Bellamy was a man used to all hazards, whose supreme effort of life it
was to meet success and disaster with unvarying mien. But this was
disaster too appalling even for his self-control. He felt his knees
shake so that he caught at the edge of the table before which he was
standing. There was no possible doubt about it, he had been tricked.
Von Behrling, after all,—Von Behrling, whom he had looked upon merely
as a stupid, infatuated Austrian, ready to sell his country for the
sake of a woman, had fooled him utterly!
The man who sat at the head of the table—the only other occupant of the
room—was in Court dress, with many orders upon his coat. He had just
been attending a Court function, from which Bellamy’s message had
summoned him. Before him on the table was an envelope, hastily torn
open, and several sheets of blank paper. It was upon these that
Bellamy’s eyes were fixed with an expression of mingled horror and
amazement. The Cabinet Minister had already pushed them away with a
little gesture of contempt.
“Bellamy,” he said gravely, “it is not like you to make so serious an
error.
“I hope not, sir,” Bellamy answered. “I—yes, I have been deceived.”
The Minister glanced at the clock.
“What is to be done?” he asked.
Bellamy, with an effort, pulled himself together. He caught up the
envelope, looked once more inside, held up the blank sheets of paper to
the lamp and laid them down. Then with clenched fists he walked to the
other side of the room and returned. He was himself again.
“Sir James, I will not waste your time by saying that I am sorry. Only
an hour ago I met Von Behrling in a little restaurant in the city, and
gave him twenty thousand pounds for that envelope.”
“You paid him the money,” the Minister remarked slowly, “without
opening the envelope.”
Bellamy admitted it.
“In such transactions as these,” he declared, “great risks are almost
inevitable. I took what must seem to you now to be an absurd risk. To
tell you the honest truth, sir, and I have had experience in these
things, I thought it no risk at all when I handed over the money. Von
Behrling was there in disguise. The men with whom he came to this
country are furious with him. To all appearance, he seemed to have
broken with them absolutely. Even now—
“Well?”
“Even now,” Bellamy said slowly, with his eyes fixed upon the wall of
the room, and a dawning light growing stronger every moment in his
face, “even now I believe that Von Behrling made a mistake. An envelope
such as this had been arranged for him to show the others or leave at
the Austrian Embassy in case of emergency. He had it with him in his
pocket-book. He even told me so. God in Heaven, he gave me the wrong
one!”
The Minister glanced once more at the clock.
“In that case,” he said, “perhaps he would not go to the Embassy
to-night, especially if he was in disguise. You may still be able to
find him and repair the error.
“I will try,” answered Bellamy. “Thank Heaven!” he added, with a sudden
gleam of satisfaction, “my watchers are still dogging his footsteps. I
can find out before morning where he went when he left our rendezvous.
There is another way, too. Mademoiselle—this man Von Behrling believed
that she was leaving the country with him. She was to have had a
message within the next few hours.”
The Minister nodded thoughtfully.
“Bellamy, I have been your friend and you have done us good service
often. The Secret Service estimates, as you know, are above
supervision, but twenty thousand pounds is a great deal of money to
have paid for this.”
He touched the sheets of blank paper with his forefinger. Bellamy’s
teeth were clenched.
“The money shall be returned, sir.
“Do not misunderstand me,” Sir James went on, speaking a little more
kindly. “The money, after all, in comparison with what it was destined
to purchase, is nothing. We might even count it a fair risk if it was
lost.”
“It shall not be lost,” Bellamy promised. “If Von Behrling has played
the traitor to us, then he will go back to his country. In that case, I
will have the money from him without a doubt. If, on the other hand, he
was honest to us and a traitor to his country, as I firmly believe, it
may not yet be too late.”
“Let us hope not,” Sir James declared. “Bellamy,” he continued, a note
of agitation trembling in his tone, “I need not tell you, I am sure,
how important this matter is. You work like a mole in the dark, yet you
have brains,—you understand. Let me tell you how things are with us. A
certain amount of confidence is due to you, if to any one. I may tell
you that at the Cabinet Council to-day a very serious tone prevailed.
We do not understand in the least the attitude of several of the
European Powers. It can be understood only under certain assumptions. A
note of ours sent through the Ambassador to Vienna has remained
unanswered for two days. The German Ambassador has left unexpectedly
for Berlin on urgent business. We have just heard, too, that a secret
mission from Russia left St. Petersburg last night for Paris. Side by
side with all this,” Sir James continued, “the Czar is trying to evade
his promised visit here. The note we have received speaks of his
health. Well, we know all about that. We know, I may tell you, that his
health has never been better than at the present moment.”
“It all means one thing and one thing only,” Bellamy affirmed. “In
Vienna and Berlin to-day they look at an Englishman and smile. Even the
man in the street seems to know what is coming.”
Sir James leaned a little back in his seat. His hands were tightly
clenched, and there was a fierce light in his hollow eyes. Those who
were intimate with him knew that he had aged many years during the last
few weeks.
“The cruel part is,” he said softly, “that it should have come in my
administration, when for ten years I have prayed from the Opposition
benches for the one thing which would have made us safe to-day.”
“An army,” murmured Bellamy.
“The days are coming,” Sir James continued, “when those who prated of
militarism and the security of our island walls will see with their own
eyes the ruin they have brought upon us. Secretly we are mobilizing all
that we have to mobilize,” he added, with a little sigh. “At the very
best, however, our position is pitiful. Even if we are prepared to
defend, I am afraid that we shall see things on the Continent in which
we shall be driven to interfere, or else suffer the greatest blow which
our prestige has ever known. If we could only tell what was coming!” he
wound up, looking once more at those empty sheets of paper. “It is this
darkness which is so alarming!”
Bellamy turned toward the door.
“You have the telephone in your bedroom, sir?” he asked.
“Yes, ring me up at any time in the night or morning, if you have
news.”
Bellamy drove at once to Dover Street. It was half-past one, but he had
no fear of not being admitted. Louise’s French maid answered the bell.
“Madame has not retired?” Bellamy inquired.
“But no, sir,” the woman assured him, with a welcoming smile. “It is
only a few minutes ago that she has returned.”
Bellamy was ushered at once into her room. She was gorgeous in blue
satin and pearls. Her other maid was taking off her jewels. She
dismissed both the women abruptly.
“I absolutely couldn’t avoid a supper-party,” she said, holding out her
hands. “You expected that, of course. You were not at the Opera House?”
He shook his head, and walking to the door tried the handle. It was
securely closed. He came back slowly to her side. Her eyes were
questioning him fiercely.
“Well?” she exclaimed. “Well?”
“Have you heard from Von Behrling?”
“No,” she answered. “He knew that I must sing to-night. I have been
expecting him to telephone every moment since I got home. You have seen
him?”
“I have seen him,” Bellamy admitted. “Either he has deceived us both,
or the most unfortunate mistake in the world has happened. Listen. I
met him where he appointed. He was there, disguised, almost
unrecognizable. He was nervous and desperate; he had the air of a man
who has cut himself adrift from the world. I gave him the money,—twenty
thousand pounds in Bank of England notes, Louise,—and he gave me the
papers, or what we thought were the papers. He told me that he was
keeping a false duplicate upon him for a little time, in case he was
seized, but that he was going to Liverpool Street station to wait, and
would telephone you from the hotel there later on. You have not heard
yet, then?”
She shook her head.
“There has been no message, but go on.”
“He gave me the wrong document—the wrong envelope,” continued Bellamy.
“When I took it to—to Downing Street, it was full of blank paper.”
The color slowly left her cheeks. She looked at him with horror in her
face.
“Do you think that he meant to do it?” she exclaimed.
“We cannot tell,” Bellamy answered. “My own impression is that he did
not. We must find out at once what has become of him. He might even, if
he fancies himself safe, destroy the envelope he has, believing it to
be the duplicate. He is sure to telephone you. The moment you hear you
must let me know.”
“You had better stay here,” she declared. “There are plenty of rooms.
You will be on the spot then.”
Bellamy shook his head.
“The joke of it is that I, too, am being watched whereever I go. That
fellow Streuss has spies everywhere. That is one reason why I believe
that Von Behrling was serious.
“Oh, he was serious!” Louise repeated.
“You are sure?” Bellamy asked. “You have never had even any doubt about
him?”
“Never,” she answered firmly. “David, I had not meant to tell you this.
You know that I saw him for a moment this morning. He was in deadly
earnest. He gave me a ring—a trifle—but it had belonged to his mother.
He would not have done this if he had been playing us false.”
Bellamy sprang to his feet.
“You are right, Louise!” he exclaimed. “I shall go back to my rooms at
once. Fortunately, I had a man shadowing Von Behrling, and there may be
a report for me. If anything comes here, you will telephone at once?”
“Of course,” she assented.
“You do not think it possible,” he asked slowly, “that he would attempt
to see you here?”
Louise shuddered for a moment.
“I absolutely forbade it, so I am sure there is no chance of that.”
“Very well, then,” he decided, “we will wait. Dear,” he added, in an
altered tone, “how splendid you look!”
Her face suddenly softened.
“Ah, David!” she murmured, “to hear you speak naturally even for a
moment—it makes everything seem so different!”
He held out his arms and she came to him with a little sigh of
satisfaction.
“Louise,” he said, “some day the time may come when we shall be able to
give up this life of anxiety and terrors. But it cannot be yet—not for
your country’s sake or mine.”
She kissed him fondly.
“So long as there is hope!” she whispered.