"GRAND HOTEL DES CHAMPS D'ELYSEES, PARIS,
_June 4, 1914_.
"My dear Gorman,--
"I arrive at the excellent Beaufort's Hotel the day after
to-morrow. I hope that you will dine with me that evening at
8 p.m. There are matters of importance. Corinne accompanies
me. She is adorable as ever, in good form and full of peas.
We have had a time of a life, rattling, since I saw you.
Now--alas and damn--there are matters of importance. The
Emperor--but I can write no more--Corinne awaits me. We go
to paint Paris blue, she and I, once again. Then--damn and
alas--London and the virtuous life of your English middling
class.
"KONRAD KARL."
Gorman did not hesitate for a moment. He made up his mind to accept
the invitation even if he had to miss the most important division
which Parliament enjoyed during its whole session. The prospect of
seeing Konrad Karl and Madame Ypsilante practising middle-class virtue
in Beaufort's Hotel was by itself sufficiently attractive. The
promise of important affairs for discussion was another lure. Gorman
loves important affairs, especially those of other people. But the
mention of the Emperor interested him most. The introduction of his
name made it certain that the important affairs were those of Salissa.
And Gorman had always been anxious to understand in what way the
Emperor was mixed up with Megalia and how he came to exercise an
influence over that independent state.
Gorman was dressing for dinner--was, in fact, buttoning his
collar--when his landlord entered his room and handed him a card.
Gorman looked at it.
"FRIEDRICH GOLDSTURMER,
_Dealer in Jewels and Precious Stones,
Old Bond Street._"
Written across the corner of the card were the words: "Business
important and urgent."
Gorman glanced at his watch. He had no time to spare if he meant to be
at Beaufort's at eight. Punctuality was no doubt one of the
middle-class virtues which the King and Madame Ypsilante were at that
moment practising. Gorman hesitated. The landlord, who had once been a
butler, stood waiting.
"Tell him," said Gorman, "to call to-morrow at eleven."
"Beg pardon, sir," said the landlord, "but the gentleman says his
business is most pressing."
Gorman reflected. If Goldsturmer had given the landlord five
shillings--and this seemed likely--the business must be very pressing
indeed; and King Konrad Karl could not yet have become an absolute
slave to the virtue of punctuality.
"Show him in here," said Gorman; "that will save time."
Goldsturmer slipped into the room and stood meekly near the door.
"Sit down," said Gorman. "Sit on the bed if you can't find a chair,
and tell me what you want with me, as quickly as you can."
"It's very kind of you," said Goldsturmer, "to receive me at this
hour. Nothing but the very pressing nature of my business--but I will
get to the point. You will doubtless remember a certain rope of
pearls. Let me see, it must have been in March----"
"I don't remember any rope of pearls," said Gorman. "I take no
interest in pearls."
"No? Still I hoped you might recollect those pearls. They were the
finest I ever had in my hands."
Goldsturmer spoke in a tone of pained regret. It seemed to him a sad
thing that there should be any man in the world who took no interest
in pearls.
"Madame Ypsilante bought them," said Goldsturmer.
"There's no use coming to me," said Gorman, "if you've failed to get
your money. I've nothing to do with the lady."
Goldsturmer smiled.
"She paid," he said. "Otherwise she would not have got the pearls.
There was another lady who might have bought them, an American, a Miss
Donovan."
"But Madame got them," said Gorman.
"Yes. But perhaps Miss Donovan might have them now, through me, at the
original price."
Gorman began to be interested.
"Madame tired of them?" he asked. "Wants to sell?"
"Tired of them!" said Goldsturmer. "No. For any one who loves pearls
that would be impossible. But desires to sell. Yes."
"Well," said Gorman. "That's her affair and yours. I don't see that I
have anything to do with it."
"Before I agree to buy," said Goldsturmer, "I should like to be sure
that the American lady, Miss Donovan, still wishes for the pearls. I
do not want to lock up my capital. I cannot afford to lock up so large
a sum. I must be assured of a purchaser before I buy from Madame
Ypsilante. It is not every one who can pay for such pearls. Ah! if you
had seen them! They are suited for the wearing of a queen. Only a
queen should have them."
Miss Donovan was, of course, a queen. Gorman wondered whether
Goldsturmer knew that. He looked at the little Jew sharply.
Goldsturmer's face wore a far-away dreamy expression. He seemed to be
thinking of his pearls draped round the neck of an Empress, a Czarina
or some other lady of very high estate who would wear them worthily.
"Only a queen," he murmured, "should wear those pearls."
"Madame Ypsilante is the next best thing to a queen," said Gorman.
A faint smile flickered across Goldsturmer's mouth.
"I would rather," he said, "that a real queen, a queen by right of
law, wore them. Tell me, Mr. Gorman, is Miss Donovan still willing to
buy them?"
"I'm sure I don't know," said Gorman. "I haven't seen her for weeks.
She's yachting in the Mediterranean with her father. If I were you I'd
give up Miss Donovan and look out for a queen."
"Thank you," said Goldsturmer. "But if I give up Miss Donovan I think
I shall not buy the pearls from Madame Ypsilante. There are, alas, few
queens."
Gorman was not, after all, more than five minutes late for dinner. The
King was waiting for him, but without any sign of impatience. Madame
Ypsilante entered the room a minute or two later.
She was wearing a purple velvet dress which struck Gorman as a very
regal garment. Round her neck was a magnificent rope of pearls. Gorman
had no doubt that they were those of which Goldsturmer had spoken.
They were finer than any he had ever seen. It was easy to believe that
there was no other such necklace in the world and that only a queen
should wear them. But they suited Madame Ypsilante. She would, so far
as her appearance went, have made a very fine queen.
During dinner the conversation was about Paris. The King spoke of
pleasant adventures there, of the life he and Madame had lived, of the
delight of having money to spend, really enough of it, in a city like
Paris. He told his stories well, his vehemently idiomatic English
emphasizing his points. He became lyrical in his appreciation of the
joys of life. When dessert was on the table and port took the place of
champagne he lapsed into a philosophic mood.
"The damned gods of life," he said, "are blind of one eye. They are
lame and they limp. They are left-handed. They give the oof, the
dollars, the shekels, and do not give the power to enjoy. The
Americans--your Donovan, for example. What does he know of pleasure?
The English of your middling classes. What is Paris to them? They have
money but no more. Those left-handed gods have given a useless gift.
On me and on Corinne they have bestowed the power, the knowledge, the
skill to enjoy; and we, damn it all, have no money."
The King sighed deeply. Madame Ypsilante had tears in her eyes. She
was in full sympathy with the King's new mood. Gorman was astonished.
The price which Mr. Donovan had paid for the crown of Salissa was a
large one. Even after ten thousand pounds had been spent on Madame
Ypsilante's pearls there was a sum left which it would be difficult to
spend in a few weeks.
"Surely," he said, "you haven't got rid of all the money yet? You
can't have spent it in the time. I didn't think you could be hard up
again so soon. Even when I heard that Madame wanted to sell her
pearls----"
"Sell my pearls!" said Madame. "But never! Never, never!!"
There were no tears in her eyes then. The mood of self-pity induced by
the King's reflections on left-handed gods had passed away. She looked
fierce as a tigress when she shot out her next question to Gorman.
"Who has said that I wish to sell my pearls? Who has said it? I
demand. I insist: Tell me his name and I will at once kill him. I
shall pluck out his heart and dogs shall eat it."
Gorman did not care whether Goldsturmer's heart was eaten by dogs or
not. He did want to understand how it came that the astute Jew
expected to have the pearls offered to him. It was plain that Madame
Ypsilante did not want to sell them and that she had not suggested the
sale.
"It was Goldsturmer," said Gorman, "who told me. He seemed to think
that Miss Donovan might buy them."
Madame at once knocked down two wine-glasses and a vase of flowers.
"That cursed offspring of the litter of filthy Jews who make Hamburg
stink! Tell him that I will pull out his hair, his teeth, his eyes,
but that never, never will that American miss touch one of my pearls.
I will not sell, will not, will not."
The King looked round. He satisfied himself that the waiters had left
the room.
"Alas," he said, "alas, my poor Corinne! But consider. There is an
English proverb: the horse needs must trot along, trot smart, when it
is the devil who drives."
"He is the devil, that Emperor," said Madame. "But not for any Emperor
will I part with one single pearl."
"Look here," said Gorman. "There's evidently been some mistake about
Goldsturmer and the pearls. I don't profess to understand what's
happening, but if I'm to help you in any way----"
"You are to help damnably," said the King. "Are you not our friend?"
"In that case," said Gorman, "before I go a step further into the
matter I must know what on earth the Emperor has got to do with
Madame's pearls."
"The Emperor," said Madame Ypsilante, "is a devil."
"Take another glass of port," said the King. "No? Then light a
cigar. If you will light a cigar and fill for yourself a glass of
brandy--also for Corinne--I will tell you about the Emperor."
Gorman filled Madame's glass and his own. He was particular about
Madame's. Brandy had a soothing influence on her. He did not like her
habit of throwing things about in moments of excitement. He also lit a
cigar.
"I will make my breast clean of the whole affair," said the King.
"Then you will understand and help us. The Emperor has spilt cold
water all over Salissa--that is over the sale of the island to the
American."
"The Emperor must have very little to do," said Gorman, "if he has
time to waste in fussing about a wretched little island like Salissa.
How did he hear about the sale?"
"I think," said the King, "that Steinwitz must have permitted the cat
to jump out of the bag. Steinwitz smelt rats, of that I am sure."
"I daresay you're right," said Gorman. "I rather thought Steinwitz was
nosing around. But why does the Emperor mind? That's what I'm trying
to get at."
The King shrugged his shoulders.
"Who knows?" he said. "_Real Politik_, perhaps. What you call----How
do you call _Real Politik_?"
"Haven't got a word for it," said Gorman. "For the matter of that we
haven't got the thing. We manage along all right with sham politics,
Ireland and Insurance Acts and the rest of it. If real politics lead
to trouble over places like Salissa I prefer our home-made imitation.
But _Real Politik_ or not, the thing's done; so what's the good of the
Emperor talking?"
"The Emperor," said the King, "says 'Buy back. Take again your
island. Foot--no, it is foot of a horse--hoof, or boot away the
American. Give him his price and let him go.' And I cannot. It is no
longer possible to give back the oof."
"I quite understand that," said Gorman. "Your six weeks in Paris and
Madame's pearls----"
"The Emperor shall not touch my pearls," said Madame Ypsilante.
"Rather would I swallow them."
"The American," said the King, "will perhaps accept a reduced price.
The island is not an amusing place. Dull, my friend, dull as ditch
mud. By this time he has found out that Salissa is as respectable as
Sunday, as golf, as what you call a seasonable ticket. He will not
want to keep it. He will accept a price, perhaps, if I offer."
"I don't expect he'll accept a price at all," said Gorman, "reduced or
increased. I don't _know_, of course. He may be dead sick of the place
already; but I'll be surprised if he is. You'll find when you ask him
that he'll simply refuse to part with the island."
"But," said the King, "he must. As I have just said to Corinne, when
the devil drives the horse to water it needs must take a drink. The
Emperor has said that Salissa is once more to return to the Crown of
Megalia."
"The Emperor may say that," said Gorman, "but it doesn't at all follow
that Donovan will agree with him."
"But the Emperor----! It is not for Mr. Donovan to agree or disagree
with the Emperor. When the Emperor commands it is a case of knuckles
down. But you do not know the Emperor."
"I do not," said Gorman, "but I'm inclined to think that you take an
exaggerated view of him. After all, what can he do to Donovan or to
you for that matter? Come now, suppose you won't or can't buy back the
island, what happens? What's the alternative? There must be an
alternative of some sort."
"There is--yes, there certainly is an alternative."
The King paused and looked apprehensively at Madame Ypsilante.
"He can't lay hands on you," said Gorman, "if you stick to Paris or
even London. That Emperor isn't particularly popular in either city."
The King, his eyes still fixed on Madame Ypsilante, nodded sideways
towards Gorman. The nod was a very slight one, barely perceptible. It
suggested the need of extreme caution. Gorman is a quick-witted man
and he saw the nod, but he failed altogether to guess what the
alternative was.
Madame Ypsilante noticed the expression of the King's face when he
looked at her. She also saw the nod that was meant for Gorman. She
became uneasy. Her eyes had a hard glitter in them. Gorman at once
refilled her glass. That soothed her a little. She did not break
anything. But she spoke:
"Konrad, at once tell me all that the Emperor said."
"Corinne," said the King, "my beloved Corinne, it will make no
difference to you. The future and the past will be as six to one and
half a dozen to the other. You will always be Corinne. Have no fear,
and--as my friend Gorman would say, do not take off your hair."
"Tell me," said Madame.
"The Emperor," said the King, "has said to me, 'Buy back the island or
else marry the American.' In that way also Salissa would return to the
Crown of Megalia."
Gorman fully expected that Madame Ypsilante would at once have broken
every glass on the table. It would not have surprised him in the least
if she had torn handfuls of hair off the King's head. To his amazement
she laughed. It was a most unpleasant laugh. But it was not the laugh
of a lunatic. It was not even hysterical.
"That imbecile," she said, "that miss!"
Her contempt for the girl left no room for jealousy. Madame Ypsilante
did not seem to care whether the King married or did not.
"I don't think much of that plan," said Gorman. "Your Emperor may be
the everlasting boss you seem to think----"
"In the register of Lloyd's," said the King, "he takes place in the
class A 1st."
"But," said Gorman, "he hasn't much sense if he thinks that a girl
like Miss Donovan can be married off in that way to any one he chooses
to name. I'm not saying anything against your character, sir----"
"My Konrad," said Madame Ypsilante, "is Konrad."
"Exactly," said Gorman. "Those are my points put concisely in two
words. First he's yours and next he's himself. No. I don't think that
you've much chance of buying back the island, but you've no chance at
all of marrying the girl."
"I do not want either the one or the other," said the King. "I do not
care the cursing of a tinker, not a two-a-penny damn if I never put my
eye on the island or the girl. Arrange which you prefer. I place both
into your hands, my dear Gorman. I leave them there. I shall put my
foot on the bill if you buy and the price is moderate. I shall toe the
scratch if you arrange that I lead the American to the altar of Hymen.
Settle, arrange, fix down which you will."
Gorman gasped. He was always ready to give disinterested advice
in the King's affairs. He was even willing to lend a helping hand
in times of difficulty; but he was startled at being asked to act
as plenipotentiary for the sale of a kingdom or the negotiation of
a royal marriage.
"Do you mean to say," he said, "that you expect me to arrange the
whole thing?"
"You have tumbled to the idea with precision," said the King. "You
have caught it on. You are wonderful, my friend. Thus everything
arranges. You go to Salissa and tell the American the wishes of the
Emperor. Corinne and I return to Paris. If a sale is arranged----"
"I will not part with my pearls," said Madame. "Neither for the
Emperor nor for any one."
"Corinne!" said the King reproachfully. "Would I ask it of you? No. If
a sale is arranged I give a bill to the American, a bill of three
months, and for security I place at his disposal--I pledge the revenue
of Megalia for ten years; for a hundred years. If it seems more
desirable that I marry; good, I am ready. The American girl comes to
Paris. I meet her. We marry. The Emperor is satisfied. It is upon you,
my dear Gorman, to fix it down."
"I don't see," said Gorman, "how I can possibly undertake----It's
asking a lot, you know. Besides----"
"You are my friend," said the King. "Can I ask more than too much from
my friend?"
"Besides," said Gorman, "it's no kind of use. Donovan isn't likely to
sell. He certainly wouldn't accept your bill if he did sell. And
marrying the girl is out of the question. What's the good of my
undertaking impossibilities?"
The King stood up. With his cigar between his fingers he raised his
right hand above his head. He laid his left hand upon his shirt front.
It was an impressive and heroic attitude.
"For Gorman, M.P.," he said, "there are in the world no
impossibilities. For his talents all careers are open doors. When
Gorman, M.P., says 'I do it,' the damned thing at once is done. I
offer----But no. I do not offer where I trust----I confer upon
Gorman, M.P., the Order of the Royal Pink Vulture of Megalia, First
Class. You are Knight Commander, my friend. You are also Count Gorman
if you wish."
Madame Ypsilante slipped from her chair and knelt down at Gorman's
feet. She took his right hand and kissed it with every appearance of
fervour.
"You will do it," she said, "for the sake of Konrad Karl. Oh, Sir
Gorman, M.P., you would do it at once if you understood. Poor Konrad!
He is having so much delight with me in Paris. This time only in our
lives it has come to us to have enough money and to be in Paris. It is
cruel--so cruel that the Emperor should say: 'No. Give back the money.
Go from Paris. Be starved. Have no pearls, no joy.' But you will save
us. Say you will save us."
Gorman's position was an exceedingly difficult one. Madame Ypsilante
had firm hold on his hand. She was kissing it at the moment. He was
not at all sure that she would not bite it if he refused her request.
"I'll think the whole thing over," he said. "I don't expect I can do
anything, but I'll look into the matter and let you know."
Madame mouthed his hand in a frenzy of gratitude. She wept copiously.
Gorman could feel drops which he supposed to be tears trickling down
the inside of his sleeve. The King seized his other hand and shook it
heartily.
"It is now as good as done," he said. "Let us drink to success. I ring
the bell. I order champagne, one bottle, two bottles, three, many
bottles in the honour of my friend Sir Gorman who has said: 'Damn it,
I will.'"
Under the influence of the second bottle of champagne the King escaped
from his heroic mood. Gorman began to realize that a certain cunning
lay behind the preposterous proposal he had listened to.
"I shall inform the Emperor," said the King, "that you go to Salissa
to arrange according to his wish. I shall say: 'M.P. Count Sir Gorman
goes. He is a statesman, a financier, a diplomat, a man of uncommon
sense.' The Emperor will then be satisfied."
"He'll probably be very dissatisfied when I come back," said Gorman.
"That will be--let me consider--perhaps eight weeks. In eight weeks
many things may happen. And if not, still Corinne and I will have had
eight weeks in Paris with oof which we can burn. It is something."