THE WAY TO PAU
The way to Pau which Mr. Sabin chose may possibly have been the most
circuitous, but it was certainly the safest. Although not a muscle of
his face had moved, although he had not by any physical movement or
speech betrayed his knowledge of the fact, he was perfectly well aware
that his little statement as to his future movements was overheard and
carefully noted by the tall, immaculately dressed young man who by some
strange chance seemed to have been at his elbow since he had left his
rooms an hour ago. "Into the lion's mouth, indeed," he muttered to
himself grimly as he hailed a hansom at the corner and was driven
homewards. The limes of Berlin were very beautiful, but it was not with
any immediate idea of sauntering beneath them that a few hours later
he was driven to Euston and stepped into an engaged carriage on the
Liverpool express. There, with a travelling cap drawn down to his eyes
and a rug pulled up to his throat, he sat in the far corner of his
compartment apparently enjoying an evening paper--as a matter of fact
anxiously watching the platform. He had taken care to allow himself only
a slender margin of time. In two minutes the train glided out of the
station.
He drew a little sigh of relief--he, who very seldom permitted himself
the luxury of even the slightest revelation of his feelings. At least
he had a start. Then he unlocked a travelling case, and, drawing out an
atlas, sat with it upon his knee for some time. When he closed it there
was a frown upon his face.
"America," he exclaimed softly to himself. "What a lack of imagination
even the sound of the place seems to denote! It is the most ignominious
retreat I have ever made."
"You made the common mistake," a quiet voice at his elbow remarked, "of
many of the world's greatest diplomatists. You underrated your
adversaries."
Mr. Sabin distinctly started, and clutching at his rug, leaned back in
his corner. A young man in a tweed travelling suit was standing by the
opposite window. Behind him Mr. Sabin noticed for the first time a
narrow mahogany door. Mr. Sabin drew a short breath, and was himself
again. Underneath the rug his fingers stole into his overcoat pocket and
clasped something cold and firm.
"One at least," he said grimly, "I perceive that I have held too
lightly. Will you pardon a novice at necromancy if he asks you how you
found your way here?"
Felix smiled.
"A little forethought," he remarked, "a little luck and a sovereign tip
to an accommodating inspector. The carriage in which you are travelling
is, as you will doubtless perceive before you reach your journey's end,
a species of saloon. This little door"--touching the one through which
he had issued--"leads on to a lavatory, and on the other side is a
non-smoking carriage. I found that you had engaged a carriage on
this train, by posing as your servant. I selected this one as being
particularly suited to an old gentleman of nervous disposition, and
arranged also that the non-smoking portion should be reserved for me."
Mr. Sabin nodded. "And how," he asked, "did you know that I meant to go
to America?"
Felix shrugged his shoulders and took a seat.
"Well," he said, "I concluded that you would be looking for a change of
air somewhere, and I really could not see what part of the world you had
left open to yourself. America is the only country strong enough to keep
you! Besides, I reckoned a little upon that curiosity with regard to
undeveloped countries which I have observed to be one of your traits. So
far as I am aware, you have never resided long in America."
"Neither have I even visited Kamtchatka or Greenland," Mr. Sabin
remarked.
"I understand you," Felix remarked, nodding his head. "America is
certainly one of the last places one would have dreamed of looking for
you. You will find it, I am afraid, politically unborn; your own little
methods, at any rate, would scarcely achieve popularity there. Further,
its sympathies, of course, are with democratic France. I can imagine
that you and the President of the United States would represent opposite
poles of thought. Yet there were two considerations which weighed with
me."
"This is very interesting," Mr. Sabin remarked. "May I know what they
were? To be permitted a glimpse into the inward workings of a brain like
yours is indeed a privilege!"
Felix bowed with a gratified smile upon his lips. The satire of Mr.
Sabin's dry tone was apparently lost upon him.
"You are most perfectly welcome," he declared. "In the first place
I said to myself that Kamtchatka and Greenland, although equally
interesting to you, would be quite unable to afford themselves the
luxury of offering you an asylum. You must seek the shelter of a great
and powerful country, and one which you had never offended, and save
America, there is none such in the world. Secondly, you are a Sybarite,
and you do not without very serious reasons place yourself outside the
pale of civilisation. Thirdly, America is the only country save those
which are barred to you where you could play golf!"
"You are really a remarkable young man," Sabin declared, softly stroking
his little grey imperial. "You have read me like a book! I am humiliated
that the course of my reasoning should have been so transparent. To
prove the correctness of your conclusions, see the little volume which
I had brought to read on my way to Liverpool."
He handed it out to Felix. It was entitled, "The Golf Courses of the
World," and a leaf was turned down at the chapter headed, "United
States."
"I wish," he remarked, "that you were a golfer! I should like to have
asked your opinion about that plan of the Myopia golf links. To me it
seems cramped, and the bunkers are artificial."
Felix looked at him admiringly.
"You are a wonderful man," he said. "You do not bear me any ill-will
then?"
"None in the least," Mr. Sabin said quietly. "I never bear personal
grudges. So far as I am concerned, I never have a personal enemy. It is
fate itself which vanquished me. You were simply an instrument. You do
not figure in my thoughts as a person against whom I bear any ill-will.
I am glad, though, that you did not cash my cheque for L20,000!"
Felix smiled. "You went to see, then?" he asked.
"I took the liberty," Mr. Sabin answered, "of stopping payment of it."
"It will never be presented," Felix said "I tore it into pieces directly
I left you."
Mr. Sabin nodded.
"Quixotic," he murmured.
The express was rushing on through the night. Mr. Sabin thrust his hand
into his bag and took out a handful of cigars. He offered one to Felix,
who accepted, and lit it with the air of a man enjoying the reasonable
civility of a chance fellow passenger.
"You had, I presume," Mr. Sabin remarked, "some object in coming to see
the last of me? I do not wish to seem unduly inquisitive, but I feel a
little natural interest, or shall we say curiosity as to the reason for
this courtesy on your part?"
"You are quite correct," Felix answered. "I am here with a purpose. I am
the bearer of a message to you."
"May I ask, a friendly message, or otherwise?"
His fingers were tightening upon the little hard substance in his
pocket, but he was already beginning to doubt whether after all Felix
had come as an enemy.
"Friendly," was the prompt answer. "I bring you an offer."
"From Lobenski?"
"From his august master! The Czar himself has plans for you!"
"His serene Majesty," Mr. Sabin murmured, "has always been most kind."
"Since you left the country of the Shah," Felix continued, "Russian
influence in Central Asia has been gradually upon the wane. All manner
of means have been employed to conceal this, but the unfortunate fact
remains. You were the only man who ever thoroughly grasped the situation
and attained any real influence over the master of western Asia! Your
removal from Teheran was the result of an intrigue on the part of the
English. It was the greatest misfortune which ever befel Russia!"
"And your offer?" Mr. Sabin asked.
"Is that you return to Teheran not as the secret agent, but as the
accredited ambassador of Russia, with an absolutely free hand and
unlimited powers."
"Such an offer," Mr. Sabin remarked, "ten years ago would have made
Russia mistress of all Asia."
"The Czar," Felix said, "is beginning to appreciate that. But what was
possible then is possible now!"
Mr. Sabin shook his head. "I am ten years older," he said, "and the Shah
who was my friend is dead."
"The new Shah," Felix said, "has a passion for intrigue, and the sands
around Teheran are magnificent for golf."
Mr. Sabin shook his head.
"Too hard," he said, "and too monotonous. I am peculiar perhaps in that
respect, but I detest artificial bunkers. Now there is a little valley,"
he continued thoughtfully, "about seven miles north of Teheran, where
something might be done! I wonder----"
"You accept," Felix asked quietly.
Mr. Sabin shook his head.
"No, I decline."
It was a shock to Felix, but he hid his disappointment.
"Absolutely?"
"And finally."
"Why?"
"I am ten years too old!"
"That is resentment!"
Mr. Sabin denied it.
"No! Why should I not be frank with you, my friend? What I would have
done for Russia ten years ago, I would not do to-day! She has made
friends with the French Republic. She has done more than recognise the
existence of that iniquitous institution--she has pressed her friendship
upon the president--she has spoken the word of alliance. Henceforth
my feeling for Russia has changed. I have no object to gain in her
development. I am richer than the richest of her nobles, and there is no
title in Europe for which I would exchange my own. You see Russia has
absolutely nothing to offer me. On the other hand, what would benefit
Russia in Asia would ruin England, and England has given me and many
of my kind a shelter, and has even held aloof from France. Of the two
countries I would much prefer to aid England. If I had been the means of
destroying her Asiatic empire ten years ago it would have been to me
to-day a source of lasting regret. There, my friend, I have paid you the
compliment of perfect frankness."
"If," Felix said slowly, "the price of your success at Teheran should be
the breach of our covenants with France--what then? Remember that it is
the country whose friendship is pleasing to us, not the government. You
cannot seriously doubt but that an autocrat, such as the Czar, would
prefer to extend his hand to an Emperor of France than to soil his
fingers with the clasp of a tradesman!"
Mr. Sabin shook his head softly. "I have told you why I decline," he
said, "but in my heart there are many other reasons. For one, I am no
longer a young man. This last failure of mine has aged me. I have no
heart for fresh adventures."
Felix sighed.
"My mission to you comes," he said, "at an unfortunate time. For the
present, then, I accept defeat."
"The fault," Mr. Sabin murmured, "is in no way with you. My refusal was
a thing predestined. The Czar himself could not move me."
The train was slowing a little. Felix looked out of the window.
"We are nearing Crewe," he said. "I shall alight then and return to
London. You are for America, then?"
"Beyond doubt," Mr. Sabin declared.
Felix drew from his pocket a letter.
"If you will deliver this for me," he said, "you will do me a kindness,
and you will make a pleasant acquaintance."
Mr. Sabin glanced at the imprescription. It was addressed to--
"Mrs. J. B. Peterson,
"Lenox,
"Mass., U.S.A."
"I will do so with pleasure," he remarked, slipping it into his
dressing-case.
"And remember this," Felix remarked, glancing out at the platform along
which they were gliding. "You are a marked man. Disguise is useless for
you. Be ever on your guard. You and I have been enemies, but after all
you are too great a man to fall by the hand of a German assassin.
Farewell!"
"I will thank you for your caution and remember it," Mr. Sabin answered.
"Farewell!"
Felix raised his hat, and Mr. Sabin returned the salute. The whistle
sounded. Felix stepped out on to the platform.
"You will not forget the letter?" he asked
"I will deliver it in person without fail," Mr. Sabin answered.