“Two years, madam.”
“You brought recommendations, of course! Mr. Caruth, I should advise you to look up the writers of those recommendations at once. You may learn something that will surprise you. Now, Wilkins, listen to me.” A subtle change came into Miss Fitzhugh’s voice; she might almost have been addressing an equal. “You have played your part well and have served your master well. But you had better not push matters too far. It is dangerous.”
A glint of fear crept into the valet’s eyes, and his look wandered up and down the girl’s person, as if expecting to see a weapon; almost he seemed to fear an attack of some kind. “Dangerous in what way, madam?” he asked, still respectfully.
“Dangerous by violence. Do you think those who sent me here—four thousand miles—to get that letter, will let you escape with it? Once you have read it, there will be no more safety for you on the face of the earth. Death will dog your footsteps and sit by your side. Sleeping and waking, he will be upon you. You cannot beg for mercy, for there will be no one from whom to beg. When I go out of that door, I disappear, and even if you could find me, it would not save you, for I am only an agent, powerless to change the will of my superiors. I give you my word that in asking for that letter I am trying to save your life, as well as to gain my own ends. I give you my word that I know of no way in which you can evade your fate, once you have read it. For the last time, I beg you, take the money and give me the letter.”
There was silence in the room as the valet turned the letter over and over, staring at it, hesitating. His fingers trembled and his eyes grew wider.
With a shock, Caruth realized that murder had been threatened in his very presence—and that he was not horrified, as he knew he ought to have been. Rather, he sympathized with the woman, who towered above the man in angry beauty.
At last the valet broke the silence. “My God!” he whispered. “My God!” Slowly and unsteadily, he made his way to the table and laid the letter upon it. Slowly, he picked up the bills one by one. Then he raised his heavy eyes and for an instant looked into the face of the woman. The next moment he was at the door, hurrying away with the swift, silent footsteps of the well-trained servant. The portières fell together behind him.
With a long sigh of relief, the girl picked up the letter. The strain of the past moments showed itself in her face.
“I will return your money as soon as I can see my friends,” she declared weariedly. “Meanwhile, perhaps you will retain this.” She stripped a ring from her fingers. “It is worth more than the money,” she added.
Caruth drew back, deeply hurt. “Thank you,” he returned angrily, “but I am not a pawnbroker—even if I am accessory to a threat to commit murder. Return the money when you like.”