THE CHIN 
 
 Y T 
 
 % 
 
 m 
 
 BY 
 
 ^ MRS. BRLLOC ^ 
 
 -LOWNDES
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFOP^ K 
 
 RIVERSIDE
 
 Dr. C. H. HOPW^ 
 
 CALb ruwail.
 
 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR
 
 THE CHINK 
 IN THE ARMOUR 
 
 MRS. BELLOC LOWNDES 
 
 AUTHOR OF 
 
 THE END OF HER HONEYMOON, 
 THE LODGER, Etc. 
 
 " Bu^ there is one chink in the chain 
 armour of civilized communities. So- 
 ciety is conducted on the assumption 
 that murder will not be committed." — 
 The Spectator. 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 GROSSET & DUNLAP 
 
 PUBLISHERS 
 
 Made in the United Stales o( Amcnca
 
 COPTBIGHT, 1912. BT 
 
 CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS 
 
 Published March, 1912 
 
 PRINTED IN THE'UNITED 5TATE9 
 
 AT 
 
 THE COUNTRY LIFE PRESS, GARDEN CITT, ». T.
 
 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR
 
 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 A small, shiny, pink card lay on the round table in 
 Sylvia Bailey's sitting-room at the Hotel de I'Horloge 
 in Paris. 
 
 She had become quite accustomed to finding one or 
 more cards — cards from dressmakers, cards from corset- 
 makers, cards from hairdressers — lying on her sitting- 
 room table, but there had never been a card quite like 
 this card. 
 
 Although it was pink, it looked more like a visiting- 
 card than a tradesman's advertisement, and she took 
 it up with some curiosity. It was inscribed "Madame 
 Cagliostra," and underneath the name were written the 
 words "Disease de la Bonne Aventure," and then, in a 
 corner, in very small black letters, the address, "5, Rue 
 Jolie, Montmartre." 
 
 A fortune-teller's card? What an extraordinary thing! 
 
 Like many pretty, prosperous, idle women, Sylvia was 
 rather superstitious. Not long before this, her first visit 
 to Paris, a London acquaintance had taken her to see a 
 noted palmist named "Pharaoh," in Bond Street. She 
 had paid her guinea willingly enough, but the result had 
 vaguely disappointed her, and she had had the feeling, 
 all the time she was with him, that the man was not 
 really reading her hand. 
 
 1
 
 I THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 
 
 True, "Pharaoh" had told her she was going abroad, 
 and at that time she had no intention of doing so. The 
 palmist had also told her — and this was really rather 
 curious — that she would meet, when abroad, a foreign 
 woman who would have a considerable influence on her 
 life. Well, in this very Hotel de I'Horloge Mrs. Bailey 
 had come across a Polish lady, named Anna Wolsky, 
 who was, like Sylvia herself, a young widow, and the 
 two had taken a great fancy to one another. 
 
 It was most unlikely that Madame Wolsky would 
 have the slightest influence on her, Sylvia Bailey's, 
 life, but at any rate it was very curious coincidence. 
 "Pharaoh" had proved to be right as to these two things 
 — she had come abroad, and she had formed a friendship 
 with a foreign woman. 
 
 Mrs. Bailey was still standing by the table, and still 
 holding the pink card in her hand, when her new friend 
 came into the room. 
 
 "Well?" said Anna Wolsky, speaking English with a 
 strong foreign accent, but still speaking it remarkably 
 well, "Have you yet decided, my dear, what we shall do 
 this afternoon? There are a dozen things open to us, 
 and I am absolutely at your service to do any one of 
 them!" 
 
 Sylvia Bailey laughingly shook her head. 
 
 "I feel lazy," she said. "I've been at the Bon Marche 
 ever since nine o'clock, and I feel more like having a 
 rest than going out again, though it does seem a shame 
 to stay in a day like this!" 
 
 The windows were wide open, the June sun was stream- 
 ing in, and on the light breeze was borne the murmur of
 
 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUH 3 
 
 the traffic in the Avenue de I'Opera, within a few yards 
 of the quiet street where the Hotel de I'Horloge is situated. 
 
 The other woman — Anna Wolsky was some years 
 older than Sylvia Bailey — smiled indulgently. 
 
 " Tieiisf" she cried suddenly, "what have you got 
 there?" and she took the pink card out of Sylvia's 
 hand. 
 
 " Madame Cagliostra? " she repeated, musingly. " Now 
 where did I hear that name? Yes, of course it was from 
 our chambermaid! Cagliostra is a friend of hers, and, 
 according to her, a marvellous person — one from whom 
 the devil keeps no secrets! She charges only five francs 
 for a consultation, and it appears that all sorts of well- 
 known people go to her, even those whom the Parisians 
 call the Gratin, that is, the Upper Crust, from the Champs 
 Elysees and the Faubourg St. Germain!" 
 
 "I don't think much of fortune-tellers," said Sylvia, 
 thoughtfully. " I went to one last time I was in London 
 and he really didn't tell me anything of the slightest 
 interest." 
 
 Her conscience pricked her a little as she said this, for 
 "Pharaoh" had certainly predicted a journey which she 
 had then no intention of taking, and a meeting with a 
 foreign woman. Yet here she was in Paris, and here was 
 the foreign woman standing close to her! 
 
 Nay more, Anna Wolsky had become — it was really 
 rather odd that it should be so — the first intimate friend 
 of her own sex Sylvia had made since she was a grown- 
 up woman. 
 
 "I do believe in fortune-tellers," said Madame Wolsky 
 deliberately, " and that being so I shall spend my after-
 
 4 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 
 
 noon in going up to Montmartre, to the Rue Jolie, to 
 hear what this Cagliostra has to say. It will be what 
 you in England call 'a lark'! And I do not see why I 
 should not give myself so cheap a lark as a five-franc 
 lark!" 
 
 "Oh, if you really mean to go, I think I will go too!" 
 cried Sylvia, gaily. 
 
 She was beginning to feel less tired, and the thought 
 of a long lonely afternoon spent indoors and by herself 
 lacked attraction. 
 
 Linking her arm through her friend's, she went down- 
 stairs and into the barely furnished dining-room, which 
 was so very unhke an English hotel dining-room. In 
 this dining-room the wallpaper simulated a vine-covered 
 trellis, from out of which peeped blue-plumaged birds, 
 and on each little table, covered by an unbleached table- 
 cloth, stood an oil and vinegar cruet and a half-bottle 
 of wine. 
 
 The Hotel de I'Horloge was a typical French hotel, 
 and foreigners very seldom stayed there. Sylvia had 
 been told of the place by the old French lady who had 
 been her governess, and who had taught her to speak 
 French exceptionally well. 
 
 Several quiet Frenchmen, who had offices in the neigh- 
 bourhood, were "en pension" at the Hotel de I'Horloge, 
 and as the two friends came in many were the steady, 
 speculative glances cast in their direction. 
 
 To the average Frenchman every woman is interest- 
 ing; for every Frenchman is in love with love, and in 
 each fair stranger he sees the possible heroine of a ro- 
 mance in which he may play the agreeable part of hero.
 
 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 5 
 
 So it was that Sylvia Bailey and Anna Wolsky both had 
 their silent admirers among those who lunched and dined 
 in the narrow green and white dining-room of the Hotel 
 de I'Horloge. 
 
 Only a Frenchman would have given a second look at 
 the Polish lady while Sylvia was by, but a Frenchman, 
 being both a philosopher and a logician by nature, is very 
 apt to content himself with the second-best when he 
 knows the best is not for him. 
 
 The two friends were in entire contrast to one another. 
 Madame Wolsky was tall, dark, almost swarthy; there 
 was a look of rather haughty pride and reserve on her 
 strong-featured face. She dressed extremely plainly, the 
 only ornament ever worn by her being a small gold 
 horseshoe, in the centre of which was treasured — so, not 
 long ago, she had confided to Sylvia, who had been at 
 once horrified and thrilled — a piece of the rope with which 
 a man had hanged himself at Monte Carlo two years 
 before! For Madame Wolsky — and she made no secret 
 of the fact to her new friend — was a gambler. 
 
 Anna Wolsky was never really happy, she did not feel 
 more than half alive, when away from the green cloth. 
 She had only left Monte Carlo when the heat began to 
 make the place unbearable to one of her northern tem- 
 perament, and she was soon moving on to one of the 
 French watering-places, where gambling of sorts can be 
 indulged in all the summer through. 
 
 Different in looks, in temperament, and in tastes were 
 the two young widows, and this, perhaps, was why they 
 got on so excellently well together. 
 
 Sylvia Bailey was the foreign ideal of a beautiful Eng-
 
 6 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 
 
 Hshwoman, Her hair was fair, and curled naturally. 
 Her eyes were of that blue which looks violet in the sun- 
 light; and she had a delicate, rose leaf complexion. 
 
 Married when only nineteen to a man much older than 
 herself, she was now at twentj-five a widow, and one 
 without any intimate duties or close ties to fill her exist- 
 ence. Though she had mourned George Bailey sincerely, 
 she had soon recovered all her normal interest and pleas- 
 ure in life. 
 
 Mrs. Bailey was fond of dress and able to indulge her 
 taste; but, even so, good feeling and the standard of 
 propriety of the English country town of Market Bailing 
 where she had spent most of her life, perhaps also a subtle 
 instinct that nothing else would ever suit her so well, 
 made her remain rigidly faithful to white and black, pale 
 grey, and lavender. She also wore only one ornament, 
 but it was a very becoming and an exceedingly costly 
 ornament, for it consisted of a string of large and finely- 
 matched pearls. 
 
 As the two friends went upstairs after luncheon Madame 
 Wolsky said earnestly, "If I were you, Sylvia, I would 
 certainly leave your pearls in the office this afternoon. 
 Where is the use of wearing them on such an expedition 
 as that to a fortune-teller?" 
 
 " But why shouldn't I wear them? " asked Sylvia, rather 
 surprised. 
 
 "Well, in your place I should certainly leave anything 
 as valuable as your pearls in safe keeping. After all, we 
 know nothing of this Madame Cagliostra, and Mont- 
 martre is what Parisians call an eccentric quarter." 
 
 Sylvia Bailey disliked very much taking ofT her pearls.
 
 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 7 
 
 Though she could not have put the fact into words, this 
 string of pearls was to her a symbol of her freedom, al- 
 most of her womanhood. 
 
 As a child and young girl she had been under the close 
 guardianship of a stern father, and it was to please him 
 that she had married the rich, middle-aged man at Market 
 Bailing whose adoration she had endured rather than 
 reciprocated. George Bailey also had been a determined 
 man — determined that his young wife should live his way, 
 not hers. During their brief married life he had heaped 
 on her showy, rather than beautiful, jewels; nothing 
 of great value, nothing she could wear when in mourning. 
 
 And then, four months after her husband's death, 
 Sylvia's own aunt had died and left her a thousand 
 pounds. It was this legacy — which her trustee, a young 
 solicitor named William Chester, who was also a friend 
 and an admirer of hers, as well as her trustee, had been 
 proposing to invest in what he called "a remarkably 
 good thing" — Mrs. Bailey had insisted on squandering 
 on a string of pearls ! 
 
 Sylvia had become aware, in the subtle way in which 
 women become aware of such things, that pearls were the 
 fashion — in fact, in one sense, "the only wear." She had 
 noticed that most of the great ladies of the neighbourhood 
 of Market Bailing, those whom she saw on those occa- 
 sions when town and county meet, each wore a string of 
 pearls. She had also come to know that pearls seem to be 
 the only gems which can be worn with absolute propriety 
 by a widow, and so, suddenly, she had made up her mind 
 to invest — she called it an "investment," while Chester 
 called it an "absurd extravagance" — in a string of pearls. 
 
 Bill Chester had done his very best to persuade her to
 
 8 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 
 
 give up her silly notion, but she had held good; ahe had 
 shown herself, at any rate on this one occasion, and in 
 spite of her kindly, yielding nature, obstinate. 
 
 This was why her beautiful pearls had become to 
 Sylvia Bailey a symbol of her freedom. The thousand 
 pounds, invested as Bill Chester had meant to invest it, 
 would have brought her in ;^55 a year, so he had told her 
 in a grave, disapproving tone. 
 
 In return she had told liim, the colour rushing into her 
 pretty face, that after all she had the right to do what 
 she chose with her legacy, the more so that this thousand 
 pounds was in a peculiar sense her own money, as the 
 woman who had left it her w^as her mother's sister, having 
 nothing to do either with her father or with the late 
 George Bailey! 
 
 And so she had had her way — nay, more; Chester, at 
 the very last, had gone to great trouble in order that she 
 might not be cheated over her purchase. Best of all. 
 Bill — Sylvia always called the serious-minded young 
 lawyer "Bill" — had Hved to admit that Mrs. Bailey 
 had made a good investment after all, for her pearls 
 had increased in value in the two years she had had 
 them. 
 
 Be that as it may, the young widow often reminded 
 herself that nothing she had ever bought, and nothing 
 that had ever been given her, had caused her such last- 
 ing pleasure as her beloved string of pearls! 
 
 But on this pleasant June afternoon, in deference to 
 her determined friend's advice, she took off her pearls 
 before starting out for Montmartre, leaving the case in 
 the charge of M. Girard, the genial proprietor of the 
 Hotel de I'Horloge.
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 With easy, leisurely steps, constantly stopping to look 
 Into the windows of the quaint shops they passed on the 
 way, Sylvia Bailey and Anna Wolsky walked up the 
 steep, the almost mountainous byways and narrow 
 streets which lead to the top of Montmartre. 
 
 The whole population seemed to have poured itself 
 out in the open air on this sunny day; even the shop- 
 keepers had brought chairs out of their shops and sat on 
 the pavement, gaily laughing and gossiping together in 
 the eager way Parisians have. As the two foreign ladies, 
 both young, both in their very different fashion good- 
 looking, walked past the sitting groups of neighbours — 
 men, women, and children would stop talking and stare 
 intently at them, as is also a Parisian way. 
 
 At first Sylvia had disliked the manner in which she 
 Was stared at in Paris, and she had been much embar- 
 rassed as well as a little amused by the very frank re- 
 marks called forth in omnibuses as well as in the street 
 by the brilliancy of her complexion and the bright beauty 
 of her fair hair. But now she was almost used to this 
 odd form of homage, which came quite as often from 
 women as from men. 
 
 "The Rue Jolie?" answered a cheerful-looking man in 
 answer to a question. "Why, it's ever so much further 
 up!" and he vaguely pointed sky^\'ards. 
 
 And it was much further up, close to the very top of 
 
 9
 
 10 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 
 
 the great hill I In fact, it took the two ladies a long 
 time to find it, for the Rue Jolie was the funniest, tiniest 
 little street, perched high up on what might almost have 
 been a mountain side. 
 
 As for No. 5, Rue Jolie, it was a queer miniature house 
 more like a Swiss chalet than anytliing else, and sur- 
 rounded by a gay, untidy little garden full of flowers, 
 the kind of half-wild, shy, and yet hardy flowers that 
 come up, year after year, without being tended or 
 watered. 
 
 "Surely a fortune-teller can't live here?" exclaimed 
 Sylvia Bailey, remembering the stately, awe-inspiring 
 rooms in which "Pharaoh" received his clients in Bond 
 Street. 
 
 "Oh, yes, this is evidently the place!" 
 
 Anna Wolsky smiled good-humouredly; she had be- 
 come extremely fond of the young Englishwoman; she 
 delighted in Sylvia's radiant prettiness, her kindly good- 
 temper, and her eager pleasure in everjiihing. 
 
 A large iron gate gave access to the courtyard which 
 was so much larger than the house built round it. But 
 the gate was locked, and a pull at the rusty bell-wire 
 produced no result. 
 
 They waited a while. "She must have gone out," said 
 Sylvia, rather disappointed. 
 
 But Madame Wolsky, without speaking, again pulled 
 at the rusty wnre, and then one of the chalet windows 
 was suddenly flung open from above, and a woman — a 
 dark, middle-aged Frenchwoman — leant out. 
 
 "Qui est Idf" and then before either of them could 
 answer, the woman had drawn back: a moment later
 
 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 11 
 
 they heard her heavy progress down the creaky stairs 
 of her dwelling. 
 
 At last she came out into the courtyard, unlocked the 
 'xon gate, and curtly motioned to the two ladies to fol- 
 low her. 
 
 "We have come to see Madame Cagliostra," said 
 Sylvia timidly. She took this stout, untidily-dressed 
 woman for the fortune-teller's servant. 
 
 "Madame Cagliostra, at your service!" The woman 
 turned round, her face breaking into a broad smile. She 
 evidently liked the sound of her peculiar name. 
 
 They followed her up a dark staircase into a curious 
 little sitting-room. It was scrupulously clean, but about 
 it hung the faint odour which the French eloquently de- 
 scribe as "shut in," and even on this beautiful hot day 
 the windows were tightly closed. 
 
 On the red walls hung various drawings of hands, of 
 hearts, and of heads, and over the plain mantelpiece was 
 a really fine pastel portrait of a man, in eighteenth cen- 
 tury dress and powdered hair. 
 
 "My ancestor, Count Cagliostro, ladies!" exclaimed 
 the fat Httle woman proudly. "As you will soon see, if 
 you have, as I venture to suppose, come to consult me, 
 I have inherited the great gifts which made Count Cagli- 
 ostro famous." She waited a moment. "What is it you 
 desire of me? Do you wish for the Grand Jeu? Or do 
 you prefer the Crystal?" 
 
 Madame Cagliostra gave a shrewd, measuring glance 
 at the two young women standing before her. She was 
 wondering how much they were good for. 
 
 "No doubt you have been told," she said suddenly,
 
 12 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 
 
 "that my fee is five francs. But if you require the 
 Grand Jeu it will be ten francs. Come, ladies, make up 
 your minds; I will give you both the Grand Jeu for 
 fifteen francs!" 
 
 Sylvia Bailey's lip quivered; she felt a wild wish to 
 burst out laughing. It was all so absurd; this funny 
 queer house; this odd, stuffy, empty-looking room; and 
 this vulgar, common-looking woman asserting that she 
 was descended from the famous Count Cagliostro! And 
 then, to crown everything, the naive, rather pathetic, 
 attempt to get an extra five francs out of them. 
 
 But Sylvia was a very kindly, happy-natured creature, 
 and she would not have hurt the feelings of even a 
 IMadame Cagliostra for the world. 
 
 She looked at her friend questioningly. Would it not 
 be better just to give the woman five francs and go away? 
 They surely could not expect to hear anything of any 
 value from such a person. She was evidently a fraud! 
 
 But Anna Wolsky was staring at Madame Cagliostra 
 with a serious look. 
 
 "Very well," she exclaimed, in her rather indifferent 
 French. "Very well! We will both take the Grand Jeu 
 at fifteen francs the two." 
 
 She turned and smiled at Sylvia. "It will be," she 
 said, quaintly, and in English, "my 'treat,' dear friend." 
 And then, as Sylvia shook her head decidedly — there 
 were often these little contests of generosity between the 
 two women — she added rather sharply, 
 
 "Yes, yes! It shall be so. I insist! I see you do 
 not believe in our hostess's gift. There are, however, 
 one or two questions I must ask, and to which I fancy
 
 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 13 
 
 she can give me an answer. I am anxious, too, to hear 
 what she will say about 2/om." 
 
 Sylvia smiled, and gave way. 
 
 Like most prosperous people who have not made the 
 money they are able to spend, Mrs. Bailey did not at- 
 tach any undue importance to wealth. But she knew 
 that her friend was not as well off as herself, and there- 
 fore she was always trying to pay a little more of her 
 share than was fair. Thanks to Madame Wolsky's 
 stronger will, she very seldom succeeded in doing so. 
 
 "We might at least ask her to open the window," she 
 said rather plaintively. It really was dreadfully stuffy 1 
 
 Madame Caghostra had gone to a sideboard from 
 which she was taking two packs of exceedingly dirty, 
 queer-looking cards. They were the famous Taro cards, 
 but Sylvia did not know that. 
 
 When the fortune-teller was asked to open the window, 
 she shook her head decidedly. 
 
 " No, no ! " she said. " It would dissipate the influences. 
 I cannot do that! On the contrary, the curtains should 
 be drawn close, and if the ladies will permit of it I will 
 light my lamp." 
 
 Even as she spoke she was jerking the thick curtains 
 closely together; she even pinned them across so that no 
 ray of the bright sunhght outside could penetrate into 
 the room. 
 
 For a few moments they were in complete darkness, 
 and Sylvia felt a queer, eerie sensation of fear, but this 
 soon passed away as the lamp — the " Suspensioii," as 
 Madame Cagliostra proudly called it — was lit. 
 
 When her lamp was well alight, the soothsayer drew
 
 14 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 
 
 three chairs up to the round table, and motioned the two 
 strangers to sit down. 
 
 "You will take my friend first," said Anna Wolsky, 
 imperiously; and then, to Sylvia, she said, in English, 
 " Would you rather I went away, dear? I could wait on 
 the staircase till you were ready for me to come back. 
 It is not very pleasant to have one's fortune told when 
 one is as young and as pretty as you are, before other 
 people." 
 
 "Of course I don't mind your being here!" cried Sylvia 
 Bailey, laughing — then, looking doubtfully at Madame 
 Cagliostra, though it was obvious the Frenchwoman did 
 not understand English, "The truth is that I should 
 feel rather frightened if you were to leave me here all by 
 myself. So please stay." 
 
 Madame Cagliostra began dealing out the cards on 
 the table. First slowly, then quickly, she laid them 
 out in a queer pattern; and as she did so she muttered 
 and murmured to herself. Then a frown came over 
 her face; she began to look disturbed, anxious, almost 
 angry. 
 
 Sylvia, in spite of herself, grew interested and excited. 
 She was sorry she had not taken off her wedding-ring. 
 In England the wise woman always takes off her wedding- 
 ring on going to see a fortune-teller. She was also rather 
 glad that she had left her pearls in the safe custody of 
 IM. Girard. This little house in the Rue Jolie was a 
 strange, lonely place. 
 
 Suddenly Madame Cagliostra began to speak in a 
 quick, clear, monotonous voice. 
 
 Keeping her eyes fixed on the cards, which now and
 
 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 15 
 
 again she touched with a fat finger, and without looking 
 at Sylvia, she said: 
 
 "Madame has led a very placid, quiet life. Her 
 existence has been a boat that has always lain in har- 
 bour " She suddenly looked up: " I spent my child- 
 hood at Dieppe, and that often suggests images to me," 
 she observed complacently, and then she went on in 
 quite another tone of voice: — 
 
 "To return to Madame and her fate! The boat has 
 always been in harbour, but now it is about to put out 
 to sea. It will meet there another craft. This other 
 craft is, to Madame, a foreign craft, and I grieve to say 
 it, rather battered. But its timbers are sound, and that 
 is well, for it looks to me as if the sails of Madame's 
 boat would mingle, at any rate for a time with this bat- 
 tered craft. 
 
 "I don't understand what she means," said Sylvia, in 
 a whisper. "Do ask her to explain, Anna!" 
 
 "My friend asks you to drop metaphor," said the older 
 woman, drily. 
 
 The soothsayer fixed her bright, beady little eyes on 
 Sylvia's flushed face. 
 
 "Well," she said deliberately, "I see you falling in love, 
 and I also see that falling in love is quite a new experi- 
 ence. It burns, it scorches you, does love, Madame. 
 And for awhile you do not know what it means, for love 
 has never yet touched you with his red-hot finger." 
 
 "How absurd!" thought Sylvia to herself. "She ac- 
 tually takes me for a young girl! What ridiculous mis- 
 takes fortune-tellers do make, to be sure!" 
 
 " But you cannot escape love," went on Madame
 
 16 THE CHIXK IN THE ARMOUR 
 
 CagHostra, eagerly. "Your fate is a fair man, which is 
 strange considering that you also are a fair woman; and 
 I see that there is already a dark man in your life." 
 
 Sylvia blushed. Bill Chester, just now the only man 
 in her life, was a very dark man. 
 
 " But this fair man knows all the arts of love." Mad- 
 ame Cagliostra sighed, her voice softened, it became 
 strangely low and sweet. "He will love you tenderly as 
 well as passionately. And as for you, Madame — but no, 
 for me to tell you what you will feel and what you will do 
 would not be delicate on my part!" 
 
 Sylvia grew redder and redder. She tried to laugh, 
 but failed. She felt angry, and not a little disgusted. 
 
 "You are a foreigner," went on Madame Cagliostra. 
 Her voice had grown hard and expressionless again. 
 
 Sylvia smiled a little satiric smile. • 
 
 "But though you are a foreigner," cried the fortune- 
 teller with sudden energy, "it is quite possible that you 
 will never go back to your own country! Stop — or, per- 
 haps, I shall say too much ! Still if you ever do go back, 
 it will be as a stranger. That I say with certainty. And 
 I add that I hope with all my heart that you will live to 
 go back to your own country, Madame!" 
 
 Sylvia felt a vague, uneasy feeling of oppression, almost 
 of fear, steal over her. It seemed to her that Madame 
 Cagliostra was looking at her with puzzled, pitjnng eyes. 
 
 The soothsayer again put a fat and not too clean finger 
 down on the upturned face of a card. 
 
 "There is something here I do not understand; some- 
 thing which I miss when I look at you as I am now look- 
 ing at you. It is something you always wear " .
 
 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 17 
 
 She gazed searchingly at Sylvia, and her eyes travelled 
 over Mrs. Bailey's neck and bosom. 
 
 "I see them and yet they are not there! They ap- 
 pear like little balls of light. Surely it is a necklace? " 
 
 Sylvia looked extremely surprised. Now, at last, 
 Madame Cagliostra was justifying her claim to a super- 
 natural gift! 
 
 "These balls of light are also your Fate!" exclaimed 
 the woman impetuously. "If you had them here — I 
 care not what they be — I should entreat you to give 
 them to me to throw away." 
 
 Madame Wolsky began to laugh. " I don't think you 
 would do that," she observed drily. 
 
 But Madame Cagliostra did not seem to hear the inter- 
 ruption. 
 
 "Have you heard of a mascot?" she said abruptly. 
 "Of a mascot which brings good fortune to its w^earer?" 
 
 Sylvia bent her head. Of course she had heard of 
 mascots. 
 
 "Well, if so, you have, of course, heard of objects 
 which bring misfortune to their wearers — which are, so 
 to speak, unlucky mascots?" 
 
 And this time it was Anna Wolsky who, leaning for- 
 ward, nodded gravely. She attributed a run of bad luck 
 she had had the year before to a trifling gift, twin cherries 
 made of enamel, which a friend had given her, in her old 
 home, on her birthday. Till she had thrown that little 
 brooch into the sea, she had been persistently unlucky 
 at play. 
 
 "Your friend," murmured Madame Cagliostra, now ad- 
 dressing herself to Anna and not to Sylvia, "should dis-
 
 18 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 
 
 possess herself as quickly as possible of her necklace, of 
 these round balls. They have already brought her ill- 
 fortune in the past, they have lowered her in the esti- 
 mation of an estimable person — in fact, if she is not 
 very careful, indeed, even if she be very careful — it 
 looks to me, Madame, as if they would end by stran- 
 gling her!" 
 
 Svlvia became very uncomfortable. "Of course she 
 
 V 4.' 
 
 means my pearls," she whispered. "But how absurd to 
 say they could ever do me harm." 
 
 "Look here," said Anna Wolsky earnestly, "you are 
 quite right, Madame; my friend has a necklace which 
 has already played a certain part in her life. But is it 
 not just because of this fact that you feel the influence 
 of this necklace so strongly? I entreat you to speak 
 frankly. You are really distressing me very much!" 
 
 Madame Cagliostra looked very seriously at the 
 speaker. 
 
 "Well, perhaps it is so," she said at last. "Of course, 
 we are sometimes wrong in our premonitions. And I 
 confess that I feel puzzled — exceedingly puzzled — to-day. 
 I do not know that I have ever had so strange a case as 
 that of this English lady before me ! I see so many roads 
 stretching before her — I also see her going along more 
 than one road. As a rule, one does not see this in the 
 cards." 
 
 She looked really harassed, really distressed, and was 
 still conning her cards anxiously. 
 
 "And yet after all," she cried suddenly, "I may be 
 wrong! Perhaps the necklace has less to do with it than 
 I thought! I do not know whether the necklace would
 
 THE CHINK IN THE AHMOUH 19 
 
 make any real difFerence! If she takes one of the roads 
 open to her, then I see no danger at all attaching to the 
 preservation of this necklace. But the other road leads 
 straight to the House of Peril." 
 
 "The House of Teril?" echoed Sylvia Bailey. 
 
 "Yes, ]Madame. Do you not know that all men and 
 women have their House of Peril — the house whose thresh- 
 old they should never cross — behind whose door lies 
 misery, sometimes dishonour?" 
 
 "Yes," said Anna Wolsky, "that is true, quite true! 
 There has been, alas! more than one House of Peril in 
 my life." She added, "But what kind of place is my 
 friend's House of Peril?" 
 
 "It is not a large house," said the fortune-teller, star- 
 ing down at the shining surface of her table. "It is a 
 gay, delightful little place, ladies — quite my idea of a 
 pretty dwelling. But it is filled with horror unutterable 
 to IMadame. Ah! I entreat you" — she stared sadly at 
 Sylvia — "to beware of unknown buildings, especially if 
 you persist in keeping and in wearing your necklace." 
 
 "Do tell us, Madame, something more about my 
 friend's necklace. Is it, for instance, of great value, and 
 is it its value that makes it a source of danger?" 
 
 Anna Wolsky wondered very much what would be the 
 answer to this question. She had had her doubts as to 
 the genuineness of the pearls her friend wore. Pearls 
 are so exquisitely imitated nowadays, and these pearls, 
 if genuine, were of such great value ! 
 
 At first she had not believed them to be real, then 
 gradually she had become convinced of Sylvia's good 
 faith. If the pearls were false, Sylvia did not know it.
 
 20 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 
 
 But iMadame CagHostra's answer was disappointing— 
 or prudent. 
 
 "I cannot tell you that," she said. "I cannot even tell 
 you of what the necklace is composed. It may be of 
 gold, of silver, of diamomds, of pearls — it may be, I'm 
 inclined to think it is, composed of Egj-ptian scarabei. 
 They, as you know, often bring terrible ill-fortune in 
 their train, especially when they have been taken from 
 the bodies of mummies. But the necklace has already 
 caused this lady to quarrel with a very good and sure 
 friend of hers — of that I am sure. And, as I tell you, I 
 see in the future that this necklace may cause her very 
 serious trouble — indeed, I see it wound like a serpent 
 round her neck, pressing ever tighter and tighter " 
 
 She suddenly began shuffling the cards. "And now," 
 she said in a tone of relief, " I will deal with you, Madame," 
 and she turned to Anna with a smile. 
 
 Sylvia drew her chair a little away from the table. 
 
 She felt depressed and uncomfortable. What an odd 
 queer kind of fortune had been told her! And then it 
 had all been so muddled. She could scarcely remember 
 what it was that had been told her. 
 
 Two things, however, remained very clear in her mind: 
 The one was the absurd prediction that she might never 
 go back to her own country; the second was all that 
 extraordinary talk about her pearls. As to the promised 
 lover, the memory of the soothsayer's words made her 
 feel very angry. No doubt Frenchwomen liked that sort 
 of innuendo, but it only disgusted her. 
 
 Yet it was really very strange that Madame Cagliostra 
 had known, or rather had divined, that she possessed a
 
 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 21 
 
 necklace by which she laid great store. But wasn't there 
 such a thing as telepathy? Isn't it supposed by some 
 people that fortune-tellers simply see into the minds of 
 those who come to them, and then arrange what they 
 see there according to their fancy? 
 
 That, of course, would entirely account for all that the 
 fortune-teller had said about her pearls. 
 
 Sylvia always felt a little uncomfortable when her 
 pearls were not lying round her pretty neck. The first 
 time she had left them in the hotel bureau, at her new 
 friend's request, was when they had been together to 
 some place of amusement at night, and she had felt quite 
 miserable, quite lost without them. She had even caught 
 herself wondering whether M. Girard was perfectly honest, 
 whether she could trust him not to have her dear pearls 
 changed by some clever jeweller, though, to be sure, she 
 felt she would have known her string of pearls anywhere! 
 
 But what was this that was going on between the other 
 two? 
 
 Madame Cagliostra dealt out the pack of cards in a 
 slow, deliberate fashion — and then she uttered a kind 
 of low hoarse cry, and mixed the cards all together, 
 hurriedly. 
 
 Getting up from the table, she exclaimed, "I regret, 
 Madame, that I can tell you nothing — nothing at all! I 
 feel ill — very ill!" and, indeed, she had turned, even to 
 Sylvia's young and unobservant eyes, terribly pale. 
 
 For some moments the soothsayer stood staring into 
 Anna Wolsky's astonished face. 
 
 "I know I've disappointed you, Mesdames, but I hope
 
 22 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 
 
 this will not prevent your telling your friends of my 
 powers. Allow me to assure you that it is not often that 
 I am taken in this way!" 
 
 Her voice had dropped to a whisper. She was now 
 gazing down at the pack of cards which lay on the table 
 with a look of horror and oppression on her face. 
 
 "I will only charge five francs," she muttered at last, 
 "for I know that I have not satisfied you," 
 
 Sylvia sprang to the window. She tore apart the cur- 
 tains and pulled up the sash. 
 
 "No wonder the poor woman feels faint," she said 
 quickly. "It's absurd to sit with a window tight shut 
 in this kind of room, which is little more than a box v/ith 
 three people in it I" 
 
 Madame Cagliostra had sunk do\^Ti into her chair 
 
 agam. 
 
 "I must beg you to go away, Mesdames," she mut- 
 tered, faintly. "Five francs is all I ask of you." 
 
 But Anna Wolsky was behaving in what appeared to 
 Sylvia a very strange manner. She walked round to 
 where the fortune-teller was sitting. 
 
 "You saw something in the cards v^-hich you do not 
 vnsh. to tell me?" she said imperiously. "I do not mind 
 being told the truth. I am not a child." 
 
 "I swear I saw nothing!" cried the Frenchwoman 
 angrily. " I am too ill to see anything. The cards were 
 to me perfectly blank!" 
 
 In the bright sunlight now pouring into the little room 
 the soothsayer looked ghastly, her skin had turned a 
 greenish white. 
 
 "Mesdames, I beg you to excuse me," she said again.
 
 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 23 
 
 '* If you do not wish to give me the five francs, I will not 
 exact any fee." 
 
 She pointed with a shaking finger to the door, and 
 Sylvia put a five-franc piece down on the table. 
 
 But before her visitors had quite groped their way to 
 the end of the short, steep staircase, they heard a cry. 
 
 "MesdamesI" then after a moment's pause, "Mes- 
 dames, I implore you to come back!" 
 
 They looked at one another, and then Anna, putting 
 her finger to her lips, went back up the stairs, alone. 
 
 "Well," she said, briefly, "I knew you had something 
 to tell me. What is it?" 
 
 "No," said Madame Cagliostra dully. "I must have 
 the other lady here, too. You must both be present to 
 hear what I have to say." 
 
 Anna went to the door and called out, "Come up 
 Sylvia! She wants to see us both together." 
 
 There was a thrill of excitement, of eager expectancy 
 in Madame Wolsky's voice; and Sylvia, surprised, ran 
 up again into the little room, now full of light, sun, and 
 air. ^ 
 
 "Stand side by side," ordered the soothsayer shortly. 
 She stared at them for a moment, and then she said with 
 extreme earnestness: — 
 
 "I dare not let you go away without giving you a 
 warning. Your two fates are closely intertwined. Do 
 not leave Paris for awhile, especially do not leave Paris 
 together. I see you both running into terrible danger! 
 If you do go away — and I greatly fear that you will do 
 so — then I advise you, together and separately, to return 
 to Paris as soon as possible." 
 I "One question I must ask of you," said Anna Wolaky
 
 24 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 
 
 urgently. "How goes my luck? You know what I 
 mean? I play!" 
 
 "It is not your luck that is threatened," replied the 
 fortune-teller, solemnly; "on the contrary, I see wonder- 
 ful luck; packets of bank-notes and rouleaux of gold! 
 It is not your luck — it is something far, far more im- 
 portant that is in peril. Something which means far more 
 to you even than your luck!" 
 
 The Polish woman smiled rather sadly. 
 
 "I wonder what that can be?" she exclaimed. 
 
 "It is your life!" 
 
 "My life?" echoed Anna. "I do not know that I 
 value my life as much as you think I do." 
 
 "The English have a proverb, Madame, which says: 
 *A short life and a merry one.' " 
 
 " Can you predict that I shall have, if a short life, then 
 a merry one?" 
 
 "Yes," said Madame Cagliostra, "that I can promise 
 you." But there was no smile on her pale face. "And 
 more, I can predict — if you will only follow my advice, 
 if you do not leave Paris for, say" — she hesitated a mo- 
 ment, as if making a silent calculation — "twelve weeks, 
 I can predict you, if not so happy a life, then a long life 
 and a fairly merry one. Will you take my advice, Mad- 
 ame?" she went on, almost threateningly. "Believe me, 
 I do not often offer advice to my clients. It is not my 
 business to do so. But I should have been a wicked 
 woman had I not done so this time. That is why I 
 called you back." 
 
 "Is it because of something you have seen in the 
 cards that you tender us this advice?" asked Anna 
 curiously.
 
 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 25 
 
 But Madame Cagliostra again looked strangely fright- 
 ened. 
 
 "No, no!" she said hastily. "I repeat that the cards 
 told me nothing. The cards were a blank. I could see 
 nothing in them. But, of course, we do not only tell 
 fortunes by cards" — she spoke very quickly and rather 
 confusedly. "There is such a thing as a premonition." 
 
 She waited a moment, and then, in a business-like 
 tone, added, "And now I leave the question of the fee 
 to the generosity of these ladies!" 
 
 Madame Wolsky smiled a little grimly, and pulled out 
 a twenty-franc piece. 
 
 The woman bowed, and murmured her thanks. 
 
 When they were out again into the roughly paved 
 little street, Anna suddenly began to laugh. 
 
 "Now, isn't that a typical Frenchwoman? She really 
 did feel ill, she really saw nothing in my cards, and, 
 being an honest woman, she did not feel that she could 
 ask us to pay! Then, when we had gone away, leaving 
 only five francs, her thrift got the better of her honesty; 
 she felt she had thrown away ten good francs! She 
 therefore called us back, and gave us what she took to 
 be very excellent advice. You see, I had told her that 
 I am a gambler. She knows, as we all know, that to 
 play for money is a foolish thing to do. She is aware 
 that in Paris it is not very easy for a stranger to obtain 
 admittance — especially if that stranger be a respectable 
 woman — to a gambling club. She therefore said to her- 
 self, 'I will give this lady far more than ten francs' worth 
 of advice. I will tell her not to go away! As long as 
 she remains in Paris she cannot lose her money. If she 
 goes to Dieppe, Trouville, any place where there is a
 
 26 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 
 
 Casino, she will lose her money. Therefore I am giving 
 her invaluable advice — worth far more than the ten francs 
 which she ought to be made to give me, and which she 
 shall be made to give me!'" 
 
 "I suppose you are right," said Sylvia thoughtfully. 
 "And yet — and yet — she certainly spoke very seriously, 
 did she not, Anna? She seemed quite honestly — in fact, 
 terribly afraid that we should go away together." 
 
 "But there is no idea of our going away together," 
 said ]\Iadame Wolsky, rather crossly. "I only wish 
 there were! You are going on to Switzerland to join 
 your friends, and as for me, in spite of Madame Cagli- 
 ostra's mysterious predictions, I shall, of course, go to 
 some place — I think it will be Dieppe (I like the Dieppe 
 Casino the best) — where I can play. And the memory 
 of you, my dear little English friend, will be my mascot. 
 You heard her say that I should be fortunate — that I 
 should have an extraordinary run of good fortune?" 
 
 "Yes," said Sylvia, "but do not forget" — she spoke 
 with a certain gravity; death was a very real thing to 
 her, for she had seen in the last two years two death- 
 beds, that of her father, that of her husband — "do not 
 forget, Anna, that she told you you would not hve long 
 if you went away," 
 
 "She was quite safe in saying that to me," replied the 
 other hastily. "People who play — those who get the 
 gambling fever into their system when they are still 
 young — do not, as a rule, live very long. Their emotions 
 are too strong, too often excited! Play should be 
 reserved for the old — the old get so quickly deadened, 
 they do not go through the terrible moments younger 
 people do!"
 
 CHAPTER m 
 
 On the morning after her visit to Madame Cagliostra, 
 Sylvia Bailey woke later than usual. She had had a 
 disturbed night, and it was pleasant to feel that she could 
 spend a long restful day doing nothing, or only taking 
 part in one of the gay little expeditions which make Paris 
 to a stranger the most delightful of European capitals. 
 
 She opened wide both the windows of her room, and 
 from outside there floated in a busy, happy murmur, for 
 Paris is an early city, and nine o'clock there is equivalent 
 to eleven o'clock in London. 
 
 She heard the picturesque street cries of the flower- 
 sellers in the Avenue de I'Opera — "Beflower yourselves, 
 gentlemen and ladies, beflower yourselves!" 
 
 The gay, shrill sounds floated in to her, and, in spite 
 of her bad night and ugly dreams, she felt extraordinarily 
 well and happy. 
 
 Cities are like people. In some cities one feels at 
 home at once; others remain, however well acquainted 
 we become with them, always strangers. 
 
 Sylvia Bailey, born, bred, married, widowed in an 
 English provincial town, had always felt strange in 
 London. But with Paris, — dear, delightful, sunny Paris, 
 — she had become on the closest, the most affectionately 
 intimate terms from the first day. She had only been 
 here a month, and yet she already knew with familiar 
 knowledge the quarter in which was situated her quiet 
 little hotel, that wonderful square mile — it is not more —
 
 28 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 
 
 which has as its centre the Paris Opera House, and 
 which includes the Rue de la PaLx and the beginning of 
 each of the great arteries of modern Paris. 
 
 And that was not all. Sylvia Bailey knew something 
 of the France of the past. The quiet, clever, old-fashioned 
 Frenchwoman by whom she had been educated had seen 
 to that. She could wander through the narrow streets 
 on the other side of the Seine, and reconstitute the ama- 
 zing, moving, tragic things which happened there during 
 the great Revolution. 
 
 She was now half sorry to think that in ten days or so 
 she had promised to join some acquaintances in Switzer- 
 land. Luckily her trustee and would-be lover, Bill 
 Chester, proposed to come out and join the party there. 
 That was something to look forward to, for Sylvia was 
 very fond of him, though he sometimes made her angry 
 by his fussy ways. Chester had not approved of her 
 going to Paris by herself, and he would certainly have 
 shaken his head had he known of yesterday's visit to 
 Madame Cagliostra. 
 
 And then Sylvia Bailey began to think of her new 
 friend: of Anna Wolsky. She was sorry, very sorry, 
 that they were going to part so soon. If only Anna 
 would consent to come on with her to Switzerland! But 
 alas! there was no chance of that, for there are no Casinos, 
 no gambling, in the land of William Tell. 
 
 There came a knock at the door, and Madame Wolsky 
 walked in. She was dressed for a journey. 
 
 " I have to go out of town this morning," she said, "but 
 the place I am going to is quite near, and I shall be back 
 this afternoon."
 
 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 29 
 
 "Wliere are you going?" asked Sylvia, naively. "Or 
 is it a secret?" 
 
 "No, it is not a secret." Anna smiled provoklngly. 
 "I am going to go to a place called Lacville. I do not 
 suppose you have ever heard of Lacville, Sylvia? " 
 
 The other shook her head. 
 
 "I thought not," cried Anna, suddenly bursting out 
 laughing. Then, "Good-bye!" she exclaimed, and she 
 was gone before Sylvia could say anything else. 
 
 Lacville? There had been a sparkle, a look of life, of 
 energy in Anna's face. Why was Anna Wolsky going 
 to Lacville? There was something about the place con- 
 cerning which she had chosen to be mysterious, and yet 
 she had made no secret of going there. 
 
 Mrs. Bailey jumped out of bed, and dressed rather 
 more quickly than usual. 
 
 It was a very hot day. In fact, it was unpleasantly 
 hot. How delightful it would be to get into the country 
 even for an hour. Why should she not also make her 
 way to Lacville? 
 
 She opened the " Guide-Book to Paris and its Environs," 
 of which she had made such good use in the last month, 
 and looked up "Lacville" in the index. 
 
 Situated within a drive of the beautiful Forest of Montmorency, 
 the pretty little town of Lacville is still famed for its healing springs 
 and during the summer months of the year is much frequented by 
 Parisians. There are frequent trains from the Gare du Nord. 
 
 No kind fairy whispered the truth to Sylvia — namely 
 that this account is only half, nay, a quarter, or an 
 eighth, of the truth.
 
 30 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 
 
 LacvIIle is the spendthrift, the ,e:ambler — the austere 
 would call her the chartered libertine — of the group of 
 pretty country towns which encircle Paris; for Lacville 
 is in the proud possession of a Gambling Concession 
 which has gradually turned what was once the quiet- 
 est of inland watering-places into a miniature Monte 
 Carlo, 
 
 The vast majority of intelligent, cultivated English 
 and American visitors to Paris remain quite unaware 
 that there is, within half an hour of the French capital, 
 such a spot; the minority, those tourists who do make 
 their way to the alluring little place, generally live to 
 regret it. 
 
 But Sylvia knew nothing, nay, less than nothing, of 
 all this, and even if she had known, it would not have 
 stayed her steps to-day. 
 
 She put on her hat and hurried down to the office. 
 There M. Girard would doubtless tell her of a good train 
 to Lacville, and if it were a small place she might easily 
 run across Anna Wolsky. 
 
 M. Girard was a very busy man, yet he always found 
 time for a talk with any foreign client of his hotel. 
 
 "I want to know," said Sylvia, smiling in spite of her- 
 self, for the hotel-keeper was such a merry-looking little 
 man, and so utterly different from any English hotel- 
 keeper she had ever seen! — "I want to know, M. Girard, 
 which is the best way to a place called Lacville? Have 
 you ever been there?" 
 
 "Lacville?" echoed M. Girard delightedly; but there 
 came a rather funny look over his shrewd, round face. 
 "Yes, indeed, I have been there, Madame! Not this
 
 THE CUINK IN THE ARMOUR 31 
 
 season yet, but often last summer, and I shall be going 
 there shortly again. I have a friend there — indeed, he 
 is more than a friend, he is a relation of mine, who keeps 
 the most select hotel at Lacville. It is called the Villa 
 du Lac. Is Madame thinking of going to Lacville in- 
 stead of to Switzerland?" 
 
 Sylvia shook her head. "Oh, no! But IVIadame Wol- 
 sky is there to-day, and I should have gone w^ith her if I 
 had been ready when she came down. It has turned so 
 hot that I feel a few hours in the country would be 
 pleasant, and I am quite likely to meet her, for I suppose 
 Lacville is not a very large place, M. Girard?" 
 
 The hotel-keeper hesitated; he found it really diflBcuIt 
 to give a true answer to this simple question. 
 
 "Lacville?" he repeated; "well — Dame! Lacville is 
 Lacville! It is not like anything Madame has ever seen. 
 On that I w^ould lay my hfe. First, there is a most beau- 
 tiful lake — that is, perhaps, the principal attraction; — 
 then the villas of Lacville — ah! they are ravishingly 
 lovely, and then there is also" — he fixed his black eyes 
 on her — " a Casino." 
 
 "A Casino?" echoed Sylvia. She scarcely knew w'hat 
 a Casino was. 
 
 "But to see the Casino properly Madame must go at 
 night, and it would be well if Madame were accompanied 
 by a gentleman. I do not think Madame should go by 
 herself, but if Madame really desires to see Lacville 
 properly my wife and I will make a great pleasure to 
 ourselves to accompany her there one Sunday night. It 
 is very gay, is Lacville on Sunday night — or, perhaps," 
 added M. Girard quickly, "Madame, being English,
 
 32 THE CIIIXK IX THE ARMOUR 
 
 would prefer a Saturday night? Lacville is also very 
 gay on Saturday nights." 
 
 "But is there anything going on there at night?" 
 asked Sylvia, astonished. "I thought Lacville was a 
 country place." 
 
 "There are a hundred and twenty trains daily from 
 the Gare du Xord to Lacville," said the hotel-keeper 
 drily. " A great many Parisians spend the evening there 
 each day. They do not start till nine o'clock in the 
 evening, and they are back, having spent a very pleasant, 
 or sometimes an unpleasant, soiree, before midnight." 
 
 "A hundred and twenty trains!" repeated Sylvia, 
 amazed. "But why do so many people want to go to 
 Lacville?" 
 
 Again the hotel-keeper stared at her with a question- 
 ing look. Was it possible that pretty Madame Bailey 
 did not know what was the real attraction of Lacville? 
 Yet it was not his business to run the place down — as a 
 matter of fact, he and his wife had invested nearly a 
 thousand pounds of their hard-earned savings in their 
 relation's hotel, the Villa du Lac. If Madame Bailev 
 really wanted to leave salubrious, beautiful Paris for the 
 summer, why should she not go to Lacville instead of to 
 dull, puritanical, stupid Switzerland? 
 
 These thoughts rushed through the active brain of M. 
 Girard with amazing quickness. 
 
 "Many people go to Lacville in order to play baccarat," 
 he said lightly. 
 
 And then Sylvia knew why Anna Wolsky had gone to 
 Lacville. 
 
 "But apart from the play, Lacville is a little paradise.
 
 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 33 
 
 Madame," he went on enthusiastically. "It is a beau- 
 teous spot, just Hke a scene in an opera. There is the 
 romantic lake, edged with high, shady trees and princely 
 villas — and then the gay, the delightful Casino!" 
 
 "And is there a train soon?" 
 
 "I will look Madame out a train this moment, and I 
 will also give her one of my cousin Polperro's cards. 
 Madame has, of course, heard of the Empress Eugenie? 
 Well, the Villa du Lac once belonged to one of the Em- 
 press's gentlemen-in-waiting. The very highest nobility 
 stay at the Villa du Lac with my cousin. At this very 
 moment he has Count Paul de Virieu, the brother-in-law 
 of a duke, among his clients " 
 
 M. Girard had noticed the British fondness for titles. 
 
 " You see, Madame, my cousin was chef to the Emperor 
 of Brazil's sister — this has given him a connection among 
 the nobility. In the winter he has an hotel at Mentone," 
 he was looking up the train while he chatted happily. 
 
 "There is a train every ten minutes," he said at last, 
 "from the Gare du Nord. Or, if Madame prefers it, she 
 could walk up from here to the Square of the Trinite 
 and take the tramway; but it is quicker and pleasanter 
 to go by train — unless, indeed, Madame wishes to offer 
 herself the luxury of an automobile. That, alas! I fear 
 would cost Madame twenty to thirty francs." 
 
 "Of course I will go by train," said Sylvia, smiling, 
 "and I will lunch at your cousin's hotel, M. Girard." 
 
 It would be quite easy to find Anna, or so she thought, 
 for Anna would be at the Casino. Sylvia felt painfully 
 interested in her friend's love of gambling. It was so 
 strange that Anna was not ashamed of it.
 
 34 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 
 
 And then as she drove to the great railway terminus, 
 from which a hundred and twenty trains start daily for 
 Lacville, it seemed to Sylvia that the whole of Paris was 
 placarded with the name of the place she was now about 
 to visit for the first time! 
 
 On every hoarding, on every bare piece of wall, were 
 spread large, flamboyant posters showing a garish but 
 not unattractive landscape. There was the sun spark- 
 ling on a wide stretch of water edged with high trees, and 
 gay with little sailing boats, each boat with its human 
 freight of two lovers. Jutting out into the blue lake was 
 a great white building, which Sylvia realised must be the 
 Casino. And under each picture ran the words " Lacville- 
 les-Bains" printed in very black letters. 
 
 WTien she got to the Gare du Nord the same adver- 
 tisement stared down at her from the walls of the station 
 and of the waiting-rooms. 
 
 It was certainly odd that she had never heard of Lac- 
 ville, and that the place had never been mentioned to her 
 by any of those of her English acquaintances who thought 
 they knew Paris so well. 
 
 The Lacville train was full of happy, chattering people. 
 In her first-class carriage she had five fellow-travellers — 
 a man and woman and three children. They looked 
 cheerful, prosperous people, and soon the husband and 
 wife began talking eagerly together. 
 
 "I really think," said the lady suddenly, "that we 
 might have chosen some other place than Lacville in 
 which to spend to-day ! There are many places the chil- 
 dren would have enjoyed more." 
 
 "But there is no place," said her husband in a jovial
 
 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOTJTl 35 
 
 tone, "where I can spend an amusing hour in the after- 
 
 noon." 
 
 "Ah, my friend, I feared that was coming!" exclaimed 
 his wife, shaking her head. "But remember what hap- 
 pened the last time we were at Lacville — I mean the 
 afternoon when you lost seventy francs!" 
 
 "But you forget that other afternoon!" answered the 
 man eagerly. "I mean the afternoon when I made a 
 hundred francs, and bought you and the children a 
 number of delightful little gifts with the money!" 
 
 Sylvia was amused. How quaint and odd French 
 people were! She could not imagine such an inter- 
 change of words between an English husband and wife, 
 especially before a stranger. And then her amusement 
 was further increased, for the youngest child, a boy of 
 about six, cried out that he also wished to go to the 
 Casino with his dear papa. 
 
 "No, no, my sweet cabbage, that will happen quite 
 soon enough, when thou art older! If thou art in the 
 least like thy father, there will certainly come a time 
 when thou also wilt go and lose well-earned money at 
 the Tables," said his mother tenderly. 
 
 "But if I win, then I shall buy thee a present," said 
 the sweet cabbage coaxingly. 
 
 Sylvia looked out of the window. These happy, 
 chattering people made her feel lonely, and even a little 
 depressed. 
 
 The country through which the train was passing was 
 very flat and ugly — in fact, it could scarcely be called 
 country at all. And when at last they drew up into the 
 large station of what was once a quiet, remote village
 
 36 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 
 
 where Parisian invalids, too poor to go elsewhere, cama 
 to take medicinal waters, she felt a pang of disappoint- 
 ment. Lacville, as seen from the railway, is an unattrac- 
 tive place. 
 
 "Is this Madame's first visit to Lacville?" asked her 
 fellow-traveller, helping her out of the railway carriage. 
 "If so, ]Madame would doubtless like to make her way 
 to the lake. Would she care to accompany us thither?" 
 
 Sylvia hesitated. She almost felt inclined to go back 
 to Paris by the next train. She told herself that there 
 was no hope of finding Anna in such a large place, and 
 that it was unlikely that this dreary-looking town would 
 offer anything in the least pleasant or amusing on a very 
 hot day. 
 
 But "It will be enchanting by the lake!" she heard 
 some one say eagerly. And this chance remark made 
 up her mind for her. After all, she might as well go and 
 see the lake, of which everyone who mentioned Lacville 
 spoke so enthusiastically. 
 
 Down the whole party swept along a narrow street, 
 bordered by high white houses, shabby cafes, and little 
 shops. Quite a crowd had left the station, and they 
 were all now going the same way. 
 
 A turn in the narrow street, and Sylvia uttered alow 
 cry of pleasure and astonishment! 
 
 Before her, like a scene in a play when the curtain is 
 rung up, there suddenly appeared an immense sunlit 
 expanse of water, fringed by high trees, and bordered by 
 quaint, pretty chalets and villas, fantastic in shape, and 
 each surrounded by a garden, which in many cases ran 
 down to the edge of the lake.
 
 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 37 
 
 To the right, stretching out over the water, its pinnacles 
 and minarets reflected in bhie translucent depths, rose 
 what looked like a great white marble palace. 
 I "Is it not lovely?" said the Frenchman eagerly. 
 " And the water of the lake is so shallow, Madame, there 
 is no fear of anyone being drowned in it! That is such 
 an advantage when one has children." 
 
 "And it is a hundred times more charming in the 
 afternoon," his wife chimed in, happily, "for then the 
 lake is so full of little sailing-boats that you can hardly 
 see the water. Oh, it is gay then, very gay!" 
 
 She glanced at Mrs. Bailey's pretty grey muslin dress 
 and elegant parasol. 
 
 "I suppose Madame is going to one of the great res- 
 taurants? As for us, we shall make our way into a wood 
 and have our luncheon there. It is expensive going to a 
 restaurant with children." 
 
 She nodded pleasantly, with the easy, graceful famil- 
 iarity which foreigners show in their dealings with 
 strangers; and, shepherding their little party along, the 
 worthy pair went briskly off by the broad avenue which 
 girdles the lake. 
 
 Again Sylvia felt curiously alone. She was surrounded 
 on every side by groups of merry-looking people, and 
 already out on the lake there floated tiny white-sailed 
 boats, each containing a man and a girl. 
 
 Everyone seemed to have a companion or companions; 
 she alone was solitary. She even found herself wonder- 
 ing what she was doing there in a foreign country, by her- 
 self, when she might have been in England, in her own 
 pleasant house at Market Dalling!
 
 38 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 
 
 She took out of her bag the card which the landlord of 
 the Hotel de I'Horloge had pressed upon her. "Hotel 
 Pension, Villa du Lac, Lacville." 
 
 She went up rather timidly to a resp>ectable-looking 
 old bourgeois and his wife. "Do you know," she asked, 
 "where is the Villa du Lac?" 
 
 "Certainly, Madame," answered the old man amiably. 
 "It is there, close to you, not a hundred yards away. 
 That big white house to our left." And then, w^ith that 
 love of giving information which possesses so many 
 Frenchman, he added: 
 
 "The Villa du Lac once belonged to the Marquis de 
 Para, who was gentleman-in-waiting to the Empress 
 Eugenie. He and his family lived on here long after the 
 war, in fact" — he lowered his voice — "till the Conces- 
 sion was granted to the Casino. You know what I 
 mean? The Gambling Concession. Since then the 
 world of Lacville has become rather mixed, as I have 
 reason to know, for my wife and I have lived here fifteen 
 years. The Marquis de Para sold his charming villa. 
 He was driven away, like so many other excellent people. 
 So the Villa du Lac is now an hotel, where doubtless 
 Madame has friends?" 
 
 Sylvia bowed and thanked him. Yes, the Villa du 
 Lac even now looked like a delightful and well-kept 
 private house, rather than like an hotel. It stood some 
 way back — behind high wrought-steel and gilt gates — 
 from the sandy road which lay between it and the lake, 
 and the stone-paved courtyard was edged with a line of 
 green tubs, containing orange trees. 
 
 Sylvia walked through the gates, which stood hos-
 
 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 39 
 
 pitably open, and when she was half-way up the horse- 
 shoe stone-staircase which led to the front door, a man, 
 dressed in the white dress of a French chef, and bearing 
 an almost ludicrous resemblance to M. Girard, came 
 hurrying out. 
 
 "Madame Bailey?" he exclaimed joyously, and bow- 
 ing very low. "Have I the honour of greeting Madame 
 Bailey? My cousin telephoned to me that you might 
 be coming, Madame, to dejeuner!" And as Sylvia smiled 
 in assent: "I am delighted, I am honoured, by the visit 
 of Madame Bailey! " 
 
 Sylvia laughed outright. She really could not help it! 
 It was very nice and thoughtful of M. Girard to have 
 telephoned to his cousin. But how dreadful it would 
 have been if she had gone straight back to Paris from the 
 station. All these kind people would have had their 
 trouble for nothing. 
 
 M. Polperro was a shrewd Southerner, and he had had 
 the sense to make but few alterations to the Villa du Lac. 
 It therefore retained something of the grand air it had 
 worn in the days when it had been the property of a 
 Court oflBcial. The large, cool, circular hall into which 
 the hotel-keeper ushered Sylvia was charming, as were 
 the long, finely decorated reception-rooms on either side. 
 
 The dining-room, filled with small oval tables, to 
 which M. Polperro next led his honoured guest, had 
 been built out since the house had become an hotel. It 
 commanded a view of the lake on the one side, and of 
 the large, shady garden of the villa on the other. 
 
 "I have arranged for Madame a little table in what 
 we call the lake window," observed M. Polperro. "As
 
 40 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 
 
 yet Lacville is very empty. Paris is so delightful," he 
 sighed, "but very soon, when the heat comes, Lacville 
 will be quite full," he smiled joyously. "I myself have 
 a very choice clientele — I do not deal with rubbish." 
 He drew himself up proudly. "My clients come back 
 to me year after year. Already I have six visitors, and 
 in ten days my pension will be au grand complet. It is 
 quality, not quantity, that I desire, Madame. If ever 
 you know anyone who wishes to come to Lacville you 
 may safely recommend them — I say it with my hands 
 on my heart," and he suited his action to his words — "to 
 the Villa du Lac." 
 
 How delightful it all was to Sylvia Bailey ! No wonder 
 her feeling of depression and loneliness vanished. 
 
 As she sat down, and looked out of the bay window 
 which commanded the whole length of the gleaming, sun- 
 flecked lake, she told herself that, pleasant as was Paris, 
 Lacville on a hot day was certainly a hundred times 
 pleasanter than Paris. 
 
 And the Casino? Sylvia fixed her blue eyes on the 
 white, fairy-like group of buildings, which were so attrac- 
 tive an addition to the prett}^ landscape. 
 
 Surely one might spend a pleasant time at Lacville 
 and never play for money? Though she was inclined to 
 feel that in this matter of gambling English people are 
 curiously narrow. It was better to be philosophical about 
 it, like that excellent Frenchwoman in the train, who 
 had not grudged her husband a little amusement, even 
 if it entailed his losing what she had described as "hard- 
 earned money." 
 
 Though she had to wait nearly half an hour for her
 
 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 41 
 
 meal, the time passed quickly; and when at last dejeuner 
 was served to her well and deftly by a pleasant-faced 
 young waitress dressed in Breton costume, each item of 
 the carefully-prepared meal was delicious. M. Polperro 
 had not been chef to a Princess for nothing. 
 
 Sylvia Bailey w^as not greedy, but like most healthy 
 people she enjoyed good food, and she had very seldom 
 tasted quite such good food as that which was served to 
 her at the Hotel du Lac on this memorable June day. 
 
 She had almost finished her luncheon when a fair 
 young man came in and sat down at a small table situ- 
 ated at the other end of the dining-room, close to the 
 window overlooking the garden of the Villa du Lac.
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 As the young man came into the dining-room he 
 glanced over to where INIrs. Bailey was sitting and then 
 he looked away, and, unfolding his table napkin, paid 
 no more attention to the only other occupant of the 
 room. 
 
 Now this was a very trifling fact, and yet it surprised 
 our young Englishwoman; she had become accustomed 
 to the way in which Frenchmen, or perhaps it would be 
 more true to say Parisians, stare at a pretty woman in 
 the streets, in omnibuses, and in shops. As for the 
 dining-room of the Hotel de I'Horloge, it always seemed 
 full of eyes when she and Anna Wolsky were having 
 lunch or dinner there. 
 
 Now, for the first time, she found herself close to a 
 Frenchman without feeling either uncomfortably or 
 amusingly aware of a steady, unwinking stare. It was 
 quite an odd sensation to find herself thus neglected ! 
 
 Without actually looking round, Sylvia, out of the 
 corner of her blue eye, could see this exceptional French- 
 man. He was dressed in white flannels, and he wore 
 rather bright pink socks and a pink tie to match. He 
 must be, she decided, something of a dandy. Though 
 still a young man, he was rather bald, and he had a thick 
 fair moustache. He looked bored and very grave; she 
 could not help wondering why he was staying at Lacville. 
 
 M. Polperro suddenly appeared at the door. "Would 
 
 42
 
 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 43 
 
 M. le Comte prefer scrambled eggs or an omelette?" he 
 asked obsequiously, and "M. le Comte" lifted his head 
 and answered shortly, but with a smile, "Scrambled 
 eggs, my good Polperro." 
 
 Doubtless this was the gentleman who was brother- 
 in-law of the French Duke mentioned by INI. Girard. 
 He spoke to the chef with the kindly familiarity born of 
 long knowledge. 
 
 After having given the Count his scrambled eggs, the 
 young waitress came over to where Sylvia was sitting. 
 "Would Madame like to have her coffee in the garden?" 
 she asked; and Sylvia said that she would. 
 
 How enchanting was the garden of the Villa du Lac, 
 and how unlike any hotel garden she had ever seen! 
 The smooth, wide lavm was shaded with noble cedars 
 and bright green chestnut trees; it was paradise com- 
 pared with the rather stuffy little Hotel de I'Horloge 
 and the dusty Paris streets. 
 
 M. Polperro himself brought Sylvia's coffee. Then he 
 stayed on talking to her, for like all clever hotel-keepers 
 the Southerner had the gift of making those who were 
 staying in his house feel as if they were indeed his guests 
 rather than his chents. 
 
 " If Madame should ever care to make a little stay at 
 Lacville, how happy Madame Polperro and I would be ! " 
 he exclaimed. " I have a beautiful room overlooking the 
 lake which I could give Madame. It was reserved for a 
 Russian Princess, but now she is not coming " 
 
 "Perhaps I will come and stay here some day," said 
 Sylvia, and she really felt as if she would like to come 
 and stay in the Villa du Lac. " But I am going to Swit-
 
 44 THE CHINK IX THE ARMOUR 
 
 zerland next week, so it will have to be the next time I 
 come to France in the summer." 
 
 "Does Madame play?" asked M. Polperro, insinu- 
 atingly. 
 
 "I?" said Sylvia, laughing. "No, indeed! Of course, 
 I play bridge — all English people play bridge — but I 
 have never gambled, if you mean that, monsieur, in my 
 life." 
 
 "I am delighted to hear IMadame say so," said M. 
 Polperro, heartily. "People now talk of Lacville as if 
 there was only the Casino and the play. They forget 
 the beautiful walks, the lovely lake, and the many other 
 attractions we have to offer! ^Vhy, Madame, think of 
 the Forest of IMontmorency? In old days it was quite 
 a drive from Lacville, but now a taxi or an automobile 
 will get you there in a few minutes! Still the Casino is 
 very attractive too; and all my clients belong to the 
 Club!" 
 
 |_ Sylvia stayed on for nearly an hour in the delightful, 
 peaceful garden, and then, rather regretfully, she went 
 up the lichen-covered steps which led into the hall. How 
 deliciously cool and quiet it was there. 
 
 She paid her bill; it seemed very moderate consider- 
 ing how good her lunch had been, and then slowly made 
 her way out of the Villa du Lac, down across the stone- 
 flagged courtyard to the gate, and so into the sanded 
 road. 
 
 Crossing over, she began walking by the edge of the 
 lake; and once more loneliness fell upon her. The happy- 
 looking people who passed her laughing and talking to- 
 gether, and the more silent couples who floated by oa
 
 THE .CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 45 
 
 the water in the quaint miniature sailing boats with which 
 the surface of the lake was now dotted, were none of 
 them alone. 
 
 Suddenly the old parish church of Lacville chimed out 
 the hour — it was only one o'clock — amazingly early still ! 
 
 Someone coming across the road lifted his hat. Could 
 it be to her? Yes, for it was the young man who had 
 shared with her, for a time, the large dining-room of the 
 Villa du Lac. 
 
 Again Sylvia was struck by what she could only sup- 
 pose were the stranger's good manners, for instead of 
 staring at her, as even the good-humoured bourgeois 
 with whom she had travelled from Paris that morning 
 had done, the Count — she remembered he was a Count 
 — turned sharply to the right and walked briskly along 
 to the turning which led to the Casino. 
 
 The Casino? Why, of course, it was there that she 
 must look for Anna Wolsky. How stupid of her not to 
 have thought of it! And so, after waiting a moment, 
 she also joined the little string of people who were wend- 
 ing their way towards the great white building. 
 
 After having paid a franc for admission, Sylvia found 
 herself in the hall of the Casino of Lacville. An eager 
 attendant rushed forward to relieve her of the dust- 
 cloak and parasol which she was carrying. 
 
 " Does Madame wish to go straight to the Room of the 
 Games?" he inquired eagerly. 
 
 Sylvia bent her head. It was there, or so she supposed, 
 that Anna would be. 
 
 Feeling a thrill of keen curiosity, she followed the 
 man through a prettily-decorated vestibule, and so into
 
 46 TIIE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 
 
 a large room, overlooking the lake, where already a crowd 
 of people were gathered round the green baize tables. 
 
 The Salle des Jeux at Lacville is a charming, con- 
 servatory-like apartment, looking, indeed, as if it were 
 actiiallv built out on the water. 
 
 But none of the people were looking at the beautiful 
 scene outside. Instead, each group was intent on the 
 table, and on the game being played thereon — a game, 
 it may be mentioned, which has a certain affinity with 
 Roulette and Petits Chevaux, though it is neither the 
 one nor the other. 
 
 Sylvia looked about her timidly; but no one took the 
 slightest notice of her, and this in itself was rather strange. 
 She was used to exciting a good deal of attention wherever 
 she went in France, but here, at Lacville, everyone seemed 
 blind to her presence. It w'as almost as if she were in- 
 visible! In a way this was a relief to her; but at the 
 same time, she found it curiously disconcerting. 
 
 She walked slowly round each gambling table, keeping 
 well outside the various circles of people sitting and 
 standing there. 
 
 Strange to say Anna Wolsky was not among them. 
 Of that fact Sylvia soon became quite sure. 
 
 At last a servant in livery came up to her. "Does 
 Madame want a seat?" he asked officiously. "If so, I 
 can procure Madame a seat in a very few moments." 
 
 But Sylvia, blushing, shook her head. She certainly 
 had no wish to sit down. 
 
 "I only came in to look for a friend," she said, hesi- 
 tatingly; "but my friend is not here." 
 i And she was making her way out of the Salle des
 
 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 47 
 
 Jeux, feeling rather disconsolate and disappointed, when 
 suddenly, in the vestibule, she saw Madame Wolsky 
 walking towards her in the company of a middle-aged 
 man. 
 
 "Then that is settled?" Sylvia heard Anna say in her 
 indifferent French. "You will fill up all the formalities, 
 and by the time I arrive the card of membership will be 
 ready for me? This kind of thing" — she waved her 
 hand towards the large room Sylvia had just left — "is 
 no use to me at all! I only like le Grand Jeu''; and a 
 slight smile came over her dark face. 
 
 The man who was with her laughed as if she had made 
 a good joke; then bowing, he left her. 
 
 "Sylvia!" 
 
 "Anna!" 
 
 Mrs. Bailey fancied that the other was not particularly 
 sorry to have been followed. 
 
 " So you came after me? Well ! Well ! I never should 
 have thought to have seen my dear Puritan, Sylvia 
 Bailey, in such a place as the Casino of Lacville?" said 
 the Polish lady laughing. "However, as you are here, 
 let us enjoy ourselves. Would you like to risk a few 
 francs? " 
 
 Together they had gone back into the Salle des Jeux, 
 and Anna drew Sylvia towards the nearest table. 
 
 "This is a child's game!" she exclaimed, contemptu- 
 ously. "I cannot understand how all these clever Par- 
 isians can care to come out here and lose their money 
 every Saturday and Sunday, to say nothing of other 
 days!" 
 
 "But I suppose some of these people make money?"
 
 48 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 
 
 questioned Sylvia. She thought she saw a great deal of 
 money being won, as well as lost, on the green cloth of 
 the table before her. 
 
 "Oh yes, no doubt a few may make money at this 
 game! But I have just been arranging, with the aid of 
 the owner of the Pension where I am going to stay when 
 I come here, to join the Club." 
 
 And then, realising that Sylvia did not understand, 
 she went on. 
 
 "You see, my dear child, there are two kinds of play 
 here — as there are, indeed, at almost every Casino in 
 France. There is this game, which is, as I say, a child's 
 game — a game at which you can make or lose a few 
 francs; and then there is Baccarat!" 
 
 She waited a moment. 
 
 "Yes?" said Sylvia questioningly. 
 
 "Baccarat is played here in what they call the Club, 
 in another part of the building. As there is an entrance 
 fee to the Club, there is never such a crowd in the Bac- 
 carat Room as there is here. And those who belong to 
 the Club 'mean business,' as they say in your dear coun- 
 try. They come, that is, to play in the way that I under- 
 stand and that I enjoy play!" 
 
 A little colour rose to Anna Wolsky's sallow cheeks; 
 she looked exhilarated, excited at the thoughts and mem- 
 ories her words conjured up. 
 
 Sylvia also felt curiously excited. She fomid the scene 
 strangely fascinating — the scene presented by this crowd 
 of eager men and women, each and all absorbed in this 
 mysterious game which looked anything but a child's 
 game, though Anna had called it so.
 
 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 49 
 
 But as they were trying to make their way through the 
 now dense crowd of people, the middle-aged man who had 
 been with Anna when Sylvia had first seen her just now 
 hurried up to them. 
 
 "Everything is arranged, Madame!" he exclaimed. 
 "Here is your membership card. May I have the pleas- 
 ure of taking you myself to the Club? Your friend can 
 come too. She does not want to play, does she?" 
 
 He looked inquisitively at Sylvia, and his hard face 
 softened. He had your true Frenchman's pleasure in 
 charm and beauty. "Madame, or is it Mademoi- 
 selle? " 
 
 "Madame!" answered Anna, smiling. 
 
 " Madame can certainly come in and look on for a 
 
 few moments, even though she be not a member of the 
 Club." 
 
 They turned and followed him up a broad, shallow stair- 
 case, into a part of the Casino where the very atmosphere 
 seemed different from that surrounding the public gaming 
 tables. 
 
 Here, in the Club, all was hushed and quiet, and under- 
 foot was a thick carpet. 
 
 There were very few people in the Baccarat Room, 
 some twelve men, and four or five ladies who were broken 
 up into groups, and talking with one another in the inti- 
 mate, desultory fashion in which people talk who meet 
 daily in pursuit of some common interest or hobby. 
 
 And then, all at once, Sylvia Bailey saw that among 
 them, but standing a little apart, was the Count — was 
 not his name de Virieu? 
 
 He turned round, and as he saw her she thought that
 
 50 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 
 
 a look of surprise, almost of annoyance, flitted over his 
 impassive face. Then he moved away from where he 
 could see her. 
 
 A peculiar-looking old gentleman, who seemed on 
 kindly terms with everyone in the room, pulled a large 
 turnip watch out of his pocket. " It is nearly half-past 
 one I" he exclaimed fussily. "Surely, it is time that 
 we began! Who takes the Bank to-day?" 
 
 "I will," said the Comte de Virieu, coming forward. 
 
 Five minutes later play was in full swing. Sylvia did 
 not in the least understand the game of Baccarat, and 
 she would have been surprised indeed had she been told 
 that the best account of it ever written is that which 
 describes it as "neither a recreation nor an intellectual 
 exercise, but simply a means for the rapid exchange of 
 money well suited to persons of impatient temperament." 
 
 Vv'ith fascinated eyes, Sylvia watched Anna put down 
 her gold pieces on the green cloth. Then she noted the 
 cards as they were dealt out, and listened, it must be ad- 
 mitted, uncomprehendingly, to the mysterious words 
 which told how the game was going. Still she sympa- 
 thised very heartily with her friend when Anna's gold 
 pieces were swept away, and she rejoiced as heartily 
 when gold was added to Anna's little pile. 
 
 They both stood, refusing the seats which were pressed 
 upon them. 
 
 Suddenly Sylvia Bailey, looking up from the green 
 cloth, saw the eyes of the man who held the Bank fixed 
 full upon her. 
 
 The Comte de Virieu did not gaze at the young Eng- 
 lish woman with the bold, impersonal stare to which she
 
 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 51 
 
 had become accustomed — his glance was far more thought- 
 ful, questioning, and in a sense kindly. But his eyes 
 seemed to pierce her through and through, and suddenly 
 her heart began to beat very fast. Yet no colour came 
 into her face — indeed, Sylvia grew pale. 
 
 She looked down at the table, but even so she remained 
 conscious of that piercing gaze turned on her, and with 
 some surprise she found herself keenly visuaUsing the 
 young man's face. 
 
 Alone among all the people in the room, the Comte de 
 Virieu looked as if he lived a more or less outdoor life; 
 his face was tanned, his blue eyes were very bright, and 
 the hands dealing out the cards were well-shaped and 
 muscular. Somehow he looked very different, she could 
 hardly explain how or why, from the men round him. 
 
 At last she moved round, so as to avoid being opposite 
 to him. 
 
 Yes, she felt more comfortable now, and slowly, almost 
 insensibly, the glamour of play began to steal over Sylvia 
 Bailey's senses. She began to understand the at once 
 very simple and, to the uninitiated, intricate game of 
 Baccarat— to long, as Anna Wolsky longed, for the fate- 
 ful nine, eight, five, and four to be turned up. 
 
 She had fifty francs in her purse, and she ached to risk 
 a gold piece. 
 
 "Do you think I might put down ten francs?" she 
 whispered to Anna. 
 
 And the other laughed, and exclaimed, " Yes, of course 
 you can!" 
 
 Sylvia put down a ten-franc piece, and a moment later 
 it had become twenty francs.
 
 52 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 
 
 "Leave it on," murmured Anna, "and see what hap» 
 pens " 
 
 Sylvia followed her friend's advice, and a larger gold 
 piece was added to the two already there. 
 
 She took up the forty francs with a curious thrill of joy 
 and fear. 
 
 But then an untoward little incident took place. One 
 of the liveried men-servants stepped forward. "Has 
 Madame got her card of membership?" he inquired 
 smoothly. 
 
 Sylvia blushed painfully. No, she had not got a card 
 of membership — and there had been an implied under- 
 standing that she was only to look on, not play. 
 
 She felt terribly ashamed — a very unusual feeling for 
 Sylvia Bailey — and the gold pieces she held in her hand, 
 for she had not yet put them in her purse, felt as if they 
 burnt her. 
 
 But she found a friend, a defender in an unexpected 
 quarter. The Count rose from the table. He said a 
 few words in a low tone to the servant, and the man fell 
 back. 
 
 "Of course, this young lady may play," he addressed 
 Anna, "and as Banker I wish her all good luck! This is 
 probably her first and her last visit to Lacville." He 
 smiled pleasantly, and a little sadly. Sylvia noticed that 
 he had a low, agreeable voice. 
 
 "Take her away, Madame, when she has won a little 
 more! Do not give her time to lose what she has won." 
 
 He spoke exactly as if Sylvia was a child. She felt 
 piqued, and Madame Wolsky stared at him rather 
 haughtily. Still, she was grateful for his intervention. ^
 
 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 53 
 
 "We thank you, Monsieur," she said stiffly. "But I 
 think we have been here quite long enough." 
 
 He bowed, and again sat down. 
 
 "I will now take you a drive, Sylvia. We have had 
 sufficient of this!" 
 
 Anna walked towards the door, and many were the 
 curious glances now turned after the two friends. 
 
 "It will amuse you to see something of Lacville. As 
 that gentleman said, I do not suppose you will ever come 
 here again. And, as I shall spend most of my time in the 
 Casino, I can very well afford to spare a little while out 
 of it to-day!" 
 
 They made their way out of the great white building, 
 Sylvia feeling oppressed, almost bewildered, by her first 
 taste of gambling. 
 
 It was three o'clock, and very hot. They hailed one 
 of the little open carriages which are among the innocent 
 charms of Lacville. 
 
 " First you will go round the lake," said Madame Wol- 
 sky to the driver, " and then you will take us to the Pen- 
 sion Malfait, in I'Avenue des Acacias." 
 
 Under shady trees, bowling along sanded roads lined 
 with pretty villas and chalets, they drove all round the 
 lake, and more and more the place impressed Sylvia as 
 might have done a charming piece of scene-painting. 
 
 All the people they passed on the road, in carriages, 
 in motor-cars, and on foot, looked happy, prosperous, 
 gay, and without a care in the world; and where in the 
 morning there had been one boat, there were now five 
 sailing on the blue, gleaming waters fringed with trees 
 and flowering shrubs.
 
 54 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 
 
 At last they once more found themselves close to the 
 Casino. A steady stream of people was now pouring in 
 through the great glass doors. 
 
 "This sort of thing will go on up till about nine this 
 evening!" said Anna, smiling grimly. "Think, my dear 
 — a hundred and twenty trains daily! That room in the 
 Casino where I first saw you will be crammed to suffoca- 
 tion within an hour, and even the Club will be well filled, 
 though I fancy the regular habitues of the club are rather 
 apt to avoid Saturday and Sunday at Lacville. I myself, 
 when living here, shall try to do something else on those 
 two days. By the way — how dreadful that I should 
 forget! — have you had a proper dejeunerf" she looked 
 anxiously at Sylvia. 
 
 Sylvia laughed, and told something of her adventures 
 at the Villa du Lac. 
 
 "The Villa du Lac? I have heard of it, but surely it's 
 an extremely expensive hotel? The place I've chosen 
 for myself is farther away from the Casino; but the dis- 
 tance will force me to take a walk every day, and that 
 will be a very good thing. Last time I was at Monte 
 Carlo I had a lodging right up in IMonaco, and I found 
 that a very much healthier plan than to live close to the 
 Casino," Anna spoke quite seriously. "The Pension 
 Malfait is really extraordinarily cheap for a place near 
 Paris. I am only going to pay fifty-five francs a week, 
 tout compris! " 
 
 They had now turned from the road encircling the 
 lake, and were driving through leafy avenues which re- 
 minded Sylvia of a London suburb where she had once 
 stayed.
 
 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 55 
 
 The chalets and villas by which they passed were not 
 so large nor so prosperous-looking as those that bordered 
 the lake, but still many of them were pretty and fantastic- 
 looking little houses, and the gardens were gay with 
 flowers. 
 
 "I suppose no one lives here in the winter!" said 
 Sylvia suddenly. 
 
 She had noticed, for in some ways she was very obser- 
 vant though in other ways strangely unseeing, that all 
 the flowers were of the bedding-out varieties; there were 
 luxuriant creepers, but not a single garden that she 
 passed had that indefinable look of being an old or a well- 
 tended garden. 
 
 "In the winter? Why, in the winter Lacville is an 
 absolute desert," said Anna laughing. "You see, the 
 Casino only has a summer Concession; it cannot open 
 till April 15. Of course there are people who will tell 
 you that Lacville is the plague-pit of Paris, but that's all 
 nonsense! Lacville is neither better nor worse than 
 other towns near the capital!" 
 
 The carriage had now drawn up before a large, plain, 
 white house, across which was painted in huge, black 
 letters, "Hotel-Pension Malfait." 
 
 "This is the place I have found!" exclaimed Anna. 
 "Would you care to come in and see the room I've en- 
 gaged from next Monday week?" 
 
 Sylvia followed her into the house with curiosity and 
 interest. Somehow she did not like the Pension Malfait, 
 though it was clear that it had once been a handsome 
 private mansion standing in large grounds of its own. 
 The garden, however, had now been cut down to a small
 
 56 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 
 
 strip, and the whole place formed a great contrast to the 
 gay and charming Villa du Lac. 
 
 What garden there was seemed uncared for, though 
 an attempt had been made to make it look pretty with 
 the aid of a few geraniums and marguerites. 
 
 M. Malfait, the proprietor of the Pension, whom Sylvia 
 had already seen with Anna at the Casino, now came 
 forward in the hall, and Sylvia compared him greatly to 
 his disadvantage, to the merry ]M. Polperro. 
 
 "Madame has brought her friend?" he said eagerly, 
 and staring at Sylvia as he spoke. "I hope that ]\Iad« 
 ame's friend will come and stay wdth us too? I have it 
 charming room w'hich I could give this lady; but later 
 on we shall be very full — full all the summer! The hot 
 weather is a godsend for Lacville; for it drives the Pari- 
 sians out from their unhealthy city." 
 
 He beckoned to his wife, a disagreeable-looking woman 
 who w^as sitting in a little glass cage made in an angle of 
 the square hall. 
 
 "]\Iadame Wolsky has brought this good lady to see 
 our Pension!" he exclaimed, "and perhaps she is also 
 coming to stay with us " 
 
 In vain Sylvia smilingly shook her head. She was 
 made to go all over the large, rather gloomy house, and 
 to peep into each of the bare, ugly bed-rooms. 
 
 That which Anna had engaged had a window looking 
 over the back of the house; Sylvia thought it singularly 
 cheerless. There was, however, a good arm-chair and a 
 writing-table on which lay a new-looking blotter. It was 
 the only bed-room containing such a luxury. 
 
 " An English lady was staying here not very long ago,'*
 
 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 57 
 
 observed M. Malfait, "and she bought that table and 
 left it to me as a little gift when she went away. That 
 was very gracious on her part!" 
 
 They glanced into the rather mournful-looking salon, 
 of which the windows opened out on the tiny garden. 
 And then M. Malfait led them proudly into the dining- 
 room, with its one long table, running down the middle, 
 on which at intervals were set dessert dishes filled with the 
 nuts, grapes, and oranges of which Sylvia had already 
 become so weary at the Hotel de I'Horloge. 
 
 "My clientele," said M. Malfait gravely, "is very 
 select and chic. Those of my guests who frequent the 
 Casino all belong to the Club!" 
 
 He stated the fact proudly, and Sylvia was amused to 
 notice that in this matter he and mine host at the Villa 
 du Lac apparently saw eye to eye. Both were eager to 
 dissociate themselves from the ordinary gambler who lost 
 or won a few francs in those of the gambling rooms open 
 to the general public. 
 
 "Well," said Anna at last, "I suppose we had better 
 leave now, but we might as well go on driving for about 
 an hour, and then, when it is a little cooler, we will go 
 back to Paris and be there in time for tea." 
 
 The driver was as good-natured as everyone else at 
 Lacville seemed to be. He drove his fares away from the 
 town, and so to the very outskirts of Lacville, where 
 there were many charming bits of wild woodland and 
 gardens up for sale. 
 
 "Even five years ago," he said, "much of this was for- 
 est, Mesdames; but now — well, Dame! — you can under- 
 stand people are eager to sell. There are rumours that
 
 58 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 
 
 the Concession may be withdrawn from the Casino — 
 that would be terrible, some say it would kill Lacville! 
 It would be all the same to me, I should always find 
 work elsewhere. But it makes everyone eager to sell — 
 those, I mean, who have land at Lacville. There are 
 others," continued the man — he had turned round on 
 his seat, and the horse was going at a foot's pace — " who 
 declare that it would be far better for the town — that 
 there would be a more solid population established here 
 — you understand, ]Mesdames, what I mean? The Lac- 
 ville tradesmen would be as pleased, quite as pleased, or 
 so some of them say; but, all the same, they are selling 
 their land!" 
 
 When the two friends finally got back to the Hotel de 
 I'Horloge, Sylvia Bailey found that a letter, which had 
 not been given to her that morning, contained the news 
 that the English friends whom she had been expecting 
 to join in Switzerland the following week had altered 
 their plans, and were no longer going abroad.
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 Sylvia could hardly have said how it came about that 
 she found herself established in the Villa du Lac only a 
 week after her first visit to Lacville ! But so it was, and 
 she found the change a delightful one from every point 
 of view. 
 
 Paris had suddenly become intolerably hot. As is the 
 way with the Siren city when June is half-way through, 
 the asphalt pavements radiated heat; the air was heavy, 
 laden with strange, unpleasing odours; and even the trees, 
 which form such delicious oases of greenery in the older 
 quarters of the town were powdered with grey dust. 
 
 Also Anna Wolsky had become restless — quite unlike 
 what she had been before that hour spent by her and by 
 Sylvia Bailey in the Club at Lacville; she had gone back 
 there three times, refusing, almost angrily, the company 
 of her English friend. For a day or two Sylvia had 
 thought seriously of returning to England, but she had 
 let her pretty house at Market Dalling till the end of 
 August; and, in spite of the heat, she did not wish to 
 leave France. 
 
 Towards the end of the week Anna suddenly exclaimed : 
 
 "After all, why shouldn't you come out to Lacville, 
 Sylvia? You can't go to Switzerland alone, and you cer- 
 tainly don't want to go on staying in Paris as Paris is now ! 
 I do not ask you to go to the Pension Malfait, but come 
 
 to the Villa du Lac. You will soon make acquaintances 
 
 59
 
 60 THE CHIXK IN THE AR^MOUR 
 
 in that sort of place — I mean," she added, "in your hotel, 
 not in the town. We could always spend the mornings 
 
 together " 
 
 " And I, too, could join the Club at the Casino," 
 
 interjected Sylvia, smiling. 
 
 "No, no, I don't want you to do that!" exclaimed 
 Anna hastily. 
 
 And then Sylvia, for some unaccountable reason, felt 
 rather irritated. It was absurd of Anna to speak to her 
 like that! Bill Chester, her trustee, and sometime lover, 
 always treated her as if she was a child, and a rather 
 naughty child, too; she would not allow Anna Wolsky 
 to do so. 
 
 "I don't see why not!" she cried. "You yourself say 
 that there is no harm in gambling if one can afford it." 
 
 This was how Sylvia Bailey came to find herself an 
 inmate of the Villa du Lac at Lacville; and when once 
 the owner of the Hotel de I'Horloge had understood that 
 in any case she meant to leave Paris, he had done all in 
 his power to make her going to his relation, mine host of 
 the Villa du Lac, easy and agreeable. 
 
 Sylvia learnt with surprise that she would have to pay 
 very little more at the Villa du Lac than she had done 
 at the Hotel de I'Horloge; on the other hand, she could 
 not there have the use of a sitting-room, for the good 
 reason that there were no private sitting-rooms in the 
 villa. But that, so she told herself, would be no hard- 
 ship, and she could spend almost the whole of the day 
 in the charming garden. 
 
 The two friends arrived at Lacville late in the after-
 
 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 61 
 
 noon, and on a Monday, that is on the quietest day of 
 the week. And when Anna had left Sylvia at the Villa 
 du Lac, driving off alone to her own humbler pension, the 
 young Englishwoman, while feeling rather lonely, realised 
 that M. Polperro had not exaggerated the charm of his 
 hostelry. 
 
 Proudly mine host led Mrs. Bailey up the wide stair- 
 case into the spacious, airy room which had been prepared 
 for her, " This was the bed-chamber of Madame la Com- 
 tesse de Para, the friend of the Empress Eugenie," he 
 said. 
 
 The windows of the large, circular room, mirror-lined, 
 and still containing the fantastic, rather showy decora- 
 tions which dated from the Second Empire, overlooked 
 the broad waters of the lake. Even now, though it was 
 still daylight, certain romantic-natured couples had lit 
 paper lanterns and hung them at the prows of their little 
 sailing-boats. 
 
 The scene had a certain fairy-like beauty and stillness. 
 
 "Madame will find the Villa du Lac far more lively 
 now," exclamied M. Polperro cheerfully. "Last week I 
 had only M. le Comte Paul de Virieu — no doubt Mad- 
 ame has heard of his brother-in-law, the Ducd'Eglemont? " 
 
 Sylvia smiled. "Yes, he won the Derby, a famous 
 English race," she said; and then, simply because the 
 landlord's love of talking was infectious, "And does the 
 Count own horses, too?" she asked. 
 
 "Oh, no, Madame. He loves them, yes, and he is a 
 fine horseman, but Count Paul, alas! has other things 
 that interest and occupy him more than horses!" 
 ^ After M. Polperro had bowed himself out, Sylvia sat
 
 62 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 
 
 down close to one of the open windows and looked out 
 over the enchanting, and to her English eyes, unusual 
 panorama spread out before her. 
 
 Yes, she had done well to come here, to a place of 
 which, no doubt, many of her English friends would have 
 thoroughly disapproved! But, after all, what was wrong 
 about Lacville? Where, for the matter of that, was the 
 harm of playing for money if one could afford to lose it? 
 
 Sylvia had hardly ever met so kind or so intelligent a 
 woman as was her new friend, Anna Wolsky: and Anna 
 — she made no secret of it at all — allowed playing for 
 money to be her one absorbing interest in life. 
 
 As she thought of the Polish woman Sylvia felt sorry 
 that she and her friend were in different pensions. It 
 would have been so nice to have had her here, in the 
 Villa du Lac. She felt rather lost without Anna, for she 
 had become accustomed to the other's pleasant, stimu- 
 lating companionship. 
 
 M. Polperro had said that dinner was at half-past 
 seven. Sylvia got up from her chair by the window. 
 She moved back into the room and put on a pretty white 
 lace evening dress which she had not worn since she had 
 been in France. 
 
 It would have been absurd to have appeared in such- 
 a gown in the little dining-room of the Hotel de I'Horloge, 
 which opened into the street; but the Villa du Lac was 
 quite different. 
 
 As she saw herself reflected in one of the long mirrors 
 let into the wall, Sylvia blushed and half-smiled. She 
 had suddenly remembered the young man who had be- 
 haved, on that first visit of hers to the Villa du Lac, so
 
 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 63 
 
 much more discreetly than had all the other Frenchmen 
 with whom she had been brought in temporary contact. 
 She was familiar, through newspaper paragraphs, with 
 the name of his brother-in-law, the French duke who 
 had won the Derby. The Due d'Eglemont, that was the 
 racing French duke who had carried off the blue riband 
 of the British Turf — the other name was harder to re- 
 member — then it came to her. Count Paul de Virieu. 
 How kind and courteous he had been to her and her 
 friend in the Club. She remembered him very vividly. 
 Yes, though not exactly good-looking, he had fine eyes, 
 and a clever, if not a very happy, face. 
 
 And then, on going down the broad, shallow staircase, 
 and so through the large, oval hall into the dining-room, 
 Sylvia Bailey saw that the man of whom she had been 
 thinking was there, sitting very near to where she her- 
 self was now told that she was to sit. In the week that 
 had gone by since Sylvia had paid her first visit to Lac- 
 ville, the Villa had gradually filled up with people eager, 
 like herself, to escape from the heat and dust of Paris, 
 and the pleasant little table by the window had been 
 appropriated by someone else. 
 
 When the young Englishwoman came into the dining- 
 room, the Comte de Virieu got up from his chair, and 
 clicking his heels together, bowed low and gravely. 
 
 She had never seen a man do that before. And it 
 looked so funny! Sylvia felt inclined to burst out laugh- 
 ing. But all she did was to nod gravely, and the Count, 
 sitting down, took no further apparent notice of her. 
 
 There were a good many people in the large room; 
 parties of two, three, and four, talking merrily together,
 
 6-4 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUE 
 
 as is the way with French people at their meals. No 
 one was alone save the Comte de Virieu and herself. 
 Sylvia wondered if he felt as lonely as she did. 
 
 Towards the end of dinner the host came in and 
 beamed on his guests; then he walked across to where 
 JNIrs. Bailey sat by herself. " I hope Madame is satisfied 
 with her dinner," he said pleasantly. "Madame must 
 always tell me if there is anything she does not like." 
 
 He called the youngest of the three waitresses. "Fe- 
 licie! You must look very well after ]\Iadame," he said 
 solemnly. "INIake her comfortable, attend to her slight- 
 est wish" — and then he chuckled — "This is my niece," 
 he said, " a very good girl ! She is our adopted daughter. 
 Madame will only have to ask her for anything she wants." 
 
 Sylvia felt much happier, and no longer lonely. It 
 was all rather absurd — but it was all very pleasant! 
 She had never met an hotel keeper like little Polperro, 
 one at once so familiar and so inoffensive in manner. 
 , ^ "Thank you so much," she said, "but I am more than 
 comfortable! And after dinner I shall go to the Casino 
 to meet my friend, Madame Wolsky." 
 
 After they had finished dinner most of M. Polperro's 
 guests streamed out into the garden; and there coffee 
 was served to them on little round iron tables dotted 
 about on the broad green lawn and sanded paths. 
 
 One or two of the ladies spoke a kindly word to Sylvia 
 as they passed by her, but each had a friend or friends, 
 and she was once more feeling lonely and deserted when 
 suddenly Count Paul de Virieu walked across to where 
 she was sitting by herself. 
 
 Again he clicked his heels together, and again he
 
 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 65 
 
 bowed low. But already Sylvia was getting used to 
 these strange foreign ways, and she no longer felt in- 
 clined to laugh; in fact, she rather liked the young 
 Frenchman's grave, respectful manner. 
 
 " If, as I suppose, Madame, seeing that you have come 
 back to Lacville " 
 
 Sylvia looked up with surprise painted on her fair face, 
 for the Count was speaking in English, and it was ex- 
 tremely good, almost perfect English. 
 
 " and you wish to join the Club at the Casino, I 
 
 hope, Madame, that you will allow me to have the 
 honour of proposing you as a member." '-^ 
 
 He waited a moment, and then went on: "It is far 
 better for a lady to be introduced by someone who is 
 already a member, than for the affair to be managed" — 
 he slightly lowered his voice — "by an hotel keeper. I 
 am well known to the Casino authorities. I have been 
 a member of the Club for some time " -'^ 
 
 He stood still gazing thoughtfully down into her face. 
 
 "But I am not yet sure that I shall join the Club," 
 said Sylvia, hesitatingly. 
 
 He looked — was it relieved or sorry? 
 
 "I beg your pardon, Madame! I misunderstood. I 
 thought you told M. Polperro just now in the dining-room 
 that you were going to the Casino this evening." 
 
 Sylvia felt somewhat surprised. It was odd that he 
 should have overheard her words to M. Polperro, amid all 
 the chatter of their fellow-guests. 
 
 " Yes, I am going to the Casino," she said frankly, " but 
 only to meet a friend of mine there, the lady with whom 
 I was the other day when you so kindly interfered to save
 
 66 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 
 
 US, or rather to save me, from being ignominiously turned 
 out of the Club." And then she added, a Uttle shyly, 
 "Won't you sit down?" 
 
 Again the Comte de Virieu bowed low before her, and 
 then he sat down. 
 
 "I fear you will not be allowed to go into the Qub 
 this time unless you become a member. They have to 
 be very strict in these matters; to allow a stranger in 
 the Club at all is a legal infraction. The Casino authori- 
 ties might be fined for doing so." 
 
 "How well you speak English!" exclaimed Sylvia, 
 abruptly and irrelevantly. 
 
 "I was at school in England," he said, simply, "at a 
 Catholic College called Beaumont, near Windsor; but 
 now I do not go there as often as I should like to do." 
 
 And then, scarcely knowing how it came about, Sylvia 
 fell into easy, desultory, almost intimate talk with this 
 entire stranger. But there was something very agree- 
 able in his simple serious manners. 
 
 After a while Sylvia suddenly remembered that the 
 Count had thrown his cigarette away before speaking to 
 her. 
 
 "Won't you smoke?" she said. 
 
 "Are you sure you don't mind, Madame?" 
 
 "No, of course I don't mind!" and she was Just going 
 to add that her husband had been a great smoker, when 
 some feeling she could not have analysed to herself made 
 her alter her words to "My father smoked all day 
 long " 
 
 The Count got up and went off towards the house. 
 Sylvia supposed he had gone to get his cigarette-case;
 
 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 67 
 
 but a moment later he came back and sat down by her 
 again. And then very soon out came the host's pretty 
 Httle niece with a shawl over her arm. " I have brought 
 Madame a shawl," said the girl, smiling, "for it's getting 
 a little cold," and Sylvia felt touched. How very kind 
 French people were — how kind and how thoughtful! 
 
 It struck half-past eight. Mrs. Bailey and the Comte 
 de Virieu had been talking for quite a long time. 
 
 Sylvia jumped up. "I must go now," she cried, a 
 little regretfully. "I promised to meet my friend in the 
 hall of the Casino at half-past eight. She must be there 
 waiting for me, now." 
 
 " If you will allow me to do so, I will escort you to the 
 Casino," said the Count. 
 
 Sylvia ran upstairs to put on her hat and gloves. On 
 the table wliich did duty for a dressing-table there was 
 a small nosegay of flowers in a glass of water. It had not 
 been there before she had come down to dinner. 
 
 As she put on a large black tulle hat she told herself 
 with a happy smile that Lacville was an enchanting, a 
 delightful place, and that she already felt quite at home 
 here! 
 
 The Comte de Virieu was waiting for her in the hall. 
 
 "I think I ought to introduce myself to you, Madame," 
 he said solemnly. "My name is Paul de Virieu." 
 
 "And mine is Sylvia Bailey," she said, a little breath- 
 lessly. 
 
 As they were hurrying along the short piece of road 
 which led to the lane in which the Casino of Lacville is 
 situated, the Count said suddenly, " Will you pardon me, 
 Madame, if I take the liberty of saying that you should
 
 68 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 
 
 arrange for your friend to call for you on those evenings 
 that you intend to spend at the Casino? It is not what 
 EngUsh people call 'proper' for you to go to the Casino 
 alone, or only accompanied by a stranger — for I, alas! 
 am still a stranger to you." 
 
 There was no touch of coquetry or flirtation in the 
 voice in which he said those words. Sylvia blushed 
 violently, but she did not feel annoyed, only queerly 
 touched by his solicitude for — well, she supposed it was 
 for her reputation. 
 
 "You see, Madame," he went on soberly, "you look 
 very young — I mean, pardon me, you are very young, 
 and I will confess to you that the first time I saw you I 
 thought you were a 'Miss.' Of course, I saw at once that 
 you were English." 
 
 "An English girl would hardly have come all by her- 
 self to Lacville!" said Sylvia a little flippantly. 
 
 "Oh, Madame, English young ladies do such strange 
 things!" 
 
 Sylvia wondered if the Count were not over-particular. 
 Was Lacville the sort of place in which a woman could 
 not walk a few yards by herself? It looked such a happy, 
 innocent sort of spot. 
 
 " Perhaps I do not make myself clear," went on Count 
 Paul. 
 
 He spoke very quickly, and in a low voice, for they were 
 now approaching the door of the Casino. "Not very 
 long ago a lady had her hand-bag snatched from her 
 within a few yards of the police-station, in the centre of 
 the town. Everyone comes here to make or to lose 
 money "
 
 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 09 
 
 "But most of the people look so quiet and respectable," 
 she said smiling. 
 
 "That is true, but there are the exceptions. Lacville 
 contains more exceptions than do most places, Madame." 
 
 They were now in the hall of the Casino. Yes, there 
 was Anna Wolsky looking eagerly at the great glass doors. 
 
 "Anna? Anna? Here I am! I'm so sorry I'm late!" 
 
 Sylvia turned to introduce the Comte de Virieu to 
 Lladame Wolsky, but he was already bowing stiffly, and 
 before she could speak he walked on, leaving Mrs. Bailey 
 with her friend. 
 
 " I see you've already made one acquaintance, Sylvia," 
 said the Polish lady drily. 
 
 "That's the man who was so kind the last time we 
 were here together. He is staying at the Villa du Lac," 
 Sylvia answered, a little guiltily. "His name is Count 
 Paul de Virieu." 
 
 "Yes, I am aware of that; I know him by sight quite 
 well," Anna said quickly. 
 
 "And he has offered to propose me as a member of 
 the Club if I wish to join," added Sylvia. 
 
 "/ shall propose you — of course!" exclaimed Anna 
 Wolsky. "But I do not think it is worth worrying 
 about your membership to-night. We can spend the 
 evening downstairs, in the public Salle des Jeux. I 
 should not care to leave you alone there, even on a Mon- 
 day evening." 
 
 "You talk as if I were sugar or salt that would melt!" 
 said Sylvia, a little vexed. 
 
 "One has to be very careful in a place like Lacville," 
 said Anna shortly. "There are all sorts of queer people
 
 70 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 
 
 gathered together here on the look-out for an easy way 
 of making money." She turned an affectionate look on 
 her friend. "You are not only very pretty, my dear 
 Sylvia, but you look what the people here probably re- 
 gard as being of far more consequence, that is, opulent." 
 "So I am," said Syhia gaily, "opulent and very, very 
 happy, dear Anna! I am so glad that you brought me 
 here, and first made me acquainted with this delightful 
 place! I am sure Switzerland would not have been half 
 as amusing as Lacville " 
 
 The pubHc gambling room was much quieter and 
 emptier than it had been on the Saturday when Sylvia 
 had first seen it. But all the people playing there, both 
 those sitting at the table and those who stood in serried 
 ranks behind them, looked as if they were engaged on 
 some serious undertaking. 
 
 They did not appear, as the casual holiday crowd had 
 done, free from care. There was comparatively little 
 talking among them, and each round of the monotonous 
 game was got through far quicker than had been the 
 case the week before. Money was risked, lost, or gained, 
 with extraordinary swiftness and precision. 
 
 A good many of the people there, women as well as men, 
 glanced idly for a moment at the two newcomers, but 
 they soon looked away again, intent on their play. 
 
 Sylvia felt keenly interested. She could have stopped 
 and watched the scene for hours without wanting to 
 play herself; but Anna Wolsky soon grew restless, and 
 started playing. Even risking a few francs was better 
 to her than not gambling at all!
 
 THE CHINK IN TUB ARMOUR 71 
 
 "It's an odd thing," she said in a low voice, "but I 
 don't see here any of the people I'm accustomed to see 
 at Monte Carlo. As a rule, whenever one goes to this 
 kind of place one meets people one has seen before. We 
 gamblers are a caste — a sect part!" 
 
 "I can't bear to hear you call yourself a gambler," 
 said Sylvia in a low voice. 
 
 Anna laughed good-humouredly. 
 
 "Believe me, my dear, there is not the difference you 
 apparently think there is between a gambler and the man 
 who has never touched a card." 
 
 Anna Wolsky looked round her as she spoke with a 
 searching glance, and then she suddenly exclaimed, 
 
 " Yes, I do know someone here ^ter all ! That funny- 
 looking couple over there were at Aix-les-Bains all last 
 summer." 
 
 "Which people do you mean?" asked Sylvia eagerly. 
 
 "Don't you see that long, thin man who is so queerly 
 dressed — and his short, fat wife? A dreadful thing hap- 
 pened to them — a great friend of theirs, a Russian, was 
 drowned in Lac Bourget. It made a great deal of talk 
 in Aix at the time it happened." 
 
 Sylvia Bailey looked across the room. She was able 
 to pick out in a moment the people Anna meant, and 
 perhaps because she was in good spirits to-night, she 
 smiled involuntarily at their rather odd appearance. 
 
 Standing just behind the croupier — whose task it is to 
 rake in and to deal out the money — was a short, stout, 
 dark woman, dressed in a bright purple gown, and wear- 
 ing a pale blue bonnet particularly unbecoming to her 
 red, massive face. She was not paying much attention
 
 72 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 
 
 to the play, though now and again she put a five-franc 
 piece onto the green baize. Instead, her eyes were glan- 
 cing round restlessly this way and that, almost as if she 
 were seeking for someone. 
 
 Behind her, in strong contrast to herself, was a tall, 
 thin, lanky man, to Syhia's English eyes absurdly as 
 well as unsuitably dressed in a grey alpaca suit and a 
 shabby Panama hat. In his hand he held open a small 
 book, in which he noted down all the turns of the game. 
 Unlike his short, stout wife, this tall, thin man seemed 
 quite uninterested in the people about him, and Sylvia 
 could see his lips moving, his brows frowning, as if he 
 were absorbed in some intricate and difficult calculation. 
 
 The couple looked different from the people about 
 them; in a word, they did not look French. 
 
 "The man — their name is Wachner — only plays on a 
 system," whispered Anna. "He is in fact what I call a 
 System Maniac. That is why he keeps noting down the 
 turns in his little book. That sort of gambler ought 
 never to leave Monte Carlo. It is only at Monte Carlo 
 — that is to say, at Roulette — that such a man ever gets 
 a real chance of winning anything. I should have ex- 
 pected them to belong to the Club, and not to trouble 
 over this kind of play!" 
 
 Even as she spoke, Anna slightly inchned her head, 
 and the woman at whom they were both looking smiled 
 broadly, showing her strong white teeth as she did so; 
 and then, as her eyes travelled from Anna Wolsky to 
 Anna's companion, they became intent and questioning. 
 
 Madame Wachner, in spite of her unwieldy form, and 
 common, showy clothes, was fond of beautiful things.
 
 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 73 
 
 and especially fond of jewels. She was wondering 
 whether the pearls worn by the lovely young English- 
 woman standing opposite were real or sham. 
 
 The two friends did not stay very long in the Casino 
 on that first evening. Sylvia drove Anna to the Pension 
 Malfait, and then she came back alone to the Villa du 
 liac. 
 
 Before drawing together the curtains of her bed-room 
 windows, Sylvia Bailey stood for some minutes looking 
 out into the warm moonlit night. 
 
 On the dark waters of the lake floated miniature argo- 
 sies, laden with lovers seeking happiness — ay, and perhaps 
 finding it, too. 
 
 The Casino was outlined with fairy lamps; the scene 
 was full of glamour, and of mysterious beauty. More 
 than ever Sylvia was reminded of an exquisite piece, of 
 scene painting, and it seemed to her as if she were the 
 heroine of a romantic opera — and the hero, with his 
 ardent eyes and melancholy, intelligent face, was Count 
 Paul de Virieu. 
 
 She wondered uneasily why Anna Wolsky had spoken 
 of the Count as she had done — was it with dislike or only 
 contempt? 
 
 Long after Sylvia was in bed she could hear the tramp>- 
 ing made by the feet of those who were leaving the Casino 
 and hurrying towards the station; but she did not mind 
 the sound. All was so strange, new, and delightful, and 
 she fell asleep and dreamt pleasant dreams.
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 On waking the next morning, Sylvia Bailey forgot 
 completely for a moment where she was. 
 
 She looked round the large, airy room, which was so 
 absolutely unlike the small bed-room she had occupied 
 in the Hotel de I'Horloge, with a sense of bewilderment 
 and surprise. 
 
 And then suddenly she remembered! Why of course 
 she was at Lacville; and this delightful, luxurious room 
 had been furnished and arranged for the lady-in-waiting 
 and friend of the Empress Eugenie. The fact gave an 
 added touch of romance to the Hotel du Lac. 
 
 A ray of bright sunlight streamed in through the cur- 
 tains she had pinned together the night before. And her 
 travelling clock told her that it was not yet six. But 
 Sylvia jumped out of bed, and, drawing back the curtains, 
 she looked out, and across the lake. 
 
 The now solitary expanse of water seemed to possess 
 a new beauty in the early morning sunlight, and the white 
 Casino, of which the minarets were reflected in its blue 
 depths, might have been a dream palace. Nothing 
 broke the intense stillness but the loud, sweet twittering 
 of the birds in the trees which surrounded the lake. 
 
 But soon the spell was broken. When the six strokes 
 of the hour chimed out from the old parish church which 
 forms the centre of the town of Lacville, as if by enchant- 
 ment there rose sounds of stir both indoors and out. 
 
 74
 
 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 75 
 
 A woman came out of the lodge of the Villa du Lac, 
 and slowly opened the great steel and gilt gates. 
 
 Sylvia heard the rush of bath water, even the queer 
 click-click of a shower bath. M. Polperro evidently in- 
 sisted on an exceptional standard of cleanliness for his 
 household. 
 
 Sylvia felt fresh and well. The languor induced by the 
 heat of Paris had left her. There seemed no reason why 
 she should not get up too, and even go out of doors if so 
 the fancy pleased her. 
 
 She had just finished dressing when there came curious 
 sounds from the front of the Villa, and again she went 
 over to her window. 
 
 A horse was being walked up and down on the stones 
 of the courtyard in front of the horseshoe stairway which 
 led up to the hall door. It was not yet half-past six. Who 
 could be going to ride at this early hour of the morning? 
 
 Soon her unspoken question was answered; for the 
 Comte de Virieu, clad in riding breeches and a black 
 jersey, came out of the house, and close on his heels 
 trotted M. Polperro, already wearing his white chef's 
 cap and apron. 
 
 Sylvia could hear his "M'sieur le Comte" this, and 
 "M'sieur le Comte" that, and she smiled a Httle to her- 
 self. The owner of the Hotel du Lac was very proud 
 of his noble guest. 
 
 The Comte de Virieu was also laughing and talking; 
 he was more animated than she had yet seen him. 
 Sylvia told herself that he looked very well in his rather 
 odd riding dress. 
 
 Waving a gay adieu to mine host, he vaulted into the
 
 76 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 
 
 saddle, and then rode out of the gates, and so sharply 
 to the left. 
 
 Sylvia wondered if he were going for a ride in the 
 Forest of ]\Iontmorency, which, in her lying guide-book, 
 was mentioned as the principal attraction of Lacville. 
 
 There came a knock at the door, and Sylvia, calling 
 out "Come in!" was surprised, and rather amused, to 
 see that it was M. Polperro himself who opened it. 
 
 "I have come to ask if Madame has slept well," he 
 observed, " and also to know if she would like an English 
 breakfast? If yes, it shall be laid in the dining-room, 
 unless Madame would rather have it up here." 
 
 "I would much rather come downstairs to breakfast, 
 said Sylvia; "but I do not want anything yet, M. Pol- 
 perro. It will do quite well if I have breakfast at half- 
 past eight or nine." 
 
 She unpacked her trunks, and as she put her things 
 away it suddenly struck her that she meant to stay at 
 Lacville for some time. It was an interesting, a new, 
 even a striking experience, this of hers; and though she 
 felt rather lost without Anna Wolsky's constant presence 
 and companionship, she was beginning to find it pleasant 
 to be once more her own mistress. 
 
 She sat down and wrote some letters — the sort of 
 letters that can be written or not as the writer feels in- 
 clined. Among them was a duty letter to her trustee, 
 Bill Chester, telling him of her change of address, and of 
 her change of plan. 
 
 The people with whom she had been going to Switzer- 
 land were friends of Bill Chester too, and so it was doubt- 
 ful now whether he would go abroad at all.
 
 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 77 
 
 And all the time Sylvia was writing there was at the 
 back of her mind a curious, unacknowledged feeling that 
 she was waiting for something to happen, that there was 
 something pleasant for her to look forward to. . . . 
 
 And when at last she went down into the dining-room, 
 and Paul de Virieu came in, Sylvia suddenly realised, 
 with a sense of curious embarrassment, what it was she 
 had been waiting for and looking forward to. It was her 
 meeting with the Comte de Virieu. 
 
 "I hope my going out so early did not disturb you," 
 he said, in his excellent English. "I saw you at your 
 window." 
 
 Sylvia shook her head, smiling. 
 
 " I had already been awake for at least half an hour," 
 she answered. 
 
 "I suppose you ride? Most of the Englishwomen I 
 knew as a boy rode, and rode well." 
 
 "My father was very anxious I should ride, and as a 
 child I was well taught, but I have not had much oppor- 
 tunity of riding since I grew up." 
 
 Sylvia reddened faintly, for she fully expected the 
 Count to ask her if she would ride with him, and she had 
 already made up her mind to say "No," though to say 
 "Yes" would be very pleasant! 
 
 But he did nothing of the sort. Even at this early 
 hour of their acquaintance it struck Sylvia how unlike 
 the Comte de Virieu's manner to her was to that of the 
 other young men she knew. While his manner was 
 deferential, even eager, yet there was not a trace of flirta- 
 tion in it. Also the Count had already altered all Sylvia 
 Bailey's preconceived notions of Frenchmen.
 
 78 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 
 
 Sylvia had supposed a Frenchman's manner to a 
 woman to be almost invariably familiar, in fact, offen- 
 sively familiar. She had had the notion that a pretty 
 young woman — it would, of course, have been absurd for 
 her to have denied, even to herself, that she was very 
 pretty — must be careful in her dealing with foreigners, 
 and she believed it to be a fact that a Frenchman always 
 makes love to an attractive stranger, even on the shortest 
 acquaintance ! 
 
 This morning, and she was a little piqued that it was 
 so, Sylvia had to adnoiit to herself that the Comte de 
 Virieu treated her much as he might have done some old 
 lady in whom he took a respectful interest. . . . 
 
 And yet twice during the half-hour her breakfast 
 lasted she looked up to see his blue eyes fixed full on 
 her wdth an earnest, inquiring gaze, and she realised 
 that it was not at all the kind of gaze Paul de Virieu 
 would have turned on an old lady. 
 
 They got up from their respective tables at the same 
 moment. He opened the door for her, and then, after a 
 few minutes, followed her out into the garden. 
 
 "Have you yet visited the potagerf" he asked, defer- 
 entially. 
 
 Sylvia looked at him, puzzled. " Potager" was quite a 
 new French word to her. 
 
 "I think you call it the kitchen-garden." A smile lit 
 up his face. "The people who built the Villa du Lac a 
 matter of fifty years ago were very fond of gardening. I 
 think it might amuse you to see the potager. Allow me 
 to show it you." 
 
 They were now walking side by side. It was a delicious
 
 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 79 
 
 day, and the dew still glistened on the grass and leaves. 
 Sylvia thought it would be very pleasant, and also in- 
 structive, to see a French kitchen-garden. 
 
 "Strange to say when I was a child I was often at the 
 Villa du Lac, for the then owner was a distant cousin of 
 my mother. He and his kind wife allowed me to come 
 here for my convalescence after a rather serious illness 
 when I was ten years old. jNIy dear mother did not like 
 me to be far from Paris, so I was sent to Lacville." 
 
 "What a curious place to send a child to!" exclaimed 
 Sylvia. 
 
 "Ah, but Lacville was extremely different from what 
 it is now, Madame. True, there was the lake, where 
 Parisians used to come out each Sunday afternoon to 
 fish and boat in a humble way, and there were a few 
 villas built round the lake. But you must remember 
 that in those prehistoric days there was no Casino! It 
 is the Casino which has transformed Lacville into what 
 we now see." 
 
 "Then we have reason to bless the Casino!" cried 
 Sylvia, gaily. 
 
 They had now left behind them the wide lawn imme- 
 diately behind the Villa du Lac, and were walking by a 
 long, high wall. The Count pushed open a narrow door 
 set in an arch in the wall, and Sylvia walked through 
 into one of the largest and most delightful kitchen- 
 gardens she had ever seen. 
 
 It was brilliant with colour and scent; the more homely 
 summer flowers filled the borders, while, at each place 
 where four paths met, a round, stone-rimmed basin, filled 
 with water to the brim, gave a sense of pleasant coolness.
 
 80 TPIE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 
 
 The farther end of the walled garden was bounded by 
 a stone orangery, a building dating from the eighteenth 
 century, and full of the stately grace of a \'anished 
 epoch. 
 
 "What a delightful place!" Sylvia exclaimed. "But 
 this garden must cost M. Polperro a great deal of money 
 to keep up " 
 
 The Comte de Virieu laughed. 
 
 "Far from it! Our clever host hires out his potager 
 to a firm of market gardeners, part of the bargain being 
 that they allow him to have as much fruit and vegetables 
 as he requires throughout the year. Why, the potager of 
 the Villa du Lac supplies the whole of Lacville with fruit 
 and flowers! When I was a child I thought this part of 
 the garden paradise, and I spent here my happiest 
 hours." 
 
 " It must be very odd for you to come back and stay 
 in the Villa now that it is an hotel." 
 
 "At first it seemed very strange," he answered gravely. 
 "But now I have become quite used to the feeling." 
 
 They walked on for awhile along one of the narrow 
 flower-bordered paths. 
 
 "Would you care to go into the orangery?" he said. 
 "There is not much to see there now, for all the orange- 
 trees are out of doors. Still, it is a quaint, pretty old 
 building." 
 
 The orangery of the Villa du Lac was an example of 
 that at once artificial and graceful eighteenth-century 
 architecture which, perhaps because of its mingled for- 
 mality and delicacy, made so distinguished and attractive 
 a setting to feniinine beauty. It remained, the only sur-
 
 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 81 
 
 vival of the dependencies of a ch&teau sacked and burned 
 in the Great Revolution, more than half a century before 
 the Villa du Lac was built. 
 
 The high doors were wide open, and Sylvia walked in. 
 Though all the pot-plants and half-hardy shrubs were 
 sunning themselves in the open-air, the orangery did not 
 look bare, for every inch of the inside walls had been 
 utilised for growing grapes and peaches. 
 
 There was a fountain set in the centre of the stone 
 floor, and near the fountain was a circular seat. 
 
 "Let us sit down," said Paul de Virieu suddenly. But 
 when Sylvia Bailey sat down he did not come and sit by 
 her, instead he so placed himself that he looked across 
 at her slender, rounded figure, and happy smiling face, 
 
 "Are you thinking of staying long at Lacville, Mad- 
 ame? " he asked abruptly. 
 
 "I don't know," she answered hesitatingly. "It will 
 depend on my friend Madame Wolsky's plans. If we 
 both like it, I daresay we shall stay three or four weeks." 
 
 There fell what seemed to Sylvia a long silence be- 
 tween them. The Frenchman was gazing at her with a 
 puzzled, thoughtful look. 
 
 Suddenly he got up, and after taking a turn up and 
 down the orangery, he came and stood before her. 
 
 "Mrs. Bailey!" he exclaimed. "Will you permit me 
 to be rather impertinent?" 
 
 Sylvia reddened violently. The question took her 
 utterly by surprise. But the Comte de Virieu's next 
 words at once reheved, and yes, it must be admitted, 
 chagrined her. 
 
 "I ask you, Madame, to leave Lacville! I ask per-
 
 82 THE CHINK IX THE ARMOUR 
 
 mission to tell you frankly and plainly that it is not a 
 place to which you ought to have been brought." 
 
 He spoke with great emphasis, 
 
 Sylvia looked up at him. She was bewildered, and 
 though not exactly offended, rather hurt. 
 
 "But why?" she asked plaintively. "Why should I 
 not stay at Lacville?" 
 
 "Oh, well, there can be no harm in your staying on a 
 few days if you are desirous of doing so. But Lacville is 
 not a place where I should care for my own sister to come 
 and stay." He went on, speaking much quicker — "Indeed, 
 I will say more! I will tell you that Lacville may seem a 
 paradise to you, but that it is a paradise full of snakes." 
 
 "Snakes?" repeated Sylvia slowly. "You mean, of 
 course, human snakes?" 
 
 He bowed gravely, 
 
 " Every town where reigns the Goddess of play attracts 
 reptiles, Madame, as the sun attracts lizards! It is not 
 the game that does so, or even the love of play in the 
 Goddess's victims; no, it is the love of gold!" 
 
 Sylvia noticed that he had grown curiously pale. 
 
 "Lacville as a gambling centre counts only next to 
 Monte Carlo, But whereas many people go to Monte 
 Carlo for health, and for various forms of amusement, 
 people only come here in order to play, and to see others 
 play. The Casino, which doubtless appears to you a 
 bright, pretty place, has been the scene and the cause of 
 many a tragedy. Do you know how Paris regards Lac- 
 ville?" he asked searchingly. 
 
 "No — yes," Sylvia hesitated, "You see I never heard 
 of Lacville till about a week ago." Innate honesty com-
 
 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 83 
 
 pelled her to add, "But I have heard that the Paris 
 trades-people don't like Lacville." 
 
 "Let me tell you one thing," the Count spoke with 
 extraordinary seriousness. "Every tradesman in Paris, 
 without a single exception, has signed a petition imploring 
 the Government to suspend the Gambling Concession!" 
 
 "What an extraordinary thing!" exclaimed Sylvia, and 
 she was surprised indeed. 
 
 "Pardon me, it is not at all extraordinary. A great 
 deal of the money which would otherwise go into the 
 pockets of these tradesmen goes now to enrich the anon- 
 ymous shareholders of the Casino of Lacville! Of course, 
 Paris hotel-keepers are not in quite the same position as 
 are the other Parisian trades-people. Lacville does not do 
 them much harm, for the place is so near Paris that for- 
 eigners, if they go there at all, generally go out for the 
 day. Only the most confirmed gambler cares actually 
 to live at Lacville," 
 
 He looked significantly at Sylvia, and she felt a wave 
 of hot colour break over her face. 
 
 "Yes, I know what you must be thinking, and it is, 
 indeed, the shameful truth! I, Madame, have the mis- 
 fortune to be that most miserable and most God-forsaken 
 of living beings, a confirmed gambler." 
 
 The Count spoke in a tone of stifled pain, almost anger, 
 and Sylvia gazed up at his stern, sad face with pity and 
 concern filling her kind heart. 
 
 "I will tell you my story in a few words," he went on, 
 and then he sat down by her, and began tracing with his 
 stick imaginary patterns on the stone floor. 
 
 "I was destined for what I still regard as the most
 
 84 THE CHINK IN THE AmiOUR 
 
 agreeable career in the world — that of diplomacy. You 
 see how I speak English? Well, Madame, I speak Ger- 
 man and Spanish equally well. And then, most unhappily 
 for me, my beloved mother died, and I inherited from her 
 a few thousand pounds. I felt very miserable, and I 
 happened to be at the moment idle. A friend persuaded 
 me to go to Monte Carlo. That fortnight, Madame, 
 changed my life — made me what the English call * an idle 
 good-for-nothing.' Can you wonder that I warn you 
 against staying at Lacville?" 
 
 Sylvia was touched, as well as surprised, by his confi- 
 dences. His words breathed sincerity, and the look of 
 humiliation and pain on his face had deepened. He 
 looked white and drawn. 
 
 "It is very kind of you to tell me this, and I am very 
 much obliged to you for your warning," she said in a low 
 tone. 
 
 But the Comte de Virieu went on as if he hardly heard 
 her words. 
 
 "The lady with whom you first came to Lacville — I 
 mean the Polish lady — is well known to me by sight. 
 For the last three years I have seen her at Monte Carlo 
 in the winter, and at Spa and Aix-les-Bains in the summer. 
 Of course I was not at all surprised to see her turn up 
 here, but I confess, Madame, that I was very much aston- 
 ished to see with her a" — he hesitated a moment — "a 
 young English lady. You would, perhaps, be offended 
 if I were to tell you exactly what I felt when I saw you 
 at the Casino!" 
 
 "I do not suppose I should be offended," said Sylvia 
 softly.
 
 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 85 
 
 "I felt, Madame, as if I saw a lily growin<]j in a field 
 of high, rank, evil-smelling — nay, perhaps I should say, 
 poisonous — weeds." 
 
 "But I cannot go away now!" cried Sylvia. She was 
 really impressed — very uncomfortably impressed — by his 
 earnest words. " It would be most unkind to my friend, 
 Madame Wolsky. Surely, it is possible to stay at Lac- 
 ville, and even to play a little, without anything very 
 terrible happening?" She looked at him coaxingly, anx- 
 iously, as a child might have done. 
 
 But Sylvia was not a child; she was a very lovely 
 young woman. Comte Paul de Virieu's heart began to 
 beat. 
 
 But, bah ! This was absurd ! His day of love and love- 
 making lay far, far behind him. He rose and walked 
 towards the door. 
 
 In speaking to her as he had forced himself to speak, 
 the Frenchman had done an unselfish and kindly action. 
 Sylvia's gentle and unsophisticated charm had touched 
 him deeply, and so he had given her what he knew to 
 be the best possible advice. 
 
 "I am not so foolish as to pretend that the people 
 who come and play in the Casino of Lacville are all con- 
 firmed gamblers," he said, slowly. "We French take 
 our pleasures lightly, Madame, and no doubt there is 
 many an excellent Parisian bourgeois who comes here 
 and makes or loses his few francs, and gets no harm 
 from it. But, still, I swore to myself that I would warn 
 you of the danger " 
 
 They went out into the bright sunshine again, and 
 Sylvia somehow felt as if she had made a friend — a real
 
 86 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 
 
 friend — in the Comte de Virieu. It was a curious sen- 
 sation, and one that gave her more pleasure than she 
 would have cared to own even to herself. 
 
 Most of the men she had met since she became a widow 
 treated her as an irresponsible being. Many of them 
 tried to flirt with her for the mere pleasure of flirting 
 with so pretty a woman; others, so she was resentfully 
 aware, had only become really interested in her when they 
 became aware that she had been left by her husband with 
 an income of two thousand pounds a year. She had had 
 several offers of marriage since her widowhood, but not 
 one of the men who had come and said he loved her had 
 confessed as much about himself as this stranger had done. 
 
 She was the more touched and interested because the 
 Frenchman's manner was extremelv reserved. Even in 
 the short time she had been at the Villa du Lac, Sylvia 
 had realised that though the Count was on speaking 
 terms with most of his fellow-guests, he seemed intimate 
 with none of the people whose happy chatter had filled 
 the dining-room the night before. 
 
 Just before going back into the Villa, Sylvia stopped 
 short; she fixed her large ingenuous eyes on the Count's 
 face. 
 
 "I want to thank j'ou again," she said diffidently, "for 
 your kindness in giving me this warning. You know we 
 in England have a proverb, 'Forewarned is forearmed.' 
 Well, believe me, I will not forget what you have said, 
 and — and I am grateful for your confidence. Of course, 
 I regard it as quite private." 
 
 The Count looked at her for a moment in silence, and 
 then he said very deliberately,
 
 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 87 
 
 " I am afraid the truth about me is known to all those 
 good enough to concern themselves with my affairs. I 
 am sure, for instance, that your Polish friend is well 
 aware of it! You see before you a man who has lost 
 every penny he owned in the world, who does not know 
 how to work, and who is living on the charity of rela- 
 tions." 
 
 Sylvia had never heard such bitter accents issue from 
 human lips before. 
 
 "The horse you saw me ride this morning," he went 
 on in a low tone, "is not my horse; it belongs to my 
 brother-in-law. It is sent for me every day because my 
 sister loves me, and she thinks my health will suffer if 
 I do not take exercise. My brother-in-law did not give 
 me the horse, though he is the most generous of human 
 beings, for he feared that if he did I should sell it in 
 order that I might have more money for play." 
 
 There was a long, painful pause, then in a lighter tone 
 the Count added, "And now, au revoir, Madame, and 
 forgive me for having thrust my private affairs on your 
 notice ! It is not a thing I have been tempted ever to do 
 before with one whom I have the honour of knowing as 
 slightly as I know yourself." 
 
 Sylvia went upstairs to her room. She was touched, 
 moved, excited. It was quite a new experience with her 
 to come so really near to any man's heart and conscience. 
 
 Life is a secret and a tangled skein, full of loose, al- 
 most invisible threads. This curiously intimate, and 
 yet impersonal conversation with one who was not only 
 a stranger, but also a foreigner, made her realise how 
 little we men and women really know of one another.
 
 88 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 
 
 How small was her knowledge, for instance, of Bill 
 Chester — though, to be sure, of him there was perhaps 
 nothing to know. How really little also she knew of 
 Anna Wolsky! They had become friends, and yet Anna 
 had never confided to her any intimate or secret thing 
 about herself. Why, she did not even know Anna's 
 home address! 
 
 Sylvia felt that there was now a link which hardly 
 anything could break between herself and this French- 
 man, whom she had never seen till a week ago. Even 
 if they never met again after to-day, she would never 
 forget that he had allowed her to see into the core of his 
 sad, embittered heart. He had lifted a corner of the 
 veil which covered his conscience, and he had done this 
 in order that he might save her, a stranger, from what 
 he knew by personal experience to be a terrible fate I
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 Two hours later Sylvia Bailey was having luncheon 
 with Anna Wolsky in the Pension Malfait. 
 
 The two hostelries, hers and Anna's, were in almost 
 absurd contrast the one to the other. At the Villa du 
 Lac everything was spacious, luxurious, and quiet. M. 
 Polperro's clients spent, or so Sylvia supposed, much of 
 their time in their own rooms upstairs, or else in the 
 Casino, while many of them had their own motors, and 
 went out on long excursions. They were cosmopolitans, 
 and among them were a number of Russians. 
 
 Here at the Pension Malfait, the clientele was French. 
 All was loud talking, bustle, and laughter. The large 
 house contained several young men who had daily work 
 in Paris. Others, like Madame Wolsky, were at Lacville 
 in order to indulge their passion for play, and quite a 
 number of people came in simply for meals. 
 
 Among these last, rather to Sylvia's surprise, were 
 Monsieur and Madame Wachner, the middle-aged couple 
 whom Anna Wolsky had pointed out as having been at 
 Aix-les-Bains the year before, at the same time as she 
 was herself. 
 
 The husband and wife were now sitting almost exactly 
 opposite Anna and Sylvia at the narrow table d'hote, 
 and again a broad, sunny smile lit up the older woman's 
 face when she looked across at the two friends. 
 
 "We meet again!" she exclaimed in a guttural voice, 
 
 80
 
 90 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 
 
 and then in French, addressing Madame Wolsky, "This 
 is not very much like Aix-les-Bains, is it, Madame?" 
 
 Anna shook her head. 
 
 "Still it is a pretty place, Lacville, and cheaper than 
 one would think." She leant across the table, and con- 
 tinued in a confidential undertone: "As for us — my hus- 
 band and I — we have taken a small villa; he has grown 
 so tired of hotels." 
 
 "But surely you had a villa at Aix?" said Anna, in a 
 surprised tone. 
 
 "Yes, we had a villa there, certainly. But then a 
 
 very sad affair happened to us " she sighed. "You 
 
 may have heard of it? " and she fixed her small, intensely 
 bright eyes inquiringly on Anna. 
 
 Anna bent her head. 
 
 "Yes, I heard all about it," she said gravely. "You 
 mean about your friend who was drowned in the lake? 
 It must have been a very distressing thing for you and 
 your husband." 
 
 "Yes, indeed! He never can bear to speak of it." 
 
 And Sylvia, looking over at the man sitting just oppo- 
 site to herself, saw a look of unease come over his sallow 
 face. He was eating his omelette steadily, looking 
 neither to the right nor to the left. 
 
 "Ami Fritz!" cried his wife, turning suddenly to him, 
 and this time she spoke English, "Say, 'How d'you do,' 
 to this lady! You will remember that we used to see 
 'er at Aix, in the Casino there?" 
 
 "Ami Fritz" bowed his head, but remained silent. 
 
 "Yes," his wife went on, volubly, "that sad affair made 
 Aix very unpleasant to us! After that we spent the
 
 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 91 
 
 winter in various pensions, and then, instead of going 
 back to Aix, we came 'ere. So far, I am quite satisfied 
 with Lacville." 
 
 Though she spoke with a very bad accent and dropped 
 her aitches, her EngUsh was quick and colloquial. 
 
 "Lacville is a cosy, 'appy place!" she cried, and this 
 time she smiled full at Sylvia, and Sylvia told herself 
 that the woman's face, if very plain, was like a sunflower, 
 —so broad, so kindly, so good-humoured ! 
 
 Wlien dejeuner was over, the four had coffee together, 
 and the melancholy Monsieur Wachner, who was so curi- 
 ously unlike his bright, vivacious wife, at last broke into 
 eager talk, for he and Anna Wolsky had begun to discuss 
 •different gambling systems. His face lighted up; it was 
 easy to see what interested and stimulated this long, lanky 
 man whose wife addressed him constantly as "Ami Fritz." 
 
 "Now 'e is what the English call 'obby-'orse riding," 
 she exclaimed, with a loud laugh. "To see 'im in all 'is 
 glory you should see my Fritz at Monte Carlo!" she was 
 speaking to Sylvia. "There 'as never been a system in- 
 vented in connection with that devil-game, Roulette, that 
 L'Ami Fritz does not know, and that 'e 'as not — at some 
 time or other — played more to 'is satisfaction than to 
 mine!" But she spoke very good-humouredly. "'E 
 cannot ring many changes on Baccarat, and I do not 
 often allow 'im to play downstairs. No, no, that is too 
 dangerous! That is for children and fools!" 
 
 Sylvia was still too ignorant of play to understand the 
 full significance of Madame Wachner's words, but she 
 was vaguely interested, though she could not understand 
 one word of the eager talk between Anna and the man.
 
 92 THE CHIXK IN THE ARMOUR 
 
 "Let us leave them at it!" exclaimed the older woman, 
 suddenly. "It will be much nicer in the garden, Mad- 
 ame, for it is not yet too 'ot for out of doors. By the 
 way, I forgot to tell you my name. That was very rude 
 of me ! My name is Wachner — Sophie Wachner, at your 
 service." 
 
 "And my name is Bailey — Sylvia Bailey." 
 
 "Ah, I thought so — you are a Mees!" 
 
 "No," said Sylvia gravely, "I am a widow." 
 
 Madame Wachner's face became very serious. 
 
 "Ah," she said, sympathetically, "that is sad — very 
 sad for one so young and so beautiful!" 
 
 Sylvia smiled. Madame Wachner was certainly a kind- 
 ly, warm-hearted sort of woman. 
 
 They walked out together into the narrow garden, and 
 soon Madame Wachner began to amuse her companion 
 by lively, shrewd talk, and they spent a pleasant half- 
 hour pacing up and down. 
 
 The Wachners seemed to have travelled a great deal 
 about the world and especially in several of the British 
 Colonies. 
 
 It was in New Zealand that Madame W^achner had 
 learnt to speak English : " My 'usband, 'e was in business 
 there," she said vaguely. 
 
 "And you?" she asked at last, fixing her piercing eyes 
 on the pretty Englishwoman, and allowing them to travel 
 down till they rested on the milky row of perfectly-matched 
 pearls. 
 
 " Oh, this is my first visit to France," answered Sylvia, 
 "and I am enjoying it very much indeed." 
 
 "Then you 'ave not gambled for money yet? " observed
 
 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 93 
 
 Madame Wachner. "In England they are too good to 
 gamble!" She spoke sarcastically, but Sylvia did not 
 know that. 
 
 "I never in my life played for money till last week, 
 and then I won thirty francs!" 
 
 "Ah! Then now surely you will join the Club?" 
 
 "Yes," said Sylvia a little awkwardly. "I suppose I 
 shall join the Club. You see, my friend is so fond of play." 
 
 "I believe you there!" cried the other, familiarly. 
 "We used to watch Madame Wolsky at Aix— my 'usband 
 and I. It seems so strange that there we never spoke 
 to 'er, and that now we seem to know 'er already so much 
 better than we did in all the weeks we were together at 
 Aix! But there"— she sighed a loud, heaving sigh — 
 "we 'ad a friend — a dear young friend — with us at Aix- 
 les-Bains." 
 
 "Yes, I know," said Sylvia, sympathisingly. 
 
 "You know?" Madame Wachner looked at her quickly. 
 " What is it that you know, Madame? " 
 
 "Madame Wolsky told me about it. Your friend was 
 drowned, was he not? It must have been very sad and 
 dreadful for you and your husband." 
 
 "It was terrible!" said Madame Wachner vehemently. 
 "Terrible!" 
 
 The hour in the garden sped by very quickly, and 
 Sylvia was rather sorry when it came to be time to start 
 for the Casino. 
 
 "Look here!" cried Madame Wachner suddenly. 
 "\Vhy should not L'Ami Fritz escort Madame Wolsky 
 to the Casino while you and I take a pretty drive? I
 
 94 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 
 
 am so tired of that old Casino — and you will be so tired 
 of it soon, too!" she exclaimed in an aside to Sylvia. 
 
 Sylvia looked questioningly at Anna. 
 
 "Yes, do take a drive, dear. You have plenty of 
 time, for I intend to spend all this afternoon and even- 
 ing at the Casino," said Madame Wolsky, quickly, in 
 answer to Sylvia's look. "It will do quite well if you 
 come there after you have had your tea. My friend will 
 never go without her afternoon tea;" she turned to Mad- 
 ame Wachner. 
 
 "I, too, love afternoon tea!" cried Madame Wachner, 
 in a merry tone. " Then that is settled I You and I will 
 take a drive, and then we will 'ave tea and then go to 
 the Casino." 
 
 Mrs. Bailey accompanied her friend upstairs while 
 Anna put on her things and got out her money. 
 
 "You will enjoy a drive on this hot day, even with 
 that funny old woman," said Madame Wolsky, affec- 
 tionately. "And meanwhile I will get your member- 
 ship card made out for the Club. If you like to do 
 so, you might have a little gamble this evening. But 
 I do not want my sweet English friend to become as 
 fond of play as I am myself" — there crept a sad note 
 into her voice. "However, I do not think there is any 
 fear of that!" 
 
 \'\Tien the two friends came downstairs again, they 
 found Monsieur and ?>Iadame Wachner standing close 
 together and speaking in a low voice. As she came 
 nearer to them Sylvia saw that they were so absorbed 
 in each other that they did not see her, and she heard 
 the man saying in a low, angry voice, in French : " There
 
 THE CniNK IN THE ARMOUR 95 
 
 is nothing to be done here at all, Sophie! It is foolish 
 of us to waste our time like this!" And then Madame 
 Wachner answered quickly, "You are always so gloomy, 
 so hopeless! I tell you there is something to be done. 
 Leave it to me!" 
 
 Then, suddenly becoming aware that Sylvia was stand- 
 ing beside her, the old woman v/ent on: "My 'usband, 
 Madame, always says there is nothing to be done! You 
 see, 'e is tired of 'is last system, and 'e 'as not yet in- 
 vented another. But, bah! I say to 'im that no doubt 
 luck will come to-day. 'E may find Madame Wolsky a 
 mascot." She was very red and looked disturbed. 
 
 "I 'ave asked them to telephone for an open carriage," 
 Madame Wachner added, in a better-humoured tone. 
 " It will be here in three or four minutes. Shall we drive 
 you first to the Casino?" This question she asked of her 
 husband. 
 
 "No," said Monsieur Wachner, harshly, "certainly not! 
 I will walk in any case." 
 
 "And I will walk too," said Anna, who had just come 
 up. "There is no need at all for us to take you out of 
 your way. You had better drive at once into the open 
 country, Sylvia." 
 
 And so they all started, Madame Wolsky and her tall, 
 gaunt, morose companion, walking, while Sylvia and 
 Madame Wachner drove off in the opposite direction. 
 
 The country immediately round Lacville is not pretty; 
 the little open carriage was rather creaky, and the horse 
 was old and tired, and yet Sylvia Bailey enjoyed her 
 drive very much. 
 
 Madame Wachner, common-looking, plain, almost
 
 96 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 
 
 grotesque in appearance though she was, possessed that 
 rare human attribute, vitahty. 
 
 Sometimes she spoke in French, sometimes in English, 
 changing from the one to the other with perfect ease; 
 and honestly pleased at having escaped a long, dull, 
 hot afternoon in the Casino, the older woman set her- 
 self to please and amuse Sylvia. She thoroughly suc- 
 ceeded. A clever gossip, she seemed to know a great 
 deal about all sorts of interesting people, and she gave 
 Sylvia an amusing account of Princess Mathilde Bona- 
 parte, whose splendid chateau they saw from their little 
 carriage. 
 
 IMadame Wachner also showed the most sympathetic 
 interest in Sylvia and Sylvia's past life. Soon the Eng- 
 lishwoman found herself telling her new acquaintance a 
 great deal about her childhood and girlhood — something 
 even of her brief, not unhappy, married life. But she 
 shrank back, both mentally and physically, when Mad- 
 ame Wachner carelessly observed, "Ah, but soon you 
 will marry again; no doubt you are already engaged?" 
 
 "Oh, no!" Sylvia shook her head. 
 
 "But you are young and beautiful. It w'ould be a 
 crime for you not to get married again!" Madame 
 Wachner persisted; and then, "I love beauty," she cried 
 enthusiastically. "You did not see me, Madame, last 
 week, but I saw you, and I said to my 'usband, 'There 
 is a very beautiful person come to Lacville, Fritz!' 'E 
 laughed at me. 'Now you will be satisfied — now you 
 will 'ave something to look at,' 'e says. And it is quite 
 true! When I come back that night I was very sorry 
 to see you not there. But we will meet often now," she
 
 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 97 
 
 concluded pleasantly, "for I suppose, Madame, that you 
 too intend to play? " 
 
 That was the second time she had asked the question. 
 
 "I shall play a little," said Sylvia, blushing, "but of 
 course I do not want to get into the habit of gambling." 
 
 "No, indeed, that would be terrible! And then there 
 are not many who can afford to gamble and to lose their 
 good money." She looked inquiringly at Sylvia. " But, 
 there," she sighed — her fat face became very grave — "it 
 is extraordinary 'ow some people manage to get money 
 — I mean those 'oo are determined to play!" 
 
 And then, changing the subject, Madame Wachner 
 suddenly began to tell her new acquaintance all about 
 the tragic death by drowning of her and her husband's 
 friend at Aix-les-Bains the year before. She now spoke 
 in French, but with a peculiar guttural accent. 
 
 "I never talk of it before Fritz," she said quickly, 
 "but, of course, we both often think of it still. Oh, it 
 was a terrible thing! We were devoted to this young 
 Russian friend of ours. He and Fritz worked an excel- 
 lent system together — the best Fritz ever invented — and 
 for a little while they made money. But his terribly 
 sad death broke our luck" she shook her head omi- 
 nously. 
 
 "How did it happen?" said Sylvia sympathetically. 
 
 And then Madame Wachner once again broke into her 
 h-less English. 
 
 "They went together in a boat on Lake Bourget — it 
 is a real lake, that lake, not like the little fishpond 'ere. 
 A storm came on, and the boat upset. Fritz did his best 
 to save the unfortunate one, but 'e could not swim. You
 
 98 THE CHTNK IN THE ARMOUR 
 
 can imagine my sensations? I was in a summer-'ouse, 
 trembling with fright. Thunder, lightning, rain, storm, 
 all round! Suddenly I see Fritz, pale as death, wet 
 through, totter up the path from the lake. 'Where is 
 Sasha? ' I shriek out to 'im. And 'e shake 'is 'ead despair- 
 ingly — Sasha was in the lake!" 
 
 The speaker stared before her with a look of vivid 
 terror on her face. It was almost as if she saw the scene 
 she was describing — nay, as if she saw the pale, dead face 
 of the drowned man. It gave her companion a cold feel- 
 ing of fear. 
 
 "And was it long before they found him?" asked 
 Sylvia in a low tone. 
 
 "They never did find 'im," said Madame Wachner, 
 her voice sinking to a whisper. "That was the extraor- 
 dinary thing — Sasha's body was never found! Many 
 people thought the money 'e 'ad on 'is person weighed 
 'im down, kept 'im entangled in the weeds at the bottom 
 of the lake. Did not your friend tell you it made talk? " 
 
 "Yes," said Sylvia. 
 
 "'E 'ad not much money on 'is person," repeated 
 Madame Wachner, "but still there was a good deal 
 more than was found in 'is bedroom. That, of course, 
 was 'anded over to the authorities. They insisted on 
 keeping it." 
 
 "But I suppose his family got it in the end?" said 
 Sylvia. 
 
 "No. 'E 'ad no family. You see, our friend was a 
 Russian nobleman, but he had also been a Nihilist, so 'e 
 'ad concealed 'is identity. It was fortunate for us that 
 we 'ad got to know an important person in the police;
 
 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 99 
 
 but for that we might 'ave 'ad much worry" — she shook 
 her head. "They were so much annoyed that poor 
 Sasha 'ad no passport. But, as I said to them — for 
 Fritz quite lost 'is 'ead, and could say nothing — not 
 'alf, no, not a quarter of the strangers in Aix 'as pass- 
 ports, though, of course, it is a good and useful thing to 
 'ave one. I suppose, Madame, that y&u 'ave a pass- 
 port?" 
 
 She stopped short, and looked at Sylvia with that 
 eager, inquiring look which demands an answer even to 
 the most unimportant question. 
 
 " A passport? " repeated Sylvia Bailey, surprised. " No, 
 indeed! I've never even seen one. Why should I have 
 a passport?" 
 
 "When you are abroad it is always a good thing to 
 'ave a passport," said Madame Wachner quickly. "You 
 see, it enables you to be identified. It gives your ad- 
 dress at 'ome. But I do not think that you can get one 
 now — no, it is a thing that one must get in one's own 
 country, or, at any rate," she corrected herself, "in a 
 country where you 'ave resided a long time." 
 
 "What is your country, Madame?" asked Sylvia. 
 "Are you French? I suppose Monsieur Wachner is 
 German?" 
 
 Madame Wachner shook her head. 
 
 "Oh, 'e would be cross to 'ear that! No, no, Fritz is 
 Viennese — a gay Viennese! As for me, I am" — she waited 
 
 a moment " well, Madame, I am what the French call 
 
 *une vraie cosmopolite' — oh, yes, I am a true citizeness 
 of the world."
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 They had been driving a considerable time, and at 
 last the coachman, turning round on his seat, asked 
 where they wished to go next. 
 
 "I ask you to come and 'ave tea with me," said Mad- 
 ame Wachner turning to Sylvia. "We are not very far 
 from the Chalet des Muguets, and I 'ave some excellent 
 tea there. We will 'ave a rest, and tell the man to come 
 back for us in one hour. What do you think of that, 
 Madame?" 
 
 "It is very kind of you," said Sylvia gratefully; and, 
 indeed, she did think it very kind. It would be pleasant 
 to rest a while in the Wachner's villa and have tea there. 
 
 Sylvia was in the mood to enjoy every new experience, 
 however trifling, and she had never been in a French 
 private house. 
 
 " Au Chalet des Muguets," called out Madame Wachner 
 to the driver. 
 
 He nodded and turned his horse round. 
 
 Soon they were making their way along newly-made 
 roads, cut through what had evidently been, not so very 
 long before, a great stretch of forest land. 
 
 "The good people of Lacville are in a hurry to make 
 money," observed Madame Wachner in French. "I am 
 told that land here has nearly trebled in value the last 
 few years, though houses are still cheap." 
 
 "It seems a pity they should destroy such beautiful 
 
 100
 
 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 101 
 
 woods," said Sylvia regretfully, remembering what the 
 Comte de Virieu had said only that morning. 
 
 The other shrugged her shoulders, "I do not care for 
 scenery — no, not at all!" she exclaimed complacently. 
 
 ,The carriage drew up with a jerk before a small white 
 gate set in low, rough, wood palings. Behind the palings 
 lay a large, straggling, and untidy garden, relieved from 
 absolute ugliness by some high forest trees which had 
 been allowed to remain when the house in the centre of 
 the plot of ground was built. 
 
 Madame Wachner stepped heavily out of the carriage, 
 and Sylvia followed her, feeling amused and interested. 
 She wondered very much what the inside of the funny 
 little villa she saw before her would be like. In any 
 case, the outside of the Chalet des Muguets was almost 
 ludicrously unlike the English houses to which she was 
 accustomed. 
 
 Very strange, quaint, and fantastic looked 'the one- 
 storey building, standing far higher than any bungalow 
 Sylvia had ever seen, in a lawn of high, rank grass. 
 
 The walls of the Chalet des Muguets were painted 
 bright pink, picked out with sham brown beams, which 
 in their turn were broken at intervals by large blue china 
 lozenges, on which were painted the giant branches of lilies- 
 of-the- valley which gave the villa its inappropriate name! 
 
 The chocolate-coloured row of shutters were now 
 closed to shut out the heat, for the sun beat down piti- 
 lessly on the little house, and the whole place had a 
 curiously deserted, unlived-in appearance. 
 
 Sylvia secretly wondered how the Wachners could 
 bear to leave the garden, which might have been made
 
 102 THE CHIXK IN THE ARMOUR 
 
 SO pretty with a little care, in such a state of neglect and 
 untidiness. Even the path leading up to the side of the 
 house, where jutted out a mean-looking door, was cov- 
 ered with weeds. 
 
 But IMadame Wachner was evidently very pleased with 
 her temporary home, and quite satisfied with its surround- 
 ings. 
 
 "It is a pretty 'ouse, is it not?" she asked in English, 
 and smiling broadly. "And only one thousand francs, 
 furnished, for the 'ole season!" 
 
 Sylvia quickly made a mental calculation. Forty 
 pounds? Yes, she supposed that was very cheap — for 
 Lacville. 
 
 "We come in Ma}', and we may stay till October," 
 said ]\Iadame Wachner, still speaking in a satisfied tone. 
 "I made a bargain with a woman from the town. She 
 comes each morning, cooks what I want, and does the 
 'ouse work. Often we 'ave our dejeuner out and dine at 
 'ome, or we dine close to the Casino — just as we choose. 
 Food is so dear in France, it makes little difference 
 whether we stay at 'ome or not for meals." 
 
 Thev were now close to the chocolate-coloured door 
 of the Chalet, and jMadame W^achner, to Sylvia Bailey's 
 surprise and amusement, lifted a corner of the shabby 
 outside mat, and took from under it a key. With it 
 she opened the door. "Walk in," she said familiarly, 
 "and welcome, Madame, to my 'ome!" 
 
 Sylvia found herself in a bare little hall, so bare indeed 
 that there was not even a hat and umbrella stand there. 
 
 Her hostess walked past her and opened a door which 
 gave into a darkened room.
 
 THE CHINK IN TIHD ARMOUR 103 
 
 "This is our dining-room," she said proudly. "Walk 
 in, Madame. It is 'ere we had better 'ave tea, perhaps." 
 
 Sylvia followed her. How dark, and how very hot it 
 was in here! She could see absolutely nothing for some 
 moments, for she was blinded by the sudden change 
 from the bright light of the hall to the dim twilight of 
 the closely-shuttered room. 
 
 Then gradually she began to see everything — or rather 
 the little there was to be seen — and she felt surprised, 
 and a little disappointed. 
 
 The dining-room was more than plainly furnished; it 
 was positively ugly. 
 
 The furniture consisted of a round table standing on 
 an unpolished parquet floor, of six cane chairs set against 
 the wall, and of a walnut-wood buffet, on the shelves of 
 which stood no plates, or ornaments of any description. 
 The walls were distempered a reddish-pink colour, and 
 here and there the colour had run in streaky patches. 
 
 "Is it not charming?" exclaimed Madame Wachner. 
 " And now I will show you our pretty little salon ! " 
 
 Sylvia followed her out into the hall, and so to the 
 left into the short passage which ran down the centre of 
 the tiny house. 
 
 The drawing-room of the Chalet des Muguets was a 
 little larger than the dining-room, but it was equally 
 bare of anything pretty or even convenient. There was 
 a small sofa, covered with cheap tapestry, and four un- 
 comfortable-looking chairs to match; on the sham marble 
 mantel-piece stood a gilt and glass clock and two chande- 
 liers. There was not a book, not a paper, not a flower. 
 
 Both rooms gave Sylvia a strange impression that they
 
 104 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 
 
 were very little lived in. But then, of course, the Wach- 
 ners were very little at home. 
 
 "And now I will get tea," said Madame Wachner 
 triumphantly. 
 
 "Will you not let me help you?" asked Sylvia, timidly. 
 "I love making tea — every Englishwoman loves making 
 tea." She had no wish to be left in this dull, ugly little 
 drawing-room by herself. 
 
 "Oh, but your pretty dress! Would it not get 'urt in 
 the kitchen?" cried Madame Wachner deprecatingly. 
 
 But she allowed Sylvia to follow her into the bright, 
 clean little kitchen, of which the door was just opposite 
 the drawing-room. 
 
 "What a charming little cuisine V cried Sylvia smi- 
 ling. She was glad to find something that she could 
 honestly praise, and the kitchen was, In truth, the pleas- 
 antest place In the house, exquisitely neat, with the brass 
 batterie de cuisine shining and bright. " Your day servant 
 must be an exceptionally clean woman." 
 
 "Yes," said ^Madame Wachner, In a rather dissatisfied 
 tone, "she is well enough. But, oh, those French people, 
 how eager they are for money! Do you suppose that 
 woman ever stays one minute beyond her time? No, 
 indeed!" 
 
 Even as she spoke she was pouring water Into a little 
 kettle, and lighting a spirit lamp. Then, going to a cup- 
 board, she took out two cups and a cracked china teapot. 
 
 Sylvia did her part by cutting some bread and butter, 
 and, as she stood at the white table opposite the kitchen 
 window, she saw that beyond the small piece of garden 
 which lay at the back of the house was a dense chestnut
 
 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 105 
 
 wood, only separated from the Chalet des Muguets by a 
 straggling hedge. 
 
 "Does the wood belong to you, too?" she asked. 
 
 Madame Wachner shook her head. 
 
 "Oh! no," she said, "that is for sale!" 
 
 "You must find it very lonely here at night," said 
 Sylvia, musingly, "you do not seem to have any neigh- 
 bours either to the right or left." 
 
 "There is a villa a little way down the road," said 
 Madame Wachner quickly. "But we are not nervous 
 people — and then we 'ave nothing it would be worth 
 anybody's while to steal." 
 
 Sylvia reminded herself that the Wachners must surely 
 have a good deal of money in the house if they gambled 
 as much as Anna Wolsky said they did. Her hostess 
 could not keep it all in the little bag which she always 
 carried hung on her wrist. 
 
 And then, as if Madame Wachner had seen straight 
 into her mind, the old woman said significantly. "As 
 to our money, I will show you where we keep it. Come 
 into my bed-room; perhaps you will take off your hat 
 there; then we shall be what English people call 'cosy.'" 
 
 Madame Wachner led the way again into the short 
 passage, and so into a large bed-room, which looked, like 
 the kitchen, on to the back garden. 
 
 After the kitchen, this bed-room struck Sylvia as being 
 the pleasantest room in the Chalet des Muguets, and 
 that although, like the dining-room and drawing-room, 
 it was extraordinarily bare. 
 
 There was no chest of drawers, no dressing-table, no 
 cupboard to be seen. Madame Wachner's clothes hung
 
 106 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 
 
 on pegs behind the door, and there was a large brass- 
 bound trunk in a corner of the room. 
 
 But the broad, low bed looked very comfortable, and 
 there was a bath-room next door. 
 
 Madame Wachner showed her guest the bath-room with 
 great pride. 
 
 "This is the 'English comfortable,'" she said, using 
 the quaint phrase the French have invented to express 
 the acme of domestic luxury. "My 'usband will never 
 allow me to take a 'ouse that has no bath-room. 'E is 
 very clean about 'imself " — she spoke as if it was a fact 
 to be proud of, and Sjdvia could not help smiling. 
 
 " I suppose there are still many French houses without 
 a bath-room," she said. 
 
 "Yes," said IMadame Wachner quickly, "the French 
 are not a clean people," — she shook her head scornfully. 
 
 "I suppose you keep your money in that box?" said 
 Sylvia, looking at the brass-bound trunk. 
 ♦ "No, indeed! T/u",? is where I keep it ! " 
 
 jMadame Wachner suddenly lifted her thin alpaca 
 skirt, and Sylvia, with astonishment, saw that hung 
 round her capacious waist were a number of little wash- 
 leather bags. "My money is all 'ere!" exclaimed Mad- 
 ame Wachner, laughing heartily. "It rests — oh, so co- 
 sily — against my petticoat." 
 
 Thev went back into the kitchen. The water was 
 boiling, and Sylvia made the tea, Madame Wachner 
 looking on with eager interest. 
 
 "La! La! it will be strong! I only put a pinch for 
 ourselves. And now go into the dining-room, and I will 
 bring the teapot there to you, Madame!"
 
 THE CEUNK IN THE ARMOUR 107 
 
 "No, no," said Sylvia laughing, "why should we not 
 drink our tea here, in this pretty kitchen?" 
 
 The other looked at her doubtfully. " Shall we? " 
 
 "Yes, of course 1" cried Sylvia. 
 
 They drew up two rush-bottomed chairs to the table 
 and sat down. 
 
 Sylvia thoroughly enjoyed this first taste of Madame 
 Wachner's hospitality. The drive and the great heat 
 had made her feel tired and languid, and the tea did her 
 good. 
 
 "I will go and see if the carriage is there," said Mad- 
 ame Wachner at last. 
 
 While her hostess was away, Sylvia looked round her 
 with some curiosity. 
 
 What an extraordinary mode of life these people had 
 chosen for themselves! If the Wachners were rich 
 enough to gamble, surely they had enough money to 
 live more comfortably than they were now doing? It 
 was clear that they hardly used the dining-room and 
 drawing-room of the little villa at all. When Sylvia 
 had been looking for the butter, she had not been able 
 to help seeing that in the tiny larder there was only a 
 small piece of cheese, a little cold meat, and a couple of 
 eggs on a plate. No wonder Monsieur Wachner had 
 heartily enjoyed the copious, if rather roughly-prepared, 
 meal at the Pension Malfait. 
 
 "Yes, the carriage is there," said Madame Wachner 
 bustling back. "And now we must be quick, or L'Ami 
 Fritz will be cross ! Do you know that absurd man 
 actually still thinks 'e is master, and yet we 'ave been 
 married— oh, I do not know 'ow many 3-ears! But be
 
 108 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 
 
 always loves seeing me even after we 'ave been separated 
 but two hours or so!" 
 
 Together they went out, Madame Wachner carefully 
 locking the door and hiding the key where she had found 
 it, under the mat outside. 
 
 Sylvia could not help laughing. 
 
 "I really wonder you do that," she observed. "Just 
 think how easy it would be for anyone to get into the 
 house!" 
 
 " Yes, that is true, but there is nothing to steal. As I 
 tell you, we always carry our money about with us," said 
 Madame Wachner. She added in a serious tone, "and 
 I should advise you to do so too, my dear young friend."
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 A quarter of an hour's sharp driving brought Sylvia 
 and Madame Wachner to the door of the Casino, They 
 found Madame Wolsky in tlie hall waiting for them. 
 
 "I couldn't think what had happened to you!" she 
 exclaimed in an anxious tone. "But here is your mem- 
 bership card, Sylvia, Now you are free of the Baccarat 
 tables!" 
 
 Monsieur Wachner met his wife with a frowning face. 
 He might be pleased to see Madame Wachner, but he 
 showed his pleasure in an odd manner. Soon, however, 
 the secret of his angry look was revealed, for Madame 
 Wachner opened the leather bag hanging from her wrist 
 and took out of it a hundred francs. 
 
 "Here, Fritz," she cried, gaily. "You can now begin 
 your play!" 
 
 Sylvia Bailey felt very much amused. So poor "Ami 
 Fritz" was not allowed to gamble unless his wife were 
 there to see that he did not go too far. No wonder he 
 had looked impatient and eager, as well as cross! He 
 had been engaged — that was clear — in putting down the 
 turns of the game, and in working out what were no doubt 
 abstruse calculations connected with his system. 
 
 The Club was very full, and it was a little difficult at 
 
 that hour of the late afternoon to get near enough to a 
 
 table to play comfortably; but a stranger had kindly 
 
 kept Anna Wolsky's place for her. 
 
 109
 
 110 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 
 
 "I have been quite lucky," she whispered to Sylvia. 
 "I have made three hundred francs, and now I think I 
 will rest a bit! Slip in here, dear, and I will stand be- 
 hind you. I do not advise you to risk more than twenty 
 francs the first time; on the other hand, if you feel en 
 veine, if the luck seems persistent — it sometimes is when 
 one first plays with gold — then be bold, and do not hes- 
 itate!" 
 
 Sylvia, feeling rather bewildered, slipped into her 
 friend's place, and Anna kept close behind her. 
 
 With a hand that trembled a little, she put a twenty- 
 franc piece down on the green table. After doing so 
 she looked up, and saw that the Comte de Virieu was 
 standing nearly opposite to her, on the other side of 
 the table. 
 
 His eyes were fixed on her, and there was a very kind 
 and indulgent, if sad, smile on his face. As their glances 
 met he leant forward and also put a twenty-franc piece 
 on the green cloth close to where Sylvia's money lay. 
 
 The traditional words rang out: " Faiies vos jeux, 
 Messieurs, Mesdames! Le jeu est fait! Rien ne va plus!" 
 
 And then Sylvia saw her stake and that of the Count 
 doubled. There were now four gold pieces where two 
 had been. 
 
 "Leave your money on, and see what happens." 
 whispered Anna. " After all you are only risking twenty 
 francs!" 
 
 And Sylvia obediently followed the advice. 
 
 Again there came a little pause; once more the words 
 which she had not yet learnt to understand rang out in 
 the croupier's monotonous voice.
 
 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 111 
 
 She looked round her; there was anxiety and watch- 
 ful suspense on all the eager faces. The Comte de Virieu 
 alone looked indifferent. 
 
 A moment later four gold pieces were added to the 
 four already there. 
 
 "You had better take up your winnings, or someone 
 may claim them, " muttered Anna anxiously. 
 
 "Oh, but I don't like to do that," said Sylvia. 
 
 "Of course you must!" 
 
 She put out her hand and took up her four gold pieces, 
 leaving those of the Count on the table. Then suddenly 
 she put back the eighty francs on the cloth, and smiled 
 up at him; it was a gay little shame-faced smile. " Please 
 don't be cross with me, kind friend," — that is what 
 Sylvia's smile seemed to say to Paul de Virieu — " but this 
 is so wr?/ exciting ! " 
 
 He felt stirred to the heart. Plow sweet, how con- 
 fidingly simple she looked ! And — and how very beautiful. 
 He at once loved and hated to see her there, his new little 
 "amie Anglaise!" 
 
 "Are you going to leave the whole of it on this time?" 
 whispered Anna. 
 
 "Yes, I think I will. It's rather fun. After all, Pm 
 only risking twenty francs!" whispered back Sylvia. 
 
 And once more she won. 
 
 " What a pity you didn't start playing with a hundred 
 francs! Think of how rich you would be now," said 
 Anna, with the true gambler's instinct. " But it is clear, 
 child, that you are going to do well this evening, and I 
 shall follow your luck! Take the money off now, how- 
 ever."
 
 112 THE CHIXK IN THE ARMOUR 
 
 Sylvia waited to see what the Count would do. Their 
 eyes asked and answered the same question. He gave 
 an imperceptible nod, and she took up her winnings — 
 eight gold pieces! 
 
 It was well that she had done so, for the next deal of 
 the cards favoured the banker. 
 
 Then something very surprising happened to Sylvia. 
 
 Someone — she thought it was IMonsieur Wachner — 
 addressed the croupier whose duty it was to deal out the 
 cards, and said imperiously, "A Madavie la main!" 
 
 Hardly knowing what she was doing, Sylvia took up 
 the cards which had been pushed towards her. A mur- 
 mur of satisfaction ran round the table, for there lay what 
 even she had learnt by now was the winning number, a 
 nine of hearts, and the second card was the king of clubs. 
 
 Again and again, she turned up winning numbers — 
 the eight and the ace, the five and the four, the six and 
 the three — every combination which brought luck to the 
 table and confusion to the banker. 
 
 Eyes full of adoring admiration, aye and gratitude, 
 were turned on the young Englishwoman. Paul de Virieu 
 alone did not look at her. But he followed her play. 
 
 "Now put on a hundred francs," said Anna, authori- 
 tatively. 
 
 Syhna looked at her, rather surprised by the advice, 
 but she obeyed it. And still the Comte de Virieu followed 
 her lead. 
 
 That made her feel dreadfully nervous and excited — it 
 would be so terrible to make him lose too I 
 
 Neither of them lost. On the contrary, ten napoleons 
 were added to the double pile of gold.
 
 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 113 
 
 And then, after that, it seemed as if the whole table 
 were following Sylvia's game. 
 
 "That pretty Englishwoman is playing for the first 
 time!" — so the word went round. And they all began 
 backing her luck with feverish haste. 
 
 The banker, a good-looking young Frenchman, stared 
 at Sylvia ruefully. Thanks to her, he was being badly 
 punished. Fortunately, he could afford it. 
 
 At the end of half an hour, feeling tired and bewildered 
 by her good fortune, INIrs. Bailey got up and moved away 
 from the table, the possessor of £92. The Comte Virieu 
 had won exactly the same amount. 
 
 Now everybody looked pleased except the banker. 
 For the first time a smile irradiated Monsieur Wachner's 
 long face. 
 
 As for Madame Wachner, she was overjoyed. Catch- 
 ing Sylvia by the hand, she exclaimed, in her curious, 
 woolly French, "I would like to embrace you! But I 
 know that English ladies do not like kissing in public. 
 It is splendid — splendid! Look at all the people you 
 have made happy. " 
 
 "But how about the poor banker?" asked Sylvia, 
 blushing. 
 
 " Oh, 'e is all right. 'E is very rich. " 
 
 Madame Wolsky, like the Count, had exactly followed 
 her friend's play, but not as soon as he had done. Still, 
 she also had made over ;^80. 
 
 "Two thousand francs!" she cried, joyfully. "That 
 is very good for a beginning. And you?" she turned 
 to Monsieur Wachner. 
 
 He hesitated, and looked at his wife deprecatingly.
 
 114 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 
 
 "L'Ami Fritz," said Madame Wachner, "will play 'is 
 system, Mesdames. However, I am glad to say that 
 to-day he soon gave it up in honour of our friend here. 
 What 'ave you made?" she asked him. 
 
 "Only eight hundred francs," he said, his face cloud- 
 ing over. " If you had given me more than that hundred 
 francs, Sophie, I might have made five thousand in the 
 time." 
 
 "Bah!" she said. "That does not matter. We must 
 not risk more than a hundred francs a day — you know 
 how often I've told you that, Fritz." She was now 
 speaking in French, very quickly and angrily. 
 
 But Sylvia hardly heard. She could not help wonder- 
 ing why the Count had not come up and congratulated 
 her. The thought that she had brought him luck was 
 very pleasant to her. 
 
 He had left off placing, and was standing back, near 
 one of the windows. He had not even glanced across to 
 the place where she stood. This aloofness gave Sylvia 
 a curious little feeling of discomfiture. WTiy, several 
 strangers had come up and cordially thanked her for 
 bringing them such luck. 
 
 "Let us come out of this place and 'ave some ices," ex- 
 claimed Madame Wachner, suddenly. " When I'Ami Fritz 
 *as a stroke of luck 'e often treats 'is old wife to an ice." 
 
 The four went out of the Casino and across the way to 
 an hotel, which, as Madame Wachner explained to her 
 two new friends, contained the best restaurant in Lac- 
 ville. The sun was sinking, and, though it was still 
 very hot, there was a pleasant breeze coming up from 
 the lake.
 
 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 115 
 
 Sylvia felt excited and happy. How wonderful — how 
 marvellous — to make nearly ;^ 100 out of a twenty-franc 
 piece! That was what she had done this afternoon. 
 
 And then, rather to her surprise, after they had all 
 enjoyed ices and cakes at Madame Wachner's expense, 
 Anna Wolsky and I'Ami Fritz declared they were going 
 back to the Casino. 
 
 "I don't mean to play again to-night," said Sylvia, 
 firmly. "I feel dreadfully tired," and the excitement 
 had indeed worn her out. She longed to go back to the 
 Hotel du Lac. 
 
 Still, she accompanied the others to the Club, and 
 together with Madame Wachner, she sat down some 
 way from the tables. In a very few minutes they were 
 joined by the other two, who had by now lost quite 
 enough gold pieces to make them both feel angry with 
 themselves, and, what was indeed unfair, with poor Sylvia. 
 
 "I'm sure that if you had plaj-ed again, and if we had 
 followed your play, we should have added to our winnings 
 instead of losing, as we have done," said Anna crossly. 
 
 " I'm so sorry," and Sylvia felt really distressed. Anna 
 had never spoken crossly to her before. 
 
 "Forgive mel" cried the Polish woman, suddenly soft- 
 ening. " I ought not to have said that to you, dear little 
 friend. No doubt we should all have lost just the same. 
 You know that fortune-teller told me that I should make 
 plenty of money — well, even now I have had a splendid 
 day!" 
 
 "Do come back with me and have dinner at the Villa 
 du Lac," said Sylvia eagerly. 
 
 They shook hands with the Wachners, and as they 
 
 /
 
 116 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 
 
 walked the short distance from the Casino to the villa, 
 Sylvia told Anna all about her visit to the Chalet des 
 !Muguets. 
 
 "They seem nice homely people," she said, "and 
 ^Madame Wachner was really very kind." 
 
 "Yes, no doubt; but she is a very strict wife," answered 
 Anna smiHng. "The poor man had not one penny piece 
 till she came in, and he got so angry and impatient wait- 
 ing for her! I really felt inclined to lend him a little 
 money; but I have made it a rule never to lend money 
 in a Casino; it only leads to unpleasantness afterwards." 
 
 In the hall of the Villa du Lac the Comte de Virieu 
 was standing reading a paper. He was dressed for dinner, 
 and he bowed distantly as the two ladies came in. 
 
 "Why, there is the Comte de Virieu!" exclaimed Anna, 
 in a low, and far from a pleased tone. " I had no idea he 
 was staying here." 
 
 "Yes, he is staying here," said Sylvia, blushing un- 
 easily, and quickly she led the way upstairs. It wanted 
 a few minutes to seven. 
 
 Anna Wolsky waited till the door of Sylvia's room was 
 shut, and then, 
 
 " I cannot help being sorry that you are staging in the 
 same hotel as that man," she said, seriously. "Do not 
 get to know him too well, dear Sylvia. The Count is a 
 worthless individual; he has gambled away two fortunes. 
 And now, instead of working, he is content to live on an 
 allowance made to him by his sister's husband, the Due 
 d'Eglemont. If I were you, I should keep on very dis- 
 tant terms with him. He is, no doubt, always looking 
 out for a nice rich woman to marry."
 
 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 117 
 
 Sylvia made no answer. She felt she could not trust 
 herself to speak; and there came over her a feeling of 
 intense satisfaction that Anna Wolsky was not staying 
 here with her at the Villa du Lac. 
 
 She also made up her mind that next time she enter- 
 tained Anna she would do so at the restaurant of which 
 the cooking had been so highly commended by Madame 
 Wachner. 
 
 The fact that Madame Wolsky thought so ill of the 
 Comte de Virieu made Sylvia feel uncomfortable all 
 through dinner. But the Count, though he again bowed 
 when the two friends came into the dining-room, did not 
 come over and speak to them, as Sylvia had felt sure he 
 would do this evening. 
 
 After dinner he disappeared, and Sylvia took Anna 
 out into the garden. But she did not show her the 
 potager. The old kitchen-garden already held for her 
 associations which she did not wish to spoil or even to 
 disturb. 
 
 Madame Wolsky, sipping M. Polperro's excellent cof- 
 fee, again mentioned the Count. 
 
 "I am exceedingly surprised to see him here at Lac- 
 ville," she said in a musing voice, "I should have ex- 
 pected him to go to a more chic place. He always plays 
 in the winter at Monte Carlo." 
 
 Sylvia summoned up courage to protest. 
 
 "But, Anna," she exclaimed, "surely the Comte de 
 Virieu is only doing what a great many other people do!" 
 
 Anna laughed good-humouredly. 
 
 "I see what you^mean," she said. "You think it is a 
 case of 'the pot calling the kettle black.' How excellent
 
 118 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUB 
 
 are your English proverbs, dear Sylvia! But no, it Is 
 quite diflFerent. Take me. I have an income, and 
 choose to spend it in gambling. I might prefer to have 
 a big house, or perhaps I should say a small house, for I 
 am not a very rich woman. But no, I like play, and I 
 am free to spend my money as I like. The Comte de 
 Virieu is very differently situated! He is, so I've been 
 told, a clever, cultivated man. He ought to be working 
 — doing something for his country's good. And then he 
 is so disagreeable! He makes no friends, no acquaint- 
 ances. He always looks as if he was doing something 
 of which he was ashamed. He never appears gay or 
 satisfied, not even w^hen he is winning " 
 
 "He does not look as cross as Monsieur Wachner,'* 
 said Sylvia, smiling. 
 
 "Monsieur Wachner is like me," said Aima calmly. 
 "He probably made a fortune in business, and now he 
 and his wife enjoy risking a little money at play. ^Vhy 
 should they not?" 
 
 " Madame Wachner told me to-day all about their poor 
 friend who was drowned," said Sylvia irrelevantly. 
 
 "Ah, yes, that was a sad affair! They were very 
 foolish to become so intimate with him. Why, they 
 actually had him staying with them at the time! You 
 see, they had a villa close to the lake-side. And this 
 young Russian, it appears, was very fond of boating. It 
 w^as a mysterious affair, because, oddly enough, he had 
 not been out in the town, or even to the Casino, for four 
 days before the accident happened. There was a notion 
 among some people that he had committed suicide, but 
 that, I fancy, was not so. He had won a large sum of
 
 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 119 
 
 money. Some thought the gold weighed down his body- 
 in the water . But that is absurd. It must have 
 
 been the weeds." 
 
 " Madame Wachner told me that quite a lot of money 
 was found in his room," said Sylvia quickly. 
 
 "No, that is not true. About four hundred francs 
 were found in his bed-room. That was all. I fancy the 
 police made themselves rather unpleasant to Monsieur 
 Wachner. The Russian Embassy made inquiries, and 
 it seemed so odd to the French authorities that the poor 
 fellow could not be identified. They found no passport, 
 no papers of any sort " 
 
 "Have you a passport?" asked Sylvia. "Madame 
 Wachner asked me if I had one. But I've never even 
 seen a passport 1" 
 
 "No," said Anna, "I have not got a passport now. I 
 once had one, but I lost it. One does not require such a 
 thing in a civilised country! But a Russian must always 
 have a passport, it is an absolute law in Russia. And the 
 disappearance of that young man's passport was certainly 
 strange — in fact, the whole affair was mysterious." 
 
 " It^ust have been terrible for Monsieur and Madame 
 Wachner," said Sylvia thoughtfully. 
 
 "Oh yes, very disagreeable indeed! Luckily he is en- 
 tirely absorbed in his absurd systems, and she is a very 
 cheerful woman." 
 
 "Yes, indeed she is!" Sylvia could not help smiling. 
 "I am glad we have got to know them, Anna. It is 
 rather mournful when one knows no one at all in a place 
 of this kind." 
 
 And Anna agreed, indifferently.
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 And then there began a series of long cloudless days 
 for Sylvia Bailey. For the first time she felt as if she 
 was seeing life, and such seeing was very pleasant to her. 
 
 Not in her wildest dreams, during the placid days of 
 her girlhood and brief married life, had she conceived of 
 so interesting and so exhilarating an existence as that 
 which she was now leading! And this was perhaps 
 owing in a measiu'e to the fact that there is, if one may 
 so express it, a spice of naughtiness in life as led at Lac- 
 ville. 
 
 In a mild, a very mild, way Sylvia Bailey had falleiv 
 a victim to the Goddess of Play. She soon learned to 
 look forward to the hours she and Anna Wolsky spent 
 each day at the baccarat tables. But, unlike Anna, 
 Sylvia was never tempted to risk a greater sum on that 
 dangerous green cloth than she could comfortably afford 
 to lose, and perhaps just because this was so, on the 
 whole she won money rather than lost it. 
 
 A certain change had come over the relations of the 
 two women. They still met daily, if only at the Casino, 
 and they occasionally took a walk or a drive together, 
 but Madame Wolsky — and Sylvia Bailey felt uneasy and 
 growing concern that it was so — now lived for play, and 
 play alone. 
 
 Absorbed in the simple yet fateful turns of the game, 
 Anna would remain silent for hours, immersed in calcula- 
 
 120
 
 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUE 121 
 
 tions, and scarcely aware of what went on round her. 
 She and Monsieur Wachner — "L'Ami Fritz," as even 
 Sylvia had fallen into the way of calling him — seemed 
 scarcely alive unless they were standing or sitting round 
 a baccarat table, putting down or taking up the shining 
 gold pieces which they treated as carelessly as if they 
 were counters. 
 
 But it was not the easy, idle, purposeless life she was 
 now leading that brought the pretty English widow that 
 strange, unacknowledged feeling of entire content with 
 life. 
 
 What made existence at Lacville so exciting and so ex- 
 ceptionally interesting to Sylvia Bailey was her friend- 
 ship with Comte Paul de Virieu. 
 
 There is in every woman a passion for romance, and 
 in Sylvia this passion had been baulked, not satisfied, by 
 her first marriage. 
 
 Bill Chester loved her well and deeply, but he was her 
 Ia\vyer and trustee as well as her lover. He had an 
 honest, straightforward nature, and when with her some- 
 thing always prompted Chester to act the part of candid 
 friend, and the part of candid friend fits in very ill with 
 that of lover. To take but one example of how ill his 
 honesty of purpose served him in the matter, Sylvia had 
 never really forgiven him the "fuss" he had made about 
 her string of pearls. 
 
 But with the Comte de Virieu she never quite knew 
 what to be at, and mystery is the food of romance. 
 
 At the Villa du Lac the two were almost inseparable, 
 and yet so intelligently and quietly did the Count ar- 
 range their frequent meetings — their long walks and talks
 
 122 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 
 
 in the large deserted garden, their pleasant morning 
 saunters through the little town — that no one, or so 
 Sylvia believed, was aware of any special intimacy be- 
 tween them. 
 
 Sometimes, as they paced up and down the flower- 
 bordered paths of the old kitchen-garden, or when, tired 
 of walking, they made their way into the orangery and 
 sat down on the circular stone bench by the fountain, 
 Sylvia would remember, deep in her heart, the first time 
 Count Paul had brought her there; and how she had 
 been a little frightened, not perhaps altogether unpleas- 
 antly so, by his proximity! 
 
 She had feared — but she was now deeply ashamed of 
 having entertained such a thought — that he might sud- 
 denly begin making violent love to her, that he might 
 perhaps try to kiss her! Were not all Frenchmen of his 
 type rather gay dogs? 
 
 But nothing — nothing of the sort had ever been within 
 measurable distance of happening. On the contrary, he 
 always treated her with scrupulous respect, and he never 
 — ^and this sometimes piqued Sylvia — made love to her, 
 or attempted to flirt with her. Instead, he talked to her 
 in that intimate, that confiding fashion which a woman 
 finds so attractive in a man when she has reason to be- 
 lieve his confidences are made to her alone. 
 
 When Bill Chester asked her not to do something she 
 desired to do, Sylvia felt annoyed and impatient, but 
 when Count Paul, as she had fallen into the way of call- 
 ing him, made no secret of his wish that she should give 
 up play, Sylvia felt touched and pleased that he should 
 care.
 
 THE CHINK m THE ARMOUR 123 
 
 Early in their acquaintance the Count had warned her 
 against making casual friendships in the Gambling Rooms, 
 and he even did not like her knowing — this amused Sylvia 
 — the harmless Wachners. 
 
 When he saw her talking to Madame Wachner in the 
 Club, Count Paul would look across the baccarat table 
 and there would come a little frown over his eyes — a 
 frown she alone could see. 
 
 And as the days went on, and as their intimacy seemed 
 to grow closer and ever closer, there came across Sylvia 
 a deep wordless wish — and she had never longed for any- 
 thing so much in her life — to rescue her friend from what 
 he admitted to be his terrible vice of gambling. In this 
 she showed rather a feminine lack of logic, for, while 
 wishing to wean him from his vice, she did not herself 
 give up going to the Casino. 
 
 She would have been angry indeed had the truth been 
 whispered to her, the truth that it was not so much her 
 little daily gamble — as Madame Wachner called it — that 
 made Sylvia so faithful an attendant at the Club; it was 
 because when there she was still with Paul de Virieu, she 
 coidd see and sympathise with him when he was winning, 
 and grieve when he was losing, as alas ! he often lost. 
 
 When they were not at the Casino the Comte de Virieu 
 very seldom alluded to his play, or to the good or ill 
 fortune which might have befallen him that day. When 
 with her he tried, so much was clear to Sylvia, to forget 
 his passion for gambling. 
 
 But this curious friendship of hers with Count Paul 
 only occupied, in a material sense, a small part of Sylvia's 
 daily life at Lacville; and the people with whom she
 
 124 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 
 
 spent most of her time were still Anna Wolsky and Mon- 
 sieur and IVladame Wachner, or perhaps it should be 
 said ]Madame Wachner. 
 
 It was not wonderful that ]Mrs. Bailey liked the cheer- 
 ful woman, who was so bright and jovial in manner, and 
 who knew, too, how to flatter so cleverly. When with 
 Madame Wachner Sylvia was made to feel that she was 
 not only very pretty, but also immensely attractive, and 
 just now she was very anxious to think herself both. 
 
 Late one afternoon — and they all four always met 
 each afternoon at the Casino — Madame Wachner sud- 
 denly invited Sylvia and Anna to come back to supper 
 at the Chalet des Muguets. 
 
 Anna was unwilling to accept the kindly invitation. 
 It was clear that she did not wish to waste as much time 
 away from the Casino as going to the Wachners' villa 
 would involve. But, seeing that Sylvia was eager to go, 
 she gave way. 
 
 Now on this particular afternoon Sylvia was feeling 
 rather dull, and, as she expressed it to herself, "down 
 on her luck," for the Comte de Virieu had gone into 
 Paris for a few hours. 
 
 His sister, the Duchesse d'Eglemont, had come up from 
 the country for a few days, and the great pleasure and 
 delight he had expressed at the thought of seeing her 
 had given the young English widow a little pang of pain. 
 It made her feel how little she counted in his life after all. 
 
 And so, for the second time, Sylvia visited the odd, 
 fantastic-looking Chalet des Muguets, and under very 
 pleasant auspices.
 
 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 125 
 
 This evening the bare dining-room she had thought 
 so ugly wore an air of festivity. There were flowers on 
 the round table and on the buffet, but, to her surprise, a 
 piece of oilcloth now hid the parquet floor. This puzzled 
 Sylvia, as such trifling little matters of fact often puzzle 
 a fresh young mind. Surely the oilcloth had not been 
 there on her last visit to the villa? She remembered 
 clearly the unpolished parquet floor. 
 
 Thanks to the hostess and to Sylvia herself, supper 
 was a bright, merry meal. There was a variety of cold 
 meats, some fine fruit, and a plate of dainty pastry. 
 
 They all waited on one another, though Madame 
 Wachner insisted on doing most of the work. But 
 L'Ami Fritz, for once looking cheerful and eager, mixed 
 the salad, putting in even more vinegar than oil, as Mrs. 
 Bailey laughingly confessed that she hated olive oil ! 
 
 After they had eaten their appetising little meal, the 
 host went off into the kitchen where Sylvia had had tea 
 on her first visit to the Chalet, and there he made the most 
 excellent coffee for them all, and even Mrs. Bailey, who 
 was treated as the guest of honour, though she knew that 
 coffee was not good for her, was tempted into taking some. 
 
 One thing, however, rather dashed her pleasure in the 
 entertainment. 
 
 Madame Wachner, forgetting for once her usual tact, 
 suddenlv made a violent attack on the Comte de Virieu. 
 
 Thev were all talking of the habitues of the Casino: 
 "The only one I do not like," she exclaimed, in French, 
 "is that Count — if indeed Count he be? He is so arro- 
 gant, so proud, so rude! We have known him for years, 
 have L'Ami Fritz and I, for we are always running across
 
 126 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 
 
 him at Monte Carlo and other places. But no, each time 
 we meet he looks at us as if he was a fish. He does not 
 even nod!" 
 
 "When the Comte de Virieu is actually playing, he 
 does not know that other people exist," said Anna Wol- 
 sky, slowly. 
 
 She had looked across at Slyvia and noticed her Eng- 
 lish friend's blush and look of embarrassment. "I used 
 to watch him two years ago at Monte Carlo, and I have 
 never seen a man more absorbed in his play," 
 
 "That is no excuse I" cried Madame Wachner, scorn- 
 fully. "Besides, that is only half the truth. He is 
 ashamed of the way he is spending his life, and he hates 
 the people who see him doing it! It is shameful to be 
 so idle. A strong young man doing nothing, living on 
 charity, so they say! And he despises all those who do 
 what he himself is not ashamed to do." 
 
 And Sylvia, looking across at her, said to herself with 
 a heavy sigh that this was true. Madame Wachner had 
 summed up Count Paul very accurately. 
 
 At last there came the sound of a carriage in the quiet 
 lane outside. 
 
 "Fritz! Go and see if that is the carriage I ordered 
 to come here at nine o'clock," said his wife sharply; and 
 then, as he got up silently to obey her, she followed him 
 out into the passage, and Sylvia, who had very quick 
 ears, heard her say, in low, vehement tones, " I work and 
 work and work, but you do nothing! Do try and help 
 me — it is for your sake I am taking all this trouble!" 
 
 What could these odd words mean? At what was 
 Madame Wachner working?
 
 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 127 
 
 A sudden feeling of discomfort came over Sylvia. 
 Then the stout, jolly-looking woman was not without 
 private anxieties and cares? There had been something 
 so weary as well as so angry in the tone in which Mad- 
 ame Wachner spoke to her beloved "Ami Fritz." 
 
 A moment later he was hurrying towards the gate. 
 
 "Sophie," he cried out from the garden, "the carriage 
 is here! Come along — we have wasted too much time 
 already " 
 
 Like Anna Wolsky, Monsieur Wachner grudged every 
 moment spent away from the tables. 
 
 Madame Wachner hurried her two guests into her 
 bed-room to put on their hats. 
 
 Anna Wolsky walked over to the window. 
 
 "What a strange, lonely place to live in!" she said, and 
 drew the lace shawl she was wearing a little more closely 
 about her thin shoulders. "And that wood over there — 
 I should be afraid to live so near a wood! I should 
 think that there might be queer people concealed there." 
 
 "Bah! Why should we be frightened, even if there 
 were queer people there!" 
 
 "Well, but sometimes you must have a good deal of 
 money in this house." 
 
 Madame W^achner laughed. 
 
 "When we have so much money that we cannot carry 
 it about, and that, alas! is not very often — but still, 
 when Fritz makes a big win, we go into Paris and bank 
 the monev." 
 
 "I do not trouble to do that," said Anna, "for I always 
 carry all my money about with me. What do you do?" 
 she turned to Sylvia Bailey.
 
 128 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 
 
 " I leave it in my trunk at the hotel," said Sylvia. " The 
 servants at the Villa du Lac seem to be perfectly honest 
 — in fact they are mostly related to the proprietor, M. 
 Polperro." 
 
 "Oh, but that is quite wrong!" exclaimed ]\Iadame 
 Wachner, eagerly. " You should never leave your money 
 in the hotel; you should always carry it about with j'ou — 
 in little bags like this. See!" 
 
 Again she suddenly lifted the light alpaca skirt she 
 was wearing, as she had done before, in this very room, 
 on the occasion of Sylvia's first visit to the Chalet. 
 "That is the way to carry money in a place like this!" 
 she said, smiling. "But now hurry, or all our evening 
 will be gone!" 
 
 They left the house, and hastened down the garden to 
 the gate, where L'Ami Fritz received his wife with a 
 grumbling complaint that they had been so long. 
 
 And he was right, for the Casino was very full. Sylvia 
 made no attempt to play. Somehow she did not care 
 for the Club when Count Paul was not there. 
 
 She was glad when she was at last able to leave the 
 others for the Villa du Lac. 
 
 Anna Wolsky accompanied her friend to the entrance 
 of the Casino. The Comte de Virieu was just coming in 
 as Sylvia went out; bowing distantly to the two ladies, 
 he hurried through the vestibule towards the Club. 
 
 Sylvia's heart sank. Not even after spending a day 
 with his beloved sister could he resist the lure of play!
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 During much of the night that followed Sylvia lay 
 awake, her mind full of the Comte de Virieu, and of the 
 strange friendship which had sprung up between them. 
 
 Their brief meeting at the door of the Casino had 
 affected her very painfully. As he had passed her with 
 a distant bow, a look of shame, of miserable unease, had 
 come over Count Paul's face. 
 
 Yes, Madame Wachner had summed him up very 
 shrewdly, if unkindly. He was ashamed, not only of the 
 way in which he was wasting his life, but also of the com- 
 pany into which his indulgence of his vice of gambling 
 brought him. "* 
 
 And Sylvia — it was a bitter thought — was of that 
 company. That fact must be faced by her. True, she 
 was not a gambler in the sense that most of the people 
 she met and saw daily at the Casino were gamblers, but 
 that was simply because the passion of play did not ab- 
 sorb her as it did them. It was her good fortune, not 
 any virtue in herself, that set her apart from Anna 
 Wolsky. 
 
 And now she asked herself — or rather her conscience 
 asked her — whether she would not do well to leave Lac- 
 ville; to break off this strange and — yes, this dangerous 
 intimacy with a man of whom she knew so very little, 
 apart from the great outstanding fact that he was a con- 
 firmed gambler, and that he had given up all that makes 
 
 129
 
 130 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 
 
 life worth living to such a man as he, in order to drag on 
 a dishonoured, purposeless life at one or other of the great 
 gambling centres of the civilised world? 
 
 And yet the thought of going away from Lacville was 
 already intolerable to Sylvia. There had arisen between 
 the Frenchman and herself a kind of close, wordless under- 
 standing and sympathy which she, at any rate, still called 
 "friendship." But she would probably have assented to 
 Meredith's words, " Friendship, I fancy, means one heart 
 between two. " 
 
 At last she fell into a troubled sleep, and dreamt a dis- 
 turbing dream. 
 
 She found herself wandering about the Chalet des 
 Muguets, trying to find a way out of the locked and shut- 
 tered building. The ugly little rooms were empty. It 
 was winter, and she was shivering with cold. Someone 
 must have locked her in by mistake. She had been for- 
 gotten. ... 
 
 "Toe, toe, toe!" at the door. And Sylvia sat up in 
 bed relieved of her nightmare. It was eight o'clock! 
 She had overslept herself. F^licie was bringing in her 
 tea, and on the tray lay a letter addressed in a handwrit- 
 ing Sylvia did not know, and on which was a French 
 stamp. 
 
 She turned the pale-grey envelope over doubtfully, 
 wondering if it was really meant for her. But yes — of 
 that there could be no doubt, for it was addressed, " Mad- 
 ame Bailey, Villa du Lac, Lacville-les-Bains. " 
 
 She opened it to find that the note contained a grace- 
 fully-worded invitation to dejeuner for the next day, and 
 the signature ran — "Marie-Anne d'Eglemont."
 
 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 131 
 
 Why, it must be Paul de Virieu's sister! How very- 
 kind of her, and — and how very kind of him. 
 
 The letter must have been actually written when Count 
 Paul was in Paris with his sister — and yet, when they had 
 passed one another the evening before, he had bowed as 
 distantly, as coldly, as he might have done to the most 
 casual of acquaintances. 
 
 Sylvia got up, filled with a tumult of excited feeling 
 which this simple invitation to luncheon scarcely war- 
 ranted. 
 
 But Paul de Virieu came in from his ride also eager, 
 excited, smiling. 
 
 " Have you received a note from my sister? " he asked, 
 hurrying towards her in the dining-room which they now 
 had to themselves each morning. " When I told her how 
 you and I had become" — he hesitated a moment, and 
 then added the words, " good friends, she said how much 
 she would like to meet you. I know that you and my 
 dear Marie-Anne would like one another " 
 
 " It is very kind of your sister to ask me to come and 
 see her," said Sylvia, a little stiffly. 
 
 " I am going back to Paris this evening, " he went on, 
 "to stay with my sister for a couple of nights. So if you 
 can come to-morrow to lunch, as I think my sister has 
 asked you to do, I will meet you at the station. " 
 
 After breakfast they went out into the garden, and 
 when they were free of the house Count Paul said sud- 
 denly, 
 
 "I told Marie-Anne that you were fond of riding, 
 and, with your permission, she proposes to send over a 
 horse for you every morning. And, Madame — forgive
 
 132 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 
 
 me — but I told her I feared you had no riding habit I 
 You and she, however, are much the same height, and 
 she thinks that she might be able to lend you one if you 
 will honour her by accepting the loan of it during the time 
 vou are at Lacville. " 
 
 Sylvia was bewildered, she scarcely knew how to accept 
 go much kindness. 
 
 " If you will write a line to my sister some time to-day, " 
 continued the Count, " I will be the bearer of your letter. " 
 
 That day marked a very great advance in the friend- 
 ship of Sylvia Bailey and Paul de Virieu. 
 
 Till that dav, much as he had talked to her about 
 himself and his life, and the many curious adventures he 
 had had, for he had travelled a great deal, and was a 
 cultivated man, he had very seldom spoken to her of his 
 relations. 
 
 But to-day he told her a great deal about them, and 
 she found herself taking a very keen, intimate interest 
 in this group of French people whom she had never seen 
 — whom, perhaps, with one exception, she never would 
 see* 
 
 How unlike English folk they must be — these relations 
 of Count Paul! For the matter of that, how unlike \xx\-j 
 people Sylvia had ever seen or heard of. 
 
 First, he told her of the sweet-natured, pious young 
 duchess who was to be her hostess on the morrow — the 
 sister whom Paul loved so dearly, and to whom he owed 
 so much. 
 
 Then he described, in less kindly terms, her proud 
 narrow-minded, if generous, husband, the French duke
 
 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 133 
 
 who still lived — thanks to the fact that his grandmother 
 had been the daughter of a great Russian banker — much 
 as must have lived the nobles in the Middle Ages — apart, 
 that is, from everything that would remind him that there 
 was anything in the world of which he disapproved or 
 which he disliked. 
 
 The Due d'Eglemont ignored the fact that France 
 was a Republic; he still talked of "the King," and went 
 periodically into waiting on the Duke of Orleans. 
 
 Count Paul also told Sylvia of his great-uncle and 
 godfather, the Cardinal, who lived in Italy, and who 
 had — or so his family liked to believe — so nearly become 
 Pope. 
 
 Then there were his three old maiden great-aunts, 
 who had all desired to be nuns, but who apparently had 
 not had the courage to do so when it came to the point. 
 They dwelt together in a remote Burgundian chateau, 
 and they each spent an hour daily in their chapel praying 
 that their dear nephew Paul might be rescued from the 
 evils of play. 
 
 And as Paul de Virieu told Sylvia Bailey of all these 
 curious old-world folk of his, Sylvia wondered more and 
 more why he led the kind of existence he was leading now. 
 
 For the first time since Sylvia had come to Lacville, 
 neither she nor Count Paul spent any part of that after- 
 noon at the Casino. They were both at that happy stage 
 of — shall we say friendship? — when a man and a woman 
 cannot see too much of one another; when time is as if it 
 were not; when nothing said or done can be wrong in 
 the other's sight; when Love is still a soft and an invisible
 
 134 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 
 
 presence, with naught about him of the exacting tyrant 
 he will so soon become. 
 
 Count Paul postponed his departure for Paris till after 
 dinner, and not till she went up to dress did Sylvia sit 
 down to write her answer to the Duchesse d'Eglemont. 
 
 For a long while she held her pen in her hand. How 
 was she to address Paul de Virieu's sister? Must she 
 call her "Dear Madame"? Should she call her "Dear 
 Duchesse"? It w^as really an unimportant matter, but 
 it appeared very important to Sylvia Bailey. She was 
 exceedingly anxious not to commit any social solecism. 
 
 And then, while she was still hesitating, still sitting 
 with the pen poised in her hand, there came a knock at 
 the door. 
 
 The maid handed her a note; it was from Count Paul, 
 the first letter he had ever written to her. 
 
 "Madame," — so ran the note — "it occurs to me that 
 you might like to answer my sister in French, and so I 
 venture to send you the sort of letter that you might per- 
 haps care to write. Each country has its own usages in 
 these matters — that must be my excuse for my apparent 
 impertinence. " 
 
 And then there followed a prettily-turned little epistle 
 which Sylvia copied, feeling perhaps a deeper gratitude 
 than a far greater service would have won him from her.
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 A couple of hours later Sylvia and Count Paul parted 
 at the door of the Casino. He held her hand longer than 
 was usual with him when bidding her good-night; then, 
 dropping it, he lifted his hat and hurried off towards the 
 station. 
 
 Svlvia stood in the dusk and looked after him till a 
 turn in the short road hid his hurrying figure from her 
 sight. 
 
 She felt very much moved, touched to the core of her 
 heart. She knew just as well as if he had told her why the 
 Comte de Virieu had given up his evening's play to-night. 
 He had left Lacville, and arranged to meet her in Paris the 
 next day, in order that their names might not be coupled — 
 as would have certainly been the case if they had travelled 
 together into Paris the next morning — by M. Polperro 
 and the good-natured, but rather vulgar Wachners. 
 
 As she turned and walked slowly through the Casino, 
 moving as in a dream, Sylvia suddenly felt herself smartly 
 tapped on the shoulder. 
 
 She turned round quickly — then she smiled. It was 
 Madame Wachner. 
 
 "Why *ave you not come before?" her friend exclaimed. 
 "Madame Wolsky is making such a sensation! Come 
 quick — quick!" and she hurried the unresisting Sylvia 
 towards the Club rooms. "I come downstairs to see if 
 I could find you, " went on Madame Wachner breathlessly. 
 
 What could be happening? Sylvia felt the other's ex- 
 
 135
 
 136 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 
 
 citemcnt to be contagious. As she entered the gambling 
 room she saw that a large crowd was gathered round the 
 centre Baccarat table. 
 
 "A party of young men out from Paris," explained 
 Madame Wachner in a low tone, "are throwing about 
 their money. It might have been terrible. But no, it 
 is a great piece of good fortune for Madame Wolsky!" 
 
 And still Sylvia did not understand. 
 
 They walked together up to the table, and then, with 
 amazement and a curious feeling of fear clutching at her 
 heart, Sylvia Bailey saw that Anna Wolsky was holding 
 the Bank. 
 
 It was the first time she had ever seen a lady in the 
 Banker's seat. 
 
 A thick bundle of notes, on which were arranged sym- 
 metrical piles of gold lay in front of Madame Wolsky, 
 and as was always the case when she was really excited, 
 Anna's face had become very pale, and her eyes glistened 
 feverishlv. 
 
 The play, too, was much higher than usual. This 
 was owing to the fact that at one end of the table there 
 stood a little group of five young men in evening dress. 
 They talked and laughed as they flung their money on 
 the green cloth, and seemed to enjoy the fact that they 
 were the centre of attraction. 
 
 "One of them," whispered Madame Wachner eagerly, 
 "had already lost eight thousand francs when I went 
 downstairs to look for you! See, they are still losing. 
 Our friend has the devil's own luck to-night! I have 
 forbidden L'Ami Fritz to play at all. Nothing can stand 
 against her. She sweeps the money up every time. If
 
 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 137 
 
 Fritz likes, he can go downstairs to the lower room and 
 play." 
 
 But before doing so L'Ami Fritz lingered awhile, watch- 
 ing Madame Wolsky's wonderful run of luck with an ex- 
 pression of painful envy and greed on his wolfish counte- 
 nance. 
 
 Sylvia went round to a point where she could watch 
 Anna's face. To a stranger Madame Wolsky might have 
 appeared almost indifferent; but there had come two spots 
 of red on her cheeks, and the hand with which she raked 
 up the money trembled. 
 
 The words rang out, " Faiies vos jeux, Messieurs, Mes- 
 dames." Then, " Le jeu est fait! Rien ne va plus!" 
 
 The luck suddenly turned against Anna. She looked 
 up, and found Sylvia's eyes fixed on her. She made 
 a slight motion, as if she wished her friend to go away. 
 
 Sylvia slipped back, and walked quietly round the 
 table. Then she stood behind Anna, and once more the 
 luck came back, and the lady banker's pile of notes and 
 gold grew higher and higher. . . . 
 
 "This is the first time a woman has held the Bank 
 this month," Sylvia heard someone say. 
 
 And then there came an answer, " Yes, and it is by far 
 the best Bank we have had this month — in fact, it's the 
 best play we've had this season!" 
 
 At last Anna pushed away her chair and got up. 
 ^ One of the young men who had lost a good deal of 
 money came up to her and said smilingly. 
 
 "I hope, Madame, you are not going away. I pro- 
 pose now to take the Bank; surely, you will allow me to 
 have my revenge?"
 
 138 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 
 
 Anna Wolsky laughed. 
 
 "Certainly!" she answered. "I propose to go on 
 playing for some time longer. " 
 
 He took the Banker's seat, and the crowd dispersed to 
 the other tables. L'Ami Fritz slipped away downstairs, 
 but his wife stayed on in the Club by Sylvia's side. 
 
 Soon the table was as much surrounded as before, for 
 Anna was again winning. She had won as banker, now 
 she won as simple player, and all those about her began 
 to "follow her luck" w^ith excellent results to themselves. 
 
 The scene reminded Sylvia of that first evening at the 
 Casino. It was only three weeks ago, and yet how full, 
 how crowded the time had been ! 
 
 Somehow to-night she did not feel inclined to play. 
 To her surprise and amusement she saw Madame Wachner 
 actually risk a twenty-franc piece. A moment later the 
 stake was doubled, and soon the good lady had won nine 
 gold pieces. Her face flushed with joy like a happy child's. 
 
 "Oh, why is not Fritz here?" she exclaimed. "How 
 sorry I am I sent him downstairs! But, never mind, his 
 old wife is making some money for once!" 
 
 At last the Banker rose from the table. He was pretty 
 well cleared out. Smiling and bowing to Anna, he said, 
 "Well, Madame, I congratulate you! You must have a 
 very powerful mascot." 
 
 Anna shook her head gaily. 
 
 " It is pleasant to win from a millionaire, " she whispered 
 to Sylvia, "for one knows it does not hurt him! That 
 young man has a share in the profit on every piece of 
 sugar sold in France, and you know how fond the French 
 are of sweet things!"
 
 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 139 
 
 She turned from the table, followed by Sylvia and 
 Madame Wachner. , 
 
 "What will you do with all your money?" asked 
 Madame Wachner anxiously. 
 
 "I told one of the ushers to have it all turned into 
 notes for me," she answered indifferently. "As to what 
 I shall do with it! — well, I suppose I shall have to go into 
 Paris and bank some of it in a day or two. I shan't play 
 to-morrow. I shall take a rest — I deserve a rest!" She 
 looked extraordinarily excited and happy. 
 
 "Shall we drop you at the Pension Malfait?" said 
 Madame Wachner amiably. "It is right on our way 
 
 home, you know. I, too, have made money " she 
 
 "ihuckled joyously. 
 
 Madame Wachner left the two friends standing in 
 the hall while she went to look for her husband in the 
 public gambling room, and as they stood there Sylvia 
 became conscious that they were being stared at with 
 a great deal of interest and curiosity. The news of 
 Anna Wolsky's extraordinary good luck had evidently 
 spread. 
 
 "I wish I had come in a little earlier," said Sylvia 
 presently. "I've never seen you take the Bank before. 
 Surely this is the first time you have done so?" 
 
 "Yes,«this is the first time I have ever been tempted 
 to take the Bank at Lacville. But somehow I suddenly 
 felt as if I should be lucky to-night. You see, I've made 
 a good deal of money the last day or two, and Madame 
 Wachner persuaded me to try my luck," 
 
 "I wish you had told me you were thinking of taking 
 the Bank."
 
 140 THE CHINK IX THE ARMOUR 
 
 "I would have told you," said Anna quietly, "if I had 
 seen you to-day. But I have been seeing very little of 
 you lately, Sylvia. Why, you are more with ]Madame 
 Wachner than with me!" 
 
 She did not speak unkindly, but Sylvia felt a pang of 
 remorse. She had indeed seen very little of Anna Wol- 
 sky during the last few days, but that was not because she 
 had been with ^ladame Wachner. 
 
 "I will come and see you for a little while to-night," 
 she said impetuously, " for I am going to spend to-morrow 
 
 in Paris — with a friend who is there just now " 
 
 >f She hurried out the half-truth with a curious feeling of 
 guilt. 
 
 "Yes, do come!" cried Anna eagerly. "You can stay 
 with me while the carriage takes the Wachners on home, 
 and then it can call for you on the way back. I should 
 not like you to walk to the Villa du Lac alone at this 
 time of night. " 
 
 "Ah, but I'm not like you; I haven't won piles of 
 money!" said Sylvia, smiling. 
 
 "No, but that makes very little difference in a place 
 like this " 
 
 And then Monsieur and Madame Wachner joined them. 
 L'Ami Fritz looked quite moved out of himself. He 
 seized Anna by the hand. "I congratulate you!" he 
 said heartily. " What a splendid thing to go on winning 
 like that. I wish I had been there, for I might have fol- 
 lowed your luck!" 
 
 They all four walked out of the Casino. It was a very 
 dark night. 
 V'And what will you do with all that money?" Mon-
 
 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 141 
 
 sieur Wachncr solicitously inquired. "It is a great sum 
 to carry about, is it not?" 
 
 "It is far better to carry about one's money than to 
 trust it to anyone but to a well-managed bank, " exclaimed 
 his wife, before Anna could answer the question. "As 
 for the hotel-keepers, I would not trust them with one 
 penny. What happened to a friend of ours, eh, Fritz, 
 tell them that? " 
 
 They were now packed into an open carriage, and driv- 
 ing towards the Pension Malfait. 
 
 "I don't know what you are talking about," said her 
 husband, crossly. 
 
 "Yes, you do! That friend of ours who was boarding 
 in one of those small houses in the Condamine at Monte 
 Carlo, and who one day won a lot of money. He gave 
 his winnings to his hotel-keeper to keep for the night. 
 Next day the man said his safe had been broken open by 
 a foreign waiter who had disappeared. Our friend had 
 no redress — none at all ! Malfait may be a very good sort 
 
 of man, but I would not give him your money "she 
 
 turned to Anna. 
 
 " No, of course not," said Madame Wolsky. " I should 
 never think of entrusting a really large sum of money to 
 a man of whom I know nothing. It is, as you say, very 
 much better to keep one's money on one's person. It's 
 the plan I've always followed. Then, if it is stolen, or if 
 one loses it, one has only oneself to blame." 
 
 "It is very exciting taking the Bank," she added, after 
 a pause. "I think I shall take the Bank again next 
 time I play." 
 
 The short drive was soon over, and as Anna and Sylvia
 
 142 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 
 
 were going into the Pension Malfait, Madame Wachner 
 called out, "Will you both come to supper to-morrow?" 
 
 Sylvia shook her head. 
 
 "I am going into Paris for the day," she said, "and I 
 shall feel tired when I get back. But many thanks, all 
 the same." 
 
 "Then you must come" — Madame Wachner addressed 
 Anna Wolsky. "We also will have a rest from the 
 Casino." 
 
 " Very well ! I accept gratefully your kind invitation." 
 
 "Come early. Come at six, and we can 'ave a cosy 
 chat first." 
 
 "Yes, I will!" 
 
 After giving directions that they were to be told when 
 the carriage had come back from the Chalet des Muguets, 
 the two friends went up to Anna Wolsky 's bed-room. 
 
 Sylvia sat down by the open window. 
 
 "You need not light a candle, Anna," she said. "It's 
 so pleasant just now, so quiet and cool, and the light 
 would only attract those horrid midges. They seem to 
 me the only things I have to find fault with in Lacville!" 
 
 Anna Wolsky came and sat down in the darkness close 
 to the younger woman. 
 
 "Sylvia," she said, "dear little Sylvia! Sometimes I 
 feel uneasy at having brought you to Lacville." She 
 spoke in a thoughtful and very serious tone. 
 
 "Indeed, you need feel nothing of the kind." 
 
 Sylvia Bailey put out her hand and took the other 
 woman's hand in her own. She knew in her heart what 
 Anna meant, but she wilfully pretended to misunder- 
 stand her.
 
 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 143 
 
 "You need never think that I run the sUghtest risk of 
 becoming a gambler," she went on, a little breathlessly. 
 "I was looking at ray account-book to-day, and I find 
 that since I have been here I have lost seventy francs. 
 Two days ago I had won a hundred and ten francs. So 
 you see it is not a very serious matter, is it? Just think 
 of all the fun I've had! It's well worth the money I've 
 lost. Besides, I shall probably win it all back " 
 
 "I was not thinking of the money," said Anna Wolsky 
 slowly. 
 
 Sylvia made a restless movement, and took her hand 
 out of Anna's affectionate clasp. 
 
 "I'm afraid that you are becoming very fond of the 
 Comte de Virieu," went on Anna, in a low voice but 
 very deliberately. "You must forgive me, Sylvia, but 
 I am older than you are. Have you thought of the con- 
 sequences of this friendship of yours? I confess that at 
 the beginning I credited that man with the worst of 
 motives, but now I feel afraid that he is in love — in fact 
 I feel sure that he is madly in love with you. Do you 
 know that he never takes his eyes ofT you in the Club? 
 Often he forgets to pick up his winnings. . . ." 
 
 Sylvia's heart began to beat. She wondered if Anna 
 was indeed telling the truth. She almost bent forward 
 and kissed her friend in her gratitude — but all she said 
 was, and that defiantly, 
 
 "You can believe me when I say that he has never said 
 a word of love to me. He has never even flirted with me. 
 I give you my word that that is so!" 
 
 "Ah, but it is just that fact that makes me believe that 
 he cares. Flirtation is an English art, not a French art,
 
 144 THE CHINK IN THE AILMOUR 
 
 my dear Sylvica. A Frenchman either loves — and when 
 he loves he adores on his knees — or else he has no use, no 
 use at all, for what English people mean by flirtation — 
 the make-believe of love! I should feel much more at 
 ease if the Count had insulted you " 
 
 "Anna!" 
 
 "Yes, indeed! I am quite serious. I fear he loves 
 vou." 
 
 And as Sylvia gave a long, involuntary, happy sigh, 
 Anna went on: "Of course, I do not regard him with 
 trust or with liking. How could I? On the other hand, 
 I do not go as far as the Wachners; they, it is quite clear, 
 evidently know something very much to the Count's 
 discredit." 
 
 "I don't believe they do!" cried Sylvia, hotly. "It 
 is mere prejudice on their part! He does not like them, 
 and they know it. He thinks them vulgar sort of people, 
 and he suspects that jVIonsieur Wachner is German — 
 that is quite enough for him." 
 
 "But, after all, it does not really matter what the 
 Wachners think of the Comte de Virieu, or what he 
 thinks of them," said Anna. "What matters is what 
 you think of him, and what he thinks of you." 
 
 Sylvia was glad that the darkness hid her deep, burn- 
 ing blushes from Anna Wolsky. 
 
 "You do not realise," said the Polish lady, gravely, 
 "what your life would be if you were married to a man 
 whose only interest in life is play. Mind you, I do not 
 say that a gambler does not inake a kind husband. We 
 have an example" — she smiled a little — "in this Mon- 
 sieur Wachner. He is certainly very fond of his wife, and
 
 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 145 
 
 she is very fond of him. But would you like your hus- 
 band always to prefer his vice to you? " 
 
 Sylvia made no answer. 
 
 "But why am I talking like that?" Anna Wolsky 
 started up suddenly. "It is absurd of me to think it 
 possible that you would dream of marrying the Comte 
 de Virieu! No, no, my dear child, this poor Frenchman 
 is one of those men who, even if personally charming, 
 no wise woman would think of marrjdng. He is abso- 
 lutely ruined. I do not suppose he has a penny left of 
 his own in the world. He would not have the money 
 to buy you a wedding-ring. You would have to provide 
 even that! It would be madness — absolute madness!" 
 
 "I do not think," said Sylvia, in a low tone, "that 
 there is the slightest likelihood of my ever marrying the 
 Comte de Virieu. You forget that I have known him 
 only a short time, and that he has never said a word of 
 love to me. As you say, all he cares about is play." 
 
 " Surely you must be as well aware as I am that lately 
 he has played a great deal less," said Anna, "and the time 
 that he would have spent at the Club — well, you and I 
 know very well where he has spent the time, Sylvia. 
 He has spent it with you." 
 
 "And isn't that a good thing?" asked Sylvia, eagerly. 
 " Isn't it far better that he should spend his time talking 
 to me about ordinary things than in the Casino? Let 
 me assure you again, and most solemnly, Anna, that he 
 never makes love to me " 
 
 "Of course it is a good thing for him that he plays 
 less" — Anna spoke impatiently^ — "but is it best for you? 
 That is what I ask myself. You have not looked well
 
 146 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 
 
 lately, Sylvia. You have looked very sad sometimes. 
 Oh, do not be afraid, you are quite as pretty as ever you 
 were! 
 
 The tears were running down Sylvia's face. She felt 
 that she ought to be very angry with her friend for 
 speaking thus plainly to her, and yet she could not be 
 angry. Anna spoke so tenderly, so kindly, so delicately. 
 
 "Shall we go away from Lacville?" asked Madame 
 Wolsky, suddenly. "There are a hundred places where 
 you and I could go together. Let us leave Lacville! I 
 am sure you feel just as I do — I am sure you realise that 
 the Comte de Virieu would never make you happy." 
 
 Sylvia shook her head. 
 
 "I do not want to go away," she whispered. 
 
 And then Madame Wolsky uttered a short exclamation. 
 
 "Ah!" she cried, "I understand. He is the friend 
 you are to meet to-morrow — that is why you are going 
 into Paris!" 
 
 Sylvia remained silent. 
 
 "I understand it all now," went on Anna. "That is 
 the reason why he was not there to-night. He has gone 
 into Paris so as not to compromise you at Lacville. That 
 is the sort of gallantry that means so little! As if Lac- 
 ville matters — but tell me this, Sylvia? Has he ever 
 spoken to you as if he desired to introduce his family to 
 you? That is the test, remember — that is the test of a 
 Frenchman's regard for a woman." 
 
 There came a knock at the door. "The carriage for 
 Madame has arrived." 
 
 They went downstairs, Sylvia having left her friend's 
 last question unanswered.
 
 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 147 
 
 Madame Wolsky, though generally so undemonstra- 
 tive, took Sylvia in her arms and kissed her. 
 
 "God bless you, my dear little friend!" she whispered, 
 "and forgive all I have said to you to-night! Still, 
 think the matter over. I have lived a great deal of my 
 life in this country. I am almost a Frenchwoman. It 
 is no use marrying a Frenchman unless his family marry 
 you too — and I understand that the Comte de Virieu's 
 family have cast him off." 
 
 Sylvia got into the carriage and looked back, her eyes 
 blinded with tears. 
 
 Anna Wolsky stood in the doorway of the Pension, 
 her tall, thin figure in sharp silhouette against the lighted 
 hall. 
 
 "We will meet the day after to-morrow, is that not 
 so?" she cried out. 
 
 And Sylvia nodded. As she drove away, she told 
 herself that whatever happened she would always remain 
 faithful to her affection for Anna Wolsky.
 
 CHAITER XIII 
 
 The next morning found Paul de Virieu walking up 
 and down platform No. 9 of the Gare du Nord, waiting 
 for Mrs. Bailey's train, which was due to arrive from 
 Lacville at eleven o'clock. 
 
 Though he looked as if he hadn't a care in the world 
 save the pleasant care of enjoying the present and look- 
 ing forward to the future, life was very grey just now to 
 the young Frenchman. 
 
 To a Parisian, Paris in hot weather is a depressing 
 place, even under the pleasantest of circumstances, and 
 the Count felt an alien and an outcast in the city where 
 he had spent much of his careless and happy youth. 
 
 His sister, the Duchesse d'Eglemont, who had jour- 
 neyed all the way from Brittany to see him for two or 
 three days, had received him with that touch of painful 
 affection which the kindly and the prosperous so often 
 bestow on those whom thev feel to be at once beloved and 
 prodigal. 
 
 When with his dear ]Marie-Anne, Paul de Virieu alwavs 
 felt as though he had been condemned to be guillotined, 
 and as if she were doing everything to make his last days 
 on earth as pleasant as possible. 
 
 When he had proposed that his sister should ask his 
 
 new friend, this English widow he had met at Lacville, 
 
 to luncheon — nay more, when he had asked INIarie-Anne 
 
 to lend Mrs. Bailey a riding habit, and to arrange that one 
 
 148
 
 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 149 
 
 of the Due's horses should come over every morning in 
 order that he and Mrs. Bailey might ride together— the 
 kind Duchesse had at once assented, almost too eagerly, 
 to his requests. And she had asked her brother no tire- 
 some, indiscreet questions as to his relations with the 
 young Englishwoman,— whether, for instance, he was 
 really fond of Sylvia, whether it was conceivably possible 
 that he was thinking of marrying her? 
 
 And, truth to tell, Paul de Virieu would have found it 
 very difficult to give an honest answer to the question. 
 He was in a strange, debatable state of mind about 
 Sylvia — beautiful, simple, unsophisticated Sylvia Bailey. 
 
 He told himself, and that very often, that the young 
 Englishwoman, with her absurd, touching lack of worldly 
 knowledge, had no business to be living in such a place 
 as Lacville, wasting her money at the Baccarat tables, 
 and knowing such queer people as were — well, yes, even 
 Arma Wolsky was queer — ■Madame Wolsky and the 
 Wachners! 
 
 But if Sylvia Bailey had no business to be at Lacville, 
 he, Paul de ^Virieu, had no business to be flirting with 
 her as he was doing — for though Sylvia was honestly un- 
 aware of the fact, the Count was carrying on what he 
 well knew to be a very agreeable flirtation with the lady 
 he called in his own mind his "petite amie Anglaise," and 
 very much he was enjoying the experience — when his 
 conscience allowed him to enjoy it. 
 
 Till the last few weeks Paul de Virieu had supposed 
 himself to have come to that time of life when a man 
 can no longer feel the delicious tremors of love. Now 
 no man, least of all a Frenchman, likes to feel that this
 
 150 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUE 
 
 time has come, and it was inexpressibly delightful to 
 him to know that he had been mistaken — that he could 
 still enjoy the most absorbing and enchanting sensation 
 vouchsafed to poor humanity. 
 
 He was in love! In love for the first time for many 
 years, and with a sweet, happy-natured woman, who be- 
 came more intimately dear to him every moment that 
 went by. Indeed, he knew that the real reason why he 
 had felt so depressed last night and even this morning 
 was because he was parted from Sylvia. 
 
 But where was it all to end? True, he had told Mrs. 
 Bailey the truth about himself very early in their acquaint- 
 ance — in fact, amazingly soon, and he had been prompted 
 to do so by a feeling which defied analysis. 
 
 But still, did Sylvia, even now, realise what that truth 
 was? Did she in the least understand what it meant 
 for a man to be bound and gagged, as he was bound and 
 gagged, lashed to the chariot of the Goddess of Chance? 
 No, of course she did not realise it — how could such a 
 woman as was Sylvia Bailey possibly do so? 
 
 Walking up and down the long platform, chewing 
 the cud of bitter reflection, Paul de Virieu told himself 
 that the part of an honest man, to say nothing of that 
 of an honourable gentleman, would be to leave Lacville 
 before matters had gone any further between them. 
 Yes, that was what he was bound to do by every code 
 of honour. 
 
 And then, just as he had taken the heroic resolution 
 of going back to Brittany with his sister, as Marie-Anne 
 had begged him to do only that morning, the Lacville 
 train steamed into the station — and with the sight of
 
 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 151 
 
 Sylvia's lovely face all his good resolutions flew to the 
 winds. 
 
 She stepped down from the high railway carriage, and 
 looked round her with a rather bewildered air, for a 
 crowd of people were surging round her, and she had 
 not yet caught sight of Count Paul. 
 
 Wearing a pinkish mauve cotton gown and a large 
 black tulle hat, Sylvia looked enchantingly pretty. 
 And if the Count's critical French eyes objected to the 
 alliance of a cotton gown and tulle hat, and to the wear- 
 ing of a string of large pearls in the morning, he was in 
 the state of mind when a man of fastidious taste forgives 
 even a lack of taste in the woman to whom he is acting 
 as guide, philosopher, and friend. 
 
 He told himself that Sylvia Bailey could not be left 
 alone in a place like Lacville, and that it was his positive 
 duty to stay on there and look after her. . . , 
 
 Suddenly their eyes met. Sylvia blushed— Heavens! 
 how adorable she looked when there came that vivid 
 rose-red blush over her rounded cheeks. And she was 
 adorable in a simple, unsophisticated way, which ap- 
 pealed to Paul de Virieu as nothing in woman had ever 
 appealed to him before. 
 
 He could not help enjoying the thought of how sur- 
 prised his sister would be. Marie-Anne had doubtless 
 pictured Mrs. Bailey as belonging to the rather hard, 
 self-assertive type of young Englishwoman of whom 
 Paris sees a great deal. But Sylvia looked girlishly 
 simple, timid, and confiding. 
 
 As he greeted her, Paul de Virieu's manner was serious, 
 aknost solemn. _ But none the less, while they walked
 
 152 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 
 
 side by side in a quiet, leisurely fashion through the 
 great grey station, Sylvia felt as if she had indeed passed 
 through the shining portals of fairyland. 
 
 In the covered courtyard stood the Duchesse's car- 
 riage. Count Paul motioned the footman aside and 
 stood bareheaded while Sylvia took her place in the 
 victoria. As he sat do^\Ti by her side he suddenly ob- 
 served, "My brother-in-law does not like motor-cars," 
 and Sylvia felt secret, shamefaced gratitude to the Due 
 d'Eglemont, for, thanks to this prejudice of his, the 
 moments now being spent by her alone with Count Paul 
 were trebled. 
 
 As the carriage drove with swift, gondola-like motion 
 through the hot streets, Sylvia felt more than ever as 
 if she were in a new, enchanted country — that dear 
 country called Romance, and, as if to prolong the illu- 
 sion, the Count began to talk what seemed to her the 
 language of that country. 
 
 "Every Frenchman," he exclaimed, abruptly, "is in 
 love with love, and when you hear — as you may do 
 sometimes, Madame — that a Frenchman is rarely in love 
 with his own wife, pray answer that this is quite untrue! 
 For it often happens that in his wife a Frenchman dis- 
 covers the love he has sought elsewhere in vain." 
 
 He looked straight before him as he added: "As for 
 marriage — well, marriage is in my country regarded as 
 a very serious matter indeed! No Frenchman goes into 
 marriage as light-heartedly as does the average English- 
 man, and as have done, for instance, so many of my own 
 English schoolfellows. No, to a Frenchman his marriage 
 means everything or nothing, and if he loved a woman
 
 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 153 
 
 it would appear to him a dastardly action to ask her to 
 share his life if he did not believe that life to be what 
 would be likely to satisfy her, to bring her honour and 
 happiness." 
 
 Sylvia turned to him, and, rather marvelling at her 
 own temerity, she asked a fateful question : 
 
 "But would love ever make the kind of Frenchman 
 you describe give up a way of life that was likely to 
 make his wife unhappy?" 
 
 Count Paul looked straight into the blue eyes which 
 told him so much more than their owner knew they told. 
 
 "Yes! He might easily give up that life for the sake 
 of a beloved woman. But would he remain always 
 faithful in his renunciation? That is the question which 
 none, least of all himself, can answer!" 
 
 The victoria was now crossing one of the bridges which 
 are, perhaps, the noblest possession of outdoor Paris. 
 
 Count Paul changed the subject. He had seen with 
 mingled pain and joy how much his last honest words 
 had troubled her. 
 
 "My brother-in-law has never cared to move west, as 
 so many of his friends have done," he observed. "He 
 prefers to remain in the old family house that was built 
 by his great-grandfather before the French Revolution." 
 
 Soon they were bowling along a quiet, sunny street, 
 edged with high walls overhung with trees. The street 
 bore the name of Babylon. 
 
 And indeed there was something almost Babylonian, 
 something very splendid in the vast courtyard which 
 formed the centre of what appeared, to Sylvia's fas- 
 cinated eyes, a grey stone palace. The long rows of
 
 154 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 
 
 high, narrow windows which now encompassed her were 
 all closed, but with the clatter of the horses' hoofs on 
 the huge paving-stones the great house stirred into life. 
 
 The carriage drew up. Count Paul jumped out and 
 gave Sylvia his hand. Huge iron doors, that looked as 
 if they could shut out an invading army, were flung 
 open, and after a moment's pause, Paul de Virieu led 
 Sylvia Bailey across the threshold of the historic Hotel 
 d'Eglemont. 
 
 She had never seen, she had never imagined, such 
 pomp, such solemn state, as that which greeted her, and 
 there came across her a childish wish that Anna Wolsky 
 and the Wachners could witness the scene — the hall hunjr 
 with tapestries given to an ancestor of the Due d'Egle- 
 mont by Louis the Fourteenth, the line of powdered 
 footmen, and the solemn major-domo who ushered them 
 up the wide staircase, at the head of which there stood 
 a slender, white-clad young woman, with a sweet, eager 
 face. 
 
 This was the first time Sylvia Bailey had met a duchess, 
 and she was perhaps a little surprised to see how very 
 unpretentious a duchess could be! 
 
 Marie-Anne d'Eglemont spoke in a low, almost timid 
 voice, her English being far less good than her brother's, 
 and yet how truly kind and highly-bred she at once 
 showed herself, putting Sylvia at her ease, and appearing 
 to think there was nothing at all unusual in Mrs. Bailey's 
 friendship with Paul de Virieu! 
 
 And then, after they had lunched in an octagon room 
 of which each panel had been painted by Van Loo, and 
 which opened on a garden where the green glades and high
 
 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 155 
 
 trees looked as if they must be far from a great city, 
 there suddenly glided in a tiny old lady, dressed in a 
 sweeping black gown and little frilled lace cap. 
 
 Count Paul bowing low before her, kissed her waxen- 
 looking right hand. 
 
 "My dear godmother, let me present to you ]\Irs. 
 Bailey," and Sylvia felt herself being closely, rather piti- 
 lessly, inspected by shrewd though not unkindly eyes — 
 eyes sunken, dimmed by age, yet seeing more, perhaps, 
 than younger eyes would have seen. 
 
 The old Marquise beckoned to Count Paul, and to- 
 gether they slowly walked through into the garden and 
 paced away down a shaded alley. For the first time 
 Sylvia and Marie-Anne d'Eglemont were alone together. 
 
 "I wish to thank you for your kindness to my poor 
 Paul," the Duchesse spoke in a low, hesitating voice. 
 "You have so much influence over him, Madame." 
 
 Sylvia shook her head. 
 
 "Ah! But yes, you have!" She looked imploringly 
 at Sylvia. "You know what I mean? You know what 
 I would ask you to do? My husband could give Paul 
 work in the country, work he would love, for he adores 
 horses, if only he could be rescued from this terrible in- 
 fatuation, this passion for play." 
 
 She stopped abruptly, for the Count and his little, 
 fairy-like godmother had turned round, and were now 
 coming towards them. 
 
 Sylvia rose instinctively to her feet, for the tiny Mar- 
 quise was very imposing. 
 
 "Sit down, Madame," she said imperiously, and 
 Sylvia meekly obeyed.
 
 156 THE CniXK IN THE ARMOUR 
 
 The old lady fixed her eyes with an appraising gaze 
 on her godson's English friend. 
 
 " Permit me to embrace you," she exclaimed suddenly. 
 " You are a very pretty creature ! And though no doubt 
 young lips often tell you this, the compliments of the 
 old have the merit of being quite sincere!" 
 
 She bent down, and Sylvia, to her confusion and sur- 
 prise, felt her cheeks lightly kissed by the withered lips 
 of Paul de Virieu's godmother. 
 
 "Madame Bailey's rouge is natural; it does not come 
 off!" the old lady exclaimed, and a smile crept over her 
 parchment-coloured face. "Not but what a great deal 
 of nonsense is talked about the usage of rouge, my dear 
 children! There is no harm in supplementing the nig- 
 gardly gifts of nature, You, for instance, Marie-Anne, 
 would look all the better for a little rouge!" She spoke 
 in a high, quavering voice. 
 
 The Duchesse smiled. Her brother had always been 
 the old Marquise's favourite. 
 
 "But I should feel so ashamed if it came off," she said 
 lightly; "if, for instance, I felt one of my cheeks grow- 
 ing pale while the other remained bright red?" 
 
 "That would never happen if you used what I have 
 often told you is the only rouge a lady should use, that 
 is, the sap of the geranium blossom — that gives an abso- 
 lutely natural tint to the skin, and my own dear mother 
 always used it. You remember how Louis XVIII. 
 complimented her on her beautiful complexion at the 
 first Royal ball held after the Restoration? Well, the 
 Sovereign's gracious words were entirely owing to the 
 geranium blossom!"
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 
 The day after her memorable expedition to Paris 
 opened pleasantly for Sylvia Bailey, though it was odd 
 how dull and lifeless the Villa du Lac seemed to be with- 
 out Count Paul. 
 
 But he would be back to-morrow, and in the morning 
 of the next day they were to begin riding together. 
 
 Again and again she went over in retrospect every 
 moment of the two hours she had spent in that great 
 house in the Faubourg St. Germain. 
 
 How kind these two ladies had been to her, Paul's 
 gentle sister and his stately little fairy-like godmother! 
 But the Duchesse's manner had been very formal, almost 
 solemn; and as for the other — Sylvia could still feel the 
 dim, yet terribly searching, eyes fixed on her face, and 
 she wondered nervously what sort of effect she had pro- 
 duced on the old Marquise. 
 
 Meanwhile, she felt that now was the time to see 
 something of Anna Wolsky. The long afternoon and 
 evening stretching before her seemed likely to be very 
 dull, and so she wrote a little note and asked Anna if she 
 would care for a long expedition in the Forest of Mont- 
 morency. It was the sort of thing Anna always said 
 bored her, but as she was not going to the Casino a 
 drive would surely be better than doing nothing. 
 
 And now Sylvia, sitting idly by her bed-room window, 
 was awaiting Anna's answer to her note. She had sent 
 
 J57
 
 15S THE CHINK IN" THE ARMOUR 
 
 it, just before she went down to luncheon, by a com- 
 missionaire, to the Pension Malfait, and the answer 
 ought to have come ere now. 
 
 After their drive she and Anna might call on the 
 Wachners and offer to take them to the Casino; and 
 with the thought of the Wachners there came over Syl- 
 via a regret that the Comte de Virieu was so fastidious. 
 He seemed to detest the Wachners! WTien he met them 
 at the Casino, the most he would do was to incline his 
 head coldly towards them. W^ho could wonder that 
 Madame Wachner spoke so disagreeably of him? 
 
 Sylvia Bailey's nature was very loyal, and now she 
 reminded herself that this couple, for whom Count Paul 
 seemed to have an instinctive dislike, were good-natured 
 and kindly. She must ever remember gratefully how 
 helpful Madame Wachner had been during the first few 
 days she and Anna had been at Lacville, in showing 
 them the little ways about the place, and in explaining 
 to them all sorts of things about the Casino. 
 
 And how kindly the Wachners had pressed Anna 
 yesterday to have supper with them during Sylvia's 
 absence in Paris! 
 
 There came a knock at the door, and Sylvia Jumped 
 up from her chair. No doubt this was Anna herself in 
 response to the note. 
 
 "Come in," she cried out, in English. 
 
 There was a pause, and another knock. Then it was 
 not Anna? 
 
 "Entrez!" 
 
 The commissionaire by whom Sylvia had sent her note
 
 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 159 
 
 to Madame Wolsky walked into the room. To her 
 great surprise he handed her back her own letter to her 
 friend. The envelope had been opened, and together 
 with her letter was a sheet of common note-paper, across 
 which was scrawled, in pencil, the words, "Madame Wol- 
 sky est partie." 
 
 Sylvia looked up. " Partie f" The word puzzled her. 
 Surely it should have been "Sortie." Perhaps Anna had 
 gone to Paris for the day to bank her large winnings. 
 "Then the lady was out?" she said to the man. 
 
 "The lady has left the Pension Malfait," he said, 
 briefly. "She has gone away." 
 
 "There must be some mistake!" Sylvia exclaimed, in 
 French. "My friend would never have left Lacville 
 without telling me." 
 
 The commissionaire went on: "But I have brought 
 back a motor-cab as Madame directed me to do." 
 
 She paid him, and went downstairs hurriedly. What 
 an extraordinary mistake! It was out of the question 
 that Anna should have left Lacville without telling her; 
 but as the motor was there she might as well drive to the 
 Pension Malfait and find out the meaning of the curt 
 message, and also why her own letter to Anna had been 
 opened. 
 
 If Anna had gone into Paris for the day, the only 
 thing to do was to go for a drive alone. The prospect 
 was not exhilarating, but it would be better than stay- 
 ing indoors, or even in the garden by herself, all afternoon. 
 
 Sylvia felt rather troubled and uncomfortable as she 
 got into the open motor. Somehow she had counted on 
 seeing Anna to-day. She remembered her friend's last
 
 160 THE CniXK IN THE ARMOUR 
 
 words to her. They had been kind, tender words, and 
 though Anna did not approve of Sylvia's friendship for 
 Paul de Virieu, she had spoken in a very understanding, 
 sympathetic way, almost as a loving mother might have 
 spoken. 
 
 It was odd of Anna not to have left word she was go- 
 ing to Paris for the day. In any case, the Wachners 
 would know when Anna would be back. It was with 
 
 them that she had had supper yesterday evening . 
 
 "WTiile these thoughts were passing disconnectedly 
 through Sylvia's mind, she suddenly saw the substantial 
 figure of Madame Wachner walking slowly along the 
 sanded path by the side of the road. 
 
 "Madame Wachner! Madame Wachner!" she cried 
 out eagerly, and the car drew up with a jerk. 
 
 That citizeness of the world, as she had called herself, 
 stepped down from the kerb. She looked hot and tired. 
 It was a most unusual time for Madame Wachner to be 
 out walking, and by herself, in Lacville. 
 
 But Sylvia was thinking too much about Anna Wolsky 
 to trouble about anything else. 
 
 "Have you heard that Anna Wolsky is away for the 
 day?" she exclaimed. "I have received such a mj-s- 
 terious message from the Pension Malfait! Do come 
 with me there and find out where she has gone and when 
 she is coming back. Did she say anything about going 
 into Paris when she had supper with you last night?" 
 
 With a smile and many voluble thanks Madame Wach- 
 ner climbed up into the open car, and sat back with a sigh 
 of satisfaction. 
 
 She was very stout, though still so vigorous, and her
 
 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 161 
 
 shrewd, determined face now turned smilingly to the 
 pretty, anxious-eyed Englishwoman. But she waited a 
 few moments before answering Sylvia's eager questions. 
 Then, 
 
 "I cannot tell you," she said slowly and in French, 
 "what has happened to Madame Wolsky " 
 
 "What has happened to her!" cried Sylvia. "What 
 do you mean, Madame Wachner? " 
 
 " Oh, of course, nothing 'as 'appened." Madame Wach- 
 ner dropped soothingly into English. " All I mean is that 
 Madame Wolsky did not come to us yesterday evening. 
 We stayed in on purpose, but, as English people say so 
 funnily, she never turn up!" 
 
 "But she was coming to tea as well as to supper!" 
 
 " Yes, we waited for 'er a long time, and I 'ad got such 
 a beautiful little supper! But, alas! she did not come — 
 no, not at all. " 
 
 "How odd of her! Perhaps she got a telegram which 
 contained bad news " 
 
 "Yes," said Madame Wachner eagerly, "no doubt. 
 For this morning when I go to the Pension Malfait, I 
 'ear that she 'as gone away ! It was for that I was 'urry- 
 ing to the Villa du Lac to see if you knew anything, dear 
 friend." 
 
 "Gone away?" repeated Sylvia, bewildered. "But it 
 is inconceivable that Anna could have left Lacviile with- 
 out telling me — or, for the matter of that, without tell- 
 ing you, too " 
 
 "She 'as taken what you in England call 'French 
 leave,'" said Madame Wachner drily. "It was not very 
 considerate of 'er. She might 'ave sent us word last
 
 162 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 
 
 night. We would not then 'ave waited to 'ave our nice 
 supper. " 
 
 "She can't have gone away without telling me," re- 
 peated Sylvia. She was staring straight into her com- 
 panion's red face: Madame Wachner still looked very 
 hot and breathless. "I am sure she would never have 
 done such a thing. Why should she?" 
 
 The older woman shrugged her shoulders. 
 
 "I expect she will come back soon," she said conso- 
 lingly. "She 'as left her luggage at the Pension Malf ait, and 
 that, after all, does not look as if she 'as gone for evare!" 
 
 "Left her luggage?" cried Sylvia, in a relieved tone. 
 "WTiy, then, of course, she is coming back! I expect 
 she has gone to Paris for a night in order to see friends 
 passing through. How could the Pension Malfait people 
 think she had gone — I mean for good? You know, 
 Madame Wachner" — she lowered her voice, for she did 
 not wish the driver to hear what she was about to say — 
 "you know that Anna won a very large sum of money 
 two nights ago." 
 
 Sylvia Bailey was aware that people had been robbed 
 and roughly handled, even in idyllic Lacville, when leav- 
 ing the Casino after an especial stroke of luck at the ta- 
 bles. " I do hope nothing has happened to her ! " 
 
 "'Appened to 'er? What do you mean?" Madame 
 Wachner spoke quite crossly. "Who ever thought of 
 such a thing!" And she fanned herself vigorously with 
 a paper fan she held in her left hand. " As to her winnings 
 — yes, she won a lot of money the night she took the bank. 
 But, remember that she 'as 'ad plenty of time yesterday 
 to lose it all again — ah, yes!"
 
 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 1G3 
 
 "But she meant to give up play till Monday," said 
 Sylvia, eagerly. "I feel sure she never went inside the 
 Casino yesterday. " 
 
 "Oh, but she did. My 'usband saw her there." 
 
 "At what time?" asked Sylvia, eagerly. 
 
 "Let me see " 
 
 " Of course, it must have been early, as you were back 
 waiting for her late in the afternoon. " 
 
 "Yes, it must have been early. And once in the 
 Casino! — well, dear friend, you know as well as I do that 
 with Madame Wolsky the money flies! Still, let us sup- 
 pose she did not lose 'er money yesterday. In that case 
 surely Madame Wolsky would 'ave done well to leave 
 Lacville with 'er gains in 'er pocket-book. " 
 
 Madame Wachner was leaning back in the car, a ru- 
 minating smile on her broad, good-tempered face. 
 
 She was thoroughly enjoying the rush through the air. 
 It was very hot, and she disliked walking. Her morose 
 husband very seldom allowed her to take a cab. He 
 generally forced her to walk to the Casino and back. 
 
 Something of a philosopher was Madame Wachner, 
 always accepting with eager, out-stretched hands that 
 with which the gods provided her. 
 
 And all at once pretty Sylvia Bailey, though unob- 
 servant as happy, prosperous youth so often is, conceived 
 the impression that her companion did not at all wish to 
 discuss Anna's sudden departure. Madame Wachner 
 had evidently been very much annoyed by Anna's lack of 
 civility, and surely the least Anna could have done would 
 have been to send a message saying that it was impossible 
 for her to come to supper at the Chalet des Muguets !
 
 164 THE CHIXK IX THE ARMOUR 
 
 "I am quite sure Anna did not mean to be rude, dear 
 ^Madame Wachner," said Sylvia, earnestly. "You know- 
 she may have sent. you a letter or a message which mis- 
 carried. They are rather careless people at the Pension 
 Malfait." 
 
 " Yes, of course, that is always possible, " said the other 
 rather coldly. 
 
 And then, as they came within sight of the Pension 
 Malfait, Madame Wachner suddenly placed her large, 
 powerful, bare hand on Sylvia's small gloved one. 
 
 "Look 'ere, my dear," she said, familiarly, "do not 
 worrv about Madame Wolskv. Believe me, she is not 
 worth it." 
 
 Sylvia looked at her amazed, and then Madame Wach- 
 ner broke into French: "She thought of nothing but play 
 — that is the truth! Play, play, play! Other times she 
 was half asleep!" 
 
 She waited a moment, then slowly, and in English, she 
 said, "I believe in my 'eart that she 'as gone off to Aix. 
 The play 'ere was not big enough for 'er. And remember 
 that you 'ave good friends still left in Lacville. I do not 
 only speak of me and of my 'usband, but also of another 
 one. " 
 
 She laughed, if good-naturedly, then a little mali- 
 ciously. 
 
 But Sylvia gave no answering smile. She told herself 
 that Madame Wachner, though kindly, was certainly 
 rather vulgar, not to say coarse. And her words about 
 Madame Wolsky were really unkind. Anna was not such 
 a gambler as was Fritz Wachner. 
 . They were now at the gate of the boarding house.
 
 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 165 
 
 "We will, at any rate, go in and find out when Anna 
 left, and if she said where she was going," said Sylvia. 
 
 "If you do not mind," observed Madame Wachner, "I 
 will remain out here, in the car. They have already seen 
 me this morning at the Pension jNlalfait. They must be 
 quite tired of seeing me. " 
 
 Sylvia felt rather disappointed. She would have liked 
 the support of INIadame Wachner's cheerful presence 
 when making her inquiries, for she was aware that the 
 proprietors of Amia's pension — M. and ]Madame Malfait 
 — had been very much annoyed that she, Sylvia, had not 
 joined her friend there. 
 
 Madame IMalfait was sitting in her usual place — that 
 is, in a little glass cage in the hall — and when she saw Mrs. 
 Bailey coming towards her, a look of impatience, almost 
 of dislike, crossed her thin, shrewd face. 
 
 "Bon jour, Madame!" she said curtly. "I suppose 
 ^ou also have come to ask me about Madame Wolsky? 
 But I think you must have heard all there is to hear from 
 the lady whom I see out there in the car. I can tell you 
 nothing more than I have already told her. ]\Iadame 
 Wolsky has treated us with great want of consideration. 
 She did not come home last evening. Poor ^Malfait 
 waited up all night, w^ondering what could be the matter. 
 And then, this morning, we found a letter in her room say- 
 ing she had gone away!" 
 
 "A letter in her room?" exclaimed Sylvia. "Madame 
 Wachner did not tell me that my friend had left a let- 
 ter " 
 
 But Madame Malfait went on angrily: 
 
 "Madame Wolsky need not have troubled to write!
 
 166 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 
 
 A word of explanation would have been better, and would 
 have prevented my husband sitting up till five o'clock 
 this morning. We quite feared something must have hap- 
 pened to her. But we have a great dislike to any affair 
 with the police, and so we thought we would wait before 
 telling them of her disappearance, and it is indeed fortu- 
 nate that we did so!" 
 
 "Will you kindly show me the letter she left for you?'* 
 said Sylvia. 
 
 Without speaking, Madame Malfait bent down over 
 her table, and then held out a piece of notepaper on which 
 were written the words: 
 
 Madame Malfait, — 
 
 Being unexpectedly obliged to leave Lacville, I enclose herewith 
 200 francs. Please pay what is owing to you out of it, and dis- 
 tribute the rest among the servants. I will send you word where to 
 forward my luggage in a day or two. 
 
 Sylvia stared reflectively at the open letter. 
 
 Anna had not even signed her name. The few lines 
 were very clear, written in a large, decided handwriting, 
 considerably larger, or so it seemed to Sylvia, than what 
 she had thought Anna's ordinary hand to be. But then 
 the Englishwoman had not had the opportunity of seeing 
 much of her Polish friend's caligraphy. 
 
 Before she had quite finished reading the mysterious 
 letter over a second time, Madame Malfait took it out 
 of her hand. 
 
 But Sylvia Bailey was entirely unused to being snubbed 
 — pretty young women provided with plenty of money 
 seldom are snubbed — and so she did not turn away and 
 leave the hall, as Madame Malfait hoped she would do.
 
 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 167 
 
 "What a strange thing!" she observed, in a troubled 
 tone. "How extraordinary it is that my friend should 
 have gone away Hke this, leaving her luggage behind her ! 
 What can possibly have made her want to leave Lacville 
 in such a hurry? She was actually engaged to have 
 dinner with our friends, Monsieur and Madame Wachner. 
 Did she not send them any sort of message, Madame 
 Malfait? I wish you would try and remember what 
 she said when she went out." 
 
 The Frenchwoman looked at her with a curious stare. 
 
 "If you ask me to tell you the truth, Madame," 
 she repUed, rather insolently, "I have no doubt at all 
 that your friend went to the Casino yesterday and 
 lost a great deal of money — that she became, in fact, 
 decavSe." 
 
 Then, feeling ashamed, both of her rudeness and of 
 her frankness, she added : 
 
 "But Madame Wolsky is a very honest lady, that I 
 will say for her. You see, she left enough money to pay 
 for everything, as well as to provide my servants with 
 handsome gratuities. That is more than the last person 
 who left the Pension Malfait in a hurry troubled to do!" 
 
 "But is it not extraordinary that she left her luggage, 
 and that she did not even tell you where she was going?" 
 repeated Sylvia in a worried, dissatisfied tone. 
 
 "Pardon me, Madame, that is not strange at all! 
 Madame Wolsky probably went off to Paris without 
 knowing exactly where she meant to stay, and no one 
 wants to take luggage with them when they are looking 
 round for an hotel. I am expecting at any moment to 
 receive a telegram telling me where to send the luggage.
 
 168 THE CHIXK IN THE ARMOUR 
 
 You, Madame, if you permit me to say so, have not had 
 my experience — my experience, I mean, in the matter of 
 ladies who play at the Lacville Casino." 
 
 There was still a tone of covert insolence in her voice, 
 and she went on, "True, Madame Wolsky has not be- 
 haved as badly as she might have done. Still, you must 
 admit that it is rather inconsiderate of her, after engag- 
 ing the room for the whole of the month of August, to 
 go of!" like this!" 
 
 Madame Malfait felt thoroughly incensed, and did not 
 trouble to conceal the fact. But as Mrs. Bailey at last 
 began walking towards the front door, the landlady of 
 the pension hurried after her. 
 
 "Madame will not say too much about her friend's 
 departure, wall she?" she said more graciously. "I do 
 not want any embarrassments with the police. Every- 
 thing is quite en rbgle, is it not? After all, Madame 
 Wolsky had a right to go away without telling anyone 
 of her plans, had she not, Madame?" 
 
 Sylvia turned round. "Certainly, she had an entire 
 right to do so," she answered coldly. "But, still, I 
 should be much obliged if you will send me word when 
 you receive the telegram you are expecting her to send 
 you about the luggage." 
 
 "Well?" cried Madame Wachner eagerly, as Sylvia 
 silently got into the motor again. "Have you learnt 
 anything? Have they not had news of our friend?" 
 
 "They have heard nothing since they found that odd 
 letter of hers," said Sylvia. "You never told me about 
 the letter, Madame Wachner?"
 
 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 169 
 
 "Ah, that letter! I saw it, too. But it .said nothing, 
 absohitely nothing!" exclaimed Madame Wachner. 
 
 And Sylvia suddenly realised that in truth Anna's 
 letter did say nothing. 
 
 "I should have thought they would have had a tele- 
 gram to-day about the luggage." 
 
 "So would I," said Sylvia. And then musingly, "I 
 should never, never have expected Anna Wolsky to go 
 off like that. So — so mysteriously " 
 
 "Well, there, I quite disagree with you! It is just 
 what I should have expected her to do!" exclaimed 
 Madame Wachner. "She told me of that visit you both 
 made to the soothsayer. Perhaps she made up in her 
 mind to follow that person's advice. Our friend was al- 
 ways a little mysterious, was she not? Did she ever talk 
 to you of her family, of her friends?" She looked in- 
 quisitively at her companion. 
 
 "Yes — no," said Sylvia, hesitating. "I do not think 
 poor Anna has many relations. You see, she is a widow. 
 I believe her father and mother are dead." 
 
 "Ah, that is very sad! Then you do not know of 
 anyone to write to about her? " 
 
 "I?" said Sylvia. "No, of course I don't know of 
 anyone to write to. How could I? I haven't known 
 her very long, you know, Madame Wachner. But we 
 became friends almost at once." 
 
 The motor was still stationary. The driver turned 
 round for orders. Sylvia roused herself. 
 
 "Can I drive you back to the Chalet des Muguets?" 
 she asked, "Somehow I don't feel inclined to take a 
 drive in the forest now."
 
 170 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 
 
 "If you do not mind," said Madame Wachner, "I 
 should prefer to be driven to the station, for I'Ami Fritz 
 had to go to Paris." She laughed ruefully. "To fetch 
 money, as usual! His system did not work at all well 
 yesterday — poor Fritz!" 
 
 "How horrid!" said Sylvia. "It must be very dis- 
 appointing to your husband when his system goes wrong." 
 
 "Yes, very," answered the wife drily. "But when one 
 system fails — well, then he at once sets himself to invent- 
 ing another! I lose a great deal more in the lower room 
 playing with francs than Fritz does at baccarat playing 
 with gold. You see, a system has this good about it — 
 the player generally comes out even at the end of each 
 month." 
 
 "Does he, indeed?" 
 
 But Sylvia was not attending to what the other was 
 saying. She was still absorbed in the thought of her 
 friend, and of the mystery of her friend's sudden de- 
 parture from Lacville. 
 
 When at last they reached the station, Madame 
 Wachner turned and grasped Sylvia by the hand. 
 
 "We must not let you become low-spirited!" she ex- 
 claimed. "It is a great pity your kind friend has gone 
 away. But doubtless you will soon be going away, too? " 
 
 And, as Sylvia made no answer, "Perhaps it would 
 be well not to say too much concerning Madame Wolsky 
 having left like this. She might come back any moment, 
 and then she would not like it if there had been a fuss 
 made about it! If I were you I would tell nobody — I re- 
 peat emphatically nobody." 
 
 Madame Wachner stared significantly at Sylvia.
 
 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 171 
 
 "You do not know what the poHce of Lacville are like, 
 my dear friend. They are very unpleasant people. As 
 you were Anna's only friend in the place, they might 
 give you considerable trouble. They would ask you 
 where to look for her, and they would torment you in- 
 cessantly. If I were you I would say as little as possible." 
 
 Madame Wachner spoke very quickly, almost breath- 
 lessly, and Sylvia felt vaguely uncomfortable. There 
 was, of course, only one person to whom she was likely 
 to mention the fact, and that was Paul de Virieu. 
 
 Was it possible that Madame Wachner wished to warn 
 her against telling him of a fact which he was sure to 
 discover for himself in the course of a day or two?
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 
 As Sylvia drove away alone from the station, she felt 
 exceedingly troubled and unhappy. 
 
 It was all very well for Madame Wachner to take the 
 matter of Anna Wolsky's disappearance from Lacville so 
 philosophically. The Wachners' acquaintance with Mad- 
 ame Wolsky had been really very slight, and they natur- 
 ally knew nothing of the Polish woman's inner nature 
 and temperament. 
 
 Sylvia told herself that Anna must have been in great 
 trouble, and that something very serious must have 
 happened to her, before she could have gone away like 
 this, without saying anything about it. 
 
 If poor Anna had changed her mind, and gone to the 
 Casino the day before, she might, of course, have lost all 
 her winnings and more. Sylvia reminded herself that it 
 stood to reason that if one could make hundreds of 
 pounds in an hour or two, then one might equally lose 
 hundreds of pounds in the same time. But somehow 
 she could hardly believe that her friend had been so 
 foolish. 
 
 Still, how else to account for Anna's disappearance, 
 her sudden exit from Lacville? Anna Wolsky was a 
 proud woman, and Sylvia suspected that if she had 
 come unexpectedly to the end of her resources, she 
 would have preferred to go away rather than confide 
 her trouble to a new friend. 
 
 172
 
 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 173 
 
 Tears slowly filled Sylvia Bailey's blue eyes. She felt 
 deeply hurt by Anna's strange conduct. 
 
 Madame Wachner's warning as to saying as little as 
 possible of the other's departure from Lacville had made 
 very little impression on Sylvia, yet it so far affected her 
 that, instead of telling Monsieur Polperro of the fact the 
 moment she was back at the Villa du Lac, she went 
 straight up to her own room. But when there she found 
 that she could settle down to nothing — neither to a book 
 nor to letters. 
 
 Since her husband's death Sylvia Bailey's social circle 
 had become much larger, and there were a number of 
 people who enjoyed inviting and meeting the pretty, 
 wealthy young widow. But just now all these friends of 
 hers in far-away England seemed quite unreal and, above 
 all, quite uninteresting. 
 
 Sylvia told herself with bitter pain, and again the 
 tears sprang to her eyes, that no one in the wide world 
 really cared for her. Those people who had been going 
 to Switzerland had thrown her over without a thought. 
 Anna Wolsky, who had spoken as if she really loved her 
 only a day or two ago, and who had made that love her 
 excuse for a somewhat impertinent interference in Sylvia's 
 private affairs, had left Lacville without even sending 
 her word that she was leaving ! 
 
 True, she had a new and a delightful friend in Count 
 Paul de Virieu. But what if Anna had been right? 
 What if Count Paul were a dangerous friend, or, worse 
 still, only amusing himself at her expense? True, he 
 had taken her to see his sister; but that, after all, might 
 not mean very much.
 
 174 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 
 
 Sylvia Bailey went through a very mournful hour. 
 She felt terribly depressed and unhappy, and at last, 
 though there was still a considerable time to dinner, she 
 went downstairs and out into the garden with a book. 
 
 And then, in a moment, everything was changed. 
 From sad, she became happy; from mournful and self- 
 pitying, full of exquisite content. 
 
 Looking up, Sylvia had seen the now familiar figure 
 of Count Paul de Virieu hurrying towards her. 
 
 How early he had left Paris! She had understood 
 that he meant to come back by the last train, or more 
 probably to-morrow morning. 
 
 " Paris was so hot, and my sister found that friends of 
 hers were passing through, so I came back earlier than I 
 meant to do," he said a little lamely; and then, "Is any- 
 thing the matter? " 
 
 He looked with quick, anxious concern into her pale 
 face and red-lidded eyes. "Did you have a bad night 
 at the tables?" 
 
 Sylvia shook her head. 
 
 "Something so strange — so unexpected — has hap- 
 pened." Her mouth quivered. "Anna Wolsky has left 
 LacviUe!" 
 
 "Left Lacville?" Count Paul repeated, in almost as 
 incredulous a tone as that in which Sylvia herself had 
 said the words when the news had been first brought her. 
 "Have you and she quarrelled, Mrs. Bailey? You per- 
 mit?" He waited till she looked up and said listlessly, 
 "Yes, please do," before lighting his cigarette. 
 
 "Quarrelled? Oh, no! She has simply gone away 
 without telling me!"
 
 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 175 
 
 The Comte de Virieu looked surprised, but not par- 
 ticularly sorry. 
 
 "That's very strange," he said. "I should have 
 thought your friend was not likely to leave Lacville for 
 many weeks to come." 
 
 His acute French mind had already glanced at all the 
 sides of the situation, and he was surprised at the mixed 
 feelings which filled his heart. With the Polish woman 
 gone, his young English friend was not likely to stay on 
 at such a place as Lacville alone. 
 
 "But where has Madame Wolsky gone?" he asked 
 quickly. "And why has she left? Surely she is coming 
 back?" (Sylvia could certainly stay on a few days alone 
 at Lacville, if her friend was coming back.) 
 
 But what was this that Mrs. Bailey was saying in so 
 plaintive a tone? 
 
 "That's the extraordinary thing about it! I haven't 
 the slightest idea where Anna is, or why she has left 
 Lacville." In spite of herself her voice trembled. "She 
 did not give me the slightest warning of what she was 
 thinking of doing; in fact, only a few days ago, when we 
 were talking of our future plans, I tried to persuade her 
 to come back to England with me on a long visit." 
 
 "Tell me all that happened," he said, sitting down and 
 speaking in the eager, kindly way he seemed to keep for 
 Sylvia alone. 
 
 And then Sylvia told him. She described the coming 
 of the messenger, her journey to the Pension Malfait, and 
 she repeated, as far as was possible, the exact words of 
 her friend's curiously-worded, abrupt letter to Madame 
 Malfait. 
 
 i
 
 176 THE CHINK IX THE ARMOUR 
 
 "They all think," she said at last, "that Anna went to 
 the Casino and lost all her money — both the money she 
 made, and the money she brought here; and that then, 
 not liking to tell even me anything about it, she made up 
 her mind to go away." 
 
 "They all think this?" repeated Count Paul, mean- 
 ingly. "Whom do you mean by all, Mrs. Bailey?" 
 
 "I mean the people at the Pension ^Malfait, and the 
 Wachners " 
 
 "Then you saw the Wachners to-dav?" 
 
 "I met Madame Wachner as I was going to the Pen- 
 sion Malfait," said Sylvia, "and she went there with me. 
 You see, the Wachners asked Anna to have supper with 
 them yesterday, and they waited for her ever so long, 
 but she never came. That makes it clear that she must 
 have left Lacville some time in the early afternoon. I 
 wish — I cannot help wishing — that I had not gone into 
 Paris yesterday, Count Paul." 
 
 And then suddenly she realised how ungracious her 
 words must sound. 
 
 "Xo, no," she cried, impetuously. "Of course, I do 
 not mean that I I had a very, very happy time, and 
 your sister was verj- kind and sweet to me. But it 
 makes me unhappy to think that Anna may have been 
 worried and anxious about monev with me awav " 
 
 There was a pause, and then, in a very different voice, 
 Sylvia Bailey asked the Comte de Virieu a question that 
 seemed to him utterly irrelevant. 
 
 " Do you believe in fortune-tellers? " she asked abruptly. 
 "Are you superstitious?" 
 
 "Like everyone else, I have been to such people," he
 
 THE CHIXK IN THE ARMOUR 177 
 
 answered indifferently. "But if you ask my true opinion 
 — well, no; I am quite sceptical I There may be some- 
 thing in what these dealers in hope sometimes say, but 
 more often there is nothing. In fact, you must remember 
 that a \N4tch generally tells her client what she believes 
 her client wishes to hear." 
 
 "Madame Wachner is inclined to think that Anna left 
 Lacville because of something wliich a fortune-teller told 
 her — indeed told both of us — before we came here." ]\Irs. 
 Bailey was digging the point of her parasol in the grass. 
 
 "Tiens! Tiens!" he exclaimed. "That is an odd idea! 
 Pray tell me all about it. Did you and your friend con- 
 sult a fashionable necromancer, or did you content your- 
 selves with going to a cheap witch?" 
 
 "To quite a cheap witch." 
 
 Sylvia laughed happily; she was beginning to feel 
 really better now. She rather wondered that she had 
 never told Count Paul about that strange \'isit to the 
 fortune-teller, but she had been taught, as are so many 
 Englishwomen of her t\'pe, to regard ever\i;hing savour- 
 ing of superstition as not only silly and weak-minded, 
 but also as rather discreditable. 
 
 "The woman called herself Madame Cagliostra," she 
 went on gaily, "and she only charged five francs. In 
 the end we did pay her fifteen. But she gave us plenty 
 for our money, I assure you — in fact, I can't remember 
 half the things she said!" 
 
 "And to you was prophesied ?" Count Paul leant 
 
 forward and looked at her fixedly. 
 
 Sylvia blushed. 
 
 "Oh, she told me all sorts of things! As you say they
 
 178 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 
 
 don't really know an\i;hing; they only guess. One of 
 the things that she told me was that it was possible, in 
 fact, quite likely, that I should never go back to England 
 — I mean at all! And that if I did so, I should go as a 
 stranger. Wasn't that absurd?" 
 
 "Quite absurd," said Count Paul, quietly. "For even 
 if you married again, Madame; if you married a French- 
 man, for instance, you would still wish to go back to 
 your own country sometimes — at least, I suppose so." 
 
 " Of course I should." And once more Sylvia reddened 
 violently. 
 
 But this time Count Paul felt no pleasure in watching 
 the flood of carmine staining not only the smooth, rounded 
 cheek, but the white forehead and neck of his fair English 
 friend. 
 
 Sylvia went on speaking, a little quickly. 
 
 "She said almost the same thing to Anna. Wasn*t 
 that odd? I mean she said that Anna would probably 
 never go back to her own country. But what was really 
 very strange was that she did not seem to be able to see 
 into Anna's future at all. And then — oh well, she be- 
 haved very oddly. After we had gone she called us 
 back " Sylvia stopped for a moment. 
 
 "Well?" said Count Paul eagerly. "What happened 
 then?" 
 
 He seldom allowed himself the pleasure of looking into 
 Sylvia's blue eyes. Now he asked for nothing better 
 than that she should go on talking while he went on 
 looking at her. 
 
 " She made us stand side by side — you must understand, 
 Count, that we had already paid her and gone away — •
 
 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 179 
 
 when she called us back. She stared at us in a very queer 
 sort of way, and said that we must not leave Paris, or if 
 we did leave Paris, we must not leave together. She 
 said that if we did so we should run into danger." 
 
 "All rather vague," observed the Count. "And, from 
 the little I know of her, I should fancy Madame Wolsky 
 the last woman in the world to be really influenced by 
 that kind of thing." 
 
 He hardly knew what he was saying. His only wish 
 was that Sylvia would go on talking to him in the inti- 
 mate, confiding fashion she was now doing. Heavens! 
 How wretched, how lonely he had felt in Paris after 
 seeing her off the day before! 
 
 "Oh, but at the time Anna was very much impressed," 
 said Sylvia, quickly. "Far more than I was — I know it 
 made her nervous when she was first playing at the tables. 
 And when she lost so much money the first week we were 
 here she said to me, 'That woman was right. We ought 
 not to have come to Lacvillel' But afterwards, when 
 she began to be so wonderfully lucky, she forgot all about 
 it, or, rather, she only remembered that the woman had 
 said to her that she would have a great run of luck." 
 
 "Then the woman said that, too," remarked Count 
 Paul, absently. 
 
 (What was it his godmother had said? "I felicitate 
 you on your conquest, naughty Paul!" and he had felt 
 angry, even disgusted, with the old lady's cynical com- 
 pliment. She had added, meaningly, "Why not turn 
 over a new leaf? Why not marry this pretty creature? 
 We should all be pleased to see you behave like a reason- 
 able human being.")
 
 180 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 
 
 . But Sylvia was answering him. 
 
 "Yes, the woman said that Anna would be very 
 lucky." 
 
 The Comte de Virieu thought for a moment, and then 
 i^ithdrew his eyes from his friend's face. 
 
 "I presume you have already telephoned to the hotel 
 in Paris where you first met ^Madame Wolsky?" 
 
 "Why, it never occurred to me to do that!" cried 
 Sylvia.' "WTiatagoodidea!" 
 
 "Wait," he said. "I will go and do it for you." 
 
 But five minutes later he came back, shaking his head. 
 " I am sorry to say the people at the Hotel de I'Horloge 
 know nothing of Madame Wolsky. They have had no 
 news of her since you and she both left the place, I 
 wonder if the Wachners know more of her disappearance 
 than they have told you?" 
 
 "\Miat do you mean?" asked Sylvia, very much sur- 
 prised. 
 
 "They're such odd people," he said, in a dissatisfied 
 voice. "And you know they were always with your 
 friend. When you were not there, they hardly ever left 
 her for a moment." 
 
 "But I thought I had told you how distressed they 
 are about it? How they waited for her last evening and 
 how she never came? Oh no, the Wachners know noth- 
 ing," declared Sylvia confidently.
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 
 There is something very bewildering and distressing in 
 the sudden disappearance or even the absence of a human 
 being to whose affectionate and constant presence one 
 has become accustomed. And as the hours went by, 
 and no letter or message arrived from Anna Wolsky, 
 Sylvia became seriously troubled, and spent much of her 
 time walking to and from the Pension Malfait. 
 
 Surely Anna could not have left Paris, still less France, 
 without her luggage? All sorts of dreadful possibilities 
 crowded on Sylvia's mind; Anna Wolsky might have 
 met with an accident: she might now be lying unidenti- 
 fied in a Paris hospital. . . . 
 
 At last she grew so uneasy about her friend that she 
 felt she must do something ! 
 
 Mine host of the Villa du Lac was kind and sym- 
 pathetic, but even he could suggest no way of finding 
 out where Anna had gone. 
 
 And then Sylvia suddenly bethought herself that there 
 was one thing she could do which she had not done : she 
 could surely go to the police of Lacville and ask them to 
 make inquiries in Paris as to whether there had been an 
 accident of which the victim in any way recalled Anna 
 Wolsky. 
 
 To her surprise, M. Polperro shook his head very 
 decidedly. 
 
 "Oh no, do not go to the police!" he said in an anxious 
 tone. " No, no, I do not advise you to do that ! Heaven 
 
 181
 
 182 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 
 
 knows I would do anji;hing in reason to help you, Mad- 
 ame, to find your friend. But I beg of you not to ask 
 me to go for you to the police!" 
 
 Sylvia was very much puzzled. Why should M. Pol- 
 perro be so unwilling to seek the help of the law in so 
 simple a matter as this? 
 
 " I will go myself," she said. 
 
 And just then — they were standing in the hall together 
 — the Comte de Virieu came up. 
 
 "Wliat is it you will do yourself, Madame?" he asked, 
 smiling. 
 
 Sylvia turned to him eagerly. 
 
 "I feel that I should like to speak to the police about 
 Anna Wolsky," she exclaimed. "It is the first thing 
 one would do in England if a friend suddenly disappeared 
 — in fact, the police are always looking for people who 
 have gone away in a mysterious manner. You see, I 
 can't help being afraid, Count Paul" — she lowered her 
 voice — " that Anna has met with some dreadful accident. 
 She hasn't a friend in Paris! Suppose she is lying now 
 in some hospital, unable to make herself understood? I 
 only wish that I had a photograph of Anna that I could 
 take to them." 
 
 "Well, there is a possibility that this may be so. But 
 remember it is even more probable that Madame Wolsky 
 is quite well, and that she will be annoyed at your taking 
 any such step to find her." 
 
 "Yes," said Sylvia, slowly. "I know that is quite 
 possible. And yet — and yet it is so very unlike Anna 
 not to send me a word of explanation! And then, you 
 know in that letter she left in her room at the Pension
 
 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 183 
 
 Malfait she positively promised to send a telegram about 
 her luggage. Surely it is very strange that she has not 
 done that?" 
 
 "Well, if you really wish the police communicated 
 with," said the Comte de Virieu, "I will go to the police- 
 station here, with pleasure." 
 
 "Why should we not go together?" asked Sylvia, 
 hesitatingly. 
 
 "By all means. But think over what we are to say 
 when we get there. If your friend had not left the 
 letter behind her, then, of course it would be our posi- 
 tive duty to communicate with the police. But I cannot 
 help being afraid " He stopped abruptly. 
 
 "Of what are you afraid?" asked Sylvia eagerly. 
 
 " I am afraid that Madame Wolsky may be very much 
 offended by your interference in the matter." 
 
 "Oh, no!" cried Sylvia. "Indeed, in that you are 
 quite mistaken! I know Anna would never be offended 
 by anything I could do. She was very fond of me, and 
 so am I of her. But in any case I am willing to risk it. 
 You see" — her voice broke, quivered — "I am really very 
 unhappy about Anna " 
 
 "When would you like to go to the Commissioner of 
 Police? " asked the Count. 
 
 "Is there any reason why we should not go now?" 
 
 "No. Let us go at once. I only had the feeling that 
 you might hear from her any moment." 
 
 Together they walked up into the little town of Lac- 
 ville. To each any expedition in which the other took 
 part had become delightful. They were together now 
 more than they had ever been before. No, Count Paul
 
 1S4 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 
 
 could not be sorry that Sylvia's friend had left Lacville. 
 He had no wish for her return. 
 
 At last they came to a rather mean-looking white 
 house; out of one of the windows hung a tricolour flag. 
 ^ "Here we are!" he said briefly. 
 
 "It doesn't look a very imposing place," said Sylvia 
 smiling. 
 
 But all the same, as the Count rang the bell Sylvia 
 suddenly felt as if she would like to run away! After 
 all, what should she say to the Commissioner of Police? 
 Would he think her interference in Anna's affairs strange 
 and uncalled for? But she kept her thoughts to herself. 
 
 Thev were shown into a room where a tired-looking 
 man bent over a large, ink-stained table littered over 
 with papers. 
 
 "Monsieur? Madame?" he glanced up inquiringly, 
 and gave them a searching look. But he did -not rise 
 from the table, as Sylvia expected him to do. "What 
 can I do for you?" he said. " I am at your service," and 
 again he stared with insistent curiosity at the couple 
 before him, at the well-dressed young Englishwoman and 
 at her PVench companion. 
 
 The Count explained at some length why they had 
 come. 
 
 And then at last the Commissioner of Police got up. 
 
 "Madame has now been at Lacville three weeks?" — 
 and he quickly made a note of the fact on a little tablet 
 he held in his hand. "And her friend, a Polish lady 
 named Wolsky, has left Lacville rather suddenly? Mad- 
 ame has, however, received a letter from her friend ex- 
 plaining that she had to leave unexpectedly?"
 
 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 185 
 
 "No," said Sylvia, quickly, "the letter was not sent 
 to me; it was left by my friend in her bed-room at the 
 Pension Malfait. You see, the strange thing, IVIonsieur, 
 is that Madame Wolsky left all her luggage. She took 
 absolutely nothing with her, excepting, of course, her 
 money. And as yet nothing has come from her, although 
 she promised to telegraph where her luggage was to be 
 sent on to her! I come to you because I am afraid that 
 she had met with some accident in the Paris streets, and 
 I thought you would be able to telephone for us to the 
 Paris Police." 
 
 She looked very piteously at the French oflScial, and 
 his face softened, a kindly look came over it. 
 
 "Well, Madame," he said, "I will certainly do every- 
 thing I can. But I must ask you to provide me first 
 with a few more particulars about your friend." 
 
 "I will tell you everything I know. But I really do 
 not know very much." 
 
 "Her age?" said the Commissioner. 
 
 "I do not know her age, but I suppose she is about 
 thirty." 
 
 "The place of her birth?" 
 ; Sylvia shook her head. 
 
 "What is her permanent address? Surely you know 
 with whom you could communicate the news of an acci- 
 dent having happened to her?" 
 
 "I am afraid I don't even know that." Sylvia began 
 to feel rather foolish. But — but was it so strange after 
 all? Who among the people she was now living with 
 knew anything of her far-away English home? If any- 
 thing happened to herself, for instance? Even Count
 
 1S6 THE CHINK IN THE ARAIOUR 
 
 Paul would not know to whom to write. It was an odd, 
 rather an uncomfortable thought. 
 
 The Commissioner went to a drawer and pulled out 
 from it a portfolio filled with loose pieces of paper. 
 
 "Malfait? Malfait? Malfait?" he muttered inter- 
 rogatively to himself. And at last he found what he 
 was looking for. It was a large sheet, on which was in- 
 scribed in large round letters "Pension Malfait." There 
 were many close lines of writing under the words. He 
 looked down and read through all that was there. 
 
 "The Pension Malfait has a good reputation!" he ex- 
 claimed, in a relieved tone. "I gather from what you 
 say, Monsieur," — he gave a quick, shrewd look at the 
 Count — "that Madame and her friend did not play in a 
 serious sense at the Casino — I mean, there was no large 
 sum of money in question?" 
 
 Count Paul hesitated — but Sylvia thought that surely 
 it were better to tell the truth. 
 
 "Yes," she said, "my friend did play, and she played 
 rather high. She must have had a large sum of money 
 in her possession when she left Lacville, unless she lost 
 it all on the last day. But I was in Paris, and so I don't 
 know what she did." 
 
 The Commissioner looked grave. 
 
 "Ah, but that alters the case very much!" he said. 
 "I must request you to come with me to the Pension 
 Malfait. We had better pursue our inquiries there. If 
 this Madame Wolsky had a large sum of money in notes 
 and gold, it becomes very important that we should 
 know where she is." 
 _They all three left the shabby little house together.
 
 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 187 
 
 and Sylvia could not help wondering what would happen 
 there while they were gone. But the Commissioner 
 solved her doubts by turning the key in the door. 
 
 The Count hailed a cab, and they all got into it. Then 
 followed a curious little drive. The Commissioner made 
 polite conversation with Mrs. Bailey. He spoke of the 
 beauties of Lacville. "And Madame," he said, pleas- 
 antly, " is staying at the Villa du Lac? It is a charming 
 house, with historic associations." 
 
 Sylvia was surprised. She remembered clearly that 
 she had not told the police official where she was staying. 
 
 When they reached the Pension Malfait they were 
 kept waiting a few moments, but at last M. jMalfait 
 appeared in the hall. He received them with obsequious 
 amiability. 
 
 Still, even Svlvia could not but be aware that he was 
 extremely angry, and she herself felt wretchedly uncom- 
 fortable. What if Anna Wolsky were all right after 
 all? Would she not blame her for having made such 
 a fuss? 
 
 " Everything is quite en regie '^ M. Malfait said smoothly 
 when the purport of their presence was explained to him 
 in a few curt words by the Commissioner of Police. 
 
 "You see, Monsieur le Commissaire, it is quite simple. 
 The lady left us a letter explaining why she was obliged 
 to go away. I do not know why INIadame" — he turned 
 to Sylvia — "thought it necessary to go to you? We have 
 been perfectly open about the whole matter. We are 
 respectable people, and have absolutely nothing to hide. 
 Madame Wolsky 's boxes are there, in her bed-room; I 
 might have let the room twice over since she left, but no.
 
 18S THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 
 
 I prefer to wait, hoping that the lady — the very charming 
 ladv — will come back." 
 
 " By the way, where is the letter which she left?" said 
 the Commissioner in a business-like voice. "I should 
 like to see that letter." 
 
 "\Miere is the letter?" repeated Monsieur Malfait 
 vaguely. Then in a loud voice, he said, "I will ask my 
 wife for the letter. She looks after the correspondence." 
 
 ]Madame Malfait came forward. She looked even 
 more annoyed than her husband had looked when he 
 had seen by whom Sylvia was accompanied. 
 
 "Tlie letter?" she repeated shortly. "Mon Dieu! I 
 do not know where I have put it. But by this time I 
 almost know it by heart. It was a pleasing letter, for it 
 spoke very warmly of our establishment. But where is 
 the letter?" she looked round her, as if she expected to 
 find it suddenly appear. 
 
 "Ah! I remember to whom I showed it last! It was 
 to that agreeable friend of Madame Wolsky" — she put 
 an emphasis on the word "agreeable," and stared hard 
 at Sylvia as she did so. " It was to that Madame Wach- 
 ner I last showed it. Perhaps she put it in her pocket, 
 and forgot to give it me back. I know she said she would 
 like her husband to see it. Monsieur and Madame 
 Wachner often take their meals here. I will ask them if 
 they have the letter." 
 
 "Well, at any rate, we had better open Madame Wol- 
 sky 's trunks; that may give us some clue," said the Com- 
 missioner in a weary voice. 
 
 And, to Sylvia's confusion and distress, they all then 
 proceeded to the bed-room where she had last seen her
 
 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 189 
 
 friend, and there Monsieur Malfait broke the locks of 
 Anna Wolsky's two large trunks. 
 
 But the contents of Anna's trunks taught them nothing. 
 They were only the kind of objects and clothes that a 
 woman who travelled about the world a great deal would 
 naturally take with her. Everything, however, was 
 taken out, turned over, and looked at. 
 
 "If your friend possessed a passport," said the police 
 official in a dissatisfied tone, "she has evidently taken 
 it with her. There is nothing of any consequence at all 
 in those boxes. We had better shut them up again, and 
 leave them." 
 
 But when they came down again into the hall, he sud- 
 denly asked Monsieur Malfait, "Well, where is the 
 letter?" He had evidently forgotten Madame Malfait's 
 involved explanation. 
 
 "I will send you the letter to-morrow," said Monsieur 
 Malfait smoothly. "The truth is, we handed it to a 
 lady who was also a friend of Madame Wolsky, and she 
 evidently forgot to give it back to us. We will find out 
 whether she has kept it." 
 
 On the way back the Commissioner of Police said gaily, 
 
 "It is quite clear that Madame" — he turned and 
 bowed courteously to Sylvia — "knows very little of 
 Lacville, Monsieur le Comte! Why, people are always 
 disappearing from Lacville! My time would indeed be 
 full were I to follow all those who go away in a hurry — 
 not but what I have been only too delighted to do this 
 for Madame and for IMonsieur le Comte." 
 
 He then bowed to the Count and stared smilingly at 
 Sylvia.
 
 190 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 
 
 "I am pleased to think," he went on playfully, "that 
 Madame herself is not likely to meet with any unpleasant 
 adventure here, for the Villa du Lac is a most excellent 
 and well-conducted house. Be assured, Madame, that 
 I will find out in the next few hours if your friend has met 
 with an accident in the Paris streets." 
 
 He left them at the gate of the Villa. 
 ' When the Commissioner had quite disappeared, the 
 Count observed, " Well, we have done what you wished. 
 But it has not had much result, has it?" 
 
 Sylvia shook her head disconsolately. 
 
 " No, Count Paul. I am afraid I made a mistake in 
 going to the police. The Malfaits are evidently very 
 angry with me! And yet — and yet, you know in England 
 it's the first thing that people do." 
 
 Count Paul laughed kindly. 
 
 "It is a matter of absolutely no consequence. But 
 you see, you never quite understand, my dear friend, that 
 Lacville is a queer place, and that here, at any rate, the 
 hotel-keepers are rather afraid of the police. I was even 
 glad that the Commissioner did not ask to look over 
 your boxes, and did not exact a passport from you!" 
 
 More seriously he added, "But I see that you are 
 dreadfully anxious about Madame Wolsky, and I myself 
 will communicate with the Paris police about the matter. 
 It is, as you say, possible, though not probable, that she 
 met with an accident after leaving you."
 
 CHAPTER XVII 
 
 A long week went by, and still no news, no explanation 
 of her abrupt departure from Lacville, was received from 
 Anna Wolsky; and the owners of the Pension Malfait 
 were still waiting for instructions as to what was to be 
 done with Madame Wolsky 's luggage, and with the 
 various little personal possessions she had left scattered 
 about her room. 
 
 As for Sylvia, it sometimes seemed to her as if her 
 Polish friend had been obliterated, suddenly blotted out 
 of existence. 
 
 But as time went on she felt more and more pained 
 and discomfited by Anna's strange and heartless be- 
 haviour to herself. Whatever the reason for Madame 
 Wolsky's abrupt departure, it would not have taken her 
 a moment to have sent Sylvia Bailey a line — if only to 
 say that she could give no explanation of her extraor- 
 dinary conduct. 
 
 Fortunately there were many things to distract Sylvia's 
 thoughts from Anna Wolsky. She now began each morn- 
 ing with a two hours' ride with Paul de Virieu. She had 
 a graceful seat, and had been well taught; only a little 
 practice, so the Count assured her, was needed to make 
 her into a really good horsewoman, the more so that she 
 was very fearless. 
 
 Leaving the flat plain of Lacville far behind them, 
 they would make their way into the Forest of Mont- 
 
 191
 
 192 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 
 
 morency, and through to the wide valley, which is so 
 beautiful and so little known to most foreign visitors 
 to Paris. 
 
 The Duchesse d'Eglemont had sent her maid to Lac- 
 ville with the riding habit she was lending Sylvia, and 
 by a word M. Polperro let fall, the Englishwoman realised, 
 with mingled confusion and amusement, that the hotel- 
 _ keeper supposed her to be an old and intimate friend of 
 Count Paul's sister. 
 
 The other people in the hotel began to treat her with 
 marked cordiality. 
 
 And so it came to pass that outwardly the Pohsh lady's 
 disappearance came to be regarded even by Sylvia as 
 having only been a ripple on the pleasant, lazy, agree- 
 able life she. Count Paul, and last, not least, the Wach- 
 ners, were all leading at Lacville. 
 
 f In fact, as the days went on, only Mrs. Bailey herself 
 and that kindly couple, Madame Wachner and her silent 
 husband, seemed to remember that Anna had ever been 
 there. During the first days, when Sylvia had been 
 really very anxious and troubled, she had had cause to 
 be grateful to the Wachners for their sympathy; for 
 whereas Paul de Virieu seemed only interested in Anna 
 Wolsky because she, Sylvia, herself was interested, both 
 Madame Wachner and her morose, silent husband 
 showed real concern and distress at the mysterious lack 
 of news. 
 
 Whenever Sylvia saw them, and she saw them daily 
 at the Casino, either Madame Wachner or L'Ami Fritz 
 would ask her in an eager, sympathetic voice, "Have 
 you had news of Madame Wolsky?"
 
 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 193 
 
 And then, when she shook her head sadly, they would 
 express — and especially Madame Wachner would ex- 
 press — increasing concern and surprise at Anna's ex- 
 traordinary silence. 
 
 "If only she had come to us as she arranged to do!" 
 the older woman exclaimed more than once in a regret- 
 ful tone. "Then, at any rate, we should know some- 
 thing; she would not have concealed her plans from us 
 entirely; we were, if new friends, yet on such kind, in- 
 timate terms with the dear soul!" . „^. .->. ' ) 
 
 And now, as had been the case exactly a week ago, 
 Sylvia was resting in her room. She was sitting just as 
 she had then sat, in a chair drawn up close to the window. 
 There had been no ride that morning, for Paul de Virieu 
 had been obliged to go into Paris for the day. j 
 
 Sylvia felt dull and listless. She had never before 
 experienced that aching longing for the presence of 
 another human being which in our civilised life is dis- 
 guised under many names, but which in this case, Sylvia 
 herself called by that of "friendship." 
 
 Moreover, she had received that morning a letter 
 which had greatly disturbed her. It now lay open on 
 her lap, for she had just read it through again. This 
 letter was quite short, and simply contained the news 
 that Bill Chester, her good friend, sometime lover, and 
 trustee, was going to Switzerland after all, and that 
 he would stop a couple of days in Paris in order to 
 see her. 
 
 It was really very nice of Bill to do this, and a month 
 ago Sylvia would have looked forward to seeing him.
 
 194 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 
 
 But now evervlhing was changed, and Sylvia could well 
 have dispensed witii Bill Chester's presence. 
 
 The thought of Chester at Lacville filled her with un- 
 ease. When she had left her English home two months 
 ago — it seemed more like two years than two months — 
 she had felt well disposed to the young lawyer, and deep 
 in her inmost heart she had almost brought herself to 
 acknowledge that she might very probably in time be- 
 come his wife. 
 
 She suspected that Chester had been fond of her when 
 she was a girl, at a time when his means would not have 
 justified him in proposing to her, for he was one of those 
 unusual men who think it dishonourable to ask girls to 
 marry them unless they are in a position to keep a wife. 
 She remembered how he had looked — how set and stern 
 his face had become when someone had suddenly told 
 him in her presence of her engagement to George Bailey, 
 the middle-aged man who had been so kind to her, and 
 yet who had counted for so little in her life, though she 
 had given him all she could of love and dutv. 
 
 Since her widowhood, so she now reminded herself re- 
 morsefully, Chester had been extraordinarily good to her, 
 and his devotion had touched her because it was expressed 
 in actions rather than in words, for he was also the un- 
 usual tj-pe of man, seldom a romantic type, who scorns, 
 however much in love, to take advantage of a fiduciary 
 position to strengthen his o^\ti. 
 
 The fact that he was her trustee brought them into 
 frequent conflict. Too often Bill was the candid friend 
 instead of the devoted lover. Their only real quarrel — 
 if quarrel it could be called — had been, as we kuow, over
 
 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 195 
 
 the purchase of her string of pearls. But time, or so 
 Sylvia confidently believed, had proved her to have been 
 right, for her "investment," as she always called it to 
 Bill Chester, had improved in value. 
 
 But though she had been right in that comparatively 
 trifling matter, she knew that Chester would certainly 
 disapprove of the kind of life — the idle, purposeless, 
 frivolous life — she was now leading. 
 
 Looking out over the lake, which, as it was an exceed- 
 ingly hot, fine day, was already crowded with boats, 
 Sylvia almost made up her mind to go back into Paris 
 for two or three days. 
 
 Bill would think it a very strange thing that she was 
 staying here in Lacville all by herself. But the thought 
 of leaving Lacville just now was very disagreeable to 
 Sylvia. . . . She wondered uncomfortably w^hat her 
 trustee would think of her friendship with Count Paul 
 de Virieu — with this Frenchman who, when he was not 
 gambling at the Casino, spent every moment of his time 
 with her. 
 
 But deep in her heart Sylvia knew well that when Bill 
 Chester was there Paul de Virieu would draw back ; only 
 when they were really alone together did he talk eagerly, 
 naturally. 
 
 In the dining-room of the Villa he hardly ever spoke 
 to her, and when they were both in the Baccarat-room 
 of the Club he seldom came and stood by her side, though 
 when she looked up she often found his eyes fixed on her 
 with that ardent, absorbed gaze which made her heart 
 beat, and her cheeks flush with mingled joy and pain. 
 ' Suddenly, as if her thoughts had brought him there,
 
 196 THE CHINK IX THE ARMOUR 
 
 she saw Count Paul's straight, slim figure turn in from 
 the road through the gates of the Villa. 
 
 He glanced up at her window and took off his hat. 
 He looked cool, unruffled, and self-possessed, but her 
 eager eyes saw a change in his face. He looked very 
 grave, and yet oddly happy. Was it possible that he 
 had news at last of Anna Wolsky? 
 
 He mounted the stone-steps and disappeared into the 
 house; and Sylvia, getting up, began moving restlessly 
 about her room. She longed to go downstairs, and yet 
 a feminine feeling of delicacy restrained her from doing 
 so. 
 
 A great stillness brooded over ever}i;hing. The heat 
 had sent everyone indoors. M. Polperro, perhaps be- 
 cause of his Southern up-bringing, always took an early 
 afternoon siesta. It looked as if liis servants followed 
 his example. The Villa du Lac seemed asleep. 
 
 Sylvia went across to the other window, the window 
 overlooking the large, shady garden, and there, glancing 
 down, she saw Count Paul. 
 
 "Come into the garden — ," he said softly in English; 
 and Sylvia, leaning over the bar of her window, thought 
 he added the word "Maud" — but of course that could 
 not have been so, for her name, as the Count knew well, 
 was Sylvia! And equally of course he always addressed 
 her as "Madame." 
 
 "It's so nice and cool up here," she whispered back. 
 **I don't believe it is half so cool in the garden!" 
 
 She gazed down into his upturned face with innocent 
 coquetry, pretending — only pretending — to hesitate as to 
 what she would do in answer to his invitation.
 
 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 197 
 
 But Sylvia Bailey was but an amateur at the Great 
 Game, the game at which only two — only a man and a 
 woman — can play, and yet which is capable of such in- 
 finite, such bewilderingly protean variations. So her 
 next move, one which Paul de Virieu, smiling behind 
 his moustache, foresaw — was to turn away from the 
 window. 
 
 She ran down the broad shallow staircase very quickly, 
 for it had occurred to her that the Count, taking her at 
 her word, might leave the garden, and, sauntering off to 
 the Casino, lose his money — for whatever he might be in 
 love. Count Paul was exceedingly unlucky at cards! 
 And lately she had begun to think that she was gradually 
 weaning her friend from what she knew to be in his case, 
 whatever it was in hers, and in that of many of the people 
 about them, the terrible vice of gambling. 
 
 When, a little breathless, she joined him in the garden, 
 she found that he had already taken two rocking-chairs 
 into a shady corner which was out of sight of the white 
 villa and of its inquisitive wandows. 
 
 "Something very serious has happened," said Count 
 Paul slowly. 
 
 He took both her hands in his and looked down into 
 her face. With surprise and concern she saw that his 
 eyelids were red. Was it possible that Count Paul had 
 been crying? He almost looked as if he had. 
 
 The idea of a grown-up man allowing himself to give 
 way to emotion of that sort would have seemed absurd 
 to Sylvia a short time ago, but somehow the thought 
 that Paul de Virieu had shed tears made her feel ex- 
 traordinarily moved.
 
 198 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 
 
 "\Miat is the matter?" she asked anxiously. "Has 
 an\i:hing happened to your sister?" 
 
 "Thank God — no!" he answered hastily. "But some- 
 thing else, something which was to be expected, but 
 which I did not expect, has happened " 
 
 And then, very gravely, and at last releasing her hands, 
 he added, "My kind godmother, the little Marquise you 
 met last week, died last night." 
 
 Sylvia felt the sudden sense of surprise, almost of dis- 
 comfiture, the young always feel in the neighbourhood 
 of death. 
 
 "How dreadful! She seemed quite well when we saw 
 her that day " 
 
 She could still hear echoing in her ears the old lady's 
 half-mocking but kindly compliments. 
 
 "Ah! but she was very, very old — over ninety! ^^Tiy, 
 she was supposed to be aged when she became my god- 
 mother thirty odd years ago!" 
 
 He waited a moment, and then added, quietly, "She 
 has left me in her will two hundred thousand francs." 
 
 "Oh, Ia?Mglad!" 
 
 Sylvia stretched out both hands impulsively, and the 
 Comte de Virieu took first one and then the other and 
 raised them to his lips. 
 
 "Eight thousand pounds? Does it seem a fortune to 
 you, Madame?" 
 
 "Of course it does!" exclaimed Sylvia. 
 
 "It frees me from the necessity of being a pensioner 
 on my brother-in-law," he said slowly, and Sylvia felt 
 a little chill of disappointment. Was that his only 
 pleasure in his legacy?
 
 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 199 
 
 "You will not play with this money?" she said, in a 
 low voice. 
 
 "It is no use my making a promise, especially to you, 
 that I might not be able to keep " 
 
 He got up, and stood looking down at her. 
 
 " But I promise that I will not waste or risk this money 
 if I can resist the temptation to do so." 
 - Sylvia smiled, though she felt more inclined to cry. 
 
 He seemed stung by her look. 
 
 " Do you wish me to give you my word of honour that 
 I will not risk any of this money at the tables?" he asked, 
 almost in a whisper. 
 
 Sylvia's heart began to beat. Count Paul had become 
 very pale. There was a curious expression on his face — 
 an expression of revolt, almost of anger. 
 
 "Do you exact it?" he repeated, almost violently. 
 
 And Sylvia faltered out, "Could you keep your word 
 if I did exact it?" 
 
 "Ah, you have learnt to know me too well!" 
 
 He walked away, leaving her full of perplexity and 
 pain. 
 
 A few moments passed. They seemed very long 
 moments to Sylvia Bailey. Then Count Paul turned and 
 came back. 
 
 He sat down, and made a great effort to behave as if 
 nothing unusual or memorable had passed between them. 
 
 "And has anything happened here?" he asked. "Is 
 there any news of your vanished friend?" 
 
 Sylvia shook her head gravely. The Polish woman's 
 odd, and, to her, inexplicable, conduct still hurt her al- 
 most as much as it had done at first.
 
 200 THE CHINK IN THE AmiOUR 
 
 • Tlie Count leant forward, and speaking this time very 
 seriously indeed, he said, in a low voice: — 
 
 " I wish to say something to you, and I am now going 
 to speak as frankly as if you were — my sister. You are 
 wrong to waste a moment of your time in regretting 
 Madame ^Yolsky. She is an unhappy woman, held 
 tightly in the paws of the tiger — Play. That is the truth, 
 my friend! It is a pity^you ever met her, and I am glad 
 she went away without doing you any further mischief. 
 It was bad enough of her to have brought you to Lac- 
 ville, and taught you to gamble. Had she stayed on, 
 she would have tried in time to make you go on with 
 her to Monte Carlo." 
 
 He shook his head expressively 
 
 Sylvia looked at him with surprise. He had never 
 spoken to her of Anna in this way before. She hesitated, 
 then said a little nervously, 
 
 "Tell me, did you ask Aladame Wolsky to go away? 
 Please don't mind my asking you this?" 
 
 "7 ask Madame Wolsky to go away?" he repeated, 
 genuinely surprised. " Such a thought never even crossed 
 my mind. It would have been very impertinent — what 
 English people would call 'cheeky' — of me to do such a 
 thing! You must indeed think me a hypocrite! Have 
 I not shared your surprise and concern at her extraor- 
 dinary disappearance? And her luggage? If I had 
 wished her to go away, I should not have encouraged her 
 to leave all her luggage behind her!" he spoke with the 
 sarcastic emphasis of which the French are masters. 
 
 Sylvia grew very red. 
 
 As a matter of fact, it had been Madame Wachner
 
 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 201 
 
 who had suggested that idea to her. Only the day be- 
 fore, when Sylvia had been wondering for the thousandth 
 time where Anna could be, the older woman had ex- 
 claimed meaningly, "I should not be surprised if that 
 Count de Virieu persuaded your friend to go away. He 
 wants the field clear for himself." 
 
 And then she had seemed to regret her imprudent 
 words, and she had begged Sylvia not to give the Count 
 p.ny hint of her suspicion. Even now Sylvia did not 
 mention Madame Wachner. 
 
 "Of course, I don't think you a hypocrite," she said 
 awkwardly, " but you never did like poor Anna, and you 
 were always telling me that Lacville isn't a place where 
 a nice woman ought to stay long. I thought you might 
 have said something of the same kind to Madame Wol- 
 sky." 
 
 "And do you really suppose," Count Paul spoke with 
 a touch of sharp irony in his voice, "that your friend 
 would have taken my advice? Do you think that Mad- 
 ame Wolsky would look either to the right or the left 
 when the Goddess of Chance beckoned?" — and he waved 
 his hand in the direction where the white Casino lay. 
 
 "But the Goddess of Chance did not beckon to her 
 to leave Lacville!" Sylvia exclaimed. "Why, she meant 
 to stay on here till the middle of September " 
 
 "You asked me a very indiscreet question just now" 
 — the Count leant forward, and looked straight into Mrs. 
 Bailey's eyes. 
 
 His manner had again altered. He spoke far more 
 authoritatively than he had ever spoken before, and 
 Sylvia, far from resenting this new, possessive attitude.
 
 202 THE CHINK IN THE AmiOUR 
 
 felt thrilled and glad. When Bill Chester spoke as if 
 he had authority over her, it always made her indignant, 
 even angry. 
 
 "Did I?" she said nervously. 
 
 " Yes ! You asked me if I had persuaded Madame 
 Wolsky to leave Lacville. Well, now I ask you, in my 
 turn, whether it has ever occurred to you that the Wach- 
 ners know more of your Polish friend's departure than 
 they admit? I gathered that impression the only time 
 I talked to your Madame Wachner about the matter. I 
 felt sure she knew more than she would say! Of course, 
 it was only an impression." 
 
 Sylvia hesitated. 
 
 "At first Madame Wachner seemed annoyed that I 
 made a fuss about it," she said thoughtfully. "But 
 later she seemed as surprised and sorry as I am myself. 
 Oh, no, Count, I am sure you are wrong — why you 
 forget that IMadame Wachner walked up to the Pension 
 Malfait that same evening — I mean the evening of the 
 day Anna left Lacville. In fact, it was Madame Wach- 
 ner who first found out that Anna had not come home. 
 She went up to her bed-room to look for her." 
 
 "Then it was Madame Wachner who found the letter?" 
 observed the Count interrogatively. 
 
 "Oh, no, it was not Madame W^achner who found it. 
 Anna's letter was discovered the next morning by the 
 chambermaid in a blotting-book on the writing table. 
 No one had thought of looking there. You see they 
 were all expecting her back that night. Madame Mal- 
 fait still thinks that poor Anna went to the Casino in the 
 afternoon, and after having lost her money came back to
 
 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 203 
 
 the pension, wrote the letter, and then went out and 
 left for Paris without saying anything about it to any- 
 one!" 
 
 "I suppose something of that sort did happen," ob- 
 served the Comte de Virieu thoughtfully. 
 
 "And now," he said, getting up from his chair, "I 
 think I will take a turn at the Casino after all!" 
 
 Sylvia's lip quivered, but she was too proud to appeal 
 to him to stay. Still, she felt horribly hurt. 
 
 "You see what I am like," he said, in a low, shamed 
 voice. "I wish you had made me give you my word of 
 honour." 
 
 She got up. It was cruel, very cruel, of him to say 
 that to her. How amazingly their relation to one 
 another had altered in the last half-hour! 
 
 For the moment they were enemies, and it was the 
 enemy in Sylvia that next spoke. "I think I shall go 
 and have tea with the Wachners. They never go to the 
 Casino on Saturday afternoons." 
 
 A heavy cloud came over Count Paul's face. 
 
 "I can't think what you see to like in that vulgar old 
 couple," he exclaimed irritably. "To me there is some- 
 thing" — he hesitated, seeking for an English word 
 which should exactly express the French word "louche" 
 — "sinister — that is the word I am looking for — there is 
 to me something sinister about the Wachners." 
 
 "Sinister?" echoed Sylvia, really surprised. "Why, 
 they seem to me to be the most good-natured, common- 
 place people in the world, and then they're so fond of 
 one another!" 
 
 "I grant you that," he said. "I quite agree that that
 
 204 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 
 
 Ugly old woman is very fond of her 'Ami Fritz' — but I 
 do not know if he returns the compliment!" 
 
 Sylvia looked pained, nay more, shocked. 
 
 " I suppose French husbands only like their wives when 
 they are young and pretty," she said slowly. 
 
 "Another of the many injustices you are always heap- 
 ing on my poor country," the Count protested lightly. 
 "But I confess I deserved it this time! Joking apart, I 
 think 'L'Ami Fritz' is very fond of his" — he hesitated, 
 then ended his sentence with "Old Dutch!" 
 
 Sylvia could not help smiling. 
 
 "It is too bad of you," she exclaimed, "to talk like 
 that! The Wachners are very nice people, and I won't 
 allow you to say anything against them!" 
 
 Somehow they were friends again. His next words 
 proved it. 
 
 "I will not say anji:hing against the Wachners this 
 afternoon. In fact, if you will allow me to do so, I will 
 escort you part of the way." 
 
 And he was even better than his word, for he went on 
 with Sylvia till they were actually within sight of the 
 little, isolated villa where the Wachners lived. 
 
 There, woman-like, she made an effort to persuade 
 him to go in with her, 
 
 "Do come," she said urgently. "Madame Wachner 
 would be so pleased ! She was saying the other day that 
 you had never been to their house." 
 
 But Count Paul smilingly shook his head. 
 
 " I have no intention of ever going there," he said de- 
 liberately. "You see I do not like them! I suppose — I 
 hope" — he looked again straight into Sylvia Bailey's in-
 
 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 205 
 
 genuous blue eyes — "that the Wachners have never 
 tried to borrow money of you?" 
 
 "Never!" she cried, blushing violently. "Never, 
 Count Paul ! Your dislike of my poor friends makes you 
 unjust — it really does." 
 
 "It does! It does! I beg their pardon and yours. I 
 was foolish, nay, far worse, indiscreet, to ask you this 
 question. I regret I did so. Accept my apology." 
 
 She looked at him to see if he was sincere. His face 
 was very grave; and she looked at him with perplexed, 
 unhappy eyes. 
 
 "Oh, don't say that!" she said. "Why should you 
 mind saying anything to me? " 
 
 But the Comte de Virieu was both vexed and angry 
 with himself. 
 
 "It is always folly to interfere in anyone else's affairs," 
 he muttered. "But I have this excuse — I happen to 
 know that last week, or rather ten days ago, the Wach- 
 ners were in considerable difficulty about money. Then 
 suddenly they seemed to have found plenty, in fact, to 
 be as we say here, 'd fioV; I confess that I foolishly 
 imagined, nay, I almost hoped, that they owed this 
 temporary prosperity to you! But of course I had no 
 business to think about it at all — still less any business to 
 speak to you about the matter. Forgive me, I will not 
 so err again." 
 
 And then, with one of his sudden, stiff bows, the 
 Comte de Virieu turned on his heel, leaving Sylvia to 
 make her way alone to the little wooden gate on which 
 were painted the words "Chalet des Muguets."
 
 CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 Sylvia pushed open the little white gate of the Chalet 
 des Muguets and began walking up the path which lay 
 through the neglected, untidy garden. 
 
 To eyes accustomed to the exquisitely-kept gardens 
 of an English country town, there was something almost 
 offensive in the sight presented by the high, coarse grass 
 and luxuriant unkemptness of the place, and once more 
 Sylvia wondered how the Wachners could bear to leave 
 the land surrounding their temporary home in such a 
 state. 
 
 But the quaint, fantastic-looking, one-storeyed chalet 
 amused and rather interested her, for it was so entirely 
 unlike any other dwelling with which she was acquainted. 
 
 To-day a deep, hot calm brooded over the silent house 
 and deserted-looking garden; the chocolate-coloured 
 shutters of the dining-room and the drawing-room were 
 closed, and Sylvia told herself that it would be delightful 
 to pass from the steamy heat outside into the dimly- 
 lighted, sparsely-furnished little "salon," there to have a 
 cup of tea and a pleasant chat with her friends before 
 accompanying them in the cool of the early evening to 
 the Casino. 
 
 Sylvia always enjoyed talking to Madame Wachner. 
 
 She was a little bit ashamed that this was so, for this 
 
 cosmopolitan woman's conversation was not always quite 
 
 refined, but she was good-natured and lively, and her 
 
 206
 
 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 207 
 
 talk was invariably amusing. Above all, she knew how 
 to flatter, and after a chat with Madame Wachner Sylvia 
 Bailey always felt pleased both with herself and with the 
 world about her. 
 
 There was very little concerning the young English- 
 woman's simple, uneventful life with which Madame 
 Wachner was not by now acquainted. She was aware 
 for instance, that Sylvia had no close relations of her 
 own, and that, like Anna Wolsky, Mrs. Bailey knew no- 
 body — she had not even an acquaintance — living in Paris. 
 
 This fact had enlisted to a special degree Madame 
 Wachner's interest and liking for the two young widows. 
 
 Sylvia rang the primitive bell which hung by the door 
 which alone gave access, apart from the windows, to the 
 Chalet des Muguets. 
 
 After some moments the day-servant employed by 
 Madame Wachner opened the door with the curt words, 
 "Monsieur and Madame are in Paris." The woman 
 added, in a rather insolent tone, "They have gone to 
 fetch some money," and her manner said plainly enough, 
 "Yes, my master and mistress — silly fools — have lost 
 their money at the Casino, and now they are gone to get 
 fresh supplies!" 
 
 Sylvia felt vexed and disappointed. After what had 
 been to her a very exciting, agitating conversation with 
 Count Paul, she had unconsciously longed for the cheer- 
 ful, commonplace talk of Madame Wachner. 
 
 As she stood there in the bright sunlight the thought 
 of the long, lonely, hot walk back to the Villa du Lac 
 became odious to her. 
 
 Why should she not go into the house and rest awhile?
 
 208 THE CniXK IN THE ARMOUR 
 
 The more so that the Wachners would almost certainly 
 return home very soon. They disliked Paris, and never 
 stayed more than a couple of hours on their occasional 
 visits there. 
 
 In her careful, rather precise French, she told the 
 servant she would come in and wait. 
 
 "I am sure that Madame Wachner would wish me to 
 do so," she said, smiling; and after a rather ungracious 
 pause the woman admitted her into the house, leading 
 the way into the darkened dining-room. 
 
 " Do you think it will be long before ]Madame Wachner 
 comes back?" asked Sylvia. 
 
 The woman hesitated — "I cannot tell you that," she 
 mumbled. ''They never say when they are going, or 
 when they will be back. They are very odd people!" 
 
 She bustled out of the room for a few moments and 
 then came back, holding a big cotton parasol in her hand. 
 
 " I do not know if Madame washes to stay on here by 
 herself? As for me, I must go now, for my work is done. 
 Perhaps when Madame leaves the house she will put the 
 key under the mat." 
 
 "Yes, if I leave the house before my friends return 
 home I will certainly do so. But I expect Madame 
 Wachner will be here before long." 
 
 Sylvia spoke shortly. She did not like the day- 
 servant's independent, almost rude way of speaking. 
 
 " Should the master and mistress come back before 
 Madame has left, will Madame kindly explain that she 
 insisted on coming into the house? I am absolutely for- 
 bidden to admit visitors unless Madame Wachner is here 
 to entertain them."
 
 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 209 
 
 The woman spoke quickly, her eyes fixed expectantly 
 on the lady sitting before her. 
 
 Mrs. Bailey suddenly realised, or thought she realised, 
 what that look meant. She took her purse out of her 
 pocket and held out a two-franc piece. 
 
 "Certainly," she answered coldly, "I will explain to 
 Madame Wachner that I insisted on coming in to rest." 
 
 The woman's manner altered; it became at once 
 familiar and servile. After profusely thanking Sylvia for 
 her "tip," she laid the cotton parasol on the dining-table, 
 put her arms akimbo, and suddenly asked, " Has Madame 
 heard any news of her friend? I mean of the Polish 
 lady?" 
 
 "No," Sylvia looked up surprised. "I'm sorry to say 
 that there is still no news of her, but, of course, there will 
 be soon." 
 
 She w^as astonished that the Wachners should have 
 mentioned the matter to this disagreeable, inquisitive 
 person. 
 
 "The lady stopped here on her way to the station. 
 She seemed in very high spirits." 
 
 " Oh, no, you are quite mistaken," said Sylvia quickly. 
 "Madame Wolsky did not come here at all the day she 
 left Lacville. She was expected, both to tea and to 
 supper, but she did not arrive " 
 
 "Indeed, yes, Madame! I had to come back that 
 afternoon, for I had forgotten to bring in some sugar. 
 The lady was here then, and she was still here when I 
 left the house." 
 
 "I assure you that this cannot have been on the day 
 my friend left Lacville," said Mrs. Bailey quickly. " Mad-
 
 210 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 
 
 ame Wolsky left on a Saturday afternoon. As I told 
 you just now, ]\Iadame Wachner expected her to supper, 
 but she never came. She went to Paris instead." 
 
 The servant looked at her fixedly, and Sylvia's face 
 became what it seldom was — very forbidding in expres- 
 sion. She wished this meddUng, familiar w^oman would 
 go away and leave her alone. 
 
 "No doubt Madame knows best! One day is like 
 another to me. I beg Madame's pardon." 
 
 The Frenchwoman took up her parasol and laid the 
 house key on the table, then, wnth a " Bon jour, Madame, 
 et encore merci bien!" she noisily closed the door behind 
 her. 
 
 A moment later, Sylvia, with a sense of relief, found 
 herself in sole possession of the Chalet des Muguets. 
 
 Even the quietest, the most commonplace house has, 
 as it were, an individuality that sets it apart from other 
 houses. And even those who would deny that proposi- 
 tion must admit that every inhabited dwelling has its 
 own special nationality. 
 
 The Chalet des INIuguets was tj-pically French and 
 typically suburban; but where it differed from thousands 
 of houses of the same type, dotted round in the country- 
 sides within easy reach of Paris, was that it was let each 
 year to a different set of tenants. 
 
 In Sylvia Bailey's eyes the queer little place lacked all 
 the elements which go to make a home; and, sitting there, 
 in that airless, darkened dining-room, she wondered, not 
 for the first time, why the Wachners chose to live in such 
 a comfortless way.
 
 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 211 
 
 She glanced round her with distaste. Everything was 
 not only cheap, but common and tawdry. Still, the 
 dining-room, like all the other rooms in the chalet, was 
 singularly clean, and almost oppressively neat. 
 
 There was the round table at which she and Anna 
 Wolsky had been so kindly entertained, the ugly buffet 
 or sideboard, and in place of the dull parquet floor she 
 remembered on her first visit lay an ugly piece of lin- 
 oleum, of which the pattern printed on the surface 
 simulated a red and blue marble pavement. 
 
 Once more the change puzzled her, perhaps unreason- 
 ably. 
 
 At last Sylvia got up from the hard cane chair on 
 which she had been sitting. 
 
 There had come over her, in the half-darkness, a very 
 peculiar sensation — an odd feeling that there was some- 
 thing alive in the room. She looked down, half expect- 
 ing to see some small animal crouching under the table, 
 or hiding by the walnut-wood buffet behind her. 
 
 But, no; nothing but the round table, and the six 
 chairs stiflBy placed against the wall, met her eyes. And 
 yet, still that feeling that there was in the room some 
 sentient creature besides herself persisted. 
 
 She opened the door giving into the hall, and walked 
 through the short passage which divided the house into 
 two portions, into the tiny "salon." 
 
 Here also the closed shutters gave the room a curious, 
 eerie look of desolate greyness. But Sylvia's eyes, al- 
 ready accustomed to the half-darkness next door, saw 
 everything perfectly. 
 '^ The little sitting-room looked mean and shabby. There
 
 212 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 
 
 was not a flower, not even a book or a paper, to relieve 
 its prim ugliness. The only ornaments were a gilt clock 
 on the mantelpiece, flanked with two sham Empire can- 
 delabra. The shutters were fastened closely, and the 
 room was dreadfully hot and airless. 
 
 Once more Sylvia wondered why the Wachners pre- 
 ferred to live in this cheerless way, with a servant who 
 only came for a few hours each day, rather than at an 
 hotel or boarding-house. 
 
 And then she reminded herself that, after all, the 
 silent, gaunt man, and his talkative, voluble wife, seemed 
 to be on exceptionally good terms the one with the other. 
 Perhaps they really preferred being alone together than 
 in a more peopled atmosphere. 
 
 While moving aimlessly about the room, Sylvia began 
 to feel unaccountably nervous and oppressed. She 
 longed to be away from this still, empty house, and yet 
 it seemed absurd to leave just as the Wachners would 
 be returning home. 
 
 After a few more minutes, however, the quietude, and 
 the having absolutely nothing to do with which to wile 
 away the time, affected Sylvia's nerves. 
 
 It was, after all, quite possible that the Wachners 
 intended to wait in Paris till the heat of the day was 
 over. In that case they would not be back till seven 
 o'clock. 
 
 The best thing she could do would be to leave a note 
 inviting Madame Wachner and L'Ami Fritz to dinner at 
 the Villa du Lac. Count Paul was to be in Paris this 
 evening, so his eyes would not be oft'ended by the sight 
 of the people of whom he so disapproved. INItidame
 
 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 213 
 
 Wachner would probably be glad to dine out, the more 
 so that no proper meal seemed to have been prepared by 
 that unpleasant day-servant. Why, the woman had not 
 even laid the cloth for her employers' supper! 
 
 Sylvia looked instinctively round for paper and en- 
 velopes, but there was no writing-table, not even a 
 pencil and paper, in the little drawing-room. How absurd 
 and annoying! 
 
 But, stay — somewhere in the house there must be 
 writing materials. 
 
 Treading softly, and yet hearing her footsteps echoing 
 with unpleasant loudness through the empty house, 
 Sylvia Bailey walked past the open door of the little 
 kitchen, and so to the end of the passage. 
 
 Then something extraordinary happened. 
 
 While in the act of opening the door of INIadame 
 Wachner's bed-room, the young Englishwoman stopped 
 and caught her breath. Again she had suddenly experi- 
 enced that unpleasant, eerie sensation — the sensation that 
 she was not alone. But this time the feeling was far more 
 vivid than it had been in the dining-room. 
 
 So strong, so definite was Sylvia's perception of another 
 presence, and this time of a human presence, in the still 
 house, that she turned sharply round 
 
 But all she saw was the empty passage, cut by a shaft 
 of light thrown from the open door of the kitchen, stretch- 
 ing its short length down to the entrance hall. 
 
 Making a determined effort over what she could but 
 suppose to be her nerves, she walked through into the 
 Wachners' bed-room. 
 
 It was very bare and singularly poorly furnished, at
 
 214 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 
 
 least to English eyes, but it was pleasantly cool after the 
 drawing-room. 
 
 She walked across to the window, and, drawing aside 
 the muslin curtains, looked out. 
 
 Beyond the patch of shade thrown by the house the 
 sun beat down on a ragged, unkempt lawn, but across 
 the lawn she noticed, much more particularly than she 
 had done on the two former occasions when she had been 
 in the house, that there lay a thick grove of chestnut 
 trees just beyond the grounds of the Chalet des Muguets. 
 
 A hedge separated the lawn from the wood, but like 
 everything else in the little property it had been neglected, 
 and there were large gaps in it. 
 
 She turned away from the window 
 
 Yes, there, at last, was what she had come into this 
 room to seek! Close to the broad, low bed was a writing- 
 table, or, rather, a deal table, covered with a turkey red 
 cloth, on which lay a large sheet of ink-stained, white 
 blotting-paper. 
 
 Flanking the blotting-paper was a pile of Monsieur 
 Wachner's little red books — the books in which he so 
 carefully noted the turns of the game at the Casino, and 
 which served him as the basis of his elaborate gambling 
 "systems." 
 
 Sylvia went up to the writing-table, and, bending over 
 it, began looking for some note-paper. But there was 
 nothing of the sort to be seen; neither paper nor envelopes 
 lay on the table. 
 
 This was the more absurd, as there were several pens, 
 and an inkpot filled to the brim. 
 
 She told herself that the only thing to do was to tear
 
 THE CHINK IN THE AKMOUR 215 
 
 a blank leaf out of one of L'Ami Fritz's note-books, and 
 on it write her message of invitation. If she left the 
 little sheet of paper propped up on the dining-table, the 
 Wachners would be sure to see it. 
 
 She took up the newest-looking of the red note-books, 
 and as she opened it she suddenly felt, and for the third 
 time, that there was a living presence close to her — and 
 this time that it was that of Anna Wolsky! 
 
 It was an extraordinary sensation — vivid, uncanny, 
 terrifying — the more so that Sylvia Bailey not only be- 
 lieved herself to be alone in the house, but supposed Anna 
 to be far from Lacville. . . . 
 
 Fortunately, this unnerving and terrifying impression 
 of an unseen and yet real presence did not endure; and, 
 as she focussed her eyes on the open book she held in her 
 hand, it became fainter and fainter, while she realised, 
 with a keen sense of relief, what it was that had brought 
 the presence of her absent friend so very near to her. 
 
 There, actually lying open before her, between two 
 leaves of the little note-book, was a letter signed by 
 Anna Wolsky! It was a short note, in French, appar- 
 ently an answer to one Madame Wachner had sent re- 
 minding her of her engagement. It was odd that the 
 Wachners had said nothing of this note, for it made 
 Anna's conduct seem stranger than ever. 
 
 Opposite the page on which lay the little letter. Mon- 
 sieur Wachner had amused himself by trying to imitate 
 Anna's angular handwriting. 
 
 Sylvia tore out one of the blank pages, and then she 
 put the note-book and its enclosure back on the table. 
 She felt vaguely touched by the fact that the Wachners
 
 216 THE CHINK IN THE AIUIOUR 
 
 had kept her friend's last letter; they alone, so she re- 
 minded herself, had been really sorry and concerned at 
 Anna's sudden departure from the place. They also, 
 like Sylvia herself, had been pained that Madame Wol- 
 sky had not cared to say good-bye to them. 
 
 She scribbled a few lines on the scrap of paper, and 
 then, quickly making her way to the dining-room, she 
 placed her unconventional invitation on the round table, 
 and went out into the hall. 
 
 As she opened the front door of the Chalet des Muguets 
 Sylvia was met by a blast of hot air. She looked out 
 dubiously. She was thoroughly unnerved — as she ex- 
 pressed it to herself, "upset." Feeling as she now felt, 
 walking back through the heat would be intolerable. 
 
 For the first time Lacville became utterly distasteful 
 to Sylvia Bailey. She asked herself, with a kind of sur- 
 prise, of self-rebuke, why she was there — away from her 
 own country and her own people? With a choking sen- 
 sation in her throat she told herself that it would be very 
 comfortable to see once more tlie tall, broad figure of 
 Bill Chester, and to hear his good, gruff Enghsh voice 
 again. 
 
 She stepped out of the house, and put up her white 
 parasol. 
 
 It was still dreadfully hot, but to the left, across the 
 lawn, lay the cool depths of the chestnut wood. Why 
 not go over there and rest in the shade? 
 
 Hurrying across the scorched grass to the place wherfe 
 there was an opening in the rough hedge, she found her- 
 self, a moment later, plunged in the grateful green twi- 
 light created by high trees.
 
 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 217 
 
 It was delightfully quiet and still in the wood, and 
 Sylvia wondered vaguely why the Wachners never took 
 their tea out there. But foreigners are very law-abiding, 
 or so she supposed, and the wood, if a piece of no-man's 
 land, was for sale. Up a path she could see the back of 
 a large board. 
 
 It was clear that this pretty bit of woodland would 
 have been turned into villa plots long ago had it been 
 nearer to a road. But it was still a stretch of primeval 
 forest. Here and there, amid the tufts of grass, lay the 
 husks of last autumn's chestnuts. 
 
 Sylvia slowly followed the little zigzag way which cut 
 across the wood, and then, desiring to sit down for awhile, 
 she struck off to the right, towards a spot where she saw 
 that the brambles and the undergrowth had been cleared 
 away. 
 
 Even here, where in summer the sun never penetrated, 
 the tufts of coarse grass were dried up by the heat. She 
 glanced down; no, there was no fear that the hard, dry 
 ground would stain her pretty cotton frock. 
 
 And then, as she sat there, Sylvia gradually became 
 aware that close to her, where the undergrowth began 
 again, the earth had recently been disturbed. Over an 
 irregular patch of about a yard square the sods had been 
 dug up, and then planted again. 
 
 The thought passed through her mind that children 
 must have been playing there, and that they had made 
 a rude attempt to destroy their handiwork, or rather to 
 prevent its being noticed, by placing the branch of a tree 
 across the little plot of ground where the earth had been 
 disturbed. It was this broken branch, of which the
 
 218 THE CHINK IN THE ARJMOUR 
 
 leaves had shrivelled up, that had first drawn her attem 
 tion to the fact that someone must have been there, and 
 recentlv. 
 
 Her thoughts wandered off to Bill Chester. He was 
 now actually journeying towards her as fast as boat and 
 train could bring him; in a couple of hours he would be 
 in Paris, and then, perhaps, he would come out to Lac- 
 ville in time for dinner. 
 
 Sylvia had not been able to get a room for him in the 
 Villa du Lac, but she had engaged one in the Pension 
 Malfait — where she had been able to secure the apart- 
 ment which had been occupied by Anna Wolsky, whose 
 things had only just been moved out of it. 
 
 She could not help being sorry that Bill would see 
 Lacville for the first time on a Sunday. She feared thatj 
 to his English eyes, the place, especially on that day^ 
 would present a peculiarly— well, disreputable appear- 
 ance ! 
 
 Sylvia felt jealous for the good fame of Lacville. Out 
 in the open air her spirits had recovered their balance; 
 she told herself that she had been very happy here— 
 singularly, extraordinarily happy. . . . 
 
 Of course it was a pity when people lost more money 
 than they could afford at the Casino; but even in Eng- 
 land people betted— the poor, so she had been told, 
 risked all their spare pence on horse racing, and the 
 others, those who could afford it, went to Monte Carlo, 
 or stayed at home and played bridge 1 
 
 After all, where was the difference? But, of course. 
 Bill Chester, with his tiresome, old-fashioned views of 
 life, would think there was a great difference; he would
 
 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 219 
 
 certainly disapprove of the way she was now spending 
 her money. . . . 
 
 Something told her, and the thought was not wholly 
 unpleasing to her, that Bill Chester and the Comte de 
 Virieu would not get on well together. She wondered if 
 Count Paul had ever been jealous — if he were capable of 
 jealousy? It would be rather interesting to see if any- 
 thing or anyone could make him so I 
 
 And then her mind travelled on, far, far away, to a 
 picture with which she had been familiar from her girl- 
 hood, for it hung in the drawing-room of one of her 
 father's friends at Market Bailing. It was called "The 
 Gambler's Wife." She had always thought it a very 
 pretty and pathetic picture; but she no longer thought 
 it so; in fact, it now appeared to her to be a ridiculous 
 travesty of life. Gamblers were just like other people, 
 neither better nor worse — and often infinitely more lov- 
 able than were some other people. . . . 
 
 At last Sylvia got up, and slowly made her way out of 
 the wood. She did not go back through the Wachners' 
 garden; instead, she struck off to the left, on to a field 
 path, which finally brought her to the main road. 
 
 As she was passing the Pension Malfait the landlady 
 came out to the gate. 
 
 "Madame!" she cried out loudly, "I have had news 
 of Madame Wolsky at last! Early this afternoon I had 
 a telegram from her asking me to send her luggage to 
 the cloak-room of the Gare du Nord." 
 
 Sylvia felt very glad — glad, and yet once more, per- 
 haps unreasonably, hurt. Then Anna had been in Paris 
 all the time? How odd, how really unkind of her not
 
 220 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 
 
 to have written and relieved the anxiety which she must 
 have known her Enghsh friend would be feeling about 
 her I 
 
 "I have had Madame Wolsky's room beautifully pre- 
 pared for the English gentleman," went on Madame 
 INIalfait amiably. She was pleased that Mrs. Bailey was 
 giving her a new guest, and it also amused her to observe 
 what prudes Englishwomen could be. 
 
 Fancy putting a man who had come all the way from 
 England to see one, in a pension situated at the other 
 end of the town to where one was living oneself!
 
 CHAPTER XIX 
 
 William Chester, solicitor, and respected citizen of 
 Market Bailing, felt rather taken aback and bewildered 
 as he joined the great stream of people who were pouring 
 out of the large suburban station of Lacville. 
 
 He had only arrived in Paris two hours before, and 
 after a hasty dinner at the Gare du Nord he had made 
 inquiries as to his best way of reaching Lacville. And 
 then he was told, to his surprise, that from the very 
 station in which he found himself trains started every 
 few minutes to the spot for which he was bound. 
 
 "To-night," added the man of whom he had inquired, 
 "there is a fine f^te at Lacville, including fireworks on 
 the lake!" 
 
 Chester had imagined Sylvia to be staying in a quiet 
 village or little country town. That was the impression 
 her brief letters to him had conveyed, and he was aston- 
 ished to hear that Lacville maintained so large and con- 
 stant a train service. ' 
 
 Sylvia had written that she would engage a room for 
 him at the boarding-house where she was staying; and 
 Chester, who was very tired after his long, hot journey, 
 looked forward to a pleasant little chat with her, followed 
 by a good night's rest. 
 
 It was nine o'clock when he got into the Lacville train, 
 and again he was vaguely surprised to see what a large 
 number of people were bound for the place. It was clear 
 
 221
 
 222 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 
 
 that something special must be going on there to-night, 
 and that "the fireworks on the lake" must be on a very 
 splendid scale. 
 
 When he arrived at Lacville, he joined the great throng 
 of people, who were laughing and talking, each and all in 
 holiday mood, and hailed an open carriage outside the 
 station. "To the Villa du Lac!" he cried. 
 
 The cab could only move slowly through the crowd of 
 walkers, and when it finally emerged out of the narrow 
 streets of the town it stopped a moment, as if the driver 
 wished his English fare to gaze at the beautiful panorama 
 spread out before his eyes. 
 
 Dotted over the lake, large and mysterious in the star- 
 lit night, floated innumerable tiny crafts, each gaily hung 
 with a string of coloured lanterns. Now and again a 
 red and blue rocket streamed up with a hiss, dissolving in 
 a shower of stars reflected in the still water. 
 [ Down to the right a huge building, with towers and 
 minarets flung up against the sky, was outlined in twink- 
 ling lights. 
 
 The cab moved on, only for a few yards however, and 
 then drove quickly through high gates, and stopped with 
 a jerk in front of a stone staircase. 
 
 "It cannot be here," said Chester incredulously to 
 himself. " This looks more like a fine private house than 
 a small country hotel." 
 
 "Villa du Lac?" he asked interrogatively, and the cab- 
 man said, "Oui, M'sieur." 
 
 The Englishman got out of the cab, and ascending the 
 stone steps, rang the bell. The door opened, and a neat 
 young woman stood before him.
 
 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 223 
 
 "I am come to see Mrs. Bailey," he said in his slow, 
 hesitating French. 
 
 There came a torrent of words, of smiles and nods — 
 it seemed to Chester of excuses — in which "Madame 
 Bailey" frequently occurred. 
 
 He shook his head, helplessly. 
 
 "I will call my uncle!" 
 
 The maid turned away; and Chester, with an agree- 
 able feeling of relief that at last his journey was ended, 
 took his bag off the cab, and dismissed the man. 
 
 What a delightful, spacious house! Sylvia had not 
 been so very foolish after all. 
 
 M. Polperro came forward, bowing and smiling. 
 
 "M'sieur is the gentleman Madame Bailey has been 
 expecting?" he said, rubbing his hands. "Oh, how sad 
 she will be that she has already gone to the Casino ! But 
 Madame did wait for M'sieur till half-past nine; then 
 she concluded that he must mean to spend the night in 
 Paris." 
 
 "Do you mean that INIrs. Bailey has gone out?" asked 
 Chester, surprised and disappointed. 
 
 "Yes, M'sieur. Madame has gone out, as she always 
 does in the evening, to the Casino. It is, as ]M'sieur 
 doubtless knows, the great attraction of our delightful 
 and salubrious Lacville." 
 
 Chester had not much sense of humour, but he could 
 not help smiling to himself at the other's pompous words. 
 
 "Perhaps you will kindly show me to the room which 
 Mrs. Bailey has engaged for me," he said, "and then I 
 will go out and try and find her." 
 
 M. Polperro burst into a torrent of agitated apologies.
 
 224 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 
 
 There was alas! no room for Madame Bailey's friend — 
 in fact the Villa du Lac was so extraordinarily prosperous 
 that there never was a room there from ]\Iay till October, 
 unless one of the guests left unexpectedly ! 
 
 But Mr. Chester — was not that his name? — must not 
 be cast down, for Mrs. Bailey had secured a beautiful 
 room for him in another pension, a very inferior pension 
 to the Villa du Lac, but still one in which he would be 
 comfortable. 
 
 Chester now felt annoyed, and showed it. The 
 thought of turning out again was not a pleasant one. 
 
 But what was this funny little Frenchman saying? 
 
 "Oh, if M'sieur had only arrived an hour ago! Mad- 
 ame Bailey was so terribly disappointed not to see M'sieur 
 at dinner! A very nice special dinner was prepared, 
 cooked by myself, in honour of IMadame Bailey's little 
 party." 
 
 And he w^ent on to tell Chester, who was getting be- 
 wildered with the quick, eager talk, that this special 
 dinner had been served at eight o'clock, and that Mad- 
 ame Bailey had entertained two friends that evening. 
 
 "You say that Mrs. Bailey is at the Casino?'* 
 
 "Mais oui, M'sieur!" 
 
 It had never occurred to Chester that there would be 
 a Casino in the place where Sylvia was spending the 
 summer. But then everything at Lacville, including the 
 Villa du Lac, was utterly unlike what the English lawyer 
 had expected it to be. 
 
 M. Polperro spread out his hands with an eloquent 
 gesture. "I beg of M'sieur," he said, "to allow me to 
 conduct him to the Casino! Madame Bailey will not be
 
 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 225 
 
 here for some time, not perhaps for one hour, perhaps 
 for two hours. I will have the luggage sent on to the 
 Pension Malfait." 
 
 Strange — very strange! At home in Market Bailing 
 Sylvia had always been fond of going to bed quite early; 
 yet now, according to the hotel-keeper, she was perhaps 
 going to stay out till one o'clock — till one o'clock on 
 Sunday morning! 
 
 M. Polperro led Chester into the stately, long drawing- 
 room; but in a very few moments he reappeared, having 
 taken off his white apron and his chef's cap, and put on 
 a light grey alpaca coat and a soft hat. 
 
 As they hurried along the path which skirts the lake, 
 Chester began to feel the charm of the place. It was 
 very gay and delightful — "very French," so the English 
 lawyer told himself. The lake, too, looked beautiful — 
 mysteriously beautiful and fairy-like, in the moonlight. 
 
 Soon they turned into a narrow dark lane. 
 
 "This is not a grand entrance to our beautiful Casino," 
 said M. Polperro, ruefully, "but no matter, it is lovely 
 once you get inside!" and he chuckled happily. 
 
 When in front of the great glass doors, he touched 
 Chester on the arm. 
 
 "I wonder whether M'sieur would care to become a 
 member of the Club," he said in a low voice. "I do not 
 press M'sieur to do so! But you see, both Madame 
 Bailey and her friends are members of the Club, and it 
 is almost certain that it is there we shall find them. I 
 fear it is no use our going to the Placing Rooms down- 
 stairs." 
 
 The Playing Rooms? Sylvia a member of a club?
 
 226 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 
 
 And — for Chester's quick, legal mind had leapt on the 
 fact — of a gambling club? 
 
 No, that was incredible, 
 
 "I think there must be some mistake," he said dis- 
 tantly. "I do not think that Mrs. Bailey is a member 
 of a club." 
 
 M. Polperro looked very much surprised. 
 
 "Oh, yes, indeed she is," he answered confidently. "It 
 is only the quite common people who content themselves, 
 M'sieur, with risking a franc and playing the little games. 
 But just as M'sieur likes — " he shrugged his shoulders. 
 "I do not press M'sieur to become a member of the 
 Club." 
 
 Without answering, Chester paid the couple of francs 
 admission for himself and his companion, and they 
 walked slowly through the lower rooms, threading their 
 way through the crowd. 
 
 "You see, M'sieur, I was right! Madame Bailey is in 
 the Club!" 
 
 "Very well. Let us go to the Club," said Chester, 
 impatiently. 
 
 He was beginning, or so he thought, to understand. 
 The Club was evidently a quiet, select part of the Casino, 
 with a reading room and so on. Sylvia had probably 
 made friends with some French people in her hotel, and 
 they had persuaded her to join the Club. 
 
 He was beginning to throw off his tiredness; the un- 
 accustomed atmosphere in which he found himself amused 
 and interested, even if it rather shocked him. 
 
 Ten minutes later he also, thanks to the kind oflBces 
 of M. Polperro, and by the payment of twenty francs.
 
 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 227 
 
 found himself a member of the Club; free of that inner 
 sanctuary where the devotees of the fickle goddess play 
 with gold instead of silver; and where, as even Chester 
 could see, the people who stood round the table, risking 
 with quiet, calculating eyes their twenty-franc pieces and 
 bank-notes, were of a very different social standing from 
 the merry, careless crowd downstairs. 
 
 In the Baccarat Room most of the men were in even- 
 ing clothes, and the women with them, if to Chester's 
 eyes by no means desirable or reputable-looking com- 
 panions, were young, pretty, and beautifully dressed. 
 
 Still, the English lawyer felt a thrill of disgust at the 
 thought that Sylvia Bailey could possibly be part of such 
 a company. 
 
 Baccarat was being played at both tables, but the 
 crowd of players centred rather round one than the other, 
 as is almost always the way. 
 
 M. Polperro touched his companion on the arm. " And 
 now, M'sieur," he said briefly, "I will with your per- 
 mission depart home. I think you will find INIadame 
 Bailey at that further table." 
 
 Chester shook the owTier of the Villa du Lac cordially 
 by the hand. The little man had been really kind and 
 helpful. It was a pity there was no vacant room in his 
 hotel. 
 
 He made his way to the further table, and gradually 
 reached a point of vantage where he could see those of 
 the players who were seated round the green cloth. 
 
 As is generally the case when really high play is going 
 on, the people who were playing, as also those watching 
 them, were curiously quiet.
 
 22S THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 
 
 And then, with a shock of surprise which sent the 
 blood to his cheeks, Chester suddenly saw that Sylvia 
 Bailey was sitting nearly opposite to where he himself 
 was standing. 
 
 There are certain scenes, certain human groupings of 
 individuals, which remain fixed for ever against the 
 screen of memory. Bill Chester will never forget the 
 sight which was presented to him in the Lacville Casino 
 by the particular group on which his tired eyes became 
 focussed with growing amazement and attention. 
 
 Sylvia was sitting at the baccarat table next to the 
 man who was acting as Banker. She was evidently ab- 
 sorbed in the fortunes of the game, and she followed the 
 slow falling of the fateful cards with rather feverish in- 
 tentness. 
 
 Her small gloved hands rested on the table, one of 
 them loosely holding a tiny ivory rake; and on a bank- 
 note spread open on the green cloth before her were two 
 neat piles of gold, the one composed of twenty-franc, the 
 other of ten-franc pieces. 
 
 Chester, with a strange feeling of fear and anger clutch- 
 ing at his heart, told himself that he had never seen 
 Sylvia look as she looked to-night. She was more than 
 pretty — she was lovely, and above all, alive — vividly 
 alive. There was a bright colour on her cheek, and a 
 soft light shining in her eyes. 
 
 The row of pearls which had occasioned the only seri- 
 ous difference which had ever arisen between them, rose 
 and fell softly on the bosom of her black lace dress. 
 
 Chester also gradually became aware that his beauti- 
 ful friend and client formed a centre of attraction to
 
 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUK 229 
 
 those standing round the gambhng-table. Both the men 
 and the women stared at her, some enviously, but more 
 with kindly admiration, for beauty is sure of its tribute 
 in any French audience, and Sylvia Bailey to-night 
 looked radiantly lovely — lovely and yet surely unhappy 
 and ill-at-ease. 
 
 Well might she look both in such a place and among 
 such a crew! So the English lawyer angrily told himself. 
 
 Now and again she turned and spoke in an eager, in- 
 timate fashion to a man sitting next her on her left. 
 This man, oddly enough, was not playing. 
 
 Sylvia Bailey's companion was obviously a French- 
 man, or so Chester felt sure, for now he found himself 
 concentrating his attention on Mrs. Bailey's neighbour 
 rather than on her. This man, to whom she kept turn- 
 ing and speaking in a low, earnest tone, was slim and 
 fair, and what could be seen of his evening clothes fitted 
 scrupulously well. The Englishman, looking at him with 
 alien, jealous eyes, decided within himself that the 
 Frenchman with whom Sylvia seemed to be on such 
 friendly terms, was a foppish-looking fellow, not at all 
 the sort of man she ought to have "picked up" on her 
 travels. 
 
 Suddenly Sylvia raised her head, throwing it back 
 with a graceful gesture, and Chester's eyes travelled on 
 to the person who was standing just behind her, and to 
 whom she had now begun speaking with smiling anima- 
 tion. 
 
 This was a woman — short, stout, and swarthy — 
 dressed in a bright purple gown, and wearing a pale 
 blue bonnet which was singularly unbecoming to her red.
 
 230 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 
 
 massive face. Chester rather wondered that such an 
 odd, and yes — such a respectable-looking person could 
 be a member of this gambling club. She reminded him 
 of the stout old housekeeper in a big English country 
 house near Market Bailing. 
 
 Sylvia seemed also to include in her talk a man who 
 was standing next the fat woman. He was tall and 
 lanky, absurdly and unsuitably dressed, to the English 
 onlooker, in a white alpaca suit and a shabby Panama 
 hat. In his hand he held a little book, in which he noted 
 down every turn of the game, and it was clear to Chester 
 that, though he listened to IMrs. Bailey with civility, he 
 was quite uninterested in what she was saying. 
 
 Very different was the attitude of the woman; she 
 seemed absorbed in Sylvia's remarks, and she leant for- 
 ward familiarly, throwing all her weight on the back of 
 the chair on which Mrs. Bailey was sitting. Sometimes 
 as she spoke she smiled in a way that showed her large, 
 strong teeth. 
 
 Chester thought them both odd, common-looking 
 people. He was surprised that Sylvia knew them — nay 
 more, that she seemed on such friendly terms with them; 
 and he noticed that the Frenchman sitting next to her 
 — the dandyish-looking fellow to whom she had been 
 talking just now — took no part at all in her present con- 
 versation. Once, indeed, he looked up and frowned, as 
 if the chatter going on between Mrs. Bailey and her fat 
 friend fretted and disturbed him. 
 
 Play had again begun in earnest, and Sylvia turned 
 her attention to the table. Her neighbour whispered 
 something which at once caused her to take up two
 
 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 231 
 
 napoleons and a ten-franc piece from the pile of gold in 
 front of her. Very deliberately she placed the coins 
 within the ruled-off space reserved for the stakes. 
 
 Bill Chester, staring across at her, felt as if he were in 
 a nightmare — gazing at something which was not real, 
 and which would vanish if looked at long enough. 
 
 Could that lovely young woman, who sat there, look- 
 ing so much at home, with the little rake in her hand be 
 Sylvia Bailey, the quiet young widow whose perfect pro- 
 priety of conduct had always earned the praise of those 
 matrons of Market Bailing, whom Chester's own giddier 
 sisters called by the irreverent name of "old cats"? It 
 was fortunate that none of these respectable ladies could 
 see Sylvia now^! 
 
 To those who regard gambling as justifiable, provided 
 the gambler's means allow of it, even to those who 
 habitually see women indulging in games of chance, there 
 will, of course, be something absurd in the point of view 
 of the solicitor. But to such a man as Bill Chester, the 
 sight of the woman for whom he had always felt a very 
 sincere respect, as well as a far more enduring and jealous 
 affection than he quite realised, sitting there at a public 
 gaming table, was a staggering — nay, a disgusting — 
 spectacle. 
 
 He reminded himself angrily that Sylvia had a good 
 income — so good an income that she very seldom spent 
 it all in the course of any one year. Why, therefore, 
 should she wish to increase it? 
 
 Above all, how could she bear to mingle with this 
 queer, horrid crowd? Why should she allow herself to 
 be contaminated by breathing the same air as some of
 
 232 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 
 
 the women who were there round her? She and the 
 stout, middle-aged person standing behind her were 
 probably the only "respectable" women in the Club. 
 
 And then, it was all so deliberate! Chester had once 
 seen a man whom he greatly respected drunk, and the 
 sight had ever remained with him. But, after all, a man 
 may get drunk by accident — nay, it may almost be said 
 that a man always gets drunk by accident. But, in this 
 matter of risking her money at the baccarat table, Sylvia 
 Bailey knew very well what she was about. 
 
 With a thrill of genuine distress the lawyer asked him- 
 self whether she had not, in very truth, already becoma 
 a confirmed gambler. It was with an assured, familiar 
 gesture that Sylvia placed her money on the green cloth^ 
 and then with what intelligent knowledge she followed 
 the operations of the Banker! 
 
 He watched her when her fifty francs were swept away, 
 and noted the calm manner with which she immediately 
 took five louis from her pile, and pushed them, with her 
 little rake, well on to the table. 
 
 But before the dealer of the cards had spoken the fate- 
 ful words: " Le jeu est fait Rien ne m plusT' Mrs. 
 Bailey uttered an exclamation under her breath, and 
 hurriedly rose from her chair. 
 
 She had suddenly seen Chester — seen his eyes fixed 
 on her with a perplexed, angry look in them, and the 
 look had made her wince. 
 
 Forgetting that she still had a stake on the green cloth, 
 she turned away from the table and began making her 
 way round the edge of the circle. 
 
 For a moment Chester lost sight of her — there were
 
 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 233 
 
 SO many people round the table. He went on staring, 
 hardly knowing what he was doing, at the four pounds 
 she had left on the green cloth. 
 
 The cards were quickly dealt, and the fateful, to Ches- 
 ter the incomprehensible, words were quickly uttered. 
 Chester saw that Sylvia, unknowing of the fact, had 
 won — that five louis were added to her original stake. 
 The fair-haired Frenchman in evening dress by whom 
 Mrs. Bailey had been sitting looked round; not seeing 
 her, he himself swept up the stake and slipped the ten 
 louis into his pocket. 
 
 "Bill! You here? I had quite given you up! I 
 thought you had missed the train — at any rate, I never 
 thought you would come out to Lacville as late as this." 
 
 The bright colour, which was one of Sylvia's chief 
 physical attributes, had faded from her cheeks. She 
 looked pale, and her heart was beating uncomfortably. 
 She would have given almost anything in the world for 
 Bill Chester not to have come down to the Club and 
 caught her like this — "caught" was the expression poor 
 Sylvia used to herself. 
 
 "I am so sorry," she went on, breathlessly, "so very 
 sorry! What a wretch you must have thought me! 
 But I have got you such a nice room in a pension where 
 a friend of mine was for a time. I couldn't get you 
 anything at the Villa du Lac. But you can have all 
 your meals with me there. It's such good cooking, and 
 there's a lovely garden. Bill " 
 
 Chester said nothing. He was still looking at her, try- 
 ing to readjust his old ideas and ideals of Sylvia Bailey 
 to her present environment.
 
 234 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 
 
 Sylvia suddenly grew very red. After all, Bill Chester 
 was not her keeper! He had no right to look as angry, 
 as — as disgusted as he was now doing. 
 
 Then there came to both a welcome diversion. 
 
 "Ma jolie Syhiel Will you not introduce me to your 
 friend?" 
 
 Madame Wacbner had elbowed her way through the 
 crowd to where Chester and Mrs. Bailey were standing. 
 Her husband lagged a little way behind, his eyes still 
 following the play. Indeed, even as his wife spoke 
 L'Ami Fritz made a note in the little book he held in his 
 hand. ^Vhen in the Baccarat Room he was absolutely 
 absorbed in the play going on. Nothing could really 
 distract him from it. 
 
 Sylvia felt and looked relieved. 
 
 "Oh, Bill," she exclaimed, "let me introduce you to 
 INIadame Wachner? She has been very kind to me since 
 I came to Lacville." 
 
 "I am enchanted to meet you, sir. We 'oped to see 
 you at dinner." 
 
 Chester bowed. She had a pleasant voice, this friend 
 of Sylvia's, and she spoke English well, even if she did 
 drop her aitches! 
 
 "It is getting rather late" — Chester turned to Sylvia, 
 but he spoke quite pleasantly. 
 
 "Yes, we must be going; are you staying on?" Sylvia 
 was addressing the woman she had just introduced to 
 Chester, but her eyes were wandering towards the gam- 
 bling table. Perhaps she had suddenly remembered her 
 five louis. 
 
 Chester smiled a little grimly to himself. He won-
 
 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 235 
 
 dered if Sylvia would be surprised to hear that her neigh- 
 bour, the fair Frenchman to whom she had been talk- 
 ing so familiarly, had "collared" her stakes and her 
 winnings. 
 
 "No, indeed 1 We, too, must be going 'ome. Come, 
 Fritz, it is getting late." The devoted wife spoke rather 
 crossly. They all four turned, and slowly walked down 
 the room. 
 
 Sylvia instinctively fell behind, keeping step with 
 Monsieur Wachner, while Chester and Madame Wachner 
 walked in front. 
 
 The latter had already taken the measure of the quiet, 
 stolid-looking Englishman. She had seen him long be- 
 fore Sylvia had done so, and had watched him with some 
 attention, guessing almost at once that he must be the 
 Tian for whom Mrs. Bailey had waited dinner. 
 
 "I suppose that this is your first visit to Lacville?" she 
 observed smiling. "Very few of your countrymen come 
 'ere, sir, but it is an interesting and curious place — more 
 really curious than is Monte Carlo." 
 
 She lowered her voice a little, but Chester heard her 
 next words very clearly. 
 
 "It is not a proper place for our pretty friend, but — 
 ah ! she loves play now ! The Polish lady, Madame Wol- 
 sky, was also a great lover of baccarat; but now she 'as 
 gone away. And so, when Mrs. Bailey come 'ere, like 
 this, at night, my 'usband and I — we are what you Eng- 
 lish people call old-fashioned folk — we come, too. Not 
 to play — oh, no, but, you understand, just to look after 
 'er. She is so innocent, so young, so beautiful!" 
 
 Chester looked kindly at Madame Wachner. It was
 
 236 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 
 
 very decent of her — really good-natured and motherly — ■ 
 to take such an interest in poor Sylvia and her delin- 
 quencies. Yes, that was the way to take this — this 
 matter which so shocked him. Sylvia Bailey — lovely, 
 wilful, spoilt Sylvia — was a very young woman, and 
 ridiculously innocent, as this old lady truly said. 
 
 He, Chester, knew that a great many nice people went 
 to Monte Carlo, and spent sometimes a good deal more 
 money than they could afford at the tables. It was 
 absurd to be angry with Sylvia for doing here what very 
 many other people did in another place. He felt sin- 
 cerely grateful to this fat, vulgar looking woman for 
 having put the case so clearly. 
 
 " It's very good of you to do that," he answered awk- 
 wardly; "I mean it's very good of you to accompany 
 Mrs. Bailey to this place," he looked round him with 
 distaste. 
 
 They were now downstairs, part of a merry. Jostling 
 crowd, which contained, as all such crowds naturally 
 contain, a rather rowdy element. "It certainly is no 
 place for Mrs. Bailey to come to by herself " 
 
 He was going to add something, when Sylvia walked 
 forward. 
 
 "Where's Count Paul?" she asked, anxiously, of Mad- 
 ame Wachner. "Surely he did not stay on at the table 
 after we left?" 
 
 Madame Wachner shook her head slightly. 
 
 "I don't know at all," she said, and then cast a mean- 
 ing glance at Chester. It was an odd look, and somehow 
 it inspired him with a prejudice against the person, this 
 " Count Paul," of whom Sylvia had just spoken.
 
 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 237 
 
 "Ah, here he is! " There was relief, nay gladness, ring- 
 ing in Mrs. Bailey's frank voice. 
 
 The Comte de Virieu was pushing his way through the 
 slowly moving crowd. Without looking at the Wachuers, 
 he placed ten louis in Sylvia's hand. 
 
 " Your last stake was doubled," he said, briefly. " Then 
 that means, does it not, Madame, that you have made 
 thirty-two louis this evening? I congratulate you." 
 
 Chester's prejudice grew, unreasonably. "Damn the 
 fellow; then he was honest, after all! But why should 
 he congratulate Mrs. Bailey on having won thirty-two 
 louis?" 
 
 He acknowledged Sylvia's introduction of the Count 
 very stiflBy, and he was relieved when the other turned 
 on his heel — relieved, and yet puzzled to see how sur- 
 prised Sylvia seemed to be by his departure. She actu- 
 ally tried to keep the Count from going back to the Club. 
 
 "Aren't you coming to the Villa du Lac? It's getting 
 very late," she said, in a tone of deep disappointment. 
 
 But he, bowing, answered, "No, Madame; it is im- 
 possible." lie waited a moment, then muttered, "I have 
 promised to take the Bank in a quarter of an hour." 
 
 Sylvia turned away. Tears had sprung to her eyes. 
 But Chester saw nothing of her agitation, and a moment 
 later they were all four out in the kindly darkness.
 
 CHAPTER XX 
 
 Even to Chester there was something grateful in the 
 sudden stillness in which he and the three others found 
 themselves on leaving the Casino. 
 
 "Not a very safe issue out of a place where people 
 carry about such a lot of money!" he exclaimed, as they 
 made their way up the rough little lane. "One could 
 half-throttle anyone here, and have a very good chance 
 of getting off!" 
 
 "Oh, Lacville is a very safe place!" answered Madame 
 Wachner, laughing her jovial laugh. "Still, considering 
 all the money made by the Casino, it is too bad they 
 *aven't made a more splendid — what do you call it ? '* 
 
 " Approach," said L'Ami Fritz, in his deep voice, 
 
 and Chester turned, rather surprised. It was the first 
 word he had heard Monsieur Wachner utter. 
 
 Sylvia was trying hard to forget Count Paul and his 
 broken promise, and to be her natural self. 
 
 As they emerged into the better-lighted thoroughfare, 
 where stood a row of carriages, she said, "I will drive 
 with you to the Pension jNIalfait, Bill." 
 
 Madame Wachner officiously struck in, "Do not think 
 of driving your friend to the Pension Malfait, dear friend! 
 We will gladly leave ]\Ir. Chester there. But if 'e does 
 not mind we will walk there; it is too fine a night for 
 driving." 
 
 "But how about your luggage?" said Sylvia, anxiously. 
 " Has your luggage gone on to the Pension?" 
 
 238
 
 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 239 
 
 "Yes," said Chester, shortly. "Your landlord very 
 kindly said he would see to its being sent on." 
 
 They were now close to the Villa du Lac. " Of course, 
 I shall expect you to lunch to-morrow," said Sylvia. 
 "Twelve o'clock is the time. You'll want a good rest 
 after your long day." 
 
 And then Chester started off with his two strange 
 companions. How very unlike this evening had been to 
 what he had pictured it would be! Years before, as a 
 boy, he had spent a week at a primitive seaside hotel 
 near Dieppe. He had thought Lacville would be like 
 that. He had imagined himself arriving at a quiet, rural, 
 little country inn, and had seen himself kindly, if a little 
 shyly, welcomed by Sylvia. He could almost have 
 laughed at the contrast between the place his fancy had 
 painted and the place he had found, at what he had 
 thought would happen, and at what had happened ! 
 
 As they trudged along, Chester, glancing to his right, 
 saw that there were still a great many boats floating on 
 the lake. Did Lacville folk never go to bed? 
 
 "Yes," said Madame Wachner, quickly divining his 
 thoughts, "some of the people 'ere — why, they stay 
 out on the water all night! Then they catch the early 
 train back to Paris in the morning, and go and work 
 all day. Ah, yes, it is indeed a splendid thing to be 
 young!" 
 
 She sighed, a long, sentimental sigh, and looked across, 
 affectionately, at L'Ami Fritz. 
 
 "I do not feel my youth to be so very far away," she 
 said. " But then, the people in my dear country are not 
 cynical as are the French!"
 
 240 THE CniNK IX THE ARMOUR 
 
 Her husband strode forward in gloomy silence, prob- 
 ably thinking over the money he might have made or 
 lost had he played that evening, instead of only noting 
 down the turns of the game. 
 
 ]Madame Wachner babbled on, making conversation 
 for Chester. 
 
 She was trying to find out something more about this 
 quiet Englishman. Why had he come to Lacville? How 
 long was he going to stay here? ^Vhat was his real re- 
 lation to Sylvia Bailey? 
 
 Those were the questions that the prett}^ English 
 widow's new friend was asking herself, finding answers 
 thereto which were unsatisfactory, because vague and 
 mysterious. 
 
 At last she ventured a direct query. 
 
 "Are you going to stay long in this beautiful place, 
 Monsieur?" 
 
 "I don't know," said Chester shortly. "I don't sup- 
 pose I shall stay very long. I'm going on to Switzerland. 
 How long I stay will a little bit depend on Mrs. Bailey's 
 plans. I haven't had time to ask her anything yet. 
 What sort of a place is the Villa du Lac? " 
 
 He asked the question abruptly; he was already full 
 of dislike and suspicion of everything, though not of 
 everv'body, at Lacville. These Wachners were certainly 
 nice, simple people. 
 
 "Oh, the Villa du Lac is a very respectable 'ouse," 
 said Madame Wachner cautiously. "It is full of re- 
 spectable — what do you call them? — dowagers. Oh, you 
 need have no fear for your friend, sir; she is quite safe 
 there. And you know she does not often go to the
 
 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 241 
 
 Casino" — she told the lie with bold deliberation. Some 
 instinct told her that while Chester was at Lacville 
 Sylvia would not go to the Casino as often as she had 
 been in the habit of doing. 
 
 There was a pause — and then again Madame Wachner 
 asked the Englishman a question : 
 
 "Perhaps you will go on to Switzerland, leaving Mrs. 
 Bailey here, and then come back for her?" 
 
 "Perhaps I shall," he said heavily, without really 
 thinking of what he was saying. 
 
 They were now walking along broad, shady roads 
 which reminded him of those in a well-kept London 
 suburb. Not a sound issued from any of the houses 
 which stood in gardens on either side, and in the moon- 
 light he saw that they were all closely shuttered. It 
 might almost have been a little township of empty 
 houses. 
 
 Again the thought crossed his mind what a dangerous 
 place these lonely roads might be to a man carrying a 
 lot of gold and notes on his person. They had not met 
 a single policeman, or, indeed, anyone, after they had 
 left the side of the lake. 
 
 At last Madame Wachner stopped short before a large 
 wooden door. 
 
 "'Ere we are!" she said briskly. "I presume they are 
 expecting you, sir? If they are not expecting you, they 
 will probably 'ave all gone to bed. So we will wait, will 
 we not, Ami Fritz, and see this gentleman safe in? If 
 the worst came to the worst, you could come with us to 
 our villa and sleep there the night." 
 
 "You are awfully kind!" said Chester heartily— and.
 
 242 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 
 
 indeed, he did feel this entire stranger's kindness excep- 
 tional. 
 
 How fortunate that Sylvia had come across such a 
 nice, simple, kindly woman in such a queer place as 
 Lacville ! 
 
 But Madame Wachner's good-natured proposal had 
 never to be seriously considered, for when her vigorous 
 hand found and pulled the bell there came sounds in 
 the courtyard beyond, and a moment later the door 
 swung open. 
 
 "Who's there?" cried M. Malfait in a loud voice. 
 
 "It is the English gentleman, Mrs. Bailey's friend," 
 said Madame Wachner quickly; and at once the French- 
 man's voice softened. 
 
 "Ah! w-e had quite given up M'sieur," he said amiably. 
 "Come in, come in! Yes, the bag has arrived; but 
 people often send their luggage before they come them- 
 selves. Just as they sometimes leave their luggage after 
 they themselves have departed!" 
 
 Chester was shaking hands cordially with the Wachners. 
 
 "Thank you for all your kindness," he said heartily. 
 "I hope we shall meet again soon! I shall certainly be 
 here for some days. Perhaps you will allow me to call 
 on vou?" 
 
 Once the good-natured couple had walked off arm in 
 arm into the night, the door of the Pension Malfait was 
 locked and barred, and Chester followed his landlord 
 into the long, dark house. 
 
 "One has to be careful. There are so many queer 
 characters about," said INI. IMalfait; and then, "Will 
 M'sieur have something to eat? A little refreshment, a
 
 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 243 
 
 bottle of lemonade, or of pale ale? We have splendid 
 Bass's ale," he said, solicitously. 
 
 But the Englishman shook his head, smiling. "Oh, 
 no," he said slowly, in his bad French, " I dined in Paris. 
 All I need now is a good night's rest." 
 
 "And that M'sieur will certainly have," said the land- 
 lord civilly. "Lacville is famous for its sleep-producing 
 qualities. That is why so many Parisians content them- 
 selves with coming here instead of going further afield." 
 
 They w'ere walking through the lower part of the 
 house, and then suddenly M. Malfait exclaimed, "I was 
 forgetting the bath-room! I know how important to 
 English gentlemen the bath-room is!" 
 
 The pleasant vista of a good hot bath floated before 
 Chester's weary brain and body. Really the house was 
 liot as primitive as he had thought it when he had seen 
 the landlord come forward with a candle. 
 
 M. Malfait turned round and flung open a door. 
 
 "It was an idea of my wife's," he said proudly. "You 
 see, M'sieur, the apartment serves a double purpose " 
 
 And it did ! For the odd little room into which Chester 
 Was shown by his host served as store cupboard as well 
 as bath-room. It was lined with shelves on which stood 
 Berried rows of pots of home-made jam, jars of oil and 
 vinegar, and huge tins of rice, vermicelli, and tapioca, 
 tn a corner a round zinc basin — but a basin of Brob- 
 dignagian size — stood under a cold water tap. 
 
 "The bath is for those of our visitors who do not 
 follow the regular hydropathic treatment for which Lac- 
 ville is still famous," said the landlord pompously. 
 "But I must ask INI'sieur not to fill the bath too full, 
 for it is a great affair to empty it!"
 
 244 THE CHINK IX THE ARMOUR 
 
 He shut the door carefully, and led the waj' upstairs. 
 
 "Here we are," he whispered at last. "I hope M'sieur 
 will be satisfied. This is a room which was occupied by 
 a charming Polish lady, ISIadame Wolsky, who was a 
 friend of M'sieur's friend, Madame Bailey. But she left 
 suddenly a week ago, and so we have the room at M'sieur's 
 disposal." 
 
 He put the candle down, and bowed himself out of 
 the room. 
 
 Chester looked round the large, bare sleeping chamber 
 in which he found himself with the agreeable feeling that 
 his long, hot, exciting day was now at an end. 
 
 Yes, it was a pleasant room — bare, and yet furnished 
 with everything essential to comfort. Thus there was a 
 good big, roomy arm-chair, a writing-table, and a clock, 
 of which the hands now pointed to a quarter to one 
 o'clock. 
 
 The broad, low bed, pushed back Into an alcove as is 
 the French fashion, looked delightfully cool and inviting 
 by the light of his one candle. 
 
 \Mien M. Malfait had shown him into the room the 
 window was wide open to the hot, starless night, but 
 the landlord, though he had left the window open, had 
 drawn the thick curtains across it. That was all right; 
 Chester had no wish to be wakened at five in the morn- 
 ing by the sunlight streaming into the room. He meant 
 to have a really long rest. He was too tired to think — 
 too tired to do anything but turn in. 
 
 And then an odd thing happened. Chester's brain was 
 so thoroughly awake, he had become so over-excited, that 
 he could not, try as he might, fall asleep. 
 I He lay awake tossing about hour after hour. And
 
 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 245 
 
 then, when at last he did fall into a heavy, troubled 
 slumber, he was disturbed by extraordinary and un- 
 pleasant dreams — nightmares in which Sylvia Bailey 
 seemed to play a part. 
 
 At last he roused himself and pulled back the curtains 
 from across the window. It was already dawn, but he 
 thought the cool morning air might induce sleep, and for 
 a while, lying on his side away from the light, he did doze 
 lightly. 
 
 Quite suddenly he was awakened by the sensation, nay, 
 the knowledge, that there was someone in the room! So 
 vivid was this feeling of unwished-for companionship 
 that he got up and looked in the shadowed recess of the 
 alcove in which stood his bed; but, of course, there was 
 no one there. In fact there would not have been space 
 there for any grown-up person to squeeze into. 
 
 He told himself that what he had heard — if he had 
 heard anything — was someone bringing him his coffee 
 <ind rolls, and that the servant had probably been trying 
 to attract his attention, for, following his prudent cus- 
 tom, he had locked his door the night before. 
 
 He unlocked the door and looked out, staring this way 
 and that along the empty passage. But no, in spite of 
 the now-risen sun, it was still early morning; the Pen- 
 sion Malfait was sunk in sleep. 
 
 Chester went back to bed. He felt tired, disturbed, 
 Uneasy; sleep was out of the question; so he lay back, 
 and with widely-open eyes, began to think of Sylvia 
 Bailey and of the strange events of the night before. 
 
 He lived again the long hour he had spent at the 
 Casino. He could almost smell the odd, sweet, stuffy
 
 246 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 
 
 smell of the Baccarat Room, and there rose before him 
 its queer, varied inmates. He visioned distinctly Sylvia 
 Bailey as he had suddenly seen her, sitting before the 
 green cloth, with her money piled up before her, and a 
 look of eager interest and absorption on her face. 
 
 There had always been in Sylvia something a little 
 rebellious, a touch of individuality which made her un- 
 like the other women he knew, and which fascinated and 
 attracted him. She was a woman who generally knew 
 her own mind, and who had her own ideas of right and 
 wrong. Lying there, he remembered how determined 
 she had been about those pearls. . . . 
 
 Chester's thoughts took a softer turn. How very, very 
 pretty she had looked last evening — more than pretty — 
 lovelier than he had ever seen her. There seemed to be 
 new depths in her blue eyes. 
 
 But Chester was shrewd enough to know that Sylvia 
 had felt ashamed to be caught by him gambling — gam- 
 bling, too, in such very mixed company. Well, she would 
 soon be leaving Lacville! What a pity those friends of 
 hers had given up their Swiss holiday! It would have 
 been so jolly if they could have gone on there together. 
 
 He got tired of lying in bed. WTiat a long night, as 
 well as a very short night, it had been! He rose and 
 made his way down to the primitive bath-room. It 
 would be delightful to have any sort of bath, and the 
 huge zinc basin had its points 
 
 As Chester w^ent quickly back to his room, instead of 
 feeling refreshed after his bath, he again experienced the 
 disagreeable sensation that he was not alone. This time 
 he felt as if he were being accompanied by an invisible
 
 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 247 
 
 presence. It was a very extraordinary and a most un- 
 pleasant feeling, one which Chester had never experi- 
 enced before, and it made him afraid — afraid he knew 
 not of what. 
 
 Being the manner of man he was, he began to think 
 that he must be ill — that there must be something the 
 matter with his nerves. Had he been at home, in Market 
 Bailing, he would have gone to a doctor without loss of 
 time. 
 
 Long afterwards, when people used to speak before 
 him of haunted houses, Bill Chester would remember 
 the Pension Malfait and the extraordinary sensations he 
 had experienced there — sensations the more extraordinary 
 that there was nothing to account for them. 
 
 But Chester never told anyone of his experiences, and 
 indeed there was nothing to tell. He never saw an>i;hing, 
 he never even heard anything, but now and again, es- 
 pecially when he was lying awake at night and in the 
 early morning, the lawyer felt as if some other entity 
 was struggling to communicate with him and could not 
 do so. . . . 
 
 The whole time he was there — and he stayed on at 
 Lacville, as we shall see, rather longer than he at first 
 intended — Chester never felt, when in his room at the 
 Pension Malfait really alone, and sometimes the impres- 
 sion became almost intolerably vivid.
 
 CHAPTER XXI 
 
 But the longest night, the most haunted night, and 
 Chester's night had indeed been haunted, comes to an 
 end at last. After he had had another bath and a good 
 breakfast he felt a very different man to what he had 
 done three of four hours ago, lying awake in the sinister, 
 companioned atmosphere of his bed-room at the Pension 
 Malfait. 
 
 Telling his courteous landlord that he would not be in 
 to luncheon, Chester left the house, and as it was still 
 far too earlv to seek out Svlvia, he struck out, with the 
 aid of the little pocket-map of the environs of Paris with 
 which he had been careful to provide himself, towards 
 the open country. 
 
 And as he swung quickly along, feeling once more tired 
 and depressed, the Englishman wondered more and more 
 why Sylvia Bailey cared to stay in such a place as Lac- 
 ville. It struck him as neither town nor country — more 
 like an unfinished suburb than anything else, with almost 
 every piece of spare land up for sale. 
 
 He walked on and on till at last he came to the edge 
 of a great stretch of what looked like primeval wood- 
 land. This surely must be part of the famous Forest of 
 Montmorency, which his guide-book mentioned as being 
 the great attraction of Lacville? He wondered cynically 
 whether Sylvia had ever been so far, and then he plunged 
 into the wood, along one of the ordered alleys which to 
 
 24S
 
 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 249 
 
 his English eyes looked so little forest-like, and yet which 
 made walking there very pleasant. 
 
 Suddenly there fell on his ear the sound of horses trot- 
 ting quickly. He looked round, and some hundred yards 
 or so to his right, at a place where four roads met under 
 high arching trees, he saw two riders, a man and a woman, 
 pass by. They had checked their horses to a walk, and 
 as their voices floated over to him, the woman's voice 
 seemed extraordinarily, almost absurdly, familiar — in fact, 
 he could have sworn it was Sylvia Bailey's voice. 
 
 Chester stopped in his walk and shrugged his shoulders 
 impatiently. She must indeed be dwelling in his thoughts 
 if he thus involuntarily evoked her presence where she 
 could by no stretch of possibility be. 
 
 But that wandering echo brought Sylvia Bailey very 
 near to Chester, and once more he recalled her as he 
 had seen her sitting at the gambling table the night 
 before. 
 
 In grotesque juxtaposition he remembered, together 
 with that picture of Sylvia as he had seen her last night, 
 the case of a respectable old lady, named Mrs. Meeks, 
 the widow of a clergyman who had had a living in the 
 vicinity of Market Bailing. 
 
 Not long after her husband's death this old lady — she 
 had about three hundred a year, and Chester had charge 
 of her money matters — went abroad for a few weeks to 
 Mentone. Those few weeks had turned Mrs. Meeks into 
 a confirmed gambler. She now lived entirely at Monte 
 Carlo in one small room. 
 
 He could not help remembering now the kind of re- 
 marks that were made by the more prosperous inhabitants
 
 250 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 
 
 of Market Dalling, his fellow citizens, when they went 
 off for a short holiday to the South, in January or Fel> 
 ruary. They would see this poor lady, this Mrs. Meeks, 
 wandering round the gaming tables, and the sight would 
 amuse and shock them. Chester knew that one of the 
 first things said to him after the return of such people 
 would be, "Who d'you think I saw at Monte Carlo? 
 Why, Mrs. Meeks, of course! It's enough to make her 
 husband turn in his grave," 
 
 And now he told himself ruefully that it would be 
 enough to make honest George Bailey turn in his grave 
 could he see his pretty, sheltered Sylvia sitting in the 
 Casino at Lacville, surrounded by the riffraff collected 
 there last night, and actually taking an active part in the 
 game as well as risking her money with business-like 
 intentness. 
 
 He wondered if he could persuade Sylvia to leave Lac> 
 ville soon. In any case he would himself stay on here 
 three or four days — he had meant only to stay twenty- 
 four hours, for he was on his way to join a friend whose 
 Swiss holiday was limited. The sensible thing for Sylvia 
 to do would be to go back to England. 
 
 Chester reached the Villa du Lac at half-past eleven^ 
 and as he went out into the charming garden where h& 
 was told he would find Mrs. Bailey he told himself that 
 Lacville was not without some innocent attractions. 
 But Mrs. Bailey was not alone in this lovely garden. 
 Sitting on the lawn by her was the Frenchman who had 
 been with her when Chester had first caught sight of her 
 at the Casino the night before.
 
 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 251 
 
 The two were talking so earnestly that they only be- 
 came aware of his approach when he was close to them, 
 and though Chester was not a particularly observant 
 man, he had an instant and most unpleasant impression 
 that he had come too soon; that Sylvia was not glad to 
 see him; and that the Frenchman was actually annoyed, 
 even angered, by his sudden appearance. 
 
 "We might begin lunch a little earlier than twelve 
 o'clock," said Sylvia, getting up. "They serve luuch 
 from half-past eleven, do they not?" she turned to the 
 Comte de Virieu. 
 
 "Yes, Madame, that is so," he said; and then he 
 added, bowing, "And now perhaps I should say good- 
 bye. I am going into Paris, as you know, early this 
 afternoon, and then to Brittany. I shall be away two 
 nights." 
 
 "You will remember me to your sister, to — to the 
 Duchesse," faltered Sylvia. 
 
 Chester looked at her sharply. This Frenchman's 
 sister? The Duchesse? — how very intimate Sylvia 
 seemed to be with the fellow! 
 
 As the Count turned and sauntered back to the house 
 she said rather breathlessly, 
 
 "The Comte de Virieu has been very kind to me, Bill. 
 He took me into Paris to see his sister; she is the Duchesse 
 d'Eglemont. You will remember that the Due d'Egle- 
 mont won the Derby two years ago?" 
 
 And as he made no answer she went on, as if on the 
 defensive. 
 
 " The Comte de Virieu has to go away to the funeral 
 of his godmother. I am sorry, for I should have liked
 
 252 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 
 
 you to have become friends with him. He was at school 
 in England — that is why he speaks Enghsh so well." 
 
 While they were enjoying the excellent luncheon pre- 
 pared for them b}' M. Polperro, Chester was uncomfort- 
 ably aware that the Count, sitting at his solitary meal 
 at another table, could, should he care to do so, overhear 
 every word the other two were sajang. 
 
 But Paul de Virieu did not look across or talk as an 
 Englishman would probabl}^ have done had he been on 
 familiar terms with a fellow-guest in an hotel. Instead 
 he devoted himself, in the intervals of the meal, to read- 
 ing a paper. But now and again Chester, glancing across, 
 could see the other man's eyes fixed on himself with a 
 penetrating, thoughtful look. What did this Frenchman 
 mean by staring at him like that? 
 
 As for Sylvia, she was obviously ill at ease. She 
 talked quickly, rather disconnectedly, of the many things 
 appertaining to her life at home, in Market Bailing, 
 which she had in common with the English lawyer. She 
 only touched on the delightful time she had had in Paris, 
 and she said nothing of Lacville. 
 
 Long before the others had finished, Count Paul got 
 up; before leaving the dining-room, he turned and bowed 
 ceremoniously to Sylvia and her companion. With his 
 disappearance it seemed to Chester that Sylvia at once 
 became her natural, simple, eager, happy self. She 
 talked less, she listened more, and at last Chester began 
 to enjoy his holiday. 
 
 They went out again into the garden, and the wide 
 lawn, with its shaded spaces of deep green, was a delicious 
 place in which to spend a quiet, idle hour. They sat
 
 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 253 
 
 down and drank their coffee under one of the cedars of 
 Lebanon. 
 
 "This is a very delightful, curious kind of hotel," he 
 said at last. " And I confess that now I understand why 
 you like Lacville. But I do wonder a little, Sylvia" — he 
 looked at her gravely — "that you enjoy going to that 
 Casino." 
 
 "You see, there's so very little else to do here!" she 
 exclaimed, deprecatingly. "And then, after all. Bill, I 
 don't see what harm there is in risking one's money if 
 one can afford to do so!" 
 
 He shook his head at her — playfully, but seriously too. 
 "Don't you?" he asked dryly. 
 
 "Why, there's Madame Wachner," said Sylvia sud- 
 denly, and Chester thought there was a little touch of 
 relief in her voice. 
 
 "Madame Wachner?" And then the Englishman, 
 gazing at the stout, squat figure which was waddling 
 along the grass towards them, remembered. 
 
 This was the good lady who had been so kind to him 
 the night before; nay, who had actually offered to give 
 him a bed if the Pension Malfait had been closed. 
 
 "We 'ave lunched in the town," she said, partly ad- 
 dressing Chester, "and so I thought I would come and 
 ask you, Madame Sylvia, whether you and your friend 
 will come to tea at the Villa des Muguets to-day?" 
 She fixed her bright little eyes on Sylvia's face. 
 
 Sylvia looked at Chester; she was smiling; he thought 
 she would like him to accept. 
 
 "That is very kind of you," he said cordially. 
 
 Sylvia nodded her head gaily: "You are more than
 
 254 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 
 
 kind, dear Madame Wachner," she exclaimed. "We 
 shall be delighted to come! I thought of taking Mr. 
 Chester a drive through the Forest of Montmorency. 
 Will it do if we are with you about five?" 
 
 "Yes," said Madame Wachner. 
 
 And then, to Chester's satisfaction, she turned and 
 went away. "I cannot stay now," she said, "for I'Ami 
 Fritz is waiting for me. 'E does not like to be kept 
 waiting." 
 
 "Wliat a nice woman!" said Chester heartily, "and 
 how lucky you are, Sylvia, to have made her acquaint- 
 ance in such a queer place as this. But I suppose you 
 have got to know quite a number of people in the hotel?" 
 
 "Well, no ," she stopped abruptly. She certainly 
 
 had come to know the Comte de Virieu, but he was the 
 exception, not the rule. 
 
 "You see. Bill, Lacville is the sort of place where 
 everyone thinks everyone else rather queer! I fancy 
 some of the ladies here — they are mostly foreigners, 
 Russians, and Germans — think it very odd that I should 
 be by myself in such a place." 
 
 She spoke without thinking — in fact she uttered her 
 thoughts aloud. 
 
 "Then you admit that it is rather a queer place for 
 you to be staying in by yourself," he said slowly. 
 
 "No, I don't!" she protested eagerly. "But don't 
 let's talk of disagreeable things — I'm going to take you 
 such a splendid drive!" 
 
 Chester never forgot that first day of his at Lacville. 
 It was by far the pleasantest day he spent there, and
 
 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 255 
 
 Sylvia Bailey, woman-like, managed entirely to conceal 
 from him that she was not as pleased with their expedi- 
 tion as was her companion. 
 
 Thanks to M. Polperro's good offices, they managed 
 to hire a really good motor; and once clear of the fan- 
 tastic little houses and the waste ground which was all 
 up for sale, how old-world and beautiful were the little 
 hamlets, the remote stretches of woodland and the quiet 
 country towns through which they sped I 
 
 On their way back, something said by Sylvia surprised 
 and disturbed Chester very much. She had meant to 
 conceal the fact that she was riding with Paul de Virieu 
 each morning, but it is very difficult for one accustomed 
 always to tell the truth to use deceit. And suddenly a 
 careless word revealed to Chester that the horsewoman 
 whose voice had sounded so oddly familiar to him in the 
 Forest that morning had really been Sylvia herself I 
 
 He turned on her quickly: "Then do you ride every 
 morning with this Frenchman? " he asked quietly. 
 
 "Almost every morning," she answered. "His sister 
 lent me a horse and a riding habit. It was very kind of 
 her," she raised her voice, and blushed deeply in the 
 rushing wind. 
 
 Chester felt his mind suddenly fill with angry sus- 
 picion. Was it possible that this Comte de Virieu, this 
 man of whom that nice Madame Wachner had spoken 
 with such scorn as a confirmed gambler, was "making 
 up" to Sylvia? It was a monstrous idea — but Chester, 
 being a solicitor, knew only too well that in the matter 
 of marriage the most monstrous and disastrous things are 
 not only always possible but sometimes probable. Ches-
 
 256 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 
 
 ter believed that all Frenchmen regard marriage as a 
 matter of business. To such a man as this Count, Mrs. 
 Bailey's fortune would be a godsend. 
 
 "Sylvia!" he exclaimed, in a low, stern voice. 
 
 He turned round and looked at her. She was staring 
 straight before her; the colour had faded from her cheek; 
 she looked pale and tired. 
 
 "Sylvia!" he repeated. "Listen to me, and — and 
 don't be offended." 
 
 She glanced quickly at the man sitting by her side. 
 His voice was charged with emotion, with anger. 
 
 "Don't be angry with me," he repeated. "If my sus- 
 picion, my fear, is unfounded, I beg your pardon with 
 all mv heart." 
 
 Sylvia got up and touched the driver on the shoulder. 
 "Please slow down," she said in French, "we are going 
 faster than I like." 
 
 Then she sank back in her seat. "Yes, Bill! What 
 is it you wish to ask me? I couldn't hear you properly. 
 We were going too fast." 
 
 , "Is it possible, is it conceivable, that you are thinking 
 of marrying this Frenchman?" 
 
 "No," said Sylvia, very quietly, "I am not thinking of 
 marrying the Comte de Virieu. But he is my friend. I — 
 I like and respect him. No, Bill, you need not fear that 
 the Comte de Virieu will ever ask me to become his wife." 
 
 "But if he did?" asked Chester, hoarsely. 
 
 "You have no right to ask me such a question," she 
 answered, passionately; and then, after a pause, she 
 added, in a low voice: "But if he did, I should say no. 
 Bill."
 
 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 257 
 
 Her eyes were full of tears. As for Chester, he felt a 
 variety of conflicting emotions, of which perhaps the 
 strongest was a determination that if he could not get 
 her no one else should do so. This — this damned PVench 
 gambler had touched Sylvia's kind heart. Surely she 
 couldn't care for a man she had only known a month, 
 and such an affected, dandijfied fellow, too? 
 
 It was with relief that they both became aware a few 
 moments later that they were on the outskirts of Lacville. 
 
 "Here is the Chalet des Muguetsl" exclaimed Sylvia. 
 "Isn't it a funny Httle place?" ■> 
 
 The English lawyer stared at the bright pink building 
 ■with curiosity and amusement. It was indeed a funny 
 little place, this brick-built bungalow, so fantastically and, 
 to his British eyes, so ridiculously decorated with blue 
 china lozenges, on which were painted giant lilies of the 
 valley. ' 
 
 But he had not long to look, for as the car drew up 
 before the white gate Madame Wachner's short, broad 
 figure came hurrying down the path. 
 
 She opened the gate, and with boisterous heartiness 
 welcomed Chester and Sylvia into the neglected garden. 
 
 Chester looked round him with an involuntary surprise. 
 The Wachners' home was entirely unlike what he had 
 expected to find it. He had thought to see one of those 
 trim, neat little villas surrounded by gay, exquisitely 
 tended little gardens which are the pride of the Parisian 
 suburban dweller. 
 
 Madame Wachner caught his glance, and the thought 
 crossed her mind uncomfortably that she had perhaps 
 made a mistake, a serious mistake, in asking this priggish-
 
 258 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 
 
 looking Englishman to come to the Chalet desMuguets, 
 He evidently did not like the look of the place. 
 
 "You wonder to see our garden so untidy," she ex- 
 claimed, regretfully. "Well, it is the owner's fault, not 
 ours! You would not believe such a thing of a French- 
 man, but 'e actually made us promise that we would do 
 nothing — no, nothing at all, to 'is garden. 'E spoke of 
 sending a man once a week to see after it, but no, 'e never 
 did so." 
 
 "I have often wondered," broke in Sylvia frankly, 
 "why you allowed your garden to get into such a state, 
 but now, of course, I understand, ^^^^at a very odd 
 person your landlord must be, Madame Wachner! It 
 might be such a delightful place if kept in good order. 
 But I'm glad you have had the grass cut. I remember 
 the first time I came here the grass was tremendously 
 high, both in front and behind the house. Yesterday I 
 saw that you have had it cut." 
 
 "Yes," said Madame Wachner, glancing at her," yes, we 
 had the grass cut a few days ago. Fritz insisted on it." 
 
 " If it had been as high as it was the first time I came 
 here, I could never have made my way through it to the 
 'delightful little wood that lies over there, behind the 
 chalet," went on Sylvia. "I don't think I told you that 
 I went over there yesterday and waited a while, hoping 
 that vou would come back." 
 
 "You went into the wood!" echoed INIadame Wachner 
 in a startled tone. "You should not have done that," 
 she shook her head gravely. "We are forbidden to go 
 into the wood. We 'ave never gone into the wood." 
 
 L'Ami Fritz stood waiting for his visitors in the narrow
 
 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 259 
 
 doorway. He looked more good-tempered than usual, 
 and as they walked in he chatted pleasantly to Chester. 
 
 "This way," he said, importantly. "Do not trouble 
 to go into the salon, Madame! We shall have tea here, 
 of course." 
 
 And Sylvia Bailey was amused, as well as rather 
 touched, to see the preparations which had been made 
 in the little dining-room for the entertainment of Bill 
 Chester and of herself. 
 
 In the middle of the round table which had looked so 
 bare yesterday was a bowl of white roses — roses that 
 had never grown in the untidy garden outside. Two 
 dessert dishes were heaped up with delicious cakes — the 
 cakes for which French pastrycooks are justly famed. 
 There was also a basin full of the Alpine strawberries 
 which Sylvia loved, and of which she always ordered a 
 goodly supply at the Villa du Lac. Madame Wachner 
 had even remembered to provide the thick cream, which, 
 to a foreign taste, spoils the delicate flavour of strawberries. 
 
 They were really very kind people, these Wachners ! 
 
 Looking round the funny little dining-room, Sylvia 
 could not help remembering how uncomfortable she had 
 felt when sitting there alone the day before. It was hard • 
 now to believe that she should have had that queer, eerie 
 feeling of discomfort and disquietude in such a common- 
 place, cheerful room. She told herself that there prob- 
 ably had been some little creature' hidden there — some 
 shy, wild thing, which maybe had crept in out of the wood. 
 
 "And now I will go and make the tea," said Madame 
 Wachner pleasantly, and Sylvia gaily insisted on accom- 
 panying her hostess into the kitchen.
 
 2 GO THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 
 
 "We shall 'ave a nicer tea than that first time we 
 made tea 'ere together," said Madame Wachner jovially. 
 
 The young Englishwoman shook her head, smiling, 
 
 "I had a very good time that afternoon!" she cried. 
 "And I shall always feel grateful for your kindness to 
 me and to poor Anna, Madame Wachner. I do so often 
 wonder what Anna is doing with herself, and where she 
 is staying in Paris." She looked wistfully at her com- 
 panion. 
 
 Madame Wachner was in the act of pouring the boil- 
 ing water into her china teapot. 
 
 "Ah, well," she said, bending over it, "we shall never 
 know that. Your friend was a strange person, what I 
 call a solitaire. She did not like gambling when there 
 were people whom she knew in the Baccarat Room with 
 her. As to what she is doing now — " she shrugged her 
 shoulders, expressively. 
 
 "You know she telegraphed for her luggage yester- 
 day?" said Sylvia slowly. 
 
 "In that case — if it has had time to arrive — Madame 
 
 Wolsky is probably on her way to Aix, perhaps even to 
 
 Monte Carlo. She did not seem to mind whether it 
 
 • was hot or cold if she could get what she wanted — that 
 
 is, Play " 
 
 Madame Wachner had now made the tea. She turned 
 and stood with arms akimbo, staring out of the little 
 window which gave on the sun-baked lawn bounded by 
 the chestnut wood. 
 
 "No," she said slowly, "I do not for a moment suppose 
 that you will ever see Madame Wolsky again. It would 
 surprise me very much if you were to do so. For one
 
 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 261 
 
 thing, she must be — well, rather ashamed of the way she 
 treated you — you who were so kind to her, Sylvie!" 
 
 "She was far kinder to me than I was to her," said 
 Sylvia in a low voice. 
 
 "Ah, my dear" — Madame Wachner put her fat hand 
 on Sylvia's shoulder — "you have such a kind, warm, 
 generous heart — that is the truth! No, no, Anna Wol- 
 sky was not able to appreciate such a friend as you are! 
 But now the tea is made, made strong to the English 
 taste, we must not leave L'Ami Fritz and Mr. Chester 
 alone together. Gentleman are dull without ladies." 
 
 Carrying the teapot she led the way into the dining- 
 room, and they sat down round the table. 
 
 The little tea-party went off fairly well, but Chester 
 could not forget his strange conversation with Sylvia in 
 the motor. Somehow, he and she had never come so 
 really near to one another as they had done that after- 
 noon. And yet, on the other hand, he felt that she was 
 quite unlike what he had thought her to be. It was as 
 if he had come across a new Sylvia. 
 
 Madame Wachner, looking at his grave, absorbed face, 
 felt uneasy. Was it possible that this Englishman in- 
 tended to take pretty Mrs. Bailey away from Lacville? 
 That would be a pity— a very great pity! 
 
 She glanced apprehensively at her husband. L'Ami 
 Fritz would make himself very unpleasant if Sylvia left 
 Lacville just now. He would certainly taunt his wife 
 with all the money they had spent on her entertainment 
 —it was money which they both intended should bear 
 a very high rate of interest.
 
 CHAPTER XXII 
 
 The two following days dragged themselves unevent- 
 fully away. Sylvia did her best to be kind to Bill Ches- 
 ter, but she felt ill at ease, and could not help showing it. 
 
 And then she missed the excitement and interest of 
 the Casino. Bill had not suggested that they should go 
 there, and she would not be the one to do so. 
 
 The long motoring expeditions they took each after- 
 noon gave her no pleasure. Her heart was far away, in 
 Brittany; in imagination she was standing by a grave, 
 surrounded by a shadowy group of men and women, 
 mourning the old Marquise who had left Count Paul the 
 means to become once more a self-respecting and respected 
 member of the world to which he belonged by right of 
 birth. . . . 
 
 Had it not been for the Wachners, these two days of 
 dual solitude with Chester would have been drearv in- 
 deed, but Madame Wachner was their companion on 
 more than one long excursion and wherever Madame 
 Wachner went there reigned a kind of jollity and sense 
 of cheer. 
 
 Sylvia wondered if the Comte de Virieu was indeed 
 
 coming back as he had said he would do. And yet she 
 
 knew that were he to return now, at once, to his old 
 
 ways, his family, those who loved him, would have the 
 
 right to think him incorrigible. 
 
 As is the way with a woman when she loves, Sylvia 
 
 262
 
 THE CHINK IX THE ARMOUR 263 
 
 did not consider herself as a factor affecting his return 
 to Lacville. Naj^ she was bitterly hurt that he had not 
 written her a line since he had left. 
 
 And now had come the evening of the day when Count 
 Paul had meant to come back. But M. Polperro said 
 no word of his return. Still, it was quite possible that he 
 would arrive late, and Sylvia did not wish to see him 
 when in the company, not only of Bill Chester, but also 
 of the Wachners. 
 
 Somehow or other, she had fallen into the habit each 
 evening of asking the Wachners to dinner. She did so 
 to-day, but suggested dining at a restaurant. 
 
 "Yes, if this time, dear Sylvia, the host is L'Ami 
 Fritz!" said Madame Wachner decidedly. And after a 
 slight demur Sylvia consented. 
 
 They dined at the hotel which is just opposite the 
 Casino. After the pleasant meal was over, for it had 
 been pleasant, and the cheerful hostess had taken special 
 pains over the menu, Sylvia weary at the thought of 
 another long, dull evening in the dra^sing-room of the 
 Villa du Lac, was secretly pleased to hear Madame 
 Wachner exclaim coaxingly: 
 
 "And now, I do 'ope, Mr. Chester, that you will come 
 over and spend this evening at the Casino! I know you 
 do not approve of the play that goes on there, but still, 
 believe me, it is the only thing to do at Lacville. Lacville 
 would be a very dull place were it not for the Casino!" 
 
 Chester smiled. 
 
 "You think me far more particular than I am really," 
 he said, lightly. " I don't in the least mind going to the 
 Casino." Why should he be a spoil-sport? "But I
 
 264 THE CHINK IX THE ARMOUR 
 
 confess I cannot understand the kind of attraction play 
 has for some minds. For instance, I cannot understand 
 the extraordinary fascination it seems to exercise over 
 such an intelligent man as is that Comte de Virieu." 
 
 !Madame Wachner looked at the speaker significantly. 
 
 "^Ui!" she said. "The poor Count! 'E is what you 
 call 'confirmed' — a confirmed gambler. And 'e will 
 now be able to play more than ever, for I 'ear a fortune 
 'as been left to 'im!" 
 
 Sylvia was startled. She wondered how the Wachners 
 could have come to know of the Count's legacy. She 
 got up, with a nervous, impatient gesture. 
 
 How dull, how long, how intolerable had been the last 
 two days spent by her in the company of Bill Chester, 
 varied by that of talkative ]\Iadame Wachner and the 
 silent, dour Ami Fritz ! 
 
 Her heart felt very sore. During that last hour she 
 and Count Paul had spent together in the garden, she 
 had begged him to stay away — to spend the rest of the 
 summer with his sister. Supposing he took her at her 
 word — supposing he never came back to Lacville at all? 
 Sylvia tried to tell herself that in that case she would be 
 glad, and that she only wanted her friend to do the best, 
 the wisest thing for himself. 
 
 Such were her thoughts — her painful thoughts — as she 
 walked across from the restaurant to the entrance of the 
 Casino. Two whole days had gone by since she had 
 been there last, and oh ! how long each hour of those days 
 had seemed ! 
 
 The two oddly-assorted couples passed through into the 
 hall, and so up to the closely-guarded doors of the Club.
 
 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 265 
 
 The Baccarat Room was very full, fuller than usual, 
 for several parties of merry, rather boisterous young men 
 had come out from Paris to spend the evening. 
 
 She heard the words that were now so familiar, solemnly 
 shouted cnit at the further table: "La Banque est aux 
 encheres. Qui prend la Banque f" 
 
 There was a pause, and there fell on Sylvia's ears the 
 murmur of two voices — the voice of the official who 
 represented the Casino authorities, and the deep, low 
 voice which had become so dear to her — which thrilled 
 her heart each time she heard it. 
 
 Then Count Paul had come back? He had not fol- 
 lowed her advice? And instead of being sorry, as she 
 ought to have been, she was glad — glad! Not glad to 
 know that he was here in the Casino — Sylvia was sorry 
 for that — but glad that he was once more close to her. 
 Till this moment she had scarcely realised how much his 
 mere presence meant to her. 
 
 She could not see Paul de Virieu, for there was a crowd 
 — a noisy, chattering crowd of over-dressed men, each 
 with a gaudily-dressed feminine companion — encompas- 
 sing her on every side, 
 
 " Vingt mille francs en Banque! Une foir, deux fois, 
 messieurs ?" A pause — then the words repeated. " Vingt 
 mille francs en Banque!" 
 
 Monsieur Wachner leant his tall, lean form over 
 Sylvia. She looked up surprised, L'Ami Fritz very 
 seldom spoke to her, or for the matter of that to anyone. 
 
 "You must play to-night, Madame!" he said imperi- 
 ously. " I have a feeling that to-night you will bring us 
 luck, as you did that first time you played."
 
 266 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 
 
 She looked at him hesitatingly. His words made her 
 remember the friend to whom she so seldom gave a 
 thought nowadays. 
 
 "Do you remember how pleased poor Anna was that 
 night?" she whispered. 
 
 Monsieur Wachner stared at her, and a look of fear, 
 almost of terror, came over his drawn, hatchet face. 
 
 "Do not speak of her," he exclaimed harshly. "It 
 might bring us ill-luck!" 
 
 And then Chester broke In, "Syhaa, do play if you 
 want to play!" he cried rather impatiently. It angered 
 him to feel that she would not do in his presence 
 what she would most certainly have done were he not 
 there. 
 
 And then Sylvia suddenly made up her mind that she 
 would play. Count Paul was holding the Bank. He 
 was risking — how much was it? — twenty thousand francs. 
 Eight hundred pounds of his legacy? That was mad- 
 ness, absolute madness on his part! Well, she would 
 gamble too! There came across her a curious feeling — 
 one that gave her a certain painful joy — the feeling that 
 they two were one. While he was risking his money, 
 she would try to win his money. Were he in luck to-night, 
 she would be glad to know that it would be her money 
 he would win. 
 
 M. Wachner officiously made room for her at the 
 table; and, as she sat down, the Comte de Virieu, look- 
 ing round, saw who had come there, and he flushed and 
 looked away, straight in front of him. 
 
 *A Madanie la main,'' said Monsieur Wachner eagerly 
 indicating Sylvia. And the croupier, with a smile.
 
 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 207 
 
 pushed the two fateful cards towards the fair young 
 Englishwoman. 
 
 Sylvia took up the two cards. She glanced down at 
 them. Yes, L'Ami Fritz had been right. She was in luck 
 to-night! In a low voice she uttered the welcome words 
 — in French, of course — the words "Nine" and "The 
 King," as she put the cards, face upwards, on the green 
 cloth. 
 
 And then there came for her and for those who backed 
 her, just as there had done on that first fateful evening 
 at the Casino, an extraordinary run of good fortune. 
 
 Again and again the cards were dealt to Sylvia, and 
 again and again she turned up a Nine, a Queen, a King, 
 
 an Eight . Once more the crowd excitedly followed 
 
 her luck, staring at her with grateful pleasure, with fas- 
 cinated interest, as she brought them temporary wealth. 
 
 The more she won, the more she made other people 
 win, the more miserable Sylvia felt, and as she saw Count 
 Paul's heap of notes and gold diminishing, she grew un- 
 utterably wretched. Eight hundred pounds? WnSit an 
 enormous lot of money to risk in an evening! 
 
 Then there came a change. For a few turns of the 
 game luck deserted her, and Sylvia breathed more freely. 
 She glanced up into Count Paul's impassive face. He 
 looked worn and tired, as well he might be after his long 
 journey from Brittany. 
 
 Then once more magic fortune came back. It seemed 
 as if only good cards — variations on the fateful eights 
 and nines — could be dealt her. 
 
 Suddenly she pushed her chair back and got up. Pro- 
 testing murmurs rose on every side.
 
 268 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 
 
 ""If Madame leaves, the luck will go with her!" she 
 heard one or two people murmur discontentedly. 
 
 Chester was looking at her with amused, sarcastic, dis- 
 approving eyes. 
 
 "Well!" he exclaimed. "I don't wonder you enjoy 
 gambling, Sylvia! Are you often taken this way? How 
 much of that poor fellow's money have you won?" 
 ^ "Ninety pounds," she answered mechanically. 
 
 "Ninety pounds! And have you ever lost as much as 
 that, may I ask, in an evening?" he was still speaking 
 with a good deal of sarcasm in his voice. But still, 
 "money talks," and even against his will Chester was 
 impressed. Ninety pounds represents a very heavy bill 
 of costs in a country solicitor's practice. 
 . Sylvia looked dully into his face. 
 
 "No," she said slowly. "No, the most I ever lost in 
 one evening was ten pounds. I always left off playing 
 when I had lost ten pounds. That is the one advantage 
 the player has over the banker — he can stop playing 
 when he has lost a small sum." 
 ^ "Oh! I see!" exclaimed Chester drily. 
 
 And then they became silent, for close by where they 
 now stood, a Uttle apart fn^m the table, an angry alterca- 
 tion was going on between Monsieur and Madame 
 Wachner. It was the first time Sylvia had ever heard 
 the worthy couple quarrelUng in public the one with the 
 other. 
 
 "I tell you I will not go away!" L'Ami Fritz was say- 
 ing between his teeth. "I feel that to-night I am in 
 luck, in great luck! What I ask you to do, Sophie, is to 
 go away yourself, and leave me alone. I have made a
 
 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 269 
 
 thousand francs this evening, and at last I ha\e an op- 
 portunity of trying my new system. I am determined 
 to try it now, to-night! No — it is no use your speak- 
 ing to me, no use reminding me of any promise I 
 made to you. If I made such a promise, I mean to 
 break it!" 
 
 Sylvia looked round, a good deal concerned. Madame 
 Wachner's face was red, and she was plainly very angry 
 and put out. But when she saw that she and her hus- 
 band had attracted the attention of their English friends, 
 she made a great effort to regain her self-control and 
 good humour. 
 
 "Very well," she said, "Very well, Fritz! Do not 
 speak to me as if I were an ogress or a dragon. I am 
 your wife; it is my duty to obey you. But I will not 
 stay to see you lose the good money you have made 
 with the help of our kind friend, Madame Sylvia. Yes, 
 I will go away and leave you, my poor Fritz." 
 
 And suiting her action to her words, she put her arm 
 familiarly through Sylvia's and together they walked 
 out of the Baccarat Room, followed by Chester. 
 
 When they were in the vestibule Madame Wachner 
 turned to him with a rueful smile: 
 
 "It is a pity," she said, "that Fritz did not come away 
 with us! 'E 'as made a thousand francs. It is a great 
 deal of money for us to make — or to lose. I do not 
 beUeve 'e will keep it, for, though you bring 'im luck, 
 my dear"— she turned to Sylvia— "that Count always 
 brings 'im bad luck. It 'as been proved to me again 
 and again. Just before you arrived at Lacville with 
 poor INIadame Wolsky, Fritz 'ad a 'eavy loss!— a \-cry
 
 270 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 
 
 'ea\y loss, and all because the Comte de Virieu 'eld the 
 Bank!" 
 
 "Perhaps the Count will not hold the Bank again 
 to-night," said Sylvia slowly. 
 
 "Of course, 'e will do so!" the other spoke quite crossly. 
 "Did I not tell you, Sylvia, that our day servant heard 
 from M. Polperro's wife, whose sister is cook to the 
 Duchesse d'Eglemont, that the Comte de Virieu 'as been 
 left an immense fortune by 'is godmother? Well, it is a 
 fortmie that will soon melt" — she chuckled, as if the 
 thought was very pleasant to her. " But I do not think 
 that any of it is likely to melt into Fritz's pocket — 
 though, to be sure, we 'ave been very lucky, all of us, 
 to-night," she looked affectionately at Sylvia. 
 
 "Even you. Sir" — Madame Wachner turned to Chester 
 with a broad smile — "even you must be pleased that we 
 came to the Casino to-night. \Vliat a pity it is you did 
 not risk something! Even one pound! You might 'ave 
 made quite a nice lot of money to take back to England 
 with you " 
 
 " Or to spend in Switzerland!" said Chester, laugh- 
 
 ing. "It is to Switzerland I am going, Madame! I 
 shall leave here the day after to-morrow." 
 
 "And will you not come back again?" asked Madame 
 Wachner inquisitively. 
 
 "I may come back again if Mrs. Bailey is still here; 
 but I do not suppose she will be, for I intend to spend at 
 least a fortnight in Switzerland." 
 
 The three were now approaching the gates of the Villa 
 du Lac. 
 
 "Well, Sylvia," cried Chester. "I suppose I must
 
 THE CHINK IN THE AKMOUR 271 
 
 now say good-night? I tlo not envy you your ill-gotten 
 gainsi" He spoke lightly, but there was an undercurrent 
 of reproach in his voice, or so Sylvia fancied. 
 
 "Good-night!" she said, and her voice was tremulous. 
 
 As she held out her hand the little fancy bag which 
 held all her winnings, the bundle of notes and loose pieces 
 of gold, fell to the ground. 
 
 Madame Wachner stooped down and picked it up. 
 "How 'eavy it is!" she exclaimed enviously. "Good 
 gracious, Sylvia! What a lot you must 'avc made 
 to-night?" ^ 
 
 "And the notes don't weigh much," said Sylvia. " It's 
 only the gold that is heavy!" 
 
 But she was not thinking of what she was saying. Her 
 heart was full of anguish. How could Paul de Virieu 
 have been so mad as to risk such an immense sum, a 
 tenth part of the fortune — for fortune it was — which had 
 just been left, to him? 
 
 Sylvia hated herself for having contributed to his 
 losses. She knew that it was absurd that she should feel 
 this, for the same cards would certainly have been dealt 
 to whoever had happened to take them from the croupier. 
 But still, superstition is part of the virus which jBll.s the 
 gambler's blood, and she had certainly won a consider- 
 able part of the money Count Paul had lost to-night. 
 
 "May I see you back to your house?" asked Chester 
 of Madame Wachner. 
 
 "Oh no, Monsieur, I must go back to the Casino and 
 look after Fritz! 'E is a child — quite a child as regards 
 money." Madame Wachner sighed heavily. "No, no, 
 you go 'ome to bed in the Pension Malfait."
 
 272 THE cnixK IX the armouh 
 
 "I shouldn't think of doing such a thing I" he said 
 kindly. " I will come back with you to the Casino, and 
 together we will persuade Monsieur Wachner to go home. 
 He has had time to make or lose a good deal of money 
 in the last few minutes." 
 
 "Yes, indeed he 'as " again Madame Wachner 
 
 sighed, and Chester's heart went out to her. She was a 
 really nice old woman — clever and intelligent, as well as 
 cheerful and brave. It seemed a great pity that she 
 should be cursed with a gambler for a husband. 
 
 As they went back into the Casino they could hear 
 the people round them talking of the Comte de Virieu, 
 and of the high play that had gone on at the club that 
 evening. 
 
 "No, he is winning now," the}' heard someone say. 
 And ]Madame Wachner looked anxious. If Count Paul 
 were winning, then her Fritz must be losing. 
 
 And alas! her fears were justified. When they got 
 up into the Baccarat Room they found L'Ami Fritz 
 standing apart from the tables, his hands in his pockets, 
 staring abstractedly out of a dark window on to the 
 lake. 
 
 "Well?" cried Madame Wachner sharply, "WeU, 
 Fritz?" 
 
 "I have had no luck!" he shook his head angrily. "It 
 is all the fault of that cursed system! If I had only 
 begun at the right, the propitious moment — as I should 
 have done if you had not worried me and asked me to 
 go away — I should probably have made a great deal of 
 money," he looked at her disconsolately, deprecatingly. 
 
 Chester also looked at Madame Wachner. He ad-
 
 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 273 
 
 mired the wife's self-restraint. Iler red face got a little 
 redder. That was all. 
 
 "It cannot be helped," she said a trifle coldly, and in 
 French. "I knew how it would be, so I am not disaj)- 
 pointed. Have you anything left? Have you got the 
 five louis I gave you at the beginning of the evening?" 
 
 Monsieur Wachner shook his head gloomily. 
 
 "Well then, it is about time we went home." She 
 turned and led the way out.
 
 CHAPTER XXIII 
 
 As Sylvia went slowly and wearily up to her room a 
 sudden horror of Lacville swept over her excited brain. 
 
 For the first time since she had been in the Villa du 
 Lac, she locked the door of her bed room and sat down 
 in the darkness. 
 
 She was overwhelmed with feelings of humiliation and 
 pain. She told herself with bitter self-scorn that Paul de 
 Virieu cared nothing for her. If he had cared ever so 
 little he surely would never have done what he had done 
 to-night? 
 
 But such thoughts were futile, and soon she rose and 
 turned on the electric light. Then she sat down at a 
 little writing-table which had been thoughtfully pro- 
 vided for her by M. Polperro, and hurriedly, with fever- 
 ish eagerness, wrote a note. 
 
 Dear Count de Virieu — 
 
 I am very tired to-night, and I do not feel as if I should be well 
 enough to ride to-morrow. — Yours sincerely, 
 
 Sylvia. Bailey. 
 
 That was all, but it was enough. Hitherto she had 
 evidently been — hateful thought — what the matrons of 
 Market Dalling called "coming on" in her manner to 
 Count Paul; henceforth she would be cold and distant 
 to him. 
 
 274
 
 THE CIIIXK IN THE ARMOUR 275 
 
 She put her note into an envelope, addressed it, and 
 went downstairs again. It was very late, but M. Polperro 
 was still up. The landlord never went to bed till each 
 one of his clients was safe indoors. 
 
 "Will you kindly see that the Comte de Virieu gets 
 this to-night?" she said briefly. And then, as the little 
 man looked at her with some surprise, "It is to tell the 
 Count that I cannot ride to-morrow morning. It is late, 
 and I am very tired; sleepy, too, after the long motoring 
 expedition I took this afternoon!" She tried to smile. 
 
 ]\I. Polperro bowed. 
 
 " Certainly, Madame. The Count shall have this note 
 the moment he returns from the Casino. He will not be 
 long now." 
 
 But the promises of Southerners are pie-crust. Doubt- 
 less M. Polperro meant the Count to have the note that 
 night, but he put it aside and forgot all about it. 
 
 Sylvia had a broken night, and she was still sleeping 
 heavily when she was wakened by the now familiar 
 sound of the horses being brought into the courtyard. 
 She jumped out of bed and peeped through an opening 
 in the closed curtains. 
 
 It was a beautiful morning. The waters of the lake 
 dimpled in the sun. A door opened, and Sylvia heard 
 voices. Then Count Paul was going riding after all, and 
 by himself? Sylvia felt a pang of unreasoning anger and 
 regret. 
 
 Paul de Virieu and M. Polperro were standing side by 
 side; suddenly she saw the hotel-keeper hand the Count, 
 with a gesture of excuse, the note she had written the 
 night before. Count Paul read it through, then he put
 
 276 THE CHINK IN THE AmiOUR 
 
 it back in its envelope, and placed it in the breast pocket 
 of his coat. 
 
 He did not send the horses away, as Sylvia in her heart 
 had rather hoped he would do, but he said a word to 
 j\I. Polperro, who ran into the Villa and returned a moment 
 later with something which he handed, with a deferential 
 bow to the Count. 
 
 It was a cardcase, and Paul de Virieu scribbled some- 
 thing on a card and gave it to M. Polperro. A minute 
 later he had ridden out of the gates. 
 
 Sylvia moved away from the window, but she was in 
 no mood to go back to bed. She felt restless, excited, 
 sorry that she had given up her ride. 
 
 \Mien at last her tea was brought in, she saw the 
 Count's card lying on the tray: 
 
 !NLU)AME — 
 
 I regret very much to hear that you are not well — so ran 
 his p)encilled words — but I trust you will be able to come down 
 this morning, for I have a message to give you from my sister. 
 
 Believe me, Madame, of all your servants the most devoted. 
 
 Paul de Virieu. 
 
 They met in the garden — the garden which they had 
 so often had to themselves during their short happy 
 mornings; and, guided by an instinctive longing for 
 solitude, and for being out of sight and out of mind of 
 those about them, they made their way towards the arch 
 in the wall which led to the potager. 
 
 It was just ten o'clock, and the gardeners were leaving 
 off work for an hour; they had earned their rest, for 
 their work begins each summer day at sunrise. It was
 
 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 277 
 
 therefore through a sweet-smelHng, solitary wilderness 
 that Count Paul guided his companion. 
 
 They walked along the narrow paths edged with 
 fragrant herbs till they came to the extreme end of the 
 kitchen-garden, and then 
 
 "Shall we go into the orangery?" he asked abruptly. 
 
 Sylvia nodded. These were the first words he had ut- 
 tered since his short " Good morning. I hope, jMadame, 
 you are feeling better?" 
 
 He stepped aside to allow her to go first into the large, 
 finely-proportioned building, which was so charming a 
 survival of eighteenth-century taste. The orangery was 
 cool, fragrant, deserted; -remote indeed from all that 
 Lacville stands for in this ugly, utilitarian w^orld. 
 
 "Won't you sit down?" he said slowly. And then, as 
 if echoing his companion's thoughts," It seems a long, long 
 time since we were first in the orangery, Madame " 
 
 " When you asked me so earnestly to leave Lac- 
 ville," said Sylvia, trying to speak lightly. She sat down 
 on the circular stone seat, and, as he had done on that 
 remembered morning when they were still strangers, he 
 took his place at the other end of it. 
 
 "Well?" he said, looking at her fixedly. "Well, you 
 see I came back after all!" 
 
 Sylvia made no answer. 
 
 " I ought not to have done so. It was weak of me." 
 He did not look at her as he spoke; he was tracing 
 imaginary patterns on the stone floor. 
 
 "I came back," he concluded, in a low, bitter tone, 
 "because I could not stay any longer away from you.". 
 
 And still Svlvia remained silent.
 
 278 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 
 
 "Do you not believe that?" he asked, rather roughly. 
 
 And then at last she looked up and spoke. 
 
 "I think you imagine that to be the case," she said, 
 "but I am sure that it is not I, alone, who brought you 
 back to Lacville." 
 
 "And yet it is you — you alone!" he exclaimed and he 
 jumped up and came and stood before her. 
 
 "God knows I do not wish to deceive you. Perhaps, 
 if I had not come back here, I should in time — not at 
 once, Madame, — have gone somewhere else, where I 
 could enjoy the only thing in life which had come to be 
 w^orth while living for. But it was you — you alone — 
 that brought me back here, to Lacxille!" 
 
 "Wliy did you go straight to the Casino?" she fal- 
 tered. "And why? — oh, why did you risk all that 
 money?" 
 
 He shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 "Because I am a fool!" he answered, bitterly — "a 
 fool, and what the English rightly call *a dog in the 
 manger!' I ought to rejoice when I see you with that 
 excellent fellow, INIr. Chester — and as your friend," he 
 stopped short and then ended his sentence with the 
 words, " I ought to be happy to know that you will have 
 so excellent a husband I" 
 
 Sylvia also got up. 
 
 "You are quite mistaken," she said, coldly. "I shall 
 never marry Mr. Chester." 
 
 "I regret to hear you say that," said Count Paul, seri- 
 ously. "A woman should not live alone, especially a 
 woman who is young and beautiful, and — and who has 
 money."
 
 THE CHINK IX THE ARMOUR 279 
 
 Sylvia shook her head. She was angry — more hurt 
 and angry than she had ever felt before in her life. She 
 told herself passionately that the Comte de Virieu was 
 refusing that wliich had not been offered to him. 
 
 "You are very kind," she answered, lightly. "But I 
 have managed very well up to now, and I think I shall 
 go on managing very well. You need not trouble your- 
 self about the matter, Count Paul. Mr. Chester and I 
 thoroughly understand one another — " She waited, and 
 gently she added, "I wish I could understand you " 
 
 " I wish I understood myself," he said sombrely. " But 
 there is one thing that I believe myself incapable of 
 doing. Whatever my feeling, nay, whatever my love, 
 for a wobaan, I would never do so infamous a thing as to 
 try and persuade her to join her life to mine. I know 
 too well to what I should be exposing her — to what pos- 
 sible misery, nay, to what probable degradation! After 
 all, a man is free to go to the devil alone — but he has no 
 right to drag a woman there with him!" 
 
 His voice had sunk to a hoarse whisper, and he was 
 gazing into Sylvia's pale face with an anguished look of 
 questioning and of pleading pain. 
 
 "I think that is true. Count Paul." Sylvia heard her- 
 self uttering gently, composedly, the words which meant 
 at once so much and so little to them both. " It is a pity 
 that all men do not feel about this as you do," she con- 
 cluded mechanically. 
 
 "I felt sure you would agree with me," he answered 
 slowly. 
 
 "Ought we not to be going back to the villa? I am 
 expecting Mr. Chester to lunch, and though I know it is
 
 2S0 THE CHINK IN THE ARJIOUR 
 
 quite early, he has got into the way, these last few days, 
 of coming early." 
 
 Her words stung him in his turn. 
 
 "Stop!" he said roughly. "Do not go yet, iNIrs. 
 Bailey." He muttered between his teeth, "Mr. Chester's 
 turn will come!" And then aloud, "Is this to be the end 
 of everything — the end of our — our friendship? I shall 
 leave Lacville to-night for I do not care to stay on here 
 after you have taunted me with having come back to 
 see you!" 
 
 Sylvia gave a little cry of protest. 
 
 "How unkind you are, Count Paul!" She still tried 
 to speak lightly, but the tears were now rolling down her 
 cheeks — and then in a moment she found herseff in Paul 
 de Virieu's arms. She felt his heart beating against her 
 breast. 
 
 "Oh, my darling!" he whispered brokenly, in French, 
 "my darling, how I love you!" 
 
 "But if you love me," she said piteously, "what does 
 anything else matter?" 
 
 Her hand had sought his hand. He grasped it for a 
 moment and then let it go. 
 
 "It is because I love you — because I love you more 
 than I love myself that I give you up," he said, but, 
 being human, he did not give her up there and then. 
 Instead, he drew her closer to him, and his lips sought 
 and found her sweet, tremulous mouth. 
 
 And Chester? Chester that morning for the first time 
 in his well-balanced life felt not only ill but horribly de- 
 pressed. He had come back to the Pension Malfait the
 
 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 281 
 
 night before feeling quite well, and as cheerful as his 
 disapproval of Sylvia Bailey's proceedings at the Casino 
 allowed him to be. And while thoroughly disapproving, 
 he had yet — such being human nature — been glad that 
 Sylvia had won and not lost! 
 
 The Wachners had offered to drive him back to his 
 pension, and he had accepted, for it was very late, and 
 Maduine Wachner, in spite of her Fritz's losses, had in- 
 sisted on taking a carriage home. 
 
 And then, though he had bc;5un by going to sleep, 
 Chester had waked at the end of an hour to feel himself 
 encompassed, environed, oppressed by the perception — 
 it was far more than a sensation — that he was no longer 
 alone. 
 
 He sat up In bed and struck a match, at once longing 
 and fearing to see a form, — the semblance of a human 
 being — rise out of the darkness. 
 
 But all he saw, when he had lighted the candle which 
 stood on the table by his bed, was the barely furnished 
 room which, even in this poor and wavering light, had 
 so cheerful and commonplace an appearance. 
 
 Owing no doubt to his excellent physical condition, as 
 well as to his good conscience, Chester was a fearless 
 man. A week ago he would have laughed to scorn the 
 notion that the dead ever revisit the earth, as so many 
 of us believe they do, but the four nights he had spent 
 at the Pension Malfait, had shaken his conviction that 
 "dead men rise up never." 
 
 Most reluctantly he had come to the conclusion that 
 the Pension Malfait was haunted. 
 
 And the feeling of unease did not vanish even after
 
 282 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 
 
 he had taken his bath in the queer bath-room, of wliich 
 the Malfaits were so proud, or later, when he had eaten 
 the excellent breakfast provided for him. On the con- 
 trary, the thought of going up to his bed-room, even 
 in broad dayhght, filled him with a Idnd of shrinking 
 fear. 
 
 He told himself angrily tliat this kind of thing could 
 not go on. The sleepless nights made him ill — he who 
 never was ill; also he was losing precious days of his 
 short holiday, while doing no good to himself and no good 
 to Sylvia. 
 
 Sending for the hotel-keeper, he curtly told him that 
 he meant to leave Lacville that evening. 
 
 M. Malfait expressed much sorrow and regret. Was 
 M'sieur not comfortable? Was there anything he could 
 do to prolong his English guest's stay? 
 
 No, M'sieur had every reason to be satisfied, but — but 
 had M. Malfait ever had any complaints of noises in the 
 bed-room occupied by his English guest? 
 
 The Frenchman's surprise and discomfiture seemed 
 quite sincere; but Chester, looking into his face, sus- 
 pected that the wondering protests, the assertion that 
 this particular bed-room was the quietest in the house, 
 were not sincere. In this, however he wronged poor 
 M. Malfait. 
 
 Chester went upstairs and packed. There seemed to 
 be a kind of finality in the act. If she knew he was 
 ready to start that night, Sylvia would not be able to 
 persuade him to stay on, as she probably would try to do. 
 
 At the Villa du Lac he was greeted with, "]Madame 
 Bailey is in the garden with the Comte de Virieu" — and
 
 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 283 
 
 he thought he saw a twinkle in merry Httle M. Polpcrro's 
 eyes. 
 
 Poor Sylvia! Poor, foolish, wilful Sylvia! Was it 
 conceivable that after what she had seen the night be- 
 fore she still liked, she still respected, that mad French 
 gambler? 
 
 He looked over the wide lawn; no, there was no sign 
 of Sylvia and the Count, Then, all at once, coming 
 through a door which gave access, as he knew, to the 
 big kitchen-garden of the villa, he saw Mrs. Bailey's 
 graceful figure; a few steps behind her walked Count PauL 
 
 Chester hurried towards them. How odd they both 
 looked — and how ill at ease! The Comte de Virieu 
 looked wretched, preoccupied, and gloomy — as well he 
 might do, considering the large sum of money he hud 
 lost last night. As for Sylvia — yes, there could be no 
 doubt about it — she had been crying! Wlien she saw 
 Chester coming towards her, she instinctively tilted her 
 garden hat over her face to hide her reddened eyelids. 
 He felt at once sorry for, and angry with, her. 
 
 "I came early in order to tell you," he said abruptly, 
 "that I find I must leave Lacville to-day! The man 
 whom I am expecting to join me in Switzerland is getting 
 impatient, so I've given notice to the Pension Malfait — 
 in fact, I've already packed." 
 
 Sylvia gave him a listless glance, and made no com- 
 ment on his news. 
 
 Chester felt rather nettled. "You, I suppose, will be 
 staying on here for some time?" he said. 
 
 "I don't know," she answered in a low voice. "I 
 hsvfin't made up my mind how long I shall stay here."
 
 284 THE CmXK IN THE ARMOUR 
 
 "I also am leaving Lacville," said the Comte de 
 Virieu. 
 
 And then, as he saw, or fancied he saw, a satirical ex- 
 pression pass over the Englishman's face, he added 
 rather haughtily: 
 
 "Strange to say, my luck turned last night — I admit 
 I did not deserve it — and I left off with a good deal to 
 the good. However, I feel I have played enough for a 
 while, and, as I have been telling Mrs. Bailey, I think 
 it would do me good to go away. In fact" — and then 
 Count Paid gave an odd little laugh — "I also am going 
 to Switzerland! In old days I was a member of our 
 Alpine Club." 
 
 Chester made a sudden resolve, and, what was rare 
 in one so constitutionally prudent, acted on it at once. 
 
 "If you are really going to Switzerland," he said 
 quietly, "then why should we not travel together? I 
 meant to go to-night, but if you prefer to wait till to- 
 morrow. Count, I can alter my arrangements." 
 
 The Comte de Virieu remained silent for what seemed 
 to the two waiting for his answer a very long time. 
 
 "This evening will suit me just as well as to-morrow," 
 he said at last. 
 
 He did not look at Sylvia. He had not looked her 
 way since Chester had joined them. With a hand that 
 shook a little he took his cigarette-case out of his pocket, 
 and held it out to the other man. 
 
 The die was cast. So be it. Chester, prig though he 
 might be, was right in his wish to remove Sylvia from his, 
 Paul de Virieu's, company. The EngUshman was more 
 right than he would ever know.
 
 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 285 
 
 How amazed Chester would have been had lie heen 
 able to see straight into Paul de Virieu's heart! Had he 
 divined the other's almost unendurable temptation to 
 take Sylvia Bailey at her word, to impose on her pathetic 
 ignorance of life, to allow her to become a gambler's 
 wife. 
 
 Had the woman he loved been penniless, the Comte de 
 Virieu would probably have yielded to the temptation 
 which now came in the subtle garb of jealousy — keen, 
 poisoned-fanged jealousy of this fine looking young Eng- 
 lishman who stood before them both. 
 
 Would Sylvia ever cling to this man as she had clung 
 to him — would she ever allow Chester to kiss her as she 
 had allowed Paul to kiss her, and that after he had re- 
 leased the hand she had laid in his? 
 
 But alas! there are kisses and kisses — clingings and 
 clingings. Chester, so the Frenchman with his wide dis- 
 illusioned knowledge of life felt only too sure, would win 
 Sylvia in time. 
 
 "Shall we go in and find out the time of the Swiss 
 express?" he asked the other man, "or perhaps you have 
 already decided on a train?" 
 
 "No, I haven't looked one out yet." 
 
 They strolled off together towards the house, and 
 Sylvia walked blindly on to the grass and sat down on 
 one of the rocking-chairs of which M. Polpcrro was so 
 proud. 
 
 She looked after the two men with a sense of oppressed 
 bewilderment. Then they were both going away— both 
 going to leave her? 
 
 After to-day— how strange, how utterly unnatural the
 
 286 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 
 
 parting seemed — she would probably never see Paul de 
 Virieu again. 
 
 The day went like a dream — a fantastic, unreal dream. 
 
 Sylvia did not see Count Paul again alone. She and 
 Chester went a drive in the afternoon — the expedition 
 had been arranged the day before with the Wachners, 
 and there seemed no valid reason why it should be put 
 of!. 
 
 And then Madame Wachner with her usual impulsive 
 good nature, on hearing that both Chester and the Comte 
 de Virieu were going away, warmly invited Sylvia to 
 supper at the Chalet des Muguets for that same night, 
 and Sylvia listlessly accepted. She did not care what 
 she did or where she went. 
 
 At last came the moment of parting. 
 
 "I'll go and see you off at the station," she said, and 
 Chester, rather surprised, raised one or two objections. 
 "I'm determined to come," she cried angrily. "What a 
 pity it is. Bill, that you always try and manage other 
 people's business for them!" 
 
 And she did go to the station — only to be sorry for it 
 afterwards. 
 
 Paul de Virieu, holding her hand tightly clasped in his 
 for the last time, had become frightfully pale, and as she 
 made her way back to the Casino, where the Wachners 
 were actually waiting for her, Sylvia was haunted by his 
 reproachful, despairing eyes.
 
 CHAPTER XXIV 
 
 It was nearly nine o'clock, and for the moment the 
 Casino was very empty, for the afternoon players had 
 left, and the evening serie, as M. Polperro contemptuously 
 called them — the casual crowd of night visitors to Lacville 
 — had not yet arrived from Paris. 
 
 "And now," said Madame Wachner, suddenly, "is it 
 not time for us to go and 'ave our little supper?" 
 
 The "citizeness of the world" had been watching her 
 husband and Sylvia playing at Baccarat; both of them 
 had won, and Sylvia had welcomed, eagerly, the excite- 
 ment of the tables. 
 
 Count Paul's muttered farewell echoed in her ears, and 
 the ornately decorated gambling room seemed full of his 
 presence. 
 
 She made a great effort to put any intimate thought of 
 him away. The next day, so she told herself, she would 
 go back to England, to Market Dalling. There she must 
 forget that such a place as Lacville existed; there she 
 must banish Paul de Virieu from her heart and memory. 
 Yes, there was nothing now to keep her here, in this 
 curious place, where she had eaten, in more than one 
 sense, of the bitter fruit of the tree of knowledge. 
 
 With a deep, involuntary sigh, she rose from the table. 
 
 She looked at the green cloth, at the people standing 
 round it, with an odd feeling that neither the table nor 
 the people round her were quite real. Her heart and 
 
 287
 
 288 THE CHIXK IN THE ARMOUR 
 
 thoughts were far away, with the two men both of whom 
 loved her in their very different ways. 
 
 Then she turned with an unmirthful smile to her com- 
 panions. It would not be fair to let her private griefs 
 sadden the kindly Wachners. It was really good of 
 them to have asked her to come back to supper at the 
 Chalet des jNIuguets. She would have found it terribly 
 lonely this evening at the Villa du Lac. . . . 
 
 "I am quite ready," she said, addressing herself more 
 particularly to INIadame Wachner; and the three walked 
 out of the Club rooms. 
 
 "Shall we take a carriage?" Sylvia asked diflSdently; 
 she knew her stout friend disliked walking. 
 
 "Xo, no," said Monsieur Wachner shortly. "There 
 is no need to take a carriage to-night; it is so fine, and, 
 besides, it is not very far." 
 
 He so seldom interfered or negatived any suggestion 
 that Sylvia felt a little surprised, the more so that it was 
 really a long walk from the Casino to the lonely Chalet des 
 Muguets. But as Madame Wachner had nodded assent 
 to her husband's words, their English guest said no more. 
 
 They started out into the moonlit night, Sylvia with 
 her light, springing step keeping pace with L'Ami Fritz, 
 while his wife lagged a step behind. But, as was usual 
 with him, M. Wachner remained silent, while his com- 
 panions talked. 
 
 To-night, however, Madame Wachner did not show 
 her usual tact; she began discussing the two travellers 
 who were now well started, no doubt, on their way to 
 Switzerland, and she expressed contemptuous surprise 
 that the Comte de Virieu had left Lacville.
 
 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 289 
 
 "I am glad 'e 'as gone away," she said cheerfully, "for 
 the Count is what English people call so supercilious — so 
 different to that excellent Mr. Chester! I wonder Mr. 
 Chester was willing for the Count's company. But you 
 'ave not lost 'im, my pretty Sylvia! 'E will soon be 
 back!" 
 
 As she spoke she laughed coarsely, and Sylvia made 
 no answer. She thought it probable that she would 
 never see the Comte de Virieu again, and the conviction 
 hurt intolerably. It was painful to be reminded of him 
 now, in this way, and by a woman who she knew dis- 
 liked and despised him. 
 
 She suddenly felt sorry that she had accepted the 
 Wachner's invitation. 
 
 To-night the way to the Chalet des Muguets seemed 
 longer than usual — far longer than it had seemed the last 
 time Sylvia had walked there, when Count Paul had been 
 her companion. It seemed as if an immense time had 
 gone by since then. . . . 
 
 Sylvia was glad when at last the three of them came 
 within sight of the familiar white gate. How strangely 
 lonely the little house looked, standing back in the tv.ilit 
 darkness of a summer night. 
 
 "I wonder"— Sylvia Bailey looked up at her silent 
 companion, L'Ami Fritz had not opened his lips once 
 during the walk from the Casino, "I wonder that you 
 and Madame Wachner are not afraid to leave the chalet 
 alone for so many hours of each day! Your servant 
 always goes away after lunch, doesn't she?" 
 
 "There is nothing to steal," he answered shortly. 
 "We always carry all our money about with us— all 
 sensible people do so at Lacville and at INIonte Carlo."
 
 290 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 
 
 Madame Wachner was now on Sylvia's other side. 
 
 "Yes," she interposed, rather breathlessly, "that is so; 
 and I 'ope that you, dear friend, followed the advice we 
 gave you about the matter? I mean, I 'ope you do not 
 leave your money in the hotel?" 
 
 "Of course I don't," said Sylvia, smiling. "Ever since 
 you gave me those pretty little leather pouches I always 
 carry all my money about with me, strapped round m}' 
 waist. At first it wasn't very comfortable, but I have 
 got quite used to it now." 
 
 "That is right," said Madame Wachner, heartily, "that 
 is quite right! There are rogues everywhere, perhaps 
 even in the Villa du Lac, if we knew everything!" and 
 Sylvia's hostess laughed in the darkness her hearty, 
 jovial laugh. 
 
 Suddenly she bent forward and addressed her husband. 
 "By the way, Ami Fritz, have you written that letter to 
 the Villa du Lac?" She nodded, explaining to Sylvia, 
 " We are anxious to get a room in your beautiful pension 
 for a rich friend of ours." 
 
 Sylvia had the instant feeling — she could not have told 
 why — that his wife's question had greatly annoyed Mon- 
 sieur Wachner. 
 
 "Of course I have written the letter!" he snapped out. 
 "Do I ever forget anji;hing?" 
 
 "But I'm afraid there is no room vacant in the Villa 
 du Lac," said Sylvia. "And yet — well, I suppose they 
 have not yet had time to let the Comte de Virieu's room. 
 They only knew he was going this morning. But you 
 need not have troubled to write a letter, Monsieur Wach- 
 ner. I could have given the message when I got back 
 to-night. In any case let me take yous letter."
 
 THE CHINK IN THE ARxMOUR 291 
 
 "Ah! but the person in question may arrive before you 
 get back," said Madame Wachner. "No, no, we have 
 arranged to send the letter by a cabman who will call 
 for it." 
 
 Monsieur Wachner pushed opened the wliite gate, and 
 all three began walking up through the garden. The 
 mantle of night now draped every straggling bush, every 
 wilted flower, and the little wilderness was filled with 
 delicious, pungent night scents. 
 
 When they reached the front door L'Ami Fritz stooped 
 down, and began looking under the mat. 
 
 Sylvia smiled in the darkness; there seemed some- 
 thing so primitive, so simple, in keeping the key of one's 
 front door outside under the mat! And yet foolish, 
 prejudiced people spoke of Lacville as a dangerous spot, 
 as the plague pit of Paris. 
 
 Suddenly the door was opened by the day-servant. 
 And botli the husband and wife uttered an involuntary 
 exclamation of surprise and displeasure. 
 
 "WTiat are you doing here?" asked Madame Wachner 
 harshly. There was a note of dismay, as well as of 
 anger, in her voice. 
 
 The woman began to excuse herself volubly. "I 
 thought I might be of some use, Madame. I thought I 
 might help you with all the last details." 
 
 "There was no necessity — none at all — for doing any- 
 thing of the kind," said her mistress, in a low, quick 
 voice. "You had been paid! You had had your 
 present! However, as you are here, you may as well 
 lay a third place in the dining-room, for, as you see, we 
 have brought Madame Bailey back to have a little
 
 292 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 
 
 supper. She will only stay a very few moments, as she 
 has to be at the Villa du Lac by ten o'clock," 
 
 The woman turned and threw open the door of the 
 dining-room. Then she struck a match, and lighted a 
 lamp which stood on the table. 
 
 Sylvia, as is often the case with those who have been 
 much thrown wuth French people, could understand 
 French much better than she could speak it, and what 
 Madame Wachner had just hissed out in rapid, mumbling 
 tones, surprised and puzzled her. 
 
 It was quite untrue that she, Sylvia, had to be back 
 at the Villa du Lac by ten o'clock — for the matter of 
 that, she could stay out as long and as late as she 
 liked. 
 
 Then, again, although the arrangement that she should 
 come to supper at the Chalet des Muguets to-night had 
 been made that afternoon, the Wachners had been home, 
 but they had evidently forgotten to tell their servant 
 that they were expecting a visitor, for only two places 
 were laid in the little dining-room into which they all 
 three walked on entering the house. 
 
 Propped up against the now lighted lamp was a letter 
 addressed to Monsieur Polperro in a peculiar, large hand- 
 writing. L'Ami Fritz, again uttering that queer guttural 
 exclamation, snatched up the envelope, and hurriedly put 
 it into his breast-pocket. 
 
 "I brought that letter out of M'sieur's bed-room," ob- 
 served the day-servant, cringingly. "I feared M'sieur 
 had forgotten it! Would M'sieur like me to take it to 
 the Villa du Lac on my way home?" 
 
 "No," said Monsieur Wachner, shortly. "There is no
 
 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 293 
 
 need for you to do that; IMadame Bailey will kindly take 
 it for me." 
 
 And again Sylvia felt surprised. Surely he had said— 
 or was it Madame Wachner?— that they had arranged 
 for a man to call for it. 
 
 His wife shouted out his name imperiously from the 
 dark passage, "Fritz! Fritz! Come here a moment; I 
 want you." 
 
 He hurried out of the room, and Sylvia and the servant 
 were thus left alone together for a few moments in the 
 dining-room. 
 
 The woman w^ent to the buffet and took up a plate; 
 she came and placed it noisily on the table, and, under 
 cover of the sound she made, "Do not stay here, Mad- 
 ame," she whispered, thrusting her wrinkled, sharp- 
 featured face close to the Englishwoman's. " Come away 
 with me! Say you want me to wait a bit and conduct 
 you back to the Villa du Lac." 
 
 Sylvia stared at her distrustfully. This femme de 
 menage had a disagreeable face; there was a cunning, 
 avaricious look in her eyes, or so IMrs. Bailey fancied ; no, 
 doubt she remembered the couple of francs which had 
 been given to her, or rather extorted by her, on the oc- 
 casion of the English lady's last visit to the Chalet des 
 Muguets. 
 
 "I will not say more," the servant went on, speaking 
 very quickly, and under her breath. "But I am an 
 honest woman, and these people frighten me. Still, I 
 am not one to want embarrassments with the police." 
 
 And Sylvia suddenly remembered that those were 
 exactly the words which had been uttered by Anna
 
 294 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 
 
 Wolsky's landlady in connection with Anna's disappear- 
 ance. How frightened French people seemed to be of 
 the police! 
 
 There came the sound of steps in the passage, and the 
 Frenchwoman moved away quickly from Sylvia's side. 
 She took up the plate she had just placed on the table, 
 and to Sylvia's mingled disgust and amusement began 
 rubbing it vigorously with her elbow. 
 
 Monsieur Wachner entered the room. 
 
 "That will do, that will do, Annette," he said patron- 
 isingly. "Come here, my good woman! Your mistress 
 and I desire to give you a further little gift as you have 
 shown so much zeal to-day, so here is twenty francs." 
 
 " Merci, M'sieur." 
 
 Without looking again at Sylvia the woman went out 
 of the room, and a moment later the front door slammed 
 behind her. 
 
 "IMy wife discovered that it is Annette's f^te day to- 
 morrow, and gave her a trifle. But she was evidently 
 not satisfied, and no doubt that was why she stayed on 
 to-night," observed Monsieur Wachner solemnly. 
 
 Madame Wachner now came in. She had taken off 
 her bonnet and changed her elastic-sided boots for easy 
 slippers. 
 
 "Oh, those French people!" she exclaimed. "How 
 greedy they are for money! But — well, Annette has 
 
 earned her present very fairly " She shrugged her 
 
 shoulders. 
 
 "May I go and take off my hat?" asked Sylvia; she 
 left the room before INIadame Wachner could answer her, 
 and hurried down the short, dark passage.
 
 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUK 295 
 
 The door of the moonUt kitchen was ajar, and to her 
 surprise she saw that a large trunk, corded and even 
 labelled, stood in the middle of the floor. Close to the 
 trunk was a large piece of sacking — and by it another 
 coil of thick rope. 
 
 Was it possible that the Wachners, too, were leaving 
 Lacville? If so, how very odd of them not to have told her! 
 
 As she opened the door of the bed-room Madame 
 Wachner waddled up behind her. 
 
 "Wait a moment!" she cried. "Or perhaps, dear 
 friend, you do not want a light? You see, we have been 
 rather upset to-day, for L'Ami Fritz has to go away for 
 two or three days, and that is a great affair! We are so 
 very seldom separated. 'Darby and Joan,' is not that 
 what English people would call us?" 
 
 "The moon is so bright I can see quite well," Sylvia 
 was taking off her hat; she put it, together with a little 
 fancy bag in which she kept the loose gold she played 
 with at the gambling tables, on Madame Wachner 's bed. 
 She felt vaguely uncomfortable, for even as Madame 
 Wachner had spoken she had become aware that the 
 bed-room was almost entirely cleared of everything be- 
 longing to its occupants. However, the Wachners, like 
 Anna Wolsky, had the right to go away without telling 
 anvone of their intention. 
 
 ft/ 
 
 As they came back into the dining-room together, 
 Mrs. Bailey's host, who was already sitting down at 
 table, looked up. 
 
 "Words! Words! Words!" he exclaimed harshly. 
 "Instead of talking so much why do you not both come 
 here and eat your suppers? I am very hungry."
 
 296 THE CHINK IN THE ARilOUR 
 
 Sylvia had never heard the odd, silent man speak in 
 such a tone before, but his wife answered quite good- 
 humouredly, 
 
 "You forget, Fritz, that the cabman is coming. Till 
 he has come and gone we shall not have peace." 
 
 And sure enough, within a moment of her saying those 
 words there came a sound of shuffling footsteps on the 
 garden path. 
 
 INIonsieur Wachner got up and went out of the room. 
 He opened the front door, and Sylvia overheard a few 
 words of the colloquy between her host and his messenger. 
 
 "Yes, you are to take it now, at once. Just leave it 
 at the Villa du Lac. You ^^^11 come for us — you will 
 come, that is, for me" — IMonsieur Wachner raised his 
 voice — "to-morrow morning at half-past six. I desire 
 to catch the 7.10 train to Paris." 
 
 There was a jingle of silver, and then Syhaa caught 
 the man's answering, " Merci, c'est enfendu, M'sieur." 
 
 But L'Ami Fritz did not come back at once to the 
 dining-room. He went out into the garden and accom- 
 panied the man down to the gate. 
 
 Wlien he came back again he put a large key on the 
 dining-table. 
 
 "There!" he said, with a grunt of satisfaction. "Now 
 there will be nothing to disturb us any more." 
 
 They all three sat down at the round dining-table. To 
 Sylvia's surprise a very simple meal was set out before 
 them. There was only one small dish of galantine. 
 When Sylvia Bailey had been to supper with the Wach- 
 ners before, there had always been two or three tempting 
 cold dishes, and some dainty friandises as well, the
 
 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 297 
 
 whole evidently procured from the excellent confectioner 
 who drives such a roaring trade at Lacville. To-night, 
 in addition to the few slices of galantine, there was only 
 a little fruit. 
 
 Then a very odd thing happened. 
 
 L'Ami Fritz helped first his wife and himself largely, 
 then Sylvia more frugally. It was perhaps a slight 
 matter, the more so that Monsieur Wachner was notori- 
 ously forgetful, being ever, according to his wife, absorbed 
 in his calculations and "systems." But all the same, this 
 extraordinary lack of good manners on her host's part 
 added to Sylvia's feeling of strangeness and discomfort. 
 
 Indeed, the Wachners were both very unlike their 
 usual selves this evening. Madame Wachner had sud- 
 denly become very serious, her stout red face was set in 
 rather grim, grave lines; and twice, as Sylvia was eating 
 the little piece of galantine which had been placed on her 
 plate by L'Ami Fritz, she looked up and caught her 
 hostess's eyes fixed on her with a curious, alien scrutiny. 
 
 When they had almost finished the meat, Madame 
 Wachner suddenly exclaimed in French. 
 
 "Fritz! You have forgotten to mix the salad! What- 
 ever made you forget such an important thing? You 
 will find what is necessary in the drawer behind you." 
 
 Monsieur Wachner made no answer. He got up and 
 pulled the drawer of the buffet open. Taking out of it 
 a wooden spoon and fork, he came back to the table and 
 began silently mixing the salad. 
 
 The two last times Sylvia had been at the Chrdct des 
 Muguets, her host, in deference to her English taste, had 
 put a large admixture of vinegar in the salad dressing,
 
 298 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 
 
 but this ttme she saw that he soused the lettuce-leaves 
 with oil. 
 
 At last, "Will you have some salad, Mrs. Bailey?" he 
 said brusquely, and in English. He spoke English far 
 better than did his wife. 
 
 "No," she said. "Not to-night, thank you!" 
 
 And Sylvia, smiling, looked across at Madame Wachner, 
 expecting to see in the older woman's face a humorous 
 appreciation of the fact that L'Ami Fritz had forgotten 
 her well-known horror of oil. 
 
 Mrs. Bailey's dislike of the favourite French salad- 
 dressing ingredient had long been a joke among the 
 three, nay, among the four, for Anna Wolsky had been 
 there the last time Sylvia had had supper with the Wach- 
 ners. It had been such a merry meal! 
 
 To-night no meaning smile met hers; instead she only 
 saw that odd, grave, considering look on her hostess's 
 face. 
 
 Suddenly Madame Wachner held out her plate across 
 the table, and L'Ami Fritz heaped it up with the oily 
 salad. 
 
 Sylvia Bailey's plate was empty, but Monsieur Wach- 
 ner did not seem to notice that his guest lacked anything. 
 And at last, to her extreme astonishment, she suddenly 
 saw him take up one of the two pieces of meat remain- 
 ing on the dish, and, leaning across, drop it on his wife's 
 plate. Then he helped himself to the last remaining 
 morsel. 
 
 It was such a trifling thing really, and due of course 
 to her host's singular absent-mindedness; yet, even so, 
 taken in connection with both the Wachners' silence and
 
 THE CniNK IN THE AliMOUR 299 
 
 odd manner, this lack of the commonest courtesy struck 
 Sylvia with a kind of fear — with fear and with pain. 
 She felt so hurt that the tears came into her eyes. 
 
 There was a long moment's pause — then, 
 
 "Do you not feel well," asked Madame Wachner 
 harshly, "or are you grieving for the Comte de Virieu?" 
 
 Her voice had become guttural, full of coarse and 
 cruel malice, and even as she si)oke she went on eating 
 voraciously. 
 
 Sylvia Bailey pushed her chair back, and rose to her 
 feet. 
 
 " I should like to go home now," she said quietly, " for 
 it is getting late," — her voice shook a little. She was 
 desperately afraid of disgracing herself by a childish out- 
 burst of tears. "I can make my way back quite well 
 without Monsieur Wachner's escort." 
 
 She saw her host shrug his shoulders. He made a 
 grimace at his wife; it expressed annoyance, nay, more, 
 extreme disapproval. 
 
 Madame Wachner also got up. She wiped her mouth 
 with her napkin, and then laid her hand on Sylvia's 
 shoulder. 
 
 "Come, come," she exclaimed, and this time she spoke 
 quite kindly, "you must not be cross with me, dear 
 friend! I was only laughing, I was only what you call 
 in England 'teasing.' The truth is I am very vexed and 
 upset that our supper is not better. I told that fool 
 Frenchwoman to get in something really nice, and she 
 disobeyed me! I was 'ungry, too, for I 'ad no dejeuner 
 to-day, and that makes one 'oilow, does it not? But 
 now L'Ami Fritz is going to make us some good coffee!
 
 300 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 
 
 After we 'ave 'ad it you shall go away if so is your wish, 
 but my 'usband will certainly accompany you " 
 
 "Most certainly I will do so; you will not move — no, 
 not a single step — without me," said jNIonsieur Wachner 
 solemnly. 
 
 And then Madame Wachner burst out into a sudden 
 peal of laughter — laughter which was infectious. 
 
 Sylvia smiled too, and sat down again. After all, as 
 Paul de Virieu had truly said, not once, but many times, 
 the Wachners were not refined people — but they were 
 kind and very good-natured. And then she, Sylvia, was 
 tired and low-spirited to-night — no doubt she had imag- 
 ined the change in their manner, which had so surprised 
 and hurt her. 
 
 Madame Wachner was quite her old self again; just 
 now she was engaged in heaping all the cherries which 
 were in the dessert dish on her guest's plate, in spite of 
 Sylvia's eager protest. 
 
 L'Ami Fritz got up and left the room. He was going 
 into the kitchen to make the coffee. 
 
 "Mr. Chester was telling me of your valuable pearls," 
 said Madame Wachner pleasantly. "I teas surprised! 
 What a lot of money to 'ang round one's neck! But it 
 is worth it if one 'as so lovely a neck as 'as the beautiful 
 Sylvia! May I look at your pearls, dear friend? Or do 
 you never take them off? " 
 
 Sylvia unclasped the string of pearls and laid it on the 
 table. 
 
 "Yes, they are rather nice," she said modestly. "I 
 always wear them, even at night. Many people have a 
 knot made between each pearl, for that, of course, makes
 
 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 301 
 
 the danger of losing them much less should the string 
 break. But mine are not knotted, for a lady once told 
 me that it made the pearls hang much less prettily; she 
 said it would be quite safe if I had them restrung every 
 six months. So that is what I do. I had them restrung 
 just before coming to France." 
 
 Madame Wachner reverentially took up tlie pearls in 
 her large hand; she seemed to be weighing them. 
 
 "How heavy they are," she said at length, and now 
 she spoke French. 
 
 "Yes," said Sylvia, "you can always tell a real pearl 
 by Its weight." 
 
 "And to think," went on her hostess musingly, "that 
 each of these tiny balls is worth — how much is it worth? 
 — at least five or six hundred francs, I suppose?" 
 
 "Yes," said Sylvia again, "I'm glad to say they have 
 increased in value during the last few years. You see, 
 pearls are the only really fashionable gems just now." 
 
 "And they cannot be identified like other fine jewels," 
 observed Madame Wachner, "but I suppose they are 
 worth more together than separately?" she was still 
 speaking in that thoughtful, considering tone. 
 
 "Oh, I don't know that," said Sylvia, smiling. " Each 
 separate pearl is worth a good deal, but still I daresay 
 you are right, for these are beautifully matched. I got 
 them, by a piece of great luck, without having to pay — 
 well, what I suppose one would call the middle-man's 
 profit! I just paid what I should have done at a gootl 
 London sale." 
 
 "And you paid? — seven — eight 'undrcd pounds?" 
 asked Madame Wachner, this time in English, and
 
 302 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 
 
 fixing her small, dark eyes on the fair Englishwoman's 
 face. 
 
 "Oh, rather more than that." Sylvia grew a little red. 
 "But as I said just now, they are always increasing in 
 value. Even Mr. Chester, who did not approve of my 
 getting these pearls, admits that I made a good bar- 
 gain." 
 
 Through the open door she thought she heard Monsieur 
 Wachner coming back down the passage. So she sud- 
 denly took the pearls out of the other woman's hand 
 and clasped the string about her neck again. 
 
 L'Ami Fritz came into the room. He was holding 
 rather awkwardly a little tray on which were two cups 
 — one a small cup, the other a large cup, both filled to 
 the brim with black coffee. He put the small cup before 
 his guest, the large cup before his wife. 
 
 "I hope you do not mind having a small cup," he said 
 solemnly. "I remember that you do not care to take a 
 great deal of coffee, so I have given you the small cup." 
 
 Syhia looked up. 
 
 "Oh dear!" she exclaimed, "I ought to have told you 
 before you made it. Monsieur Wachner — but I won't 
 have any coffee to-night. The last time I took some I 
 lay awake all night." 
 
 "Oh, but you must take coffee!" Madame Wachner 
 spoke good-humouredly, but with great determination. 
 "The small amount you have in that little cup will not 
 hurt you; and besides it is a special coffee, L'Ami Fritz's 
 own mixture" — she laughed heartily. 
 
 And again Sylvia noticed that Monsieur Wachner 
 looked at his wife with a fixed, rather angry look, as
 
 THE CHINK IX THE ARMOUR 303 
 
 much as to say, "Why are you always laughing? Why 
 cannot you be serious sometimes? " 
 
 " But to-night, honestly, I would really rather not have 
 any coffee!" 
 
 Sylvia had suddenly seen a vision of herself lying wide 
 awake during long dark hours — hours which, as she knew 
 by experience, generally bring to the sleepless, worrying 
 thoughts. 
 
 "No, no, I will not have any coffee to-night," she 
 repeated. 
 
 "Yes, yes, dear friend, you really must," Madame 
 Wachner spoke very persuasively. "I should be truly 
 sorry if you did not take this coffee. Indeed, it would 
 make me think you were angry with us because of the 
 very bad supper we had given you! L'Ami Fritz would 
 not have taken the trouble to make coffee for his old 
 wife. He has made it for you, only for you; he will be 
 hurt if you do not take it!" 
 
 The coffee did look very tempting and fragrant. 
 
 Sylvia had always disliked coffee in England, but 
 somehow French coffee was quite different; it had quite 
 another taste from that of the mixture which the ladies 
 of Market Bailing pressed on their guests at their dinner- 
 parties. 
 
 She lifted the pretty little cup to her lips— but the 
 coffee, this coffee of L'Ami Fritz, his special mixture, as 
 his wife had termed it, had a rather curious taste, it was 
 slightly bitter— decidedly not so nice as that which she 
 was accustomed to drink each day after dejeuner at the 
 Villa du Lac. Surely it would be very foolish to risk a 
 bad night for a small cup of indifferent coffee?
 
 304 THE CHINK IX THE ARMOUR 
 
 She put the cup down, and pushed it away. 
 
 "Please do not ask me to take it," she said firmly. 
 "It really is very bad for me!" 
 
 Madame Wachner shrugged her shoulders with an 
 angry gesture. 
 
 "So be it," she said, and then imperiously, "Fritz, will 
 you please come with me for a moment into the next 
 room? I have something to ask you." 
 
 He got up and silently obeyed his wife. Before leaving 
 the room he slipped the key of the garden gate into his 
 trousers pocket. 
 
 A moment later Sylvia, left alone, could hear them 
 talking eagerly to one another in that strange, unknown 
 tongue in which they sometimes — not often — addressed 
 one another. 
 
 She got up from her chair, seized with a sudden, eager 
 desire to slip away before they came back. For a moment 
 she even thought of leaving the house without waiting for 
 her hat and little fancy bag; and then, with a strange 
 sinking of the heart she remembered that the white gate 
 was locked, and that L'Ami Fritz had now the key of it 
 in his pocket. 
 
 But in no case would Sylvia have had time to do what 
 she had thought of doing, for a moment later her host 
 and hostess were back in the room. 
 
 Madame Wachner sat down again at the dining-table. 
 
 "One moment!" she exclaimed, rather breathlessly. 
 ** Just wait till I 'ave finished my coffee, Sylvia dear, and 
 then L'Ami Fritz will escort you 'ome." 
 
 Rather unwillingly, Sylvia again sat down. 
 
 Monsieur Wachner was paying no attention either to
 
 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 305 
 
 his guest or to his wife. He took up the chair on which 
 he had been sitting, and placed it out of tlie way near 
 the door. Then he lifted the lighted lamp off the table 
 and put it on the buffet. 
 
 As he did so, Sylvia, looking up, saw the shadow of 
 his tall, lank figure thrown grotesquely, hugely, against 
 the opposite wall of the room. 
 
 "Now take the cloth off the table," he said curtly. 
 And his wife, gulping down the last drops of her coffee, 
 got up and obeyed him. 
 
 Sylvia suddenly realised that they were getting ready 
 for something — that they wanted the room cleared 
 
 As with quick, deft fingers she folded up the cloth, 
 IMadame Wachner exclaimed, "As you are not taking 
 any coffee, Sylvia, perhaps it is time for you now to get 
 up and go away." 
 
 Sylvia Bailey looked across at the speaker, and red- 
 dened deeply. She felt very angry. Never in the course 
 of her pleasant, easy, prosperous life had anyone ven- 
 tured to dismiss her in this fashion from their house. 
 
 She rose, for the second time during the course of her 
 short meal, to her feet 
 
 And then, in a flash, there occurred that which trans- 
 formed her anger into agonised fear — fear and terror. 
 
 The back of her neck had been grazed by something 
 sharp and cold, and as she gave a smothered cry she saw 
 that her string of pearls had parted in two. The pearls 
 were now falling quickly one by one, and rolling all over 
 the floor. 
 
 Instinctively she bent down, but as she did so she 
 heard the man behind her make a quick movement.
 
 306 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 
 
 She straightened herself and looked sharply round. 
 
 L'Ami Fritz was still holding in his hand the small 
 pair of nail scissors with which he had snipped asunder 
 her necklace; with the other he was in the act of taking 
 out something from the drawer of the buffet. 
 
 She suddenly saw what that something was. 
 
 Sylvia Bailej-'s nerves steadied ; her mind became curi- 
 ously collected and clear. There had leapt on her the 
 knowledge that this man and woman meant to kill her — 
 to kill her for the sake of the pearls which were still 
 bounding about the floor, and for the comparatively 
 small sum of money which she carried slung in the leather 
 bag below her waist. 
 
 L'Ami Fritz now stood staring at her. He had put 
 his right hand — the hand holding the thing he had taken 
 out of the drawer — behind his back. He was very pale; 
 the sweat had broken out on his sallow, thin face. 
 
 For a horrible moment there floated across Sylvia's 
 sub-conscious mind the thought of Anna Wolsky, and of 
 what she now knew to have been Anna Wolsky 's fate. 
 
 But she put that thought, that awful knowledge, deter- 
 minedly away from her. The instinct of self-preservation 
 possessed her wholly. 
 
 Alreadv, in far less time than it would have taken to 
 formulate the words, she had made up her mind to speak, 
 and she knew exactly what she meant to say. 
 
 "It does not matter about my pearls," Sylvia said, 
 quietly. Her voice shook a little, but otherwise she 
 spoke in her usual tone. "If you are going into Paris 
 to-morrow morning, perhaps you would take them to be 
 restrung?"
 
 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 307 
 
 The man looked questioningly across at his wife. 
 
 "Yes, that sounds a good plan," he said, in his guttural 
 voice. 
 
 "No," exclaimed Madame Wachner, decidedly, "that 
 will not do at all ! We must not run that risk. The pearls 
 must be found, now, at once! Stoop!" she said imperi- 
 ously. "Stoop, Sylvia! Help me to find your pearls!" 
 
 She made a gesture as if she also meant to bend 
 down. . . . 
 
 But Sylvia Bailey made no attempt to obey the sinister 
 order. Slowly, warily she edged herself towards the 
 closed window. At last she stood with her back to it — 
 at bay. 
 
 "No," she said quietly, "I will not stoop to pick up 
 my pearls now, Madame Wachner. It will be easier to 
 find them in the daylight. I am sure that Monsieur 
 Wachner could pick them all up for me to-morrow morn- 
 ing. Is not that so. Ami Fritz?" and there was a tone 
 of pleading, for the first time of pitiful fear, in her soft 
 voice. 
 
 She looked at him piteously, her large blue eyes wide 
 open, dilated 
 
 "It is not my husband's business to pick up your 
 pearls!" exclaimed Madame Wachner harshly. 
 
 She stepped forward and gripped Sylvia by the arm, 
 pulling her violently forward. As she did so she made a 
 sign to her husband, and he pushed a chair quickly be- 
 tween Mrs. Bailey and the window. 
 
 Sylvia had lost her point of vantage, but she was 
 young and lithe; she kept her feet. 
 
 Nevertheless, she knew with a cold, reasoned knowl-
 
 308 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 
 
 edge that she was very near to death — that it was only 
 a question of minutes, — unless — unless she could make 
 the man and woman before her understand that they 
 would gain far more money by allowing her to live than 
 by killing her now, to-night, for the value of the pearls 
 that lay scattered on the floor, and the small, the pitiably 
 small sum on her person. 
 
 "If you will let me go," she said, desperatelj'^, "I swear 
 I will give you ever}i:hing I have in the world!" 
 
 Madame Wachner suddenly laid her hand on Sylvia's 
 arm, and tried to force her down on to her knees. 
 
 " What do you take us for? " she cried, furiously. " We 
 want nothing from you — nothing at all I" 
 
 She looked across at her husband, and there burst from 
 her lips a torrent of words, uttered in the uncouth tongue 
 which the Wachners used for secrecy. 
 
 Sylvia tried desperately to understand, but she could 
 make nothing of the strange, rapid-spoken syllables — ■ 
 until there fell on her ear, twice repeated, the name 
 Wolshy. . . . 
 
 Madame Wachner stepped suddenly back, and as she 
 did so L'Ami Fritz moved a step forward. 
 
 Sylvia looked at him, an agonised appeal in her eyes. 
 He was smiling hideously, a nervous grin zig-zagging 
 across his large, thin-lipped mouth. 
 
 "You should have taken the coffee," he muttered in 
 English. "It would have saved us all so much trouble!" 
 
 He put out his left hand, and the long, strong fingers 
 closed, tentacle-wise, on her slender shoulder. 
 
 His right hand he kept still hidden behind his back
 
 CHAPTER XXV 
 
 The great open-air restaurant in the Champs Elysees 
 was full of foreigners, and Paul de Virieu and Bill Chester 
 were sitting opposite to one another on the broad terrace 
 dotted with little tables embowered in flowering shrubs. 
 
 They were both smoking, — the Englishman a cigar, 
 the Frenchman a cigarette. It was now half-past seven, 
 and instead of taking the first express to Switzerland they 
 had decided to have dinner comfortably in Paris and to 
 go on by a later train. 
 
 Neither man felt that he had very much to say to the 
 other, and Chester started a little in his seat when Paul 
 de Virieu suddenly took his cigarette out of his mouth, 
 put it down on the table, and leant forward. He looked 
 at the man sitting opposite to him straight in the eyes. 
 
 "I do not feel at all happy at our having left Mrs. 
 Bailey alone at Lacville," he said, deliberately. 
 
 Chester stared back at him, telling himself angrily as 
 he did so that he did not in the least know what the 
 Frenchman was driving at! 
 
 What did Paul de Virieu mean by saymg this stupid, 
 obvious thing, and why should he drag in the question 
 of his being happy or unhappy? 
 
 "You know that I did my best to persuade her to 
 leave the place," said Chester shortly. Then, very de- 
 liberately he added, "I am afraid, Count, that you've 
 got quite a wrong notion in your mind concerning myself 
 and Mrs. Bailey. It is true I am her trustee, but I have 
 
 309
 
 310 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 
 
 no power of making her do what I think sensible, or even 
 what I think right. She is absolutely her own mistress." 
 
 He stopped abruptly, for he had no wish to discuss 
 Sylvia and Sylvia's affairs with this foreigner, however 
 oddly intimate Mrs. Bailey had allowed herself to get 
 with the Comte de Virieu. 
 
 "Lac\alle is such a very queer place," observed the 
 Count, meditatively. "It is perhaps even queerer than 
 you know or guess it to be, Mr. Chester." 
 
 The English lawyer thought the remark too obvious 
 to answer. Of course Lacville was a queer place — to put 
 it plainly, little better than a gambling hell. He knew 
 that well enough ! But it was rather strange to hear the 
 Comte de Virieu saying so — a real case, if ever there was 
 one, of Satan rebuking sin. 
 
 So at last he answered, irritably, "Of course it is! I 
 can't think what made Mrs. Bailey go there in the first 
 instance." His mind was full of Sylvia. He seemed to 
 go on speaking of her against his will. 
 
 " Her going to Lacville was a mere accident," explained 
 Paul de Virieu, quickly. " She was brought there by the 
 Polish lady, Madame Wolsky, of whom you must have 
 heard her speak, whom she met in an hotel in Paris, and 
 who disappeared so mysteriously. It is not a place for a 
 young lady to be at by herself." 
 
 Bill Chester tilted back the chair on which he was 
 sitting. Once more he asked himself what on earth the 
 fellow was driving at? Were these remarks a preliminary 
 to the Count's saying that he was not going to Switzer- 
 land after all — that he was going back to Lacville in 
 order to take care of Sylvia.
 
 THE CHINK TN THE AnMOUR 311 
 
 Quite suddenly the young Englishman felt shaken by 
 a very primitive and, till these last few days, a very un- 
 familiar feeling — that of jealousy. 
 
 Damn it — he wouldn't have thatl Of course he was 
 no longer in love with Sylvia Bailey, but he was her 
 trustee and lifelong friend. It was his duty to prevent 
 her making a fool of herself, either by gambling away her 
 money — the good money the late George Bailey ha<l 
 toiled so hard to acquire — or, what would be ever so 
 much worse, by making some wretched marriage to a 
 foreign adventurer. 
 
 He stared suspiciously at his companion. Was It 
 likely that a real count — the French equivalent to am 
 English earl — would lead the sort of life this man, Paul 
 de Virieu, was leading, and in a place like Lacville? 
 
 "If you really feel like that, I think I'd better give up 
 my trip to Switzerland, and go back to Lacville to-morrow 
 morning." 
 
 He stared hard at the Count, and noted with sarcastic 
 amusement the other's appearance — so foppish, so effem- 
 inate to English eyes; particularly did he gaze with scorn 
 at the Count's yellow silk socks, which matched his lemon- 
 coloured tie and silk pocket handkerchief. Fancy start- 
 ing for a long night journey in such a "get-up." Well! 
 Perhaps women liked that sort of thing, but he would 
 never have thought Sylvia Bailey to be that sort of 
 woman. 
 
 A change came over Paul de Virieu 's face. There was 
 unmistakable relief — nay, more — even joy in the voice 
 with which the Frenchman answered, 
 
 "That is excellent! That is quite right! That is
 
 312 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 
 
 first-rate! Yes, yes, Mr. Chester, you go back to Lac- 
 ville and bring her away. It is not right that ]\Irs. 
 Bailey should be by herself there. It may seem absurd 
 to you, but, believe me, Lacville is not a safe spot in 
 which to leave an unprotected woman. She has not one 
 single friend, not a person to whom she could turn to for 
 advice, — excepting, of course, the excellent Polperro him- 
 self, and he naturally desires to keep his profitable client." 
 
 "There's that funny old couple — I mean the man 
 called Fritz Something-or-other and his wife. Surely 
 they're all right?" observed Chester. 
 
 Paul de Virieu shook his head decidedly. 
 
 "The Wachners are not nice people," he said slowly. 
 "They appear to be very fond of Mrs. Bailey, I know, 
 but they are only fond of themselves. They are adven- 
 turers; 'out for the stuff,' as Americans say. Old Fritz 
 is the worst type of gambler — the type that believes he 
 is going to get rich, rich beyond dreams of avarice, by a 
 'system.' Such a man will do anything for money. I 
 believe they knew far more of the disappearance of 
 Madame Wolsky than anyone else did." 
 
 The Count lowered his voice, and leant over the table. 
 
 "I have suspected," he went on — "nay, I have felt 
 sure from the very first, Mr. Chester, that the Wachners 
 are blackmailers. I am convinced that they discovered 
 something to that poor lady's discredit, and — after 
 making her pay — drove her away! Just before she left 
 Lacville they were trying to raise money at the Casino 
 money-changer's on some worthless shares. But after 
 Madame Wolsky's disappearance they had plenty of 
 gold and notes."
 
 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 313 
 
 Chester looked across at his companion. At last he 
 was really impressed. Blackmailing is a word which has 
 a very ugly sound in an English lawyer's cars. 
 
 "If that is really true," he said suddenly, "I almost 
 feel as if I ought to go back to Lacville to-night. I sup- 
 pose there are heaps of trains?" 
 
 "You might, at all events, wait till to-morrow morn- 
 ing," said Paul de Virieu, drily. 
 
 He also had suddenly experienced a thrill of that 
 primitive passion, jealousy, which had surprised Chester 
 but a few moments before. But the Count was a French- 
 man. He was familiar with the sensation — nay, he wel- 
 comed it. It showed that he was still young — still 
 worthy to be one of the great company of lovers. 
 
 Sylvia, his "petite amie Anglaise," seemed to have 
 come very near to him in the last few moments. He saw 
 her blue eyes brim with tears at his harsh words — he 
 thrilled as he had thrilled with the overmastering im- 
 pulse which had made him take her into his arms — her 
 hand lay once more in his hand, as it had lain, for a 
 moment this morning. 
 
 Had he grasped and retained that kind, firm little 
 hand in his, an entirely new life had been within his 
 reach. 
 
 A vision rose before Paul de Virieu — a vision of Sylvia 
 and himself living heart to heart in one of those small, 
 stately manor-houses which are scattered throughout Brit- 
 tany. And it was no vague house of dreams. He knew 
 the little chateau very well. Had not his sister driven 
 him there only the other day? And had she not con- 
 veyed to him in delicate, generous words how gladly she
 
 314 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 
 
 would see his sweet English friend established there as 
 chatelaine? 
 
 A sense of Immeasurable loss came over Paul de 
 
 VIrleu But, no, he had been right! Quite right! 
 
 He loved Sylvia far too well to risk making her as un- 
 happy as he would almost certainly be tempted to make 
 her, if she became his wife. 
 
 He took off his hat and remained silent for what 
 seemed to his companion quite a long time. 
 
 "By the way, what is Mrs. Bailey doing to-night?" he 
 asked at last. 
 
 "To-night?" replied Chester. "Let me see? Why, 
 to-night she Is spending the evening with those very 
 people — the Wachners, of whom you were speaking just 
 now. I heard her arranging It with them this afternoon." 
 He added, stlflfly, "But I doubt If your impression as to 
 these people is a right one. They seem to me a very 
 respectable couple." 
 
 Paul de Virleu shrugged his shoulders. He felt sud- 
 denly uneasy — afraid he hardly knew of what. 
 
 There was no risk that Sylvia Bailey would fall a 
 victim to blackmailers — she had nothing to be ashamed 
 of, nothing to conceal. But still he hated to think that 
 she was, even now, alone with a man and woman of 
 whom he had formed such a bad Impression. 
 
 He took his watch out of his pocket. "There's a 
 train for Lacville at a quarter to ten," he said slowly. 
 "That would be an excellent train for — for iis — to 
 take " 
 
 "Then are you thinking of going back to Lacville 
 too?" There was that sarcastic inflection in the Eng-
 
 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUH 315 
 
 lishman's voice which the Count had learned to look for 
 and to resent. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 Count Paul looked at Bill Chester si^ificantly, and 
 his look said, "Take care, my friend! We do not allow 
 a man to sneer at another man in this countn- unless he 
 is willing to stand certain unpleasant consequences. Our 
 duels are not always pour rire! " 
 
 During the short train journey back to Lacville they 
 hardly spoke. Each thought that the other was doing 
 a strange and unreasonable thing — a thing which the 
 thinker could have done much better if left to himself. 
 
 At Lacville station they jumped into a victoria. 
 
 "I suppose we had better drive straight to the Villa 
 du Lac," said Chester, hesitatingly. 
 
 "Yes, we had better go first to the Villa du Lac, for 
 Mrs. Bailey should be home by now. By the way, Mr. 
 Chester, you had better ask to have my room to-night; 
 we know that it is disengaged. As for me, I will go on 
 somewhere else as soon as I know you have seen our 
 friend. Please do not tell Mrs. Bailey that I came with 
 you. Where would be the use? I may go back to Paris 
 to-night." Paul de Virieu spoke in a constrained, pre- 
 occupied voice. 
 
 "But aren't you coming in? Won't you stay at Lac- 
 ville at least till to-morrow?" 
 
 Chester's voice unwittingly became far more cordial; 
 if the Frenchman did not wish to see Sylvia, why had he 
 insisted on coming back, too, to Lacville. 
 
 The hall of the Villa du Lac was brightly lit up, and 
 as the victoria swept up the short drive to the stone
 
 316 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 
 
 horseshoe stairway, the Comte de Virieu suddenly 
 grasped the other's hand. 
 
 "Good luck!" he exclaimed, "Good luck, fortunate 
 man! As the Abbot at my English school used to say 
 to me when he met me, as a little boy, running about the 
 cloisters, 'God bless you!'" 
 
 Chester was rather touched, as well as surprised. But 
 what queer, emotional fellows Frenchmen are to be sure I 
 Although Count Paul, as Sylvia used to call him, had 
 evidently been a little bit in love with her himself, he was 
 quite willing to think of her as married to another man I 
 
 But — but there was the rub! Chester was no longer 
 so sure that he wanted to marry Sylvia. She had be- 
 come a different woman — she seemed to be another 
 Sylvia to the one he had always known. 
 
 "I'll just come out and tell you that it's all right," he 
 said a little awkwardly. "But I wish you'd come in — 
 if only for a minute. Mrs. Bailey would be so pleased to 
 see you." 
 
 "No, no," muttered the other. "Believe me, she 
 would not!" 
 
 Chester jumped out of the carriage and ran quickly 
 up the stone steps, and rang the bell. 
 
 The door was opened by M. Polperro himself. Even 
 busier than usual was the merry, capable little chef, for 
 as it happened Madame Polperro had had to go away for 
 two or three days. 
 
 "I want to know," said Chester abruptly, "if you can 
 let rae have a room for to-night? The room the Comte 
 de Virieu occupied is, I suppose, disengaged?" 
 
 "I will see, M'sieur — I will inquire!"
 
 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 317 
 
 M. Polperro did not know what to make of this big 
 Englishman who had come in out of the night, bringing 
 no luggage with him but one little bag. 
 
 Then he suddenly remembered! Why, of course, this 
 was the friend of the pretty, charming, wealthy Madame 
 Bailey; the English gentleman who had been staying 
 during the past few days at the Pension Mai fait! A 
 gentleman who was called after a well-known cheese — 
 yes, Chester was his name. 
 
 Then this Mr. Chester's departure from Lacville had 
 been a fausse sortie — a ruse to get rid of the Comte de 
 Virieu, who was also in love with the lovely young Eng- 
 lish widow? 
 
 Ah! Ah! M. Polperro felt very much amused. Never 
 had he heard of anything so droll! But the Englishman's 
 tale of love was not to run smooth after all, for now 
 another complication had arisen, and the very last one 
 any sensible man would have expected ! 
 
 "Yes, M'sieur," said M. Polperro demurely, "it is all 
 right! I had forgotten! As you say, the Comte de 
 Virieu's room is now empty, but" — he hesitated, and with 
 a sly look added, "indeed we have another room empty 
 to-night — a far finer room, with a view over the lake — 
 the room Madame Bailey occupied." 
 
 "The room Mrs. Bailey occupied?" echoed Chester, 
 "Has Mrs. Bailey changed her room to-day?" 
 
 "Oh, no, M'sieur! She left Lacville this very even- 
 ing. I have but just now received a letter from her." 
 
 The little man could hardly keep serious. Oh! those 
 Englishmen, who are said to be so cold! When in love 
 they behave just like other people.
 
 318 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 
 
 For Chester was staring at him with puzzled, wrathful 
 eyes. 
 
 "Ah! what a charming lady, M'sieur; Madame Pol- 
 perro and I shall miss her greatly. We hoped to keep 
 Madame Bailey all the summer. But perhaps she will 
 come back — now that M'sieur has returned." He really 
 could not resist that last thrust. 
 
 " Left Lacville ! " repeated Chester incredulously. " But 
 that's impossible! It isn't more than three hours since 
 we said good-bye to her at the station. She had no in- 
 tention of leaving Lacville then. Do you say you've re- 
 ceived a letter from her?" 
 
 "Yes, M'sieur." 
 
 "Will you please show it me?'* 
 
 "Certainly, M'sieur." 
 
 M. Polperro, followed closely by the Englishman, 
 trotted of! into his office, a funny little hole of a place 
 which had been contrived under the staircase. It was 
 here that Madame Polperro was supposed to spend her 
 busy days. 
 
 M. Polperro felt quite lost without his wife. Slowly, 
 methodically, he began to turn over the papers on the 
 writing-table, which, with one chair, filled up all the 
 place. 
 
 There had evidently been a lovers' quarrel between 
 these two peculiar English people. Wliat a pity that 
 the gentleman, who had very properly returned to beg 
 the lady's pardon, had found his little bird flown — in 
 such poetic terms did the landlord in his own mind refer 
 to Sylvia Bailey. 
 
 The pretty Englishwoman's presence in the Villa du
 
 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 319 
 
 Lac had delighted M. Polperro's southern, sentimental 
 mind; he felt her to be so decorative, as well as so lucra- 
 tive, a guest for his beloved hotel. Mrs. Bailey had never 
 questioned any of the extras Madame rolperro put in 
 her weekly bills, and she had never become haggard and 
 cross as other ladies did who lost money at the Casino. 
 
 As he turned over the papers — bills, catalogues, and 
 letters with which the table was covered, these thoughts 
 flitted regretfully through M. Polperro's mind. 
 
 But he had an optimistic nature, and though he was 
 very sorry Madame Bailey had left the Villa du Lac so 
 abruptly, he was gratified by the fact that she had lived 
 up to the ideal he had formed of his English guest. 
 Though Madame Bailey had paid her weekly bill only 
 two days before — she was en pension by the day — she 
 had actually sent him a hundred francs to pay for the 
 two days' board; the balance to be distributed among 
 the servants. . . . 
 
 There could surely be no harm in giving this big Eng- 
 lishman the lady's letter? Still, M. Polperro was sorry 
 that he had not Madame Polperro at his elbow to make 
 the decision for him. 
 
 "Here it is," he said at last, taking a piece of paper 
 out of the drawer. "I must have put it there for my 
 wife to read on her return. It is a very gratifying letter 
 — M'sieur will see that for himself!" 
 
 Chester took the folded-up piece of notepaper out of 
 the Httle Frenchman's hand with a strange feeling of 
 
 misgiving. 
 
 He came out into the hall and stood under the cut- 
 glass chandelier —
 
 320 THE CmNK IN THE ARMOUR 
 
 "You have made a mistake," he exclaimed quickly; 
 "this is not Mrs. Bailey's handwriting!" 
 
 "Oh, yes, M'sieur, it is certainly Mrs. Bailey's letter. 
 You see there is the lady's signature written as plainly 
 as possible!" 
 
 Chester looked down to where the man's fat finger 
 pointed. 
 
 In the strange, the alien handwriting, were written 
 two words which for a moment conveyed nothing to 
 Chester, "Silvea" and "Baylee"; as for the writing, 
 stiff, angular, large, it resembled Sylvia's sloping English 
 caligraphy as little as did the two words purporting to 
 be her signature resemble the right spelling of her name. 
 
 A thrill of fear, of terrifying suspicion, flooded Bill 
 Chester's shrewd but commonplace mind. 
 
 Slowly he read the strange letter through: 
 
 ** Monsieur Polperro (so ran the missive in French) — 
 
 "I am leaving Lacville this evening in order to join my friend 
 Madame Wolsky. I request you therefore to send on my luggage 
 to the cloak room at the Gare du Nord. I enclose a hundred- 
 franc note to pay you what I owe. Please distribute the rest of 
 the money among the servants. I beg to inform you that I have 
 been exceedingly comfortable at the Villa du Lac, and I will recom- 
 mend your hotel to all my friends. 
 
 "Yours very cordially, 
 
 "Stlvea Baylee." 
 
 Turning on his heel, and without even throwing a word 
 of apology to the astonished, and by now indignant, 
 M. Polperro, Chester rushed out of the hall and down the 
 stone steps, below which stood the victoria.
 
 THB CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 321 
 
 "Well?" cried out Paul de Virieu. 
 
 "Come into the house — now, at once!" cried Chester, 
 roughly. "Something extraordinary has happened!" — 
 
 The Count jumped out of the carriage, and a moment 
 later the two men stood together in the hall, careless of 
 the fact that M. Polperro was staring at them with 
 affrighted eyes. 
 
 "This letter purports to be from Sylvia Bailey," ex- 
 claimed Chester hoarsely, "but of course it is nothing of 
 the sort! She never wrote a line of it. It's entirely un- 
 like her handwriting — and then look at the absurd signa- 
 ture! What does it mean, Virieu? Can you give me 
 any clue to what it means?" 
 
 The Comte de Virieu raised his head from over the 
 thin sheet of notepaper, and even Chester, frightened 
 and angry as he now was, could not help noticing how 
 the other man's face had changed in the last few moments. 
 From being of a usual healthy sunburn, it had turned so 
 white as to look almost green under the bright electric 
 light. 
 
 "Yes, I think I know^ what it means," said Count Paul 
 between his teeth. "A letter like this purported to come 
 from Madame Wolsky when she disappeared. But do 
 not let us make a scene here. Let us go at once where I 
 believe she is, for if what I fear is true every moment is 
 
 of value." 
 
 He plucked the Englishman by the sleeve, and hurried 
 him out into the grateful darkness. 
 
 "Get into the carriage," he said, imperiously. "I will 
 see to everj-thing." 
 
 Chester heard him direct the driver to the police-station.
 
 322 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 
 
 "\\q may need two or three gendarmes," muttered Count 
 Paul. "It's worth the three minutes delay." 
 
 The carriage drew up before a shabby little house 
 across which was painted in large black letters the word 
 " Gendarmerie." 
 
 The Count rushed into the guard-room, hurriedly ex- 
 plained his errand to the superintendent, and came out, 
 but a moment later, with three men. 
 
 "We must make room for these good fellows some- 
 how," he said briefly, and room was made. Chester 
 noticed with surprise that each man was armed, not only 
 with a stave, but with a revolver. The French police 
 do not stand on ceremony even with potential criminals. 
 
 "And now," said the Count to the coachman, "five 
 louis, my friend, if you can get us to the Chalet des 
 Muguets in seven minutes " 
 
 They began driving at a breakneck pace, the driver 
 whipping up his horse, lashing it in a way that horrified 
 Chester, The light little carriage rocked from side to side. 
 
 "If the man doesn't drive more carefully," cried out 
 the Englishman, " we shall be spilt — and that won't do 
 us any good, will it?" 
 
 The Count called out, "If there's an accident you get 
 nothing, my friend! Drive as quickly as you like, but 
 drive carefully." 
 
 They swept on through the town., and so along the 
 dimly-lighted shady avenues with which even Chester 
 had become so familiar during the last few days. 
 
 Paul de Virieu sat with clenched hands, staring in 
 front of him. Remorse filled his soul — remorse and 
 anguish. If Sylvia had been done to death, as he now
 
 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 323 
 
 had very little doubt Anna Wolsky had been done to 
 death, then he would die too. What was the vice which 
 had meant all to him for so many j'ears compared to his 
 love for Sylvia? 
 
 The gendarmes murmured together in quick, excited 
 tones. They scented that something really exciting, 
 something that would perhaps lead to promotion, was 
 going to happen. 
 
 At last, as the carriage turned into a dark road, Count 
 Paul suddenly began to talk, at the very top of his voice. 
 
 " Speak, ?dr. Chester, speak as loud as you can ! Shout ! 
 Say anything that you like! They may as well hear that 
 we are coming " 
 
 But Chester could not do what the other man so 
 urgently asked him to do. Not to save his life could he 
 have opened his mouth and shouted as the other was now 
 doing. 
 
 "We are going to pay an evening call — what you in 
 England call an evening call! We are going to fetch our 
 friend— our friend, Mrs. Bailey; she is so charming, so 
 delightful! We are going to fetch her because she has 
 been spending the evening with her friends, the Wachners. 
 That old she-devil— you remember her, surely? The 
 woman who asked you concerning your plans? It is she 
 
 I fear " 
 
 "Je crow que c'est ici, Monsieur?" the man turned 
 round on his seat. " I have done it in six minutes ! " 
 
 The horse was suddenly brought up short opposite the 
 white gate. Was this where the Wachners lived? Ches- 
 ter stooped down. The place looked very different now 
 from what it had looked in the daylight.
 
 324 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 
 
 The windows of the small, low house were closely 
 shuttered, but where the shutters met in one of the 
 rooms glinted a straight line of light. 
 
 "We are in time. Thank God we are in time," said 
 the Count, with a queer break in his voice. " If we were 
 not in time, there would be no light. The house of the 
 wicked ones would be in darkness." 
 
 And then, in French, he added, turning to the gen- 
 darmes: 
 
 "You had better all three stay in the garden, while 
 my friend and I go up to the house. If we are gone more 
 than five minutes, then you follow us up to the house 
 and get in somehow!" 
 
 In varying accents were returned the composed an- 
 swers, "Oui, M'sieur." 
 
 There came a check, for the little gate was locked. 
 Each man helped another over very quietly, and then 
 the three gendarmes dispersed with swift, noiseless 
 steps, each seeking a point of vantage commanding the 
 house. 
 
 Chester and Paul de Virieu walked quickly up the path. 
 
 Suddenly a shaft of bright light pierced the moonlit 
 darkness. The shutters of the dining-room of the Chalet 
 des INIuguets had been unbarred, and the window was 
 thrown wide open. 
 
 "Qui va la?" the old military watchword, as the 
 Frenchman remembered with a sense of terrible irony, 
 was flung out into the night in the harsh, determined 
 voice of Madame Wachner. 
 
 They saw her stout figure, filling up most of the win- 
 dow, outlined against the lighted room. She was lean-
 
 THE CHINK IN THE AUMOUU 325 
 
 ing out, peering into the garden with angry, fear-filled 
 eyes. 
 
 Both men stopped simultaneously, but neither answered 
 her. 
 
 "Who goes there?" she repeated; and then, "I fear, 
 Messieurs, that you have made a mistake. You have 
 taken this villa for someone else's house I" But there 
 was alarm as well as anger in her voice. 
 
 "It is I, Paul de Virieu, ]\Iadame Wachner." 
 
 The Count spoke quite courteously, his agreeable voice 
 thickened, made hoarse by the strain to which he had 
 just subjected it. 
 
 "I have brought Mr. Chester with me, for we have 
 come to fetch Mrs. Bailey. In Paris Mr. Chester found 
 news making her return home to England to-morrow a 
 matter of imperative necessity." 
 
 He waited a moment, then added, raising his voice as 
 he spoke: "We have proof that she is spending the even- 
 ing with you," and he walked on quickly to where he 
 supposed the front door to be. 
 
 "If they deny she is there," he whispered to his com- 
 panion, "we will shout for the gendarmes and break in. 
 But I doubt if they will dare to deny she is there unless — 
 unless " 
 
 He had hoped to hear Sylvia's voice, but Madame 
 Wachner had shut the window, and a deathly silence 
 reigned in the villa. 
 
 The two men stood in front of the closed door for what 
 seemed to them a very long time. It was exactly two 
 minutes; and when at last the door opened, slowly, and 
 revealed the tall, lanky figure of L'Ami Fritz, they both
 
 326 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 
 
 heard the soft, shuffling tread of the gendarmes closing in 
 round the house. 
 
 "I pray you to come in," said Monsieur Wachner in 
 Enghsh, and then, addressing Bill Chester, 
 
 "I am pleased to see you, sir, the more so that your 
 friend, Mrs. Bailey, is indisposed. A moment ago, to 
 our deep concern, she found herself quite faint — no doubt 
 from the heat. I will conduct you, gentlemen, into the 
 drawing-room; my wife and Mrs. Bailey will join us 
 there in a minute," and only then did he move back 
 sufficiently to allow the two men to cross the threshold. 
 
 Paul de Virieu opened his lips — but no sound came 
 from them. The sudden sense of relief from what had 
 been agonised suspense gripped him by the throat. 
 
 He brushed past Wachner, and made straight for the 
 door behind which he felt sure of finding the woman 
 whom some instinct told him he had saved from a ter- 
 rible fate. . . . 
 
 He turned the handle of the dining-room door, and 
 then stopped short, for he was amazed at the sight which 
 met his eyes. 
 
 Sylvia was sitting at a round table; behind her was 
 the buffet, still laden with the remains of a simple meal. 
 Her face was hidden in her hands, and she was trembling 
 — shaking as though she had the ague. 
 
 But what amazed Paul de Virieu was the sight of 
 Sylvia's hostess. IMadame Wachner was crawling about 
 on her hands and knees on the floor, and she remained 
 in the same odd position when the dining-room door 
 opened. 
 
 At last she looked up, and seeing who stood there.
 
 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 327 
 
 staring down at her, she raised herself with some diffi- 
 culty, looking to the Frenchman's sharpened conscious- 
 ness, like some monstrous greedy beast, suddenly baulked 
 of its prey. 
 
 " Such a misfortune ! " she exclaimed in English. " Such 
 a very great misfortune! The necklace of our friend 'as 
 broken, and 'er beautiful pearls are rolling all over the 
 floor! We 'ave been trying, Fritz and myself, to pick 
 them up for 'er. Is not that so, Sylvia? Mrs. Bailey is 
 so distressed! It 'as made 'er feel very faint, what Eng- 
 lish people call 'queer.' But I tell 'er we shall find them 
 all — it is only a matter of a little time. I asked 'er to 
 take some cognac my 'usband keeps for such bad moments, 
 but no, she would not! Is not that so, Sylvia?" 
 
 She stared down anxiously at the bowed head of her 
 guest. 
 
 Sylvia looked up. As if hj'pnotised by the other 
 woman's voice, she rose to her feet — a wan, pitiful little 
 smile came over her white face. 
 
 "Yes," she said dully, "the string of my pearls broke. 
 I was taken faint. I felt horribly queer — perhaps it was 
 the heat." 
 
 Paul de Virieu took a sudden step forv^-ard into the 
 room. He had just become aware of something which 
 had made him also feel what English- people call "queer." 
 
 That something had no business in the dining-room, 
 for it belonged to the kitchen — in fact it was a large 
 wooden mallet of the kind used by French cooks to beat 
 meat tender. Just now the club end of the mallet was 
 sticking out of the drawer of the walnut-wood butfct. 
 
 The drawer had evidently been pulled out askew, and
 
 328 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 
 
 had stuck — as is the way with drawers forming part of 
 ill-made furniture. 
 
 Chester came to the door of the dining-room. M. 
 Wachncr had detained him for a moment in the hall, 
 talking volubly, explaining how pleasant had been their 
 little supper party till ]\Irs. Bailey had suddenly felt faint. 
 
 Chester looked anxiously at Sylvia. She was oddly 
 pale, all the colour drained from her face, but she seemed 
 on quite good terms with ^ladame Wachner ! As for that 
 stout, good-natured looking woman, she also was unlike 
 her placid smiling self, for her face looked red and puffy. 
 But still she nodded pleasantly to Chester. 
 
 It seemed to the lawyer inconceivable that this com- 
 monplace couple could have seriously meant to rob their 
 guest. But there was that letter — that strange, sinister 
 letter which purported to be from Sylvia! Who had 
 written that letter, and with what object in view? 
 
 Chester began to feel as if he was living through a very 
 disagreeable, bewildering nightmare. But no scintilla of 
 the horrible truth reached his cautious, well-balanced 
 brain. The worst he suspected, and that only because of 
 the inexplicable letter, was that these people meant to 
 extract money from their guest and frighten her into 
 leaving Lacville the same night. 
 
 "Sylvia," he said rather shortly, "I suppose we ought 
 to be going now. We have a carriage waiting at the 
 gate, so we shall be able to drive you back to the Villa 
 du Lac. But, of course, we must first pick up all your 
 pearls. That won't take long ! " 
 
 But Sylvia made no answer. She did not even look 
 round at him. She was still staring straight before her,
 
 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 329 
 
 as if she saw something, which the others could not 3e«, 
 written on the distempered wall. 
 
 L'Ami Fritz entered the room quietly. He looked 
 even stranger than usual, for while in one hand he held 
 Mrs. Bailey's pretty black tulle hat and her little bag, in 
 the other was clutched the handle of a broom. 
 
 "I did not think you would want to go back into my 
 wife's bed-room," he said, deprecatingly; and Mrs. Bailey, 
 at last turning her head round, actually smiled gratefully 
 at him. 
 
 She was reminding herself that there had been a 
 moment when he had been willing to let her escape. 
 Only once — only when he had grinned at her so strangely 
 and deplored her refusal of the drugged coffee, hud she 
 felt the sick, agonising fear of him that she had felt of 
 Madame Wachner. 
 
 Laying the hat and bag on the table, L'Ami Fritz 
 began sweeping the floor with long skilful movements. 
 
 "This is the best way to find the pearls," he muttered; 
 and three of the four people present stood and looked on 
 at what he was doing. As for the one most concerned, 
 Sylvia had again begun to stare dully before her, as if 
 what was going on did not interest her one whit. 
 
 At last Monsieur Wachner took a long spoon off the 
 table; with its help he put all that he had swept up — 
 pearls, dust, and fluff — into the little fancy bag. 
 
 "There," he said, with a sigh of relief, "I think they 
 are all there." 
 
 But even as he spoke he knew well enough that some 
 of the pearls — perhaps five or six — had found their way 
 up his wife's capacious sleeve.
 
 330 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 
 
 And then, quite suddenly, Madame Wachner uttered 
 a hoarse exclamation of terror. One of the gendarmes 
 had climbed up on to the window-sill, and was now half 
 into the room. She waddled quickly across to the door, 
 only to find another gendarme in the hall. 
 
 Sylvia's eyes glistened, and a sensation which had 
 hitherto been quite unknown to her took possession of 
 her, soul and body. She longed for revenge — revenge, 
 not for herself so much as for her murdered friend. She 
 clutched Paul by the arm. "They killed Anna Wolsky," 
 she whispered. "She is lying buried in the wood, where 
 they meant to put me if you had not come just — only just 
 — in time!" 
 
 Paul de Virieu took Sylvia's hat ofif the dining-room 
 table, and placed it in her hand, closing her fingers over 
 the brim. With a mechanical gesture she raised her arms 
 and put it on her head. Then he ceremoniously offered 
 her his arm, and led her out of the dining-room into the 
 hall. 
 
 While actually within the Chalet des Muguets Count 
 Paul only once broke silence. That was when Madame 
 Wachner, still talking volubly, held out her hand in 
 farewell to the young Englishwoman. 
 
 "I forbid you to touch her!" the Count muttered 
 between his teeth, and Sylvia, withdrawing her half- 
 outstretched hand, meekly obeyed him. 
 
 Paul de Virieu beckoned to the oldest of the police 
 officials present. 
 
 "You will remember the disappearance from Lacville 
 of a Polish lady? I have reason to believe these people 
 murdered her. When once I have placed Madame
 
 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 331 
 
 Bailey under medical care, I will return here. Mean- 
 while you, of course, know what to do." 
 
 "But M'sieur, ought I not to detain this English lady?" 
 
 "Certainly not. I make myself responsible for her. 
 She is in no state to bear an interrogation. Lock up 
 these people in separate rooms. I will send you rein- 
 forcements, and to-morrow morning dig up the little wood 
 behind the house.'' 
 
 Behind them came the gruff and the shrill tones of 
 L'Ami Fritz and his wife raised in indignant expostula- 
 tion. 
 
 "Are you coming, Sylvia?" called out Chester im- 
 patiently. 
 
 He had gone on into the garden, unwilling to assume 
 any responsibility as to the police. After all, there was 
 no evidence, not what English law would recognise as 
 evidence, against these people. 
 
 Out in the darkness, with the two men, one on either 
 side of her, Sylvia walked slowly to the gate. Between 
 them they got her over it and into the victoria. 
 
 Paul de Virieu pulled out the little back seat, but 
 Chester, taking quick possession of it, motioned him to 
 sit by Mrs. Bailey. 
 
 "To Paris, Hotel du Louvre," the Count called out to 
 the driver. "You can take as long as you like over the 
 journey!" 
 
 Then he bent forward to Chester, " The air will do her 
 good," he murmured. 
 
 By his side, huddled up in a corner of the carriage, 
 Sylvia lay back inertly; but her eyes were wide open, 
 and she was staring hungrily at the sky, at the stars.
 
 332 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 
 
 She had never thought to see the sky and the stars again. 
 
 They were now moving very slowly, almost at a foot's 
 pace. 
 
 The driver was accustomed to people who suddenly 
 decided to drive all the way back to Paris from Lacville 
 after an evening's successful or, for the matter of that, 
 unsuccessful play. He had been very much relieved to 
 see his two gentlemen come back from the chalet and to 
 leave the gendarmes behind. He had no wish to get 
 mixed up in a fracas, no wish, that is, to have any em- 
 barrassments with the police. 
 
 They drove on and on, into the open country; through 
 dimly-lit, leafy thoroughfares, through long stretches of 
 market gardens, till they came on to the outskirts of the 
 great city — and still Sylvia remained obstinately silent. 
 
 Paul de Virieu leant forward. 
 
 "Speak to her," he said in an urgent whisper. "Take 
 her hand and try to rouse her, Mr. Chester. I feel very 
 anxious about her condition." 
 
 Chester in the darkness felt himself flushing. With a 
 diflSdent, awkward gesture he took Sylvia's hand in his 
 — and then he uttered an exclamation of surprise and 
 concern. 
 
 The hand he held was quite cold — cold and nerveless 
 to the touch, as if all that constitutes life had gone out 
 of it. " My dear girl !" he exclaimed. "I'm afraid those 
 people frightened you badly? I suppose you began to 
 suspect they meant to steal your pearls?" 
 
 But Sylvia still remained obstinately silent. She did 
 not want to speak, she only wanted to live. 
 
 It was so strange to feel oneself alive — alive and whole
 
 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 333 
 
 at a time when one had thought to be dead, having been 
 done to death after an awful, disfiguring struggle — for 
 Sylvia had determined to struggle to the end with her 
 murderers. 
 
 "My GodI" muttered Paul de Virieu. "Do you not 
 understand, Chester, what happened to-night? They 
 meant to kill her!" 
 
 "To kill her?" repeated Chester incredulously. 
 
 Then there came over him a rush and glow of angry 
 excitement. Good God! If that was the case they 
 ought to have driven back at once to the Lacville police- 
 station I 
 
 "Sylvia!" he exclaimed. "Rouse yourself, and tell U3 
 what took place! If what the Count says is true, some- 
 thing must be done, and at once!" 
 
 He turned to Paul de Virieu: "The police ought to 
 take Mrs. Bailey's full statement of all that occurred 
 without any loss of time!" All the lawyer in him spoke 
 angrily, agitatedly. 
 
 Sylvia moved slightly. Paul de Virieu could feel her 
 shuddering by his side. 
 
 "Oh, Bill, let me try to forget!" she moaned. And 
 then, lifting up her voice, she wailed, "They killed Anna 
 Wolsky " 
 
 Her voice broke, and she began to sob convulsively. 
 "I would not think of her — I forced myself not to think 
 of her — but now I shall never, never think of anyone 
 else any more!" 
 
 Paul de Virieu turned in the kindly darkness, and 
 putting his arm round Sylvia's slender shoulders, he 
 tenderly drew her to him.
 
 334 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR 
 
 A passion of pity, of protective tenderness, filled his 
 heart, and suddenly lifted him to a higher region than 
 that in which he had hitherto been content to dwell. 
 
 "You must not say that, ma cherie," he whispered, 
 laying his cheek to hers as tenderly as he would have 
 caressed a child, "it would be too cruel to the living, to 
 those who love you — who adore you." 
 
 Then he raised his head, and, in a very different tone, 
 he exclaimed, 
 
 " Do not be afraid, Mr. Chester, those infamous people 
 shall not be allowed to escape! Poor Madame Wolsky 
 shall surely be avenged. But Mrs. Bailey will not be 
 asked to make any statement, except in wTiting — in what 
 you in England call an affidavit. You do not realise, 
 although you doubtless know, what our legal procedure 
 is like. Not even in order to secure the guillotine for 
 Madame Wachner and her Fritz would I expose Mrs. 
 Bailey to the ordeal of our French witness-box." 
 
 "And how will it be possible to avoid it?" asked 
 Chester, in a low voice. 
 
 Paul de Virieu hesitated, then, leaning forward and 
 holding Sylvia still more closely and protectively to him, 
 he said very deliberately the fateful words he had never 
 thought to say, 
 
 " I have an announcement to make to you, I\Ir. Chester. 
 It is one which I trust will bring me your true congratu- 
 lations. Mrs. Bailey is about to do me the honour of 
 becoming my wife." 
 
 He waited a moment, then added very gravely, " I am 
 giving her an undertaking, a solemn promise by all I 
 hold most sacred, to abandon play "
 
 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUB 335 
 
 Chester felt a shock of amazement. How utterly mis- 
 taken, how blind he had been! He had felt positively 
 certain that Sylvia had refused Paul de \irieu; and he 
 had been angered by the suspicion, nay, by what he had 
 thought the sure knowledge, that the wise refusal had 
 cost her pain. 
 
 But women are extraordinary creatures, and so, for 
 the matter of that, are Frenchmen 
 
 Still, his feelings to the man sitting opposite to him 
 had undergone a complete change. He now liked — nay, 
 he now respected — Paul de Virieu. But for the Count, 
 whom he had thought to be nothing more than an effem- 
 inate dandy, a hopeless gambler, where would Sylvia be 
 now? The unspoken answer to this question gave Chester 
 a horrible inward tremor. 
 
 He leant forward, and grasped Paul de Virieu's left 
 hand. 
 
 "I do congratulate you," he said, simply and heartily; 
 "you deserve your great good fortune." Then, to Sylvia, 
 he added quietly, "My dear, it is to him you owe your 
 life."
 
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 It is a selected list; every book in it 
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 The Grosset 6z Dunlap list is not only 
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 THE COVERED WAGON 
 
 An epic story of the Great West from which the fam- 
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 THE WAY OF A MAN 
 
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 THE SAGEBRUSHER 
 
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 HEART'S DESIRE 
 
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 THE PURCHASE PRICE 
 
 A story of Kentucky during the days after the American 
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 GROSSET & DUNLAP, Publishers, NEW YORK
 
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 Joe Newbolt, bound out by force of family conditions to work for 
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 CLAIM NUMBER ONE 
 
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 THE DUKE OF CHIMNEY BUTTE 
 
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 WOLF BREED 
 
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 john barleycorn 
 
 little lady of the big house 
 
 martin eden 
 
 michael, brother of jerry 
 
 mutiny of the elsinore. the 
 
 night born. the 
 
 sea wolf. the 
 
 smoke bellew 
 
 son of the wolf. the 
 star rover. the 
 valley of the moon. the 
 white fang 
 
 Grosset & DuNLAP, Publishers, New York.
 
 NOVELS OF FRONTIER LIFE 
 
 WILLIAM Mac LEOD RAINE 
 
 May b» had wheravsr boolts srs sold. Ask for Grossat and Dunlap's llat 
 
 BIG-TOWN ROUND-UP. THE 
 
 BRAND BLOTTERS 
 
 BUCKY O'C ONNOR 
 
 CROOKED TRAILS AND STRAIGHT 
 
 DAUGHTER OF THE DONS. A 
 
 GUNSIGHT PASS 
 
 HIGHGRADFR, THE 
 
 MAN FOUR-SQUARE, A^ 
 
 MAN-SIZE 
 
 MAVERICKS 
 
 OH, YOU TEX ! 
 
 PIRATE OF PANAMA, THE 
 
 RIDGWAY OF MONTANA 
 
 SHERIFF'S SON. THE 
 
 STEVE YEAGER 
 
 TANGLED TRAILS 
 
 TEXAS RANGER, A 
 
 VISION SPLENDID, THE 
 
 WYOMING 
 
 YUKON TRAIL, THE 
 
 Grosset & DuNLAP, Publishers, New York
 
 DATE DUE 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 CAYLORD 
 
 
 PRINTED IN U S. A
 
 AA 000 642 
 
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 BSio^V!ft'i™\\ 
 
 '3A2A0 
 
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