The Lone Wolf (Detective Mystery Novel). Louis Joseph Vance
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flash of the lamp located her hand. Calmly he possessed himself of it, if without opposition.
"I've brought you into trouble enough, as it is, through my stupidity," he said; "but for that, this place should have been a refuge to us until we were quite ready to leave Paris. So now we mustn't forget, before we go out to run God-only-knows-what gauntlet, to fix a rendezvous in event of separation…. Popinot, for instance, may have drawn a cordon around the block; we can't tell until we're in the street; if he has, you must leave me to entertain them until you're safe beyond their reach…. Oh, don't worry: I'm perfectly well able to take care of myself….But afterwards, we must know where to find each other. Hotels, cafés and restaurants are out of the question: in the first place, we've barely money enough for our dinner; besides, they'll be watched closely; as for our embassies and consulates, they aren't open at all hours, and will likewise be watched. There remain — unless you can suggest something — only the churches; and I can think of none better suited to our purposes than the Sacré-Cour."
Her fingers tightened gently upon his.
"I understand," she said quietly; "if we're obliged to separate, I'm to go direct to the Sacré-Cour and await you there."
"Right! …But let's hope there'll be no such necessity."
Hand-in-hand like frightened children, these two stole down the tunnel-like passageway, through a forlorn little court cramped between two tall old tenements, and so came out into the gloomy, sinuous and silent rue d'Assas.
Here they encountered few wayfarers; and to these, preoccupied with anxiety to gain shelter from the inclement night, they seemed, no doubt, some student of the Quarter with his sweetheart — Lanyard in his shabby raincoat, striding rapidly, head and shoulders bowed against the driving mist, the girl in her trim Burberry clinging to his arm….
Avoiding the nearer stations as dangerous, Lanyard steered a roundabout course through by-ways to the rue de Sèvres station of the Nord-Sud subway; from which in due course they came to the surface again at the place de la Concorde, walked several blocks, took a taxicab, and in less than half an hour after leaving the impasse Stanislas were comfortably ensconced in a cabinet particulier of a little restaurant of modest pretensions just north of Les Halles.
They feasted famously: the cuisine, if bourgeois, was admirable and, better still, well within the resources of Lanyard's emaciated purse. Nor did he fret with consciousness that, when the bill had been paid and the essential tips bestowed, there would remain in his pocket hardly more than cab fare. Supremely self-confident, he harboured no doubts of a smiling future — now that the dark pages in his record had been turned and sealed by a resolution he held irrevocable.
His spirits had mounted to a high pitch, thanks to their successful evasion. He was young, he was in love, he was hungry, he was — in short — very much alive. And the consciousness of common peril knitted an enchanting intimacy into their communications. For the first time in his history Lanyard found himself in the company of a woman with whom he dared — and cared — to speak without reserve: a circumstance intrinsically intoxicating. And stimulated by her unquestionable interest and sympathy, he did talk without reserve of old Troyon's and its drudge, Marcel; of Bourke and his wanderings; of the education of the Lone Wolf and his career, less in pride than in relief that it was ended; of the future he must achieve for himself.
And sitting with chin cradled on the backs of her interlaced fingers, the girl listened with such indulgence as women find always for their lovers. Of herself she had little to say: Lanyard filled in to his taste the outlines of the simple history of a young woman of good family obliged to become self-supporting.
And if at times her grave eyes clouded and her attention wandered, it was less in ennui than because of occult trains of thought set astir by some chance word or phrase of Lanyard's.
"I'm boring you," he surmised once with quick contrition, waking up to the fact that he had monopolized the conversation for many minutes on end.
She shook a pensive head. "No, again…. But I wonder, do you appreciate the magnitude of the task you've undertaken?"
"Possibly not," he conceded arrogantly; "but it doesn't matter. The heavier the odds, the greater the incentive to win."
"But," she objected, "you've told me a curious story of one who never had a chance or incentive to 'go straight' — as you put it. And yet you seem to think that an overnight resolution to reform is all that's needed to change all the habits of a life-time. You persuade me of your sincerity of today; but how will it be with you tomorrow — and not so much tomorrow as six months from tomorrow, when you've found the going rough and know you've only to take one step aside to gain a smooth and easy way?"
"If I fail, then, it will be because I'm unfit — and I'll go under, and never be heard of again…. But I shan't fail. It seems to me the very fact that I want to go straight is proof enough that I've something inherently decent in me to build on."
"I do believe that, and yet…" She lowered her head and began to trace a meaningless pattern on the cloth before she resumed. "You've given me to understand I'm responsible for your sudden awakening, that it's because of a regard conceived for me you're so anxious to become an honest man. Suppose … suppose you were to find out … you'd been mistaken in me?"
"That isn't possible," he objected promptly.
She smiled upon him wistfully — and leniently from her remote coign of superior intuitive knowledge of human nature.
"But if it were — ?"
"Then — I think," he said soberly — "I think I'd feel as though there were nothing but emptiness beneath my feet!"
"And you'd backslide — ?"
"How can I tell?" he expostulated. "It's not a fair question. I don't know what I'd do, but I do know it would need something damnable to shake my faith in you!"
"You think so now," she said tolerantly. "But if appearances were against me — "
"They'd have to be black!"
"If you found I had deceived you — ?"
"Miss Shannon!" He threw an arm across the table and suddenly imprisoned her hand. "There's no use beating about the bush. You've got to know — "
She drew back suddenly with a frightened look and a monosyllable of sharp protest: "No!"
"But you must listen to me. I want you to understand…. Bourke used to say to me: 'The man who lets love into his life opens a door no mortal hand can close — and God only knows what will follow in!' And Bourke was right…. Now that door is open in my heart, and I think that whatever follows in won't be evil or degrading…. Oh, I've said it a dozen different ways of indirection, but I may as well say it squarely now: I love you; it's love of you makes me want to go straight — the hope that when I've proved myself you'll maybe let me ask you to marry me…. Perhaps you're in love with a better man today; I'm willing to chance that; a year brings many changes. Perhaps there's something I don't fathom in your doubting my strength and constancy. Only the outcome can declare that. But please understand this: if I fail to make good, it will be no fault of yours; it will be because I'm unfit and have proved it…. All I ask is what you've generously promised me: opportunity to come to you at the end of the year and make my report…. And then, if you will, you can say no to the question I'll ask you and I shan't resent it, and it won't ruin me; for if a man can stick to a purpose for a year, he can stick to it forever, with or without the love of the woman he loves."
She heard him out without attempt at interruption, but her answer was prefaced by a sad little shake of her head.
"That's what makes it so hard, so terribly hard," she said…. "Of course I've understood you. All that you've said by indirection, and much besides, has had its meaning to me. And I'm glad and proud of the honour you offer me. But I can't accept it; I can never accept it — not now nor a year from now. It wouldn't be fair to let you go on hoping I might some time consent to marry you…. For that's impossible."
"You — forgive me — you're not already married?"
"No…."