Bellamy, travel-stained and weary, arrived at his rooms at two o’clock
on the following afternoon to find amongst a pile of correspondence a
penciled message awaiting him in a handwriting he knew well. He tore
open the envelope.
DAVID DEAR,—I have just arrived and I am sending you these few lines at
once. As to what progress I have made, I cannot say for certain, but
there is a chance. You had better get the money ready and come to me
here. If R. could only escape from Streuss and those who watch him all
the time, I should be quite sure, but they are suspicious. What may
happen I cannot tell. I do my best and I have hated it. Get the money
ready and come to me.
LOUISE.
Bellamy drew a little breath and tore the note into pieces. Then he
rang for his servant. “A bath and some clean clothes quickly,” he
ordered. “While I am changing, ring up Downing Street and see if Sir
James is there. If not, find out exactly where he is. I must see him
within half an hour. Afterwards, get me a taxicab.”
The man obeyed with the swift efficiency of the thoroughly trained
servant. In rather less than the time which he had stated, Bellamy had
left his rooms. Before four o’clock he had arrived at the address which
Louise had given him. A commissionaire telephoned his name to the first
floor, and in a very few moments a pale-faced French man-servant, in
sombre black livery, descended and bowed to Bellamy.
“Monsieur will be so good as to come this way,” he directed.
Bellamy followed him into the lift, which stopped at the first floor.
He was ushered into a small boudoir, already smothered with roses.
“Mademoiselle will be here immediately,” the man announced. “She is
engaged with a gentleman from the Opera, but she will leave him to
receive Monsieur.”
Bellamy nodded.
“Pray let Mademoiselle understand,” he said, “that I am entirely at her
service. My time is of no consequence.”
The man bowed and withdrew. Louise came to him almost directly from an
inner chamber. She was wearing a loose gown, but the fatigue of her
journey seemed already to have passed away. Her eyes were bright, and a
faint color glowed in her cheeks.
“David,” she exclaimed, “thank Heaven that you are here!”
She took both his hands and held them for a moment. Then she walked to
the door, made sure that it was securely fastened, and stood there
listening for a moment.
“I suppose I am foolish,” she said, coming back to him, “and yet I
cannot help fancying that I am being watched on every side since we
landed in England. I detest my new manager, and I don’t trust any of
the servants he has engaged for me. You got my note?”
“Yes,” he answered, “I had your note—and I am here.”
The restraint of his manner was obvious. He was standing a little away
from her. She came suddenly up to him, her hands fell upon his
shoulders, her face was upturned to his. Even then he made no motion to
embrace her.
“David,” she whispered softly, “what I am doing—what I have done—was at
your suggestion. I do it for you, I do it for my country, I do it
against every natural feeling I possess. I hate and loathe the lies I
tell. Are you remembering that? Is it in your heart at this moment?”
He stooped and kissed her.
“Forgive me,” he said, “it is I who am to blame, but I am only human.
We play for great stakes, Louise, but sometimes one forgets.”
“As I live,” she murmured, “the kiss you gave me last is still upon my
lips. What I have promised goes for nothing. What he has promised is
this—the papers to-night.”
“Unopened?”
“Unopened,” she repeated, softly.
“But how is it to be done?” Bellamy asked. “He must have arrived in
London when you did last night. How is it they are not already at the
Embassy?”
“The Ambassador was commanded to Cowes,” she explained. “He cannot be
back until late to-night. No one else has a key to the treaty safe, and
Von Behrling declined to give up the document to any one save the
Ambassador himself.”
Bellamy nodded.
“What about Streuss?”
“Streuss and the others are all furious,” Louise said. “Yet, after all,
Behrling has a certain measure of right on his side. His orders were to
see with his own eyes this envelope deposited in the safe by the
Ambassador himself.”
“He returns to-night!” Bellamy exclaimed quickly.
She nodded.
“Before he comes,” she declared, “I think that the document will be in
your hands.”
“How is it to be done?”
“The report is written,” she explained, “on five pages of foolscap.
They are contained in a long envelope, scaled with the Chancellor’s
crest. Von Behrling, being one of the family, has the same crest. He
has prepared another envelope, the same size and weight, and signed it
with his seal. It is this which he will hand over to the Ambassador if
he should return unexpectedly. The real one he has concealed.”
“Is he here?” Bellamy inquired.
“Thank Heavens, no!” she answered. “My dear David, what are you
thinking of? He is not here and he dare not come here. You are to go to
your rooms,” she added, glancing at the clock, “and between five and
six o’clock this evening you will be rung up on the telephone. A
rendezvous will be given you for later on to-night. You must take the
money there and receive the packet. Von Behrling will be disguised and
prepared for flight.”
Bellamy’s eyes glowed.
“You believe this?” he exclaimed.
“I believe it,” she replied. “He is going to do it. After he has seen
you, he will make his way to Plymouth. I have promised—don’t look at
me, David—I have promised to join him there.”
Bellamy was grave.
“There will be trouble,” he said. “He will come back. He will want to
shoot you. He may be slow-witted in some things, but he is passionate.”
“Am I a coward?” she asked, with a scornful laugh. “Have I ever shown
fear of my life? No, David! It is not that of which I am afraid. It is
the memory of the man’s touch, it is the look which was in your face
when you came into the room. These are the things I fear—not death.”
Bellamy drew her into his arms and kissed her.
“Forgive me,” he begged. “At such times a man is a weak thing—a weak
and selfish thing. I am ashamed of myself. I should have known better
than to have doubted you for a moment. I know you so well, Louise. I
know what you are.”
She smiled.
“Dear,” she said, “you have made me happy. And now you must go away.
Remember that these few minutes are only an interlude. Over here I am
Mademoiselle Idiale who sings to-night at Covent Garden. See my roses.
There are two rooms full of reporters and photographers in the place
now. The leader of the orchestra is in my bedroom, and two of the
directors are drinking whiskies and sodas with this new manager of mine
in the dining-room. Between five and six o’clock this afternoon you
will get the message. It is somewhere, I think, in the city that you
will have to go. There will be no trouble about the money? Nothing but
notes or gold will be of any use.”
“I have it in my pocket,” he answered. “I have it in notes, but he need
never fear that they will be traced. The numbers of notes given for
Secret Service purposes are expunged from every one’s memory.”
She drew a little sigh.
“It is a great sum,” she said. “After all, he should be grateful to me.
If only he would be sensible and get away to the United States or to
South America! He could live there like a prince, poor fellow. He would
be far happier.”
“I only hope that he will go,” Bellamy agreed. “There is one thing to
be remembered. If he does not go, if he stays for twenty-four hours in
this country, I do not believe that he will live to do you harm. The
men who are with him are not the sort to stop short at trifles. Besides
Streuss and Kahn, they have a regular army of spies at their bidding
here. If they find out that he has tricked them, they will hunt him
down, and before long.”
Louise shivered.
“Oh, I hope,” she exclaimed, “that he gets away! He is a traitor, of
course, but he is a traitor to a hateful cause, and, after all, I think
it is less for the money than for my sake that he does it. That sounds
very conceited, I suppose,” she added, with a faint smile. “Ah! well,
you see, for five years so many have been trying to turn my head. No
wonder if I begin to believe some of their stories. David, I must go. I
must not keep Dr. Henschell waiting any longer.”
“To-morrow,” he said, “to-morrow early I shall come. I am afraid I
shall miss your first appearance in England, Louise.”
The sound of a violin came floating out from the inner room.
“That is my signal,” she declared smiling. “Dr. Henschell was almost
beside himself that I came away. I come, Doctor,” she called out.
“David, good fortune!” she added, giving him her hands. “Now go, dear.”