ALAS! FOR THE GAME THAT FAILED TO WORK.
Evidently Roderic Owen was disturbed by this meeting more than he
would have cared to confess. When ghosts that are supposed to have
been laid for all time come back to haunt us, memory plays havoc with
the strongest resolutions. Owen lived again in the past--his ears
seemed to drink in the music and merriment of the gay Spanish-American
capital--he saw once more a face that had been enshrined in his heart
as queen of the realm, and somehow the memory was not so unpleasant.
Instead of groaning over the disasters of the past he found himself
unconsciously building new _chateaux d'Espagne_. Hope ever abides in
the human breast--though daily overthrown it rises again and again,
Phœnix like from the ashes, and builds anew.
From the shadow of Trinity College and the Bank of Ireland, formerly
the Irish House of Parliament, it was but a short distance to his
hotel, the luxurious Shelbourne.
Having once entered the caravansary he cast his eyes around as though
seeking some one. A number of gentlemen lounged near the booking
offices, while on the first landing of the wide stairs among palms and
flowers ladies could be seen.
It was a bright picture, entirely foreign to the usual run of
transatlantic hotels to which Owen was accustomed.
A pair of bright eyes detected his arrival and a fair hand beckoned
him upward.
Time was of value to him, but when beauty demands attendance other
things may wait, and he believed he could spare a few minutes at any
rate.
She was a remarkable young woman, this Cleopatra Fairfax, and few men
could have resisted her charms of person and fortune. True, in features
she could not be called beautiful, but her eyes were glorious blue
ones, her hair abundant and of a golden hue, while her skin was browned
by exposure to sun and wind, since M'lle Cleo was a confirmed golf
player, a bicyclist, and a voyager over many seas. Her form at least
was enough like that of Venus to set many a famous painter anxious
because his last models lacked those qualities which a lavish Nature
had showered so abundantly on this child of fortune.
This then was Cousin Cleo, an impulsive, warm-hearted girl, with the
better qualities of both Irish and American ancestors in her veins.
Her mother had been an Owen, while on her father's side she came from a
long line of the famous Virginia Fairfax family. A better combination
it would be hard to imagine; and in this coming together of old and new
world blood lies the wonderful strength and marvelous ingenuity of the
American people.
Miss Fairfax traveled withersoever her sweet will prompted, always
accompanied by a spinster chaperone. Perhaps it was an accident that
brought her to Dublin and the Shelbourne at the same time the English
Ambassador's private agent took up his quarters there--these accidents,
how often they happen, and how opportunely at times.
Besides the motherly chaperone, there was another in the party, a
gentleman who in physique and handsome features far outshone Roderic.
Of course this was Jerome Wellington, a man of the world, belonging
to a good family and now of a mind to settle down after having sown a
magnificent crop of wild oats.
Naturally when such a dasher thus resolves to give up his freedom, he
looks around for a girl whose income will forever preclude any and all
possibility of his ever being compelled to live upon his wits again.
With ten millions more or less at her beck and nod, Miss Fairfax of
Virginia offered grand opportunities in this line, and accordingly the
Adonis who had seldom known what it was to fail had sworn a mighty oath
that ere twelve moons had waxed and waned M'lle Cleo would have changed
her name to the equally aristocratic one of Wellington.
Then he struck a snag.
He discovered that Cleo had since childhood cherished a deep and
romantic fancy for Roderic Owen.
They had romped together, and as years fled the stalwart young man
became her hero. She blindly adored him, and being so frank and open by
nature, her secret was easily read by such an acute observer as Jerome,
though the object of this affection had somehow never dreamed that he
was regarded in any other than a cousinly way.
If Jerome had a strong point of which he was particularly proud it was
his connection with divers deep and dark plots. He regarded himself in
the light of a modern Machiavelli, and was never really happy unless
dabbling in mysterious affairs.
In his day he had been Carlist, Anarchist, Socialist, Nihilist and
heaven knows what not.
Hence, it was to him a very insignificant matter to figure out how he
should wipe this interloper from his path. Bah! it was almost too easy
a task for one of his magnificent intellect, brightened by contact with
the greatest schemers of the world. However, the stake was a glorious
one, and even trifles must be carefully looked after if success is
desired.
So Jerome had set the machinery in motion which he expected would
speedily eliminate his rival from the field.
Unfortunately for himself he did not consider that he was now up
against a man whom Nature had abundantly endowed with common sense and
shrewdness, and who as a secret service officer in charge of matters of
state had gained considerable praise from the Honorable Secretary at
Washington under whose direction he labored.
Besides, Jerome's objections had undoubtedly been hitherto conducted
against European wits, and he might find wide awake Yankee minds
constructed on a somewhat different order.
Roderic chatted and laughed pleasantly for a little time, as though on
the best of terms with himself and every one else in the world.
Then, pleading business he tore himself away.
Now that his attention had been forcibly brought to bear upon the
subject he could not but note the blushes that mantled his cousin's
face upon his addressing any remark directly to her, and the look of
reproach she bestowed upon him when he left the gay party.
All of which gave him pain instead of pleasure.
The happiness of this cousin was of much moment in his eyes.
She had always laughingly declared her intention never to marry
whenever he broached the subject of the right cavalier coming along,
and up to the present Roderic had been dense enough not to suspect the
truth.
It was just like a man at any rate.
But at the same time it reflected on his extreme modesty.
Jerome called out a joking farewell after him, which appeared harmless
enough, but with his knowledge of the man's evil intentions Roderic was
able to read between the lines and see the malevolence exposed.
"He laughs loudest who laughs last, my dear Jerome," he muttered as
he walked away from the hotel, "and it remains to be seen how your
game comes out. Heretofore I have considered the man a mere every day
adventurer, attracted by the glitter of Cleo's gold, and believing
she knew how to handle such fellows without gloves, did not think it
my duty to interfere. Now that it begins to look more serious I find
I shall be compelled to throw my castor into the ring, and take up
cudgels in her defense. God bless her, a man could not well have a
stronger inspiration to do his level best. How the duse I have failed
to fall head over heels in love with Cleo all these years I am at a
loss to understand, yet somehow I have had an affection for the dear
girl such as one entertains for a sister. Now my eyes are opened, and
it is I fear quite too late. Destiny has already wrought out my future
for good or evil."
He was thinking again of San Juan with its park, its glittering lights,
its military music and the flash of many dark Spanish eyes.
Yes, Roderic was quite right.
It was too late!
He could never offer Cleo or any other woman the first passion of
his heart, since that had gone out under the palms and flower scented
bowers of the Antilles to a daughter of Porto Rico.
He sighed as he relegated these things, both pleasant and painful, once
more to oblivion, and again rallied his forces to grapple with the game
on hand.
Just around the corner he came across a man advancing toward the hotel,
and whom he hailed.
"Well met, Darby--I was on the way to hunt you up, while you seem
headed for my quarters."
"Just so, sir," replied the other, who appeared a man of few words, and
evidently one in whom Owen placed much confidence.
"You complained recently of rusting--that everything seemed so dull and
dead. As fortune has it I am now in a position to offer you a little
excitement, and at the same time you may be of great service to me."
Darby nodded his head--he was a man of ice, whom nothing could excite,
and yet to whom action was as the air he breathed.
Knowing the nature of the man so well, Owen struck directly into his
story, and ere many minutes had flown the other was as well acquainted
with the facts as himself.
One feature alone he repressed.
This was the attachment on Cleo's part for so unworthy an individual as
himself--that was too sacred to be given over as common property.
Darby would have to guess a reason for the hatred of
Wellington--perhaps he might lay it to the Spanish sympathies of the
other, which induced him to seek Dublin in order to have a hand in the
mysterious conference with pronounced Fenian leaders; or it might be
his sagacity would suggest the only plausible explanation.
Thus the story was told.
"Quite a neat little affair," commented Darby.
"Will you take my place?" asked Owen.
The other's face showed no sign of emotion.
"Just so, sir."
"You may bring up in Monte Carlo or Hong Kong, with a fascinating
adventuress professing to be madly infatuated with you."
This time the faintest flicker of a smile appeared.
"A dreadful fate, truly, sir."
"Still you do not shrink from it, Darby?"
The Sphinx shrugged his shoulders.
"Duty is duty, sir. I shall play the cards to win."
"You are to represent me--for the time you will look and act and think
as Roderic Owen."
"I leave it to you whether I am able."
"My dear fellow there is nothing you could not accomplish, if you set
your mind to it. I warrant that even Jerome will be deceived should he
personally take a hand in the game of abduction."
"He will know the truth to-morrow when he meets you here?"
"True--and will be stunned, unable to comprehend the facts. Thus, you
will be at liberty to do as you please after once reaching French
territory. You know how to find me again."
"Just so, sir. Is that all?"
"Only that I wish you the best of success," taking the cold hand of the
Sphinx and squeezing it.
There was actually a faint response.
And yet strange to say, this naturally reserved and passionless man was
so great an actor that when duty compelled he could imitate even the
most hot-blooded Spanish wooer, and sue with song and story for a dusky
senorita's love.
That was genius rising above nature, a carefully trained gift such as
few men possess.
"The hour grows late, and you will need some time to make your
preparations, so there is no need of my detaining you longer. As to
money--"
"I have more than enough, sir."
"Good. Besides, if you turn up at Monte Carlo you may have a chance to
apply some of the tactics you once used in breaking a faro bank in New
Orleans. It would perhaps be rare sport to you for a change."
Again Darby showed the limit of his emotion, this time it being a
chuckle that escaped him.
"Then good-bye and good luck. Beware lest you fall in love with the
charmer, my boy. Such a Lurline may storm the ramparts of your flinty
old heart, and once lodged therein, heaven help you."
"Just so, sir. I am too old a bird to be caught with chaff. I have been
through the mill. Don't waste any sympathy on Joel Darby, sir. But,
there is an old acquaintance of yours here."
"Ah! who may that be--male or female?" for his mind instantly reverted
to the girl from Porto Rico, and he wondered if Darby could have run
across her by chance.
"You once showed me a group picture of a very delightful scene in a
West Indian flower court, with the fountain and bird cages. Besides
yourself and a young Spanish captain there were a charming girl and an
old hidalgo with a fierce beard and a mass of iron gray hair--a man
once seen never forgotten."
"Ah! Yes, General Porfidio de Brabant, the noblest Roman of them all,
whose voice is like the thunder burst of his tropical home, and yet who
obeys _her_ slightest wish as meekly as a lamb."
"Just so--sweet Porfidio is in Dublin."
"I am not surprised, since I have reason to believe she is here. In
fact the woman disguised as a Sister of the Holy Grail was Georgia, his
niece, and the girl in the picture."
Darby's thin lips gathered as though prepared to emit a whistle, for
like a flash he comprehended a very important matter in connection with
his employer; but his will got the better of his inclination and not
the faintest sound followed.
"More than this, sir, I am afraid he has some connection with these
reckless schemers you have come here to watch."
"It would not surprise me--the senor general is of Spanish descent and
doubtless loves the institutions of Spain, so that with his generous
and ardent nature he is ready to risk all he has in order to help the
wretched mother country in her great hour of need. It does not matter,
since they will accomplish nothing here. These Irish plotters are
master masons in the art of promising much and having some one else
pull their chestnuts from the fire. Still, it is our duty to know the
many strings perfidious Spain has to her bow."
"Just so, sir. I am going now."
"My blessing go with you, Darby. I shall anticipate a rich and racy
story when we twain meet again. Meanwhile, again farewell."
When he stood alone Roderic heard a clock in a not distant belfry chime
the hour.
"Eleven--plenty of time for a man of his superior intelligence to
accomplish it all. By Jove! I would like to see the result. I would
wager he does it to the queen's taste, and that with two Richmonds in
the field Warwick or Jerome or any other man would find it hard to
tell the genuine from the artificial. Reminds me of Shakespeare's two
Dromios. Well, there's nothing for me to do but take it quietly until
morning, when I'll give my noble duke a run for his money. Ye gods, I
can imagine his amazement. But he is not the man to let one failure
daunt him. I rather imagine we two may yet face each other with sword
or pistol in hand. That, gives me little concern just now, however much
it may later on. All seems quiet around the hotel, so I presume the
coast is clear."
He found no difficulty in gaining his apartment unobserved, and there
proceeded to woo the gentle goddess of sleep.
A methodical man, he was able to awaken at just the hour he desired.
Perhaps a somewhat superficial knowledge of Wellington's usual habits
guided him in this matter quite as much as his own desires.
An observation convinced him that the day had broken fair and
singularly cool, so that all nature appeared to rejoice.
He dressed with perhaps a little more care than ordinary and stood
before the glass arranging the ends of his four-in-hand.
"I wonder if her eyes still glow with their old intoxicating light?" he
muttered.
From which one might readily imagine the dreams that had accompanied
his slumber must have dealt more or less with the owner of those
heavenly orbs.
"And I kissed her hand again as of yore. Jove! how it thrilled me.
Did that kiss wipe out the past--is it possible for us both to forgive
and again be more than friends? The very thought gives my heart hope.
And yet what a fool I am to forget--those magnificent rings--perhaps
one or more of them came from the bolero dancer, the dashing Julio who
took San Juan hearts by storm. Heaven only knows--in my mad jealousy
I accused her of encouraging his attentions. Perhaps I was wrong, and
again I may have been right, for I never heard more of either after I
shook the red dust of San Juan from my feet. She may have wedded him,
and now be wife or widow. Ugh! to the devil with such thoughts. Now to
give dear old Jerome a shake up he will never forget."
The idea afforded him some pleasure--at least it banished that other
hideous nightmare.
Wife or widow were the words he did not care to hear used in connection
with the owner of those magnificent midnight orbs.
Jerome breakfasted at eight o'clock.
He was clockwork itself in regularity, no matter where or under what
conditions he spent the night, and when Roderic glanced into the
breakfast room there was his victim busily engaged, his back to the
door.
Jerome was something of a gourmand, and had a really remarkable
fondness for all the good things that tickle the palate and appeal to
a cultivated taste. He knew the value of every wine on the list, and
could distinguish various brands of champagne with his eyes closed,
for, tell it not in Gath, Jerome had once upon a time been reduced to
making an honest livelihood as an expert wine taster.
Owen sauntered into the almost deserted room, and came up behind the
dashing Adonis.
"Good morning, Wellington," he said briskly, as he dropped into a chair
just across from Jerome.
The latter started to make a civil reply, but when his eyes fastened
upon Roderic's face he turned as red as a boiled lobster and spluttered
out:
"Owen still here in Dublin by all the saints!"