As Vanderlyn walked away from Madame de Léra's door, the plan, of which
the first outline had come to him while she was telling the strange
story concerning the fortune-teller and her niece, had taken final
shape; and it now impressed itself upon him as the only way out of his
terrible dilemma.
Vanderlyn was by nature a truthful man, and in spite of the ambiguous
nature of his relations with Margaret Pargeter, he had never been
compelled to lie in defence of their friendship. Even during these last
few days, he had as far as was possible avoided untruth, and only to one
person, that is, to the Prefect of Police, had he lied--lied
desperately, and lied successfully. This was why, even while telling
himself that he had at last found a way in which to convey the truth to
Pargeter, he felt a deep repugnance from the methods which he saw he
would be compelled to employ.
More than once the American diplomatist had had occasion to take part in
delicate negotiations with one of those nameless, countryless
individuals, whose ideal it is to be in the pay of a foreign Embassy,
and who always set on their ignoble services a far higher value than
those services generally deserve. But Vanderlyn belonged to the type of
man who finds it far easier to fight for others, and especially for his
country, than for himself. Still, in this case, was he not fighting for
Margaret Pargeter? For what he knew she valued far more than life
itself--her honour. What he was about to do was hateful to him--he was
aware how severely he would have judged such conduct in another--but it
seemed the only way, a way made miraculously possible by the
superstitious folly of Tom Pargeter.
The offer Vanderlyn was about to convey to Madame d'Elphis was quite
simple; in exchange for saying a very few words to Tom Pargeter,--words
which would add greatly to the belief the millionaire already possessed
in what he took to be her extraordinary gifts of divination,--the
soothsayer would receive ten thousand francs.
There need be no difficulty even as to the words she should use to
reveal the truth; Vanderlyn had cut out from the _Petit Journal_ the
paragraph which told of the strange discovery made three nights before
at Orange. He would inform her that Mr. Pargeter's friends, having
assured themselves that the unknown woman in question was Mrs. Pargeter,
desired to break the sad news through her, instead of in a more
commonplace fashion.
Vanderlyn knew enough of that curious underworld of Paris which preys on
wealthy foreigners, to feel sure that this would not be the first time
that Madame d'Elphis had been persuaded, in her own interest, to add the
agreeable ingredient of certainty to one of her predictions. The
diplomatist also believed he could carry through the negotiation without
either revealing his identity, or giving the soothsayer any clue to his
reason for making her so strange a proposal.
Having made his plan, Vanderlyn found it remarkably easy to carry out.
In London, such a man as himself would have found it difficult to have
ascertained at a moment's notice the address of even a famous palmist or
fortune-teller. But in everything to do with social life Paris is highly
organised, London singularly chaotic.
On reaching home, he at once discovered, with a certain bitter
amusement, that Madame d'Elphis disdained the artifices with which she
might reasonably have surrounded her mysterious craft. Not only were her
name, address, and even hours of consultation, to be found in the "Tout
Paris," but there also was inscribed her telephone number.
Vanderlyn hated the telephone. He never used it unless he was compelled
to do so; but now he went through the weary, odious preliminaries with a
certain eagerness--"Alo! Alo! Alo!"