CHAPTER XXIV.
THE BLOW.
With easy, leisurely gait, the man in the grey hat strode along the sands towards the rocks behind which the Countess and the governess had disappeared.
Upon his mobile lips played an evil, triumphant smile, in his keen eyes a sharp, sinister look as he went forward, his hands thrust carelessly into his jacket pocket.
His eyes were set searchingly upon the grey rocks before him, when suddenly he saw in the distance Miss Oliver and little Enid walking together. Therefore he knew that Lady Bracondale was alone.
“What luck!” he murmured. “I wonder how she’ll take it? To think that I should have been lying low in Trouville yonder all that time while she was living here. I’ve got ten louis, and a ticket for New York, but if you are cute, Ralph Ansell,” he said, addressing himself, “you won’t want to use that ticket.”
He chuckled and smiled.
“The Countess of Bracondale!” he muttered. “I wonder what lie she told the Earl? Perhaps she’s changed—become unscrupulous—since we last met. I wonder?”