"Now stay quiet until we are ready for you," she said. And Celia,
lifting her head, said in a whisper: "Water!"
The old woman poured some from a jug and held the glass to Celia's
lips.
"Thank you," whispered Celia gratefully, and Adele came into the
room. She told the story of the night to Jeanne, and afterwards to
Hippolyte when he joined them.
"And nothing gained!" cried the older woman furiously. "And we
have hardly a five-franc piece in the house."
"Yes, something," said Adele. "A necklace--a good one--some good
rings, and bracelets. And we shall find out where the rest is hid-
-from her." And she nodded at Celia.
The three people ate their supper, and, while they ate it,
discussed Celia's fate. She was lying with her head bowed upon her
arms at the same table, within a foot of them. But they made no
more of her presence than if she had been an old shoe. Only once
did one of them speak to her.
"Stop your whimpering," said Hippolyte roughly. "We can hardly
hear ourselves talk."
He was for finishing with the business altogether to-night.
"It's a mistake," he said. "There's been a bungle, and the sooner
we are rid of it the better. There's a boat at the bottom of the
garden."
Celia listened and shuddered. He would have no more compunction
over drowning her than he would have had over drowning a blind
kitten.
"It's cursed luck," he said. "But we have got the necklace--that's
something. That's our share, do you see? The young spark can look
for the rest."
But Helene Vauquier's wish prevailed. She was the leader. They
would keep the girl until she came to Geneva.
They took her upstairs into the big bedroom overlooking the lake.
Adele opened the door of the closet, where a truckle-bed stood,
and thrust the girl in.
"This is my room," she said warningly, pointing to the bedroom.
"Take care I hear no noise. You might shout yourself hoarse, my
pretty one; no one else would hear you. But I should, and
afterwards--we should no longer be able to call you 'my pretty
one,' eh?"
And with a horrible playfulness she pinched the girl's cheek.
Then with old Jeanne's help she stripped Celia and told her to get
into bed.
"I'll give her something to keep her quiet," said Adele, and she
fetched her morphia-needle and injected a dose into Celia's arm.
Then they took her clothes away and left her in the darkness. She
heard the key turn in the lock, and a moment after the sound of
the bedstead being drawn across the doorway. But she heard no
more, for almost immediately she fell asleep.
She was awakened some time the next day by the door opening. Old
Jeanne Tace brought her in a jug of water and a roll of bread, and
locked her up again. And a long time afterwards she brought her
another supply. Yet another day had gone, but in that dark
cupboard Celia had no means of judging time. In the afternoon the
newspaper came out with the announcement that Mme. Dauvray's
jewellery had been discovered under the boards. Hippolyte brought
in the newspaper, and, cursing their stupidity, they sat down to
decide upon Celia's fate. That, however, was soon arranged. They
would dress her in everything which she wore when she came, so
that no trace of her might be discovered. They would give her
another dose of morphia, sew her up in a sack as soon as she was
unconscious, row her far out on to the lake, and sink her with a
weight attached. They dragged her out from the cupboard, always
with the threat of that bright aluminium flask before her eyes.
She fell upon her knees, imploring their pity with the tears
running down her cheeks; but they sewed the strip of sacking over
her face so that she should see nothing of their preparations.
They flung her on the sofa, secured her as Hanaud had found her,
and, leaving her in the old woman's charge, sent down Adele for
her needle and Hippolyte to get ready the boat. As Hippolyte
opened the door he saw the launch of the Chef de la Surete glide
along the bank.