After luncheon Camillo Morini left his wife, Mary, and the three young
English girls, Anna and Eva Fry and Violet Walters, and retired as usual
to his study. He had been silent and thoughtful at table, and his wife,
ignorant of the crisis, attributed it to worry over state affairs, as
was so often the case. A Minister's life is never a happy one, and
always full of grave responsibilities.
Her Excellency had seen her husband, to whom she was so devoted, age
before his time, and in the years gone by she had greatly assisted him
by her wise counsels and womanly help.
He looked at her in silence from where he sat at the head of the table,
and sighed bitterly to himself. If he told her all, the shock would be
too great for her. It might, indeed, have serious consequences.
Therefore he was compelled to keep his secret from everyone save Mary.
The long green sun-shutters were closed, and the great, high, old
frescoed room in which he sat alone was in half-darkness. He had told
the liveried servant Francesco that he did not wish to be disturbed, and
on entering had locked the door behind him. It was a dull, depressing
room at any time, for the ponderous cases of old vellum-bound books
breathed an atmosphere of a glorious but forgotten past. Gerino's
frescoed angels looked down upon him from the ceiling, and the ponderous
beams still bore traces of bright colouring and faded gilt. Closed
against the stifling heat outside, only a few rays of light struck
across the big writing-table where His Excellency was sitting
dejectedly, his head buried in his hands. From without came the
monotonous hum of the insects and the harsh chirp of the cicale, the
only live things astir under the burning Tuscan sun.
His wife and the girls had gone to their rooms for the siesta, previous
to driving over to Montelupo to visit the Marchioness Altieri, and he
was alone with his bitter grief and blank despair.
Little sleep had come to his eyes for the past week. Last night he had
spent the hours under the steely sky, first down in the valley and then
away over the mountains until he reached a point high up on a barren
summit, where he sank down upon a heap of stones and watched the
breaking of day over the Apennines. His thoughts were always of what
Vito had revealed to him, and of his failure.
His return to the house had passed unnoticed, and after a wash he had
taken his coffee and entered that room with a firm and desperate
resolve. The whole morning he had occupied in placing his papers in
order, arranging them carefully, tying them in bundles, and scribbling
certain instructions upon each, with the names of the secretaries or
other officials to whom they were to be handed.
He had worked on in grim silence, sighing sometimes and laughing
bitterly to himself at others. More than once he murmured Mary's name
or that of his beloved wife, while nearly the whole time his kind eyes
were filled with tears.
At luncheon he had motioned Francesco to give him a liqueur-glass of
cognac with his coffee, a most unusual proceeding, for he was a very
abstemious man, and now he sat motionless, his fingers in his grey hair,
staring thoughtfully at the blotting-pad before him.
For fully half an hour he remained in that position, often murmuring to
himself. He was reflecting upon all the bitterness of the past. He,
the man whose name was one to conjure with in Italy, was at that moment
without one single friend to give him help or sympathy.
Suddenly the silence of the room was broken by the whir-r of the
telephone bell--the private line that connected him direct with his
secretary at the Ministry at Rome three hundred miles away.
Quickly he rose, walked to the corner where the instrument was placed,
and responded.
"The Onorevole Ricci desires to speak with your Excellency in private,"
announced the voice which he recognised as one of his private
secretaries.
"Va bene!" was the Minister's anxious response.
Vito had, before they parted at the club, arranged to telephone to him
in case of necessity.
"Are you there?" inquired the voice of the deputy for Asti.
"Yes. What is it?" asked the Minister, as through the instrument he
distinctly heard the snap of the padded door of the telephone cabinet in
the Ministry, which was now closed against listeners.
"It is as I thought," Ricci said in a slow, distinct voice. "I have
been active ever since my return, and it is just as I believed. Last
night at the club, Lapi, Marchesi, Prosperi, and Montebruno were playing
bridge together, and when they had finished at half-past two I joined
them, and from their conversation learned that Montebruno is to bring
forward the question of the French frontier in the Camera. This morning
I saw Borselli and that young Frenchman Dubard walking together in the
Corso. They were talking earnestly, and it seemed as though the count
was telling Angelo something which surprised him. I stopped and spoke
to them, but they appeared to betray some uneasiness at meeting me.
What do you know about the Frenchman?"
"Nothing to his detriment," was the Minister's reply. "It is at present
a secret, but he has asked me for Mary's hand."
"Then don't give it."
"Why?"
"Because I don't like his intimate friendship with Borselli."
"It was I who first introduced them. They met at dinner at my table,"
Morini said, surprised at his spy's warning. "What do you suspect?"
"I have no suspicions," was the reply. "Only if he is an intimate
friend of yours, as he seems to be if he is to marry the signorina, it
is strange that he should at this moment be so constantly in Borselli's
company. I hear that nowadays the pair are inseparable. They walked to
the Ministry, and were closeted together for over an hour. This has
struck me as very curious, especially as I have just heard from a secret
socialistic source that the question is to be asked by Montebruno in the
Camera at five o'clock this afternoon."
"This afternoon?" gasped His Excellency, his countenance in an instant
white to the lips. "Then they really mean to ask the question?"
"Yes. I understand that the Opposition have made a sudden resolve, and
that they intend to strike the blow against the Government immediately.
To-morrow, unfortunately, all Italy will be aflame. I only regret that
I am powerless to prevent it. I miscalculated my influence--I admit
it."
"Then I must face the worst, Vito!" remarked the unhappy man in a low,
desperate voice, starting at his own whispered words as they seemed to
ring through the lofty, old-world room.
"The instant I heard their intentions I made investigations, and found
that nearly every Socialist deputy is in Rome ready to shriek that the
safety of the kingdom is at stake. Our friend Borselli has indeed laid
his plans very cleverly. But what puzzles me most is the reason Dubard
is associating himself so closely with your enemy if he intends to marry
your daughter! He surely cannot anticipate becoming your son-in-law and
at the same time conspire to cause your downfall! To me it is a
mystery, and that is why I urge you to be wary. That man has some
hidden motive--depend upon it."
Morini glanced mechanically across at that big green-painted steel door
of the safe, and recollected Mary's curious story of what she had
witnessed.
"But he is very fond of Mary, and as I have given my consent to their
marriage and my daughter has accepted him, he can surely have no motive
in acting contrary to my interests."
"He is your enemy, I repeat," declared Vito Ricci. "I have made
inquiries, and the results all point to one conclusion, namely, that he
is acting with Angelo; and, moreover, I have been told on the best
authority that certain of the charges to be made against you are based
upon information supplied by him."
"I can't believe it."
"Be patient, and you will soon see whether the facts I have gathered are
true. The question is to be put at five o'clock. I will telephone to
you the result as soon as it occurs. I am going down to the Chamber at
once, and will do my very utmost; but, as you can see, against such
overwhelming opposition I am utterly powerless. If we could prevent
Montebruno from putting the fatal question we might gain time and
perhaps succeed, but how can we prevent Borselli carrying out his
ingenious conspiracy when he is assisted in it by a hundred hungry
office-seekers and adventurers of the Socialist party?"
"Try! Try!" urged Camillo in a wild, desperate voice. "Try, Vito--for
the sake of my poor wife and daughter."
"Remain firm," came back the voice of the deputy. "Be patient, and
watch the result of the attempt to wreck the Government."
"You are hopeless. I recognise it in your voice!" wailed the desperate
man. "I know too well that all the blame and opprobrium must fall upon
me. They intend, as you have already told me, that I shall be the
scapegoat, and that Angelo shall take my portfolio."
The deputy returned no answer. What, indeed, could he say? His
Excellency, who was a shrewd, far-seeing man, spoke the truth.
"Ah, I know!" cried the Minister. "The plot is complete. For me, the
future is hopeless. Yet I am more than mystified at what you tell me
regarding Dubard. Try and discover his motive. Do not fail me in this,
Vito, I beg of you. My poor daughter's future depends on that."
"Trust me, my dear friend," was the response. "Spinola is awaiting me
outside, and we are going down to Montecitorio together. Have courage,
and after five o'clock I will ring you up again. Addio!"
And a moment later the tiny bell rang, which showed that the
communication had been cut off.
Then Camillo Morini, after glancing at his watch and finding that it was
already three o'clock, stood immovable, his dark eyes staring across the
silent room like a man in a dream.
"Courage! Courage!" he repeated to himself hoarsely, with a bitter
laugh. "Courage--and for a man who has no to-morrow!"
In two short hours that voice from the Eternal City would, he knew,
sound his doom.
"I am ready?" he laughed to himself. "I am quite ready. They think to
place all the blame upon me, to hound me down and charge me with having
sold Italy into the hands of her enemies?" And from his vest-pocket he
took tenderly a tiny glass tube containing three small pink tabloids,
and held it in the ray of light to satisfy himself that they were still
there under the plug of cotton wool.
Then, as he replaced the tube in his pocket and slowly paced the room,
his thoughts wandered to what Ricci had said regarding the man whom he
had given leave to marry his daughter Mary.
"He has suspicions--but of what?" he asked, speaking to himself in a
voice scarcely above a whisper. "That he should be friendly with the
man who has so suddenly turned my enemy is certainly curious. But he
surely cannot be seeking my ruin if he is to marry dear Mary?"
His eye caught the shining brass knobs of the safe door, and he halted
before it. If Dubard had really examined those papers he might be aware
of the truth! The very thought caused him to hold his breath. But next
instant, when he reflected upon the morrow, his countenance relaxed into
a bitter smile.