The Sorceress of the Strand | Page 3

down the
deck a slight, rather small woman, wearing a big sun hat.
"Ah, Madame," cried Selby, "here you are. I had the luck to meet an
old friend on board--Mr. Dixon Druce--and I have been telling him all
about you. I should like you to know each other. Druce, this lady is
Madame Sara, of whom I have spoken to you, Mr. Dixon
Druce--Madame Sara."
She bowed gracefully and then looked at me earnestly. I had seldom
seen a more lovely woman. By her side both Mrs. Selby and her sister
seemed to fade into insignificance. Her complexion was almost
dazzlingly fair, her face refined in expression, her eyes penetrating,

clever, and yet with the innocent, frank gaze of a child. Her dress was
very simple; she looked altogether like a young, fresh, and natural girl.
As we sat chatting lightly and about commonplace topics, I
instinctively felt that she took an interest in me even greater than might
be expected upon an ordinary introduction. By slow degrees she so
turned the conversation as to leave Selby and his wife and sister out,
and then as they moved away she came a little nearer, and said in a low
voice:
"I am very glad we have met, and yet how odd this meeting is! Was it
really accidental?"
"I do not understand you," I answered.
"I know who you are," she said, lightly. "You are the manager of
Werner's Agency; its business is to know the private affairs of those
people who would rather keep their own secrets. Now, Mr. Druce, I am
going to be absolutely frank with you. I own a small shop in the
Strand--a perfumery shop--and behind those innocent-looking doors I
conduct the business which brings me in gold of the realm. Have you,
Mr. Druce, any objection to my continuing to make a livelihood in
perfectly innocent ways?"
"None whatever," I answered. "You puzzle me by alluding to the
subject."
"I want you to pay my shop a visit when you come to London. I have
been away for three or four months. I do wonders for my clients, and
they pay me largely for my services. I hold some perfectly innocent
secrets which I cannot confide to anybody. I have obtained them partly
from the Indians and partly from the natives of Brazil. I have lately
been in Para to inquire into certain methods by which my trade can be
improved."
"And your trade is----?" I said, looking at her with amusement and
some surprise.

"I am a beautifier," she said, lightly. She looked at me with a smile.
"You don't want me yet, Mr. Druce, but the time may come when even
you will wish to keep back the infirmities years. In the meantime can
you guess my age?"
"I will not hazard a guess," I answered.
"And I will not tell you. Let it remain a secret. Meanwhile understand
that my calling is quite an open one, and I do hold secrets. I should
advise you, Mr. Druce, even in your professional capacity, not to
interfere with them."
The childlike expression faded from her face as she uttered the last
words. There seemed to ring a sort of challenge in her tone. She turned
away after a few moments and I rejoined my friends.
"You have been making acquaintance with Madame Sara, Mr. Druce,"
said Mrs. Selby. "Don't you think she is lovely?"
"She is one of the most beautiful women I have ever seen," I answered,
"but there seems to be a mystery about her."
"Oh, indeed there is," said Edith Dallas, gravely.
"She asked me if I could guess her age," I continued. "I did not try, but
surely she cannot be more than five-and-twenty."
"No one knows her age," said Mrs. Selby, "but I will tell you a curious
fact, which, perhaps, you will not believe. She was bridesmaid at my
mother's wedding thirty years ago. She declares that she never changes,
and has no fear of old age."
"You mean that seriously?" I cried. "But surely it is impossible?"
"Her name is on the register, and my mother knew her well. She was
mysterious then, and I think my mother got into her power, but of that I
am not certain. Anyhow, Edith and I adore her, don't we, Edie?"
She laid her hand affectionately on her sister's arm. Edith Dallas did not

speak, but her face was careworn. After a time she said slowly:
"Madame Sara is uncanny and terrible."
There is, perhaps, no business imaginable--not even a lawyer's--that
engenders suspicions more than mine. I hate all mysteries--both in
persons and things. Mysteries are my natural enemies; I felt now that
this woman was a distinct mystery That she was interested in me I did
not doubt,perhaps because she