Lutchester breathed the air of Washington and felt almost homesick. The
stateliness of the city, its sedate and quiescent air after the turmoil
of New York, impressed him profoundly. Everywhere its diplomatic
associations made themselves felt. Congress was in session, and the
faces of the men whom he met continually in the hotels and restaurants
seemed to him some index of the world power which flung its
far-reaching arms from beneath the Capitol dome.
One afternoon a few days after his arrival he called at the Hastings'
house, a great Colonial mansion within a stone's throw of his own
headquarters. The mention of his name, however, seemed to chill all the
hospitality out of the smiling face of the southern butler who answered
his ring. Miss Van Teyl was out, and from the man's manner it was
obvious that Miss Van Teyl would continue to be out for a very long
time. Lutchester retraced his steps to the British Embassy, where he
had spent most of the morning, and made his way to the sitting-room of
one of the secretaries. The Honourable Philip Downing, who was eagerly
waiting for a cable recalling him to take up a promised commission,
welcomed him heartily.
"Things are slack here to-day, old fellow. Let's go out to the Country
Club and have a few sets of tennis or a game of golf, whichever you
prefer," he suggested. "I've done my little lot till the evening."
"Show on to-night, isn't there?" Lutchester inquired.
"Just a reception. You're going to put in an appearance?"
"I fancy so. Have you got your list of guests handy?"
The young man dived into a drawer and produced a few typewritten
sheets.
"Alphabetical list of acceptances, with here and there a few personal
notes," he pointed out, with an air of self-satisfaction. "I go through
this list with the chief while he's changing for dinner."
Lutchester ran his forefinger down the list.
"Senator Theodore and Mrs. Hastings," he quoted. "By the bye, they have
a niece staying with them."
"Want a card for her?" the Honourable Philip inquired with a grin.
"I should like it sent off this moment," Lutchester replied.
The young man took a square, gilt-edged card from a drawer by his side,
filled it out at Lutchester's dictation, rang the bell, and dispatched
it by special messenger.
"I've got my little buzzer outside," he observed. "We'll make tracks
for the club, if you're ready."
The two men played several sets of tennis and afterwards lounged in two
wicker chairs, underneath a gigantic plane tree in a corner of the
lawn. The place was crowded, and Philip Downing was an excellent
showman.
"Washington," he explained, "has never been so divided into opposite
camps, and this is almost the only common meeting ground. Every one has
to come here, of course. The German Staff play tennis and the Austrians
all go in for polo. Here comes Ziduski. He's most fearfully popular
with the ladies here--does us a lot of harm, they say. He's a great
sticker for etiquette. He used to nod and call me Phil. Now you watch.
He'll bow from his waist, as though he had corsets on. As a matter of
fact, he's a good sportsman."
Count Ziduski's bow was stiff enough but his intention was obvious. He
stopped before the two men, exchanged a somewhat stilted greeting with
Philip Downing, and turned to Lutchester.
"I believe," he said, "that I have the honour of addressing Mr.
Lutchester?"
Lutchester rose to his feet.
"That is my name," he admitted.
"We have met in Rome, I think, and in Paris," the Count reminded him.
"If I might beg for the favour of a few moments' conversation with
you."
The two men strolled away together. The Count plunged at once into the
middle of things.
"It is you, sir, I believe, whom I have to thank for the abrupt
departure of Mademoiselle Sonia from New York?"
"Quite true," Lutchester admitted.
"Under different circumstances," the Count proceeded, "I might regard
such interference in my affairs in a different manner. Here, of course,
that is impossible. I speak to you out of regard for the lady in
question. You appear in some mysterious manner to have discovered the
fact that she was in the habit of bringing entirely unimportant and
non-political messages from dear friends in France."
"Mademoiselle Sonia," Lutchester said calmly, "had for a brief space of
time forgotten herself. She was engaged in carrying out espionage work
on your behalf. I believe I may say that she will do so no more."
The Count was a man of medium height, thin, with complexion absolutely
colourless, and deep-set, tired eyes. At this moment, however, he
seemed endowed with the spirit of a new virility. The cane which he
grasped might have been a dagger. His smooth tones nursed a threat.
"Mr. Lutchester," he declared, "if harm should come to her through your
information, I swear to God that you shall pay!"
Lutchester's manner was mild and unprovocative.
"Count," he replied, "we make no war upon women. Sonia has repented,
and the knowledge which I have of her misdeeds will be shared by no
one. She has gone back to her country to work for the Red Cross there.
So far as I am concerned, that is the end."
The two men walked a few steps further in unbroken silence. Then the
Count raised his hat.
"Mr. Lutchester," he said, "yours is the reply of an honourable enemy.
I might have trusted you, but Sonia is half of my life. I offer you my
thanks."
He strolled away, and Lutchester rejoined his young friend.
"The lion and the lamb seem to have parted safely!" the latter
exclaimed. "Now sit by my side and I will show you interesting things.
Those four irreproachable young men over there in tennis flannels are
all from the German Embassy. The two elder ones behind are Austrians.
All those women are the wives of Senators who sympathise with Germany.
Their husbands look like it, don't they? To-day they have an addition
to their ranks--the thin, elderly man there, whose clothes were
evidently made in London. That's Senator Hastings. He is a personal
friend of the President. Jove, what a beautiful girl with Mrs.
Hastings!"
"That," Lutchester told him, "is the young lady to whom you have just
sent a card of invitation for to-night."
"Then here's hoping that she comes," Philip Downing observed, finishing
his glass of mint julep. "Is she a pal of yours?"
"Yes, I know her," Lutchester admitted.
"Let's go and butt in, then," Downing suggested. "I love breaking up
these little gatherings. You'll see them all stiffen when we come near.
I hope they haven't got hold of Hastings, though."
The two men rose to their feet and crossed the lawn. Fischer, who had
suddenly appeared in the background, whispered something in Mrs.
Hastings' ear. She swung around to Pamela, a second too late. Pamela,
with a word of excuse to the young man with whom she was talking,
stepped away from the circle and held out her hand to Lutchester.
"So you have really come to Washington!" she exclaimed.
"As a rescuer," Lutchester replied. "I feel that I have a mission. We
cannot afford to lose your sympathies. May I introduce Philip Downing?"
Pamela shook hands with the young man and took her place between them.
"I've been envying you your seat under the tree," she said. "Couldn't
we go there for a few moments?"
Mrs. Hastings detached herself and approached them. She received Philip
Downing's bow cordially, and she was almost civil to Lutchester.
"I can't have my niece taken away," she protested. "We are just going
in to tea, Pamela."
Pamela shook her head.
"I am going to sit under that tree with Mr. Lutchester and Mr.
Downing," she declared. "Tea doesn't attract me in the least, and that
tree does."
Mrs. Hastings accepted defeat with a somewhat cynical gracefulness. She
closed her lorgnette with a little snap.
"You leave us all desolated, my dear Pamela," she said. "You remind me
of what your poor dear father used to say--'Almost any one could live
with Pamela if she always had her own way.'"
Pamela laughed as she strolled across the lawn.
"Aren't one's relatives trying!" she murmured.