CHAPTER XLVI. HETTY LEARNS SOMETHING.

A search was being made for the fugitives in every place but the right one. The railings of the square were high, so that it never occurred to any one that the culprits might have escaped that way. They had got off somehow. In the opinion of most of the people there they had stopped the motor and started it again on its headlong course, after which they had mingled with the crowd.

Gradually Lytton Avenue grew quiet again. Leona Lalage stood up so that the light of a lamp outside showed her up in a ghastly fashion. She had lost her fair wig somewhere, her face was all cut and bleeding, her left ankle was painfully sprained.

"Do I look very dreadful?" she asked.

"Your face is all cut about," Balmayne growled. "I should think that you will not be able to show up in society for some time to come."

Leona Lalage thought little about that. She had about her those who were skilful in the way of paint and powder. An artist in face treatment would remove all traces of those cuts in a short time. What she was most anxious to do now was to find herself at home. Those nerves were coming back again.

"Let us get in," she said hoarsely. "A cold bath, to say nothing of a deep, deep drink. I want brandy, a lot of brandy, and soda water. Is the coast clear?"

The coast was clear apparently, and the two culprits crept out. They reached the house at length and tried the door. It was fast! The Countess shook her hands passionately.

"Where's the sense in making that noise?" Balmayne growled. "Why didn't you bring your latchkey as I suggested, instead of leaving the front door open? Some zealous policeman found it open and rang the servants up."

"We must try the back gate," Leona suggested.

They crept round there unseen by dint of this and that doorway, but there was no luck that night. The little gate was fast. Hetty had seen to that. She had made up her mind to know what time the Countess returned, together with all other information possible.

"You'll have to knock them up," said Balmayne, between his teeth. "It will take time and it will be dangerous. But there's nothing else for it that I can see. Say you have had a spill out of a cab or something of that kind. When you have bustled them off upstairs again I'll sneak into the house. I could do with a cigarette and a brandy and soda quite as much as you can."

It was hard work to make anybody hear, especially as a watchful policeman might come along at any moment. But presently a light gleamed behind the stained glass of the front door, and then Hetty's face came into sight. She looked heavy and sleepy, a white wrap was about her shoulders.

But her stare of amazement was quite unaffected. She it was who had locked the front door with the full determination of only opening at her will. But she had not expected to see a figure like this.

"I--I was nearly asleep," she stammered, "when I heard the bell. And the moment I heard it I came down. Why--why--oh, what has happened?"

There was no acting here--at least not for the moment. Hetty's gentle heart was touched by the physical wreck before her. Here was a woman in distress who wanted the aid and assistance of a sister.

"Let me look at you," she said, tenderly. "Let me get water and some towels."

But the Countess thrust her fiercely aside.

"I can do all that for myself presently," she said. "I--I was lured on a fool's errand, and I have had a narrow escape of my life. Don't ask any questions yet. Go to the sideboard and get me brandy; there are some syphons of soda water there. Give me a lot, fill the glass; more brandy."

The soda water hissed and bubbled in the long glass. Leona raised it to her lips and drained it to the last drop. A little splash of colour crept into her scarred cheek, she drew a long, shuddering sigh.

But Hetty's curious eyes were upon her. Surely some further information was needed of this midnight adventure! And just for the moment Leona Lalage could think of nothing that sounded like the truth. She would have to appeal to Hetty and throw herself on her kindly feeling.

"I am going to my room now," she said. "I feel better. Hetty, I have done a foolish thing tonight. I--I did it for the sake of another. It was a plot to rob and perhaps murder me, but I didn't know it. Promise me on your honour that you will never speak of this to a soul."

The promise thrilled on Hetty's lips. But might not this be all part of the conspiracy by which her lover's good name had terribly suffered? Perhaps later on, her testimony on this head might be all important.

There was a faint moaning cry in the doorway, a tiny white figure stood there. Mamie had been awakened by the ringing of the bell, she had missed Hetty, and had come down in her childish way to see what was the matter.

"Oh, mother," she cried. "What is the matter? What have they been doing to you?"

She advanced rubbing her terrified eyes, but Hetty barred the way, and caught the little one up in her arms.

"It is nothing, darling," she said as she kissed the white lips. "Mother has been masquerading, it is a part of her dress. You must come to bed with me at once; there is a terrible draught here. Come along."

Hetty swept out of the room and up the stairs, glad to escape without giving the word that would have sealed her lips. Tomorrow Bruce should know all of this. She slipped into her bedroom and locked the door. She was longing for the time when she could get away from this horrible house. She was staying for Gordon's sake. But how much longer would she be called upon for the sacrifice?

Meanwhile Balmayne had crept in downstairs. He crossed over and helped himself liberally to brandy. He took a second glass, and a third. But there came none of the glow of courage to his heart.

"What's to be done now?" he asked.

Leona made no reply. Her eyes were fixed moodily on space.