ON GUARD
Here was a danger that Jessie had not expected. She was not surprised to
see Prince Boris Mazaroff there; indeed, she would not have been
surprised at anything after the events of the last few hours. There was
no startling coincidence in the presence of the Russian here, seeing
that he knew everybody worth knowing in London, and all society would be
here presently.
Would he come forward and speak? Jessie wondered. She would have avoided
the man, but then it seemed to be quite understood that she must stay by
the fountain till the signal was given. All this had been evidently
carefully thought out before Vera Galloway found it an imperative
necessity to be elsewhere on this fateful night.
Would Mazaroff penetrate her disguise? was the most fateful question
that Jessie asked herself. Of course he would see the strong likeness
between the sham Vera and the milliner in the Bond Street shop; but as
he appeared to be _au fait_ of Lord Merehaven's house, and presumedly
knew Vera, he had doubtless noticed the likeness before. Jessie
recollected the girls who had greeted her so smilingly in the hall, and
reflected that they must have known Vera far better than this rascally
Russian could have done, and they had been utterly deceived.
Mazaroff lounged up to the fountain and murmured something polite. His
manner was easy and polished and courteous now, but that it could be
very different Jessie knew to her cost. She raised her eyes and looked
the man coldly in the face. She determined to know once for all whether
he guessed anything or not. But the expression of his face expressed
nothing but a sense of disappointment.
"Why do you frown at me like that, Miss Vera?" he asked. "What have I
done?"
Jessie forced a smile to her lips. She could not quite forget her own
ego, and she knew this man to be a scoundrel and a coward. Through his
fault she had come very close to starvation. But, she reflected,
certainly Vera could know nothing of this, and she must act exactly as
Vera would have done. Jessie wanted all her wits for the coming
struggle.
"Did I frown?" she laughed. "If I did, it was certainly not at you. My
thoughts----"
"Let me guess your thoughts," Mazaroff said in a low tone of voice. He
reclined his elbows on the lip of the fountain so that his face was
close to Jessie's. "I am rather good at that kind of thing. You are
thinking that the queen did not care much for the pictures."
Jessie repressed a start. There was a distinct menace in the speaker's
words. If they meant anything they meant danger, and that to the people
whose interests it was Jessie's to guard. And she knew one thing that
Vera Galloway could not possibly know--this man was a scoundrel.
"You are too subtle for me," she said. "What queen do you allude to?"
"There was only one queen in this conversation. I mean the Queen of
Asturia. She left the salon with you to look at certain pictures, and
she was disappointed. Where is she?"
"Back again in the salon by this time, doubtless," Jessie laughed. "I am
not quite at home in the presence of royalty."
The brows of Mazaroff knitted into a frown. Evidently Jessie had
accidentally said something that checkmated him for the moment.
"And the king?" he asked. "Do you know anything about him? Where is he,
for example?"
Jessie shook her head. She was treading on dangerous ground now, and it
behoved her to be careful. The smallest possible word might lead to
mischief.
"The queen is a great friend of mine," Mazaroff went on, and Jessie knew
instantly that he was lying. "She is in danger, as you may possibly
know. You shake your head, but you could tell a great deal if you
choose. But then the niece of a diplomatist knows the value of silence."
"The niece of a diplomatist learns a great deal," Jessie said coldly.
"Exactly. I hope that I have not offended you. But certain things are
public property. It is impossible for a crowned head to disguise his
vices. That the King of Asturia is a hopeless drunkard and a gambler is
known to everyone. He has exhausted his private credit, and his sullen
subjects will not help him any more from the public funds. It is four
years since the man came to the throne, and he has not been crowned yet.
His weakness and rascalities are Russia's opportunity."
"As a good and patriotic Russian you should be glad of that," Jessie
said.
"You are a very clever young lady," Mazaroff smiled. "As a Russian, my
country naturally comes first. But then I am exceedingly liberal in my
political views, and that is why the Czar prefers that I should more or
less live in Western Europe. In regard to the Asturian policy, I do not
hold with the views of my imperial master at all. At the risk of being
called a traitor I am going to help the queen. She is a great friend of
yours also?"
"I would do anything in my power to help her," Jessie said guardedly.
The Russian's eyes gleamed. In a moment of excitement he laid his hand
on Jessie's arm. The touch filled her with disgust, but she endured it.
"Then you never had a better opportunity than you have at the present
moment," Mazaroff whispered. "I have private information which the queen
must know at once. Believe me, I am actuated only by the purest of
motives. The fact that I am practically an exile from my native land
shows where my sympathies lie. I am sick to death of this Russian earth
hunger. I know that in the end it will spell ruin and revolution and the
breaking up of the State. I can save Asturia, too."
"Do I understand that you want to see the queen?" Jessie asked.
"That is it," was the eager response. "The queen and the king. I
expected to find him elsewhere. I have been looking for him in one of
the haunts he frequents. I know that Charles Maxwell was with him this
morning. Did he give you any hint as to the true state of affairs?"
"I don't know who you mean?" Jessie said unguardedly. "The name is not
familiar to me."
"Oh, this is absurd!" Mazaroff said with some show of anger in his
voice. "Caution is one thing, but to deny knowledge of Lord Merehaven's
private and confidential secretary is another matter. Come, this is
pique--a mere lovers' quarrel, or something of that kind."
Jessie recovered herself at once. If Mazaroff had not been so angry he
could not have possibly overlooked so serious a slip on the part of his
companion.
"It is very good of you to couple our names together like this," Jessie
said coldly.
"But, my dear young lady, it is not I who do it," Mazaroff protested.
"Everybody says so. You said nothing when Miss Maitland taxed you with
it at the duke's on Friday night. Lady Merehaven shrugs her shoulders,
and says that worse things might happen. If Maxwell were to come up at
this moment----"
Jessie waived the suggestion aside haughtily. This information was
exceedingly valuable, but at the same time it involved a possible new
danger. If this Charles Maxwell did come up--but Jessie did not care to
think of that. She half turned so that Mazaroff could not see the
expression of her face; she wanted time to regain control over her
features. As she looked towards the house she saw twice the quick flash
of light in one of the bedroom windows.
It was the signal that the queen was ready to return to the salon again.
Jessie's duty was plain. It was to hurry back to the bedroom and attend
to the good pleasure of the queen. And yet she could not do it with the
man by her side; she could think of no pretext to get rid of him. It was
not as if he had been a friend. Mazaroff was an enemy of the heads of
Asturia. Possibly he knew a great deal more than he cared to say. There
had been a distinct menace in his tone when he asked how the queen had
enjoyed the pictures. As Jessie's brain flashed rapidly over the events
of the evening, she recalled to mind the spectacle of the queen and the
strange lady who dragged the body of the helpless man between them. What
if that man were the King of Asturia! Why, Vera Galloway had said so!
Jessie felt certain of it--certain that for some reasons certain people
were not to know that the King of Asturia was under Lord Merehaven's
roof, and this fellow was trying to extract valuable information from
her. As she glanced round once more the signal flashed out again. For
all Jessie knew to the contrary, time might be as valuable as a crown of
diamonds. But it was quite impossible to move so long as Mazaroff was
there.
She looked round for some avenue of escape. The garden was deserted
still, for the concert in the salon was not yet quite over. Even here
the glorious voice of the prima donna floated clear as a silver bell.
The singer was flinging aloft the stirring refrain of some patriotic
melody.
"The Asturian national anthem," Mazaroff said softly. "Inspiring, isn't
it?"