She gave an instant’s upward glance at the face, whose expression of sinister power beat back the contempt she tried to show in hers. Without a word she put her hand to the bell. Before, however, she could ring, the door opened, and the butler came in with a telegram. Alexia took it, and turned as though to dismiss Gastineau.
“You had better open it, Countess,” he said quietly, “before I go. It probably confirms my news of Herriard.”
Alexia was in two minds; but in her desire above all things not to show fear, she tore open the telegram.
“Yes,” she said, with a supreme effort to hide her sickening terror, “it confirms what you have told me. Good-night.”
CHAPTER XXVIII
THE FACE IN THE BOX
BY the earliest train next morning Alexia and her brother travelled down to Bradbury, and found to their relief that Herriard’s condition was not nearly so serious as they had feared. He was suffering from a wound in the head and slight concussion caused by the vicious blow that had been dealt him; but the doctor made light of his hurt, and declared two or three days would see him practically recovered.
This was grateful news to Alexia, who had dreaded the worst; nevertheless the ugly, haunting fact remained of a malignant purpose secretly at work against her lover and herself. None of the local politicians could account for what was admittedly an organized attack. It had taken the whole town by surprise, not merely by its unusual ferocity, but by the comparative absence of adequate motive, and by the secrecy with which it had been planned. But to Alexia it was no mystery. She recognized well enough the determined, energetic brain that had conceived and designed the murderous affray, and she was well aware how thankful (if fear could leave room for gladness) she might be that the attack had failed to achieve its ulterior and especial object. Gastineau’s words to her had made that plain enough.
Nevertheless, so anxious was she not to retard or jeopardize her lover’s recovery that until it was almost complete she said nothing to him of Gastineau’s visit. Then she told him everything, and the diabolical plot became clear to them both. It was certain now that the man Herriard had seen was Hencher; to him, doubtless, had been left the final conduct of the attack; it must, too, have been he who had sent off the late telegram to Alexia. But the whole object and motive of the affair were so clearly the outcome of Gastineau’s design against Herriard, that it seemed scarcely worth while to piece together the details of the scheme.
“Naturally, it is of the utmost importance for his safety to put me out of the way,” Herriard said bitterly; “quite apart from his desire to marry you. You and I are the only two people in the world he has really to fear; we know too much; in fact, everything. If once I were dead, and you his wife, that fear would be laid to rest, and he would be free to practise whatever new scheme of life he may have decided upon.”
“Then,” suggested Alexia, restlessly eager, “let us forestall him, and tell everything to the police. It is our only chance. Are we to be at the mercy of this devil incarnate?”