There is in the Anglo-Saxon temperament an almost feverish desire to
break away from any condition of strain, a sort of shamefaced impulse to
discard emotionalism. The strange hush which had lent a queer sensation
of unreality to all that was passing in the great building was without
any warning brought to an end. Whispers swelled into speech, and speech
into almost a roar of voices. Then the music struck up, although at
first there were few who cared to dance. There were many who, like
Maggie and her companions, silently left their places and hurried
homewards.
In the limousine scarcely a word was spoken. Maggie leaned back in her
seat, her face dazed and expressionless. Opposite to her, Nigel sat with
set, grim face, looking with fixed stare out of the window at the
deserted streets. Of the three, Naida seemed more on the point of giving
way to emotion. They had passed Hyde Park Corner, however, before a word
was spoken. Then it was she who broke the silence.
"Where do we go to first?" she demanded.
"To the Milan Court," Nigel replied.
"You are taking me home first, then?"
"Yes!"
She was silent for a moment. Then she leaned forward and touched the
window.
"Pull that down, please," she directed. "I am stifling."
He obeyed, and the rush of cold, wet air had a curiously quietening
effect upon the nerves of all of them. Raindrops hung from the leaves of
the lime trees and still glittered upon the windowpane. On the way
towards the river, the masses of cloud were tinged with purple, and
faintly burning stars shone out of unexpectedly clear patches of sky.
The night of storm was over, but the wind, dying away before the dawn,
seemed to bring with it all the sweetness of the cleansed places, to be
redolent even of the budding trees and shrubs,--the lilac bushes,
drooping with their weight of moisture, and the pink and white chestnut
blossoms, dashed to pieces by the rain but yielding up their lives with
sweetness. The streets, in that single hour between the hurrying
homewards of the belated reveller and the stolid tramp of the early
worker, were curiously empty and seemed to gain in their loneliness a
new dignity. Trafalgar Square, with the National Gallery in the
background, became almost classical; Whitehall the passageway for
heroes.
"What does it all mean?" Naida asked, almost pathetically.
It was Maggie who answered. Her tone was lifeless, but her manner
almost composed.
"It means that the attempt to assassinate Prince Shan has failed," she
said. "Prince Shan told me himself that he had no intention of going to
the ball. He kept his word. The man who was murdered was one of his
suite."
"But how do you know this?" Naida persisted.
"You heard what I told you in the box," was the quiet reply. "I shall
explain--as much as I can explain--to Nigel when we get home. He can
tell you everything later on to-day at lunch-time, if you like."
"It has been one of the strangest nights I ever remember," Naida
declared, after a brief pause. "Oscar Immelan, who was dining with us,
arrived half an hour late. I have never seen him in such a condition
before. He had the air of a broken man."
"Have you any idea of what had happened?" Nigel asked.
"Only this," Naida replied. "We saw Prince Shan last night. He spent
several hours with us. I may be wrong, but I came to the conclusion then
that he had at any rate modified his views about the whole situation
since his arrival in England."
Again there was a brief silence. The minds of all three of them were
busy with the same thought. Prince Shan's word had been spoken and
Immelan's hopes dashed to the ground,--and within a few hours, this
murder! They nursed the thought, but no one put it into words.
A sleepy-eyed porter opened the door of the car outside the Milan Court.
Naida gathered herself together with a little shiver.
"I think that after to-night," she said quietly, "there need be no
secrets between any of us."
Nigel held her hand in his. Their eyes met, and both of them were
conscious, in that moment, of closer personal relations, of the passing
of a certain sense of strain. She even smiled as she turned away.
"To-morrow," she concluded, "there must be a great exchange of
confidences. I am lunching at Belgrave Square, if Maggie has not
forgotten, and I shall tell you then what I have written to Paul
Matinsky. I showed it to Prince Shan yesterday. Good night!"
She patted Maggie's hand affectionately and flitted away. The revolving
doors closed behind her, and the car swung out once more into the
Strand, glided down the Mall, past Buckingham Palace, and stopped at
last before the great, lifeless house in Belgrave Square. Nigel opened
the front door with a latchkey and turned on the light.
"You won't mind sparing me a few minutes?" he begged.
"I suppose not," she answered, shivering.
He led the way to the study. She threw off her cloak and sank into the
depths of one of the big easy-chairs. She looked very frail and rather
pathetic as she leaned her head against the chair back. Now that the
excitement was over, the strain of the emotion she had experienced
showed in the violet shadows under her eyes and in the droop of her
shoulders.
"I am tired," she said plaintively.
Nigel came over and sat on the arm of her chair.
"Tell me what happened to-night, Maggie."
"The little Chinese girl sent for me to go to her box," she explained.
"She told me where in Prince Shan's house were hidden the papers which
revealed the understanding between Immelan and himself. She gave me a
key of the house and a key of the cabinet. We could both see the man
whom I believed to be Prince Shan seated in his box. She assured me that
he would be there for the next two hours. I went to the house in Curzon
Street."
"Well?"
His monosyllable was sharp and incisive. His face was grey and anxious.
She herself remained lifeless. All that there was of emotion between
them seemed to have become vested in his searching eyes.
"I found what I believe to have been the papers. They were in the
cabinet, just where she had told me. Then I turned around and found
Prince Shan watching me. He had been there all the time."
"Go on, please."
"At first he said little, but I knew that he was very angry. I have
never felt so ashamed in my life."
"You must tell me the rest, please."
She stirred uneasily in her chair.
"It is very difficult," she confessed frankly.
"Remember," he persisted, "that in a way, Maggie, I am your guardian. I
am responsible, too, for anything which may happen to you whilst you are
engaged in work for the good of our cause. You seem to have walked into
a trap. Did he threaten you, or what?"
"There was nothing definite," she answered, "and yet--he made me
understand."
"Made you understand what?"
"His wishes," she replied, looking up coolly. "He offered me the
papers."
"That damned Chinaman!"
There was a cold light in her eyes which Nigel had met with before and
dreaded.
"You forget yourself, Nigel," she said. "Prince Shan is a great
nobleman."
"The rest? Tell me the rest," he demanded.
"I am here," she reminded him.
"And the papers?"
"I came away without them."
He turned, and, walking to the window, threw it open. The dawn had
become almost silvery, and the leaves of the overhanging trees were
rustling in the faintest of breezes. Presently he came back.
"What exactly are your feelings for this man, Maggie?" he asked.
For the first time he was struck with a certain pathos in her immobile
face. She looked up at him, and there was a gleam almost of fear in her
eyes.
"I don't know, Nigel," she confessed.
He moved restlessly about the room, seemed to notice for the first time
the whisky and soda set out upon the sideboard and the open box of
cigarettes. He helped himself and came back.
"Did you read the papers?" he asked.
She shook her head.
"I had no chance."
"You don't know for certain what they were about?"
"I think I do," she replied. "I believe they contained the text of the
agreement between Immelan and Prince Shan. I believe they would have
shown us exactly what we have to fear."
He stood there for a moment thoughtfully.
"To-night," he said, "I find it difficult to concentrate upon these
things. Naida was extraordinarily hopeful. She has seen Prince Shan, and
between them I believe that they have decided to let Oscar Immelan's
scheme alone. Karschoff, too, has heard rumours. He is of the same
opinion. Somehow or other, though, I seem to have lost my sense of
perspective. A greater fear has come into my heart, Maggie."
She rose to her feet and laid her hands upon his shoulders.
"Nigel," she whispered, "I cannot answer you. I cannot say what you
would like me to say, although, on the other hand, there is no surety of
what you seem to fear. I am going to bed. I am very tired."
A feeble shaft of sunlight stole into the room, flickered and passed
away, then suddenly reappeared. Nigel turned and opened the door, and
she passed out, curiously silent and absorbed. He looked after her,
perplexed and worried. Suddenly a strangely commonplace, yet--in the
silence of the house and the great hall--an almost dramatic sound
startled him. The front doorbell rang sharply. After a moment's
hesitation, he hurried to it himself. Karschoff stood upon the steps,
still in his evening clothes, his face a little drawn and haggard in the
bright light.
"I could not resist coming in, Nigel," he said. "I saw the light in the
study from outside. Is there any definite news?"
Nigel drew him inside.
"There are indications," he replied cautiously, "that the present danger
is passing."
Karschoff nodded.
"I gathered so from Naida," he admitted. "Prince Shan, though, is the
pivot upon which the whole thing turns. You have heard nothing final
from him?"
"Nothing! Tell me, was any one arrested at the Albert Hall?"
"No one. The murdered man, as I suppose you have heard, was Sen Lu, one
of the Prince's secretaries."
"The whole thing seems strange," Nigel remarked. "Do you suppose Prince
Shan knew that an attempt upon his life was likely to-night?"
Karschoff shook his head doubtfully.
"It is difficult to say. These Orientals contrive to surround themselves
with such an atmosphere of mystery. But from what I know of Prince
Shan," he went on, "I do not think that he is one to shirk danger--even
from the assassin's dagger."
A milk cart drew up with a clatter outside. There was the sound of the
area gate being opened. Karschoff put on his hat. He looked Nigel in the
face.
"Maggie," he began--
Nigel nodded understandingly as he threw open the front door.
"I'll tell you about it to-morrow," he promised, "or rather later on
to-day. She's a little overwrought. Otherwise--there's nothing."
Karschoff turned away with a sigh of relief.
"I am glad," he said. "Prince Shan is the soul of honour according to
his own standard, but these Orientals--one never knows. I am glad,
Nigel."