to steal my passport. He was afraid that it was my intention to interfere in a little business he was engaged upon. He was quite right, but I arrived here all the same and, I should imagine,” she continued, her eyes sweeping the room, “just in time.”
The Major saluted.
“We are obliged. Baroness,” he said.
“Is my presence required further?” she asked.
“Certainly not. Sergeant, you may remove the prisoner. Allow me to see you to your car. Baroness. Which of you gentlemen is Mr. Mildenhall?”
Charles stepped forward.
“I’m here.”
The Major smiled.
“I shall be returning directly,” he said, “for the favour of a few minutes’ conversation with you.”
There was a tramping of feet. In a moment or two the room was empty except for Patricia, Blute and Charles. Marius Blute was smoothing his hair before a mirror after a hurried glance down the avenue. Patricia had thrown herself into a chair. Her own hair was in wild disorder and she had torn her skirt in the convulsive leap forward when she had snatched the revolver from the arrested man. Charles was on his knees by her side. Nevertheless, although she was very pale, her eyes were open and she forced a smile as she felt the pressure of his fingers.
“If I could have some water,” she murmured.
“Look round the room—there’s a good fellow,” Charles asked Blute.
The latter looked round the room in vain, then he stepped out into the hall. He returned, followed by a chauffeur and a plump lady dressed in black. Charles welcomed them gladly.
“That’s you, is it. Holmes?” he exclaimed. “Thank heavens! And you, Madame Renouf!”
“We’re here, sir,” the chauffeur said, “but it’s been a funny business!”
“It has indeed,” Madame Renouf assented. “Allow me, sir.”
She poured some water from the carafe which she was carrying into a tumbler.
“The poor young lady,” she murmured sympathetically. “She’s had a nasty shock and no mistake.”
“I shall be all right in a minute,” Patricia declared.
“Tim’s gone, sir,” the chauffeur announced gloomily. “He smelt a rat, Tim did, and he let on to the Count. The Count shot him down just as you or I would brush away a fly. Thank God he’s off the premises, sir. He came here and said he’d leased the chateau from you for six months. If it hadn’t been your own voice I heard on the phone last night, sir, I should have been off to-night. They made me answer the phone and wouldn’t let me say a word on my own.”
“Plane all right?” Charles asked.
“Going like a humming bird, sir.”
“Johnson there? That’s his name, isn’t it? The pilot.”
“He’s around all right, sir, but again he isn’t, so to speak. The Count told him he might want the plane this morning. Never said a word about your coming. Johnson’s off in hiding, he is, but I can put my hand on him in a minute.”
Patricia sat up.
“I’m absolutely all right,” she announced. “Charles, do you realize what has happened?”
She threw her arms round his neck. The housekeeper glanced discreetly away.
“And me, I think,” Mr. Blute suggested.
Patricia embraced him without hesitation.
“That,” he remarked as he withdrew himself a little awkwardly, “is the first time I have kissed a lady for twelve years.”
“It’s been worth while waiting, hasn’t it, dear?” she laughed.
“Don’t you try your tricks on me!” he warned her. “Remember, you’re as good as a married woman!”
“There is nothing that could go wrong, now, is there?” she asked, a great relief shining out of her eyes.
Blute escorted her to the window.
“Our four guards are there smoking cigarettes and guarding the treasure. The Count is seated in the middle of that lorry which has just passed out through the gate, two soldiers either side of him and two behind. I never thought I’d see the end of the Three G’s crowd. Whichever way our plans lie now we are safe and when opportunity arises I shall most certainly drink the health of that brave lady who has got us out of this mess.”
“We are returning to earth again,” Charles said.
“It’s a mercy, sir,” the housekeeper declared, “because I’m hoping you’ll fancy some luncheon, even if it is late.”
There was a squeal from Patricia, various other sounds of approbation from Blute and Charles.
“The Count’s been sort of funny all this morning,” Madame Renouf remarked. “I could never get him to tell me how many to cook for but there’s enough for ten or twelve anyhow and something over if you’ve men to feed.”
“Who’s looking after my cellar here?” Charles asked.
“Mr. Needham’s been doing it until the last few days, sir,” she declared. “He felt like I did about the Count and he refused to give up the keys. There was a sort of scramble and Needham didn’t get the best of it. He’d have liked to have got away, but this place has been like one of them fortresses, sir. There have been men watching at every door. You weren’t very fond of strangers in your day, Mr. Mildenhall, sir,” she remarked, “but the Count, he was a lot worse.”
“What I want to know now,” Charles said patiently, “is—where are the cellar keys?”
“I have them here, sir,” she announced, producing them. “I made that other man—the Count’s valet, he was really—hand them over every night. I’ve a couple of maids in the kitchen. They weren’t in with the rough lot at all—they’re Swiss girls I found myself. They can be getting on with the luncheon and you’d better let me be seeing what there is I can bring you up from the cellar. I know where everything is. I’m thinking it’s a cocktail that the young lady and you gentlemen will be wanting—and no wonder with the morning you’ve been through.”
“I’d come with you, Madame Renouf,” Charles declared, “but I want to speak to the Major before he slips away. Bring us up vermouth, gin, Cointreau, lemons, champagne and white wine—all you can carry.”
“There’s a cellar boy with a wine basket,” she confided. “The Count was a terrible man but he knew the way the gentry did things. We’re all very curious down below but I’ll be asking questions a little later on.”
“And ice, Madame Renouf,” Charles called out.
The housekeeper looked round in mild reproof.
“As though I’d be forgetting such a thing!” she exclaimed reproachfully. “I’ll go and see Mr. Need-ham at once. He’ll perhaps be able to look after you now he knows the others have gone. In three-quarters of an hour’s time, sir, I shall be able to serve lunch and if those are your men in the park, sir, with the luggage, they can come in and have a bite in the servants’ hall when they’ve a mind for it.”
“What a heavenly person!” Patricia breathed as Madame Renouf left the room.
“She’s a character,” Charles grinned. “She comes from Geneva and is really more French than Swiss. My head seems to be going round still,” he went on after a moment’s pause, “I’ll never forget the shock when that fellow Strauss met us in the hall. I felt there was something wrong.”
Blute lit a cigarette. Charles rose to his feet.
“Patricia,” he said, “I think I ought to go and speak