said aloud, so that everyone could hear; ‘kindly take me back to the ball-room, will you, to finish our valse.’

      Vandeloup would have refused, but she had his arm, and as everyone was looking at him, he could not refuse without being guilty of marked discourtesy. Kitty had beaten him with his own weapons, so, with a half-admiring glance at her, he took her back to the ball-room, where the waltz was just ending.

      ‘At all events,’ he said in her ear, as they went smoothly gliding round the room, ‘you won’t be able to do any mischief with it now to yourself or to anyone else.’

      ‘Won’t I?’ she retorted quickly; ‘I have some more at home.’

      ‘The deuce!’ he ejaculated.

      ‘Yes,’ she replied, triumphantly; ‘the bottle I got that belonged to you, I put half its contents into another. So you see I can still do mischief, and,’ in a fierce whisper, ‘I will, if you don’t give up this idea of marrying Madame Midas.’

      ‘I thought you knew me better than that,’ he said, in a tone of concentrated passion. ‘I will not.’

      Then I’ll poison her,’ she retorted.

      ‘What, the woman who has been so kind to you?’

      ‘Yes, I’d rather see her dead than married to a devil like you.’

      ‘How amiable you are, Bebe,’ he said, with a laugh, as the music stopped.

      ‘I am what you have made me,’ she replied, bitterly, and they walked into the drawing-room.

      After this Vandeloup clearly saw that it was a case of diamond