'Listen,' he said coldly, 'I know nothing of you, Anders, except that it is my belief that you are one of the vermin of the war, a spy selling his own country. The woman there was once my friend. For that reason, if you leave England on Saturday for America, this matter is finished. If either of you remain in London, or make any attempt to cross to Holland, France or any other country, between now and then, something very ugly will happen. You understand?'
Anders' courage had failed him pitifully. Félanie, on the contrary, had recovered herself.
'I have been a fool, perhaps,' she confessed. 'You were just one of the few chances against me. Very well, we go to America on Saturday.'
'But our contract?' Anders faltered. 'The revue? Elaine's success? They have doubled our salaries. London is at her feet.'
'After Saturday,' Lavendale reminded him calmly, 'the best that can happen to you, Anders, is a bandaged forehead and twelve bullets, in the courtyard of the Tower. I will not offend your taste by suggesting——'
Félanie stamped her foot and turned her shoulder contemptuously upon Anders.
'It is finished, Monsieur Lavendale,' she pronounced. 'If there were any bribe in the world I could offer you——'
It was her one rather faint-hearted effort and he laughed at the seduction in her eyes.
'You will be watched from this moment until the steamer leaves Liverpool,' he concluded, leaving the room and closing the door behind him....
In the hall he met Lenwade, waiting for the lift, incoherent still but sober. Lavendale drew him out into the courtyard, where Suzanne was still seated in the car.