means to travel. Having seen his native land, it was only natural that
my defendant should desire to see foreign countries. So, accompanied by
his child, he went abroad, visited the famous capitals, and was the
guest of honor at his country's embassies. It was a delightful period.
Both were as happy as fate ever allows a human being to be. The father
had received his honorable discharge, and till recently had held a
responsible position in the War Department. His knowledge had proved of
no small value to the government, for he was a born strategist, and his
hobby was the coast defenses. He never beheld a plan that he did not
reproduce it on the back of an envelope, on any handy scrap of paper,
and then pore over it through the night. He had committed to memory the
smallest details, the ammunition supplies of each fort, the number of
guns, the garrison, the pregnable and impregnable sides. He knew the
resource of each, too; that is to say, how quickly aid could be
secured, the nearest transportation routes, what forage might be had.
He had even submitted plans for a siege gun.
One day, in the course of their travels, the father and daughter
stopped at Monte Carlo. Who hasn't heard of that city of fever? Who
that has seen it can easily forget its gay harbor, its beautiful walks,
its crowds, its music, its hotels, its white temple of fortune? Now, my
defendant had hitherto ignored the principality of Monaco. The tales of
terror which had reached his ears did not prepossess him in its favor.
But his daughter had friends there, and she wanted to see them. There
would be dances on the private yacht, and dinners, and teas, and
fireworks. On the third night of his arrival he was joined by the owner
of the yacht, a millionaire banker whose son was doing the honors as
host. I believe that there was a musicale on board that night, and as
the banker wasn't particularly fond of this sort of entertainment, he
inveigled his soldier friend to accompany him on a sight-seeing trip.
At midnight they entered the temple of fortune. At first the soldier
demurred; but the banker told him that he hadn't seen Monte Carlo
unless he saw the wheel go around. So, laughing, they entered the halls.
The passion for gaming is born in us all, man and woman alike, and is
conceded by wise analysts to be the most furious of all passions and
the most lasting. In some, happily, the serpent sleeps for ever, the
fire is for ever banked. But it needs only the opportunity to rouse the
dull ember into flame, to stir the venom of the serpent. It seems a
simple thing to toss a coin on the roulette boards. Sometimes the act
is done contemptuously, sometimes indifferently, sometimes in the
spirit of fun and curiosity; but the result is always the same.
The banker played for a while, won and lost, lost and won. The soldier
put his hand into a pocket and drew forth a five-franc piece. He placed
it on a number. The angel in the pitch robes is always lying in wait
for man to make his first bad step; so she urged fortune to let this
man win. It is an unwritten law, high up on Olympus, that the gods must
give to the gods; only the prayers of the mortals go unanswered.
So my defendant won. He laughed like a boy who had played marbles for
"keeps" and had taken away his opponent's agates. His mind was
perfectly innocent of any wrong-doing. That night he won a thousand
francs. His real first bad step was in hiding the escapade from his
daughter. The following night he won again. Then he dallied about the
flame till one night the lust of his forebears shone forth from his
eyes. The venom of the serpent spread, the ember grew into a flame. His
daughter, legitimately enjoying herself with the young people, knew
nothing nor dreamed. Indeed, he never entered the temple till after he
had kissed her good night.
He lost. He lost twice, thrice, in succession. One morning he woke up
to the fact that he was several thousand dollars on the wrong side of
the book. If the money had been his own, he would have stopped, and
gone his way, cured. But it was money which he held in trust. He _must_
replace it. The angel in the pitch robes stood at his side; she even
laid a hand on his shoulder and urged him to win back what he had lost.
Then indeed he could laugh, go his way, and gamble no more. This was
excellent advice. That winter he lost something like fifteen thousand.
Then began the progress of decline. The following summer his losses
were even greater than before. He began to mortgage the estates, for
his authority over his daughter's property was absolute. He dabbled in
stocks; a sudden fall in gold, and he realized that his daughter was
nearly penniless. Ah, had he been alone, had the money been his, he
would have faced poverty with all the courage of a brave man. But the
girl, the girl! She must never know, she must never want for those
luxuries to which she was accustomed. For her sake he must make one
more effort He _must_ win, must, must! He raised more money on the
property. He became irritable, nervous, to which were added sudden
bursts of tenderness which the girl could not very well understand.
The summer preceding the action of this tale saw them at Dieppe. At one
time he had recovered something between sixty and seventy thousand of
his losses. Ah, had he stopped then, confessed to his daughter, all
would have gone well But, no; he must win the entire sum. He lost,
lost, lost. The crash came in August. But a corner of the vast
Virginian estates was left, and this did not amount to twenty thousand.
Five francs carelessly tossed upon a roulette table had ruined and
dishonored him. The angel of the pitch robes had fairly enveloped him
now. The thought that he had gambled uselessly his daughter's legacy,
the legacy which her mother had left confidingly in his care, filled
his soul with the bitterness of gall. And she continued the merry round
of happiness, purchasing expensive garments, jewelry, furs, the little
things which women love; gave dinners and teas and dances, considered
herself an heiress, and thought the world a very pleasant place to live
in. Every laugh from her was a thorn to him, the light of happiness in
her eyes was a reproach, for he knew that she was dancing toward the
precipice which he had digged for her.
Struggling futilely among these nettles of despair, he took the final
step. His ruin became definitive. His evil goddess saw to it that an
opportunity should present itself. (How simple all this reads! As I
read it over it does not seem credible. Think of a man who has reached
the height of his ambition, has dwelt there serenely, and then falls in
this silly, inexcusable fashion! Well, that is human nature, the human
part of it. Only here and there do we fall grandly.)
One starlit night he met a distinguished young diplomat, rich and
handsome. He played some, but to pass away the time rather than to
coquet with fortune. He was lucky. The man who plays for the mere fun
of it is generally lucky. He asks no favors from fortune; he does not
pay any attention to her, and, woman-like, she is piqued. He won
heavily this night; my soldier lost correspondingly heavily. The
diplomat pressed a loan upon his new-found friend, who, with his usual
luck, lost it.
The diplomat was presented to the daughter. They owned to mutual
acquaintance in Paris and Washington. The three attended the concert.
The girl returned to the hotel bubbling with happiness and the echoes
of enchanting melodies, for she was an accomplished musician. She
retired and left the two men to their coffee and cigars. The
conversation took several turns, and at length stopped at diplomacy.
"It has always puzzled me," said the soldier, "how Russia finds out all
she does."
"That is easily explained. Russia has the wisdom of the serpent. Here
is a man who possesses a secret which Russia must have. They study him.
If he is gallant, one day he meets a fascinating woman; if he is
greedy, he turns to find a bowl of gold at his elbow; if he seeks
power, Russia points out the shortest road."
"But her knowledge of foreign army and naval strength?"
"Money does all that. Russia possesses an accurate knowledge of every
fort, ship and gun England boasts of; France, Germany, and Japan. We
have never taken it into our heads to investigate America. Till
recently your country as a foe to Russian interests had dropped below
the horizon. And now Russia finds that she must proceed to do what she
has done to all other countries; that is, duplicate her rival's
fortification plans, her total military and naval strength; and so
forth, and so on. The United States is not an enemy, but there are
possibilities of her becoming so. Some day she must wrest Cuba from
Spain, and then she may become a recognized quantity in the Pacific."
"The Pacific?"
"Even so. Having taken Cuba, the United States, to protect her western
coast, will be forced to occupy the Philippines; and having taken that
archipelago, she becomes a menace to Russian territorial expansion in
the far East. I do not always speak so frankly. But I wish you to see
the necessity of knowing all about your coast defenses."
"It can not be done!"--spiritedly. So far the American had only gambled.
"It can and will be done," smiling. "Despite the watchfulness of your
officials, despite your secret service, despite all obstacles, Russia
will quietly gain the required information. She possesses a key to
every lock."
"And what might this key be?"--with tolerant irony.
"Gold."
"But if the United States found out what Russia was doing, there might
be war."
"Nothing of the kind. Russia would simply deny all knowledge. The man
whom she selected to do the work would be discredited, banished,
perhaps sent to Siberia to rot in the mines. No, there would be no war.
Russia would weigh all these possibilities in selecting her arm. She
would choose a man of high intellect, rich, well-known in social
circles, a linguist, a man acquainted with all histories and all phases
of life, a diplomat, perhaps young and pleasing. You will say, why does
he accept so base a task? When a Russian noble takes his oath in the
presence of his czar, he becomes simply an arm; he no longer thinks,
his master thinks for him. He only acts. So long as he offers his
services without remuneration, his honor remains untouched, unsullied.
A paid spy is the basest of all creatures."
"Count, take care that I do not warn my country of Russia's purpose.
You are telling me very strange things." The American eyed his
companion sharply.
"Warn the United States? I tell you, it will not matter. All Russia
would need would be a dissatisfied clerk. What could he not do with
half a million francs?" The diplomat blew a cloud of smoke through his
nostrils and filliped the end of his cigarette.
"A hundred thousand dollars?"
The diplomat glanced amusedly at his American friend. "I suppose that
sounds small enough to you rich Americans. But to a clerk it reads
wealth."
The American was silent. A terrible thought flashed through his brain,
a thought that he repulsed almost immediately.
"Of course, I am only speculating; nothing has been done as yet."
"Then something _is_ going to be done?" asked the American, clearing
his voice.
"One day or another. If we can not find the clerk, we shall look
higher. We should consider a million francs well invested. America is
rapidly becoming a great power. But let us drop the subject and turn to
something more agreeable to us both. Your daughter is charming. I
honestly confess to you that I have not met her equal in any country.
Pardon my presumption, but may I ask if she is engaged to be married?"
"Not to my knowledge,"--vastly surprised and at the same time pleased.
"Are you averse to foreign alliances?" The diplomat dipped the end of a
fresh-lighted cigar into his coffee.
"My dear Count, I am not averse to foreign alliances, but I rather
suspect that my daughter is. This aversion might be overcome, however."
What a vista was opened to this wretched father! If only she might
marry riches, how easily he might confess what he had done, how easily
all this despair and terror might be dispersed! And here was a man who
was known in the great world, rich, young and handsome.
The other gazed dreamily at the ceiling; from there his gaze traveled
about the coffee-room, with its gathering of coffee-drinkers, and at
length came back to his _vis-a-vis_.
"You will return to Washington?" he asked.
"I shall live there for the winter; that is, I expect to."
"Doubtless we shall see each other this winter, then,"--and the count
threw away his cigar, bade his companion good night, and went to his
room.
How adroitly he had sown the seed! At that period he had no positive
idea upon what kind of ground he had cast it. But he took that chance
which all far-sighted men take, and then waited. There was little he
had not learned about this handsome American with the beautiful
daughter. How he had learned will always remain dark to me. My own
opinion is that he had been studying him during his tenure of office in
Washington, and, with that patience which is making Russia so
formidable, waited for this opportunity.
I shall give the Russian all the justice of impartiality. When he saw
the girl, he rather shrank from the affair. But he had gone too far, he
had promised too much; to withdraw now meant his own defeat, his
government's anger, his political oblivion. And there was a zest in
this life of his. He could no more resist the call of intrigue than a
gambler can resist the croupier's, "Make your game, gentlemen!" I
believe that he loved the girl the moment he set eyes upon her. Her
beauty and bearing distinguished her from the other women he had met,
and her personality was so engaging that her conquest of him was
complete and spontaneous. How to win this girl and at the same time
ruin her father was an embarrassing problem. The plan which finally
came to him he repelled again and again, but at length he surrendered.
To get the parent in his power and then to coerce the girl in case she
refused him! To my knowledge this affair was the first dishonorable act
of a very honorable man. But love makes fools and rogues of us all.
You will question my right to call this diplomat an honest man. As I
have said elsewhere, honor is comparative. Besides, a diplomat
generally falls into the habit of lying successfully to himself.
When the American returned to the world, his cigar was out and his
coffee was stale and cold.
"A million francs!" he murmured. "Two hundred thousand!"
The seed had fallen on fruitful ground.
XVI
THE PREVIOUS AFFAIR
Mrs. Chadwick had completed her toilet and now stood smiling in a most
friendly fashion at the reflection in the long oval mirror. She
addressed this reflection in melodious tones.
"Madam, you are really handsome; and let no false modesty whisper in
your ear that you are not. Few women in Washington have such clear
skin, such firm flesh, such color. Thirty-eight? It is nothing. It is
but the half-way post; one has left youth behind, but one has not
reached old age. Time must be very tolerant, for he has given you a
careful selection. There were no years of storm and poverty, of violent
passions; and if I have truly loved, it has been you, only you. You are
too wise and worldly to love any one but yourself. And yet, once you
stood on the precipice of dark eyes, pale skin, and melancholy
wrinkles. And even now, if he were to speak... Enough! Enough of this
folly. I have something to accomplish to-night." She glided from the
boudoir into the small but luxurious drawing-room which had often been
graced by the most notable men and women in the country.
Karloff threw aside the book of poems by De Banville, rose, and went
forward to meet her.
"Madam,"--bending and brushing her hand with his lips, "Madam, you grow
handsomer every day. If I were forty, now, I should fear for your
single blessedness."
"Or, if I were two-and-twenty, instead of eight-and-thirty,"--beginning
to draw on her long white gloves. There was a challenge in her smile.
"Well, yes; if you were two-and-twenty."
"There was a time, not so long ago," she said, drawing his gaze as a
magnet draws a needle, "when the disparity in years was of no matter."
The count laughed. "That was three years ago; and, if my memory serves
me, you smiled."
"Perhaps I was first to smile; that is all."
"I observe a mental reservation,"--owlishly.
"I will put it plainly, then. I preferred to smile over your
protestations rather than see you laugh over the possibility and the
folly of my loving you."
"Then it was possible?"--with interest.
"Everything is possible ... and often absurd."
"How do you know that I was not truly in love with you?"--narrowing his
eyes.
"It is not explanatory; it can be given only one name--instinct, which
in women and animals is more fully developed than in man. Besides, at
that time you had not learned all about Colonel Annesley, whose guests
we are to be this evening. Whoever would have imagined a Karloff
accepting the hospitalities of an Annesley? Count, hath not thy rose a
canker?"
"Madam!" Karloff was frowning.
"Count, you look like a paladin when you scowl; but scowling never
induces anything but wrinkles. That is why we women frown so seldom. We
smile. But let us return to your query. Supposing I had accepted your
declarations seriously; supposing you had offered me marriage in that
burst of gratitude; supposing I _had_ committed the folly of becoming a
countess: what a position I should be in to-day!"
"I do not understand,"--perplexedly.
"No?"--shrugging. She held forth a gloved arm. "Have you forgotten how
gallantly you used to button my gloves?"
"A thousand pardons! My mind was occupied with the mystery of your long
supposition." He took the arm gracefully and proceeded to slip the
pearl buttons through their holes. (Have you ever buttoned the gloves
of a handsome woman? I have. And there is a subtile thrill about the
proceeding which I can not quite define. Perhaps it is the nearness of
physical beauty; perhaps it is the delicate scent of flowers; perhaps
it is the touch of the cool, firm flesh; perhaps it is just romance.)
The gaze which she bent upon his dark head was emotional; yet there was
not the slightest tremor of arm or fingers. It is possible that she
desired him to observe the steadiness of her nerves. "What did you
mean?" he asked.
"What did I mean?"--vaguely. Her thought had been elsewhere.
"By that supposition."
"Oh! I mean that my position, had I married you, would have been rather
anomalous to-day." She extended the other arm. "You are in love."
"In love?" He looked up quickly.
"Decidedly; and I had always doubted your capacity for that sentiment."
"And pray tell me, with whom am I in love?"
"Come, Count, you and I know each other too well to waste time in
beating about the bushes. I do not blame you for loving her; only, I
say, it must not be."
"Must not be?" The count's voice rose a key.
"Yes, must not be. You must give them up--the idea and the girl. What!
You, who contrive the father's dishonor, would aspire to the daughter's
hand? It is not equable. Love her honorably, or not at all. The course
you are following is base and wholly unworthy of you."
He dropped the arm abruptly and strode across the room, stopping by a
window. He did not wish her to see his face at that particular instant.
Some men would have demanded indignantly to know how she had learned
these things; not so the count.
"There is time to retrieve. Go to the colonel frankly, pay his debts
out of your own pockets, then tell the girl that you love her. Before
you tell her, her father will have acquainted her with his sin and your
generosity. She will marry you out of gratitude."
Karloff spun on his heels. His expression was wholly new. His eyes were
burning; he stretched and crumpled his gloves.
"Yes, you are right, you are right! I have been trying to convince
myself that I was a machine where the father was concerned and wholly a
man in regard to the girl. You have put it before me in a bold manner.
Good God, yes! I find that I am wholly a man. How smoothly all this
would have gone to the end had she not crossed my path! I _am_ base, I,
who have always considered myself an honorable man. And now it is too
late, too late!"
"Too late? What do you mean? Have you dared to ask her to be your
wife?" Had Karloff held her arm at this moment, he would have
comprehended many things.
"No, no! My word has gone forth to my government; there is a wall
behind me, and I can not go back. To stop means worse than death. My
property will be confiscated and my name obliterated, my body rot
slowly in the frozen north. Oh, I know my country; one does not gain
her gratitude by failure. I must have those plans, and nowhere could I
obtain such perfect ones."
"Then you will give her up?" There was a broken note.
The count smiled. To her it was a smile scarce less than a snarl.
"Give her up? Yes, as a mother gives up her child, as a lioness her
cub. She _has_ refused me, but nevertheless she shall be my wife. Oh, I
am well-versed in human nature. She loves her father, and I know what
sacrifices she would make to save his honor. To-night!--" But his lips
suddenly closed.
"Well, to-night? Why do you not go on?" Mrs. Chadwick was pale. Her
gloved hands were clenched. A spasm of some sort seemed to hold her in
its shaking grasp.
"Nothing, nothing! In heaven's name, why have you stirred me so?" he
cried.
"Supposing, after all, I loved you?"
He retreated. "Madam, your suppositions are becoming intolerable and
impossible."
"Nothing is impossible. Supposing I loved you as violently and
passionately as you love this girl?"
"Madam,"--hastily and with gentleness, "do not say anything which may
cause me to blush for you; say nothing you may regret to-morrow."
"I am a woman of circumspection. My suppositions are merely
argumentative. Do you realize, Count, that I could force you to marry
me?"
Karloff's astonishment could not be equaled. "Force me to marry you?"
"Is the thought so distasteful, then?"
"You are mad to-night!"
"Not so. In whatever manner you have succeeded in this country, your
debt of gratitude is owing to me. I do not recall this fact as a
reproach; I make the statement to bear me on in what I have to submit
to your discerning intelligence. I doubt if there is another woman,
here or abroad, who knows you so well as I. Your personal honor is
beyond impeachment, but Russia is making vast efforts to speckle it.
She will succeed. Yes, I could force you to marry me. With a word I
could tumble your house of cards. I am a worldly woman, and not without
wit and address. I possess every one of your letters, most of all have
I treasured the extravagant ones. To some you signed your name. If you
have kept mine, you will observe that my given name might mean any one
of a thousand women who are named 'Grace.' Shall you marry me? Shall I
tumble your house of cards? I could go to Colonel Annesley and say to
him that if he delivers these plans to you, I shall denounce him to the
secret service officers. I might cause his utter financial ruin, but
his name would descend to his daughter untarnished."
"You would not dare!" the count interrupted.
"What? And you know me so well? I have not given you my word to reveal
nothing. You confided in my rare quality of silence; you confided in me
because you had proved me. Man is not infallible, even when he is named
Karloff." She lifted from a vase her flowers, from which she shook the
water. "Laws have been passed or annulled; laws have died at the
executive desk. Who told you that this was to be, or that, long before
it came to pass? In all the successful intrigues of Russia in this
country, whom have you to thank? Me. Ordinarily a woman does not do
these things as a pastime. There must be some strong motive behind. You
asked me why I have stirred you so. Perhaps it is because I am neither
two-and-twenty nor you two-score. It is these little barbs that remain
in a woman's heart. Well, I do not love you well enough to marry you,
but I love you too well to permit you to marry Miss Annesley."
"That has the sound of war. I _did_ love you that night,"--not without
a certain nobility.
"How easily you say 'that night'! Surely there was wisdom in that smile
of mine. And I nearly tumbled into the pit! I must have looked
exceedingly well... _that night!_"--drily.
"You are very bitter to-night. Had you taken me at my word, I never
should have looked at Miss Annesley. And had I ceased to love you, not
even you would have known it."
"Is it possible?"--ironically.