Arithelli's ministering angels left in each other's company. Michael drifted back to his favourite café, while Emile betook himself to the Hippodrome to wage war with that amiable functionary, the Manager. The strife was both noisy and prolonged, and resulted in only a partial victory for Emile. With many picturesque oaths the Manager accused himself of folly unspeakable in not dismissing Arithelli at once.
She had a contract? Yes! But in it there was no allowance made for incompetence and non-appearance. It only stipulated that she should be paid for doing her work. She had not done it, and moreover she had refused to practise. That he should be expected to continue to pay her a salary even of the smallest description while she lay in bed was a monstrous impertinence.
Would he not have the trouble and expense of getting another artiste to fill her place? There must be an equestrienne in the programme. If she found herself taken back again to finish her time after this illness or whatever it was, then she should be more than grateful, but as for paying salaries to employés who did not work, why, did people consider him an imbecile?
Emile shrugged and sneered at intervals throughout this tirade. He had wisely begun by asking more than he knew he was at all likely to get, and was now obliged to be satisfied with the compromise.
Disappointment followed his search for the whereabouts of Count Vladimir. The owner of "The Witch" was expected back in Barcelona in a month or so, no one knew exactly when. Letters might be addressed Poste Restante, Corfu, for he was cruising in his phantom craft through those sapphire seas that lie round about the Ionian Islands.
There was nothing to do but to write and wait. One piece of ill-luck was following close upon another, and Emile felt that he needed all the consolations that his cynical philosophy could afford.
His anxiety on Arithelli's behalf was fast becoming an obsession. When she had first come into his life he had wondered sometimes how she would stand the late hours and all the hardships of a circus training, but after her one outburst she had never complained again.
He thought the sea-trip had done her good. Of course she always looked pale, but then that was her type.
He had also been impressed with the unwonted seriousness of Michael, knowing that in spite of his erratic ways the doctor understood his craft.
Emile's instinct prompted him vigorously to go back now and see how she was getting on, but he dared not neglect the work of his Society. There were letters to be written, arrangements to be made, all the usual paraphernalia of intrigue to be kept going.