Certain incidents in my friend's career are a closed book to all but
Clayton, the exemplary Bayswater parson, the devoted valet Charles, and
his smart chauffeur Garrett.
Gay, well-dressed, debonair as he always is, a veritable master of the
art of skilful deception and ingenious subterfuge, he has found it more
than once to his advantage to act as spy. His knowledge of the east of
Europe is perhaps unique. No man possessed a wider circle of friends
than Prince Albert of Hesse-Holstein, who to-day can pose perfectly as
the young German Highness, and to-morrow as the wandering Englishman,
and a bit of a fool to boot.
This wide acquaintance with men and matters in the Balkans first brought
him in touch with the Intelligence Department of the Foreign Office, and
his services as secret agent of the British Government were promptly
secured. In this connection he was always known as Mr Reginald Martin.
Downing Street is rather near New Scotland Yard, where the names of
Prince Albert of Hesse-Holstein and of Tremlett are a little too
well-known. Therefore, to the chief of the Secret Service, and
afterwards to the British Ministers and consuls resident in the Balkan
countries, Servia, Bulgaria, Montenegro, and Roumania, he was for a time
known as Reggie Martin.
Only on rare occasions, however, were his services requisitioned. The
game of spying did not pay him nearly so well as the game of
jewel-lifting. Yet he had taken to it out of mere love of adventure,
and surely some of his experiences in the Orient were sufficiently
perilous and exciting. More than once he had been in possession of
State secrets which, if divulged, would have set two or more of the
Powers flying at one another's throats, and more than once he had
carried his life in his hand.
One series of incidents through which he lived last year were, in
themselves, as romantic as anything seen written in fiction. They were
hard solid facts--an exciting chapter from the life of a man who was a
perfect and polished adventurer, a little too impressionable perhaps,
where the fair sex were concerned, but keen-witted, audacious, and
utterly fearless. He seldom, if ever, speaks of the affair himself, for
he is not anxious that people should know of his connection with the
Secret Service.
As an old college chum, and as one whom he knows is not likely to "give
him away" to the police, he one day, after great persuasion, related it
in confidence to me as together we spent a wearisome day in the _rapide_
between Paris and Marseilles.
"Well, my dear Diprose, it happened like this," he said, as he selected
one of his "Petroffs" and lit it with great care. "I was sent to the
Balkans on a very difficult mission. At Downing Street they did not
conceal that fact from me. But I promised to do my best. Garrett was
with the `sixty' in Vienna, so I wired sending it on to Sofia, in
Bulgaria, and then left Charing Cross for the Balkans myself.
"I first went _via_ Trieste down the Adriatic to Cattaro and up to
quaint little Cettinje, the town of one long street, where I had
audience of Prince Nicholas of Montenegro, whom I had met twice before--
in my character of Reggie Martin, of course--and thence I went north to
Servia, where I was received several times in private audience by King
Peter. One day I arrived in Bulgaria to have confidential interviews
with the Prime Minister Dimitri Petkoff, and the newly appointed
Minister of Foreign Affairs. My orders from Downing Street, I may as
well at once admit, were to ascertain whether Bulgaria intended to
declare war against Turkey over Macedonia. The British Government was
extremely anxious to ascertain Bulgaria's intentions, as well as the
views of the other Balkan Powers, in order that the British policy
towards the Porte might combat that of the expansion intrigues of
Germany.
"Our public at home have a perfectly erroneous idea of Bulgaria,
believing it to be a semi-savage land. If, however, they went to Sofia
they would find a fine modern city entirely up to date--a city that must
in a few years become the Paris of the Balkans.
"I had wandered along the wide tree-lined boulevards, idled outside the
big white mosque, and strolled through the market alive with peasants in
their sheepskins, and the girls with sequins and fresh flowers twined in
their plaited hair, until it was time for me to keep my appointment with
my friend the patriot Petkoff, Prime Minister.
"Half an hour later I was conducted through the long corridor of the
fine Government offices opposite the Sobranje, or Parliament House, and
ushered into the presence of the real ruler of Bulgaria.
"`Ah! _mon cher_ Martin,' he cried in French. `Welcome back to Sofia!
They were talking of you in the Club last night. De Corvin was saying
you were delayed in Belgrade. He met you there--at our Legation, so he
told us. And you have your motor-car here--eh? Good. I'll go for a
run with you,' and his Excellency put out his left hand in greeting.
His right sleeve hung limp and empty, for he lost his arm in the
Turco-Russian Campaign, at the historic battle of the Shipka.
"Dark-eyed, dark-haired, with a pleasant face and a small pointed
imperial on his chin, he was a wonderful orator and a magnificent
statesman who had the full confidence of his sovereign. A dozen times
had political plots, inspired by Russia, been formed to assassinate him.
Indeed, he had actually been driving beside the great Stambouloff when
the latter had been killed in the street. But he had always escaped.
Under his direction, Bulgaria had risen to be the strong power of the
Balkans, and as my personal friend I hoped that he would tell me, in
strictest confidence, what was his future policy towards the Turk.
"With that object I took the seat he offered me, and lighting
cigarettes, we began to chat.
"Through the open window came up the strains of martial music, as an
infantry regiment in their grey uniforms on the Russian model were
marching past, and as I glanced around the quiet, comfortable,
red-carpeted room, I saw that the only picture was a fine full-length
portrait of the Prince.
"For fully an hour we gossiped. Perfectly frankly I at last told his
Excellency the object of my mission.
"He shrugged his shoulders somewhat dubiously, and smiled, declaring
that each of the Powers was endeavouring to ascertain the very same
thing. I pressed my point, assuring him of Britain's good-will, and
explaining certain facts which, after a while, decided him.
"`But you see, _mon cher ami_,' he said, `supposing the truth got out to
Constantinople! All my efforts of the past fifteen years would be
negatived. And further--it would mean dire disaster for Bulgaria!'
"`I have been entrusted with many State secrets before, your
Excellency,' I replied. `It would, for instance, not be the first time
you spoke with me in confidence.'
"He admitted it, and assuring me of his good-will towards England, he
declared that before he could speak, he must consult his royal master.
"Therefore, the French Minister awaiting an audience, I rose and left,
having arranged to dine with him at the Union Club that evening.
"For nearly a week I idled in Sofia visiting many diplomatists and their
wives, motoring about the neighbourhood, and driving out every night at
one Legation or the other, no one, of course, being aware of my secret
mission in the Bulgarian capital. Garrett kept eyes and ears open, of
course. Useful man Garrett--very useful indeed.
"One night with the Italian minister and his wife, I went to the
official ball given by the Minister-President, and among others I had as
partner a rather tall, fair-haired girl with clear blue eyes and a
pretty childlike face. About twenty-two, she was dressed exquisitely in
white chiffon, the corsage of which was trimmed with tiny pink roses,
and on her white-gloved wrist gleamed a splendid diamond bracelet. Olga
Steinkoff was her name, and as we waltzed together amid the smartly
dressed women and uniformed and decorated men I thought her one of the
most charming of cosmopolitan girls I had ever encountered south of the
Danube.
"Her chaperone was an old and rather ugly woman in dark purple silk, a
stiff and starchy person who talked nearly the whole evening to one of
the _attaches_ of the Turkish Legation, a sallow, middle-aged, bearded
man in black frock-coat and red fez.
"The girl in white chiffon was perfect in figure, in daintiness and
_chic_, and a splendid dancer. We sat out two dances, and waltzed twice
together, I afterwards taking her down to supper. She spoke French
excellently, a little English, and a little Bulgarian, while Russian was
her own language. Her father lived in Moscow, she told me, and she had
spent four years in Constantinople with her aunt--the ugly old woman in
purple.
"The sallow-faced, beady-eyed Turk who did not dance, and who took no
champagne, was evidently her particular friend. I inquired of the
Italian minister and found that the thin-faced bearded _attache_ was
named Mehmed Zekki, and that he had been in Sofia only a couple of
months.
"Towards me he was quite affable, even effusive. He mentioned that he
had noticed me in the Club, dining with the Prime Minister, and he
referred to a number of people in Belgrade who were my friends. He was
_attache_ there, he told me, for two years--after the _coup d'etat_.
"Twice during next day I encountered the charming Olga, driving with her
aunt, in a smart victoria, and during the next week met them at several
diplomatic functions.
"One afternoon, Olga and her chaperone accepted my invitation for a run
on the `sixty,' and I took them for a little tour of about thirty miles
around the foot of the high Balkans, returning along the winding banks
of the Isker. They were delighted, for the afternoon was perfect. I
drove, and she sat up beside me, her hand on the horn.
"One night, ten days later, we were sitting out together in the bright
moonlight in the garden of the Austrian Legation, and I found her not
averse to a mild flirtation. I knew that the frock-coated Turk was
jealous, and had become amused by it. On four or five occasions she had
been out for runs with me--twice quite alone.
"I mentioned the Turk, but she only laughed, and shrugging her
shoulders, answered:
"`All Turks are as ridiculous as they are bigoted. Mehmed is no
exception.'
"I was leaving Bulgaria next morning, and told her so.
"`Perhaps, mademoiselle, we shall meet again some day, who knows?' I
added, `You have many friends in the diplomatic circle, so have I.'
"`But you are not really going to-morrow!' she exclaimed with
undisguised dismay, opening her blue eyes widely, `surely you will stay
for the ball at the palace on Wednesday.'
"`I regret that is impossible,' I replied, laughing. `I only wish I
could remain and ask you to be my partner, but I have urgent business in
Bucharest.'
"`Oh! you go to Roumania!' she cried in surprise. `But,'--she added
wistfully, `I--I really wish you could remain longer.'
"During our brief friendship I had, I admit, grown to admire her
immensely, and were it not for the fact that a very urgent appointment
called me to Roumania, I would have gladly remained. She had taken
possession of my senses.
"But I took her soft hand, and wished her adieu. Then we returned into
the ballroom, where I found several of my friends, and wished them
farewell, for my train left at nine next morning.
"In a corner of the room stood the veteran Prime Minister, with a star
in brilliants upon his dress-coat, the empty sleeve of which hung limply
at his side.
"`_Au revoir, mon cher ami_,' he said grasping my hand warmly.
`Recollect what I told you this morning--and return soon to Bulgaria
again. _Bon voyage_!'
"Then I passed the police-guard at the door, and drove back to the Hotel
de Bulgarie.
"That night I slept but little. Before me constantly arose the
childlike beautiful face of Olga Steinkoff that had so strangely
bewitched me.
"I knew that I was a fool to allow myself to be attracted by a pair of
big eyes, confirmed bachelor and constant traveller that I am. Yet the
whole night through I seemed to see before my vision the beautiful face,
pale and tearful with grief and sorry. Was it at my departure?
"Next day I set out in the car across the Shipka, and three nights later
took up my quarters at that most expensive hotel, the `Boulevard,' at
Bucharest, the Paris of the Near East. Next day I paid several visits
to diplomats I knew. Bucharest is always full of life and movement--
smart uniforms and pretty women--perhaps the gayest city in all the
Continent of Europe.
"On the third evening of my arrival I returned to the hotel to dress for
dinner, when, on entering my sitting-room, a neat female figure in a
dark travelling-dress rose from an armchair, and stood before me gazing
at me in silence.
"It was Olga!
"`Why, mademoiselle!' I cried, noticing that she was without her hat,
`fancy you--in Bucharest! When did you arrive?'
"`An hour ago,' she answered, breathlessly. `I--I want your assistance,
M'sieur Martin. I am in danger--grave danger!'
"`Danger! Of what?'
"`I hardly know--except that the police may follow me and demand my
arrest. This place--like Sofia--swarms with spies.'
"`I know,' I said, much interested, but surprised that she should have
thus followed me. `But why do you fear?'
"`I surely need not explain to you facts--facts that are painful!' she
said, looking straight at me half-reproachfully with those wonderful
blue eyes that held me so fascinated. `I merely tell you that I am in
danger, and ask you to render me assistance.'
"`How? In what manner can I assist you?'
"`In one way alone,' was her quick, breathless answer. `Ah! if you
would only do it--if you would only save my life!' And with her white
ungloved hands clenched in desperation, she stood motionless as a
statue.
"`Save your life!' I echoed. `I--I really don't understand you,
mademoiselle.'
"`Before they arrest me I will commit suicide. I have the means here!'
and she touched the bodice of her dress. `Ah, m'sieur, you do not know
in what a position I find myself. I prefer death to save my honour, and
I appeal to you, an English gentleman to help me!'
"Tears were rolling down her pale cheeks as she snatched up my hand
convulsively, imploring me to assist her. I looked into her countenance
and saw that it was the same that I had seen in those dark night hours
in Sofia.
"`But, mademoiselle, how can I help you?' I inquired. `What can I do?'
"`Ah! I--I hardly like to ask you,' she said, her cheeks flushing
slightly. `You know so very little of me.'
"`I know sufficient to be permitted to call myself your friend,' I said
earnestly, still holding her tiny hand.
"`Then I will be frank,' she exclaimed, raising her clear eyes again to
mine. `The only way in which you can save me is to take me at once to
England--to--to let me pass as your wife!'
"`As my _wife_!' I gasped, staring at her. `But--'
"`There are no buts!' she cried, clinging to me imploringly. `To me it
is a matter of life--or death! The Orient Express passes here at three
to-morrow morning for Constantza, whence we can get to Constantinople.
Thence we can go by steamer on to Naples, and across to Calais by rail.
For me it is unsafe to go direct by Budapest and Vienna. Already the
police are watching at the frontier.'
"For a moment I was silent. In the course of years of travel I had met
with many adventures, but none anything like this! Here was a charming
girl in dire distress--a girl who had already enchanted me by her beauty
and grace--appealing to my honour to help her out of a difficulty. Nay
to save her life!
"She was Russian--no doubt a political suspect.
"`Where is Madame?' I inquired.
"`Gone to Belgrade. We parted this morning, and I came here to you.'
"`And your friend, Mehmed?'
"`Bah! the yellow-faced fool!' she cried impatiently with a quick snap
of her white fingers. `He expects to meet me at the Court ball
to-night!'
"`And he will be disappointed!' I added with a smile, at the same time
reflecting that upon my passport already _vised_ for Constantinople--
covered as it was, indeed, with _vises_ for all the East--I could easily
insert after my own name the words, `accompanied by his wife Louisa.'
"Besides, though I had several times been in the Sultan's capital, I
knew very few people there. So detection would not be probable.
"Olga saw my hesitation, and repeated her entreaty. She was, I saw,
desperate. Yet though I pressed her to tell me the truth, she only
answered:
"`The police of Warsaw are in search of me because of the events of May
last. Some day, when we know each other better, I will tell you my
strange story. I escaped from the "Museum of Riga"'!"
"Pale to the lips, her chest rising and falling quickly, her blue eyes
full of the terror of arrest and deportment to Poland she stood before
me, placing her life in my hands.
"She had escaped from the `Museum of Riga,' that prison the awful
tortures of which had only recently been exposed in the Duma itself.
She, frail looking, and beautiful had been a prisoner there.
"It wanted, I reflected, still eight days to the opening of the shooting
which I was due to spend with friends in Scotland. Even if I returned
by the roundabout route she suggested I should be able to get up north
in time.
"And yet my duty was to remain there, for at noon on the morrow, by the
Orient Express from Constantza to Ostend, a friend would pass whom I
particularly wanted to meet on business for a single moment at the
station. If I left with my pretty companion I should pass my friend on
the Black Sea a few hours out of port. It meant either keeping the
appointment I had made with my friend, or securing the girl's safety.
To perform my duty meant to consign her into the hands of the police.
"Acquaintance with political refugees of any sort in the Balkan
countries is always extremely risky, for spies abound everywhere, and
everybody is a suspect.
"I fear I am not very impressionable where the fair sex are concerned,
but the romance and mystery of the situation whetted my appetite for the
truth. Her sweet tragic face appealed to me. I had fallen in love with
her.
"She interpreted my hesitation as an intention to refuse.
"`Ah! M'sieur Martin. Do, I beg, have pity upon me! Once in your
England I shall no longer fear those tortures of Riga. See!' and
drawing up her sleeve she showed me two great ugly red scars upon the
white flesh scarcely yet healed. `Once in your England!' she cried
clasping her hands and falling at my feet, `I shall be free--_free_!'
"`But how do you know that the police have followed you?'
"`Mariniski, our military _attache_ in Sofia, is my cousin. He warned
me that two agents of Secret Police arrived there yesterday morning.
When I got here I received a wire from him to say they are now on their
way here to Bucharest. Therefore not a moment must be lost. We can
leave at three, and at ten to-morrow morning will have sailed from
Constantza. They are due here at eleven-thirty.'
"`To-night?'
"`No, to-morrow.'
"She held my hands in hers, still upon her knees, her gaze fixed
imploringly into mine. What could I do, save to render her assistance?
Ah! yes, she was delightfully charming, her face perfect in its beauty,
her hands soft and caressing, her voice musical and silvery.
"I gave her my reply, and in an instant she sprang to her feet, kissing
my hands again and again.
"I sent the car back to Vienna, and early that morning we entered the
train of dusty _wagons-lits_ which had been three days on its journey
from Ostend to the Orient, and next morning in the bright sunshine,
found ourselves on the clean deck of the mail steamer for
Constantinople.
"There were not more than twenty passengers, and together with my dainty
little companion, I spent a happy day in the bright sunshine, as we
steamed down the Black Sea, a twelve-hour run. Dinner was at half-past
five, and afterwards, in the evening twilight, as we passed the Turkish
forts at the beautiful entrance to the Bosphorus, we sat together in a
cosy corner on deck, and I held her small, soft hand.
"She had, I admit, completely enchanted me.
"She seemed to have suddenly become greatly interested in me, for she
inquired my profession, and the reason I visited the East, to which I
gave evasive, if not rather misleading replies, for I led her to believe
that I was the representative of a firm of London railway contractors,
and was in Sofia taking orders for steel rails.
"It is not always judicious to tell people one's real profession.
"When we reached the quay at Constantinople, and I had handed over my
baggage to the dragoman of the Pera Palace Hotel, my pretty companion
said in French:
"`I lived here for quite a long time, you know, so I shall go and stay
with friends out at Sarmaschik. I will call at your hotel at, say,
eleven to-morrow morning. By that time you will have ascertained what
is the next steamer to Naples.'
"And so, in the dirty ill-lit custom-house at Galata, with its mud, its
be-fezzed officials and slinking dogs, we parted, she entering a cab and
driving away.
"Next morning she kept her appointment and was, I saw, exceedingly
well-dressed.
"I told her when we met in the big vestibule of the hotel, that there
was a steamer leaving for Marseilles at four that afternoon, and
suggested that route as preferable to Naples.
"`I think we will delay our departure until to-morrow,' she said. `My
friends have a little family gathering to-night, and ask me to say that
they would be delighted to meet you. They are not at all bigoted, and
you will find them very hospitable.'
"I bowed and accepted the invitation.
"`You will not find the house alone, as Constantinople is so puzzling,'
she said. `I will send their _kavass_ for you at eight o'clock.'
"And a few moments later she drove away in the smart carriage that had
brought her.
"That day I idled about the Sultan's capital, looked in at St Sophia,
paused and watched the phantasmagoria of life on the Galata Bridge, and
strolled in the Grand Rue at Pera, merely killing time. Case-hardened
bachelor that I am, my mind was now filled with that sweet-faced,
beautiful woman of my dreams who had been so cruelly tortured in that
abominable prison at Riga, and whom I was aiding to the safe refuge of
England's shores.
"Once, while turning a corner at the end of the Grand Rue, the busy
shopping centre of the Turkish capital, a mysterious incident occurred.
Among the many figures in frock-coats and fezes my eye caught one which
caused me to start. It struck me curiously as that of my sallow-faced
friend, Mehmed Zekki, of Sofia. Yet in a crowd of Turks all dressed
alike, one is rather difficult to distinguish from another, so I quickly
dismissed the suspicion that we had been followed.
"I had already dined at the hotel and was sitting in the Turkish
smoking-room, when there arrived a big Montenegrin _kavass_, in gorgeous
scarlet and gold, and wearing an arsenal of weapons in his belt, as is
their mode.
"`Monsieur Martin?' he inquired. `Mademoiselle Olga. She send me for
you. I take you to ze house.'
"So I rose, slipped on my overcoat, and followed him out to the
brougham, upon the box of which, beside the driver, sat a big black
eunuch. The carriage had evidently been to fetch some ladies before
calling for me.
"The _kavass_ seated himself at my side, and we drove up and down many
dark, ill-lit streets, where the scavenger dogs were howling, until we
suddenly came out in view of the Bosphorus, that lay fairy-like beneath
the full Eastern moon.
"Nicholas, the _kavass_, was from Cettinje, he told me, and when we
began to talk, I discovered that his brother Mirko had been my servant
on a journey through Albania two years before.
"`What! Gospodin!' cried the big mountaineer, grasping my hand and
wringing it warmly. `Are you really the Gospodin Martin? I was in
Cettinje last summer, and my dear old father spoke of you! I have to
thank you. It was you who brought the English doctor to him and saved
his life. Fancy that we should meet here, and to-night!'
"`Why to-night?'
"The big fellow was silent. His manner had entirely changed.
"Suddenly he said: `Gospodin, you are going to the house of Mehmed Zekki
and--'
"`Zekki!' I gasped. `Then I was not mistaken when I thought I saw him.
He had followed us.'
"`Ah! Gospodin! Have a care of yourself! Take this, in case--in case
you may require it,' he said, and pulling from his sash one of his
loaded revolvers, he handed it to me.
"`But you said that mademoiselle had sent you for me?' I remarked
surprised.
"`I was told to say that, Gospodin. I know nothing of mademoiselle.'
"`Mademoiselle Olga Steinkoff. Have you never heard of her?' I
demanded.
"`Never.'
"`Then I will go back to the hotel.'
"`No, Gospodin. Do not show fear. It would be fatal. Enter and defy
the man who is evidently your enemy. Touch neither food nor
drink there. Then, if you are threatened, utter the words,
_Shunam-al-zulah_--recollect them. Show no fear, Gospodin--and you will
escape.'
"At that moment the carriage turned into a large garden, which
surrounded a fine house--almost a palace--the house wherein my enemy was
lying in wait.
"Entering a beautiful winter-garden full of flowers, a servant in long
blue coat and fez, conducted me through a large apartment, decorated in
white and gold, into a smaller room, Oriental in decoration and design,
an apartment hung with beautiful gold embroideries, and where the soft
cushions of the divans were of pale-blue silk and gold brocade.
"Two middle-aged Turks were squatting smoking, and as I was shown in,
scowled at me curiously, saluted, and in French asked me to be seated.
"`Mademoiselle will be here in a few moments,' added the elder of the
pair.
"A few seconds later the servant entered with a tiny cup of coffee, the
Turkish welcome, but I left it untouched. Then the door again opened
and I was confronted by the sallow-faced, black-bearded man against whom
the _kavass_ had warned me.
"`Good evening, Monsieur Martin,' he exclaimed with a sinister grin upon
his thin face. `You expected, I believe, to meet Mademoiselle Olga,
eh?'
"`Well--I expected to meet you,' I laughed, `for I saw you in Pera
to-day.'
"He looked at me quickly, as his servant at that moment handed him his
coffee on a tray.
"`I did not see you,' he said somewhat uneasily, raising his cup to his
lips. Then, noticing that I had not touched mine, he asked, `Don't you
take coffee? Will you have a glass of rahki?'
"`I desire nothing,' I said, looking him straight in the face.
"`But surely you will take something? We often drank together in the
Club at Sofia, remember!'
"`I do not drink with my enemies.'
"The trio started, glaring at me.
"`You are distinctly insulting,' exclaimed Mehmed, his yellow face
growing flushed with anger. `Recall those words, or by the Prophet, you
do not pass from this house alive!'
"I laughed aloud in their faces.
"`Ah!' I cried, `this is amusing! This is really a good joke! And
pray what do you threaten?'
"`We do not threaten,' Zekki said. `You are here to die.' And he
laughed grimly, while the others grinned.
"`Why?'
"`That is our affair.'
"`And mine also,' I replied. `And gentlemen, I would further advise you
in future to be quite certain of your victim, or it may go ill with you.
Let me pass!' And I drew the revolver the _kavass_ had given me.
"`Put that thing away!' ordered the elder of the men, approaching me
with threatening gesture.
"`I shall not. Let us end this confounded foolishness.
_Shunam-al-Zulah_!'
"The effect of these words upon the trio was electrical.
"The sallow-faced _attache_ stood staring at me open-mouthed, while his
companions fell back, as though I had dealt them both a blow. They
seemed too dumbfounded to respond, as, revolver in hand, I next moment
passed out of the room and from that house to which I had been so
cleverly lured, and where my death had evidently been planned.
"At the hotel I spent a sleepless night, full of deep anxiety, wondering
for what reason the curious plot had been arranged, and whether my
dainty little companion had had any hand in it.
"My apprehensions were, however, entirely dispelled when early on the
following been morning, Olga called to ask why I had absent when the
_kavass_ had called for me.
"I took her into one of the smaller rooms, and told her the whole truth,
whereat she was much upset, and eager to leave the Turkish capital
immediately.
"At seven that same evening we sailed for Naples, and without further
incident duly arrived at the Italian port, took train for Rome, and
thence by express to Paris and Charing Cross.
"On the journey she refused to discuss the plot of the jealous,
evil-eyed Turk. Her one idea was to get to London--and to freedom.
"At eleven o'clock at night we stepped out upon Charing Cross platform,
and I ordered the cabman to drive me to the Cecil, for when acting the
part of Reggie Martin, I always avoided Dover Street. It was too late
to catch the Scotch mail, therefore I would be compelled to spend the
first day of the pheasants in London, and start north to my friends on
the following day.
"Suddenly as we entered the station she had decided also to spend the
night at the Cecil and leave next day for Ipswich, where a brother of
hers was a tutor.
"I wished her good-night in the big hall of the hotel, and went up in
the lift.
"Rising about half-past six next morning and entering my sitting-room, I
was amazed to encounter Olga, fully dressed in hat and caracul jacket,
standing in the grey dawn, reading a paper which she had taken from my
despatch-box!
"Instantly she dropped her hand, and stood staring at me without
uttering a word, knowing full well that I had discovered the astounding
truth.
"I recognised the document by the colour of the paper.
"`Well, mademoiselle?' I demanded in a hard tone, `And for what reason,
pray, do you pry into my private papers like this?'
"`I--I was waiting to bid you adieu,' she answered tamely.
"`And you were at the same time making yourself acquainted with the
contents of that document which I have carried in my belt ever since I
left Sofia--that document of which you and your interesting friend,
Zekki, have ever since desired sight--eh?' I exclaimed, bitterly. `My
duty is to call in the police, and hand you over as a political Spy to
be expelled from the country.'
"`If m'sieur wishes to do that he is at perfect liberty to do so,' she
answered, in quick defiance. `The result is the same. I have read
Petkoff's declaration, so the paper is of no further use,' and she
handed it to me with a smile of triumph upon those childlike lips.
`Arrest or liberty--I am entirely in monsieur's hands,' she added,
shrugging her shoulders.
"I broke forth into a torrent of reproach for I saw that Bulgaria had
been betrayed to her arch-enemy, Turkey, by that sweet-faced woman who
had so completely deceived me, and who, after the first plot had failed,
had so cleverly carried the second to a successful issue.
"Defiant to the last, she stood smiling in triumph. Even when I openly
accused her of being a spy she only laughed.
"Therefore I opened the door and sternly ordered her to leave, knowing,
alas! that, now she had ascertained the true facts, the Bulgarian secret
policy towards Turkey would be entirely negatived, that the terrible
atrocities in Macedonia must continue, and that the Russian influence in
Bulgaria would still remain paramount.
"I held my silence, and spent a dull and thoughtful Sunday in the great
London hotel. Had I remained in Bucharest, as was my duty, and handed
the document in Petkoff's handwriting to the King's Messenger, who was
due to pass in the Orient express, the dainty Olga could never have
obtained sight of it. This she knew, and for that reason had told me
the story of her torture in the prison at Riga and urged me to save her.
Zekki, knowing that I constantly carried the secret declaration of
Bulgaria in the belt beneath my clothes, saw that only by my
unconsciousness, or death, could they obtain sight of it. Hence the
dastardly plot to kill me, frustrated by the utterance of the password
of the Turkish spies themselves.
"It is useless for a man to cross swords with a pretty woman where it is
a matter of ingenuity and double-dealing. With the chiefs of the
Foreign Office absent, I could only exist in anxiety and dread, and when
I acted it was, alas! too late.
"Inquiries subsequently made in Constantinople showed that the house in
which Zekki had received me, situated near the konak of Ali Saib Pasha,
was the headquarters of the Turkish Secret Service, of which the
sallow-faced scoundrel was a well-known member, and that on the evening
of the day of my return to London the body of Nicholas, the Montenegrin
_kavass_ who saved my life, had been found floating in the Bosphorus.
Death had been his reward for warning me!
"Readers of the newspapers are well aware how, two months later, as a
result of Turkish intrigue in Sofia, my poor friend Dimitri Petkoff,
Prime Minister of Bulgaria, was shot through the heart while walking
with me in the Boris Garden.
"Both Bulgarian and Turkish Governments have, however, been very careful
to suppress intelligence of a dramatic incident which occurred in
Constantinople only a few weeks ago. Olga Steinkoff, the secret agent
employed by the Sublime Porte, was, at her house in the Sarmaschik
quarter, handed by her maid a beautiful basket of fruit that had been
sent by an admirer. The dainty woman with the childlike face cut the
string, when, lo! there darted forth four hissing, venomous vipers. Two
of the reptiles struck, biting her white wrist ere she could withdraw,
and an hour later, her face swollen out of all recognition, she died in
terrible agony.
"The betrayal of Bulgaria and the assassination of Petkoff, the patriot,
have, indeed, been swiftly avenged."