Gemma stood immovable; a deathly pallor overspread her cheeks, her eyes
fixed themselves in terror upon this tall, well-dressed man, who was her
bitterest enemy. With one trembling hand she had clutched the revolving
book-stand for support; the other held the envelope containing the
secret document. She dared not to breathe; amazement and alarm held her
dumb.
"And by what right, pray, do you enter my room?" the Ambassador
inquired, after a few seconds of silence, complete and painful. His
face was blanched in anger; in his dark eye was a keen glance of
suspicion and hatred.
She laughed--that strange hollow laugh which her lover knew so well.
"I came to call on you," she answered. The door was closed, and they
were alone together.
"And you entered my room to pry into my private papers?" he said, his
blood rising. "What's that you have in your hand?"
She set her lips firmly. She was no longer the sweet, almost childlike
girl, but a hard-faced, desperate woman.
"A paper I want," she boldly answered, at the same moment doubling the
envelope in half, and crushing it in her palm.
"Then you have at last become so bold that you actually have the
audacity to enter one's house and steal whatever you think proper?" he
cried, in a towering passion. "Fortunately, I've returned in time to
frustrate your latest bit of infernal ingenuity."
"My action is but fair, now that we are enemies," she answered with
feigned indignation. "If you could, you'd ruin me; therefore I'm
entirely at liberty to return the same compliment."
"I thought you were already ruined," the Count exclaimed. "Your
reputation, at any rate, cannot be rendered blacker than it is."
"That's the truth, no doubt." She laughed with an air of gaiety. "But
one who makes secret diplomacy a profession, must care nothing for the
good will of the world outside the diplomatic circle."
"Those who make love their profession, should be constant, if they would
achieve success," he retorted bitterly.
At that moment a recollection flashed across her mind. It had slipped
her memory until that instant. This man had on one occasion, in Rome,
two years ago, spoken tenderly to her, and she had scorned his
attentions. With a woman's quick perception, she now saw that the fact
that she had rejected him still rankled within his mind. Yet she was
still young enough to be his daughter, and had always held him in
dislike. He was a cold, scheming diplomatist, who would stake his very
soul in order to get the better of his adversaries.
"Once you spoke of love to me," she said, drawing herself up proudly.
"Now you ruthlessly cast my past into my face. Even if I have acted as
a diplomatic agent, you know well enough that all these scandalous
stories about me are foul libels set about by Montelupo and yourself for
political purposes."
"Enough!" he cried, incensed at her words. "We need not discuss that
now. I demand to know why I find you prying here, in my room?"
She smiled. "I came to see Carmenilla," she answered.
"And she invited you to lunch?--you whom I have forbidden her to know!"
he exclaimed, exasperated. "A woman of your stamp is no companion for
my daughter."
"Yet you once told me that you loved me, and I might, if I had felt so
inclined, have now been the Countess Castellani, and done the honours of
this Embassy. Ah, my dear Conte," she went on, "you are a noted
diplomatist, and no doubt as wary and cunning as most of your confreres.
But you forget that every woman is by birth a diplomatist, and that in
politics I have had a wide and, perhaps, unique experience."
"You possess the ingenuity and daring of the very devil himself," he
blurted forth. "Show me that paper."
"No," she answered firmly. "It is in my possession--and I keep it."
"You've stolen it!" he cried, advancing towards her determinedly. "Give
it to me this instant."
"I shall not."
From where he stood his eyes wandered to the table, and he noticed that
one of the drawers stood open. Within her hand, he saw the envelope was
a blue one, secured by seals. In an instant he dashed towards the
drawer, rummaged its contents, and finding the document missing, cried--
"Your infernal impertinence is really astounding. You enter my house,
commit a theft, and when charged with it refuse to give up the stolen
property. If you don't return it to me at once, I'll call in the
police, and have you arrested."
"Really?" she exclaimed with a sarcastic laugh which caused his cheeks
to become flushed by anger. "I think after so many years of diplomacy,
you ought to be aware that such a course is impossible. If you were a
young attache just fresh from Rome, my dear Count, you might be pardoned
for not knowing that here, in this Embassy, I am on Italian soil, and,
being an Italian subject, the London police are unable to arrest me."
"But they could outside--in the Square."
"Certainly. But if I choose to remain here--what then?"
"Remain here! You speak like an imbecile. Come, give me back that
envelope."
"Never!" she replied, still holding it firmly in her small hand, and
regarding him in defiance.
Castellani knew well the contents of that envelope, and was aware that
Gemma must have been employed by those implicated by the proofs it
contained. For months he had held this in his possession as a weapon to
use as a last resource, and the manner in which she had entered his room
and filched it from the drawer made it plain to him that those to whom
he was now opposed were prepared to go any length to gain their own
ends. But he likewise knew Gemma well, and was aware that as a secret
agent of the Ministry she was without equal--fearless, resourceful, and
versed in every art of deception. He had met her often in society in
Rome and Florence two years ago, been struck by her marvellous beauty as
others had been, and had offered her marriage. In a word, he had made a
fool of himself.
The revelations contained in that envelope she held were sufficient to
cause the present Government to be hounded from its office and fat
emoluments, and possibly force a criminal prosecution against certain
ministers for misappropriating the public funds, therefore he was
determined to regain it at all hazards and use it for his own
advancement. He had, only a month ago, been promised by his party the
Ministry of Foreign Affairs in the next Government, and this single
document would place him in high office in Rome.
"If you defy me," he said after a pause, his menacing gaze fixed upon
that of the pretty, fragile woman, "I must be ungallant enough to wrench
it from you."
"I scarcely think you'll do that," she answered. "If you did, we could
never come to terms."
"Come to terms?" he echoed resentfully. "I don't understand. I've no
intention of coming to any arrangement with you."
He was standing before her in the centre of the room, but she watched
his every movement narrowly. She saw that he was desperate, and
intended to regain possession of the envelope.
"Once again I ask you to give me that paper you have stolen," he said in
a voice that quivered with rage.
"I have already replied, Count Castellani," she responded, "and I wish
you good-afternoon." Then with her skirts rustling, she bowed and swept
past him towards the door.
"No!" he cried, springing forward and arresting her progress in a moment
of fury. "You shall not escape like that. Give me the paper, or--or by
Heaven, I'll--"
"Well?" she cried, turning upon him with flashing eyes. "What will you
do?"
He drew back abashed.
"I apologise, Contessa," he said quickly. "But give me back that paper.
Remember that you've committed a barefaced, unpardonable theft."
"And you, as Ambassador of Italy, utter barefaced lies every day," she
retorted.
"Diplomacy is the art of lying artistically," he answered. "It is
impossible to achieve success in diplomacy without resorting to
realistic perversions of the truth. Every diplomatist must be a born
liar--but he need not be a thief."
"Some are," she retorted. "You are one."
His face went purple in anger.
"I--a thief?" he blurted forth. "Have you taken leave of your senses,
woman?"
"Not entirely. I believe I have some remaining," she replied. "I again
repeat that you, the Count Castellani, His Majesty's Ambassador, are a
mean, despicable thief, whom the Tribunal at Rome would sentence to
seven years' imprisonment if they became acquainted with the facts."
"Enough! Not another word, woman!" he cried in a towering passion.
Then, grasping her arms, he, after a short desperate struggle, succeeded
in wrenching from her the envelope for which she had risked so much.
"Now you may go," he said, as she stood flushed, panting, and breathless
before him, her hair a trifle disarranged, the lace upon one of her
cuffs torn and hanging. "If you don't leave at once, I'll ring and have
you turned out."
"I shall go when you give me back that paper," she answered, facing him.
"You'll never have it."
"Then, listen," she went on calmly, taking a few hasty steps towards
where he was standing astride before the fire. "The worth of that
document is to you considerable, I know, but there are others to whom
its value is even greater. Just now I charged you with theft, and you
feigned to have forgotten. Well, I will recall a fact or two to your
memory. A year ago, at Como, there was an inquiry into certain scandals
connected with the Bank of Naples." Then she paused. The Ambassador's
face had instantly blanched. "Ah!" she went on, "I see that event has
not quite slipped your memory. Well, as the result of that inquiry, in
which certain statesmen were implicated, two well-known public men
received sentences of ten years' imprisonment, and others ranging from
two to five years. But, at that inquiry, it was shown that a certain
cheque was missing, and it was further proved that this cheque had been
drawn for half a million francs. To whom that sum passed remained a
mystery."
"Well?" His Excellency gasped, still pale, glaring at her as if she
were some object supernatural. All his self-possession had left him.
"The fact is a mystery no longer."
"Why?"
"Because the identical cheque has been recovered and bears your
endorsement," she answered, in a slow, distinct voice.
"Who has recovered it?" he demanded quickly. "Who has it?"
She smiled triumphantly. This elegant man who but a moment ago had
talked boldly, as became the Ambassador of Italy, was now cringing
before her seeking information. His cool demeanour had altogether
forsaken him.
"I have that cheque," she said, her clear, unwavering eyes fixed upon
his.
In an instant Castellani perceived that he was in the power of this
pretty woman he had denounced and condemned. He knew well, too, that
she was not the gay, abandoned woman that La Funaro was popularly
supposed to be.
"Reflect for a single moment," she continued ruthlessly. "What would be
the result of the production of that missing draft about which so much
has been written in the newspapers?"
The Ambassador bit his lip. Never in the whole course of his long and
varied diplomatic career had he been so ingeniously checkmated by a
woman. The estimate he had formed of her long ago was entirely correct.
She possessed really remarkable talents.
"The result would certainly be rather annoying," he observed, making a
sorry attempt to smile.
"It would throw a very fierce light upon the ways and means of the party
of thieves and adventurers who are endeavouring to grab Italy and grow
fat upon its Treasury," she exclaimed. "The situation at Rome has, I
understand, changed considerably within the past week or so. The public
mind is feeling the influence of unfavourable winds. Well, it is
possible before long that this missing cheque will have to be produced."
"Which will mean my ruin!" he blurted forth. "You know that well. If
that cheque ever gets into the hands of the present Government, I shall
be recalled and tried in a criminal court as a common thief."
"That's exactly what I said not long ago. You then declared that you
had never touched a soldo of other persons' money," she observed,
standing with her hand resting upon the writing-table, a slim, graceful
figure in her dark stuff dress.
"No, Gemma, no!" he exclaimed earnestly. "You can't mean to expose
this. I--I don't believe you have the cheque, after all. How did you
learn my secret?"
"It is my duty to become acquainted with the secrets of those in
opposition to the Government," she answered simply. "Remember what you
have said of me since we have been together in this room. Of a woman of
my evil reputation, what can you expect but exposure?"
"You have resolved upon a vendetta?" he cried in a tone of genuine
alarm.
"I have resolved to treat you fairly," she replied, so calm that not a
muscle of her face moved. "In return for that envelope and its contents
which you've snatched from me, I will give you back your cheque."
"When?" he cried eagerly.
"Now--at this moment."
"You have it here?"
"Yes," she replied. "Give me that envelope at once, and let us end this
conversation. It is painful tome to speak like this to one who once
offered to make me his wife."
His Excellency frowned, meditating deeply. He saw that La Funaro had
entrapped him so cleverly that there was no loophole for escape. She
was remorseless and unrelenting as far as political affairs went, and he
knew that if he had decided to hand the draft to the authorities, the
result must prove utterly disastrous. Not only would he be ruined, but
his party who sought office would be held up to public opprobrium and
hopelessly wrecked.
"That paper is a purely private one," he said. "I cannot allow you to
take it, Gemma."
"You prefer exposure, then?" she inquired, slightly inclining her head.
"The Ministry of Justice are exceedingly anxious to recover that cheque,
I assure you. Probably they will compel you to disgorge the substantial
sum you received from the national funds when you endorsed the draft."
He paused again, his eyes fixed upon the carpet.
"I'm not anxious for any revelations," he answered in a sudden tone of
confidence. "But your price is too high. The document which you so
nearly secured is to me worth double that which you offer."
"Very well," she said, shrugging her shoulders impatiently. "If that's
your decision, I am content." He was silent. His head was bent upon
his breast, h's arms were folded.
"Let me see this cheque of yours," he exclaimed at last in a dry,
dubious tone.
She unbuttoned the breast of her dress, tore away the switches of the
lining, and took out a small envelope, from which she drew a large,
green-coloured draft. Then, turning it over, she exhibited his own
angular signature upon its back. Afterwards, she replaced it in its
envelope, and then said--
"Shall we make the exchange? Or are you still prepared to face
exposure? It will not be pleasant for poor Carmenilla if her father is
sent to prison for embezzlement."
"Yes, for Carmenilla?" the Ambassador gasped next instant. "For
Carmenilla's sake I will deal with you, and make the exchange. You are
a truly wonderful woman, Gemma; the most shrewd, the most cunning,
and"--he paused--"and the most beautiful in all the world."
"Your compliments are best unuttered, my dear Count," she replied, the
muscles of her face unrelaxed. "Remember, like yourself, I'm a
diplomatist, and it is scarcely necessary for us to bestow praises upon
each other--is it? Give me the envelope."
Slowly he walked over to the table and took the document from the drawer
wherein he had placed it. For a moment he hesitated with it still in
his hand. By giving it to her he was throwing down his arms; he was
relinquishing the only weapon he held against his enemies in Rome.
But in her white hand he saw the piece of green incriminating paper
which was such incontestable proof of his roguery and dishonesty in the
past. The sight of it caused him serious misgivings. Once that were
destroyed he need not fear any other proof that could be brought against
him. He had a reputation for probity, and at all hazards must retain
it. This last reflection decided him.
He crossed to where Gemma stood, and handing her the sealed envelope
with the blue cross upon it, received the cancelled cheque in exchange.
His brow was heavy, and he sighed as, at the window, he examined it to
reassure himself there was no mistake. Then, returning to the fire, he
lit it at one corner, and in silence held it between his fingers until
the flames had consumed it, leaving only a small piece of curling
crackling tinder.