Her turquoise rings Emile collected from the table, and put them into his pocket; her collar of turquoises he rescued from the floor, where it had fallen when she took off her bodice. The jewels could all be turned into the money they needed so badly. Of course she had not saved a single peseta. Emile had the handling of her salary, and he knew that anything left over from the expenses of food and lodging went in clothes and her particular vanity, dainty boots.
She was lavishly generous to the Hippodrome staff, and there was always a certain tribute claimed from all its adherents by the Cause.
He did not hunt further for valuables. If there was either money or jewellery in Arithelli's possession it was sure to be found in quite a conspicuous place.
The varied life of the city surged to and fro beneath the window, the varied noises floated up into the room, and under the faded red brocade curtains, Arithelli turned from side to side and moaned with closed eyes. A seller of fruit passed, crying his wares.
Emile went down into the street and bought a couple of oranges, and squeezed the juice into the cup that had been destined for the coffee.
He had not the least idea as to what particular malady Arithelli had developed, but he knew that fever and delirium always went together, and that with fever there is invariably thirst. He lifted her up and pushed the pillow higher to relieve her breathing, but he could hardly do more than moisten her parched and bitten lips. Then he "tidied" the bed with masculine pulls and jerks till it was even more untidy than before, and went back to his chair. There was nothing more to be done for her in the way of alleviation till the doctor came.
He took up a book, and tried to shut his ears and distract his thoughts. As he stared unseeingly at the printed pages, there suddenly flashed into his brain the name of Count Vladimir, the owner of "The Witch." Here was the very man to whom he could confidently apply for help in the present difficulties, for the Russian had made it his business in life to bestow his wealth in assisting the revolutionaries. Emile decided that he would write tomorrow, when he had acquired certain particulars as to the address he wanted.
Fatalité had done good work for the Cause, he argued, therefore let those who supported the organisation keep her till she was able to work again.
The next task he would have to undertake would be that of bullying or bribing the landlady into a promise to undertake at least some of the duties of a sick-room. The rest of the nursing he proposed to do himself. He grinned as he lit another evil-smelling cigarette, at the thought of Vardri's proposal.
He possessed an artistic sense of the fitness of things, and the suggested Soeur de Charité appealed to him as being quite out of the picture. Besides Arithelli had no respect for priests or nuns; Emile remembered her inimitable descriptions of the spying "Children of Mary," and she should not be worried with either if he could help it.