In Mrs. Beecher Monmouth's entire life of daring adventure, in all her vicissitudinous career, never had such a blow stricken her as that moment. She had expected to see the good-humoured and somewhat stupid countenance of Parkson, and instead, she had seen John. She had been outwitted by the enemy whom of all others she hated most. From the very first this pleasant looking, resourceful, cool young man had outmanoeuvred her. What had happened to Parkson, and how John had managed to substitute himself for that enmeshed young man, she could not guess. She was conscious only that in the darkness her mortal enemy had received her caresses, and laughed in his sleeve.
Her tryst had been with Lieutenant Parkson, and by a manoeuvre that was a mystery to her this other had substituted himself....
John heard her move softly in the darkness, and draw in a low, sibilant breath. He was taking no chances, however, and had already stepped cautiously behind the big dining table. Here he paused for a moment, listening, then swiftly struck a match. In the orange glow of the light he saw Mrs. Monmouth's face of undeniable beauty contorted with fury. As the match flared and John put out his hand to light the lamp which was on the table, she made a strong effort to control her features. She was a woman who seldom remained long at a disadvantage. Every move in the whole gamut of feminine emotion seemed to be at her command. There had been a momentary stillness; now the roar of heavy artillery thundered again and again. The red glow from the window filled the room.
A false expression of smiling irony crossed Mrs. Monmouth's features.
"So, Mr. Treves, you have been exercising your cleverness again!"
"What I did was all in the day's work," John began; then he stepped swiftly towards the end of the table and barred the way to a certain chair upon which her long black coat had been thrown.
"No, don't go to your coat," he politely admonished her. "I am afraid I don't trust you!" He knew that ladies of Mrs. Beecher Monmouth's temperament and activities are apt to carry lethal weapons, and are not scrupulous in the use of the same. She had already made an attempt upon him with what he shrewdly and correctly guessed to be drugged whisky.
"How subtle and resourceful you are!" laughed Mrs. Monmouth. She turned and strolled with an air of indifference towards the window.
John was wondering what her next move would be. He had already made up his mind as to his own next move, when Mrs. Beecher Monmouth strode to the table, and, in a flashing change of mood, smote it sharply.
"You think yourself extraordinarily clever, Mr. Treves!"