"As I expected," cried Lawrence. "Stolen! There's a pretty piece of valuable information for you. The person who stole that is at the bottom of the crime. In other words, the key to the future movements of the criminal is in my hands!"
[CHAPTER XX.]
"UNEASY LIES THE HEAD."
The rose-tinted silken blinds were drawn in the boudoir, the house in Lytton Avenue was hushed, there was a smell of eau-de-cologne on the perfumed air. Society deeply regretted to hear that Countess Lalage was suffering from nervous prostration. Leona Lalage lay there pressing her hands to her head fiercely. It was only latterly that she had suffered from these nerve troubles. Hitherto she had regarded herself as absolutely invincible to anything of the kind.
A queer sort of fainting fit had been followed by a ghastly sense of fear. Intrigue had hitherto been the very air that this woman breathed. Now she was frightened, every ring of the bell sent her heart into her mouth.
She was horribly frightened. If she could only have seen her antagonist it would have been bearable. But she was fighting shadows. Whichever way she turned she found herself checkmated and beaten.
Somebody had found her out. It must be so, because all her plans were anticipated by the terrible antagonist who worked in the dark. Her case was much like that of a despairing criminal who takes one huge sum to conceal the loss of another until the inevitable crash comes.
"If my brain gives way now," she muttered, "if my reason plays me false now even for a day I--but I dare not think of it. Well, what do you want?"
A liveried servant looking into the darkened room murmured that Dr. Bruce had arrived. Bruce came in with his softest professional manner. He was sorry to hear that anything was wrong, he asked a great many pertinent questions.