I accepted, and she taking a hansom in the Strand, drove off.
On the following night at eight I entered the well-furnished drawing-room in Burton Crescent, where three well-dressed men and three rather smart ladies were assembled, including my hostess. They were all foreigners, and among them was the Baron, who appeared to be the most honoured guest. It was now quite plain that, instead of being a governess as she had asserted, she was a lady of good family and the Baron’s social equal.
The party was a very pleasant one, and there was considerable merriment at table. My hostess’s apprehension of the previous day had all disappeared, while the Baron’s demeanour was one of calm security.
I sat at my hostess’s left hand, and she was particularly gracious to me, the whole conversation at table being in French.
At last, after dessert, the Baron remarked that, as it was New Year’s Day, we should have snap-dragon, and, with his hostess’s permission, left the dining-room and prepared it. Presently it appeared in a big antique Worcester bowl, and was placed on the table close to me.
Then the electric light was switched off, and the spirit ignited.
Next moment, with shouts and laughter, the blue flames shedding a weird light upon our faces, we were pulling the plums out of the fire—a childish amusement permissible because it was the New Year.
I had placed one in my mouth and swallowed it, but as I was taking a second from the blue flames I suddenly felt a faintness. At first I put it down to the heat of the room, but a moment later I felt a sharp spasm through my heart, and my brain swelled too large for my skull. My jaws were set. I tried to speak, but was unable to articulate a word.
I saw the fun had stopped and the faces of all were turned upon me anxiously. The Baron had risen, and his dark countenance peered into mine with a fiendish, murderous expression.
“I’m ill!” I gasped. “I—I’m sure I’m poisoned!”