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A Cabinet Secret
[Illustration: SHE STOOPED OVER ME. 'A Cabinet Secret.'
_Page 118._ (_Frontispiece_.)]
A Cabinet Secret
By Guy Boothby
Author of "Dr Nikola," "The Beautiful White Devil,"
"Pharos the Egyptian," "A Sailor's Bride," etc., etc.
With Illustrations by A. Wallis Mills
London
F. V. White & Co.
14 Bedford Street, Strand, W.C.
1901
INTRODUCTION
The Author deems it right to preface his work with the remark, that
while the War between England and the South African Republics forms the
basis of the story, the characters and incidents therein described are
purely fictional, and have no sort of resemblance, either intended or
implied, with living people. The Author's only desire is to show what,
under certain, doubtless improbable, conditions, might very well have
happened, had a secret power endeavoured to harass the Empire by taking
advantage of her temporary difficulties.
A CABINET SECRET
INTRODUCTION
Night was falling, and Naples Harbour, always picturesque, appeared even
more so than usual in the warm light of the departing day. The city
itself, climbing up the hillside, almost from the water's edge, was
coloured a pale pink by the sunset, and even old Vesuvius, from whose
top a thin column of black smoke was issuing, seemed somewhat less
sombre than usual. Out Ischiawards, the heavens were a mass of gold and
crimson colouring, and this was reflected in the calm waters of the Bay,
till the whole world was a veritable glow. Taken altogether, a more
beautiful evening could scarcely have been desired. And yet it is not
with the city, the mountain, or the sunset, that we have to do, but
with the first movement of a conspiracy that was destined ultimately to
shake one of the greatest Empires, the earth has ever seen, to the very
foundations of its being.
Though the world was not aware of it, and would not, in all human
probability, have concerned itself very much about it even if it had,
the fact remains that for some hours past two men, from a house situated
on one of the loftiest pinnacles of the city, had been concentrating
their attention, by means of powerful glasses, upon the harbour, closely
scrutinizing every vessel that entered and dropped her anchor inside the
Mole.
"Can anything have happened that she does not come?" asked the taller of
the pair, as he put down his glasses, and began to pace the room. "The
cable said most distinctly that the steam yacht, _Princess
Badroulbadour_ passed through the Straits of Messina yesterday at seven
o'clock. Surely they should be here by this time?"
"One would have thought so," his companion replied. "It must be borne in
mind, however, that the _Princess_ is a private yacht, and it is more
likely, as the wind is fair, that the owner is sailing in order to save
his fuel."
"To the devil with him, then, for his English meanness," answered the
other angrily. "He does not know how anxious we are to see her."
"And, everything taken into consideration, it is just as well for us and
for the safety of his passengers that he does not," his friend retorted.
"If he did, his first act after he dropped anchor would be to hand them
over to the tender mercies of the Police. In that case we should be
ruined for ever and a day. Perhaps that aspect of the affair has not
struck you?"
"It is evident that you take me for a fool," the other answered angrily.
"Of course, I know all that; but it does not make me any the less
anxious to see them. Consider for a moment what we have at stake. Never
before has there been such a chance of bringing to her knees one of the
proudest nations of the earth. And to think that if that vessel does not
put in an appearance within the next few hours, all our preparations may
be in vain!"
"She will be here in good time, never fear," his companion replied
soothingly. "She has never disappointed us yet."
"Not willingly, I will admit," the other returned; "but in this matter
she may not be her own mistress. She is a beautiful woman, and for all
we know to the contrary, this English _milord_ may be prolonging the
voyage in order to enjoy her society. Who knows but that he may carry
her off altogether?"
"In that case his country should erect a memorial to him, similar to the
Nelson Monument," said the smaller man. "For it is certain he will have
rendered her as great a service as that empty-sleeved Hero ever did."
The other did not reply, but, after another impatient glance at the
Harbour, once more began to pace the room. He was a tall, handsome
fellow, little more than thirty years of age, and carried himself with
soldierly erectness. The most casual observer would have noticed that he
was irreproachably dressed, and that his manners were those of one
accustomed to good society. His companion, on the other hand, was short
and stout, with a round bullet head, and closely cropped hair. He was
also the possessor of a pair of small twinkling eyes, and a neck so
thick, that one instinctively thought of apoplexy and sudden death in
connection with its owner. The room they occupied was strangely at
variance with the appearance of the younger and taller man. It was
little more than a garret, very dirty, and furnished in the poorest
fashion. But it had one advantage: it commanded a splendid view of
Naples Harbour, and, after all, that was what its present occupants
required. At last, the younger man, tired of his sentry-go up and down
the room, threw himself into a chair and lit a cigarette. For some
minutes not a word passed between them; all the time, however, the
shorter man remained at the window, his glass turned seaward, watching
for the smallest sign of the vessel they were so eagerly expecting.
Suddenly he uttered an exclamation which caused the other to spring to
his feet.
"What is it?" cried the latter; "what do you see?"
"I fancy she is coming up now," his friend replied. "If you run your
glass along the sky-line, I fancy you will be able to detect a white
speck, with a tiny column of smoke above it."
The other followed the directions given him, and, after a careful
scrutiny, gave it as his opinion that what his companion had said was
correct. Nearly an hour elapsed, however, before they could be quite
certain upon the subject. At last the matter was settled beyond doubt,
and when a magnificent white yacht rounded the Mole and came to its
anchorage in the Mercantile Harbour, they prepared to make their way
down to the water-side in order to board her. Before they started,
however, the elder of the two men effected sundry changes in his attire.
"Forgive the mummery," he remarked, as he took a somewhat clerical hat
and cloak from a peg, "but, as they say upon the stage, 'the unities
must be observed.' If our beautiful Countess has played her cards
carefully, Monseigneur should be of great benefit to us hereafter. It
would be a thousand pities to scare him away at the beginning. For this
reason it will be as well for you to remember that I am her Excellency's
lawyer, who has hastened to Naples in order to confer with her on a
matter of considerable importance, connected with her Styrian estates.
No suspicion will then be excited."
By the time he had finished speaking he had donned the hat and cloak,
and when he had given another expression to his face--for the man was a
consummate actor--he was satisfied that he looked the part he was about
to play. After that they descended the narrow, rickety stairs together,
and passed out into the street. It was a warm afternoon, and in
consequence Naples was in her most unsavoury humour. The two men,
however, did not appear to trouble themselves very much about it. Side
by side they made their way through the crowded streets, almost in
silence. Each was thinking of the approaching interview, and of what was
to result from it. Reaching the Harbour, they chartered a boat and bade
the rower convey them to the white yacht which had just dropped her
anchor. The man obeyed, and in less than five minutes they were lying
alongside one of the most beautiful pleasure vessels that has ever
upheld the shipbuilding honour of the Clyde. The Port formalities had
already been complied with, and now the accommodation ladder was hanging
at the side in readiness for visitors. When they drew up at its foot,
the tall man, addressing the quartermaster on duty at the gangway,
enquired whether Madame la Comtesse de Venetza were aboard, and, if so,
whether she would permit visitors to pay their respects to her.
It was noticeable that he spoke excellent English, with scarcely a touch
of foreign accent.
The man departed with the message, to presently return with the report
that Madame would be pleased to see the gentleman if they would "come
aboard." They accordingly climbed the ladder, and followed the
quartermaster along the deck to a sumptuous saloon under the bridge. The
owner of the beautiful craft was in the act of leaving the cabin as they
approached it.
"Won't you come in?" he said, pausing to open the door for them. "The
Countess will be very pleased to see you."
As he said this he glanced sharply at the two men, with an Englishman's
innate distrust of foreigners. He saw little in them, however, to
criticise, and nothing to dislike. They, on their side, found him a
tall, stalwart Englishman of the typical standard--blue eyes, ruddy
cheeks, close cropped hair, the latter a little inclined to be curly,
well, but not over dressed, and carrying with him an air of latent
strength that, in spite of his good-humoured expression, would have made
most people chary of offending him. When the two men entered the cabin,
he closed the door behind them and ran lightly up the ladder to the
bridge.
After his departure there was a momentary, but somewhat embarrassing,
silence. A long shaft of sunlight streamed in through one of the
windows (for they resembled windows more than port-holes) and revealed
the fact that the lady, who was reclining in a long easy-chair, was
extremely beautiful. Despite the cordial message she had sent, her
visitors could scarcely have been welcome, for she did not even take the
trouble to rise to receive them, but allowed a tall grey-haired man, who
might very well have passed for her father, to do the honours for her.
"My dear Luigi--my dear Conrad," he said, offering his right hand to the
smaller of the two men and his left to the other. "It is indeed kind of
you to be so quick to welcome us. The Countess is a little tired this
afternoon, but she is none the less delighted to see you."
The scornful curl of the lady's lips not only belied this assertion, but
indicated that _miladi_ was in a by no means pleasant temper. The
impatient movement of the little foot, peeping from beneath her dress,
said as much, as plainly as any words could speak.
"We have been waiting for you all day," the younger man began. "There is
news of the greatest importance to communicate. Every hour that passes
is now so much time wasted."
Then, for the first time during the interview, the lady spoke.
"You infer that I might have been quicker?" she said, with a touch of
scorn in her voice. "You evidently forget that, had it not been for this
English _milord's_ kindness, I should not be here even now."
It looked as if the younger man, while really uncomfortable, were trying
to act as if he were not afraid of her.
"Is there not such a thing as the Oriental Express?" he asked. "Had you
used that, we might have met at Turin, and have saved a great deal of
trouble and valuable time."
The lady turned impatiently from him to his companion.
"What form does your news take?" she enquired. "Is it contained in a
letter?"
"No, _Excellenza_, it was to be delivered by word of mouth," the other
replied. "The Council, who were in Prague at the time, paid me the
compliment of trusting to my discretion, and despatched me immediately
to you. We heard that you were in Constantinople, and the Secretary
undertook to have a message transmitted to you there. Our friend, Conrad
here, is perhaps not aware that the Oriental Express is occasionally an
impossible medium. But, while condoling with you on that score, I must
congratulate your Excellency in having pressed the Duke of Rotherhithe
into your service."
"Pray spare yourself the trouble," the lady replied. "I do not know that
I am particularly fond of obtaining hospitality, such as his, under
false pretences. It is sufficient for your purposes, is it not, that I
am here, and ready to do the Council's bidding, whatever that may be.
Perhaps you will be good enough to tell me what is expected of me?"
"Is it safe for me to tell you here?" Luigi enquired, and as he said it
he looked anxiously about him, as if he feared the presence of
eavesdroppers.
"As safe as it will be anywhere," the lady answered. "It is an
Englishman's yacht, and, whatever we may say of them, they are not in
the habit of listening at keyholes. Now what have you to tell me?"
The man hesitated once more before he replied. He was the chosen
mouth-piece of one of the most powerful organisations in Europe, and ere
now affairs involving death, and worse than death, had been entrusted to
him, and he had brought them to a satisfactory issue. As a rule, and
certainly when dealing with men, he did not know what fear was. In this
lady's presence, however, he was strangely nervous.
"Come," she said, "you are a long time telling me. Is it so very
difficult to explain? Or am I to anticipate a repetition of the Palermo
Incident?"
Whatever the Palermo Incident may have been, it was certainly not a
pleasant recollection to either of the men before her; the elder man
became uncomfortable, while the younger moved uneasily in his seat.
"You hit hard, madam," the elder man returned; "but, thank goodness, I
am not thin-skinned. That the Palermo affair was a mistake, I am quite
prepared to admit; it is possible, however, the success which will
doubtless attend this affair, will make ample amends for it."
"You have not told me what the affair is," the lady replied. "Unless you
make haste, I fear I shall not be able to hear it to-night. It would be
as well for you to remember that I am not my own mistress, and that, in
return for his hospitality, my host has at least some claim upon my
society."
"I will not detain you longer than is absolutely necessary," the other
replied. "With your permission I will now explain my mission. Of
course, your Excellency is aware that the British Empire is on the eve
of a serious struggle with the two South African Republics. The
Republics in question have been arming for several years, and there can
be no sort of doubt that the war, which is now about to begin, will make
the most enormous demands upon the resources and capabilities of even
that great Empire. That the country, at least so far as its military
organisation is concerned, is not properly prepared for such an
encounter, admits of no doubt. Her armament is well known to be
deficient, if not defective; she possesses but few Generals whose
experience entitles them to the right of leading her troops as they
should be led against a foe which will have in its ranks some of the
best fighting men in the world; while the nature of the country in which
she will have to fight, and the peculiar tactics of the enemy, are
unfavourable to her in the highest degree. Apart from this, it has been
her boast that she occupies an isolated position in Europe, if not in
the world. France, Russia, Germany and Holland are avowedly
unfavourable; Spain remembers Great Britain's sympathy with America in
the Cuban affair; Portugal will wait to see what turn events take
before she commits herself; while America will stand strictly neutral.
We all remember that the larger Republic has beaten her before: it is
possible that it may do so again. All these things having been taken
into consideration, it must be quite clear to an observant mind that if
England is ever to be humiliated, now is the time to do it. With this
end in view, the Council was summoned hastily to meet in Prague. The
result of their deliberations was the drawing up of a plan of action,
and as soon as this had been agreed upon, I was ordered to place myself
in communication with you. You were in Constantinople, and, as I have
said, a message was immediately despatched by the Secretary to you."
"I received it, and am here. What am I to do?"
"I can tell you no more than that you are to make your way to England at
once, _via_ Rome and Paris. Von Rosendell is in Rome. He will meet you,
and give you full particulars of the scheme which has been proposed."
"And when am I to leave Naples in order to meet him?"
"As soon as possible," the other replied; "there is no time to waste. I
was to invite you to make your arrangements at once, and to telegraph
the hour of your departure in the usual way."
"In that case I need not detain you any longer," she answered with
chilling politeness. "Should it be necessary for me to communicate with
you, I presume the usual address will find you?"
"But----"
"But what? Is there anything else I am to hear?"
"There is this--that I am to go with you," the younger man put in,
almost apologetically. "I received my orders from the Council this
morning. I hope you do not disapprove?"
He looked at her almost beseechingly; the expression upon her face,
however, betrayed neither pleasure nor annoyance. Do what he would, he
could not prevent a sigh from escaping him as he became aware of it. All
day he had been hoping that she would be pleased when she heard that he
was to co-operate with her; now, however, his heart sank like lead. It
was just the sort of enterprise he liked. It was daring, reckless to a
degree; they would carry their lives in their hands, as they had so
often done before; indeed, the mere fact that he was to share the
dangers with her had been the greatest pleasure he had known for months
past.
"If you are to accompany us," she said, scarcely looking at him, "you
had better hold yourself in readiness. It will be safer if we travel
apart during the time we are in Italy, and afterwards other arrangements
can be made so that we----"
"We will leave you and return to the shore," interrupted the man called
Luigi, who did not altogether approve the turn affairs were taking. "I
have carried out my instructions, and so far as I am concerned,
individually, the matter is at an end."
Five minutes later they had left the yacht, and the Countess de Venetza
was apologizing to the Duke of Rotherhithe for the intrusion of her
lawyer people on his yacht.
"It is really too hard," she said pathetically; "they give me no peace.
When my husband died and I inherited his estates, he had no thought of
the trouble and anxiety the management of them would cause me. My
lawyers are perpetually grumbling because they cannot obtain interviews
with me. I often think that they look upon me as a sort of
Will-o'-the-Wisp, flickering about Europe, and impossible to catch. Why
they could not have transacted the business with my father instead of
bothering me with it, I cannot imagine. However, you will forgive me,
will you not?"
The Duke, who by the way, was extremely susceptible, looked unutterable
things. He had first met the Countess in Algiers a year before, and had
fallen desperately in love with her before he had known her twenty-four
hours. The mere fact that she did not encourage his attentions only
served to attract him the more. They met at Cairo six months later--and
now, when he discovered that it was in his power to do her a service by
conveying her from Constantinople to Naples, he was only too glad to
avail himself of the opportunity.
"It is a shame, indeed, that they should worry you so," he said
sympathetically, looking as he spoke into his fair friend's eyes in a
manner that would have carried consternation into the hearts of not a
few mothers in England. "They worry me at home in much the same way. As
I say to them, what's the use of employing lawyers and Estate Agents,
and all those sort of people, if they cannot do their work without your
assistance? You might just as well do it yourself in the first instance,
and save their salaries. But then, you see, I am not so clever as you
are, Countess, and that makes all the difference."
"What makes you think I am so clever, pray?" she enquired, looking up at
him with innocent eyes.
"Oh, I don't know," he replied; "I've noticed it on lots of occasions.
Do you remember the day that plausible Greek beggar worried us so in
Constantinople, and you whispered something to him that sent him off
about his business like a shot out of a gun. And in Algiers, when that
Frenchman made himself so objectionable and you managed to send him to
the right-about after a few moments' conversation. How you did it I
never could understand, but it was jolly clever all the same."
The Countess regarded him attentively for a moment. Was he really as
innocent as he made out to be, or had he noticed anything else? No; one
moment's examination was sufficient to convince her that, so far as he
was concerned, all was as it should be. Strolling to the port side of
the bridge, she looked down at the boat-load of musicians who were
strumming guitars, and bawling "_Finiculi Finicula_," with all the
strength of their Southern lungs.
"What a way in which to spend one's life," said the Duke, as he joined
her, and tossed some silver into the boat. "Fancy shouting that wretched
thing, week after week, and year after year! Italy is a funny
country--all bandits, soldiers, beggars and musicians. I suppose, if the
truth were known, each of those men belongs to some secret society or
another. Either the Cammoristi, or the Mafia, or some such organisation.
How would you like to be a conspirator, Countess, and be always in
terror of being caught?"
The Countess's hand clenched the bar before her, and, for a moment, her
face turned deathly pale.
"What an extraordinary question to ask," she began, fighting hard for
her self-possession. "Do you want to frighten me out of my wits? I am
afraid I should make the poorest conspirator imaginable. I should be too
deficient in courage."
"I am not inclined to believe that," said the Duke, reflectively. "I
think you would have plenty of courage when it was required."
"I am afraid you must think me an altogether remarkable person," she
returned. "If you go on in this way, I shall scarcely have presence of
mind enough to remain in your company. Seriously, however, Duke, I
don't know how to thank you for the services you have rendered my father
and myself. But for your assistance we should not be in Naples now, in
which case we should have been too late to have joined the party with
whom I am proceeding to England."
"You are going to England then after all?" he cried in great
astonishment and delight. "I thought you were only going as far as
Rome?"
"That was our original intention," she replied. "However, some letters
that we received to-night have altered our plans. But why do you look so
astonished? Are we poor foreigners not to be allowed to enter your
country?"
"It is not that," he said. "I was so pleased to hear that you intend
honouring us with a visit. When do you think you will reach England, and
where will you stay while you are there?"
She shook her head.
"Those are questions I cannot at present answer," she said. "It will
depend upon circumstances. As our arrangements stand at present, I think
it is extremely likely that we shall be in London in less than a week's
time."
"And will there be any means of learning your whereabouts?" he asked.
"You will surely not be cruel enough to visit England without permitting
me to call upon you?"
"Call by all means," she answered. "At present, however, I cannot tell
you what our address will be, for the reason that I do not know it
myself."
"But perhaps when you are settled you will let me know. You know my
house, I think?"
"I will do so with pleasure," she replied. "Then you will come and see
me, and I shall be able to thank you again for the kindness you have
shown my father and myself in our present trouble."
"It has been a very great pleasure to me," he said, "and I cannot thank
you sufficiently for honouring my yacht as you have done."
At that moment the elder man, to whom she had referred as her father,
made his appearance on the bridge and came towards them.
"My dear," he began, "has it not struck you that it is time for us to be
thinking of bidding His Grace farewell? Remember we have to start for
Rome by the early train to-morrow morning. It behoves us, therefore, to
make our preparations as soon as possible."
The Duke, however, would not hear of their leaving the yacht before
dinner, and in consequence it was quite dark when the Countess de
Venetza and her father, or, to be more correct, her reputed father, were
rowed ashore by four stalwart yachtsmen, steered by the Duke of
Rotherhithe himself. He would have accompanied them to their hotel, but
this the Countess would not permit.
"You have done too much for us already," she said; "we cannot let you do
more. We will not say _adieu_, but _au revoir_, since, in all
probability, it will not be long before we meet again."
"I hope, with all my heart, it may not be," he replied, and then the cab
they had engaged rattled away over the stones and was soon lost to view.
The Countess's stay in Naples was a short one, for next morning she left
by an early train for Rome. According to the plan he had prepared, His
Grace of Rotherhithe, having made enquiries as to the trains leaving
Naples for the capital, was present on the platform when the first took
its departure. With an eagerness that could only be accounted for by his
infatuation, he scanned the faces of the passengers, but the lady for
whom he had been so anxiously waiting was not among them. Greatly
disappointed by his discovery, he went off in search of breakfast, only
to return a quarter of an hour before the next train was due to leave.
Unfortunately, on this occasion, he was no more successful than before.
The train was well filled, but among the passengers there was not one
who bore any sort of resemblance to the lady he was hoping to see. So
anxious was he to make sure that he did not miss her, that, just before
the train started, he came within an ace of being run into by an invalid
chair, in which was seated a man closely muffled up with shawls. By the
side of the chair walked a nurse in English hospital uniform, who wore
large blue glasses, and carried more wraps and a couple of cushions upon
her arm. Even had he been aware of their identity, the Duke would have
found it difficult to recognise in the pair his guests of the previous
day. It was not the first time in their careers that they had been
compelled to adopt such disguises, and only that morning news had
reached them to the effect that, if they desired to get safely out of
Naples, disguises such as they had assumed would be imperative
necessities. A carriage, it appeared, had been reserved for the invalid
Englishman, and towards it they made their way. Having seated the old
gentleman in one corner, the nurse took her seat opposite him, and
busied herself preparing for the journey. It was not until Naples was
far behind, however, that she removed her spectacles and the invalid
discarded his wraps.
"That was as narrow an escape as we have ever had," said the former.
"The Head of the Police was upon the platform, and I recognised two
detectives in the crowd. However, all is well that ends well, and if
Luigi's arrangements have been properly made, we should be in Paris
before they know we have left Naples, and in London forty-eight hours
afterwards."
"Then you still feel certain that they were aware of our presence in
Naples?"
"Luigi's message said there was no doubt about it. Though he did not
know it, they must have been watching him, and have followed him to the
yacht. It was foolish of him to run such a risk. Let us hope, however,
he will be able to get out of Naples without their laying hands upon
him."
Shortly after one o'clock the train reached Rome and they alighted from
it. Such travellers as had witnessed the arrival of the invalid at the
Neapolitan railway station, would have observed now that he seemed
greatly fatigued by the journey. He was even more muffled up than
before, while the nurse was, if possible, more assiduous in her
attentions than she had been at the southern station. It was noticeable
also that she was a poor Italian scholar. Indeed, her pronunciation of
such words as she _did_ know was of the most erratic and elementary
description.
* * * * *
Later in the day, just as dusk was falling, an artist's model, in the
picturesque dress of the country, might have been observed making her
way slowly down the Via Sistina in the direction of the Piazza S.
Trinita de' Monti. She appeared to be familiar with the neighbourhood,
though, on the other hand, no one seemed to have any acquaintance with
her. She had reached the Casa Zuccheri, when she was stopped by a tall
artistic-looking man, who walked with great uprightness, and carried a
portfolio beneath his arm. For the benefit of the passers by, he
enquired in broken Italian, whether the girl could inform him as to the
locality of a certain artist's studio, whereupon she personally offered
to conduct him to it. He thanked her courteously, and proceeded with
her in the direction indicated. They had no sooner left the vicinity of
the Via Sistina, however, than he turned to her and said, in the purest
Italian: "I was afraid you were not coming. You are very late."
"I am aware of that," the girl replied. "I had a suspicion that I was
being watched. Now, what have you to tell me?"
"You saw Luigi in Naples, I believe?"
"He met me there, with Conrad," the girl answered. "I could not help
thinking that it was an imprudence on his part."
"Luigi is always imprudent; and yet I cannot help feeling that he is
safer in his folly than we are in our care. He told you of the scheme
the Council had originated?"
The girl nodded an assent.
"He gave me to understand, however, that you would furnish me with full
particulars," she said.
"I am prepared to do so now," her companion replied.
As he said this, he led her from the main street into a dark alley,
where, having convinced himself that they had not been followed, he set
to work and told his tale. So anxious was he that there should be no
mistake about the matter, that when he had finished it he began it
again, only to repeat it a third time. The woman listened with rapt
attention.
"In conclusion," said he, "I might add that the money will be paid to
your credit at whatever London Bank you may select. One of the most
handsome residences, replete with all the necessaries, has been taken
for you in a fashionable quarter, and on your arrival in London you will
be left to act as your knowledge of the situation and the dictates of
the Council may determine. It is needless to caution you as to the risks
you may be called upon to run. The Council has, moreover, authorised me
to say that it places implicit trust in your discretion. Should you
require further advice, it will be furnished you at once, with any help
that may be considered needful."
"In the meantime, Paris is the first stage," the girl answered. "You are
quite certain that this Englishman, Sir George Manderville, has not yet
returned to England?"
"No, he is still there," her companion replied. "We have learnt,
however, that he will cross the channel on Friday next."
"On Friday next?" she repeated. "In that case there is no time to lose.
At first glance it would appear that he is the key to the situation."
"That is exactly the opinion of the Council," the man answered. "Now,
farewell, and may good luck attend you!"
So saying they retraced their steps to the main street. At the entrance
to the alley they separated, the girl returning to the Via Sistina--the
man going off in an opposite direction.
By the first train next morning the Countess de Venetza made an
unostentatious departure from Rome, for Paris, accompanied by her father
and her cousin, Conrad, Count Reiffenburg.
CHAPTER I
As a preface, I might explain that I have had the pleasure of knowing
Paris and De Belleville for more than twenty years. Both are, therefore,
old friends, the city and the man. The fact, however, remains, that De
Belleville, though a most charming companion, has one fault. Few people
would be prepared to admit it, but unfortunately, I am not only
compelled to recognise it, but to proclaim it to the world. As a friend,
he has not his equal--at least so far as I am concerned; he is certainly
not punctual, however. It is of that I complain. I have remonstrated
with him on the subject times out of number, but it makes no sort of
difference. If one has an appointment with him, he is invariably late,
but when he does put in an appearance, he will greet you with such
charming assurance, that you feel angry with yourself for having been
led into commenting upon the lapse of time.
On the particular afternoon which I am now about to describe to you, we
had arranged to meet at my hotel and then to go on together to call upon
the D'Etrebilles, who were just off to Cairo and the Upper Nile. He had
promised to be with me at three o'clock, and, as usual, at twenty
minutes past the hour he had not put in an appearance. Now, I flatter
myself that I am a punctual man in every respect, and when one is ready
to go out, a twenty minutes' wait is an annoyance calculated to test the
serenest temper. In my case it was certainly so, and, as I sat in the
picturesque courtyard of the hotel, you may be sure I called down the
reverse of blessings upon De Belleville's handsome head. Carriage after
carriage drove up, but not one of them contained my friend. I took a
third cigarette from my case and lit it, and as I did so, lay back in my
chair and amused myself watching my neighbours.
To my thinking, there are few places more interesting (that is, of
course, provided one has a weakness for studying character) than a hotel
courtyard. In sheer idleness I speculated as to the nationality and
relationship of the various people about me. There were several probable
Russians, one or two undoubted Germans, two whom I set down as
Italians, one might have been a Greek, but the majority were undoubtedly
English. And that reminds me that, as I waited, I was the witness of an
amusing altercation between a cabman and an English lady of considerable
importance and mature years. Both were playing at cross purpose, and it
was not until the Hotel Commissionaire, the _deus ex machina_, so to
speak, appeared upon the scene and interposed, that the matter at issue
was satisfactorily adjusted.
"Your pardon, Madame," he said, bowing low, "but ze man meant no harm.
It was his misfortune that he did not comprehend the words what Madame
said to him."
For a person who prided himself upon his tact, the poor fellow could
scarcely have said a more unfortunate thing. The matter of the
overcharge, Madame could have understood and have forgiven, but to be
informed in so many words that her knowledge of the French tongue was
deficient, was an insult not only to her intelligence, and to her
experience, but also to the money that had been spent upon her
education. Casting a withering glance at the unhappy functionary, she
departed into the hotel, every hair of her head bristling with
indignation, while the Commissionaire, shrugging his shoulders, went
forward to receive a tall, picturesque individual, who at that moment
had driven up.
The new-comer interested me exceedingly. In my own mind I instantly set
him down as a _dilettante_ Englishman of good birth and education. He
looked the sort of being who would spend the greater part of his time in
foreign picture-galleries and cathedrals; who would carry his Ruskin
continually in his pocket, and who would probably end by writing a
volume of travels "_for private circulation only_." I should not have
been surprised had I been told that he dabbled a little in
water-colours, or to have heard that he regarded Ruskin as the greatest
writer, and Turner as the greatest painter, of our era. One thing at
least was self-evident, and that was the fact that he was a person of
considerable importance at this particular hotel. The Commissionaire
bowed before him as if he were a foreign potentate, while the _maitre
d'hotel_ received him with as much respect as if he had been an American
millionaire. When he in his turn disappeared into the building, I
beckoned the Commissionaire to my side.
"Who is that gentleman that has just entered the hotel?" I enquired.
"Is it possible that Monsieur does not know him?" the man replied, with
an expression of wonderment upon his face.
His answer more than ever convinced me that the other was a very great
man, at least a German princeling, perhaps an Austrian archduke.
"No," I said, "I do not know him. As a matter of fact, I do not remember
ever having seen him before. Who is he?"
"He is Monsieur Dickie Bucks," answered the Commissionaire, with as much
respect as if he were talking of the Czar of all the Russias.
My illusion vanished in a trice. "Dickie Bucks,--Dickie Bucks," I
repeated to myself. "Gracious heavens! what a name for such a man! And
pray who is Mr Dickie Bucks, for I assure you his fame has not yet
reached me?"
"Monsieur surely knows the great bookmaker," said the man, with an air
of incredulity. "He is the great bookmaker, the very greatest, perhaps,
in all England. Monsieur is not perhaps aware that there are races at
Auteuil to-morrow."
And so my _dilettante_ Englishman, my artist, my amateur author, was,
after all, nothing more than a famous betting man, who, had I spoken to
him of Ruskin, would probably have offered to lay me five to one against
him for the Lincolnshire Handicap, and would have informed me that there
was a general opinion in Sporting Circles that "Sesame and Lilies" was
not the stayer she was popularly supposed to be. Well, well, it only
proves how little our judgment is to be trusted, and how important it is
that we should not pin our faith upon externals.
I was still moralising in this fashion when a smart equipage drove up to
the steps, and the Commissionaire once more went forward to do his duty.
In the carriage a lady and gentleman were seated, and it was evident,
from the fact that a man,--who until that moment had been sitting near
the hotel door--hastened forward to greet them, that their arrival had
been expected by one person in the hotel at least. As the trio I am now
about to describe to you are destined to play an extraordinary part in
the story I have to tell, I may, perhaps, be excused if I bestow upon
them a little more attention than I should otherwise feel justified in
doing. Out of gallantry, if for no other reason, it is only proper that
I should commence with the lady.
That she was not English was quite certain. It was difficult to say,
however, to what European nation she belonged. Her face, from the moment
I first saw it, interested me strangely. And yet, while it was
beautiful, it was not that which altogether attracted me. I say
_altogether_, for the reason that it owed more, perhaps, to its general
expression than to the mere beauty of any individual feature. It was a
countenance, however, that once seen would not be likely to be
forgotten. The eyes were large and thoughtful, and of a darkness that
suggested Southern birth. The mouth was small, but exquisitely moulded,
the lips full, and the teeth, when they showed themselves, delightfully
white and even. Her hair was black and, what is not commonly the case
with hair of that colour, was soft and wavy. Though it would have been
difficult to find fault with her attire, a fastidious critic might have
observed that it was not of the very latest fashion. In London, it is
possible it might have passed muster, but in Paris it was just one
pin-prick behind the acme of the prevailing mode. As I looked at her I
wondered who she might be. The eyes, at a hazard, might have been set
down as Italian, the hair as Spanish, the nose had a suggestion of the
Greek, while the sum total spoke for Southern France, or, at any rate a
country bordering upon the Mediterranean.
As I have already said, her companions were two in number. The elder,
who had driven up with the lady I have been endeavouring to describe,
was a tall and handsome man of a little past middle age. He carried
himself with considerable erectness, might very well have once been a
soldier, and was possibly the lady's father. When he descended from the
carriage, I noticed that he was a little lame on his left leg, and that
he walked with a stick. Like his companion he was the possessor of dark
eyes, but with the difference that they looked out upon the world from
beneath white bushy eyebrows, a fact which, combined with his fierce
grey moustache, produced a most singular effect. He also was fashionably
attired, that is to say, he wore the regulation frock coat and silk hat,
but, as was the case with the lady, there was the suggestion of being
just a trifle behind the times.
As much could not be said of the second man, the individual who had been
seated near the door awaiting their coming. So far as outward
appearances were concerned he was the pink of fashion, and not only of
fashion, but of everything else. Tall, lithe, handsome, and
irreproachably turned out, from the curl of his dainty moustache to his
superbly shod feet, he appeared at first glance to be a typical
_boulevardier_. Yet when one looked more closely at him, he did not
strike one as being the sort of man who would idle his life away on the
pavements or in the clubs. I could very well imagine his face looking
out from beneath a helmet or _kepi_, under a _tarbush_ with Arabi, or a
_sombrero_ with Balmaceda--anywhere, in point of fact, where there was
vigorous life and action. He would certainly be a good shot, and, I
reflected, not very particular what he shot at, that is to say, whether
it was at man or beast, or both. For the moment, however, he was content
to hand his fair friend from her carriage with the most fastidious
politeness. They stood for a moment talking at the foot of the steps.
Then they ascended, and, entering the hotel, were lost to my sight;
whereupon I resettled myself in my chair with the reflection that they
were the most interesting people I should be likely to see that
afternoon, and then went on to wonder why De Belleville did not put in
an appearance. Then another carriage drove up, and a moment later he
stood before me.
"I must offer you ten thousand pardons, _cher ami_," said he, as we
shook hands. "I fear I have kept you waiting an unpardonable time.
Forgive me, I implore you; I am prostrated with sorrow."
The words were apologetic enough, but the face belied the assertion. A
more cheerful countenance could scarcely have been discovered in all
Paris. I had promised myself that I would give him a good rating for his
unpunctuality, but, as usual, I found that when he _did arrive_ it was
impossible for me to be angry with him. De Belleville, as I have already
remarked, boasts the most ingratiating manners I know; is an ideal
companion, for the reason that he is never put out or, apart from his
unpunctuality, puts others out. He is one of the best hosts in Europe,
and regards life as life regards him, that is to say, with invariable
cheerfulness and goodfellowship.
Having taken our places in the carriage, we set off for the
D'Etrebilles' residence in the Faubourg St Germain. Throughout the drive
my companion rattled on continually. He was well up, none better, in the
gossip of the day, and could use his knowledge to the wittiest effect.
Fortunately, the D'Etrebilles were at home, and appeared delighted to
see us. They were, moreover, kind enough to congratulate me upon my
acceptance of my new position in the English Cabinet.
"As you are strong, be merciful," said D'Etrebille, with a smile.
"Remember, the peace of Europe is in your hands, and at the end of your
term of office we shall require it of you again intact."
"A life-long study of European politics," said De Belleville, "has
convinced me that the peace of Europe is never so much assured as when
the various nations are struggling to be at each other's throats. This
is a point of which so many people, renowned for their political
perspicuity, seem to lose sight. Our very good friend and visitor, the
Czar, would have us disarm and turn our swords into ploughshares. By
this time, however, he must agree that, if only from a humanitarian
point of view, he has made a mistake. It may appear paradoxical, but
there is certainly nothing that promotes peace so much as war. I never
feel sure in my own mind that the next year will be a quiet one until I
am told that the military bloodhounds are about to be unchained. By the
way, what do you think of your country's prospects of war in South
Africa?"
"If I am to judge the situation by your own theory, I should say that
the possibilities are remote," I replied. "From my own stand-point,
however, I am by no means so optimistic. The look-out is undoubtedly a
grave one, and, while I have the greatest faith in our strength to
assert our own supremacy, I cannot help thinking that matters may in the
end prove somewhat different to our expectations."
Without wishing to pose as a prophet after the event, on looking back on
all that has happened, I cannot help being struck by the aptness of my
prophecy. This, however, is no place for such reflections. What I have
to do is to tell my story as quickly and concisely as possible, and,
above all, to avoid undue digressions.
Strange indeed is the way in which a face or a voice once seen or heard,
if only for a moment, has the power of seizing and taking possession of
the memory, when there is little or no reason that it should not be
forgotten. It was certainly so in my case on this particular afternoon,
for, during the time I was with the D'Etrebilles, during our drive in
the Bois afterwards, and in fact for the remainder of the evening, the
face of the woman I had seen entering my hotel a few hours before,
haunted me continually.
It went to the Opera with me, accompanied me to a supper at the
Amphitryon Club afterwards, and returned with me again to my hotel. The
memory of a pair of beautiful eyes, such as hers undoubtedly were, might
appear to many men a light burden to have placed upon them. By some
strange irony of Fate, however, it was otherwise with me. Instead of
being charmed by them, I dreaded them with a fear that was as
inexplicable as it was unpleasant. I laughed at myself for my folly,
ascribed my absurd condition to indigestion, and endeavoured by every
means in my power to drive the matter from my mind. I went to bed and
tried to sleep. I was not successful, however. When I closed my eyes,
the eyes of the woman were still there, gazing at me with a
steadfastness that produced a sensation almost describable as hypnotic.
I tried to picture other scenes, recalled the events of the day--De
Belleville's prophecies for the future--his witty remarks on Paris
topics--but without success. At last, unable to bear it any longer, I
rose from my bed, turned on the electric light, and, having donned a
dressing-gown, began to pace the room. I had drunk scarcely any wine
that evening, so that my condition could not be ascribed to that source.
Nevertheless, an ill defined, yet none the less real, fear was steadily
taking possession of me. I could not remember ever having been affected
in this way before. Could it be that I had not the same power over my
intellect as of yore? In other words, was this the beginning of some
brain trouble that would eventually land me in a lunatic asylum? I knew
in my inmost heart that such was not the case. Yet how to account for
the eyes that haunted me so peculiarly, I could not say. Until I had
seen the woman's face that afternoon, I had been as rational and evenly
balanced a man as could have been discovered in the French capital. No!
it was all nonsense! My internal economy was a little out of gear, my
nerves and brain were indirectly affected, and this illusion was the
result. In that case the eyes, haunting as they were, would disappear
before the magic wand of Calomel.
Being too wide awake to return to bed, I seated myself in a chair and
took up a book on the Eastern Question which I had been reading during
the day, and in which I was greatly interested. The fact that I did not
entertain the same views with regard to the Russo-Chinese-Japanese
_entente_ as the author only added to my enjoyment of the work. I
remembered that when I had taken it up in the morning I had found it
difficult to lay it aside again; now, however, though I glued my eyes to
the pages by sheer will pressure, I was scarcely conscious of the
printed words before me. As I read, or rather tried to read, it appeared
to me that somebody was standing in the room, a few paces from my chair,
intently regarding me. More than once I involuntarily looked up, only to
find, as it is needless to state, that there was no one there. At last I
put down the book in despair, went to the window and, leaning my arms
upon the sill, looked out. Sleeping Paris lay before and around me,
scarcely a sound was to be heard; once the roll of distant
carriage-wheels, from the Rue de Rivoli, came up to me, then the
irregular striking of the clocks in the neighbourhood announcing the
hour of three.
As I stood at the window, I thought of the crisis which England was
approaching. Many years had elapsed since she had been involved in a
great war. In these days epoch succeeds epoch with incredible rapidity,
and public opinion has the knack of changing with each one. The
stolidity, the self-reserve, the faculty of being able to take the hard
knocks and yet continue the fight, that had characterised us at the time
of Waterloo and the Crimea, did that still exist? Then again, were we as
fully prepared as we might be? Were our Generals as competent as of
yore, or had the long spell of peace wrought a change in them also? They
were weighty questions, and a man might very well have been pardoned had
he asked them of himself with an anxious heart. Our "splendid isolation"
had been the jeer and taunt of the world. Would that very isolation
prove our downfall, if by any evil chance matters took a wrong turn with
us? For a moment I could see England as she would be were her armies to
be defeated in the present struggle. The croaking prophecies of her
enemies would have proved too true, and she would be at the mercy of the
yelping mob that had once only dared to bark and snap at her from a
distance. "O God! grant that such a thing may never come to pass," I
muttered, and, as the prayer escaped my lips, there shaped themselves in
the darkness in front of me, the eyes that had haunted me all the
afternoon and evening. As I gazed into their soulless depths, a
sensation of icy coldness passed over me.
"This will never do," I said to myself. "If I go on like this I shall
have to see a doctor; and yet how ridiculous it is. Why that woman's
eyes should haunt me so I cannot understand. In all probability I shall
never see her again, and if I do, it will only be to discover that she
is very beautiful, but in no respect different to other people."
But while I endeavoured to convince myself that it was all so absurd, I
had the best of reasons for knowing that it was not so silly as I was
anxious to suppose. At any rate, I did not go to bed again, and when,
some hours later, my servant came to call me, he found me seated at my
table, busily engaged writing letters. Years seemed to have elapsed
since I had bade him good-night.
The last day of my stay in Paris had dawned, and, after my experience of
the night, I began to think that I was not altogether sorry for it. A
cold tub, however, somewhat revived me, and when I left my room I was,
to all intents and purposes, myself once more.
It is one of those little idiosyncrasies in my character which afford my
friends such an excellent opportunity for making jokes at my expense,
that when I go to Rome, Paris, Berlin, St Petersburg, or any other city
I may be in the habit of visiting, that I invariably stay at the same
hotel and insist on being given the same bedroom I have occupied on
previous occasions. For some reason a strange room is most obnoxious to
me. In Paris, worthy Monsieur Frezmony is good enough to let me have a
suite of apartments at the end of a long corridor on the first floor.
They boast an excellent view from the windows, of the gardens of the
Tuileries, and the whole suite is, above all, easy of access at any hour
of the day or night. On this particular occasion, having dressed, I left
my room and passed along the corridor in order to descend to the hall
below. I was only a few paces from the head of the stairs when a door
directly opposite opened, and a lady emerged and descended the stairs in
front of me. She was dressed for going out, but, for the reason that my
letters had just been handed to me and I was idly glancing at the
envelopes, beyond noticing this fact, I bestowed but little more
attention on her. She had reached the first landing, and I was some few
steps behind her, when the chink of something falling caught my ears.
Surely enough when I, in my turn, reached the landing I discovered a
small bracelet lying upon the carpet. I immediately picked it up with
the intention of returning it. But the lady was too quick for me and had
reached the courtyard before I could set foot in the hall. A carriage
was awaiting her coming at the foot of the steps, and she had already
taken her place in it when I approached her. For the reason that she was
putting up her parasol, it was impossible for me to see her face, but
when she lifted it on hearing my voice, I discovered, to my amazement,
that she was none other than the lady whose arrival I had witnessed on
the previous afternoon, and whose eyes had had such a strange effect
upon me ever since.
"Permit me to ask if this is your property, madam?" I began, holding out
the bracelet as I spoke. "I had the good fortune to discover it on the
stairs just after you passed."
"Ah, yes, it is mine," she answered in excellent French, and in a voice
that was low and musical. "I would not have lost it for anything. It was
careless of me to have dropped it. I thank you most heartily."
She bowed, and at a signal from the Commissionaire, the coachman started
his horses, and a moment later the carriage had left the courtyard.
For some moments after it had passed out of sight I stood looking in the
direction it had taken. Then turning to the Commissionaire who stood
before me, I enquired if it were in his power to tell me the name of the
lady to whom I had rendered so small a service.
"She is Madame la Comtesse de Venetza," the man replied.
"The Countess de Venetza?" said I to myself, "that tells me nothing. It
sounds Italian. At the same time it might be almost anything else."
Circumstances forbade me that I should question the man further, though
the temptation was sufficiently great. Nothing remained, therefore, but
to withdraw and to derive what consolation I could from the fact that I
had spoken to her and knew her name.
"The Countess de Venetza," I repeated, as I made my way up the steps
once more. The name had suddenly come to have a strange fascination for
me. I found myself repeating it again and again, each time deriving a
new sensation from it.
Having procured a morning paper, I returned to the verandah, seated
myself in the place I had occupied on the previous afternoon, when I
had first seen the Countess, and turned my attention to the English
news. If the information set forth there were to be believed, there
could be no sort of doubt that we were distinctly nearer the trouble
which had been brewing for so long. The wildest rumours were afloat, and
the versions printed in the Parisian papers were not of a nature
calculated to allay my fears. If what they said were correct there could
be no doubt that England was standing face to face with one of the
greatest dangers that had threatened her in her life as a nation. And
yet it was impossible to believe that the Might, Majesty, Dominion, and
power of Great Britain could be successfully defied by a rabble horde
such as we knew the Boers to be. But had we not the remembrance of '81
continually with us to remind us that on another lamentable occasion we
had been too sanguine? This time, I told myself, it was vitally
necessary that it should be all going forward and no drawing back. If we
set our hands to the plough, it must be with a rigorous determination
not to remove them until the task we had set ourselves should be
accomplished.
At last I threw down my paper in disgust. An overwhelming desire to
thrash every journalistic cur who yelped at the heels of the British
Lion was fast taking possession of me. For the first time since I had
known her, Paris was positively distasteful to me.
"Perhaps monsieur will pardon me if I ask permission to glance at the
paper he has just thrown down," said a polite voice at my elbow. "I have
tried to obtain one at the hotel, but without success."
Turning, I saw beside me the taller of the two men I had seen with the
Countess de Venetza on the preceding afternoon--the man with the bushy
eyebrows who had driven up with her in the carriage, and who was lame.
"Take it by all means," I replied, handing it to him as I spoke. "I
doubt, however, if you will find anything in it but a series of insults
to England and her soldiers. That seems to be the _metier_ of the
Parisian Press just now."
"It is a thousand pities," the stranger replied, slowly and solemnly;
"and the more to be regretted for the reason that it does not voice the
public sentiment."
I had no desire to be drawn into a political controversy with a man who,
for all I knew to the contrary, might be an anarchist, a police spy, or
an equally undesirable acquaintance. I accordingly allowed him to seat
himself at some little distance from me and to peruse his paper in
peace. He was still reading it when a carriage drove up, bringing the
Countess de Venetza back to the hotel. Seeing her friend she approached
him, whereupon he rose to greet her, still retaining the newspaper in
his hand.
A few moments later another carriage drove up, and, when it came to a
standstill, the well-dressed individual who had waited in the verandah
on the previous afternoon, alighted. That he was much agitated could be
seen at first glance. I noticed also that he was doing his best to
conceal the fact. As he approached his friends, he raised his hat with
ceremonious politeness. Then he said something in an undertone which
would have been inaudible more than a few paces away. The effect upon
his comrades was electrical. The man gave a start of astonishment and
horror, while the woman turned deathly pale, and for a moment looked as
if she were about to faint. With an effort, however, she recovered her
self-possession, and as she did so I noticed out of the corner of my eye
(for the life of me I could not help watching them), that the man who
had brought this disconcerting intelligence turned quickly round as if
to satisfy himself that her agitation had not been noticed by any one
near at hand. Next moment they were walking slowly towards the main
entrance, the woman's hands clenching and unclenching at every step. It
was no business of mine, of course, but I felt as certain that the drama
I had seen acted in front of me was of vital importance to the trio, but
more especially so far as the woman was concerned. Had I known what the
communication was, it is just possible I might have been able to avert
what promised to be a great National calamity, and one which even now I
can scarcely contemplate without a shudder.
How I came to know these things and how innocently I walked into the
trap that had been so artfully laid for me, you shall hear. Believe me,
if I say, without conceit, that the story is an exceedingly interesting
one.