Wasso Mikali positively chuckled as he jerked the ashen-faced mongrel to his feet and steered him up the stairs.
Maude Hilyer was not so easy. She began by a wailing tirade that degenerated into a filthy harangue. I learned afterwards that she had risen in life from a position which had made her engagement for the Gayety Theater chorus an epochal event for her. We sent Betty from the room, and Hugh gently quieted her.
"See here, Mrs. Hilyer," he said. "We don't enjoy this any more than you do. For what happened to your husband— Perhaps anything I say will be in bad taste. But the fact remains that we had nothing against him. It was he who went after us. And I notice that although that demon Lafitte tortured and attempted to abuse several of us, including a woman, you never raised your hand to restrain him.
"But I'm not appealing to you on grounds of decency, but of self-interest. If nothing comes out about Hilyer's end, you can go home and hold up your head. On the other hand, if you want to air what happened, I shall see to it that the whole story of my uncle's death becomes known. Do you think that then you will be received anywhere at home? I leave it to you."
The queer social vanity that was the main-spring of the woman's life responded to this argument. She dried her tears and restrained her tongue; and for a moment I felt sorry for her. But she showed her character at the last, even as she rose to go.
"It's all very well what you say, Lord Chesby," she whimpered. "But what am I going to do now? Hilyer's dead, Little Depping is loaded with mortgages. His cousin George will inherit what's left of it, anyway. And I—"
She hesitated artistically.
"I am not going to pay you blackmail," returned Hugh coldly, "but you may call on my solicitors this day two months. What we do for you will depend upon your conduct."
And that was the last any of us saw of Maude Hilyer. But I may as well say here that she did call on Mr. Bellowes in London, and that by Hugh's direction he arranged to pay her a small income conditioned on good behavior. Hugh, with his usual generosity, insisted, too, upon making substantial presents—booby-prizes, he called them—to our two Russian prisoners. They were not released, however, until we left Constantinople, as their vindictive attitude assured us of their desire to wreck our fortunes, if they could discover an opportunity. What happened to the strange pair after Wasso Mikali freed them I do not know. But I should hazard a guess that while Mrs. Hilyer will be content to live respectably in a cheap Brighton hotel, eking out her means with the practice of bridge of an uncommonly sharp variety, Serge Vassilievich and Sandra Vassilievna—whether brother and sister, in truth, I never found out—will fleece their way through the smart watering-places and resorts of the Continent so long as the police permit them at large.
"Are we downhearted?" demanded Hugh, as the door closed behind Mrs. Hilyer.