"My ears are trained, m'sieur. It is part of my profession."
"But why do you remain here, in a peaceable household?" I demanded.
"Surely neither Mrs Laing nor Ella have incurred the Tzar's displeasure
or the hatred of those in authority! They know nothing of Russia; they
have never set foot in the country."
The man's features relaxed, and turning from me, he busied himself among
some bottles on the sideboard.
"I desire an answer," I continued.
"I have my instructions," he replied, without looking towards me.
"From whom?"
"From headquarters."
"Well," I exclaimed. "We are not in Russia, therefore, when the ladies
return, I shall explain who and what you are."
"You dare not," he said, regarding me suddenly with dark, penetrating
gaze.
"Miss Ella will soon be my wife, and I will not allow her actions to be
noted upon one of those formidable forms of yours that are too often the
death-warrants of your victims."
"These ladies are not my victims, as you are pleased to term them," he
protested, laughing at my anger.
"Victims or friends, they shall no longer remain under your accursed
surveillance," I cried hotly. "You may practice your espionage upon
your suspected compatriots; but I will never allow you to keep
observation upon my friends here in England."
"Very well," he said, quite calmly, with that cynical expression that
was so tantalising. "Act as you think fit. We, of the secret service,
take no step before due consideration of its consequences, a policy it
would be wise for you also to adopt." Then, with a show of mock
politeness, he opened the door of the dining-room, and, bowing,
exclaimed, "Madame is out, will m'sieur remain, or call again?"
Our eyes met, and I saw in his a look of triumph.
"I'll call again," I replied, and walked out into the hall, gaining the
street a moment later.
The first passing hansom I hailed, and drove at once to Chesham House,
where I was fortunate to find Paul. When we were closeted together, I
told him of the police officer's threat, and my announcement caused him
considerable astonishment.
"Curious," he repeated, as if to himself. "Very curious that Renouf
should be installed in that family, above all others."
"Above all others," I echoed. "Why?"
"I--I mean that Mrs Laing could not possibly have done anything to
offend our Government," he said, quickly correcting himself. "It is
certainly very strange. Renouf is not a man to be trifled with," he
added quickly. "There must be some very strong reason, known only to
himself, that has induced him to act in this manner. If the motive were
not a strong one, he would delegate the menial position he has had to
assume to one of his subordinates. I know he has his hands full of
important inquiries just now, and it therefore surprises me that he is
calmly reposing as butler in Mrs Laing's service."
"But knowing him to be a spy, I cannot allow him to remain longer in
daily contact with those two defenceless women," I exclaimed.
"Have they ever been in Russia?"
"Never!" I replied. "Only the other evening they were asking me about
St Petersburg, and both expressed a wish to visit your country."
Paul, with his hands behind his back, and head bent in thought, paused
for a moment, and then said,--
"From what I know of Ivan Renouf, I believe that were you to do him an
evil turn, and obtain his dismissal from Pont Street, he would at once
expose to the Ministry of the Interior how Sonia Korolenko obtained her
passport. If he did so, the result would be disastrous to me,
especially just at a time when our frontier regulations are extremely
rigid."
"What, then, is the best course to pursue?" I asked.
He was silent, looking moodily into the fire. Then turning with a
sudden movement, he said, with emphasis,--"You are my friend, Geoffrey.
My future is in your hands."
"Which means that my silence is imperative," I observed reflectively.
Paul Verblioudovitch nodded, but uttered no word. If I denounced Renouf
it was plain that my friend who had seriously imperilled his position at
my urgent request, must undoubtedly suffer. In order to shield him I
must therefore remain silent. With intense chagrin I saw myself
ingeniously checkmated.
I dared not allow one single syllable of suspicion regarding the German
servant, who was, according to Mrs Laing, "a treasure," to escape my
lips, and thus, as the weeks passed preceding my marriage, I was
compelled to watch and wait without any outward sign.
The reason of his vigilance was an inscrutable mystery. With Ella as my
wife I had passed six blissful weeks, visiting many of the quaint,
old-world towns in Central France. It had been Ella's fancy to do this.
She hated the glare and glitter of Paris, and would only remain there
the night on our outward and homeward journeys; indeed, cities had no
charm for her, she preferred the lethargic provincial towns, from which
we could make excursions into the country and spend the bright autumn
days at old-fashioned inns. Fearing that she was becoming bored, I
endeavoured to induce her to go to Biarritz or Pau, but to no avail.
The crowded _table-d'hote_, of the popular resort possessed no
attraction, and I rejoiced in secret, for we spent a far happier time
wandering through the country than if installed in some garish hotel in
the neighbourhood of a casino.
Once, and only once since our marriage, had I made any mention of the
death of Dudley Ogle. We were driving into the ancient town of
Chateauroux, in the Indre, on the lumbering, dusty, old diligence that
has performed the same daily journey for perhaps a century, when I
chanced to incidentally utter his name, and express wonder when the
mystery would be solved.
We were speaking in English, not a word of which could be understood by
our driver, but instantly she turned to me with a look of reproach, and,
placing her little gloved hand on my mouth in haste, exclaimed,--
"No, Geoffrey. Do not recall that terrible tragedy. Promise never
again to mention his name; it only brings sadness to both of us, while
the mystery surrounding the crime is irritating and puzzling. You have
already told me that he was not your friend, although he posed as such,
therefore forget him. I have not forgotten; nor shall I ever cease to
think and to strive towards the solution of the problem."
"But cannot I help you to search and investigate?" I suggested. "Why
should you strive to elucidate this mystery alone, now that you are my
wife?"
"Because it is my ambition," she answered, regarding me earnestly with
clear, trusting eyes. "You will, I know, allow me to retain one object
in life apart from you."
"Certainly," I answered, surreptitiously pressing her hand, although
puzzled at her strange words. In the few weeks we had been together I
had discovered that she was a woman of moods and curious fancies. Once
or twice she had exhibited a strong desire to walk alone at night when
the moon shone, and because I objected she had pouted prettily, scorning
the idea that she was not able to take care of herself. Except when in
this mood she was always eager to fulfil my every wish, and I had
quickly arrived at the conclusion that her strange desires were but
natural to one of a slightly hysterical temperament, and therefore
troubled myself but little about them.
Thus after an enjoyable trip through one of the most beautiful districts
of France, unknown to the average Briton, we returned and settled
comfortably at our new home in Kensington. My duties at the Foreign
Office took me away the greater part of the day, but Ella was not
lonely, for she drove out frequently with her mother, who visited her
almost daily. Of interference or maternal influence I had nothing
whatever to complain, yet Ella's desire to wander about alone, aimless
and absorbed, soon again seized her. We had been settled about a month
when I made this discovery from the servants, who, on my arrival home
earlier than usual on several occasions, told me, in answer to
questions, that their mistress had gone out by herself. But on her
return she betrayed no surprise, mentioning quite incidentally that she
had been shopping in High Street, or that she had been to her milliner's
in Bond Street, or elsewhere.
So frequently did this occur that at last I became puzzled, and on
making further inquiries found that on many occasions she had been
absent the whole day, returning only just in time to change her dress
and receive me with that bright, winning smile that always held me
entranced.
One bright December afternoon I returned at three o'clock, and found she
had been absent since eleven that morning. I took a cab to Pont Street,
but ascertaining she had not been there, returned home, and impatiently
awaited her until nearly six. As soon as I heard her light footstep I
seized a book that lay nearest and pretended to read. She burst in like
a ray of sunshine, her face aglow with laughter, and in her hand an
immense bunch of sweet-smelling violets.
The book chanced to be a Koran in Arabic. She came across to kiss me,
but I waved her off with dignity, and went on translating the Word of
the Prophet.
Ella stood back indignant, and with her flowers in front of her waited
at the other side of the table.
After a pause I commenced, "You went out this morning ten minutes after
I had gone; it is now six o'clock. You have been absent seven hours."
Ella nodded.
"And how have you employed your time?" I asked. "Have you been
shopping, as usual?"
Ella again nodded.
"Seven hours is a long time. Where did you get those flowers?" I
asked, sniffing contemptuously at the huge bunch of sweet-smelling
blossoms she had let fall before me.
"I bought them at Scott's."
"That is a bunch specially made up for presentation," I said. "Someone
gave them to you."
"Yes, the shopman," she laughed. "I gave him two shillings for them."
Then she took off her hat and, impaling it with a long pin, cast it
heedlessly upon the table.
"It has not occupied seven hours to buy a bunch of violets," I said
ruthlessly. "Where have you been?"
Ella looked round laughing, and said in a quiet voice, "I have been to
see a friend."
"Another aunt--eh?" I asked, suspiciously.
She took a chair and sat down opposite; then, with her head leaning upon
her hands, she said demurely, "Yes, it was an aunt."
There was silence. Ella had picked up her bunch of violets, and every
time I looked up she was watching me over them.
"Well," I exclaimed at last, "where does this aunt live--at Highgate?"
"No, not that one. She is poor. She lives in Camberwell."
"I don't believe it," I said, standing up suddenly.
Ella raised her eyebrows in interrogation. There was an ominous look in
her blue eyes, and I put forth my hand to snatch the flowers and cast
them into the fire. Instead, I sat down again and turned over another
hundred pages of my Koran.
"Geoffrey," she said at length in a low, timid voice I perused my book
with stolid indifference.
"Geoffrey," she repeated, "why are you angry with me without cause?"
Raising my head, I saw that her fine eyes were dimmed by tears, and
almost unconsciously I reached, took her hand, and pressed it. Then
Ella, rising slowly, came round and sat upon my knee.
"You see," she whispered, with her arms around my neck, "this is how it
was. Last night I said to myself,--
"This poor, dear Geoffrey--he is so busy with his country's affairs, and
works so hard--he will be away all day; therefore I will go over to call
upon my aunt in Camberwell and take her a bottle of wine and some tea,
for she is a great invalid and in poverty. Since my marriage I haven't
seen her, and as she is in great straits I know dear Geoffrey will not
object."