But she could not move; she could do nothing but lie there gasping in impotent rage. There was only one person in the world who could help her now, and that was Marion. And where was Marion? Only the man on the other side of the chess board knew that.
She wished she knew; oh! she wished she knew a score of things. Did the people of the castle suspect her? Hardly that, or Mrs. Gordon had not been so friendly.
What had become of the coat and glass mask she was wearing at the time things went wrong in Geoffrey Ravenspur's room? Had her subordinates heard her cry? Had they fled, or had they been taken? If they had fled, had they removed the instruments with them?
Mrs. May would have given five years of her life for enlightenment on these vital questions. Even she could not read the past and solve the unseen.
Tears of impotent rage and fury rose to her eyes. While she was lying there wasting the diamond minutes the foe was at work. At any time that foe might come down with the most overwhelming proofs and crush her. Marion had been spirited away. Why? So that the key of the safe might be stolen and used to advantage.
Once more the woman tried to raise herself from the bed. It was useless. She slipped the bed-clothes into her mouth to stifle the cries that rose to her lips. She was huddled under them when the door opened and Vera stepped in.
"Did you call out?" she asked. "I was passing your door and fancied I heard a cry. Are you still suffering from a headache?"
Mrs. May's first impulse was to order the girl away. Then an idea came to her.
"The headache is gone," she said sweetly. "It was just a twinge of neuralgia. I wonder if you would do me a favor."