In the meantime Lord Stamfordham, watching the situation, felt there was
not a single instant to lose. There is one moment in the life of a
conflagration when it can be stamped out: that moment passed, no power
can stop it. Stamfordham, his head clear, his determination strong and
ready, resolved to act without hesitating on his own responsibility. He
sent a letter round to Prince Bergowitz, the German Ambassador, begging
him to come and see him. Prince Bergowitz was laid up with an attack of
gout which unfortunately prevented his coming, but he would be glad to
receive Lord Stamfordham if he would come to see him.
It was a little later in the same day that Rendel, alone in his study,
was standing, newspaper in hand, in front of the map of Africa looking
to see the exact localities where the events were happening which might
have such dire consequences. At that moment Wentworth, passing through
Cosmo Place, looked through the window and saw him thus engaged. He
knocked at the hall door, and, after being admitted, walked into the
study without waiting to be announced.
"Looking at the map of Africa, and I don't wonder," he said. "Isn't it
awful?"
"It's terrible," said Rendel, "about as bad as it can be."
"Look here, why aren't you over there to help to settle it?" said
Wentworth.
"Well, I should not have been there, in any case," said Rendel. "That is
where I should have been--look," with something like a sigh.
"You would have been nearer than you are now," said Wentworth. "Upon my
word, I haven't patience with you. The idea of throwing up such a chance
as you have had!"
"How do you know about it?" Rendel said.
"How do I know?" said Wentworth. "Everybody knows that you were offered
it and refused."
"After all," said Rendel, "there are some things one leaves undone in
this world. It does not follow that because people are offered a thing
they must necessarily accept it."
"I don't say I am not in favour of leaving things undone," Wentworth
said, "on occasion."
"So I have observed," said Rendel.
"But really, you know," Wentworth went on, "this is too much. What do
you intend to do?"
"What do I intend to do?" Rendel said, with a half smile, then
unconsciously imparting a greater steadfastness into his expression,
"broadly speaking, I intend to do--everything."
"Oh! well, there's hope for you still," Wentworth said, "if that is your
intention. It's rather a large order, though."
"Well, as I have told you before," Rendel said, "I don't see why there
should be any limit to one's intentions. The man who intends little is
not likely to achieve much."
"That's all very well, and plausible enough, I dare say," said
Wentworth, "but the way to achieve is not to begin by refusing all your
chances."
"This is too delightful from you," said Rendel, "who never do anything
at all."
"Not at all," said Wentworth. "It is on principle that I do nothing, in
order to protest against other people doing too much. I wish to have an
eight hours' day of elegant leisure, and to go about the world as an
example of it. It would be just as inconsistent of me to accept a
regular occupation as it is of you to refuse it."
"I have a very simple reason for refusing this," said Rendel more
seriously, and he paused. "I am a married man."
"To be sure, my dear fellow," said Wentworth, "I have noticed it."
"My wife didn't want to go to Africa," said Rendel, "and there was an
end of it."
"Oh, that was the end of it?" said Wentworth.
"Absolutely," said Rendel. "She did not want to leave her father."
"Ah, is that it?" said Wentworth, feeling that he could not decently
advance an urgent plea against Sir William. "Poor old man! I know he's
gone to pieces frightfully since his wife died--still, couldn't some one
have been found to take care of him?"
"Hardly any one like Rachel," Rendel said.
"Naturally," said Wentworth.
"You know he is living with us?" Rendel said.
"Is he?" said Wentworth surprised. "Upon my word, Frank, you are a good
son-in-law."
Rendel ignored the tone of Wentworth's last remark and said quite
simply--
"Oh! well, there was nothing else to be done. He's been ill, you know,
really rather bad; first he had a chill, and then influenza on the top
of it. He's frightfully low altogether."
"But I rather wonder," said Wentworth, "as Mrs. Rendel had her father
with her, that you didn't go to Africa without her. Wouldn't that have
been possible?"
"No," said Rendel decidedly. "Quite impossible."
"I should have thought," said Wentworth, "that in these enlightened days
a husband who could not do without his wife was rather a mistake."
"That may be," said Rendel. "But I think on the whole that the husband
who can do without her is a greater mistake still."
"It is a great pity you were not born five hundred years ago," said
Wentworth.
"I should have disliked it particularly," said Rendel. "I should have
been fighting at Flodden, or Crecy, or somewhere, and I should have
been too old to marry Rachel, even in these days of well-preserved
centenarians. It is no good, Jack; I am afraid you must leave me to my
folly."
"Well, well," said Wentworth, agreeing with the word, and thinking to
himself that even the wisest of men looks foolish at times when he has
the yoke of matrimony across his shoulders; "after all there is to be
said--if we are going to have another war on our hands in Africa, which
Heaven forfend, the time of the statesmen over there is hardly come
yet."
At this moment the door opened and the two men turned round quickly as
Rachel came in.
"Frank," said Rachel. "Should you mind----" Then she stopped as she saw
Wentworth. "Oh, how do you do, Mr. Wentworth? I didn't know you were
here. Don't let me interrupt you."
"On the contrary," said Wentworth, "it is I who am interrupting your
husband."
"I only came to see, Frank, if you were very busy," she said.
"I am not at this moment. Do you want me to do anything?"
"Well, presently, would you play one game of chess with my father? I am
not really good enough to be of much use; it doesn't amuse him to play
with me."
"Yes," said Rendel. "I have just got one or two letters to write and
then I'll come."
"I think it would really be better," said Rachel, "if he came in here.
It is rather a change for him, you know, to come into a different room
after having been in the house all day."
"Just as you like," said Rendel, without much enthusiasm, but also
without any noticeable want of it.
"Well," said Wentworth, "I'm not going to keep you any longer, Frank. I
just came in to--give you my views about things in general."
"Thank you," said Rendel, with a smile. "I am much beholden to you for
them."
"Perhaps you would come up and see my father, Mr. Wentworth," said
Rachel, "before you go away?"
"I shall be delighted," Wentworth said. His feeling towards Sir William
Gore was kindly on the whole, and the kindliness was intensified at this
moment by compassion, although he could not help resenting a little that
Gore should have been an indirect cause of Rendel's refusing what
Wentworth considered was the chance of his friend's life. He shook hands
with Rendel and prepared to follow Rachel. At this moment a loud, double
knock resounded upon the hall door with a peremptoriness which must have
induced an unusual and startling rapidity in the movements of Thacker,
Rendel's butler, for almost instantly afterwards he threw open the study
door with a visible perturbation and excitement in his demeanour,
saying--
"It's Lord Stamfordham, sir, who wants particularly to see you." And to
Rendel's amazement Lord Stamfordham appeared in the doorway. He bowed
to Wentworth, whom he knew slightly, and shook hands with Rachel. She
then went straight out, followed by Wentworth. As the door closed behind
them, Stamfordham, answering Rendel's look of inquiry and without
waiting for any interchange of greetings, said hurriedly--
"Rendel, I want you to do me a service."
"Please command me," Rendel said quickly, looking straight at him. He
felt his heart beat as Stamfordham paused, put his hat down on the
table, took his pocket-book out of his breast pocket and a folded paper
out of it.
"I want you," he said, "to transcribe some pencil notes of mine."
"You want _me_ to transcribe them?" said Rendel, with an involuntary
inflection of surprise in his tone.
"Yes, if you will," said Stamfordham. "The fact is, Marchmont, the only
man I have had since you left me who can read my writing when I take
rough pencil notes in a hurry, has collapsed just to-day, out of sheer
excitement I believe, and because he sat up for one night writing."
"Poor fellow!" said Rendel, half to himself.
"Yes," said Stamfordham drily; and then he went on, as one who knows
that he must leave the sick and wounded behind without waiting to pity
them. "These," unfolding the paper, "are notes of a conversation that I
have just had at the German Embassy with Bergowitz." Rendel's quick
movement as he heard the name showed that he realised what that
juxtaposition meant at such a moment. "Every moment is precious,"
Stamfordham went on, "and it suddenly dawned on me as I left the Embassy
that you were close at hand and might be willing to do it."
The German Embassy was at the moment, during some building operations,
occupying temporary premises near Belgrave Square.
"I should think so indeed," Rendel said eagerly.
"The notes are very short, as you see," said Stamfordham. "You know, of
course, what has been happening. I needn't go into that." And as he
spoke a boy passed under the windows crying the evening papers, and they
distinctly heard "Panic on the Stock Exchange." The two men's eyes met.
"Yes, there is a panic on the Stock Exchange," Stamfordham said,
"because every one thinks there will be war--but there probably won't."
"Not?" said Rendel. "Can it be stopped?"
Stamfordham answered him by unfolding the piece of paper and laying it
down before him on the table. It was a map of Africa, roughly outlined,
but still clearly enough to show unmistakably what it was intended to
convey, for all down the map from north to south there was a thick line
drawn to the west of the Cape to Cairo Railway--the latter being
indicated, but more faintly, in pencil--starting at Alexandria and
running down through the whole of the continent, bending slightly to the
southward between Bechuanaland and Namaqualand, and ending at the
Orange River. East of that line was written ENGLAND, west of it GERMANY,
and below it some lines of almost illegible writing in pencil.
Rendel almost gasped.
"What?" he said; "a partition of Africa?"
"Yes," said Stamfordham. Then he said with a sort of half smile, "The
partition, that is to say, so far as it is in our own hands. But,"
speaking rapidly, "I will just put you in possession of the facts of the
case and give you the clue. We abandon to Germany everything that we
have a claim to west of this line. It does not come to very much," in
answer to an involuntary movement on Rendel's part; and he swept his
hand across the coast of the Gulf of Guinea as though wiping out of
existence the Gold Coast, Ashanti, Sierra Leone, and all that had
mattered before. "Germany abandons to us everything that she lays claim
to on the east of it, including therefore the whole course of the Cape
to Cairo Railway."
"But has Germany agreed?" said Rendel, stupefied with surprise.
"Germany has agreed," said Stamfordham. "We have just heard from
Berlin."
Rendel felt as if his breath were taken away by the rapid motion of the
events.
"That means peace, then?" he said.
"Yes," Stamfordham said; "peace."
"Then when is this going to be given to the world?" said Rendel.
"Some of it possibly to-morrow," said Stamfordham. "The Cabinet Council
will meet this evening, and the King's formal sanction obtained. Of
course," he went on, "the broad outlines only will be published--the
fact of the understanding at any rate, not necessarily the terms of the
partition. But it is important for financial reasons that the country
should know as soon as possible that war is averted."
"Of course, of course," said Rendel. "Immeasurably important."
Stamfordham took up his hat and held out his hand with his air of
courtly politeness as he turned towards the door.
"I may count upon you to do this for me immediately?"
"This instant," said Rendel, taking up the papers. "Shall I take them to
your house as soon as they are done?"
"Please," said Stamfordham. "No, stay--I am going back to the German
Embassy now, then probably to the Foreign Office. You had better simply
send a messenger you can rely upon, and tell him to wait at my house to
give them into my own hand, as I am not sure where I shall be for the
next hour. Rendel, I must ask you by all you hold sacred to take care of
those papers. If that map were to be caught sight of before the
time----"
Rendel involuntarily held it tighter at the thought of such a
catastrophe.
"Good Heavens!--yes," he said. "But that shan't happen. Look," and he
dropped the paper through the slit in the closed revolving corner of
his large writing-table, a cover that was solidly locked with his own
key so that, though papers could be put in through the slit, it was
impossible to take them out again without unlocking the cover and
lifting it up. "This is the only key," he said, showing his bunch. "Now
then, they are perfectly safe while I go across the hall with you."
Stamfordham nodded.
"By the way," he said, pausing, "you are married now, Rendel...."
"I am, yes, I am glad to say," Rendel replied.
"To be sure," said Stamfordham, with a little bow conveying discreet
congratulation. "But--remember that a married man sometimes tells
secrets to his wife."
"Does he, sir?" said Rendel, with an air of assumed innocence.
"I believe I have heard so," said Stamfordham.
"On the other hand," said Rendel, "I also have heard that a married man
sometimes keeps secrets from his wife."
"Oh well, that is better," said Stamfordham.
"From some points of view, perhaps," said Rendel. Then he added more
seriously, "You may be quite sure, sir, that no one--_no one_--in this
house shall know about those papers. I would give you my word of honour,
but I don't suppose it would make my assertion any stronger."
"If you said nothing," said Stamfordham, "it would be enough;" and
Rendel's heart glowed within him as their eyes met and the compact was
ratified. "By the way, Rendel, there was one thing more I wanted to say
to you. There will probably be a vacancy at Stoke Newton before long;
aren't you going into the House?"
"Some time," said Rendel. "When I get a chance."
"Well, there is going to be a chance now," said Stamfordham. "Old
Crawley is going to resign. I hear it from private sources; the world
doesn't know it yet. It is a safe Imperialist seat, and in our part of
the world."
"I should like very much to try," said Rendel, forcing himself to speak
quietly.
"Suppose you write to our committee down there?" said Stamfordham. "That
is, when you have done your more pressing business--I mean mine."
"That shall come before everything else," Rendel said. "I will do it at
this moment."
He turned quickly back into his study after Stamfordham had left him,
and unlocked and threw up the revolving cover of the writing-table
hastily, for fear that something should have happened to the paper on
which the destinies of the civilised world were hanging. There it was,
safe in his keeping, his and nobody else's. He took it in his hand and
for a moment walked up and down the room, unable to control himself,
trying to realise the tremendous change in the aspect of his fortunes
that had taken place in the last half-hour. Then he had seemed to
himself in the backwater, out of the throng of existence. He had been
trying to reconcile himself to the idea that he was "out of it," as he
had put it to himself--left behind. And now he shared with the two great
potentates of the world the knowledge of what was going to take place;
it was his hand that should transcribe the words that had decided it; he
was a witness, and so far the only one. Then with an effort he forced
himself to be calm. Every minute was of importance. He sat down at the
writing-table, took up the paper, and pored over it to try to
disentangle the strange dots, scratches, and lines which, flowing from
Stamfordham's pen, took the place of handwriting. Some ill-natured
people said that Stamfordham was quite conscious of the advantage of
having writing which could not be read without a close scrutiny. It was
no doubt possible. However, having the clue to what the contents of the
paper were, Rendel, to his immense relief, found that he could decipher
it. As he was writing the first word of the fair copy the door of the
study opened slowly, and Sir William Gore appeared on the threshold, a
newspaper in his hand.