If Rosemary had been gifted with second sight! She would have seen at
the moment when she, in despair, turned to the great Healer for comfort,
General Naniescu and his friend, M. de Kervoisin, enjoying their _petit
déjeuner_ in one of the palatial rooms of the Imreys' house in Cluj. M.
de Kervoisin had arrived the night before. He was the guest of the
general, and after a night's rest was enjoying the company of his host,
as well as the luxury of these beautiful apartments so thoughtfully
placed at the disposal of the military Governor of Transylvania by the
Roumanian Government.
M. de Kervoisin was also enjoying the anxieties to which his friend was
a prey in his capacity of Governor of this unruly country. There is
something in a friend's troubles that is not altogether displeasing to a
philosopher. And M. de Kervoisin was a philosopher. He had come over to
give advice to his friend, and the rôle of adviser in a difficult
situation was one which he knew how to fulfil with infinite discretion
and supreme tact. Just now, while sipping a cup of most excellent
_café-au-lait_, he listened with every mark of sympathy to Naniescu's
account of the terrible trouble he was having with a certain obstinate
lady journalist who would not do what he wanted.
"I have only asked her," he lamented, "for a few articles to be
published in the _Times_ which would put us right with the British and
American public; but you know what women are. They never see further
than their noses. And this one, damn her, is like a mule. So far I have
not been able to move her."
He had finished his breakfast, and with a pungent Havana between his
fingers, was waving his podgy, hairy hands to emphasise his words.
Kervoisin smiled. "And you want those newspaper articles?" he asked.
"Seriously?"
"Seriously," Naniescu assented. "My Government has become suspicious.
They are treating me very badly, you know. They began by giving me a
free hand. 'No more plottings and counter-plottings in Transylvania,'
they said to me when they sent me out here. 'It is your business to see
that things work smoothly out there. How you do it is your affair.'
Well," the general went on in an aggrieved tone, "you would construe
that order into a free hand for me, would you not?"
M. de Kervoisin carefully spread butter on a piece of excellent fresh
roll before he answered: "Yes, I think I should."
"Of course," Naniescu retorted; "so would anyone. And I was doing very
well, too, until that young fool Imrey managed to send his newspaper
articles over to England. And at once my Government got restive. You
know those articles were pretty hot!"
"Yes, I know. But I always thought you attached too much importance to
them. _Mon Dieu!_ Confiscations, perquisitions, arrests and even
executions, they are the inevitable consequences of foreign occupation."
And M. de Kervoisin took a little honey with his bread and butter, and
poured himself out another cup of coffee. "And you know," he went on
with a shrug, "the British and American public are really very
indifferent to what goes on out here. Cluj is such a long way from
London or New York. For a time the public is interested, a few are
indignant, one or two make a fuss and ask questions in their Parliament,
but, after all, you are one of the Allies; you must not be too openly
criticised. The man who asks uncomfortable questions in Parliament is
rebuked: _et puis voilà!_"
"I know all that," Naniescu rejoined with some impatience, "but
unfortunately my Government does not think as you do. Their vanity
suffers when they are attacked in English newspapers, and then they vent
their spleen on me."
M. de Kervoisin said nothing for a moment or two; then he remarked
blandly: "I think I understand the position--now."
"There is a talk of my resignation," the general added curtly.
M. de Kervoisin smiled. "And you don't want to resign?" he asked.
"Of course not. Five thousand sterling a year: it is a fortune in this
miserable country; and then there are perquisites."
M. de Kervoisin had finished his breakfast. He pushed his cup and plate
on one side, and resting both his elbows on the table, he looked
intently at his friend, while a sarcastic smile curled round his thin
lips.
"So," he said, "you imagined this little scheme for putting yourself
right before your Government--and before the world--by getting the
beautiful Uno to write glowing accounts of your marvellous
administration of Transylvania, for the benefit of English and American
readers? Is that it?"
"Well, wouldn't you?" Naniescu retorted.
"Yes. But you are not succeeding, my friend," M. de Kervoisin added with
the suspicion of a sneer. "What?"
"I shall succeed in the end," Naniescu rejoined. "With the help of my
friend----" But at this point he was silenced by a peremptory gesture of
his friend's hand.
"Sh!" de Kervoisin broke in quickly. "I shouldn't mention his name--not
even here."
"Oh, we are safe enough."
"Walls have ears, my friend," the other riposted, "even in this
perfectly administered land. And our friend's work would be futile if
his identity was suspected. I introduced him to you as Number Ten.
Number Ten let him remain."
"I suppose I can trust him," Naniescu mused. "You assured me that I
could. But, bah!" he added with a contemptuous shrug. "Can one trust
those English?"
"You can trust this one," Kervoisin retorted curtly. "He was the best
spy we had during the war."
"During the war--yes! The man might think he was serving the entire
Allied cause by serving you. But now! And here! Frankly, I don't
understand the man's motive. He is rich, well born, and he is playing a
terribly risky game for us, who are nothing to him."
"He is not running terrible risks for you, my friend, don't you worry,"
de Kervoisin retorted with a mocking smile. "Though he may have reasons
which we don't know for hating the Hungarians, he certainly has none for
loving you; and you are one of the Allies, and to a large section of the
British public his work would not be called very heinous, seeing that it
is in your service and directed against ex-enemies. However, let that
pass. I attribute to Number Ten a very different motive for his actions
than the mere desire of serving you."
"And what is that?"
"Money, for one thing. He is not as rich as you think, and has
extravagant tastes. But that is not all. I know the English better than
you do, my friend, and I can tell you that Number Ten would just call
his work sport; and for sport, adventure--what?--a certain type of
Englishman will do anything, dare anything, risk everything. A hundred
and fifty years ago they had their Scarlet Pimpernel, who gave the
Revolutionary Government of France a deal of trouble at the time. Now
they have their Number Ten. The same spirit animates this man that
animated the other--one for good, the other, perhaps, for evil. Just the
spirit of adventure. A cycle of years has woven a halo of romance round
the personality of the Scarlet Pimpernel, and to us Number Ten still
appears as sordid, just a miserable paid spy in the service of an alien
Government. But believe me that many Englishmen and even women will
forgive him when they know him for what he is, because they will put it
down to a love of adventure--to sport, which is the only motive the
English appreciate."
He took his cigarette-case out of his pocket, carefully selected a
cigarette, thrust it between his lips and lighted it. All the while
Naniescu had remained thoughtful. "You may be right," he said finally.
His was not an analytical mind; he was quite content to accept de
Kervoisin's explanation of the mystery that had vaguely puzzled him;
and, anyway, he did not care. Whatever motive animated the mysterious
spy, the man was very useful, and in the matter of Philip Imrey and Anna
Heves and of the obstinate lady journalist he had had one or two
brilliant ideas.
De Kervoisin smoked on in silence for awhile, then he said:
"Our friend does not seem to be coming. I hope there has been no hitch."
"There could be no hitch," Naniescu asserted. "But it is a two hours'
drive to Kis-Imre and two hours back here. Will you wait a moment?" he
went on, and rose to his feet. "I'll see if they've any news downstairs
in the office. I told Number Ten to telephone from Kis-Imre when he got
there."
Downstairs in the office they had nothing definite to report. No message
had come through from Kis-Imre. But even whilst Naniescu was storming
and fuming, blaming his subordinates, who obviously were not responsible
for the delay, a man wrapped, despite the heat, in a huge stained and
worn military coat, and wearing a soiled képi, crossed the courtyard
from the direction of the entrance gates towards the principal staircase
of the house. Naniescu saw him from the window and ran out into the
hall. He met the man just as he was entering the house, and at once
greeted him with the greatest effusion.
"Is everything all right?" he asked hurriedly.
"All right," the man answered curtly. "Of course."
"Kervoisin is upstairs," Naniescu went on. "Come and tell us all about
it."
He ran upstairs two at a time; the man in the military coat followed
more slowly.
"Here is Number Ten," Naniescu announced, as he ushered the man into the
room where Kervoisin was patiently waiting and smoking cigarettes.
Kervoisin rose at once, a word of welcome on his lips. But at sight of
the man he paused and frowned, obviously mystified, until gradually his
face cleared and he exclaimed:
"_Bon Dieu!_ I should never have known you."
"I do look a disgusting object, don't I?" the man retorted. He shook
hands cordially with Kervoisin; then he threw off his heavy coat and
sank, obviously exhausted, into a chair.
"A cup of coffee?" Naniescu suggested.
"Thanks!" the other replied.
He drank the coffee, then took a cigarette from the case which de
Kervoisin offered him. He looked a regular vagrant, with face and neck
stained both with grease paint and with grime, his hands were soiled
with motor grease, and his hair hung lank and matted into his eyes. He
had what looked like a two weeks' growth of beard on his chin and upper
lip, and his clothes--if indeed what he wore could be called
clothes--were a mere bundle of rags.
"Number Ten," de Kervoisin said with conviction, "you are an artist. I
have seen our friend here," he went on, turning to Naniescu, "in any
number of disguises, but never two alike, and every new one a surprise!"
"You flatter me, sir," Number Ten said with an almost imperceptible
sneer.
"But I am afraid you must be very tired," de Kervoisin resumed affably.
"I told the general last night that he might just as well have sent one
of his subordinates on this errand."
"I like to finish my work myself," Number Ten rejoined curtly.
Whereupon Naniescu threw up his hairy, fat hands and exclaimed in
wonderment:
"_Ils sont impayables, ces Anglais!_"
"Then we may take it," de Kervoisin went on, "that the work is
finished?"
"Yes, finished," Number Ten replied. "We spotted the car on the road
about five kilomètres from Cluj. The patrol summoned the driver to
stop, but the man had obviously had his orders; he swerved sharply to
the right and put on speed to try and rush through. So I shot him."
"Ah! these English," Naniescu exclaimed complacently; "they are
wonderful!"
But de Kervoisin only expressed the mildest possible surprise by a very
slight lifting of his eyebrows.
"Yourself?" was all he said.
"Yes," the other replied. "The patrol was on the other side of the road,
but I guessed what would happen, so I had brought my horse to a halt
about two hundred metres higher up."
"And," Naniescu asked blandly, "you killed the chauffeur?"
"Of course," the other sneered. "I was not likely to miss him, was I?"
But Naniescu could only smile, and sigh, and murmur: "Oh, those English!
_Voyez-moi ça!_"
"There were two men in the body of the car," Number Ten continued
coolly, "they were dead drunk. Philip Imrey and the girl were on the
front seats. I gave my horse in charge of the patrol and took the wheel.
We were in Cluj outside the gaol soon after two o'clock. I saw the chief
superintendent and gave the three men and the girl in his charge."
"Yes! Yes!" Naniescu broke in glibly, and turned to de Kervoisin, "he
had all instructions. Everything was ready. I have seen them since.
Philip Imrey and Anna Heves are in separate cells, and the two drunken
oafs he dispatched by train to Hódmezö. They did not seem to know what
had happened, and it was no use detaining them."
"None whatever," Number Ten said dryly. "They were just drunken oafs, as
you say. With the miller and his two sons you will have to deal
presently--that is, if your second patrol succeeded in capturing the
sons. I couldn't be in two places at once, and they may have crossed the
frontier. Anyway, that's your affair. Not mine."
"Of course, of course," Naniescu said airily. And de Kervoisin put in
rather impatiently:
"What about the car and the dead chauffeur?"
"I drove both out to Kis-Imre," Number Ten replied deliberately. "The
best way to let people there know what had happened. The general agreed
to it."
"Was that your brilliant idea?"
"Mine!" Number Ten replied curtly.
And suddenly through the paint and the grime a look of almost inhuman
cruelty distorted his face: the thin lips drew back tight above the red
gums, and the sharp teeth gleamed white like those of a wolf. It was the
recollection of a note which Naniescu had scribbled at his dictation,
and which he, Number Ten, had thrust into the hand of the dead chauffeur
for the perusal of an obstinate woman, that brought that wolf-like look
into his face. His eyes almost disappeared beneath the strand of false
eyebrows and the thick layers of paint upon the lids, and his hands
opened out and were clutched again like the talons of a bird of prey.
For the space of a second or two Number Ten looked hideous. De
Kervoisin, who was watching him, was conscious of an uncomfortable
shudder: Naniescu fortunately was looking another way, and the whole
episode was over in a moment; the next, Number Ten was once more leaning
back in his chair, looking weary, grimy and ill-tempered, but there was
nothing supernatural about him, except perhaps his amazing change from
one personality to another.
"How did you get back here?" Kervoisin asked after a moment's pause.
"I have a car which our friend, the general, has placed at my disposal,
with a soldier-driver. I ordered him to follow me to within half a
kilomètre of Kis-Imre."
"No one stopped you?"
"No one."
"I suppose you got to Kis-Imre before anyone was astir?"
"I won't say that. The ladies at the château were astir."
"And they saw you?"
"No. I had reached my own car, and was on the point of driving off when
I saw them coming through the gates of the château."
"You would not have liked them to have seen you, I imagine," Naniescu
put in with a chuckle.
"They wouldn't have known me," Number Ten retorted quietly.
"Heu! heu!" the general rejoined with a shrug. "There are certain eyes
that are reported to be very sharp."
"Anyway," Number Ten broke in coolly, "no one saw me except an oaf from
the village, so why discuss the point?"
And strangely enough General Naniescu, usually so dictatorial and so
arrogant, did not seem to resent the gruffness of this man who was in
his pay. On the contrary, he laughed good-humouredly and rested his fat
hand with a gesture of almost affection on the shoulder of the spy.
"Ah, _ces chers Anglais!_" he sighed fatuously, whilst de Kervoisin
turned quite politely to Number Ten with the bland question: "And what
is your next move, my dear friend?"
"To get those articles out of the fair Uno," Naniescu interposed
hurriedly before the other had time to reply. "That point must not be
lost sight of."
"I am not likely to lose sight of it," the other riposted dryly, "seeing
that I am to get ten thousand pounds sterling for them. I suppose you
think they are worth it?" he added, turning with his habitual sneer to
Naniescu.
"I think," the general replied slowly, "that with the arrest of Philip
Imrey and Anna Heves, which, when it becomes known, will deter other
young fools from playing the same game--with that, I say, as a
make-weight, I think the articles will be worth the money--to my
Government and to me."
"Well," Number Ten rejoined coolly, "I shouldn't have done your dirty
work for less."
And Naniescu once more gave a fatuous sigh and murmured:
"_Ils sont impayables ces Anglais!_" whilst de Kervoisin smiled as a
philosopher smiles on follies and stupidities with which he has no
concern. Then he asked Number Ten: "And when do you return to
civilisation, my friend--to decent clothes and a bath?"
"At once," the other replied, "unless I am wanted for something else."
"No, no, my dear man," the general rejoined, with perfect affability. "I
am quite content to leave everything in your hands."
"And when do you want those articles?"
"Shall we say within the week?"
"You shall have them," Number Ten said coolly as he rose from his chair.
He nodded to Kervoisin, who responded cordially: "_A bientôt, mon
ami!_" Then he turned to go; but already Naniescu was on his feet.
"I'll escort you," he said hospitably, "in case you meet anyone on the
stairs. In your present get-up," he added with his oily, guttural laugh,
"it might be awkward."
"Thank you," the other assented coolly, and, gathering up the dirty old
military coat, he strode to the door. Naniescu was already there,
holding it open for him.
"You will stay and have lunch with M. de Kervoisin and me, I hope," he
said.
"I think not, thank you," the other replied.
"Ah! You are going to Hódmezö, perhaps--or to Kis-Imre?"
And Number Ten replied, with his habitual curtness:
"That is my affair."
De Kervoisin, who still sat smoking, chuckled at this. A scene such as
this was part of a philosopher's enjoyment. Naniescu threw him a look,
and shrugged his shoulders. De Kervoisin could almost hear him
reiterating his stock phrase: "_Ils sont impayables, ces Anglais!_"
After that the two men went out of the room and de Kervoisin remained,
sitting and smoking, with a thin smile on his colourless lips--the smile
of a philosopher who sees the humour of a situation which to a less keen
mind would only appear obscure and topsy-turvy, and after a while he
murmured softly to himself:
"They certainly are remarkable, these English!"
Memory had brought back to his mind that cruel, wolf-like look which for
one unguarded moment had distorted the features of the spy. There was,
then, some motive other than greed or love of sport, that had pushed the
Englishman into doing this dirty work. Hatred? Love? Perhaps. Passion?
Certainly.
"I wonder now!" mused M. de Kervoisin.
And being a Frenchman as well as a philosopher he was deeply interested
in this new problem.