AT THE RUSSIAN AMBASSADOR'S
The brougham containing the man who had figured in the "Milan" table
list as Mr. Sabin, and his companion, turned into the Strand and
proceeded westwards. Close behind it came Harcutt's private cab--only
a few yards away followed Densham's hansom. The procession continued
in the same order, skirting Trafalgar Square and along Pall Mall.
Each in a different manner, the three men were perhaps equally
interested in these people. Geoffrey Densham was attracted as an artist
by the extreme and rare beauty of the girl. Wolfenden's interest was
at once more sentimental and more personal. Harcutt's arose partly out
of curiosity, partly from innate love of adventure. Both Densham and
Harcutt were exceedingly interested as to their probable destination.
From it they would be able to gather some idea as to the status and
social position of Mr. Sabin and his companion. Both were perhaps a
little surprised when the brougham, which had been making its way into
the heart of fashionable London, turned into Belgrave Square and pulled
up before a great, porticoed house, brilliantly lit, and with a crimson
drugget and covered way stretched out across the pavement. Harcutt
sprang out first, just in time to see the two pass through the opened
doorway, the man leaning heavily upon his stick, the girl, with her
daintily gloved fingers just resting upon his coat-sleeve, walking with
that uncommon and graceful self-possession which had so attracted
Densham during her passage through the supper-room at the "Milan" a
short while ago.
Harcutt looked after them, watching them disappear with a frown upon his
forehead.
"Rather a sell, isn't it?" said a quiet voice in his ear.
He turned abruptly round. Densham was standing upon the pavement by his
side.
"Great Scott!" he exclaimed testily. "What are you doing here?"
Densham threw away his cigarette and laughed.
"I might return the question, I suppose," he remarked. "We both followed
the young lady and her imaginary papa! We were both anxious to find out
where they lived--and we are both sold!"
"Very badly sold," Harcutt admitted. "What do you propose to do now? We
can't wait outside here for an hour or two!"
Densham hesitated.
"No, we can't do that," he said. "Have you any plan?"
Harcutt shook his head.
"Can't say that I have."
They were both silent for a moment. Densham was smiling softly to
himself. Watching him, Harcutt became quite assured that he had decided
what to do.
"Let us consider the matter together," he suggested, diplomatically. "We
ought to be able to hit upon something."
Densham shook his head doubtfully.
"No," he said; "I don't think that we can run this thing in double
harness. You see our interests are materially opposed."
Harcutt did not see it in the same light.
"Pooh! We can travel together by the same road," he protested. "The
time to part company has not come yet. Wolfenden has got a bit ahead of
us to-night. After all, though, you and I may pull level, if we help one
another. You have a plan, I can see! What is it?"
Densham was silent for a moment.
"You know whose house this is?" he asked.
Harcutt nodded.
"Of course! It's the Russian Ambassador's!"
Densham drew a square card from his pocket, and held it out under the
gas-light. From it, it appeared that the Princess Lobenski desired the
honour of his company at any time that evening between twelve and two.
"A card for to-night, by Jove!" Harcutt exclaimed.
Densham nodded, and replaced it in his pocket.
"You see, Harcutt," he said, "I am bound to take an advantage over you!
I only got this card by an accident, and I certainly do not know the
Princess well enough to present you. I shall be compelled to leave you
here! All that I can promise is, that if I discover anything interesting
I will let you know about it to-morrow. Good-night!"
Harcutt watched him disappear through the open doors, and then walked
a little way along the pavement, swearing softly to himself. His first
idea was to wait about until they came out, and then follow them again.
By that means he would at least be sure of their address. He would have
gained something for his time and trouble. He lit a cigarette, and
walked slowly to the corner of the street. Then he turned back and
retraced his steps. As he neared the crimson strip of drugget, one of
the servants drew respectfully aside, as though expecting him to enter.
The man's action was like an inspiration to him. He glanced down the
vista of covered roof. A crowd of people were making their way up the
broad staircase, and amongst them Densham. After all, why not? He
laughed softly to himself and hesitated no longer. He threw away his
cigarette and walked boldly in. He was doing a thing for which he well
knew that he deserved to be kicked. At the same time, he had made up
his mind to go through with it, and he was not the man to fail through
nervousness or want of _savoir faire_.
At the cloak-room the multitude of men inspired him with new confidence.
There were some, a very fair sprinkling, whom he knew, and who greeted
him indifferently, without appearing in any way to regard his presence
as a thing out of the common. He walked up the staircase, one of a
little group; but as they passed through the ante-room to where in the
distance Prince and Princess Lobenski were standing to receive their
guests, Harcutt adroitly disengaged himself--he affected to pause for a
moment or two to speak to an acquaintance. When he was left alone, he
turned sharp to the right and entered the main dancing-salon.
He was quite safe now, and his spirits began to rise. Yonder was
Densham, looking very bored, dancing with a girl in yellow. So far at
least he had gained no advantage. He looked everywhere in vain, however,
for a man with a club foot and the girl in white and diamonds. They must
be in one of the inner rooms. He began to make a little tour.
Two of the ante-chambers he explored without result. In the third, two
men were standing near the entrance, talking. Harcutt almost held his
breath as he came to an abrupt stop within a yard or two of them. One
was the man for whom he had been looking, the other--Harcutt seemed
to find his face perfectly familiar, but for the moment he could not
identify him. He was tall, with white hair and moustaches. His coat was
covered with foreign orders, and he wore English court dress. His hands
were clasped behind his back; he was talking in a low, clear tone,
stooping a little, and with eyes steadfastly fixed upon his companion.
Mr. Sabin was leaning a little forward, with both hands resting upon
his stick. Harcutt was struck at once with the singular immobility of
his face. He did not appear either interested or amused or acquiescent.
He was simply listening. A few words from the other man came to
Harcutt's ears, as he lingered there on the other side of the curtain.
"If it were money--a question of monetary recompense--the secret service
purse of my country opens easily, and it is well filled. If it were
anything less simple, the proposal could but be made. I am taking the
thing, you understand, at your own computation of its worth! I am taking
it for granted that it carries with it the power you claim for it.
Assuming these things, I am prepared to treat with you. I am going on
leave very shortly, and I could myself conduct the negotiations."
Harcutt would have moved away, but he was absolutely powerless.
Naturally, and from his journalistic instincts, he was one of the most
curious of men. He had recognised the speaker. The interview was
pregnant with possibilities. Who was this Mr. Sabin, that so great a man
should talk with him so earnestly? He was looking up now, he was going
to speak. What was he going to say? Harcutt held his breath. The idea of
moving away never occurred to him now.
"Yet," Mr. Sabin said slowly, "your country should be a low bidder. The
importance of such a thing to you must be less than to France, less than
to her great ally. Your relations here are close and friendly. Nature
and destiny seemed to have made you allies. As yet there has been no
rift--no sign of a rift."
"You are right," the other man answered slowly; "and yet who can tell
what lies before us? In less than a dozen years the face of all Europe
may be changed. The policy of a great nation is, to all appearance, a
steadfast thing. On the face of it, it continues the same, age after
age. Yet if a change is to come, it comes from within. It develops
slowly. It grows from within, outwards, very slowly, like a secret
thing. Do you follow me?"
"I think--perhaps I do," Mr. Sabin admitted deliberately.
The Ambassador's voice dropped almost to a whisper, and but for its
singularly penetrating quality Harcutt would have heard no more. As it
was, he had almost to hold his breath, and all his nerves quivered with
the tension of listening.
"Even the Press is deceived. The inspired organs purposely mislead.
Outside to all the world there seems to be nothing brewing; yet, when
the storm bursts, one sees that it has been long in gathering--that
years of careful study and thought have been given to that hidden
triumph of diplomacy. All has been locked in the breasts of a few. The
thing is full-fledged when it is hatched upon the world. It has grown
strong in darkness. You understand me?"
"Yes; I think that I understand you," Mr. Sabin said, his piercing eyes
raised now from the ground and fixed upon the other man's face. "You
have given me food for serious thought. I shall do nothing further till
I have talked with you again."
Harcutt suddenly and swiftly withdrew. He had stayed as long as he
dared. At any moment his presence might have been detected, and he would
have been involved in a situation which even the nerve and effrontery
acquired during the practice of his profession could not have rendered
endurable. He found a seat in an adjoining room, and sat quite still,
thinking. His brain was in a whirl. He had almost forgotten the special
object of his quest. He felt like a conspirator. The fascination of the
unknown was upon him. Their first instinct concerning these people had
been a true one. They were indeed no ordinary people. He must follow
them up--he must know more about them. Once more he thought over what he
had heard. It was mysterious, but it was interesting. It might mean
anything. The man with Mr. Sabin he had recognised the moment he spoke.
It was Baron von Knigenstein, the German Ambassador. Those were strange
words of his. He pondered them over again. The journalistic fever was
upon him. He was no longer in love. He had overheard a few words of a
discussion of tremendous import. If only he could get the key to it!
If only he could follow this thing through, then farewell to society
paragraphing and playing at journalism. His reputation would be made
for ever!
He rose, and finding his way to the refreshment-room, drank off a glass
of champagne. Then he walked back to the main salon. Standing with his
back to the wall, and half-hidden by a tall palm tree, was Densham. He
was alone. His arms were folded, and he was looking out upon the dancers
with a gloomy frown. Harcutt stepped softly up to him.
"Well, how are you getting on, old chap?" he whispered in his ear.
Densham started, and looked at Harcutt in blank surprise.
"Why, how the--excuse me, how on earth did you get in?" he exclaimed.
Harcutt smiled in a mysterious manner.
"Oh! we journalists are trained to overcome small difficulties," he said
airily. "It wasn't a very hard task. The _Morning_ is a pretty good
passport. Getting in was easy enough. Where is--she?"
Densham moved his head in the direction of the broad space at the head
of the stairs, where the Ambassador and his wife had received their
guests.
"She is under the special wing of the Princess. She is up at that end
of the room somewhere with a lot of old frumps."
"Have you asked for an introduction?"
Densham nodded.
"Yes, I asked young Lobenski. It is no good. He does not know who she
is; but she does not dance, and is not allowed to make acquaintances.
That is what it comes to, anyway. It was not a personal matter at all.
Lobenski did not even mention my name to his mother. He simply said a
friend. The Princess replied that she was very sorry, but there was some
difficulty. The young lady's guardian did not wish her to make
acquaintances for the present."
"Her guardian! He's not her father, then?"
"No! It was either her guardian or her uncle! I am not sure which. By
Jove! There they go! They're off."
They both hurried to the cloak-room for their coats, and reached the
street in time to see the people in whom they were so interested coming
down the stairs towards them. In the glare of the electric light, the
girl's pale, upraised face shone like a piece of delicate statuary. To
Densham, the artist, she was irresistible. He drew Harcutt right back
amongst the shadows.
"She is the most beautiful woman I have ever seen in my life," he said
deliberately. "Titian never conceived anything more exquisite. She is a
woman to paint and to worship!"
"What are you going to do now?" Harcutt asked drily. "You can rave about
her in your studio, if you like."
"I am going to find out where she lives, if I have to follow her home on
foot! It will be something to know that."
"Two of us," Harcutt protested. "It is too obvious."
"I can't help that," Densham replied. "I do not sleep until I have found
out."
Harcutt looked dubious.
"Look here," he said, "we need not both go! I will leave it to you on
one condition."
"Well?"
"You must let me know to-morrow what you discover."
Densham hesitated.
"Agreed," he decided. "There they go! Good-night. I will call at your
rooms, or send a note, to-morrow."
Densham jumped into his cab and drove away. Harcutt looked after them
thoughtfully.
"The girl is very lovely," he said to himself, as he stood on the
pavement waiting for his carriage; "but I do not think that she is for
you, Densham, or for me! On the whole, I am more interested in the man!"