SECRET INFORMATION
An ambassador has been wittily described as an honest man sent to "lie"
abroad for the commonwealth. He is supposed to be familiar with all the
scandal and intrigue of the court to which he is accredited, to be
possessed of countless incriminating secrets, and to steer his way amid
the maze, disturbing no ghost or skeleton of family or government,
preserving the while a calm punctilio and an exterior of fathomless
simplicity. The ambassador of modern Europe is at once a Chesterfield, a
Machiavelli, and a Vidocq. He must be a lamb, a lion, and a ferret. He
must fly upon the wing of occasion, he must condescend to act as
messenger boy to his Prime Minister, he must conduct a business office
and a fashionable restaurant and successfully run a detective bureau.
Something of the ambitions of Franz Ferdinand and his wife had been
known to the Right Honorable Sir Herbert Southgate; the Archduke's visit
with his wife to the court of St. James was significant, and their stay
at Potsdam dutifully recorded at Berlin, had shown something of the
nature of the _rapprochement_ between Archduke and Kaiser. The visit of
the Kaiser to the Archduke's hunting lodge at Eckartzau on the Danube,
had set tongues wagging, and private information had served to warn Sir
Herbert that an understanding had been brought about. The visit to the
roses of Konopisht had not deceived the Ambassador, for it was known
that a pact of some sort had been made, but the revelations of Mr.
Renwick had been of a nature to appall.
A night of deliberation had done little to obliterate the Ambassador's
grave fears for the future, and he communicated at once in code and in
full with the Home Government. He lost little time upon the following
day in setting in motion all the devices he possessed for obtaining
secret information as to the effect of Countess Strahni's startling
disclosures.
For several months the surface of the diplomatic pool had been ominously
placid. Few ripples had disturbed its surface, save those occasional
ones from the direction of unquiet Serbia. But the waters were seething
now, stirred to their very lees by plot and counterplot. The advices
received by the Ambassador were alarming. Had the attack upon Hugh
Renwick failed to advise him that the military party possessed full
knowledge of the Countess Strahni's disclosures, he should soon have
discovered it. There was an undercurrent of intrigue in various high
offices which advised him that communications of the greatest importance
were passing. His own interests, of course, were best served by a
studied innocence and unconcern, and his public appearances, both social
and official, gave no sign of his intimate knowledge of approaching
calamity.
The first surface indication of the turmoil was a polite note from the
ministry, stating that his second secretary, Hugh Renwick, was _persona
non grata_ to the Austrian government, and requesting his recall. This
indicated a definite purpose neither to ignore nor condone, and in
itself was a surprising admission of the facts. The Ambassador by note
expressed his high opinion of the abilities of his secretary and
requested the Ministry's reasons for their decision. They merely
repeated their former request without explanations. And so the
Ambassador, with a smile, which had a world of meaning, offered Renwick
his passports.
But Renwick had no desire or intention to leave Vienna. He merely
removed his personal belongings to his apartment and stayed. That he had
ventured into deep political currents he was now sure, for though he
moved with great care, he was aware of being followed and once he was
shot at in a quiet street in broad daylight. He made no complaint to the
authorities, but only moved with greater discretion, sure that the
interests that desired his elimination were not among the Austrians.
From the point of view of the Austrian government he was merely a
discredited Englishman, and therefore a person of no importance. That
the Countess Marishka had apparently also reached the same conclusion
was evident, for though he called several times at the apartment of the
Baroness Racowitz, he was not admitted.
With theories of his own as to the probable effect of the Countess
Strahni's bombshell, Renwick began some investigations which he
conducted with great tact and secrecy. The forthcoming visit of the
Archduke Franz to Sarajevo had assumed suddenly a vital importance. One
morning after a night conference with Sir Herbert he took the train for
Belgrade. When he returned a few days later he was again closeted with
the British Ambassador, and when night fell, he went direct to the
apartment of the Baroness Racowitz, succeeding by a handsome bribe to
the servant at the door in sending a note to the Countess Marishka,
which read as follows--
COUNTESS MARISHKA STRAHNI,
A friend of yours is in grave danger, chiefly through your agency.
I pray that you will see me, if only for a moment. In doing so you
will secure for yourself an opportunity of doing a service which
you can never regret.
HUGH RENWICK.
When the servant returned, some moments later, Renwick was shown into
the drawing room, with the word that the Countess Strahni would see him.
She appeared almost immediately, her face a little pallid, her manner
restrained, her accents frigidly polite. But the dark eyes were
luminous, the brows were drawn inward, and her voice trembled slightly
as she spoke his name.
"Herr Renwick, I can hardly believe that you would impose so difficult a
situation were it not that something of importance has occurred----"
"It has, Countess Strahni," he said gravely, then paused. "I beg that
you will believe me."
She sank into a chair and motioned for him to be seated, but he remained
standing, his eyes studying the fine line of her neck and shoulder as
she bent forward, her gaze upon the rug. There was something almost
childish in her imperiousness. He wanted to take her in his arms and
hold her there as he would have done a spoiled child, and trust the
issue to his strength and her weakness, but the quick tap of her
slippered toe upon the carpet warned him that his mission was delicate.
"Proceed, if you please," she said after a moment.
"You may not know, but a few days after my return from Konopisht, my
connection with the British Embassy ceased----"
"I have heard," she broke in quickly, in a suppressed tone; "I am
sorry."
"But my interests in the political aspect of affairs were so great that
I could not leave Vienna."
"At least I am not to blame for the actions of the ministry."
"Naturally. I suppose I might attribute all my misfortunes to the roses
of Konopisht," he said.
She glanced up at him quickly and a little scornfully, but she swallowed
nervously and her toe accelerated its tapping upon the rug.
"I beg that you will come to the point of your visit," she said quickly.
"I will," he went on easily. "The possession of State secrets has given
me an interest in Austrian affairs which has created a pardonable
curiosity. Fortune has favored my investigations and I have learned much
here in Vienna. I have learned more in Belgrade--and in Sarajevo."
She glanced up quickly.
"Sarajevo! Why?"
"You will remember that the Archduke spoke of going there to see the
maneuvers of his troops on the twenty-eighth of this month."
"Yes." Her eyes stared at him widely now. "But what----?"
She paused uncertainly, expecting him to go on. Instead he waited a
moment as though seeking his words carefully.
"The Archduke plans to take the Duchess of Hohenberg to Sarajevo with
him. I came here to tell you that if she goes she will be in great
danger----"
"Danger!"
"Yes. There is a plot against the life of the Archduke. I thought that
as a lifelong friend, you would like to know----"
"Assassination! Holy Virgin! Not that!"
She had started up from her chair and faced him, trembling violently.
"I swear to you," he said soberly, "that I have every reason for
believing that in Sarajevo the lives of both will hang by a hair."
"But who----?" she stammered, her eyes wide with consternation.
She paused, the thoughts that had come first into her mind, stifled in
horror.
"It is not necessary for me to say. I am merely giving my belief based
on the closest study of political conditions."
A slight color had come into her cheeks.
"I am sure that you must be unduly alarmed," she said coolly. "The
Archduke will be in the midst of his friends--his whole army at
maneuvers!" Her lips found courage in a smile. "Why, the thing is
impossible!"
Renwick leaned against the mantel, his arms folded, and went on
steadily.
"The thing is not impossible, Countess Strahni. The danger to Franz
Ferdinand is very real--a danger that no army of Austrian soldiers can
minimize. He goes to a hostile neighborhood. He is not loved in
Sarajevo. Should not this be sufficient?"
"You trouble me," she muttered, passing a hand before her eyes. "But I
must know more. An Archduke must have enemies----"
"But this Archduke! Can you conceive of no reason why Franz Ferdinand
should be in danger?" he asked meaningly.
She searched his face quickly, in her eyes the truth dawning.
"You mean----?"
He shrugged.
"You should know what I mean."
"I cannot believe----" she halted again.
"Countess Strahni," he went on quickly, "were I still a member of the
staff of the British Embassy, I should not speak. I do not even now
accuse any group or political party of participation in this plot. The
Emperor at least is guiltless. Death has already done its worst to him.
The matter is out of his hands. But I do know that such a plot exists.
Franz Ferdinand will not return alive from Sarajevo and if the Duchess
of Hohenberg accompanies him, she, too----"
"It is horrible--and I--I will have been the cause----"
She sank into her chair and buried her face in her hands.
"Perhaps now you will understand my motive in coming to you," he said
softly. "I have no desire but to serve you. England has no further
concern for Archduke Ferdinand. Forewarned is forearmed. His sting is
already drawn. But death, like this--sudden, violent, without a
chance--England has never looked with kindness upon the killing of
women, Countess Strahni."
"It is horrible," she whispered. "Horrible! I cannot believe----"
"Unfortunately I can give you none of the sources of my information. But
whatever my sins in your eyes, at least you will admit that I am not
given to exaggeration. You may still believe that I have taken a liberty
in coming to you; but the situation admits of no delay. The telegraph
lines are in the hands of the Archduke's enemies. The Archduke and
Duchess leave Konopisht in the morning by special train, but there is
still time to reach them."
Marishka had risen, and was now pacing the floor, her hands nervously
clasped before her.
"I see. I--I--understand. I--I should be grateful that you have told me.
But it is all so sudden. So terrible!"
She paused before him.
"I have betrayed her," she stammered through pallid lips.
"You could do nothing else. His fortunes are hers----"
"But not this----" she whispered. "It is too ghastly!"
There was a long pause, and then, "Will you make the effort?" he asked.
"Yes."
"You must leave in an hour."
"But how----?"
She looked at Renwick and their glances met.
"I will go with you," he said coolly.
His gaze was on the dial of his watch which he had taken from his pocket
and was regarding judicially. His calmness, his impudence, enraged her.
She had sworn, because of his falseness, that she would never see this
man again, and here he was calmly proposing a night journey into
Bohemia, and she was actually listening to him.
She turned quickly toward the door and stood, one hand grasping the
portière, while she turned a white face toward him.
"Thanks, Herr Renwick," she said icily, "but I go alone----"
"That is impossible. There is danger. A night journey in a train of
uncertain quality----"
"I hope that you will not waste words. I thank you for what you have
done, but I--I must go at once----"
Renwick took a pace toward her.
"Countess Strahni, if you will listen to me----"
But he got no farther, for he knew that her will was as strong as his
own, and that forgiveness was not to be read in her eyes.
"I beg that you will excuse me, Herr Renwick. The time is short----"
He bowed gravely.
"At least, you will permit me to order you a _fiacre_----"
She nodded in assent as though to be rid of him and then turned and went
up the stairs leaving Renwick to find his way out into the darkness of
the street.
Marishka hurried to her room and rang for her maid. In spite of the
turbulence of her thoughts, she gave her orders calmly and then prepared
for the journey. The imminence of the danger to Sophie Chotek should
have obsessed her to the exclusion of all personal considerations, but
while she dressed she could not help thinking of the imperturbable
impudence of her visitor. His kindness, his thoughtfulness, the fact
that he had done her a service, and was at this very moment doing her
another, gave her a sense of being in a false position, which made her
most uncomfortable. And yet one could not treat with contumely a person
who acted in one's interests. His calmness, his assurance enraged her.
She would never see him again, of course, but she seemed to feel the
need of some final words to convince him of the depth of her disdain. He
was so calm, so gravely cheerful, so assured, so maddeningly
considerate! She wondered now why she had not led him on to a renewed
plea for forgiveness, that she might the more effectually have crushed
him.
But her duty to Sophie Chotek soon drove these speculations as to the
unfortunate Herr Renwick from her mind. Suppose that Sophie Chotek
questioned closely as to the reasons for Marishka's sudden departure.
What should she say? The Duchess was not one who could easily forgive a
wrong. Her placid exterior served well to conceal a strength of purpose
which had already brought her many enemies in the Royal House. That she
was capable of tenderness was shown in her adoration of her children and
in the many kindnesses she had shown Marishka herself, but there was,
too, a strain of the Czech in her nature, which harbored grievances and
was not above retaliation. Marishka's cause, as a loyal Austrian's, was
just, and she had not faltered in doing what she knew to be her duty,
but the thought of seeking the Duchess now that she had betrayed her,
required all of her courage. She had balked an ambitious woman,
stultified all her efforts to advance the fortunes of her children, and
had written her husband before the House of Habsburg a traitor to his
Emperor and his country. What if she had heard something and suspected?
Would the Duchess even listen to a plea for her own life and safety from
the lips of one who had proven an enemy, a bread and salt traitor to the
Houses of Austria-Este and Chotek and Wognin?
But Marishka did not falter, and when the _fiacre_ came to the door she
descended quickly. The Baroness fortunately had gone upon a visit to
friends in the country, but Marishka left a note with her maid which
explained her absence, and departed alone for the railroad station,
feeling very helpless and forlorn, but none the less determined to see
her venture through to its end.
She wore a gray traveling dress and was heavily veiled, and when she
reached the station, the guard showed her immediately into an unoccupied
compartment. This, it seemed, was unusual, as her watch indicated that
only a few moments remained before the train should leave. But she
settled herself comfortably, grateful for her seclusion, whatever its
cause, and closed her eyes in an effort to sleep.
The last warning words of the guards had been given and the train was
already in motion when she heard a warning "Sh----" at the open window,
where a head and a pair of shoulders appeared, followed immediately by
an entire body which was suddenly projected through the opening and
landed head first upon the floor. Marishka had risen, a scream on her
lips, but something familiar in the conformation of the figure
restrained her. The tangle of legs and arms took form, and a head
appeared, wearing a monocle and a smile. It was the imperturbable but
persistent Herr Renwick.