LITMIR.BIZ

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boy, Clair, was changed into a vicious young apache, by a dirty jersey and a beret; while the Count could be any type of pleasant scoundrel, common to every quarter of the globe.

      Mrs. Vanderpant, alone, defied his efforts to degrade her dignity. Although he reduced her to sordid circles of vice and squalor, she remained triumphantly, the perfect lady in adversity.

      As a momentary pause jammed the flow of conversation, the social occasion was marred by a disconcerting incident. Clair, who had never removed his eyes from Georgia's face, suddenly broke his silence with a barrage of questions.

      "D'you know Brussels well?" he asked.

      "No," Georgia confessed. "This is my first visit."

      "Gosh, how did you miss it? Haven't you travelled?"

      "No. I—I've never been abroad before."

      "Where d'you live?"

      "In a small village, on the east coast of England."

      "Why?"

      "It's quiet for my writing."

      "Got a big estate?"

      "No, only a cottage."

      "How d'you entertain?'

      "I have so few friends. I've dropped out of things."

      "No family?"

      "My mother and my two big girls. Merle and Mavis. They are seven and eight."

      Stunned by the rattle of question succeeding question, Georgia answered mechanically, like a witness bullied by cross-examination. She had expected the delicate probing of skillful leading remarks, if she were to be accepted as a member of the Count's family; but this violation of her reserve by an ill-mannered youth left her aghast.

      The attack was too swift and unexpected for the others to intervene. Torch received the impression that his hosts preferred to ignore the catechism rather than to recognise any breach of manners. Although, at first, his own mind was a blank, the mention of Georgia's children gave him his chance to intervene.

      "I'm one of the few privileged to have a photograph of Mrs. Yeo's little girls, taken with their mother," he said. "They look like three sisters—two from the nursery and one from the schoolroom."

      He stopped talking, distracted by hearing an unusual complaint.

      "Waiter," said Mrs. Vanderpant, "these knives are sharp. Bring blunt ones. That is the way to find out whether the meat is really tender."

      After a swift substitution had been made and the beef had sustained the test, the Count exulted over his aunt.

      "I knew it would satisfy even you. I spoke one word to the maitre d'hotel, who himself visited the kitchens and selected the joint."

      The incident stirred up Torch's suspicion afresh, lest it were pre-arranged in order to demonstrate the exalted rank of guests who could command such specialised service.

      The more he considered it, the less he liked the situation. He knew that circumstances had made Georgia specially vulnerable to attack. Apart from her work, her nature was pliant and credulous, while she had only just emerged from voluntary exile. This was her first holiday after years of high-pressure writing, when she had lived in the world of her own lurid imagination.

      He argued that, if this family was what it represented itself to be, the Count would be too used to the society of beautiful glamorous women to fall violently in love with Georgia. Moreover, if it needed financial support, its objective would be a genuine heiress.

      The fact that it appeared to angle for a best-selling novelist, put it in the class of cheap fortune-hunters. Suddenly he decided, therefore, to clarify his suspicions by a discussion on specialised motives.

      "Of course, you've all read Mrs. Yeo's novels," he remarked. "Besides being her agent, I am one of her fans. At the same time, I don't think there is any comparison between real and imaginary crimes. Nothing in fiction can compare with the horror of 'The brides in the bath.'"

      He turned to the Count.

      "Probably you remember it? A man married several wretched women and then drowned them, to get their bit of money."

      The Count looked at him with genuine interest.

      "Now murder is something I can never understand," he said. "Any man who commits murder must be either a monster or a maniac. No sane person would risk his neck when there are so many ways of getting money from a woman."

      "Any one who marries a stranger must accept the consequences," remarked Mrs. Vanderpant. "Of course, in our class, such a marriage is out of the question. We first insist on intimate knowledge of the family."

      "All the same," persisted Torch, "any woman with money is bound to run a risk over her marriage. It must be a distressing problem in the case of some fascinating stranger. If she turns him down, she may lose a genuine love; and if she takes him, she may lose more than her money."

      As he spoke, he glanced at Georgia. The candlelight stirred in the breeze from the open window and trembled on her misty web of pale hair. Her eyes were wide with apprehension, yet a smile hovered around her mouth. She looked elusive and unearthly, like a dryad escaped from her tree.

      His apprehension sharpened to actual fear. While he was presenting a hypothetical case, she might be in actual danger. Even as the fear crossed his mind, Clair attacked Georgia again with a direct personal question.

      "What would you do, Mrs. Yeo? You've got money."

      Georgia put her hand to her throat, as though she found it difficult to reply. Dazzled by the Count's personality and position, she had avoided the intrusion of her personal matters in her romance. Her reserve had amounted almost to emotional paralysis; but now she realised that the time had come for her to take a desperate chance.

      "I have no money," she said.

      Remembering her royalties, Torch stared at her incredulously, while Clair flushed with anger.

      "You make pots," he contradicted. "Every one knows you make pots. Are you trying to high-hat me because I asked you a question?"

      "No." Again Georgia forced herself to explain. "It is true I have made quite a lot of money, although not as much as people think. Writers rarely do. But I cannot touch it. I have settled all of it on my children."

      Before the youth could make any comment, Mrs. Vanderpant dismissed him.

      "We shall not expect you to wait for coffee, Clair. The conversation of adults must be boring to you."

      The youth grimaced but rose from the table. As he passed the Count, he laid his hand upon his shoulder with a possessive gesture which Georgia resented.

      "He's jealous of me," she thought.

      Meanwhile, Torch studied the general reaction to Georgia's bombshell, only to discover that no one seemed affected by it. The Count's smile was still gay and unconcerned, while the Professor devoted his entire attention to the peeling of a peach. Mrs. Vanderpant preserved the detachment of a perfect hostess.

      In the face of their high social standard, the presence of an ill-bred youth at the table seemed an unfortunate choice. It made him wonder whether Clair was included in order to pump a prospective victim. If this were the case, her revelation was calculated to shatter the hopes of any fortune hunter.

      He drew a breath of deep relief. Georgia was safe.

      CHAPTER TWO. BEHIND THE CURTAIN

       Table of Contents

      Although her ordeal was nearly at an end, Georgia felt that she could hardly endure the last minutes of the meal. She had a guilty sense of being there on false pretences, as though she had been masquerading in the guise of a wealthy woman, to invite hospitable overtures.

      When she asked to

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