The Tempting of TavernakeOppenheim, E. Phillips (Edward Phillips)
General
The Tempting of Tavernake
Oppenheim, E. Phillips (Edward Phillips)
Detective and mystery stories
The man changed his speed and their pace increased. Tavernake sat quite
still, dumfounded by these amazing happenings. The girl by his side was
clutching his arm, sobbing a little hysterically, holding him all the
time as though in terror.
CHAPTER IV. BREAKFAST WITH BEATRICE
The girl, awakened, perhaps, by the passing of some heavy cart along
the street below, or by the touch of the sunbeam which lay across
her pillow, first opened her eyes and then, after a preliminary stare
around, sat up in bed. The events of the previous night slowly shaped
themselves in her mind. She remembered everything up to the commencement
of that drive in the taxicab. Sometime after that she must have fainted.
And now--what had become of her? Where was she?
She looked around her in ever-increasing surprise. Certainly it was the
strangest room she had ever been in. The floor was dusty and innocent
of any carpet; the window was bare and uncurtained. The walls were
unpapered but covered here and there with strange-looking plans, one of
them taking up nearly the whole side of the room--a very rough piece
of work with little dabs of blue paint here and there, and shadings and
diagrams which were absolutely unintelligible. She herself was lying
upon a battered iron bedstead, and she was wearing a very coarse
nightdress. Her own clothes were folded up and lay upon a piece of brown
paper on the floor by the side of the bed. To all appearance, the room
was entirely unfurnished, except that in the middle of it was a hideous
papier mache screen.
After her first bewildered inspection of her surroundings, it was upon
this screen that her attention was naturally directed. Obviously it
must be there to conceal something. Very carefully she leaned out of bed
until she was able to see around the corner of it. Then her heart gave a
little jump and she was only just able to stifle an exclamation of fear.
Some one was sitting there--a man--sitting on a battered cane chair,
bending over a roll of papers which were stretched upon a rude deal
table. She felt her cheeks grow hot. It must be Tavernake! Where had he
brought her? What did his presence in the room mean?
The bed creaked heavily as she regained her former position. A voice
came to her from behind the screen. She knew it at once. It was
Tavernake's.
“Are you awake?” he asked.
“Yes,” she answered,--“yes, I am awake. Is that Mr. Tavernake? Where am
I, please?”
“First of all, are you better?” he inquired.
“I am better,” she assured him, sitting up in bed and pulling the
clothes to her chin. “I am quite well now. Tell me at once where I am
and what you are doing over there.”
“There is nothing to be terrified about,” Tavernake answered. “To all
effects and purposes, I am in another room. When I move to the door,
as I shall do directly, I shall drag the screen with me. I can promise
you--”
“Please explain everything,” she begged, “quickly. I am
most--uncomfortable.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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