"Small affair, this," Downing observed, as he piloted Lutchester
through the stately reception rooms of the Embassy. "You see, we are
all living a sort of touchy life here, nowadays. We try to be civil to
any of the German or Austrian lot when we meet, but of course they
don't come to our functions. And every now and then some of those
plaguey neutrals get the needle and they don't come, so we never know
quite where we are, Guadopolis has been avoiding us lately, and I hear
he was seen out at the Lakewood Country Club with Count Reszka, the
Rumanian Minister, a few days ago. Gave the Chief quite a little
flurry, that did."
"There's an idea over in London," Lutchester remarked, "that a good
deal of the war is being shaped in Washington nowadays."
"That is the Chief's notion," Downing assented. "I know he's pining to
talk to you, so we'll go and do the dutiful."
Lutchester was welcomed as an old friend by both the Ambassador and his
wife. The former drew him to a divan from which he could watch the
entrance to the rooms, and sat by his side.
"I am glad they sent you out, Lutchester," he said earnestly. "If ever
a country needed watching by a man with intelligence and experience,
this one does to-day."
"Do you happen to know that fellow Oscar Fischer?" Lutchester asked.
"I do, and I consider him one of the most dangerous people in the
States for us," the Ambassador declared. "He has a great following,
huge wealth, and, although he is not a man of culture, he doesn't go
about his job in that bull-headed way that most of them do."
"He's trying things on with Japan," Lutchester observed. "I think I
shall manage to checkmate him there all right. But there's another
scheme afloat that I don't follow so closely. You know Senator
Hastings, I suppose?"
The Ambassador nodded.
"Senator Theodore Hastings," he repeated thoughtfully. "Yes, he's
rather a dark horse. He is supposed to be the President's bosom friend,
but I hear whispers that he'd give his soul for a nomination, adopt any
cause or fight any one's battle."
"That's my own idea of him," Lutchester replied, "and I think you will
find him in the field with a pretty definite platform before long."
"You think he's mixed up with Fischer?" the Ambassador inquired.
"I'm sure he is," Lutchester assented. "Not only that, but they have
something up their sleeve. I think I can guess what it is, but I'm not
sure. How have things seemed to you here lately?"
"To tell you the truth, I haven't liked the look of them," the
Ambassador confided. "There's something afoot, and I can't be sure what
it is. Look at the crowd to-night. Of course, all the Americans are
here, but the diplomatic attendance has never been so thin. The
Rumanian Minister and his wife, the Italian, the Spanish, and the
Swedish representatives are all absent. I have just heard, too, that
Baron von Schwerin is giving a dinner-party."
Lutchester looked thoughtfully at the little stream of people. The
Ambassador left him for a few moments to welcome some late comers. He
returned presently and resumed his seat by Lutchester's side.
"Of course," he continued, lowering his voice, "all formal
communications between us and the enemy Embassies have ceased, but it
has come to be an understood thing, to avoid embarrassments to our
mutual friends, that we do not hold functions on the same day. I heard
that Von Schwerin was giving this dinner-party, so I sent round this
morning to inquire. The reply was that it was entirely a private one.
One of our youngsters brought us in a list of the guests a short time
ago. I see Hastings is one of them, and Fischer, and Rumania and Greece
will be represented. Now Hastings was to have been here, and as a rule
the neutrals are very punctilious."
"I suppose the way that naval affair was represented didn't do us any
good," Lutchester observed.
"It did us harm, without a doubt," was the lugubrious admission.
"Still, fortunately, these people over here are clever enough to
understand our idiosyncrasies. I honestly think we'd rather whine about
a defeat than glory in a victory."
"Diplomatically, too," Lutchester remarked thoughtfully, "I should have
said that things seemed all right here. The President comes in for a
great deal of abuse in some countries. Personally, I think he has been
wonderful."
The Ambassador nodded.
"You and I both know, Lutchester," he said, "that the last thing we
want is to find America dragged into this war. Such a happening would
be nothing more nor less than a catastrophe in itself, to say nothing
of the internal dissensions here. On the other hand, as things are now,
Washington is becoming a perfect arena for diplomatic chicanery, and I
have just an instinct--I can't define it in any way--which leads me to
believe that some fresh trouble has started within the last twenty-four
hours."
Lady Ridlingshawe motioned to her husband with her fan, and he rose at
once to his feet.
"I must leave you to look after yourself for a time, Lutchester," he
concluded. "You'll find plenty of people here you know. Don't go until
you've seen me again."
Lutchester wandered off in search of Pamela. He found her with Mrs.
Hastings, surrounded by a little crowd of acquaintances. Pamela waved
her fan, and they made way for him.
"Mr. Lutchester, I have been looking everywhere for you!" she
exclaimed. "What a secretive person you are! Why couldn't you tell me
that Lady Ridlingshawe was your cousin? I want you to take me to her,
please, I met her sister out in Nice."
She laid her fingers upon his arm, and they passed out of the little
circle.
"All bluff, of course," she murmured. "Find the quietest place you can.
I want to talk to you."
They wandered out on to a balcony where some of the younger people were
taking ices. She leaned over the wooden rail.
"Listen," she said, "I adore this atmosphere, and I am perfectly
certain there is something going on--something exciting, I mean. You
know that the Baron von Schwerin has a dinner-party?"
"I know that," he assented.
"Uncle Theodore is going with Mr. Fischer. He was invited at the last
moment, and I understand that his presence was specially requested."
Lutchester stood for a short time in an absorbed and sombre silence. In
the deep blue twilight his face seemed to have fallen into sterner
lines. Without a doubt he was disturbed. Pamela looked at him
anxiously.
"Is anything the matter?" she asked.
He shook his head.
"Nothing definite, only for the last few hours I have felt that things
here are reaching a crisis. There is something going on around us,
something which seems to fill Fischer and his friends with confidence,
something which I don't quite understand, and which it is my business
to understand. That is really what is worrying me."
She nodded sympathetically and glanced around for a moment.
"Let me tell you something," she whispered. "This evening my uncle came
into my room just before dinner. There is a little safe built in the
wall for jewellery. He begged for the loan of it. His library safe, he
said, was out of order. I couldn't see what he put in, but when he had
closed the door he stood looking at it for a moment curiously. I made
some jesting remark about its being a treasure chest, but he answered
me seriously. 'You are going to sleep to-night, Pamela,' he said,
'within a few yards of a dozen or so of written words which will change
the world's history.'"
Lutchester was listening intently. There was a prolonged pause.
"Well?" he asked, at last.
She glanced at the little Yale key which hung from her bracelet.
"Nothing! I was just wondering how I should be able to sleep through
the night without opening the safe."
"But surely your uncle didn't give you the key!"
She shook her head.
"I don't suppose he knows I have such a thing," she replied. "He has a
master-key himself to all the safes, which he used. This is one the
housekeeper gave me as soon as I arrived."
Lutchester looked out into the darkness.
"Tell me," he inquired, "is that your house--the next one to this?"
"That's the old Hastings' house," she assented. "They are all family
mansions along here."
"It looks an easy place to burgle," he remarked.
She laughed quietly.
"I should think it would be," she admitted. "There are any quantity of
downstair windows. We don't have burglaries in Washington, though
--certainly not this side of the city."
A little bevy of young people had found their way into the gardens.
Lutchester waited until they had passed out of earshot before he spoke
again.
"I have reason to believe," he continued, "that in the course of their
negotiations Fischer has deposited with your uncle a certain autograph
letter, of which we have already spoken, making definite proposals to
America if she will change her attitude on the neutrality question."
"The written words," Pamela murmured.
Lutchester's hand suddenly closed upon her wrist. She was surprised to
find his fingers so cold, yet marvellously tenacious.
"You are going to lose that key and I am going to find it," he said,
quietly. "I am sorry--but you must."
"I am going to do nothing of the sort," Pamela objected.
His fingers remained like a cold vice upon her wrist. She made no
effort to draw it away.
"Listen," he said; "do you believe that the Hastings-cum-Fischer party
is going to be the best thing that could happen for America?"
"I certainly do not," she admitted.
"Then do as I beg. Let me take that key from your bracelet. You shall
have no other responsibility."
"And what are you going to do with it?"
"You must leave that to me," he answered. "I will tell you as much as I
can. I stopped Nikasti sailing for Japan, but I made a mortal enemy of
him at the same time. He has come to Washington to consult with his
Ambassador. They are together tonight. It is my mission to convince
them of Germany's duplicity."
"I see.... And you think that these written words--?"
"Give the key to me," he begged, "and ask no questions."
She shook her head.
"I should object most strongly to nocturnal disturbers of my slumbers!"
It seemed to her that his frame had become tenser, his tone harder. The
grip of his fingers was still upon her wrist.
"Even your objection," he said, "might not relieve you of the
possibility of their advent."
"Don't be silly," she answered, "and, above all, don't try to threaten
me. If you want my help--"
She looked steadfastly across at the looming outline of the Hastings'
house.
"I do want your help," he assured her.
"How long should you require the letter for?"
"One hour," he replied.
She led him down some steps on to the smooth lawns which encircled the
house. They passed in and out of some gigantic shrubs until at last
they came to a paling. She felt along it for a few yards.
"There is a gate there," she told him. "Can you do anything with it?"
It was fastened by an old lock. He lifted it off its hinges, and they
both passed through.
"Keep behind the shrubs as much as you can," she whispered. "There is a
way into the house from the verandah here."
They reached at last the shadow of the building. She paused.
"Wait here for me," she continued. "I would rather enter the house
without being seen, if I can, but it doesn't really matter. I can make
some excuse for coming back. Don't move from where you are."
She glided away from him and disappeared. Lutchester waited, standing
well back in the shadow of the shrubs. From the Embassy came all the
time the sound of music, occasionally even the murmur of voices; from
the dark house in front of him, nothing. Suddenly he heard what seemed
to be the opening of a window, and then soft footsteps. Pamela appeared
round the corner of the building, a white, spectral figure against that
background of deep blue darkness. She came on tiptoe, running down the
steps and holding her skirts with both hands.
"Not a soul has seen me," she whispered. "Take this quickly."
She thrust an envelope into his hands, and something hard with it.
"That's Uncle Theodore's seal," she explained. "He sealed up the
envelope when he put it in there. Now come back quickly to the Embassy.
You must please hurry with what you want to do. If I have left when you
return, you must come back to exactly this place. That window"--she
pointed upwards--"will be wide open. You must throw a pine cone or a
pebble through it. I shall be waiting."
"I understand," he assured her.
They retraced their steps. Once more they drew near to the Embassy. The
night had grown warmer and more windows had been opened. They reached
the verandah. She touched his hand for a moment.
"Well," she said, "I don't know whether I have been wise or not. Try
and be back in less than an hour, if you can. I am going in alone."
She left him, and Lutchester, after a few brief words with the
Ambassador, hurried away to his task. In twenty minutes he stood before
a tall, grey-stone building, a few blocks away, was admitted by a
Japanese butler, and conducted, after some hesitation, into a large
room at the back of the house. An elderly man, dressed for the evening,
with the lapel of his coat covered with orders, was awaiting him.
"I am a stranger to you, Baron," Lutchester began.
"That does not matter," was the grave reply. "Ten minutes ago I had an
urgent telephone call from our mutual friend. His Excellency told me
that he was sending a special messenger, and begged me to give you a
few minutes. I have left a conference of some importance, and I am
here."
"A few minutes will be enough," Lutchester promised. "I am engaged by
the English Government upon Secret Service work. I came to America,
following a man named Fischer. You have heard of him?"
"I have heard of him," the Ambassador acknowledged.
"In New York," Lutchester continued, "he met one of your countrymen,
Prince Nikasti, a man, I may add," Lutchester went on, "for whom I have
the highest respect and esteem, although quite openly, years ago, he
pronounced himself unfavourably disposed towards my country. The object
of Fischer's meeting with Prince Nikasti was to convey to him certain
definite proposals on behalf of the German Government. They wish for a
rapprochement with your country. They offer certain terms, confirmation
of which Fischer brought with him in an autograph letter."
There was a moment's silence. Not a word came from the man who seemed
to have learnt the gift of sitting with absolute immovability. Even his
eyes did not blink. He sat and waited.
"The proposals made to you are plausible and deserving of
consideration," Lutchester proceeded. "Do not think that there exists
in my mind, or would exist in the mind of any Englishman knowing of
them, any feeling of resentment that these proposals should have been
received by you for consideration. Nothing in this world counts to
those who follow the arts of diplomacy, save the simple welfare of the
people whom he represents. It is therefore the duty of every patriot to
examine carefully all proposals made to him likely to militate to the
advantage of his own people. You have a letter, offering you certain
terms to withdraw from your present alliances. Here is a letter from
the same source, in the same handwriting, written to America. Break the
seal yourself. It was brought to this country by Fischer, in the same
dispatch box as yours, to be handed to some responsible person in the
American Government. It was handed to Senator Theodore Hastings. It is
to form part of his platform on the day when his nomination as
President is announced. It must be back in his safe within
three-quarters of an hour. Break the seal and read it."
The Japanese held out his hand, broke the seal of the envelope, and
read. His face remained immovable. When he had finished he looked up at
his visitor.
"I am permitted to take a copy?" he asked.
"Certainly!"
He touched a bell, spoke down a mouthpiece, and with almost necromantic
swiftness two young men were in the room. A camera was dragged out, a
little flash of light shot up to the ceiling, and the attaches vanished
as quickly as they had come. The Ambassador replaced the document in
its envelope, handed a stick of sealing-wax and a candle to Lutchester,
who leaned over and resealed the envelope.
"The negative?" he enquired.
"Will be kept under lock and key," the Ambassador promised. "It will
pass into the archives of Japanese history. In future we shall know."
Once more he touched a bell. The door was opened. Lutchester found
himself escorted into the street. He was back at the Embassy in time to
meet a little stream of departing guests. Lady Ridlingshawe patted him
on the shoulder with her fan.
"Deserter!" she exclaimed, reproachfully, "Wherever have you been
hiding?"
Lutchester made some light reply and passed on. He made his way out
into the gardens. The darkness now was a little more sombre, and he had
to grope his way to the palings. Soon he stood before the dark outline
of the adjoining house. In the window towards which he was making his
way a single candle in a silver candlestick was burning. He paused
underneath and listened. Then he took a pine cone which he had picked
up on his way and threw it through the open window. The candle was
withdrawn. A shadowy form leaned out.
"I'm quite alone," she assured him softly. "Can you throw it in?"
He nodded.
"I think so."
His first effort was successful. The seal followed, wrapped up in his
handkerchief. A moment or two later he saw Pamela's face at the window.
"Good night!" she whispered. "Quickly, please. There is still some one
about downstairs."
The light was extinguished. Lutchester made his way cautiously back,
replaced the gate upon its hinges and reached the shelter of the Embassy,
denuded now of guests. He found Downing in the smoking-room.
"Can I get a whisky and soda?" Lutchester asked, in response to the
latter's vociferous greeting.
"Call it a highball," was the prompt reply, "and you can have as many
as you like. Have you earned it?" he added, a little curiously.
"I almost believe that I have," Lutchester assented.