"And in what does your idea of discretion consist, pray?"
"Keeping ourselves to ourselves. They are rather suspicious folk in New Caledonia. Few tourists come this way. Probably we are the first people who have landed here not on business for many a long year."
"I am not at all sure that we haven't come on business—very particular business."
"I wouldn't make that remark before anybody else, if I were you. You might—get into trouble."
As Dr. Grayle said this he looked steadily at Lady Gardiner. Their eyes met, and so peculiarly cold and menacing was the expression of his that she felt unpleasantly chilled, and even subdued. Those steady eyes so underscored his words with sinister meaning, that Kate dared not ask whether the "trouble" to which he suggestively referred would come to her through him or the inhabitants of Noumea. She thought that he looked capable of reducing her to helplessness by violence, if she showed signs of resisting his will, and she relapsed into silence. But she had not given up the hope of cabling to Loria. She resolved to watch her chance.
They walked back to the Hôtel de France, but the others had not returned, though the time fixed was long past. Kate was so hungry and weary that again she could have wept, and was secretly glad when Dr. Grayle ordered luncheon for two, though the prospect of a meal tête-à-tête was not enjoyable. She complained, however, of being too warm and dusty to eat, unless she could refresh herself by splashing a little in cold water, and she had to look down to hide the light which flashed into her eyes when Grayle consented without protest to her taking a room, and re-making her toilet before lunch.
"Now I shall get off that cable," she said to herself. Hardly had she entered the bare, poorly furnished bedroom when she rang, and stood waiting eagerly for a servant to answer the summons. Presently came the expected knock. She flew to open the door, and—there stood the little doctor, behind him approaching a maid, probably an ex-convict.
"You rang, Lady Gardiner," said Dr. Grayle, "to ask for a telegraph form, just as you might in a civilized place, didn't you? But this isn't a civilized place, and the methods are not all civilized. Now, here is the servant you rang for. If you persist in carrying out your intention I shall lock you in this room, take the key, and tell the landlord that you are a harmless lunatic, under my medical supervision. I think I shall not in that case lack for assistance in keeping you within bounds."
Kate glared at him, panting, for a moment. Then, controlling her voice, she asked the servant in French for some hot water. Having done this, she slammed the door in the little man's face, which was the only satisfaction she got out of the incident. She was inclined to remain sulking in the bedroom, but though the spirit was willing the flesh was weak, and the pangs of hunger drove her forth. Dr. Grayle was awaiting her in the corridor, a watchdog, patient and placid.