“Are you really going?”
“Really.” Miss Byrd nodded. “Yes! I’m off tonight. My stay in Berlin
has been delightful, largely because you have made it so, Mr. Rutile,
but I hate to go. But business is business; and this stone doesn’t
gather any moss unless she keeps on rolling. So--” she paused.
She was pale and her delicate features seemed a trifle pinched; her
lips had not their usual redness. But her tones were brisk and her
manner gay.
Rutile studied her consideringly. His naturally impulsive nature had
been modified by training and was held in bond by his will.
“I too have found your stay delightful,” he said slowly. “I only wish
I could have made it sufficiently pleasant to you to cause you to stay
longer in spite of the loss of moss. When shall we meet again?”
Miss Byrd looked him frankly in the eyes; it suddenly occurred to
Rutile that he had not realized their depth and color. “Who knows?”
she questioned, lightly. “If I lose my job, I may have to go back to
Washington; and all diplomats have to go there sooner or later to look
after their jobs. So we may meet again in Washington--if it is written
that we are to meet at all.”
Rutile nodded. “If it isn’t, it shall be,” he declared. “And I don’t
think it will be in Washington, either; I’ve got a hunch that we are
to--well, see exciting times together. Didn’t you ever feel like that
about anybody?”
“Often!” Miss Byrd giggled. “I called this morning on the high
well-geborn field marshal Sweinpeltz and I felt that way the minute I
saw him. And it came true within ten seconds. My! You should have heard
him swear.”
“Swear?”
“Well, ‘Mein Gott’ is swearing, isn’t it? He said that three times the
first question I asked him. Seriously, though, Mr. Rutile, I hope I
shall see you again. Just now, I’m bound for Brazil, as you know. Any
little commission I can execute for you in Buenos Ayres or Pernambuco
or anywhere?”
Rutile moved a little restlessly in his chair. His eyes avoided those
of the girl. “Well, yes!” he said. “There is something, but I hardly
know how to ask you. It is a little--awkward.”
Miss Byrd shrugged her shoulders. “Why should it be?” she asked, “You
have thought it? If you have thought it of me, it must be perfectly
proper. Therefore, put it into words just as you thought it? I permit
you.”
“Thank you! I’ll take you at your word.”
Rutile considered for a moment. Clearly he was marshalling his ideas.
Miss Byrd’s newspaper training, brief as it had been, had taught her
the advisability of letting her victims have all the rope they wanted.
Rutile was not a victim, but the principle was the same. So she waited
in silence.
“There are two young Brazilians here,” he began at last, “Who came to
Berlin some weeks ago on a peculiar errand. They are the Count of Ouro
Preto and his sister. Perhaps you know of them?”
Miss Byrd nodded. “Certainly I do. I wrote them up in my best style
a week ago. Haughty grand duke. Fascinating ballet girl. Beautiful
daughter. Dashing piratical adventurer. Mad love. Flight. Adventurer
becomes governor and accumulates enormous wealth. Children seek
rehabilitation of ballet girl. Prove that she was descended from
Noah’s ark. Haughty Wilhelm refuses even to see ’em. America demands in
thunder tones why he doesn’t grant her panatella children their rights.
Hip! Hip! Hurrah! Anything the matter with that?”
“Nothing!” Rutile shrugged his shoulders slightly, but laughed
admiringly as he did so. “Nothing much, that is, only the essential
detail that Wilhelm has seen them and seems to have promised to give
them what they ask.”
“Really?” Miss Byrd’s eyes danced. “Really? That’s fine! May I use it?
My story isn’t printed yet and I can change it by cable.”
“You may say he has seen them and is considering the matter if you
like, but I wouldn’t say outright that he has granted their request. I
don’t know that he has. If he has it was probably on conditions. What I
want to know is what those conditions were.”
The girl’s expression changed instantly. She drew her breath quickly.
Rutile’s tones hinted a story, and a “story” had come to be the great
thing in her life as it is in every newspaper writer’s.
“_You_ want to know?” she echoed. “Officially or not officially? As
United States representative or as an individual?”
“Both! Brazil has a large German population; and any dealings between
the Kaiser and Brazilians are of interest to the United States. It’s a
pretty big thing Ouro Preto has asked, and if the Kaiser does it, the
United States would like to know why. That’s official! But there’s the
unofficial side of it. I have a friend who is here for a day or two--a
navy officer named Topham.”
“Oh!” Miss Byrd started. “I know him,” she added, after an instant’s
hesitation.
“Really?” Very plainly Rutile was taken aback. He took a moment to
consider. “If I had known that you knew him,” he went on, at last, “I
think I should not have broached the subject; and yet, after all, I
think I am justified. I should not be a real friend if I did not try to
help him--and he needs help. You will understand, of course, that what
I am going to say is confidential.”
“Certainly.”
“Topham got here yesterday morning. It seems that he crossed from New
York with the countess, who had slipped away from Berlin without anyone
being the wiser. Topham left her at Hamburg. But yesterday morning he
saw her on the street, and was much stirred up. In the afternoon he
called on her. Now, not an hour ago, just before he started for his
train, he tells me that she has promised to marry him. Isn’t it the
most preposterous--”
“Not at all! Not at all! It’s splendid! Splendid! Just the sort of
thing Walter Topham would do. It’s traditional with his family.
Everybody in Virginia knows what the Tophams are. They have run off
with their wives--or with other men’s--for three hundred years. They
are slow and careful in most things, but when they fall in love--really
in love--they sweep everything before them. Oh! I know them! I told
Walter last night that I knew he was in love.”
“But the countess!”
“We--ll!” Miss Byrd raised her eyebrows and flashed an amused glance at
the secretary. “Well! Why not?” she questioned. “A girl, countess or
not, doesn’t often get a chance at a man like Walter, and I guess she’s
not very conventional herself, is she? With her ancestry--”
“But it’s not possible! She’s fooling him--playing with him. It’s
all bound up in some way with this dukedom business. She’s using
him--though for the life of me, I can’t see how. Perhaps I could guess
if I knew the Kaiser’s conditions; and if I did know them I might save
him. That’s my unofficial reason for wanting to know. If you are a
friend of Topham’s you will help me.”
“Of course! But I’ll help you more because you ask me to, for I believe
the engagement is bona fide, preposterous as it may seem. What do you
want me to do?”
Rutile leaned back in his chair. “That depends!” he answered. “Perhaps
nothing at all. But when you get to Brazil find out all you can about
the Ouro Pretos. They’re very prominent people. Perhaps the Kaiser’s
conditions may be known down there before they are up here. There may
be a big newspaper story in it, but if there is I rely on you to keep
Topham’s name out. Again, there may be nothing. But if you’ll keep me
informed of anything that may develop, whether you print it or not, you
may do a service to Topham and also to the United States. Will you do
it?”
“Will I? Of course I will.”