Westerham took the glass from Mendip's hand and pressed it to Mme. Estelle's lips. She revived a little, and suddenly spoke clearly and in almost her normal voice.
“Sir Paul,” she said, “the papers are in your boots!”
For a moment Westerham stared into the dying woman's face, under the impression that her reason had departed from her. But with a start he remembered how he had awoke in St. John's Wood, after being drugged, to find himself dressed in strange clothes and in new footgear. And for the first time the real significance of the removal of all his apparel from his rooms in Bruton Street struck him with full force. He remembered, too, that from the night he had left Mme. Estelle, Melun, by one swift action after another, had kept him constantly on the move, so that it had been impossible for him so much as to order fresh clothes.
To the astonishment of Lord Penshurst and Kathleen, and to the wonderment of Lowther and Mendip, Westerham propped Mme. Estelle up against the pillows and began rapidly to remove his boots.
Comfortable though they had been, it had always struck him that they were unnaturally deep between the outer and the inner sole. The meaning of that came clearly home to him now.
No sooner had he pulled off his boots than he took a knife and began to rip feverishly at the heels. He succeeded in detaching them, and was then able easily to rip open the soles.
He was now fully prepared for any turn of events, but he could not repress an exclamation, as in tearing away the upper layers of leather, his eyes fell on a dozen neatly-folded sheets of tissue paper.
He drew them out, and with a cry Lord Penshurst snatched them from his hand.
Westerham saw at a glance that the Premier had regained the papers he had lost—the papers which had jeopardised, not only the peace of nations, but his own and his daughter's honour.
Westerham seized the other boot, but Mme. Estelle shook her head. “Look afterwards,” she gasped, “not now.”