A few nights later we went together to a ball at the Russian Embassy.
Perhaps of all the functions in London a ball at Chesham House is one of
the most brilliant and imposing, for it is always on a scale in keeping
with the dignity of the representative of the Tzar.
The spacious state rooms with their great crystal chandeliers and heavy
gilding, were filled to overflowing with pretty women and men in uniform
of hues as varied as those of the ladies' dresses, from the black coat
of the United States Minister to the bright yellow jacket of the Emperor
of China's representative. All the diplomatic body were present, as
well as many personages well-known in English society. At the head of
the grand staircase Monsieur Grodekoff, the Russian Ambassador, a
striking figure in his spotless white uniform, his breast glittering
with orders set in brilliants, including the much-coveted ribbon of St
Andrew, stood with his daughter receiving their guests, and as we
advanced the courtly, white-haired old gentleman, whom I had met on many
occasions in my official capacity, shook me heartily by the hand and
congratulated us upon our marriage.
"I heard, Deedes, of your good fortune," he said, after greeting Ella.
"I trust that you and your wife will have long life and every
happiness."
"Thanks, your Excellency," I answered, smiling contentedly. "There is
no doubt, I think, concerning our happiness."
"You should take madame to St Petersburg," the aged diplomatist laughed.
"She would enjoy it, especially with you, who know our country."
"I hope to go very soon," Ella said. "I have heard so much about it,
and am longing to see it."
"Go now," he urged. "This is just the season; plenty of snow, and
skating and sledging and suchlike sports that delight us in the North."
We both laughed in chorus, while the representative of the White Tzar,
dismissing us into the ballroom with a low bow, turned to greet the
tall, full-bearded representative of his Imperial master's ally, the
French Republic. In the corridor there was bustle everywhere.
Gaily-uniformed servants hurried here and there, young attaches, their
breasts decorated with crosses and ribbons of every combination of
colour, lounged along with pretty women on their arms, while older
diplomats of every shade of complexion from white to black, exchanged
greetings as they met.
From the gay cosmopolitan throng in the ballroom rose the mingled odour
of a thousand perfumes with the chatter of laughing women, and ere we
had entered, Paul Verblioudovitch, erect, spruce and smart in his
pale-blue uniform, and wearing many decorations, elbowed his way through
the crush towards us.
We had not met since the wedding reception at Pont Street, and as we
strolled through the brightly-lit _salons_, Ella, radiant and
enthusiastic, began telling him of our idle days and explorations in the
old-world French towns.
"Permit me, madame, to congratulate you," he exclaimed presently.
"Upon what?" asked Ella, in surprise.
"Upon being the prettiest woman it has ever been our honour to entertain
here upon this small square of territory belonging to our Imperial
Master," he said, bowing and smiling with that inborn _finesse_ which
was one of his chief characteristics.
"Ah, you diplomatists always flatter," she laughed lightly behind her
fan. "Is it really wise of you to make a woman vain?" she asked,
inclining her head slightly.
I felt compelled to admit that Paul had spoken the truth, for as we
passed along I had not failed to notice that Ella's beauty was
everywhere remarked. Her gown of cream satin, a trifle _decollete_,
with the corsage thickly embroidered with pearls and edged with flowers,
suited her admirably, and the instant consciousness of success in that
brilliant circle of society unfamiliar to her heightened the colour of
her cheeks and added lustre to her eyes.
"The majority of the women who honour us with their presence on these
occasions are vain enough," my friend admitted, adding in a low voice,
"even though some of them are absolute hags."
"Mr Verblioudovitch is, I believe, past-master of the art of flattery,"
Ella observed, laughing, turning towards me. "He could make a
dowager-duchess believe herself as youthful and attractive as a girl of
eighteen."
"It is necessary sometimes, madame," he answered, amused. "Quite
necessary, I assure you."
At that moment a quietly-dressed elderly lady of pronounced Teutonic
type and matronly proportions was struggling to pass us, but, recognised
by Paul, was introduced to Ella. It was a woman with whom I was well
acquainted, the Countess Landsfeldt, wife of the German Ambassador. She
at once joined our little group, and commenced to chat with a strong
accent.
"We have not met, madame, for quite an age--three months, is it?" Paul
exclaimed presently. "You have been away, I believe."
"Ah! yes. For a month I was in Berlin, and afterwards, just as I was
returning to London, my youngest daughter fell ill, and I was compelled
to spend two months with her in Ehrenburg, our schloss on the Mosel."
"The Ehrenburg!" exclaimed Ella, enthusiastically. "I know it quite
well. How romantic and charming it looks perched high up upon its
solitary rock. My mother and I drove from Brodenbach along the valley
to see it last year."
"Ah, you did not enter?"
"No," my wife answered, smiling. "I had not then the honour of madame's
acquaintance."
"Inside, we are back in mediaeval days, with dungeons, torture-chambers,
and all sorts of relics of barbarism; while the legends connected with
the place are legion. Some day, if you are interested in ancient
castles, you and your husband must visit me in Germany."
"It is the most carefully preserved stronghold of the middle ages
extant," Paul observed.
"Ah, yes," replied the Countess, "but it is gloomy and dull--ugh!" and,
shrugging her shoulders, she pulled a little grimace. "I prefer
Berlin--or even London."
"You say even London, Countess," exclaimed Paul. "I quite agree.
London is _triste_ after Vienna or St Petersburg. Is his Excellency
with you this evening?"
"No. My husband is--oh, so busy. We only returned from Lord Maybury's
this morning, and dispatches accumulate so fast in his absence."
"He has received another decoration from the Emperor, I hear,"
Verblioudovitch observed.
"Yes, the Iron Cross," replied the Countess, looking at him sharply.
Then she added quickly,--
"But who told you? He only received His Majesty's intimation three days
ago, and I thought for the present it was a profound secret."
Upon Paul's face there spread that imperturbable smile that he could
assume at will, as he answered,--
"It is the object of a diplomatist to ascertain the nature of all
secrets."
The Countess gave vent to a forced laugh as she exclaimed, "My husband,
I think, fully deserved the honour."
"Certainly, madame," replied the Tzar's official, courteously, his hands
clasped behind his back. "The completion of the secret convention with
England was, I admit, a master-stroke, and even though directed against
us, the rapidity and cleverness with which it was effected were worthy
of reward." And he smiled at her mysteriously.
"Ah," she exclaimed, fanning herself slowly with a sudden hauteur; "no
secret seems safe from you, m'sieur. Nothing escapes the Embassy of
Russia." And bowing slightly, her stiff silks swept past us, and a
moment later she became lost in the chattering, well-dressed crowd.
"You see, my dear Geoffrey," laughed Paul, when the Countess was out of
hearing, "we are accredited with the omnipotence of the Evil One himself
quite unduly. I particularly desired to learn whether her husband had
been decorated by his Emperor for that convention which nearly cost
Europe a war; therefore I hazarded a single remark. Whereupon she at
once told me all about it, and having done so, in her next breath
denounced us and all our works. But, there," and he gave his shoulders
a shrug, "women are such strange creatures."
"How cleverly you managed to ascertain what you desired," observed Ella.
But the fine Viennese orchestra had struck up, and my wife, being
engaged to him for a dance then commencing, he led her off, and I failed
to overhear his reply.
For the next hour I did not dance, but wandering about the rooms I
exchanged greetings and chatted with those I knew, until at length I
came across Lady Farringford, the wife of Sir Henry Farringford, our
Minister in Washington, sitting with her daughter Mabel. We were old
friends, and Mabel quickly responded to my invitation to waltz. She was
a smart girl, and rumour said that she had become engaged to a wealthy
American, a statement which, in reply to my inquiry, she frankly
confirmed. As we waltzed and lounged together I noticed Ella dancing
first with Paul, and afterwards with several young attaches of my
acquaintance. Once or twice we exchanged smiles, and I knew by the
expression on her face how thoroughly she was enjoying her first night
in the diplomatic circle. The scene was brilliant and full of colour,
the music excellent, and the scent of exotics almost overpowering.
Everyone seemed intoxicated with gaiety. In that cosmopolitan crowd
hearts were lighter and talk more free than in the ordinary London
ballroom, although experienced ones knew that here, amid this brilliant
assembly, there were many strange undercurrents affecting the prestige
of monarchs and the welfare of nations.
"So, you are to marry, Mabel," I observed when, after waltzing, I led
her into an ante-room, and she sat down to eat an ice.
"Yes, at last," she sighed, looking up at me with a pair of mischievous
dark eyes. She was about twenty-two, and rather pretty. "I'm to be
married in June, and we are coming to Europe for a twelve months' tour.
You are married already. I'd so much like to meet your wife. Since
I've been here this evening I've heard nothing but admiration of her.
You're the envy of all your male friends, Geoffrey."
I laughed. I confess that by the sensation Ella had caused I felt
flattered.
"I'll introduce you when I have a chance," I said. "Our congratulations
are mutual. You are to have a husband; I have already a wife."
"I hope you'll find the Biblical quotation correct," she laughed,
peering at me over her gauzy fan. "Do you know the words?"
"No," I replied, "I'm not good at remembering quotations."
"Well, the Bible says, `Whoso findeth a wife, findeth a good thing.' I
hope you'll be no exception to that rule."
"Thanks," I replied. "I don't know what it says about husbands, but,
however it may be worded, you have my heartiest wishes for long life and
good luck."
At that instant Ella, on the arm of a young Italian marquis, possessed
of a longer title than his rent-roll, entered. I sprang up at once and
introduced her, and soon we all four were chatting merrily. When, a
quarter of an hour later, we rose to return to the ballroom, Ella,
radiant and happy, walked beside me. In reply to my question, she
declared that she was enjoying herself immensely, but as we were
re-entering the _salon_ she clutched my arm, and in a half-frightened
whisper exclaimed,--
"Look! Geoffrey. Look at that servant in uniform over there. Why,
it's our man, Helmholtz!"
I glanced in the direction she had indicated, and sure enough there was
the detective Renouf, who, in the Laing household, posed as Carl
Helmholtz, in the handsome blue-and-gold livery of the Embassy, handing
an ice to a lady. Instantly I grasped the situation.
"It is a striking resemblance, dearest," I said; "nothing more."
"But I'm certain it's Helmholtz," she declared excitedly. "Take me
closer to him."
"When we were at Pont Street this afternoon, Helmholtz was there, wasn't
he?"
"Yes. He brought tea into the drawing-room."
"Well, no doubt he is at home now. This fellow may be his brother, or
something."
For a moment we stood watching, and saw him make a servile bow.
Fortunately he turned his back upon us, hastening to execute some
command, otherwise he must have come towards us and met us face to face.
"I'm certain it is Helmholtz," Ella exclaimed, in a tone of conviction.
"Without doubt it is a very striking resemblance," I admitted. "But the
servants of an Embassy are not recruited from the nearest registry
office. Besides, they would never employ a German here."
At that moment Paul approached and claimed her for the next dance, while
I wandered on alone amid the crowd, my mind full of strange thoughts.
Presently, while watching the dancers, I chanced to glance aside and
recognised a sparse, well-known figure approaching. It was the Earl of
Warnham. Attired in plain evening dress of a rather antiquated cut, he
wore no decorations, save the broad blue ribbon across his narrow strip
of shirt-front, the highest honour his Sovereign had bestowed upon him.
I was surprised to find him there, for I had believed him to be at
Osborne in attendance on Her Majesty.
"Ah, Deedes," he exclaimed in a low voice, with a slight smile upon his
colourless, wizened face. "In the enemy's camp--eh?"
"Yes, my wife wished to come," I explained.
"Of course. Women like this sort of thing. I have never met her. You
must introduce her presently."
"She will esteem it an honour," I said, adding, "She is over there in a
cream dress, dancing with Verblioudovitch."
He glanced in their direction, and started perceptibly. For some
moments his keen eyes followed her. Then I noticed that his grey brows
contracted, and his usually expressionless face wore a strange, ominous
look such as I had never before detected upon it.
"Is that your wife?" he asked huskily, turning and eyeing me curiously.
"Yes."
"Was it she who alleged that your friend Ogle was the victim of foul
play?" he inquired with emphasis, in a voice that betrayed dismay.
"It was," I replied.
The Foreign Minister sighed. As he again turned his eyes upon the pair
at that moment gliding down the room to the strains of the latest
fashionable refrain his brow darkened, and his teeth were firmly set. A
silence fell between us.