She studied his face as he rapidly stamped his letters, flinging them on to a pile of others that lay ready. It crossed her mind how Emile had once likened a certain group of the conspirators to a pack of court cards, saying that they were alternately red and black.
Sobrenski's hair and small peaked beard were of a curiously unpleasant colour, and his thin lips, pointed teeth and long sloping jaw gave him a wolfish appearance. His eyes, deep-set and narrow, were too close together to satisfy a student of Lavater as to his capacity for truthfulness. The forehead alone was good, and showed reasoning and intellect. He was about fifty, and like all fair men looked less than his age. He was better dressed, and altogether more careful of his appearance than most of the other men, though he spent nothing on luxuries and never touched the absinthe, to which most of them were addicted. The sole luxuries in which he indulged were Work and Power.
"Probably you have heard a great deal of talk about spies lately," he began, addressing Arithelli in French. "For some time I have suspected one of our own number of treachery. However, one cannot condemn without proofs. For these I have been waiting and they have now come into my hands. I'm perfectly satisfied that the man I have all along suspected is a traitor, and there is no need to delay action any longer. I suppose Poleski has informed you of how we treat those who are unwise enough to betray us?"
"Yes."
She was on her guard now, and stood upright, all her languor gone. Why could he not say what he meant at once? She wondered why he had taken the trouble to seek for proofs of anyone's guilt. Enough for a man of his type to find an obstruction in his path. He would need no authority but his own for removing it. She hated him all the more for his parade of justice. It had not occurred to her that his speech was a prelude to anything that concerned Vardri. If anyone was implied she imagined it was herself. These men were never happy unless they were suspecting evil of someone. The Anarchist leader found in her incomprehension merely another sign of feminine stupidity. Her outward air of indifference was as irritating to him as it had been to the Hippodrome Manager. Sobrenski's blood had never stirred for any woman, however charming, and Arithelli's type of looks was repulsive to him. He loathed her thinness and pallor, her silence and immobility of expression. He vowed inwardly that she should look less indifferent before he had finished with her.
"You do not appear to have the least idea of the identity of the man to whom I am referring," he continued. "Your friend Vardri is not a very careful person. He is young, and shall we say, a little foolish. It is always risky to say or write anything against the Cause one is supposed to be serving."
"To say or write." It dawned upon her all at once. The piece of the letter she had missed, had been dropped in the stable up in the hills and found by Sobrenski. It was all her own fault, sheer rank carelessness. Emile had so often warned her against her fatal habit of leaving everything about. She never locked up anything, jewellery, clothes, money or papers.
Perhaps in the hurry of dressing that night, she had only taken with her the first page, and when she was out her rooms had been searched, and the rest stolen. Sobrenski would stop at nothing to get the evidence he wanted. If she accused him of having taken it he would simply deny the charge, and to seem anxious would be further evidence that the letter contained something that would compromise either Vardri or herself. In any case it appeared that the mischief was done. To expect either justice or mercy from her enemy was out of the question. She would try and fight him with his own weapon, feign ignorance, tell lies if necessary.
"Vardri? What has he done?"
The note of surprise in her voice was well assumed and she could control her face, but her hands betrayed her. Sobrenski had seen the blue veins stand out and the knuckles whiten unnaturally with the pressure on the black fan she carried to shield her eyes in the street.