She must pay
now for her hour. The gods were angry and must have a sacrifice.
After she had been out in Barcelona only a week, Emile had taken her to
one of the gambling-hells of the place, where the lights and mirrors
and gilding hurt her tired eyes, and the croupiers called incessantly
through the strained silence, "_Le jeu est fait_. _Rien ne vas plus_!"
It was like that with her now, "_Le jeu est fait_." How that sentence
heat in her brain! She wondered if she were becoming delirious. Then
she was on her feet, and her hand went to the Browning pistol at her
belt. Sobrenski's figure had appeared at the top of the ladder. He
was shading his eyes with his hand, and peering forward into the gloom.
Only one of them there! The girl or Vardri, which was it?
Then the whole place was in darkness, for Arithelli had overturned and
extinguished the solitary lamp. The excited whinny of a horse mingled
with the sound of two shots fired in rapid succession, a rustling noise
among the hay, a groan, and silence. Before he set foot on the ladder
Sobrenski shouted to the rest of the conspirators to bring a light.
Pages:
291
292
293
294
295
296
297
298
299
300
301
302
303
304
305
306
307
308
309
310
311
312
313
314
315