“Then I fear,” said Mme. Estelle, sharply, “you will have to forego the satisfaction of seeing Lady Kathleen. The cab will be your only means of reaching her.”
“Do you mean to tell me,” demanded Westerham, who had been so unnerved by the chloroform as to become a little excited, “do you mean that I am a prisoner in this house?”
“Only so far as your feelings keep you captive,” was the answer.
“And I know what your feelings will say. They will decide that you must wait here in patience until the hour comes for you to go to Lady Kathleen.”
Westerham said no more; it was idle to argue with this woman. Circumstances were too strong and strange for him.
After breakfast he revived considerably, and Madame left him on the couch with a pile of magazines to amuse him.
Lunch was served at one, and the afternoon dragged slowly and painfully away. It was with great impatience that Westerham watched the table being leisurely and neatly laid for dinner. His irritation grew with every passing minute.
At dinner he ate but little and drank less, though Madame pleaded that a second glass of champagne would go far to steady his considerably shaken nerves.
Westerham, however, declined. He had become so suspicious of everybody and everything he half imagined that, not content with chloroforming him, his captors might attempt to drug him also.
At the stroke of nine Westerham heard the rumble of wheels in the street, and, rising from the table, Mme. Estelle informed him that the cab had arrived.