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Updated: May 23, 2025
But Sylvia Armytage, knowing what she knew from Captain Tremayne, was not content to leave the matter there. She reverted to it presently as she was going indoors alone with her cousin. "Una," she said gently, "I should not place too much faith in Count Samoval and his promises." "What do you mean?" Lady O'Moy was never very tolerant of advice, especially from an inexperienced young girl.
Knowing her feelings, Tremayne would not have relinquished her, but to his infinite amazement she herself slipped her fingers from his scarlet sleeve, to place them upon the black one that Samoval was gracefully proffering, and greeted Samoval with a gay raillery as oddly in contrast with her grave demeanour towards the captain as with her recent avowal of detestation for the Count.
As Samoval so truly said, the mob is a ferocious god to whom sacrifices must be made. In this instance the sacrifice, of course, was Major Berkeley. Thus, you see, the score against poor Richard Butler that foolish victim of wine and circumstance went on increasing.
"A gentleman must have his quarrels, however sweet his disposition, and a means must be afforded him of settling them." "Ye can always thrash an impudent fellow," opined the adjutant. "Thrash?" echoed Samoval. His sensitive lip curled in disdain. "To use your hands upon a man!" He shuddered in sheer disgust.
Considering her as she leant upon the granite balustrade, her pink sunshade aslant over her shoulder, her flimsy lace shawl festooned from the crook of either arm and floating behind her, a wisp of cloudy vapour, Samoval permitted himself a sigh. She flashed him a sidelong glance, arch and rallying. "You are melancholy, sir a poor compliment," she told him. But do not misunderstand her.
A light showed; it flared up suddenly, to be as suddenly extinguished, and it had its source in the window of Lady O'Moy's dressing-room, which Samoval was facing. That flash drawing off the Count's eyes for one instant, and leaving them blinded for another, had revealed him clearly at the same time to Sir Terence.
But I realise what you have suffered, and in that suffering lies the punishment you fully deserve for not having taken the straight course, for not having taxed me there and then with the thing that you suspected." "The gentleman is about to lecture me upon morals, Sylvia." But Tremayne let pass the interruption. "It is quite true that I was in Una's room while you were killing Samoval.
"Then expect me promptly at midnight to-morrow, provided that you can arrange to admit me without my being seen. You will perceive my reasons." "Those gates will be closed," said O'Moy, indicating the now gaping massive doors that closed the archway at night. "But if you knock I shall be waiting for you, and I will admit you by the wicket." "Excellent," said Samoval suavely.
But then it was utterly inconceivable that in that case Sir Terence, who was the very soul of honour, should not only keep silent and allow another man to suffer, but actually sit there in judgment upon that other; and, besides, there was no quarrel, nor ever had been, between Sir Terence and Samoval.
"Do you mean to say that you have known throughout that I did not kill Samoval?" he asked. "Of course. How could I have supposed you killed him when I killed him myself?" "You? You killed him!" cried Tremayne, more and more intrigued. And "You killed Count Samoval?" exclaimed Miss Armytage. "To be sure I did," was the answer, cynically delivered, accompanied by a short, sharp laugh.
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