Rosemary's wire was repeated over the telephone to General Naniescu, who
promptly gave orders that it should not be sent. When he put down the
receiver he was very much puzzled. Something had apparently happened at
Kis-Imre which had greatly disturbed the beautiful Uno. It seemed indeed
as if she had actually written those articles which Naniescu wanted so
badly that he was prepared to pay ten thousand pounds sterling of
Government money for them. And having written the articles, the lady
seemed first to have sent them off, then to have repented.
Well, well! It was all very puzzling. Even M. de Kervoisin, experienced
diplomat though he was, could suggest no solution. He advised the
obvious: to wait and see.
"We shall see our friend Number Ten soon," he said. "If I am not
mistaken he has at least one key to the puzzle in his possession."
But it was not Number Ten who presented himself at the Imrey palace that
afternoon. It was _ce cher_ Monsieur Blakeney, who had come all the way
from England in order to preside over a game of cricket that had not
come off because of the weather. His Excellency was delighted to see
him, and so was M. de Kervoisin. This charming, most unexpected but most
welcome visit was due no doubt to the cricket and the bad weather. So
tiresome! _Mais hélas!_ Man proposes and the rain disposes.
His Excellency was most sympathetic. Would M. Blakeney have a cigar and
a glass of _fine?_ No? Then what could His Excellency do for M.
Blakeney?
"Pray command me, my dear Monsieur Blakeney. We are all so grateful to
you for the kind interest you are taking in our young athletes. It will
be such a happy recollection for them in after years that so
distinguished an English champion as yourself has helped them with their
games."
Peter let him talk on. He thought it a pity to stem this flood of
eloquence, and he was looking forward to the moment when Naniescu's
complacent effusions would turn to equally comic puzzlement first, and
subsequently to amazement and delight.
"Shall I tell your Excellency now," he said as soon as he could get a
word in edgeways, "why I have come?"
"_Mais comment donc?_" the general replied suavely. "I am hanging on
your lips, _mon cher_ Monsieur Blakeney."
"Well," Peter said, quite slowly and speaking in French since M. de
Kervoisin did not know English, "well, it's just this. Lady Tarkington
has written certain newspaper articles, which you, general, very much
desire to see published. That's so, isn't it?"
But though this opening almost betrayed Naniescu into an exclamation of
surprise, he had enough control over his nerves not to give himself
away. Fortunately he was a great adept at expressive gestures, and his
cigar also helped to keep him in countenance.
He leaned back in his chair, was silent for a moment or two blowing
rings of smoke through his full, red lips.
"Articles?" he queried at last with an assumption of perfect
indifference. "I don't know. What articles do you mean, _cher ami?_"
"Those," Peter replied with equal indifference, "for which you were
prepared to pay a deuced lot of money to your spy in chief."
Naniescu waved his podgy hand that held the cigar, then he deliberately
dusted away a modicum of ash that had dropped upon his trousers.
"Ah!" he said innocently. "Lady Tarkington, you say, has written such
articles?"
"Yes. She has."
"Then no doubt she will honour me by allowing me to see the manuscript.
She knows how deeply I am interested in her work."
"No, general," Peter broke in drily. "Lady Tarkington has no intention
of allowing you to see that particular manuscript of hers."
"Ah! May I be permitted to inquire how you happen to know that?"
"I happen to know--no matter how--that Lady Tarkington only wrote the
articles tentatively; that after she had written them she repented
having done so, and that her next act would have been to throw the
manuscript into the fire."
"Very interesting. But, forgive me, my dear Monsieur Blakeney, if I ask
you in what way all this concerns you?"
"I'll tell you," Peter said coolly. "I also happen to know--no matter
how--that you are prepared to pay a large sum of money for those
articles, so I thought that I would forestall your spy-in-chief by
driving a bargain with you over the manuscript."
"But how can you do that, my dear young friend, without the manuscript
in your possession?"
"The manuscript is in my possession, Excellency," Peter said coolly.
"How did that come about, if I may ask the question?"
"You may. I stole it this morning from Lady Tarkington."
"What?"
Naniescu had given such a jump that he nearly turned himself out of his
chair. The cigar fell from between his fingers, and the glass that
contained the fine was upset and its contents spilt over the table. Even
M. de Kervoisin had given a start; and his pale, expressionless face had
flushed. Though the report of the post-mistress of Kis-Imre had given
Naniescu an inkling that something unexpected had occurred, he certainly
had not been prepared for this.
He looked up at Peter and frowned, trying to recover his dignity, which
had been seriously jeopardized. Peter was laughing--very impolitely,
thought His Excellency. But then these English have no manners.
"You'll forgive my smiling, won't you, sir?" asked Peter quite
deferentially.
"Go on with your story," Naniescu retorted gruffly. "Never mind your
manners."
"I can't very well mind them, sir," Peter rejoined, with utmost
seriousness, "as I don't possess any. And I can't go on with my story
because there is none to tell."
"You have got to tell me how you knew that Lady Tarkington had written
certain newspaper articles; how you knew that I wanted them; how you
came to--to steal them--the word is your own, my dear Monsieur
Blakeney--and where they are at the present moment."
"None of which facts, I am thinking, concern your Excellency," Peter
retorted coolly, "except the last. The manuscript of Lady Tarkington's
newspaper articles is in my pocket at the present moment, together with
her letter to the editor of the _Times_, asking for these articles to be
published at an early opportunity. So, you see, sir, that I am bringing
you a perfectly sound proposition."
"I'll have to read those articles first."
"Of course," Peter agreed, and took the sheets of manuscript out of his
pocket. "At your leisure."
Naniescu thrust out his podgy hand for them; his large, expressive eyes
had lit up with a gleam of excitement. Peter gave him the manuscript,
and as he did so he remarked casually, "They are no use to your
Excellency without the covering letter."
Which remark seemed to tickle M. de Kervoisin's fancy, for he gave a
funny, dry cackle which might pass for a laugh. Naniescu, however,
appeared not to have noticed the taunt. His white, downy hands shook
slightly as he unfolded the manuscript. He leaned back in his chair and
began to read, the excitement of his nerves was chiefly apparent by his
stertorous breathing and his almost savage chewing of the stump of his
cigar.
M. de Kervoisin remained silent. He offered Peter a cigarette, and while
the Englishman struck a match, lit the cigarette and smoked it with
obvious relish, the Frenchman watched him through his half-closed lids
with an expression of puzzlement upon his keen, wrinkled face. No sound
disturbed the silence that had fallen over the actors of the little
comedy, only the ticking of an old-fashioned dock and now and then the
crisp crackling of paper as Naniescu turned over the sheets of the
manuscript. From time to time he nodded his head and murmured
complacently, "_C'est bien! C'est même très, très bien!_" And once he
looked across at his friend and asked: "Would you like to read this,
Kervoisin?" But the Frenchman only shrugged and replied with a slightly
sarcastic smile: "Oh! my dear friend, if you are satisfied----"
Peter said nothing. He waited quite patiently, seemingly completely
indifferent, and smoked one cigarette after another.
When Naniescu had finished reading, he carefully folded the manuscript,
laid it on the table beside him and put his hand upon it.
"What do you want for this?" he asked.
And Peter replied coolly: "The title deeds of the Kis-Imre property."
Naniescu stared at Peter for a moment or two, then he threw back his
head and laughed until the tears trickled down his cheeks.
"You are astonishing, my friend," he said. "The property is worthy fifty
thousand sterling."
"I have paid an option on it of five thousand," Peter retorted, "and the
rest wouldn't come out of your Excellency's pocket, I take it."
"Not out of my pocket, of course," Naniescu was willing to admit, "but
out of that of my Government. We are going to sell Kis-Imre for the
benefit of the State."
"And won't your Excellency be purchasing these newspaper articles for
the benefit of the State?"
"These articles are not worth it," Naniescu retorted gruffly.
"Very well, let's say no more about it. I'm sorry I troubled your
Excellency."
Peter rose as if to go and put out his hand toward the sheets of
manuscript.
"Don't be a fool," Naniescu broke in. "I'll give you a good price for
the thing, but a property worth fifty thousand sterling--hang it
all--it's a bit stiff."
Peter smiled. "How tersely you put the matter, general," he said. "I
dare say it is a bit stiff, but I am not prepared to bargain--only to
sell. And if you are not satisfied----"
"Easy, easy, my impetuous young friend. Did I say that I was not
satisfied--or that I refuse to consider the matter? But there are
considerations."
"What considerations?"
"To begin with, how do I know that the English newspaper would accept
these articles as the genuine work of Lady Tarkington?"
"I told you that I had Lady Tarkington's own covering letter to the
editor of the _Times_, asking him to publish the articles as soon as
possible."
"Let me see it," Naniescu retorted.
"With pleasure."
Peter took the letter out of his pocket, but before handing it over to
Naniescu he said dryly: "May I in the meanwhile refresh my memory of the
articles?"
The eyes of the two men met across the table. Naniescu's flashed with
resentment, but Peter's face wore a disarming smile. He looked for all
the world like a schoolboy bartering marbles for stamps. But the
situation appeared to tickle Kervoisin's fancy. He gave a dry chuckle
and said:
"You are quite right, _mon ami._ They are astonishing, these English."
The exchange was effected without Naniescu losing his sense of
resentment or Peter his pleasant smile, and Peter held on to Rosemary's
manuscript while the general read the letter through.
While he read, the look of resentment vanished from his face and a
complacent smile rose to his full, sensuous lips.
"_Il n'y pas à dire_," he murmured; "_c'est très, très bien._"
When he had finished reading he looked up at Peter.
"Now then, Monsieur Blakeney," he said curtly, "your last price?"
"I have told you, sir--the title-deeds of Kis-Imre."
"You are joking."
"I was never more serious in my life."
"But, hang it all, man, if I make the property over to you, how are we
to get rid of the Imreys?"
Peter shrugged his shoulders, and, still smiling, said coolly: "That,
Excellency, is your affair, not mine."
"But the Countess Imrey is your aunt."
"What has that got to do with the whole thing, Excellency?"
"What has it got to do with it? What has it----?" Naniescu was gasping
with astonishment. He was something of a rascal himself, but never in
all his life had he come across such callousness or such impudence. He
turned to Kervoisin as much as to say: "Have you ever seen such an
unmitigated young blackguard?" But the Frenchman's face was inscrutable;
his keen, pale eyes rested with obvious puzzlement on Peter.
"Then you want me," Naniescu asked, as soon as he had recovered his
breath, "you want me to turn the Imreys out of their home?"
"It won't be the first time, Excellency, that you have done that sort of
thing, will it?" Peter retorted, with his most engaging smile.
Strangely enough, Naniescu was losing his temper. He wanted those
articles and wanted them badly, and if this preposterous deal went
through he could have them without putting his hand in his pocket. But
this young blackguard exasperated him. Perhaps professional pride was
wounded at meeting a man more corrupt, more venal than himself. To
further his own ends Naniescu would have plundered and bullied to an
unlimited extent, but he would not have robbed and bullied his own kith
and kin; whereas this handsome young athlete with the engaging smile did
not seem to have the slightest scruple or the least pricking of
conscience. It would be a triumph to get the better of him in some sort
of way. Unfortunately the scamp had not yet given up the manuscript, and
Naniescu only had the letter, whilst de Kervoisin was in one of his
abstracted fits when he wouldn't open his mouth to give friendly advice.
The general, sitting back in his chair, and blowing smoke rings through
his pursed lips, had a swift but exceedingly pleasant day-dream. Those
articles were just what he wanted. They were so beautifully written! So
convincingly! What a stir they would make! They were a complete
vindication of his administration here in Transylvania. The country
prosperous. The people contented. Only a small minority grumbling,
without the slightest justification. Oh, those articles! Published in
the English _Times_ and signed by the illustrious "Uno"! Naniescu,
closing his eyes to enjoy this wonderful day-dream, saw himself summoned
to Bucharest, there to receive the personal thanks of his King and a
substantial reward from his Government, whilst all he need do now to
obtain these glorious results was to hand over to this young rascal a
property that belonged to that fool Maurus Imrey.
It was a lovely day-dream. A stroke of the pen would make it reality. No
wonder that General Naniescu swore loudly when the crackling of paper
woke him from this short trance. The young rascal was quite
unconcernedly stowing that precious manuscript away in his pocket.
"Halt!" Naniescu exclaimed, on the impulse of the moment. "I accept----"
Then he added guardedly: "On principle, I mean."
"And in fact?" Peter queried, without making the slightest movement
towards taking the manuscript out of his pocket again.
"Yes, yes!" Naniescu replied impatiently. "But, curse you for a
jackanapes, these things take time----"
"They need not," Peter rejoined curtly. "All you need do is to give me
an official receipt for forty-five thousand sterling, the balance of the
purchase-money for the Kis-Imre property. The British Consul and your
lawyer will do the rest."
"And when do you want possession?"
"At once."
Naniescu made a final appeal to his friend: "What do you say,
Kervoisin?"
But the Frenchman's face remained inscrutable. He was watching the smoke
that curled upwards from the tip of his cigarette, and only from time to
time did he throw a quick, indefinable glance at the tall, athletic
figure of the man who was driving such a contemptible bargain. When
Naniescu appealed directly to him, he only shrugged his shoulders to
indicate his complete detachment from the whole affair. Peter, on the
other hand, showed not the slightest sign of impatience. He even went to
the length of buttoning up his coat.
"Would you like to think it over?" he said coolly. "I can leave my offer
open for another few hours."
"No! damn you!" Naniescu exclaimed, and jumped to his feet. "Wait for me
here. I'll have the receipt ready in five minutes."
After which, from sheer force of habit, he swore in several other
languages before he finally strode out of the room.