As Miss Eleanor Byrd soon found, her duties as social secretary to Miss
Pratt were no sinecure. The Pratts had been in Washington thirteen
years, the Senator having just started on his third term in the upper
house of the national government, but they had not cared much for
social affairs until their daughter was ready to make her bow to
society. Then they discovered, to their amazement, that while they
could command a certain amount of consideration as a senator’s family,
there were yet many circles into which they could not penetrate. These
circles, although really little if any better than those to which they
had access, naturally became at once exceedingly desirable to both Mrs.
Pratt and her daughter. Especially did they desire, as all Washington
women do, to get into the diplomatic set, and when chance--they thought
it was chance--threw the Countess Elsa in their way, they were ready to
grapple her to themselves with hooks of steel--or gold. When, instead
of making demands upon them, the countess appeared to lay herself out
to please them, they were overjoyed; and when she proposed to visit
them in their Washington home, their delight knew no bounds; even
Senator Pratt, hard-headed business man as he was, was pleased, but
partly because the countess always treated him with a consideration as
grateful as it is rare to the average American father and husband. It
was Senator Pratt who a few months before had openly thanked God that
he didn’t keep a dog. “Because,” he said, “my wife comes first, my
daughter second, and if we kept a dog, I’d come fourth.”
Pleased the Senator was, but not carried beyond his depths. Life-long
habits are strong, and more than once he had asked himself what there
was “in it” for the countess. When McNew offered an answer, his
suggestion fell on fertile ground.
But he wanted a quid pro quo, nevertheless. If he paid Miss Byrd $100
a month to manage his daughter’s social affairs, he wanted her to earn
the money. And as neither his daughter nor his wife had any idea as to
the social secretary’s real mission, she found her hands full.
A week passed without significant event--or at least without event that
seemed significant to Miss Byrd. Twice a week the ladies served tea
informally to all who liked to drop in, and on these occasions the
members of the various legations and embassies were always present in
good numbers. But they clustered around Miss Pratt--who was both pretty
and interesting--almost as numerously as they did about the countess,
although the latter had been the attraction that had drawn them to
the house. The talk was necessarily polyglot, though mostly in either
French or English, but so far as Miss Byrd could see, the countess
indulged in no private conversations with any one. What she did when
away from home Miss Byrd could not always tell, for of course she was
not invited to many of the entertainments attended by the countess and
Miss Pratt. However, she knew that McNew had other spies there.
As the days went by, the anxiety of those who were watching grew apace.
The rebels in Brazil were steadily becoming more and more powerful, and
the German newspapers were advocating their recognition as belligerents.
The Japanese were growing more insistent in their demands. Some of the
papers were clamoring for war. If there was really anything in the
supposed plot, the crisis must be drawing near.
Thinking over it all, Risdon made up his mind that the arrival of Ouro
Preto, who was still speeding northward, would be followed by important
events. And still no clue could be discovered.
At last, however, partial enlightenment came. The Pratt parlors had
been crowded that afternoon, but the crowd had thinned out until only
half a dozen callers remained. Three of these were grouped around
Miss Pratt, and the other three around the countess. With a sudden
shock Miss Byrd, sitting at the tea table noticed that these latter
three were the German and Japanese ambassadors and the latter’s wife;
suddenly she remembered that the last, though for forty years married
to a Japanese, was German by birth.
As she bent her face over the teacups, to hide the flush that rose
in her cheeks at the sudden realization of what this might mean, the
countess leaned toward the Japanese ambassador. “Did you see Maude
Adams last night, Baron?” she asked. “How do you like her?” Then
without the slightest change in her sprightly tones she slipped into
German; “and, Baron,” she questioned; “when do you present your demands
to the President?”
In spite of herself, Miss Byrd started. Instantly she realized that
here was the unsuspected channel of communication. Relying on the
ignorance of the rest of the household of rapid vernacular German, the
countess, with insolent daring, had done her plotting under the eyes of
everybody.
But the Japanese ambassador was speaking, and there was no time for
considering other things.
“Charming!” he said in English; but--he changed to German--“I shall
never present them.”
The countess showed no vexation. “Isn’t she?” she asked. “Why not?” in
German.
“She assuredly is. I wanted to see her in Joan of Arc, but my duties
kept me here. Because,” in German, “I have convinced my government that
this country is its best friend and have conveyed to it the assurance
of the President that he will see that my countrymen in California
receive all their treaty rights.” “You did not go either, Countess, did
you?” in English.
“No! I was too busy. And your excellency!” She turned to the German
ambassador. “What do you think of her?”
The German scowled. “I do not like her,” he sputtered; “but she has
many friends. I suppose your ideas are fixed, Baron, and that no
argument could possibly alter them.”
The Jap shook his head. “None!” he answered. “My opinion is absolutely
fixed!”
“Then--But I am making an unconscionably long stay. I leave the Baron
in your hands, countess. Perhaps you may persuade him.”
The countess smiled mysteriously. “Perhaps,” she said. “Perhaps!”
* * * * *
That night Miss Byrd left the house and hurried down to Risdon’s
office; and laid the story before him. When she got back she learned
that the countess was suffering with a headache and had decided not to
go out that night. The next day her maid reported that she was still
feeling badly. That afternoon a doctor--the doctor attached to the
German embassy--was called in. The countess, however, did not improve.
She kept her room and begged to be excused from seeing any one--even
Miss Pratt. It was not until five days later that Miss Byrd suspected
that she was no longer in the house. But by that time the countess was
three thousand miles away from Washington.