PLOTTING.
Count Mellikoff had also on leaving the Folly betaken himself to New
York, and re-established his locale in that quiet but eminently
aristocratic hotel, which has for years been a sort of Mecca to European
wanderers, who finding life on the plan of the ordinary huge American
caravansary, too public and _en évidence_, have sought with thankfulness
the more retired existence of this favoured resort.
Most people object to that process of public cleansing usually regarded
as the attribute of vulgarity; but one need not be vulgar to object to
consuming one's roast beef and port wine under the public eye. It is
not a pleasant sensation to come to look upon one's self as only an atom
in the great scheme of a _table d'hôte_; one loses one's identity at
such times, and with the loss of identity goes also one's self-respect.
If you wish to retain your dignity in your own eyes and in the eyes of
your world, keep yourself to yourself; and, above all, do your eating
and drinking in private. Nothing is so much desired as that which is
difficult of attainment; and no man has so many dinner invitations as he
who is known to be fastidious, as to whose table he will honour with his
presence.
On the evening of the same day as that on which Mr. Tremain started off
on his lonely wanderings, Count Mellikoff sat in a private apartment of
his hotel busy over a variety of despatches and papers, heaped together
on a writing-table.
The day had been very warm, and even with the approach of night the
atmosphere became but little less intolerable. The windows were open,
but the latticed blinds were let down, and through the crevices the
moonlight fell in broken lines across the walls, the rays of the small
lamp on the writing-table being too faint to outshine the moonbeams; the
room, in consequence, had a half unreal appearance, through the mingled
reflections of oil and moonlight.
A few blocks up Fifth Avenue, a barrel-organ was groaning out a popular
melody, interrupted at intervals by a Strauss valse from the German band
performing in Washington Square.
On the centre table stood a tray with a bottle of claret and Apollinaris
water, and a glass bowl filled with cracked ice.
Despite the intensity of the temperature, Count Mellikoff was
scrupulously dressed in evening costume, the gardenia in his button-hole
showing white against his coat; beneath the flower the tiny red button
of honour, that had so fascinated Miss James, stood out like a drop of
blood.
With rapid, accustomed fingers, Count Vladimir opened one by one the
letters and papers, scanning their contents with quick comprehension,
and laying each document aside with accurate decision. As he came to the
last, he put it down before him, and bending forward, touched a little
gong that stood near his despatch-box; then he leant back in his chair
and waited. A door leading to an inner room was partially open.
In the few seconds that intervened before his summons was answered, his
face, seen now in the full light of the lamp, seemed to grow more pallid
and anxious, the mouth beneath the straight moustache and beard grew
hard, the eyes from out their shadowy caverns burned with a restless
light, the cheeks appeared thinner, the forehead more pronounced, the
hand as it rested on the table more nervous and attenuated, while the
ruby in his ring glowed with an evil fire.
The sharp metallic echo had scarcely died away before the door leading
to the other room was pulled noiselessly open, and a short dark figure
emerged from the interior shadows, and came forward with a cringing,
uncertain gait.
"Did the Excellenza ring?" the man asked in Italian, standing before the
Count, and speaking in a voice that was both unctuous and false.
Mellikoff looked at him for an instant before replying, while a smile of
infinite scorn and disgust curled his lips.
"Yes," he answered shortly, and in the same language, "I did ring; I
require your most valuable services, Mattalini."
The Italian bowed, and rubbed his hands together.
"Si, si, Signor," he mumbled, "I am but your servant; you command, I
obey."
Vladimir paid no attention to this protestation save for another of
those slow, scornful smiles, neither of which escaped the Italian's
notice.
"You will take this letter, Mattalini," Count Mellikoff continued,
lifting a sealed packet and passing it across the table, "to M.
Stubeloff, who is at present in this city. You will deliver it into his
hands and bring me back a written reply--you understand, Mattalini--a
written reply."
There was that in the Count's tone that caused the blood to leap hotly
within the Italian's veins; but he only bowed the more obsequiously as
he replied:
"Si, Signor, I comprehend. The M. Stubeloff is he who represents our
father the Tsar in this _inferno_ of a country; he makes a sojourn here.
_Bene_, he shall receive your packet, Excellenza, from my own hand, and
you shall have his Excellency's written response."
The man's voice was quiet and respectful enough; but Vladimir caught the
sudden look of hatred that flashed up for one moment in his eyes, and
knew that Mattalini was his secret enemy. As he turned away, Count
Mellikoff spoke again:
"You will give directions below at the office, that should a lady ask
for me she is to be shown up at once--at once; do you understand?"
"Si, Signor," replied the man, quietly; and then, with creeping step and
drooping shoulders, he crossed the room, appearing for one moment in the
moonbeams like the shadow of an evil spectre, and then vanishing as
noiselessly as he had entered.
Once outside the room he stopped and drew a deep breath, lifting his
bowed form, and, raising his right hand, shook the open palm and long
fingers at the closed door.
"Curse him," he muttered, "curse him root and branch. May the evil eye
never leave him now or hereafter, in life or death!" Then he turned and
walked swiftly down the passage towards the stairs.
Count Mellikoff, left alone, leant back in his chair with a heavy sigh,
passing his hand wearily across his eyes. The rival musicians had
settled their difficulties by the withdrawal of the barrel-organ, and
only the strains from the German band floated in, mellowed by distance.
It was the "Blue Danube" they were playing, and unconsciously, Vladimir
Mellikoff kept time to the pathos of the under theme with his thoughts.
The look of anxiety deepened on his face, emphasized by the additional
expression of sadness that crept into his eyes.
And, indeed, he had reason to be both sad and anxious; of late he had
detected in Patouchki's letters and despatches a latent tone of distrust
and suspicion, which he was quick to feel and to resent.
There were no more veiled allusions to his past ability and faithful
services; no assurances of his proved fidelity to the Tsar; no
commendation of the work already accomplished, such as had come rarely,
to be sure, but yet with sufficient regularity in the earlier stages of
his mission. Rather were there peremptory commands, undisguised
admonitions, and barely concealed innuendoes of dissatisfaction and
distrust on the part of the Chancellerie.
"Rest assured I shall be the last to misjudge or condemn you, Vladimir,"
had run the chief's last letter; "but it becomes me to warn you that
there are others who take a less lenient view of your position than I
do, and who will not scruple to use every indiscretion against you. He
who serves Russia must be prepared to find her not only suspicious, but
ungrateful; it is your high privilege, Vladimir, to be counted among the
most loyal of her servitors; but even to you may come the bitter lesson,
that trifling with her decrees is followed by swift and sure punishment.
The sworn presence of the woman, Adèle Lamien, in Petersburg, to which
Tolskoi has given his oath, but which, as yet, we have been unable to
verify, greatly complicates your position, since the Chancellerie knows
that it was to find her you undertook your present mission. If, in the
month that elapsed between your arrival in the States and her alleged
appearance here, you have allowed her to slip through your fingers, you
know full well the judgment that will be passed upon you. Your telegrams
of late have been vague and uncertain, your letters no more assuring. In
the meantime, and up to this present moment, we have been unable to put
our hands upon this woman; she has disappeared as mysteriously as she
came. And since there is room for doubt in the matter, we prefer to give
you the benefit of that doubt, at least for the present."
This had been the substance of Patouchki's communication, and Vladimir
could not mistake its tone, even if its meaning had not been further
enhanced by the arrival of the Italian, Mattalini, who came ostensibly
as a bearer of despatches, and with a request, which was more of a
command, that Count Mellikoff would kindly retain him in his service.
A bitter smile had come to Vladimir's lips as he read the letter of
recommendation and looked at the candidate for his favour standing
before him. Well might Ivor Tolskoi have said, that lying craft and
duplicity were stamped on his every feature. Vladimir Mellikoff but
confirmed these words when he said, half sadly to himself, as the man
turned away:
"And has it come to this, my chief? Am I to be dogged and watched by
such a paid miscreant as this Italian? Is he to be my 'double,' and am I
to stand or fall according to his testimony? Oh, Russia, hard indeed are
you as a task-mistress, heavy your yoke of iron, and bitter your
recompense!"
It did not require any great perspicuity to read through the
Chancellerie's design in sending Mattalini to be servant to Count
Mellikoff; and, from the moment the sullen Italian entered his service,
Vladimir felt his evil star had arisen, and his evil hour arrived.
That Tolskoi should have been the one to swear to the actual presence of
Adèle Lamien, or Lallovich, in Petersburg, when he--Mellikoff--was
hunting her down in America, troubled him but little. Firm in his own
belief, and secure of his ultimate success, he paid small heed to a
chance likeness that might easily have deceived so gay and volatile a
young man as Ivor. Was it likely that he, Valdimir Mellikoff, an old and
tried servant of the Tsar--old at least in experience if not in
years--should be distanced and out-done by a yellow-haired youth still
almost in his adolescence? Count Mellikoff smiled, and put the thought
aside as valueless.
Much more disturbing and distressing was the scant news he received of
his betrothed. Olga had written once or twice during the first two
months of his self-imposed exile, and then suddenly her letters had
ceased, and he could obtain no further news of her than what he could
glean between the lines of the official telegrams in the daily
newspapers. These were meagre in the extreme, only a bare mention now
and then of the more important items of Russian politics, or her
attitude on the Bulgarian question; but they at least told him that the
Court was still at Petersburg, and therefore he knew Olga to be there
also. With the beginning of the Russian summer she would accompany her
Imperial mistress to Gatschina, or the baths, and then he felt he should
indeed be separated from her.
Oh, for this weary time of probation to pass! This winning of one more
honour, one more decoration, to lay at her feet; and then to claim his
recompense, his prize, and with his first rapturous kiss upon her proud
lips seal his fealty, and bid a final good-bye to worldly ambition and
reward!
Immersed in such meditations, Count Mellikoff started nervously as a
sharp rap on the door awoke him from his reverie; with the immediate
self-command of long habit, he instantly controlled both face and
voice, and calling out a "Come in," rose from his chair and walked to
the middle of the room.
The door was thrown open with the words, "A lady to see you, sir," and
then quickly closed. A slight figure dressed in black, and with a heavy
veil drawn over the face, advanced towards him, and, as Vladimir came
forward, a voice, high pitched despite its whispered words, said
quickly:
"I have come, but I must beg you will not keep me long."
For answer Count Mellikoff bowed respectfully and pulled forward an easy
chair.
"Let me ask you to be seated," he said in his suavest tones, "and pray
remove your veil. I entreat, I insist; the evening is stifling."
Without a word his visitor sank down upon the chair, and mechanically
unpinned and removed her thick veil; the face beneath the hard outline
of the black hat looked hollow and aged, the dark eyes burned
feverishly, the thin lips were colourless.
Even to the most superficial observer great and marked were the changes
that a few weeks had wrought there; it bore but a faint and blurred
resemblance to the face that Mr. Tremain had looked on, not unkindly,
two short months ago at the Folly.
Count Mellikoff turned to the table, and pouring out a glass of claret,
added the ice and Apollinaris with careful exactness, and brought it to
his guest.
"You must drink this, mademoiselle," he said. "You are looking very
exhausted. _Ma foi_, I cannot compliment you on the temperature of an
American summer!"
She took the tumbler from him and drank the contents thirstily; as she
put down the empty glass her ungloved hand came within the radius of the
lamp-light. It looked shrunken and attenuated, the rings upon the thin
fingers hung loosely and jangled one against the other. She sat back
wearily, looking up at him with an eager, anxious expression.
"I must ask you not to keep me long," she said again, "I may be missed
at any moment. It is important I should return as soon as possible."
Count Mellikoff drew a chair in front of her, and sitting down leant
slightly forward, joining his hands together by the finger-tips. His
position and gesture recalled another like occasion in which she and he
were the chief actors; she shuddered violently and drew back from him
involuntarily.
"Miss James," began Count Vladimir, in his cold, even tones, "I beg you
will believe that I am fully alive to your disinterestedness in thus
coming to me, and also to the risks you run in so doing. But, as I told
you during our first conversation, in seeking your co-operation in my
work I was well aware you would have to encounter much that must of
necessity be disagreeable to you, since defying or breaking the canons
of conventionality is always an unpleasant experience. You, however,
elected to become my partner in this work--an honour of which I am
deeply appreciative--and you were content to chance the consequences if
you could but work out your own ends in furthering mine. Am I not
correct in my statements?"
"Yes, yes, oh yes," she replied, hurriedly. "You are quite right,
perfectly correct."
"I can assure you, mademoiselle," went on Count Vladimir, with a little
smile, leaning somewhat more forward until the heavy, languorous scent
of the gardenia seemed almost to stifle her, "that I have no desire to
detain you longer than is absolutely necessary, though, were I to
consult my pleasure, I would willingly lengthen the visit of one for
whom I entertain such sentiments of respectful admiration. However,
since we cannot consult inclination, let us proceed to duty. What news
have you to give me of our _dramatis personæ_? Let us commence with
Philip Tremain."
At the mention of this name the girl's white face paled perceptibly, and
her lips quivered. She loved Philip as well and as generously as it lay
in her nature to love any one; and though he had passed her by, even
when conscious of her love for him, it was none the less bitter to find
herself in the position of a spy and informer against him.
Vladimir Mellikoff saw her hesitancy and read its meaning.
"It's not pleasant, I admit, mademoiselle," he said, "to be obliged to
speak uncompromisingly of any one; especially must this be the case now
and with you, when you recall Mr. Tremain's pronounced--friendship."
His jibe told. It was this very friendliness of Philip's attitude
towards her against which she most revolted and beat her passion to
tatters; she could better have borne his anger or hate, than his calm
indifference of friendly interest.
"Mr. Tremain is no friend of mine," she said, sharply, and with a
short, hard laugh; "his goings and comings are nothing to me, except in
so far as they influence _her_. I have fully admitted to you, Count
Mellikoff, the reason why I shall be glad to see her humbled and
exposed. I do not know why she should nourish, and flaunt her beauty in
my face, when it lies in my power to tear the mask from her and reveal
her real self to the world that flatters and adores her every whim and
caprice."
"You have both reason and cause on your side, Miss James," replied
Vladimir, quietly. "A woman scorned makes a dangerous enemy. But pardon
me, if I remind you who it is that has placed the power of enmity within
your reach."
"I have not forgotten," she answered, with almost sullen bitterness; "it
is to you, Count Mellikoff, I owe my weapon of vengeance. I am not
ungrateful."
Count Mellikoff made a slight bow, and said: "And now as to this Mr.
Tremain, where is he at present; and have you any further news of her?"
"Up to this morning, Mr. Tremain was not two miles distant from here,"
replied Miss James. "He had not left town since his last interview
with--her, until this evening."
"And has he gone now?" inquired Vladimir, quickly, sitting upright in
his chair. "This is news, indeed. Where has he gone?"
"That I cannot tell you, but certainly not to her. I called at his
chambers ostensibly on an errand of charity, and the janitor told me he
had left town suddenly. A little judicious questioning elicited the
further details that he had taken but one small portmanteau, given his
man a holiday, and ordered himself to be driven to a landing stage, too
far down town for any boat to start from but an ocean or Sound steamer.
He left no directions for the forwarding of his letters, and made no
plan for returning. He has vanished from out our circle for the present,
and I can give you no clue to his possible destination."
"It matters but very little," replied Vladimir. "When his presence is
required, the orbit of his destiny will swing round to us again. We can
dismiss him for the present, and be thankful he has so opportunely
vanished into space. And of her, mademoiselle, of Adèle Lamien, as it is
wisest still to call her, since even walls have ears?"
"You are over-prudent, Count Mellikoff, surely. Still, perhaps it is as
well to keep up the farce to the end. Of Adèle Lamien's escape there is
no fear. She is absolutely in our power; I know her every movement, her
daily avocations; I can put my hand upon her at any moment. She is as
unsuspicious and ignorant of the net closing so securely about her, as
she is that in me she sees her deadliest foe. No, there can be no
failure there; whatever else fails, I am sure of that revenge; that is,"
she added, suddenly, "if _you_ are certain--if you are not deceived."
"No, I am not deceived," replied Count Mellikoff, slowly. "We shall not
have much longer to remain inactive, mademoiselle; I do but attend a
final telegram, and then the blow will fall."
"I hope so," answered the girl, bitterly; "and may it crush both him and
her when it comes."
There was a moment's silence before Count Mellikoff spoke again; when he
did, his voice had regained its lighter tones.
"And Madame Newbold and the charming Miss Dick," he asked; "what of
them?"
"Still at Newport, on board the _Deerhound_; but they are to weigh
anchor to-night for a longer cruise than any they have yet taken. After
this evening it will be impossible to say when or where telegrams or
letters could reach them." She stopped for a moment, and then said,
abruptly: "And the warrant--you will have no difficulty about that?"
"I anticipate none. The first steps can, of course, be but
preliminaries. There is no doubt of our securing an arrest, and that is
our first move. With Mr. Tremain lost, so to speak, the _Deerhound_ and
her passengers started on an uncertain cruise; and, New York an empty
wilderness, there is nothing to interrupt the march of events,
mademoiselle. We may look any day now, any hour, for the consummation of
fate."
"I am glad," again replied the girl; "yes, I am glad. And now I must go;
it grows late. Have you any further instructions to give me?"
She took out her veil as she spoke, and tied it closely over her face,
listening earnestly meantime to Count Mellikoff's low and rapid
utterances. He spoke quickly, but with decision, and she acquiesced by
her absolute silence.
As he finished she rose, and drawing her thin black mantle closely about
her, walked rapidly towards the door. Vladimir Mellikoff held it open
for her, but she passed him without word or salutation.
Half-way down the narrow passage a man overtook her, and turned to
glance at her as he passed. It was the Italian, Mattalini.
* * * * *
Later on that same evening, while Philip Tremain paced the deck of the
out-going steamer with restless footsteps, and did battle with the
conflicting emotions that raged within him, Patricia Hildreth, leaning
on the arm of the most distinguished partner of the hour, floated
languidly around to the strains of "Dreamland" waltzes, the most admired
woman of all the bevy of fair women who filled the spacious
drawing-rooms of the "Eversleigh" at Long Branch. Her draperies of
lustrous silk were not more white than her fair face, nor were the
jewels on her bosom more bright and cold, than was the blue fire of her
eyes. Only her smile retained its old charm and sweetness, and belied
the weariness that rested upon her brow.
She conferred distinction by her presence, and dispensed her favours
with so royal a grace, the recipients of her bounty never stopped to
weigh their value, or count their cost.