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Sonia started back, covered her face with one hand, and cried out: "Natacha!" "You saw something? What did you see?" And Natacha rushed forward to hold up the glass. But Sonia had seen nothing; her eyes were getting dim, and she was on the point of giving it up when Natacha's exclamation had stopped her; she did not want to disappoint them; but there is nothing so tiring as sitting motionless.
It was my turn to laugh: "Well, it's certainly you, and livelier this time than on the day when I had the pleasure of seeing you, last year I congratulate you." I was alluding to his last visit, the visit following on the famous adventure of the diadem, his interrupted marriage, his flight with Sonia Kirchnoff and the Russian girl's horrible death.
And what I want to know is why you have not come to me before to ask me about that sensational robbery at the Royal Palace Hotel?" "The robbery from Princess Sonia Danidoff?" "Yes: the Fantômas robbery!" "Fantômas, eh?" Juve protested. "That remains to be seen."
The restlessness that was always in her, concealed beneath her pale aspect of calm, was persecuting her as the spring with its ferment drew near to the torrid summer. The spring had got into her veins and had made her long for novelty. One morning when Sonia came into Mrs. Clarke's bedroom with the coffee she brought a piece of news.
Sonia, too, seemed suddenly to have awakened into a state of tense and vivid emotion. The cigarette burned away between her fingers. Her great eyes were fixed upon Lutchester. There was something almost like fear in their questioning depths. "Finish! Finish!" she insisted. "Continue!"
She looked at the full face, smoothed his hair as if trying to recall an ancient memory. "The eyes of hate," murmured Edith between tears and rage. She pitied while she hated him, understanding the sorrow that could mark a man's face so deeply, admiring the courage which could wear the mask so well. Sonia was deeply moved in spite of disappointment.
I had to endure all the agony of that battle of ideas, Sonia, and I longed to throw it off: I wanted to murder without casuistry, to murder for my own sake, for myself alone! I didn't want to lie about it even to myself. It wasn't to help my mother I did the murder that's nonsense I didn't do the murder to gain wealth and power and to become a benefactor of mankind. Nonsense!
"Why should they have helped you, then?" "I haven't the remotest idea," I admitted. "I am only quite sure that neither McMurtrie nor Savaroff are what they pretend to be. Besides, you remember the hints that Sonia gave me." "Ah, Sonia!" Joyce looked down and played with one of the buttons of my coat. "Is she is she very pretty?" she asked. "She seems likely to be very useful," I said.
"Look at the time," said Sonia; "the telephone doesn't work as late as this. It's Sunday." The millionaire stopped dead. "It's true. It's appalling," he groaned. "But that doesn't matter. You can always telegraph," said Germaine. "But you can't. It's impossible," said Sonia. "You can't get a message through. It's Sunday; and the telegraph offices shut at twelve o'clock."
"It is the work of a spy," he told her gravely, "to bring a letter from any person in a friendly capital and deliver it to an enemy. That is what you have done, Sonia, many times since the beginning of the war, so far without detection. It is because you are Sonia that I have come to save you from doing it again." She groped her way back to the couch.
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