A MIDNIGHT MESSAGE
Stanley closed the great front door, turned the key, shot the bolts, and
lighting his bedroom candle, slowly and thoughtfully betook himself to
his chamber.
Kingsland's knowledge of the mysterious letter only served to increase
the Secretary's suspicions of that young officer's complicity with
Darcy, while the letter itself presented such a bewildering variety of
contradictory possibilities, that his mind was dazed. A further
consideration of his past experiences in this matter did not make him
feel any the easier, and for the first time, under the spur of doubt and
mistrust, he recalled Kingsland's story of the reception of the missive,
and subjected it to a critical analysis. Mr. Riddle had said, and the
Lieutenant had confirmed, that the letter had been handed by the former
to the latter at the Hyde Park Club, and that the Lieutenant was then
"leaving the room." Yet the Secretary, now he came to think of it, was
sure Mr. Riddle had not been of the company at or after dinner, and that
Kingsland had not left the drawing-room or attempted to do so. Moreover,
if Riddle had given him the money for the stamp, why had he not
mentioned the fact at the time? The letter was evidently of importance,
and intended for Darcy, a man of whose every action, he had the greatest
distrust. Yet the important missive, after being lost for three days,
was given by its owner to Miss Fitzgerald, who thought so little of it,
that she used the envelope to scribble an address on, before giving it
to the Colonel, who now had lost it under the secret door.
It was certainly a mystery to which he was unable to offer any solution,
but which, nevertheless, caused him a vague uneasiness. He drew up an
arm-chair beside the table, and lighting his lamp, prepared to seek
distraction in a book.
The Secretary had scarcely settled to his reading, however, when he was
startled by a sharp click against his window. At first he thought
nothing of it, but at a repetition of the noise, plainly produced by a
pebble thrown up against the glass, he opened the casement and looked
out.
The night was very dark, and he could see nothing; but out of the
blackness below him came a voice, which he thought he recognised,
calling his name softly.
"Why, John!" he cried, scarcely believing it could be the Legation
factotum. "What on earth are you doing here at this time of night?"
"Special message from 'is h'Excellency, sir," came in the familiar
cockney of the messenger, with the added caution, "don't speak so loud,
please--it's that private--"
Stanley nodded, quite oblivious of the fact that he was invisible, and
added in lowered tones:
"Go round to the front, and I'll come down and let you in."
He cautiously made his way downstairs, pausing at every creaking board
in fear that he had awakened the household, and traversing the long
hall, opened the great front door, and admitted the shivering John; for
the night was cool, and several hours of watching and waiting had
chilled the messenger thoroughly.
"How long have you been out there?"
"Since ten, sir."
"Good Heavens! and it's past midnight! Come up to my room, and I'll give
you some whiskey."
"Thank ye, sir. I shan't mind a drop--it's that cold, but I'll take off
me boots first."
"Take off your boots!"
"'Is h'Excellency was most par-ti'cler, sir, as no one but you should
know as I was 'ere."
"Oh, I see. Very well. Leave them at the foot of the stairs. You'll find
these flags rather cold for stocking-feet."
A few minutes later John was installed in the Secretary's bedroom, and
his inner man was being warmed and refreshed with a copious dram of
whiskey--while Stanley, seated at his table, was breaking the seals of
the despatch which the messenger had brought him.
"It's most secret, sir."
"Quite so. How did you know which was my room?"
"The lady of the 'ouse, sir, employs the hinnkeeper's daughter to 'elp
the 'ousekeeper day times--and so----"
"I see; very clever, John. Eh! what's this?" and bending forward to the
light he read the now opened dispatch. It was short and to the point.
"Dear Mr. Stanley," wrote the Minister. "This is to inform
you that we have discovered the silent partner in the firm,
who is the chief instrument in putting up the money to
defeat the treaty. His name is Arthur Riddle. He is a guest
of your hostess, and should be watched. Darcy left for
Sussex this afternoon, presumably for your neighbourhood.
Kindly report progress, if any, sending letter by John, who
should return at once.
"Yours, etc.
"X----."
As the full force of this communication became apparent to the
unfortunate Secretary, he sunk back in his chair, groaning in an agony
of mortification.
"Dear, dear, sir!" cried John, who had been meditatively regarding the
bottom of his empty glass. "You don't mean to tell me as they've got
away."
The messenger, it may be remarked, not being supposed, technically, to
know any official secrets, knew more than most of his superiors.
"Oh, it isn't that, it's a thousand times worse than that! I'm such an
infernal fool! John, I've had those instructions in my possession."
"You have!" cried the messenger, much excited.
"Yes. Had them for three days in the inside pocket of my dress-suit, and
being the greatest idiot in the diplomatic service, I never even
suspected what they were, and gave them back to the man who wrote them."
"What, Riddle?"
Stanley groaned, and bowed his head.
"Dear, dear," said John, gravely, "I'm afraid it's a bad business, sir."
And noticing that the Secretary was absorbed in his own woes, he judged
it a favourable opportunity to replenish his glass, which he
thoughtfully consumed, while the unfortunate diplomat poured out to the
old messenger, who was distinctly the _deus ex machina_ of his Legation,
and who had helped him out of many a tight place in the past, the story
of the letter. How he had received it, how he had been induced to give
it up, and finally how it reached its present destination.
"Well," he said despairingly, in conclusion, "what do you think, John?"
"Hit's hall the woman, sir. Take my word for hit, hit's hall the woman,"
replied that functionary, with dignity.
"What, Miss Fitzgerald?"
John nodded, with the solemnity befitting so weighty a dictum.
"You old idiot!" cried Stanley. "It's nothing of the sort. Miss
Fitzgerald's share in this matter was merely a coincidence."
"Didn't you tell me has it was she suggested your taking han hold letter
to keep score hon, knowing well you 'ad _the letter_ in your hinside
pocket hall the time?"
"Nonsense!" exclaimed the Secretary. "How could she have known anything
about it? She had never laid eyes on the letter till I produced it."
"Mr. Stanley," returned the messenger, with a dignity against which the
two glasses he had consumed struggled unsuccessfully, "h'I've fostered
young gentlemen, an' got h'em hout hof scrapes, an' taught h'em their
ha, b, c's of diplomacy, afore you was weaned, han' I knows whereof h'I
speaks, h'I tells yer, hit's the woman!"
"I wish you'd get me out of this scrape. I'd be your friend for life."
"That's heasy enough. You _must_ get the letter."
"But how--I tell you----"
"Get it," reiterated the messenger, whose potations had made him
optimistic. "Blow this bally hold barn into the next county, hif need
be, but open that door and get it."
The Secretary looked despairingly at the despatch, and tossing it to
John, said:
"And what am I to answer to this?"
"H'I'll answer it, hif you'll let me come to the table."
"You!"
"Yes--and you can copy and sign it. Hit won't be the first private note
h'I've hanswered, or the first despatch h'I've written, heither," and
with this rebuke he composed the following:
"To
"His Excellency,
"The Honourable,
"------
"SIR:--
"I have the honour to acknowledge your Excellency's private
despatch of the 20th inst., and to inform you in reply that
the person mentioned in it is now a guest in this house,
also that I have discovered the present location of the
papers desired, and hope soon to be able to place them in
your hands.
"I am, Sir,
"Your obedient servant,
"------.
"Sunday, 12.45 A. M."
The Secretary read and approved, and in a few moments had produced a
copy of the same, which was duly signed and sealed.
"And now," he said, "you must be off. There's a train to London about
six."
"Yes, sir. Hit's a very cold night, sir."
"No, you've had enough, and you need to keep your wits about you," and
he led the way downstairs.
"John," he said, as he let the faithful servitor out, "I believe you're
right in what you said."
"Habout the woman, sir?"
"Of course not. I tell you the lady knows nothing whatever of the
matter; pray disabuse your mind of that absurd idea, once and for all. I
mean about the letter."
"Yes, sir."
"I've got to get it again, John. Send me the best book you can find on
combination locks. I _will_ get it! Impossibilities don't count!"
"Yes, sir. Good-night, sir, and remember, hit's the woman!"