CHAPTER XXII.
Meanwhile, Deborah had suffered much more from gloomy anticipations than the unfortunate Lord St. Austell. She opened the window wide, in spite of the rain and the cold, and putting her head out, listened and watched eagerly for his return.
Half an hour had passed, and her anxiety had reached fever pitch, when the door of the room was opened very slowly. Catching sight of a woman’s figure in the gloom, the intruder tried to retreat. But Deborah, who was no fussy young woman, and who was getting tired of mysteries, rushed to the door and kept it shut.
“I know who you are,” she cried. “You’re Sep Jocelyn. And you shall not go until you have told me everything I want to know.”
Sep, in a trembling voice, was trying to silence her throughout the whole of this speech.
“Sh-sh,” he whispered as she finished. “Do you want to get me into trouble, perhaps have me murdered! Where’s”—and his voice sank still lower—“where’s Goodhare?”
“I don’t know. He went out through that window some time ago. Do you know where he is gone?”
“It’s better not to ask too many questions here, Miss Audaer. Where’s Rees?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t seen him. I want to see him.”
“Have you come to see Rees, Miss Audaer?” asked Sep, in a weak, mistrustful voice.
“I will tell you everything when you have lit the gas,” said she, struck by the fear in his tones. “Have you any matches about you?”
Very unwillingly Sep produced a box, which Deborah took from him. As soon as the gas was alight she turned to look at him, and surprised a furtive glance towards the door. Before he had time to follow his evident inclination, she put her arm through his and drew him down on to the sofa beside her. Sep never resisted anybody, so of course he yielded like a lamb to her.
“And now,” she said, looking him full in the face, “what is the matter with you?”
“Nothing,” stammered Sep, glancing quickly at her, and then avoiding her eyes.
The answer was absurd. With his wan face, wrinkled and furrowed by deadly anxiety and fear, and marked with black streaks of smoke and fog, his bloodshot, swollen eyes, his quivering lips, and the trembling fits which from time to time seized his limbs, Sep Jocelyn had evidently something very seriously the matter with him.
“You are cold,” said Deborah gently.
“I am always cold.”
“Have you just returned from a journey?”
Sep started, and began to tremble so violently that Deborah, with her wits on the alert, began to have an inkling of the truth.
“Listen, Sep,” she said in a low, earnest voice. “I know the trouble you and Rees are in. It is through that man Goodhare, I feel sure.”
“Sh-sh,” interrupted Jocelyn, glancing around him fearfully.
“I’ve come to get you all out of it. If you will tell me where the jewels are, I can promise you that nothing will ever be heard of the business. And if you will come back to Carstow with me, I can promise that your aunt, who misses you most dreadfully, will take you back to her arms without a word of reproach.”
“Oh, no; she couldn’t now. You don’t know—I can’t tell you; but it’s too late. The next shelter I get will be a prison.”
Deborah was shocked. He was altogether broken down, a mere wreck, a shivering, quaking creature, broken-nerved, bemuddled, helpless.
“Lord St. Austell’s influence will keep you out of prison.”
“Lord St. Austell!” Sep started violently. “Why, he’s the very last person to help us. He has no end of grudges against us, if he only knew.”
“He does know, but the career of his brother Charles and the honor of his family outweigh everything with him. You see, if the loss of part of the regalia were made known, there would be a public outcry, and his brother would be disgraced. Now, Sep, what interest have I in the matter except yours and Rees Pennant’s?”
“Rees’s! Yes, that is true,” he muttered.
“Well, then, trust your secret to me. You were sent away with the jewels to dispose of them, were you not?”
Sep admitted this with a half-involuntary nod, not looking at her.
“Where?”
“To Amsterdam.”
“But the jewels were only stolen yesterday, and you are back already!”
“I didn’t go. I lost heart. I was afraid. I fancied I was followed.” And he cast another hunted look around him. “And now I daren’t meet Goodhare. And yet—I don’t know where to go. So I sneaked back here—to wait—till I’m taken.”
“No! Your instinct guided you back to be saved,” cried Deborah, in re-assuring tones. “You have the jewels with you now?”
“No-o,” stammered Sep.
“Oh yes, you have,” said she, confidently. “Now, trust them with me, and Goodhare need not know at present that you have not taken them to Amsterdam.”
“But where shall I go?”
“Go back to your aunt at Carstow, and she’ll nurse all those worried lines out of your face again.”
“But I daren’t; I’m ashamed to,” objected the poor wretch.
“Then go away and hide yourself somewhere for to-night, and be at Paddington to-morrow at twelve, and you shall go down with me.”
“And Rees, what about Rees?” asked Sep, who although he had lost most of his old enthusiasm about his friend, still retained the remains of a dogged and not very reasonable devotion to him.
“You don’t think I should forget him,” said Deborah, gravely.
“Of course not,” he answered, hastily. “You will get him out of the scrape too?”
“Certainly.”
“But there are so many other scrapes behind this one!”
“I think I can get them all hushed up.”
“But then there’s Goodhare,” whispered Sep, with a shudder. “He’ll have us both back if he wants to!”
“I think he will find it expedient to keep out of the way for the future. Now come, we haven’t much time.”
She held out her hand, assuming a tone of greater confidence than she felt; for she feared that at the last moment Sep might decline to part with the treasure entrusted to him. However, he looked at her outstretched hand, and then, irresolutely, tremblingly drew out from a pocket of his coat first one flat packet, and then another.
Deborah could scarcely refrain from snatching them, or keep her fingers from quivering, as she took them and hid them in the front of her own dress, under her mantle. Sep felt a-trembling as soon as he had given them up, and buried his face in his hands.
“And now,” said she, softly, “I must find Lord St. Austell. He went out at that door, following Goodhare.”
Sep started up wildly. “Following Goodhare!” he almost shouted. Then, sinking his voice to a hoarse whisper, he stammered out: “You musn’t hope anything from Lord St. Austell, then. If Goodhare took him where I expect he did, he would never let him out alive. Goodhare hates him, and he is more devil than man!”
Deborah rose quickly and quietly and opened the door into the yard.
“Take me to this place at once,” said she.
Remonstrance with her was useless. With staggering steps Sep accompanied her along the outer passage.