CHAPTER VII
When Browne heard the maid's news, his heart sank like lead. He couldscarcely believe his ill-fortune. Only a moment before he had beencomforting himself with the thought that he would soon be standing faceto face with Katherine, ready to ask her a question which should decidethe happiness of his life. Now his world seemed suddenly to haveturned as black as midnight. Why had she left England so suddenly?What had taken her away? Could it have been something in connectionwith that mysterious business of Madame Bernstein's of which he hadheard so much of late? Then another idea struck him. Perhaps it wasthe knowledge that she was leaving that had occasioned her unhappinesson the previous afternoon. The maid who had opened the door to him,and whose information had caused him such disappointment, was a typicalspecimen of the London boarding-house servant, and yet there wassufficient of the woman left in her to enable her to see that her newshad proved a crushing blow to the man standing before her.
"Can you tell me at what hour they left?" Browne inquired. "I washoping to have seen Miss Petrovitch this morning."
"I can tell you what the time was exactly," the girl replied. "It wason the stroke of nine when they got into the cab."
"Are you quite certain upon that point?" he asked.
"Quite certain, sir," she answered. "I know it was nine o'clock,because I had just carried in the first floor's breakfast; and aprecious noise, sir, he always makes if it is not on the table punctualto the minute. There were some letters for Madame Bernstein by thepost, which the other girl took up to her bedroom. As soon as she readthem she sent down for Mrs. Jimson and called for her bill. 'I leavefor Paris in an hour's time, Mrs. Jimson,' says she, sort ofshort-like, for I heard her myself; 'so make me out my bill and let mehave it quickly.'"
"And did Miss Petrovitch appear at all surprised or put out at havingto leave London at such short notice?" Browne asked, not without alittle trepidation.
"Well, sir, that was exactly what I was a-going to tell you," the girlreplied, dropping her voice a little, and glancing back over hershoulder into the house, as if she were afraid of being overheard."She did seem precious put out about it; at least so the other girlsays. Jane tells me she feels certain Miss Petrovitch had been crying,her eyes were that red, and when she went into the room she and madamewere at it hammer and tongs.
"I suppose they left no message for any one?" Browne inquired, refusingto comment on what the girl had just told him.
"Not as I know of, sir," the young woman replied. "But if you willjust wait a minute I'll go in and ask Mrs. Jimson. She will be sure toknow."
Browne contained his patience as best he could for some five or sixminutes. Then the girl returned and shook her head.
"There's no message of any sort, sir," she said; "at least not as Mrs.Jimson knows of."
"Thank you," said Browne simply. "I am much obliged to you."
As he said it he slipped half a sovereign into the girl's hand. Thebribe completed the effect the touch of romance, combined with hispleasing personality, to say nothing of his smart cab drawn up besidethe pavement, had already produced. Not only would she have told himall she knew, but, had she dared, she would have gone so far as to haveexpressed her sympathy with him.
Browne was about to descend the steps, when another idea occurred tohim, and he turned to the girl again.
"You do not happen to be aware of their address in Paris, I suppose?"he inquired. "I have a particular reason for asking the question."
"Hush, sir!" she whispered. "If you really want to know it, I believeI can find out for you. Madame Bernstein wrote it down for Mrs.Jimson, so that she could send on any letters that came for her. Iknow where Mrs. Jimson put the piece of paper, and if you'll just waita minute longer, I'll see if I can find it for you and copy it out. Iwon't be a minute longer than I can help."
Feeling very much as if he were being guilty of a dishonourable action,Browne allowed her to depart upon her errand. This time she wassomewhat longer away, but when she returned she carried, concealed inher hand, a small slip of paper. He took it from her, and, once morethanking her for her kindness, returned to his cab.
"Home, Williams," he cried to his coachman, "and as quickly aspossible. I have no time to spare."
As the vehicle sped along in the direction of the High Street, Browneunfolded and glanced at the paper the girl had given him. Upon it,written in a clumsy hand, was the address he wanted, and which he wouldhave fought the world to obtain.
"Madame Bernstein," so it ran, "35, Rue Jacquarie, Paris."
"Very good," said Browne to himself triumphantly. "Now I know where tofind them. Let me see! They were to leave London in an hour from nineo'clock; that means that they started from Victoria and are travelling_via_ Newhaven and Dieppe. Now, there's a train from Charing Cross,_via_ Dover and Calais, at eleven. If I can catch that I shall be inParis an hour and a half after them."
He consulted his watch anxiously, to find that he had barely an hour inwhich to pack his bag and to get to the station. However, if it couldbe done, he was determined to do it; accordingly he bade his man drivefaster. Reaching Park Lane, he rang for his valet, and when thatsomewhat stolid individual put in an appearance, bade him pack a fewnecessaries and be ready to start for the Continent at once. Being awell-drilled servant, and accustomed, by long usage, to his master'srapid flittings from place to place, the man offered no comment, butmerely saying, "Very good, sir," departed to carry out his instructions.
Two minutes to eleven found Browne standing upon the platform atCharing Cross Station. It was not until he was comfortably installedin the carriage and the train was rolling out of the station, that thefull meaning of what he was doing struck him. Why was he leavingEngland? To follow this girl. And why? For one very goodreason--_because he loved her_! But why _should_ he have loved her,when, with his wealth, he could have married the daughter of almost anypeer in England; when, had he so desired, he could have chosen his wifefrom among the most beautiful or most talented women in Europe?Katherine Petrovitch, attractive and charming as she was, was neitheras beautiful, rich, or clever as a hundred women he had met. And yetshe was the one in the world he desired for his wife.
So concerned was he about her that, when they reached Dover, his firstthought was to examine the sea in order to convince himself that shehad had a good crossing. He boarded the steamer, the lines were castoff, and presently the vessel's head was pointing for the Continent.Little by little the English coast dropped behind them and the shoresof France loomed larger. Never before had the coast struck him asbeing so beautiful. He entered the train at Calais with a freshsatisfaction as he remembered that every revolution of the wheels wasbringing him closer to the woman he loved. The lights were lit in thecafes and upon the boulevards, when he reached Paris, and as he drovethrough the crowded streets in the direction of the hotel he usuallyaffected the city seemed all glitter, gaiety, and life.
Familiar as he was with the city, it seemed altogether different to himto-night. The loungers in the courtyard of the hotel, the bustlingwaiters, the very chambermaids, served to remind him that, while in theflesh he was still the same John Grantham Browne, in the spirit he wasan altogether separate and distinct individual from the man they hadpreviously known. On reaching his own room he opened the window, leantout, and looked upon Paris by night. The voice of the great city spoketo him, and greeted him as with the sweetest music. Once more he wassharing the same city with Katherine Petrovitch, breathing the sameair, and hearing the same language.
Shutting the window at last, he washed off the stains of travel,changed his attire, and descended to the dining-hall.
Having no desire to lose time, he resolved to institute inquiries atonce about the Rue Jacquarie, and to seek, and if possible to obtain,an interview with Katherine before she could possibly depart from Parisagain. How was he to know that Madame Bernstein's plans might notnecessitate another removal to Rome, Berlin, or St. Petersburg?--inwhich case he m
ight very easily lose sight of her altogether. He hadnever trusted madame, and since her departure from England he was evenless disposed to do so than before. There was something about her thathe did not altogether appreciate. He had told himself that he did notlike her the first day he had met her at Merok, and he was even moreconvinced of the fact now. What the link was between the two women hecould not think, and he was almost afraid to attempt to solve themystery.
Dinner at an end, he rose and went to his room to put on a cloak. Inlove though he was, he had still sufficient of his father's prudenceleft to be careful of his health.
Descending to the courtyard once more, he called a fiacre, and, whenthe man had driven up, inquired whether he knew where the Rue Jacquariewas. The man looked at him with some show of surprise.
"Oui, m'sieu," he replied, "I know the Rue Jacquarie, of course;but----"
"Never mind any buts," Browne replied, as he jumped into the cab. "Ihave business in the Rue Jacquarie, so drive me there at once."
"To what number?" the man inquired, in a tone that implied that he wasnot over-anxious for the job.
"Never mind the number," said Browne; "drive me to the corner and setme down there."
The man whipped up his horse, and they started _via_ the Rue Tronchet.Turning into the Rue St. Honore, and thence into the Place de laMadeleine, they proceeded in the direction of Montmartre. For sometime Browne endeavoured to keep tally of the route; eventually,however, he was obliged to relinquish the attempt in despair. From onestreet they passed into another, and to Browne it seemed that every onewas alike. At last the driver stopped his horse.
"This is the Rue Jacquarie," he said, pointing with his whip down along and somewhat dingy thoroughfare.
Browne bade him wait for him, and then proceeded down the street onfoot in search of No. 35. After the magnificent quarter of the city inwhich he had installed himself, the Rue Jacquarie seemed mean andcontemptible in the extreme. The houses were small and dingy, and itwas plain that they were occupied by people who were not the possessorsof any conspicuous degree of wealth. He walked the whole length of thestreet in search of No. 35, and, not finding it, returned upon theother side. At last he discovered the house he wanted. He thereuponcrossed the road, and, standing on the opposite pavement, regarded itsteadfastly.
Lights shone from three of the windows, and Browne's pulses beat morequickly as he reflected that it was just possible one of them mightemanate from Katherine's room.
It was now close upon ten o'clock, and if all had gone well with themthe girl should now have been in Paris some three hours. It wasextremely unlikely that, after such a journey, she would have gone out,so that he had every reason for feeling certain she must be in thehouse before him. In spite of the thin rain that was falling, he stoodand watched the building for some minutes. Once a woman's shadowpassed across a blind upon the second floor, and Browne felt his heartleap as he saw it. A few moments later a man and a woman passed theconcierge. They paused upon the doorstep to wish some one within"good-night"; then, descending the steps, they set off in the samedirection in which Browne himself had come. Before doing so, however,they turned and looked up and down the street, as if they were afraidthey might be observed. Seeing Browne watching the house, theyhastened their steps, and presently disappeared down a sidethoroughfare. For an ordinary observer this small event might have hadlittle or no significance; but to Browne, in whose mind indefinablesuspicions were already shaping themselves, it seemed more than alittle disquieting. That they had noticed him, and that they werealarmed by the knowledge that he was watching the house, was as plainas the lights in the windows opposite. But why they should have beenso frightened was what puzzled him. What was going on in the house, orrather what had they been doing that they should fear being overlooked?He asked himself these questions as he paced down the street in thedirection of his cab. But he could not answer them to his satisfaction.
"Drive me to the Amphitryon Club," he said, as he took his place in thevehicle once more; and then continued to himself, "I'd give somethingto understand what it all means."