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THE WORLD MASTERS
_Ready shortly_
_BY THE SAME AUTHOR_
SIDELIGHTS ON CONVICT LIFE
_With numerous Illustrations taken from Life_
Crown 8vo, Cloth Gilt, 6s.
JOHN LONG, Publisher
LONDON
THE WORLD MASTERS
BY
GEORGE GRIFFITH
AUTHOR OF
"_The Angel of the Revolution_," "_Brothers of the Chain_,"
"_The Justice of Revenge_," "_A Honeymoon in Space_,"
"_Captain Johnnie_," _etc. etc._
London
John Long
13 and 14 Norris Street, Haymarket
1903
[_All Rights Reserved_]
THE WORLD MASTERS
PROLOGUE
THE MOMENT OF TRIUMPH
High above the night-shrouded street, whose silence was only broken by
the occasional tramp of the military patrol or the gruff challenges of
the sentries on the fortifications, a man was walking, with jerky,
uneven strides, up and down a vast attic in an ancient house
overlooking the old Fisher's Gate, close by where the River Ill leaves
the famous city of Strassburg.
The room, practically destitute of ordinary furniture, was fitted up
as a chemical and physical laboratory, and the man was Doctor Emil
Fargeau, the most distinguished scientific investigator that the lost
province of Alsace had produced--a tall, spare man of about sixty,
with sloping, stooping shoulders and forward-thrown head, thinly
covered with straggling iron-grey hair. It was plain that he was in
the habit of shaving clean, but just now there was a short white
stubble both on his upper lip and on the lean wrinkled cheeks which
showed the nervous workings of the muscles so plainly. In fact, his
whole appearance was that of a man too completely absorbed by an
over-mastering idea to pay any attention to the small details of life.
And such was the exact truth--for these few mid-night minutes which
were being ticked off by an ancient wooden clock in the corner were
the most anxious of his life. In fact, a few more of them would decide
whether the Great Experiment, for which he had sacrificed everything,
even to his home and his great professional position, was to be a
success or a failure.
On the long, bare, pine table, beside which he was pacing up and down,
stood a strange fabric about three feet high. It was round, and about
the size of a four-gallon ale jar. It was covered completely by a
closed glass cylinder, and rested on four strong glass supports.
From the floor on either side of the table a number of twisted,
silk-covered wires rose from two sets of storage batteries. Within the
four supports was a wooden dish, and on this lay a piece of bright
steel some four inches square and about an inch thick, just under a
circle of needles which hung down in a circle from the bottom of the
machine.
A very faint humming sound filled the room, and made a somewhat
uncanny accompaniment to the leisurely tick of the clock and the
irregular shuffling of the doctor's slippered feet.
Every now and then he stopped, and put his ear near to the machine,
and then looked at the piece of steel with a gleam of longing
anticipation in his keen, deep-set, grey eyes. Then he began his walk
again, and his lips went on working, as though he were holding an
inaudible conversation with himself. At last there came a faint whirr
from the clock, a little window opened, and a wooden bird bobbed out
and said "Cuckoo" once. The doctor stopped instantly, took out his
watch and compared it with the clock.
"Now, let us see!" he said, quietly, in his somewhat guttural Alsatian
French, for in this supreme moment of his life he had gone back to the
patois of his boyhood, which he had spoken in the days before the
Teuton's iron hand had snatched his well-loved native land from France
and begun to rule it according to the pitiless doctrine of Blood and
Iron.
He pulled the platter out from under the machine, picked up a little
wooden mallet from the table, and, with a trembling hand, struck the
steel plate in the centre. It splintered instantly to fragments, as
though it had only been a thin sheet of glass. The doctor dropped the
mallet, lifted his hand to the window that looked out over the river
towards the citadel, and said:
"It is done! And so, Germany, stealer of our land and oppressor of my
people, will I break the great fabric of your power with one touch of
this weak old hand of mine!"
Then he threw open one of the old-fashioned dormer windows that looked
out over the northern part of the city towards France, and began to
speak again in a low, intense tone which rose and fell slightly as his
deep breaths came and went.
"But France, my beautiful mother France, thou shalt know soon that I
have done more than given thee the power to turn on thy conqueror and
crush him. I can make thee queen and mistress of the world, and I will
do it. The other nations shall live and prosper only at thy bidding,
and they shall pay thee tribute for the privilege of being something
more than the savages from which they came.
"Those who will not pay thee tribute shall go back to the Stone Age,
for I will show thee how to make their metals useless. Only with thy
permission shall their steam-engines work for them, or their
telegraphs record their words; for I have found the Soul of the World,
the Living Principle of Material Things, and I will draw it out of the
fabric of Nature as I have done out of that block of steel. And I will
give it into thy hands, and the nations shall live or die according to
thy pleasure.
"And you, Adelaide, daughter of our ancient line of kings, descendant
of the Grand Monarch, you shall join hands with my Victor after he has
flung off the livery of his servitude, and together you shall raise up
the throne of Saint Louis in the place where these usurpers and
Republican canaille have reigned over ruined France. The Prince of
Conde shall sit in the seat of his ancestors, and after him Adelaide
de Montpensier--and Victor, my son, shall stand beside her, ruler of
the world!
"A miracle, and yet 'tis true! Possible, for I have made it possible.
It is only for France to believe me and spend her millions--millions
that will buy her the Empire of the Earth, and it is done--done as
easily as I worked that seeming miracle just now. I have risked
much--all--for I have hazarded even honour itself; but my faith is
justified, and I have won--and now, let me see how I stand before the
world for the present."
He went and sat down before the only piece of ordinary furniture that
the laboratory contained, an old oak bureau, on which stood a little
shaded reading-lamp. He unlocked a drawer, and took out a little
wash-leather bag. He undid it and emptied it into his hand. There were
ten twenty-mark pieces--just ten pounds and a few pence in English
money. In his pocket he had perhaps twenty-five marks more.
"It is not much," he whispered, as he looked at the gold in his hand;
"not much at the end of a life's work, as the world would call it. But
the world knows nothing of that!" he went on, half-turning his head
towards the machine on the table. "As the world takes wealth, this is
all that is left of fortune, lands, and savings. Everything is gone
but this, and that--ay, and more also. Yes, it was a hard fate that
forced me to do that. Still, science showed me how to alter the
figures so that not even the filthy Jew Weinthal himself could tell if
he had the draft in his hand. That he will never have; for it has a
month to run, and before that France will have made me rich. It was
not right, but the scoundrel only gave me half what the last farm was
worth, and I had to have more to finish my work. Yet, is it not
honourable even to sin in such a cause! Well, well, it is over now. I
have triumphed, and that atones for all; and so to bed and good
dreams, and to-morrow to Paris!"
CHAPTER I
It was the 27th of January, the Kaiser's birthday, and the
reception-rooms of the German Embassy, on the Nevski Prospekt,
overlooking the snow-covered quays and ice-bound waters of the Neva,
were filled with as brilliant a throng as could have been found
between the Ourals and the English Channel.
It has been said that Petersburg in the winter season contains more
beautiful women than any other capital in Europe; and certainly the
fair guests of His Excellency the German Ambassador to the Court of
the White Czar went far towards proving the truth of the saying. The
dresses were as ideal as they were indescribable, and the jewels which
blazed round the softly moulded throats and on the fair white breasts,
and gleamed on dainty coiffures of every hue, from ebony black to the
purest flaxen, would have been bad to match even among the treasures
of Oriental princes.
The men, too, were splendid in every variety of uniform, from the
gold-laced broadcloth of Diplomacy to the white and gold of the
Imperial Guard. Not a man was present whose left breast was not
glittering with stars and medals, and, in most cases, crossed with the
ribbon of some distinguished Order.
The windless, frosty air outside was still vocal with the jingling of
the sleigh-bells as the vehicles sped swiftly and noiselessly up to
the open doors, for it was only a little after ten, and all the guests
had not yet arrived. Precisely at half-past a sleigh drawn by three
perfectly black Orloff horses swept into the courtyard, and a few
minutes later the major-domo passed through the open folding-doors and
said, in loud but well-trained tones:
"His Highness the Prince de Conde, Duc de Montpensier! Mademoiselle la
Marquise de Montpensier!"
At the same moment two lacqueys held aside the heavy curtains which
hung on the inside of the doorway, and the latest arrivals entered.
The announcement of the once most noble names in Europe instantly
hushed the hum of conversation, and all eyes were turned towards the
doorway.
They saw a tall, straight, well-set-up man of about fifty, with dark
moustache and imperial, and iron-grey hair still thick and strong. A
single glance at his features showed that they bore the indelible
stamp of the old Bourbon race. The high, somewhat narrow, forehead was
continued in a straight line to the end of the long thin nose. The
somewhat high cheek-bones, the delicate ears, the thin, sensitive
nostrils, and the strong, slightly protruding chin, might have
belonged to the Grande Monarque himself.
He was in ordinary court dress, the broad red ribbon of the Order of
St Vladimir crossed his breast, the collar and jewel of the Golden
Fleece hung from his neck, and the stars of half-a-dozen other Orders
glittered on the left breast of his coat; but, though he bore the
greatest name in France, there was not a French order among them, for
Louis Xavier de Conde was a voluntary exile from the land over which
his ancestors had once ruled so splendidly and so ruinously.
For three generations his branch of the great family had refused to
recognise any ruler in France, from the First Consul to the President
of the Third Republic. In his eyes they were one and all usurpers and
plebeian upstarts, who ruled only by the suffrages of an ignorant and
deluded mob. In short, his creed and the rule of his daily life were
hatred and contempt of the French democracy. On this subject he was
almost a fanatic, and in days soon to come this fanaticism of his was
destined to influence events, of which only three people in all that
crowded assembly were even dreaming.
The girl at his side--for she was not yet twenty-one--might well have
been taken for a twentieth-century replica of Marie Antoinette, and to
say that, is to say that among all the beautiful and stately women in
that brilliant concourse, none were quite so beautiful and stately as
Adelaide de Conde, Marquise de Montpensier.
Of all the hundred eyes which were turned upon this peerless daughter
of the line of St Louis, the most eager were those of a
splendidly-built young fellow of about twenty-eight, dressed in the
blue and white uniform of the Uhlan regiment of the German army.
Captain Victor Fargeau, military attache to the German Embassy in
Petersburg, was perhaps the handsomest, and, at the same time,
manliest-looking man in all that company of soldiers and diplomats. At
least, so certainly thought Adelaide de Conde, as she saw his dark
blue eyes light up with a swift gleam of admiration, and the bronze on
his cheeks grow deeper as the quick blood flushed beneath it.
It was a strange bond that united the daughter of the Bourbons with
the soldier and subject of the German Kaiser, and yet it must have
been a close one. For, after the first formal presentations were over,
her eyes sent a quick signal to his, which brought him instantly to
her side, and when their hands met the clasp was closer, and lasted
just a moment longer than mere acquaintance or even friendship would
have warranted.
"Can you tell me, Captain, whether the gentleman who calls himself the
French Ambassador has honoured us with his presence to-night?" said
the Prince, as he shook hands with the young soldier.
"No, Prince, he has not," he replied. "I hear that, almost at the last
moment, he sent an attache with his regrets and excuses. Of course, as
you know, there is a little friction between the Governments just now,
and naturally, too, he would know that Your Highness and Mam'selle la
Marquise would honour us with your presence--so, on the whole, I
suppose he thought it more convenient to discover some important
diplomatic matter which would deprive him of the pleasure of joining
us."
"Ah," said the Marquise, looking up at him with a glance and a smile
that set his pulses jumping, "then perhaps Sophie Valdemar was right
when she told me this afternoon that His Excellency had really a good
excuse for not coming--an interview with Count Lansdorf, and
afterwards with no less a personage than the Little Father himself!
And, you know, Sophie knows everything."
"Ah yes," said the Prince; "I had forgotten that. You told me of it. I
should not wonder if the subject of their conversation were not
unconnected with an increase of the French fleet in Chinese waters.
And then Morocco is----"
"Chut, papa!" said the Marquise, in a low tone, "we must not talk
politics here. In Petersburg ceilings have eyes and walls have ears."
"That is true," laughed Victor; "not even Embassies here are neutral
ground."
At this moment a lacquey approached and bowed to Captain Fargeau.
"Pardon me a moment," he said to his companions; "I am wanted for
something, and I can see a good many envious eyes looking this way.
Ah, there goes the music! They will be dancing presently, and there
will be many candidates for Mam'selle's hand. But you will keep me a
waltz or two, won't you? and may I hope also for supper?"
"My dear Victor," she replied, with a bewildering smile, "have I not
already told you that you may hope for everything? Meanwhile, _au
revoir_! When you have done your business you will find us in the
salon."
As he moved away, the curtains were again drawn aside, and the
major-domo announced:
"His Excellency Count Valdemar! The Countess Sophie Valdemar!"
The Count was a big, strongly-built man in diplomatic uniform. His
face was of the higher Russian type, and heavily bearded. His
daughter, the Countess Sophie, was a strange contrast to him, slight
and fair, with perfectly cut features, almost Grecian in their
regularity, golden-bronze hair, dark, straight eyebrows, and big,
wide-set, pansy-blue eyes. The only Russian trait that she possessed
was her mouth--full-lipped and sensuous, almost sensular, in fact; and
yet it was small enough, and the lips were so daintily shaped that it
added to, rather than detracted from her beauty.
They were lips whose kisses had lured more than one bearer of a
well-known name to destruction. Some they had sent to the scaffold,
and others were still dreaming of their fatal sweetness in prison or
in hopeless exile; for Sophie Valdemar, daughter of Count Leo
Valdemar, Chief of the Third Section of the Ministry of the Interior,
had been trained up from girlhood by her father in every art of
intrigue, until even he was fully justified in calling her the most
skilful diplomatic detective in Europe.
To her friends and acquaintances she was just a charming and
brilliantly-accomplished girl of nineteen, who had reigned as
undisputed Queen of Beauty in Moscow and Petersburg until Adelaide de
Conde had come from Vienna with her father, and, by some mysterious
means, unknown even to her, had been received into instant favour at
Court, and in the most exclusive circles in the most exclusive city in
the world. In fact, the enigma which it was the present object of her
life to solve was how this could be possible--granted the tacit
alliance between the Russian Empire and the French Republic, and the
Prince's openly expressed contempt for all modern things French and
Republican. There were, indeed, only three people in Europe who could
have solved that riddle, and she was not one of them.
As she entered she saw Victor coming towards her. Instantly her eyes
brightened, and the faintest of flushes showed through the pallor of
her silken skin. He stopped for a moment to greet them, but his clasp
on her hand was nothing more than the formal pressure which friendship
expects, and she looked in vain for any gleam in his eyes answering
that in her own.
When he had passed in towards the door she flung a swift glance round
the room, and as the soft pansy eyes rested on the exquisite shape and
lovely face of Adelaide de Conde they seemed to harden and blacken for
just the fraction of a second. The next moment she and her father were
greeting the Prince and the Marquise with a cordiality that was only
tempered by the almost indefinable reserve which the place and the
situation made indispensable.
"My dear Marquise," she said, in that soft, pure French which, outside
France, is only heard in Russia, "if possible, you have excelled
yourself to-night; you are a perfect vision----"
"My dear Sophie," laughed the Marquise, "what is the matter? You seem
as formal as you wish to be flattering; but really, if it is a matter
of compliments, it is not you, but I who should be paying them."
"Quite a waste of time, my dear children," laughed the Count, gruffly.
"Imagine you two paying each other compliments when there are a couple
of hundred men here with thousands of them crowding up to their lips.
Still, Prince," he went on, "it is better so than rivalry, for rival
beauty has always worked more harm in the world than rival ambitions."
"There can be no question of rivalry, my dear Count," replied the
Prince. "Why should the Evening envy the Morning, or the Lily be
jealous of the Rose?"
"Put like a Frenchman and a statesman, Prince: that was said as only
one of the old regime could say it," said Sophie, with a little
backward movement of her head. "How is it that the men of this
generation never say things like that--or, if they try to, bungle over
it."
"Perhaps they are too busy to revive the lost art of politeness,"
laughed Adelaide. "But come, papa; they are playing a lovely waltz,
and I am dying for a dance, and so is Sophie, I daresay."
"And, by their looks, many of these young men are dying of the same
complaint; so suppose we go into the salon," said the Prince, offering
his arm to Sophie.
It was nearly half-an-hour before Victor found Adelaide disengaged in
the ball-room. The first waltz that she had saved for him was just
beginning, and, as he slipped his arm round her waist, he whispered
under cover of the music:
"If you please, we will just take a couple of turns, and then you will
give me a few precious minutes of your company in the winter garden."
She glanced up swiftly at him with a look of keen inquiry, and
whispered in reply:
"Of course, my Victor, if you wish it; especially as it is getting a
little warm here--and no doubt you have something more interesting for
me than dancing."
"I think you will find it so," he said, as they glided away into the
shining, smoothly-swirling throng which filled the great salon.
After two or three turns they stopped at the curtained entrance of the
vast conservatory, whose tropical trees and flowers and warm scented
air formed a delicious contrast to the cold, black, Russian winter's
night. Almost at the same moment Sophie Valdemar said to her partner,
a smart young officer of the Imperial Guard:
"I think that will do for the present, if you don't mind; I don't feel
very vigorous to-night, somehow: suppose you find me a seat in the
garden, and then go and tell one of the men to bring me an ice."
They stopped just as Victor and Adelaide passed through the curtains.
They followed a couple of yards behind them, and Sophie quickened her
step a little, her teeth came together with a little snap, and her
eyes darkened again as she saw Adelaide look up at her companion and
heard her say softly:
"Well, what is your news--for I am sure you have some?"
"Yes, I have," he replied; "and the greatest of good news; you know
from whom?"
"Ah," said Adelaide, with a little catch in her voice, "from him; and
has he----"
"Succeeded? Yes; and to the fullest of his expectations. He goes to
Paris to-morrow, and then----"
The rest of the sentence was lost to Sophie as they turned away into
the garden.
Her companion found her a seat under a tree-fern, and left her leaning
back in her long-cushioned chair of Russian wicker, looking across the
winter garden, through the palms and ferns, at Victor and Adelaide, as
they moved along, obviously looking for a secluded corner. During
those few moments her whole nature had, for the time being, completely
changed. The jealous, passionate woman had vanished, and in her place
remained the cold, clear-headed, highly-trained intriguer, with
incarnate and unemotional intellect, thinking swiftly and logically,
trying to find some meaning in the words that she had just heard,
words which, if she had only known their import, she would have found
pregnant with the fate of Europe.
"I wonder who has succeeded beyond his best expectations? Someone
closely connected with both of them, of course! And Paris--why should
his success take him to Paris? Victor Fargeau, Alsatian though he is,
is one of the most brilliant of the younger generation of German
officers, a favourite of the Emperor, a member of the Staff, and
attache here in Petersburg. And she, my dear friend and enemy, is a
Bourbon, an aristocrat of the first water, the daughter of an open
enemy of our very good and convenient ally the French Republic.
Paris--he who has succeeded is going to Paris. Well, I would give a
good deal to know who he is and why he is going to Paris."