Cowes week was over, and the house party at Orrel Court had broken up.
Madame de Bourbon had yielded to her niece's earnest persuasions, and
consented to become a guest on the _Nadine_. Count Valdemar and Sophie
had sailed on board the _Vlodoya_, _en route_ for the Baltic and
Petersburg. The news which Hardress had told to the marquise and
Chrysie on the lawn at Cowes had duly leaked out into the channels of
the Press, and had been condensed and expanded, embroidered and
commented upon with the usual luxuriant facility of the journalistic
imagination.
Meanwhile the _Times_ had published a lengthy and weighty communication
from M. de Blowitz, which, while proving many wrong and some right,
pointed unmistakably to a very grave state of affairs in Western and
Central Europe. The communication also hinted, indirectly but
unmistakably, at other developments which might possibly produce
results as astounding as they would be unexpected.
"De Blowitz has somehow managed to get on to the secret of those two
so-called Polar expeditions," said Hardress to his father at breakfast
on the morning before the _Nadine_ was to sail.
The marquise and Madame de Bourbon were having breakfast in their own
room that morning else he would not have said this. Only Chrysie and
her father were at the table. "He's a wonderful fellow for getting
hold of news. That allusion to events proceeding in a far-distant
portion of the globe is distinctly significant."
"That's so," said Clifford Vandel, "and I reckon that, under the
circumstances, the sooner we respond personally to Doctor Lamson's
telegram the better it will be for all immediately concerned. To tell
you the square truth, Lord Orrel," he went on, looking up from his
plate, "I don't quite like the turn things seem to be taking
generally."
"Why, what do you mean, my dear Vandel?" asked his lordship; "you've
not heard anything unpleasant, have you?"
"I've heard something, and I've seen a bit more," he replied. "I don't
want to speak disrespectfully of any of your guests, but I'm bound to
say I don't altogether like the cordiality that's seemed to work up
during the last few days between our Russian friends and the
distinguished lady who is going to honour us by her company across the
Atlantic."
"Oh, come now, Mr Vandel," interrupted Hardress, in a tone which Miss
Chrysie did not exactly appreciate, "surely you're not going to accuse
the marquise, the daughter of my father's old friend, of anything like
plotting and scheming with Russia."
"I'm not making any accusations, viscount; I'm just trying to put two
and two together and make four of them. We know that if Doctor
Fargeau's discovery had not fallen into our hands, or, I should say
that if it had not been thrown into our hands by the stupidity of the
French government, this young lady's father would most likely have
become king of France instead of dying, of what we will call mental
shock, down at Elsenau; and we haven't yet got on to whether she knows
anything or nothing about the scheme yet."
"Anyhow, she was in Paris at the time when this Fargeau, the son of
the man whose remains we picked up, had his interviews with General
Ducros, and these Russians were there at the same time. I guess that
makes about two. Right after that France and Russia decide to send two
Polar expeditions, both by the same route--the only one on this side
that leads to the Storage Works--and both about timed to get there
when we are ready to spring our little scheme on the world. I reckon
that makes two more; and if you put them together you'll get about
four."
"I should say five, poppa," exclaimed Miss Chrysie, putting her
fish-knife down somewhat sharply on her plate. "It strikes me the
whole thing's timed to fix in with this war that they're talking
about. France and Russia want to get hold of the works when the war
starts. If they do they'll just run creation and halve the world
between them; and I reckon that makes five. What do you think,
viscount?" she went on, raising her eyes and looking straight at him
across the table.
"I agree entirely with Mr Vandel that we ought to get across the
Atlantic as quickly as we can," he replied, rather more deliberately
than she liked. "I hope, and still believe, that your suspicions are
without foundation, but, at the same time, of course, we can't afford
to take any risks in a matter like this; and as everything is ready,
and as it is always wise to do the unexpected in matters like this,
the _Nadine_ shall start to-night instead of to-morrow morning. That
will give us thirteen to fifteen hours' start; and if, as you seem to
think, our friends are the enemy, it may help somewhat to disconcert
their plans. But, under any circumstances, it won't do any harm."
"I think, Shafto, that's a very good idea," said Lord Orrel. "In view
of what is taking place in Europe and of Doctor Lamson's telegram, I
really don't think we ought to lose an hour in getting across the
Atlantic as quickly as possible. Of course, it is impossible for me to
entertain suspicions of the character of people who have been my
guests without the most absolute proof, but at any rate it is
impossible that anything could happen between here and Halifax, where
we shall land Madame de Bourbon and the marquise. There we shall get
more definite news from Lamson, and the telegram will give us good
excuse for leaving them there; but that, of course, will depend upon
the nature of the news that we get there. If there is anything really
serious--well, we shall have to commit them to the care of the
universal Cook, who will, of course, provide a special courier for
them, and say good-bye as politely as possible."
At this moment the door opened and Adelaide came in. Lord Orrel had a
somewhat high-pitched voice, and as she was opening the door, in the
slow, silent way which society approves, she distinctly heard his last
sentence.
"Ah," he continued, "here is the marquise herself. Ma'm'selle, we find
that the yacht is ready, and that there is no objection, unless you
and Madame de Bourbon have any, to starting this afternoon instead of
to-morrow morning. Both Mr Vandel and myself have somewhat urgent
affairs on the other side of the Atlantic."
"My dear Lord Orrel," replied Adelaide, with a radiant smile, "pray
say nothing more; the arrangement will suit my aunt and myself
perfectly--and, after all, we are at your service. It is you who are
accommodating us. For my part, I think it is always pleasant the first
night at sea, especially in summer. One wakes up the next morning to
find the sun shining, and the water dancing, and the strong salt
breeze ready to give one a most glorious appetite for breakfast. What
more would you? The packing, as you call it, is done. For us it is
only a question of putting our hats on and going on board--and, voila,
c'est fait."
She said this with such a delightful air of insouciance, and with such
a radiant smile, that Miss Chrysie felt that she could have shot her
there and then. Under the circumstances, she just finished her coffee
and said:
"Well, Olive, if that's so, I reckon we'd better go and get fixed up
too. I quite agree with the marquise that it's better to start out at
night on a voyage and wake up nice and fresh next morning, especially
if you don't eat too liberal a dinner before you start."
"Oh yes," said Lady Olive; "I can be quite ready by this afternoon if
you can, and if it's anything like the lovely moonlight night it was
last night, we shall have a perfectly delicious run through the Solent
and past the Needles."
"And along the coast," added Hardress; "the moonlight will last us a
bit farther than that. We shall be well away to Portland before you
want to go to bed I expect. The _Nadine's_ got to do her best this
time, and we've coaled up for a run across the Atlantic at twenty
knots. That will be somewhat of an experience for you, marquise, will
it not?"
"Yes, viscount," she said, with one of those smiles which Miss Chrysie
hated so; "it is a very wonderful speed that, and of course it will be
an experience."
"Then that's settled," said Lady Olive, rising, "we shall start this
evening. Now let us go and pack."
The _Nadine_, spick and span, and clean as a new pin, was lying
alongside the ocean quay at Southampton, her bunkers and half her hold
crammed with the finest steaming coal that money could buy, and the
steam whistling softly in her pipes.
Her second engineer, an exceedingly clever young fellow of
twenty-five, whose good-looking face was marred by a pair of
too-closely-set greenish-blue eyes, was leaning on the rail a little
forward of the foremast, smoking a pipe and gazing down the water with
eyes that saw nothing material. Edward Williams was as good a marine
engineer as ever went afloat, but unfortunately he was possessed by
the idea, too common among his class, that he possessed a creative and
inventive genius as well as real cleverness in his profession.
He had invented what he considered to be improvement after improvement
in marine machinery, and Lord Orrel had at first helped him generously
to put them into practical form; but as he did not possess the genius,
he believed he had, they had one after another failed to stand the
test of practice, and at length both Lord Orrel and his son had closed
their pockets and given him to understand that he had better devote
himself to his profession and leave inventing alone. This produced the
usual effect on such a mind as his. He forgot all that they had done
for him, and looked upon them as wealthy men whose selfishness
deliberately barred his way to the fame and fortune which ought to be
his.
Only a month before he had gone to Hardress with the plans of a new
type of submarine boat, which he, of course, firmly believed would
revolutionise naval warfare. It would only have cost a few hundred
pounds to build a model and demonstrate the truth of his theory, but
Hardress had kindly but firmly refused to do it. This refusal had
soured him utterly, and put him in exactly the frame of mind readiest
to succumb to the temptation to commit the only crime of his life.
Sophie had heard something of this in conversations at the Court and
on board the yacht, and she instantly divined that if she was to find
an instrument to work out her scheme she would find it in the
disappointed inventor--and she was right.
Like every man who believes himself to be a genius, and is not, Edward
Williams was intensely vain, and when the beautiful and brilliant
countess one day asked him to show her over the engines and explain
their working he naturally felt intensely flattered. Then Sophie had
skilfully led the conversation to his own inventions, sympathised with
him very sweetly, and assured him that in Russia such genius as his
would certainly not go unrecognised. "But these English," she said,
"are always the last to accept new ideas or properly reward their
clever men."
After that he had been as wax in her skilful hands. She had even led
him to believe she was not indifferent to him personally. After this
she had infatuated him still further by giving him appointments in
secluded parts of the Court grounds; and so she had gradually led up
to the proposal which he had now definitely accepted.
For reasons of state, it was all-important that the _Nadine_ should
never reach America. Not the slightest harm was to come to anyone on
board her: they would simply be brought back and landed in France,
free to get home as they pleased. All that was wanted was a delay of a
couple of days or so. Therefore, if the engines of the _Nadine_ broke
down at a certain spot in the Atlantic, and remained helpless until
the _Vlodoya_ overtook her, he was to receive five thousand pounds in
gold and a lucrative dockyard appointment in Russia, which would give
him every opportunity of working out his inventions.
To such a man, embittered by disappointment and soured by a sense of
imaginary wrongs, such a dazzling temptation was irresistible; and
that was why Edward Williams was leaning over the rail of the _Nadine_
a couple of hours before she was to start, dreaming dreams of revenge
on those who had wronged him, and of fortune and fame among his
country's enemies.
The party from Orrel Court drove down to Southampton immediately after
lunch to enable the ladies to do a little final shopping before going
on board.
In the course of the afternoon Chrysie and Lady Olive went into the
telegraph office to send off a few farewell wires to friends. As they
entered, Miss Chrysie's quick eyes at once caught sight of Felice, the
marquise's maid, leaning over one of the compartments. She touched
Lady Olive's hand and nodded towards her, and said:
"I guess I'd like to see that telegram."
And then, in the most unprincipled fashion, she strolled along the
compartments as though she were looking for a form, stopped a moment
and looked over the maid's shoulder. Then she came back and did it
again. Meanwhile the other compartments had been occupied; so she just
stood about until Felice had finished, and then took her place.
As it happened, Felice had been compelled to use one of those
adamantine post-office pencils which you have to almost dig through
the paper before you can get a legible impression; consequently on the
next form on the pad there was a distinct tracing of several words.
This Miss Chrysie tore off and appropriated. Then she wrote her own
message and went to the counter with it.
When they got out into the street Lady Olive said, a trifle frigidly:
"My dear Chrysie, don't you think you did a rather improper thing in
there? I distinctly saw you look over Felice's shoulder. You know,
here, we consider a telegram as sacred as a letter."
"Why, certainly!" replied Chrysie, flushing a little at the rebuke:
"and so we do over our side: but still, all's fair in--well--in love
and war, and I guess you won't think me quite so wicked when I tell
you who that telegram's addressed to."
"Really, Chrysie, I don't wish to know, and I don't think you ought to
know," said Lady Olive, still more stiffly.
"Well," replied Chrysie, defiantly, "I am sorry I riled you, but I do
know it; and honestly, Olive, it's what's you and I and all of us
ought to know."
At this Lady Olive's curiosity appealed very strongly to her sense of
the proprieties, and she said more amiably:
"Do you really mean, Chrysie, that there's something serious in
it--that, for instance, it has anything to do with the works?"
"I don't know yet," said Chrysie, "but I've got a pretty good copy of
it in my satchel, thanks to those awful pencils they give you to use
in British telegraph offices. Anyhow, it was addressed to Count
Valdemar, _Yacht Vlodoya_, Cherbourg; and Cherbourg's not on the
way to the Baltic, is it? Let's go and have an ice and some cakes
somewhere, so that I can read what is written."
"That's very strange," said Lady Olive, "and the Count professed to be
in such a hurry to get back to Petersburg. What on earth can he be
doing at Cherbourg?"
"I reckon poppa and the viscount would give something to know that,
too," said Chrysie, as they turned into a confectioner's. They ordered
ices, and Chrysie took the telegram form out of her satchel and
unfolded it gingerly. Her pretty brows puckered over it for a few
moments, as she slanted it this way and that to get the light on it.
Then she put her elbows on the little marble table, and said in a low
tone:
"It's in French, and it tells the Count that the _Nadine_ starts
this evening instead of to-morrow morning. The last word is
'Depechez,' and that's French for 'Make haste,' isn't it? Now, do you
think I was right in doing a very improper thing--which, of course, it
was?"
"I'm afraid you were, Chrysie," said Lady Olive. "It's certainly very
mysterious. How is the telegram signed?"
"There isn't any signature," replied Chrysie. "Our friend's a bit too
cute for that."
"What on earth do you mean, Chrysie?" said Lady Olive, with a note of
alarm in her voice. "What friend?"
Chrysie looked up and said, with a snap of her eyes: "What other
friend than M'am'selle Felice's mistress--the noble Adelaide de
Conde?"
Lady Olive started. To her straightforward English sense of honour it
seemed impossible that a woman so gently bred as Adelaide de Conde
could accept her father's hospitality, and yet send such a message as
this to those who might before long be the enemies of his country.
"Chrysie," she said, "I could not believe that for a moment. It is
utterly incredible that the marquise could be guilty of anything of
the sort. I admit that it is very suspicious that the _Vlodoya_
should be at Cherbourg instead of on her way to the Baltic, and that
Adelaide's maid should send such a message; but it seems to me much
more likely that Felice is in the pay of these Russians, and that her
mistress knows nothing about it."
"Well," said Chrysie, rising, "we shall see. Now I guess we'd better
be getting down on board. I shall give this to the viscount, and he
can have a council of war on it."
"The viscount!" smiled Lady Olive, as they went out into the street.
"How very formal we are, Chrysie. Why don't you call him Shafto?"
"Because I won't let him call me Chrysie--yet," was the reply.