At the far end of the passage she flung open her bedchamber door, entered,
turned up the light, and snatched her cloak and hat from pegs beneath the
curtained shelf that held her scanty wardrobe.
Adjusting these before the mirror she could hear Therese bawling at Dupont
to follow and stop her. Sofia had little fear he would find heart to
attempt that, none the less she hurried. Once her hat was adjusted there
was nothing to detain her; the best she had she stood in; no sentimental
associations invested that room, the tomb of her defrauded childhood, the
prison of her maltreated youth, to make her linger there, but only hateful
ones to speed her going.
She turned and fled.
Stumbling on the stairs, she heard Therese still screaming imprecations and
commands at Dupont, then the clumping of the man's feet as, yielding at
length, he started in pursuit.
Through the green baize door she burst into the cafe like a young tornado.
Every head turned her way with gaping mouths and protruding eyes of
astonishment as she stopped at the caisse and brazenly, in the face of them
all, plundered the till.
This was a matter of necessity. Sofia had not one shilling of her own. But
those two had robbed her, what she took was not so much as a thousandth
part of the money of which they had despoiled her. Moreover, she dared not
go out penniless to face London.
Snatching a handful of loose coin, she made for the door. But the delay had
been fatal. Dupont was now at her heels, and displaying extraordinary
agility in a man of his years of dissipation and sedentary habits.
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