FOR A GREAT STAKE
"GERMANY'S INSULT TO ENGLAND!
ENGLAND'S REPLY.
MOBILISATION IMMINENT.
ARMING OF THE FLEET.
WAR ALMOST CERTAIN!"
Wolfenden, who had bought no paper on his way up from Norfolk, gazed
with something approaching amazement at the huge placards everywhere
displayed along the Strand, thrust into his cab by adventurous newsboys,
flaunting upon every lamp-post. He alighted near Trafalgar Square, and
purchased a _Globe_. The actual facts were meagre enough, but
significant when considered in the light of a few days ago. A vacancy
had occurred upon the throne of one of England's far off dependencies.
The British nominee had been insulted in his palace by the German
consul--a rival, denounced as rebel by the authorities, had been carried
off in safety on to a German gunboat, and accorded royal honours. The
thing was trivial as it stood, but its importance had been enhanced a
thousandfold by later news. The German Emperor had sent a telegram,
approving his consul's action and forbidding him to recognise the new
sovereign. There was no possibility of misinterpreting such an action;
it was an overt and deliberate insult, the second within a week.
Wolfenden read the news upon the pavements of Pall Mall, jostled from
right to left by hurrying passers by, conscious too, all the while, of
that subtle sense of excitement which was in the air and was visibly
reflected in the faces of the crowd. He turned into his club, and here
he found even a deeper note of the prevailing fever. Men were gathered
around the tape in little clusters, listening to the click click of the
instrument, and reading aloud the little items of news as they appeared.
There was a burst of applause when the Prime Minister's dignified and
peremptory demand for an explanation eked out about four o'clock in the
afternoon--an hour later it was rumoured that the German Ambassador had
received his papers. The Stock Exchange remained firm--there was
enthusiasm, but no panic. Wolfenden began to wish that he, too, were a
soldier, as he passed from one to another of the eager groups of young
men about his own age, eagerly discussing the chances of the coming
campaign. He walked out into the streets presently, and made his way
boldly down to the house which had been pointed out to him as the town
abode of Mr. Sabin and his niece. He found it shut up and apparently
empty. The servant, who after some time answered his numerous ringings,
was, either from design or chance, more than usually stupid. He could
not tell where Mr. Sabin was or when he would return--he seemed to have
no information whatever as regards the young lady. Wolfenden turned away
in despair and walked slowly back towards Pall Mall. At the bottom of
Piccadilly he stopped for a moment to let a little stream of carriages
pass by; he was about to cross the road when a large barouche, with a
pair of restive horses, again blocked the way. Attracted by an unknown
coronet upon the panel, and the quiet magnificence of the servants'
liveries, he glanced curiously at the occupants as the carriage passed
him. It was one of the surprises of his life. The woman nearest to him
he knew well by sight; she was the Duchess de Montegarde, one of the
richest and most famous of Frenchwomen--a woman often quoted as exactly
typical of the old French nobility, and who had furthermore gained
for herself a personal reputation for delicate and aristocratic
exclusiveness, not altogether shared by her compeers in English society.
By her side--in the seat of honour--was Helene, and opposite to them
was a young man with a dark, fiercely twisted moustache and distinctly
foreign appearance. They passed slowly, and Wolfenden remained upon the
edge of the pavement with his eyes fixed upon them.
He was conscious at once of something about her which seemed strange
to him--some new development. She leaned back in her seat, barely
pretending to listen to the young man's conversation, her lips a little
curled, her own face the very prototype of aristocratic languor! All the
lines of race were in her delicately chiselled features; the mere idea
of regarding her as the niece of the unknown Mr. Sabin seemed just then
almost ridiculous. The carriage went by without her seeing him--she
appeared to have no interest whatever in the passers-by. But Wolfenden
remained there without moving until a touch on the arm recalled him to
himself.
He turned abruptly round, and to his amazement found himself shaking
hands vigorously with Densham!
"Where on earth did you spring from, old chap?" he asked. "Dick said
that you had gone abroad."
Densham smiled a little sadly.
"I was on my way," he said, "when I heard the war rumours. There seemed
to be something in it, so I came back as fast as express trains and
steamers would bring me. I only landed in England this morning. I am
applying for the post of correspondent to the _London News_."
Wolfenden sighed.
"I would give the world," he said, "for some such excitement as that!"
Densham drew his hand through Wolfenden's arm.
"I saw whom you were watching just now," he said. "She is as beautiful
as ever!"
Wolfenden turned suddenly round.
"Densham," he said, "you know who she is--tell me."
"Do you mean to say that you have not found out?"
"I do! I know her better, but still only as Mr. Sabin's niece!"
Densham was silent for several moments. He felt Wolfenden's fingers
gripping his arm nervously.
"Well, I do not see that I should be betraying any confidence now," he
said. "The promise I gave was only binding for a short time, and now
that she is to be seen openly with the Duchess de Montegarde, I suppose
the embargo is removed. The young lady is the Princess Helene Frances
de Bourbon, and the young man is her betrothed husband, the Prince of
Ortrens!"
Piccadilly became suddenly a vague and shadowy thoroughfare to
Wolfenden. He was not quite sure whether his footsteps even reached the
pavement. Densham hastened him into the club and, installing him into an
easy chair, called for brandies and soda.
"Poor old Wolf!" he said softly. "I'm afraid you're like I was--very
hard hit. Here, drink this! I'm beastly sorry I told you, but I
certainly thought that you would have had some idea."
"I have been a thick-headed idiot!" Wolfenden exclaimed. "There have
been heaps of things from which I might have guessed something near the
truth, at any rate. What a fool she must have thought me!"
The two men were silent. Outside in the street there was a rush for a
special edition, and a half cheer rang in the room. A waiter entered
with a handful of copies which were instantly seized upon. Wolfenden
secured one and read the headings.
"MOBILIZATION DECLARED.
ALL LEAVE CANCELLED.
CABINET COUNCIL STILL SITTING."
"Densham, do you realise that we are really in for war?"
Densham nodded.
"I don't think there can be any doubt about it myself. What a
thunderbolt! By the bye, where is your friend, Mr. Sabin?"
Wolfenden shook his head.
"I do not know; I came to London partially to see him. I have an account
to settle when we do meet; at present he has disappeared. Densham!"
"Well!"
"If Miss Sabin has become the Princess Helene of Bourbon, who is Mr.
Sabin?"
"I am not sure," Densham answered, "I have been looking into the
genealogy of the family, and if he is really her uncle, there is only
one man whom he can be--the Duke de Souspennier!"
"Souspennier! Wasn't he banished from France for something or
other--intriguing for the restoration of the Monarchy, I think it was?"
Densham nodded.
"Yes, he disappeared at the time of the Commune, and since then he is
supposed to have been in Asia somewhere. He has quite a history, I
believe, and at different times has been involved in several European
complications. I shouldn't be at all surprised if he isn't our man. Mr.
Sabin has rather the look of a man who has travelled in the East, and he
is certainly an aristocrat."
Wolfenden was suddenly thoughtful.
"Harcutt would be very much interested in this," he declared. "What's up
outside?"
There had been a crash in the street, and the sound of a horse plunging;
the two men walked to the windows. The _debris_ of a hansom was lying in
the road, with one wheel hopelessly smashed, a few yards off. A man,
covered with mud, rose slowly up from the wreck. Densham and Wolfenden
simultaneously recognised him.
"It is Felix," Wolfenden exclaimed. "Come on!"
They both hurried out into the street. The driver of the hansom, who
also was covered with mud, stood talking to Felix while staunching the
blood from a wound in his forehead.
"I'm very sorry, sir," he was saying, "I hope you'll remember as it was
your orders to risk an accident, sooner than lose sight of t'other gent.
Mine's a good 'oss, but what is he against a pair and a light brougham?
and Piccadilly ain't the place for a chase of this sort! It'll cost me
three pun ten, sir, to say nothing of the wheel----"
Felix motioned him impatiently to be silent, and thrust a note into his
hand.
"If the damage comes to more than that," he said, "ask for me at the
Russian Embassy, and I will pay it. Here is my card."
Felix was preparing to enter another cab, but Wolfenden laid his hand
upon his shoulder.
"Won't you come into my club here, and have a wash?" he suggested. "I am
afraid that you have cut your cheek."
Felix raised his handkerchief to his face, and found it covered with
blood.
"Thank you, Lord Wolfenden," he said, "I should be glad to; you seem
destined always to play the part of the Good Samaritan to me!"
They both went with him into the lavatory.
"Do you know," he asked Wolfenden, when he had sponged his face, "whom I
was following?"
Wolfenden shook his head.
"Mr. Sabin?" he suggested.
"Not Mr. Sabin himself," Felix answered, "but almost the same thing. It
was Foo Cha, his Chinese servant who has just arrived in England. Have
you any idea where Mr. Sabin is?"
They both shook their heads.
"I do not know," Wolfenden said, "but I am very anxious to find out. I
have an account to settle with him!"
"And I," Felix murmured in a low tone, "have a very much longer one
against him. To-night, if I am not too late, there will be a balance
struck between us! I have lost Foo Cha, but others, better skilled than
I am, are in search of his master. They will succeed, too! They always
succeed. What have you against him, Lord Wolfenden?"
Wolfenden hesitated; yet why not tell the man the truth? He had nothing
to gain by concealment.
"He forced himself into my father's house in Norfolk and obtained,
either by force or craft, some valuable papers. My father was in
delicate health, and we fear that the shock will cost him his reason."
"Do you want to know what they were?" Felix said. "I can tell you! Do
you want to know what he required them for? I can tell you that too! He
has concocted a marvellous scheme, and if he is left to himself for
another hour or two, he will succeed. But I have no fear; I have set
working a mightier machinery than even he can grapple with!"
They had walked together into the smoke-room; Felix seemed somewhat
shaken and was glad to rest for a few minutes.
"Has he outstepped the law, been guilty of any crime?" Wolfenden asked;
"he is daring enough!"
Felix laughed shortly. He was lighting a cigarette, but his hand
trembled so that he could scarcely hold the match.
"A further reaching arm than the law," he said, dropping his voice,
"more powerful than governments. Even by this time his whereabouts is
known. If we are only in time; that is the only fear."
"Cannot you tell us," Wolfenden asked, "something of this wonderful
scheme of his--why was he so anxious to get those papers and drawings
from my father--to what purpose can he possibly put them?"
Felix hesitated.
"Well," he said, "why not? You have a right to know. Understand that I
myself have only the barest outline of it; I will tell you this,
however. Mr. Sabin is the Duc de Souspennier, a Frenchman of fabulous
wealth, who has played many strange parts in European history. Amongst
other of his accomplishments, he is a mechanical and strategical genius.
He has studied under Addison in America, one subject only, for three
years--the destruction of warships and fortifications by electrical
contrivances unknown to the general world. Then he came to England, and
collected a vast amount of information concerning your navy and coast
defences in many different ways--finally he sent a girl to play the part
of typist to your father, whom he knew to be the greatest living
authority upon all naval matters connected with your country. Every line
he wrote was copied and sent to Mr. Sabin, until by some means your
father's suspicions were aroused, and the girl was dismissed. The last
portion of your father's work consisted of a set of drawings, of no
fewer than twenty-seven of England's finest vessels, every one of which
has a large proportion of defective armour plating, which would render
the vessels utterly useless in case of war. These drawings show the
exact position of the defective plates, and it was to secure these
illustrations that Mr. Sabin paid that daring visit to your father on
Tuesday morning. Now, what he professes broadly is that he has
elaborated a scheme, by means of which, combined with the aid of his
inventions, a few torpedo boats can silence every fort in the Thames,
and leave London at the mercy of any invaders. At the same time his
plans include the absolutely safe landing of troops on the east and
south coast, at certain selected spots. This scheme, together with some
very alarming secret information affecting the great majority of your
battleships, will, he asserts with absolute confidence, place your
country at the mercy of any Power to whom he chooses to sell it. He
offered it to Russia first, and then to Germany. Germany has accepted
his terms and will declare war upon England the moment she has his whole
scheme and inventions in her possession."
Wolfenden and Densham looked at one another, partly incredulous, partly
aghast. It was like a page from the Arabian Nights. Surely such a thing
as this was not possible. Yet even that short silence was broken by the
cry of the newsboys out in the street--
"GERMANY ARMING!
REPORTED DECLARATION OF WAR!"