To baffle Hilliston, and prevent him from intercepting the letter, she was obliged to use all her wits, and so hit on the idea of learning the name of the young man's club. How she managed to obtain it is best known to herself; but Hilliston, never dreaming of this pertinacity, was unable to thwart her schemes, and, beyond writing to Claude, telling him to call, could do nothing. Had he guessed that she would address her invitation to the club, he might have called and obtained it in the character of Larcher's guardian; but, knowing her helpless condition, the thought that it might be there never entered his mind. So the letter arrived, was duly answered, and Claude was coming to-day at three o'clock to hear what Mrs. Bezel had to say.
The visit, though due to her own action, was a source of considerable anxiety; for she was not at all certain of what she would say. It was impossible to tell all without inculpating Hilliston, and this, for reasons of her own, Mrs. Bezel was unwilling to do. All her talk of the previous night had been so much rodomontade to frighten the man she hated, but she was too well aware of her dependent position to think of doing him an injury. Her impulse had led her into deep water, as she knew instinctively.
She was a woman who had lived every moment of her life, but now, stretched on a bed of sickness, she missed her former triumphs and excitements. This visit promised a great deal of amusement, and the use of much diplomacy, therefore she was unwilling to abandon her plans. At the same time she determined to give the young man as little information as she possibly could. It would not be through her agency that the mask would be torn from Hilliston's face. She was resolved on that point.
Yet the matter, starting originally from an impulse, had now gone too far for her to draw back. Claude had seen the papers, and therefrom must have guessed that she desired to impart certain information with regard to the crime which had cost him a father. Mrs. Bezel therefore compromised the matter, and settled in her own mind to tell him half the truth, or, at all events, only sufficient to interest him without aiding him. Had she been a man, and had taken this decision, all would have gone well, but being a woman she reckoned without her impulse, and it betrayed her.
Moreover, she had a revelation to make which would effectively tie Larcher's hands should he learn too much; but this she did not intend to make unless driven into a corner. She was in that corner before the interview was finished, though she little expected to get there. Hilliston, clever as he was, could not understand her present actions; she did not understand them herself, else she would not have ventured to receive Claude Larcher.
He duly arrived at three o'clock, and Mrs. Bezel glanced approvingly at his stalwart figure and handsome face. Claude had one of those sympathetic, yet manly, natures, to which women are instinctively drawn by the law of sex, and Mrs. Bezel proved no exception to this rule. She was too thoroughly a woman not to relish masculine society, and, despite her perplexity, was glad she had sent the invitation, if only for the sake of talking to this splendid looking young man. There was another reason, which she revealed in a moment of impulse. But that was later on.
Meanwhile Claude, seated by her couch in the window, was wondering who she was, and why she had sought this interview. He was certainly aware that she had some information to impart concerning the fate of his parents, but as he had not seen her name in the papers containing the account of the case, he was at a loss to fix her identity. His doubts were soon set at rest. Mrs. Bezel was a more prominent actor in the Horriston tragedy than he had any idea of.
"You were doubtless astonished to get my letter," said Mrs. Bezel, when the first greetings were over, "especially as you do not remember your parents, and my name is also unknown to you."
"Were you a friend of my parents, madam?" asked Claude, too anxious for information to reply directly to her remark.
"Yes. I—I knew them. That is, I lived at Horriston," stammered Mrs. Bezel, passing a handkerchief across her dry lips.