HE afternoon that Lily Fairfield spent on what is, perhaps, the most beautiful of all the golf courses in Europe will ever be remembered by her as a delightful interlude in a very troubled time.
For three hours she forgot the terrible thing which had happened to her that morning, or, if she could not entirely forget it, it receded into the background of her mind.
Everything is made easy—almost too easy—for the visitor to Monte Carlo. Thus Lily found an excellent set of clubs provided for her, and with M. Popeau looking on benevolently, she and Captain Stuart had a splendid game.
But when, at last, the three of them stood in front of the shabby front door of La Solitude a feeling of apprehension, almost of terror, came over the girl.
“I hope Aunt Cosy won't we angry with me for having gone to the Commissioner of Police,” she said nervously.
“You were quite right to do so,” said Captain Stuart shortly.
As for M. Popeau, he exclaimed, “Do let me come in with you, dear little lady! I can promise so to put the matter to the Countess that she will not be angry.”
But Lily shook her head. “I'm not such a coward as that.” She added, impatiently, “I do wish Cristina would come and open the door! I can't think why they keep it locked. It's literally the only way into the house, unless one of the drawing-room windows is open. In England there's always a nice back door to a house of this sort.”
As she said the words, the door did open, and Cristina cautiously peered out to see who was there. The poor old waiting woman was very pale, and the two men, as well as Lily, were startled at her look of illness and of fear.
“Something terrible has happened!” Cristina muttered. “I fear I cannot ask the gentlemen to come in. We are in trouble here.”
“I'm glad they know. That will save you a disagreeable moment,” whispered M. Popeau, as he pressed Lily's hand.
Cristina cut short Lily's farewells, and shut the door almost rudely in the Frenchman's face.
“I'm sorry you have come back,” she said to Lily, in a very low tone. “I wish you had stayed away till dinner-time! A fearful thing has happened!”
“I know,” said Lily soothingly. “You mean about Mr. Ponting.”
“You know?” echoed Cristina amazed, and she turned a startled look on the girl's face.
“It was I who found the body and told the police,” the girl answered quietly. “But there is nothing to be frightened about, Cristina, though, of course, it is very, very sad.”
She was speaking in her usual clear voice, when suddenly the drawing-room opened and the Countess peeped out. Her face was dusky red, and convulsed with anger.
“What is all this noise?” she exclaimed in French; “we cannot hear ourselves speak!”
Then, as she saw who it was, she went on, more quietly, in English, “Something very, very sad has occurred. You remember Mr. Ponting coming here to dinner? Well, after leaving the house that unhappy man, who had evidently been losing heavily at the tables, went out and killed himself. A cruel return for our hospitality! I desire you, Lily, to come in and tell this gentleman what you remember of that evening.”
Lily looked at the speaker, astonished at her state of agitation. The Countess Polda's face looked terrible under the bright, auburn-brown hair on her “front.” Her hands were trembling. Even her voice seemed changed—it was as if she had lost control over it.
“Come in! Come in!” she cried impatiently, and yet she herself had been blocking the door.
Lily walked through into the drawing-room, and she saw that the Count, who also looked disturbed, though much less so than his wife, was sitting at his green baize card-table, apparently affixing his name to some kind of paper.
Opposite to him stood a man of about forty. The stranger had a pleasant, keen face, and though he was not in uniform, Lily felt sure he had come from M. Bouton. Somehow, she could hardly have told why, the sight of him reassured her.
“Come, come,” he said good-humouredly, “you must not allow this to disturb you so much, Madame la Comtesse. Desperate men are not likely to show much delicacy, even to those who have been kind to them. We are very glad indeed that the body has been found. My chief said to me only two hours ago that he owed a great debt to the young English lady.”
“The young English lady?” repeated the Countess. “Whom do you mean?”
“It was this lady, was it not, who found the body?” he replied, looking at Lily.
“Yes, I found the body,” Lily answered falteringly, for the Countess was now looking at her with a fearful expression of questioning anger on her face.