EXIT VAN ZWIETEN.
As Lady Jenny had expected, Mr. van Zwieten proved himself to be a
wise man by presenting himself in her drawing-room at the appointed
hour. He was in evening dress, calm and composed as usual, and greeted
her with a low bow. She could not help admiring his self-possession.
His reputation, his liberty even, was at stake, and yet he never
turned a hair. And with these feelings uppermost, she received him
more kindly, perhaps, than she would otherwise have done. The
Dutchman, taking his cue from her, that the conversation, despite its
probable sensational character, was not to be conducted on
melodramatic lines, reciprocated her politeness. Any one seeing the
pair might have imagined that they were discussing nothing of more
importance than "Shakespeare and the musical glasses," rather than a
subject which, to one of them, at least, meant life or death.
The hostess, in a black silk dinner dress, with a few well-chosen
jewels, looked unusually pretty in the light of the lamps, and Van
Zwieten was an admirer of pretty women, and knew well how to make
himself agreeable to them. Had the subject-matter of their
conversation been only less serious, he would have enjoyed himself. As
it was, he did not find the hour he spent with her irksome. For a few
moments the two antagonists discussed general topics, and then Lady
Jenny came suddenly to the point. The man watched her warily. Pretty
she might be, but that was no reason why he should allow her to get
the better of him. It was a duel of words, and the combatants were
well matched.
"Well, Mr. van Zwieten," began the widow, "I suppose you were somewhat
astonished at my invitation."
"I cannot deny that I was, my dear lady. It is, perhaps, a trifle
disconcerting to find one's rooms robbed, and then to receive an
invitation from the robber!"
"Oh, come, that is rather harsh, is it not? It was what I should call
simple justice."
"Indeed!" replied the other, dryly. "It would interest me to learn how
you make that out."
"Oh, easily. I can give you two reasons. In the first place, you
threatened--did you not?--to accuse a man of a crime which you knew he
had not committed. In the second, you are a spy, to put it plainly,
and both Wilfred Burton and I felt it was our duty to secure proofs of
your guilt. We are not _all_ fools in this country!"
"That is a charge one would hardly bring against you," returned Van
Zwieten, with emphasis, "nor against that young man. Had I suspected
him of so much cleverness, I should have taken more elaborate
precautions."
"Ah! you should never undervalue your enemies! Well, I suppose you
know that you are in my power?"
"And in Wilfred Burton's also!"
"No. I can manage him. He has left the decision of this matter in my
hands. I am sure you ought to be pleased at that!"
"I am. Because I see you mean to let me off."
"That depends!" she said, and shot a keen glance at him. "I asked you
to come here because it was necessary that I should see you, sir--but
I despise you none the less for that. You are a spy!--the meanest of
all created creatures."
Van Zwieten held up his hand. He was quite unmoved. "My dear lady, let
us come to business. Believe me, preaching of that kind has very
little effect on me. I might defend myself by saying that I have every
right to use craft on behalf of the Transvaal fox against the mighty
English lion, but I will content myself with holding my tongue. I
would remind you that I have very little time to spare. I intend to
leave this country to-morrow morning."
"How do you know that I shall allow you to go?"
"You would hardly have invited me to this interview else," Van Zwieten
said cunningly. "You have something you want from me. Well, I will
give it in exchange for my safety--and that includes, of course, your
silence."
"It is clever of you to put it that way," responded the widow, coolly.
"It so happens that you are right. I intend to make a bargain with
you."
"Always provided that I agree."
"Of course," said she, airily; "but in this case I really think you
_will_ agree."
"I am not so sure of that." Van Zwieten narrowed his eyes and blinked
wickedly. "You forget that I also know something."
"For that reason I asked you here. Let me advise you not to pit
yourself against me, my good man, or you may get the worst of it. A
word from me and you would be kicking your heels in jail this very
night."
"Probably." Van Zwieten had too much to gain to notice her threat.
"But you will never say that word."
"You can't be quite sure of that yet. Well, let us get to business. I
am not anxious to spend any more time in your company than is
necessary."
"I assure you the feeling is mutual. May I ask how you found my rooms
in Westminster?"
"I think you know that very well after the visitor you received last
night. I was told about them and you by Mr. Wilfred Burton. He knew
long ago that you were a spy, and he has been watching you for many
months."
"He is not so very clever then. All these months--and yet he has got
no further than this!"
"How much further do you want him to go? He has the box with all your
papers--your treasonable papers--your orders from Dr. Leyds. Really,
Mr. van Zwieten, you should have taken a little more care of that box!
The top of a press was hardly a safe place to hide it. But perhaps you
had been reading Poe's story of the 'Purloined Letter.'"
"Never mind what I read," he said, evidently annoyed at her flippancy.
"Let us confine ourselves to business. The idea of the disguised
policeman was yours, I suppose?"
"Yes, sir, it was. I felt sure that the landlady would not let us
enter your room to make the search unless she was thoroughly
frightened, so I suggested that he should get himself up as a member
of the force. Our little stratagem succeeded to perfection. Mrs.
Hicks--that is her name, I believe--was terrified and let us in at
once. Then we found your box, and I sent Wilfred away with it while I
stayed and wrote my note to you. Oh, what a time we had over your
papers! You really are very clever, Mr. van Zwieten. What a lot the
Foreign Secretary would give to see what we saw and, as it happens, he
is a personal friend of mine. I might sell it, you know," she went on
coolly. "I am poor enough now, and they would give me a good price."
"Not such a price as would recompense you for what I could say about
your husband," retorted the Dutchman.
She laughed gaily. "Oh, that? My good man, I know all about that! Do
you think I should have taken the trouble to talk to you if I had not
known that my husband had been doing all your dirty work?"
"Yes, he did my work," Van Zwieten said viciously. "He was my
creature--paid by me with Transvaal gold. You call _me_ a spy, Lady
Jane Malet. Your own husband was one--and not only a spy, but a
traitor!"
"I know it," she said, and her face was very pale, "and for that
reason I am glad he is dead, terrible though his end was."
"I dare say you helped him out of the world!" sneered Van Zwieten.
"That is false, and you know it. I had no idea of what my husband was
until I found his papers after his death. Had I known that when he was
yet alive, I _might_ have killed him!" She clenched her hand. "Yes, I
might have shot him, the mean, cowardly hound! He spoke against the
Boers, and yet he took their money!"
"Oh, you must not blame him for that. That was my idea."
"It is worthy of you. Oh!"--she started up and paced the room in a
fury--"to think that I should have been married to such a creature! To
think that I should have lived on gold paid for the betrayal of my
country! The cur! The Judas! Thank God he is dead." And then, turning
abruptly on the Dutchman, "How did you gain him over to your side?"
she asked. "Gilbert was a man once--a man and a gentleman. How did you
contrive to make him a--a--thing?"
"Easily enough," he said placidly. He could not understand why she
made all this fuss. "Two years ago I met him at Monte Carlo. I watched
him gamble and lose. I heard he was in the War Office, or had some
connection with it, so I made his acquaintance and induced him to play
still higher. We became intimate enough to discuss money matters--his,
of course--and he told me that he was very hard up. He blamed you."
"I dare say," returned Lady Jenny, coldly. "Go on."
"Well, I put the matter to him delicately. I asked him to find out
certain details connected with your military organization, and I told
him he would be well paid for the information. I am bound to say he
kicked at first, but I went on tempting him with bigger sums; and he
was so desperately hard up that he closed with me in the end. He soon
did all I wanted, and, once in my power, I trained him to be most
useful, but I kept on paying him well--oh, yes, I paid him very well."
He made this villainous confession in so cool a tone that Lady Jenny
could have struck him. It was horrible to think that she had been the
wife of so degraded a creature as Van Zwieten now described her
husband to have been, and, "Thank God he is dead!" she cried again.
"It would have been worse for both of us if I had known it while he
was alive. It might have been I, then, who would have fired the shot.
But after all, I suppose it was better that he should fall by your
hand!"
The Dutchman started from his seat. "I am a spy, Lady Jenny," he
cried, "but I am not a murderer. I leave that sort of thing to you!"
"To me? Do you accuse me of the murder of my husband?"
"I do. Captain Burton, while staying at your house at Chippingholt,
left his revolvers behind. You found them; you took one and stole
out after your husband and shot him. I found the weapon. Do you take
me for a fool? Where were you when you pretended to go to the
Rectory?--out in the orchards tracking your husband! You killed him
because he was in love with Mrs. Scarse. Deny it if you can!"
"I do deny it. It was all over between him and Mrs. Scarse before he
married me. He cared so little for the poor woman that he did not go
to her when she was dying. That madman, her husband, came down to tell
Gilbert of her death. They met and had a struggle. I thought it was he
who had killed him; and indeed, if he had, I should not have blamed
him. As it was, you were the man--you, who wanted to get rid of your
tool!"
Van Zwieten threw himself back in his chair with a laugh. "You talk
nonsense," he said roughly. "Why should I want to get rid of a man who
was useful to me? No one was more sorry than I when poor Malet died.
Not from any sentimental point of view--oh, dear no!--but because he
had become quite a necessary person to me. I found the revolver in the
grass, but it was not I who had used it. If I had," he added
cynically, "I should have no hesitation in telling you."
"You _did_ murder him!" insisted Lady Jenny, fiercely. "I know where
you found the revolver--not, as you say, on the grass--no! it was in
the library on the night of the murder. Gilbert had been shooting at a
mark in the afternoon; and at night--at nine o'clock--I heard voices
in the library. It was you who were with him; you, who came to take
away treasonable papers from my unhappy husband. You got what you
wanted, and you got the weapon, and he went back with you to Mr.
Scarse's cottage. You wanted to get rid of him without danger to
yourself; you tried to lay the guilt on Harold Burton to rid yourself
of a rival! You shot Gilbert in the orchards, and you threw away the
revolver to implicate Harold and walked back to the cottage; you--you
murderer!--you Cain!"
She stopped, half choked by her emotions. Van Zwieten seized the
opportunity to deny once again the truth of her accusation.
"I tell you I did not kill Malet!"
"Then who did?"
"I don't know. I thought it was Captain Burton; upon my soul I did!"
"Have you a soul?" Lady Jenny asked with scorn. "I should doubt it.
However, I stick to my opinion--I believe that you killed my husband.
Oh, you need not look alarmed, I am not going to give you up. I have
done all I wanted--I have married Harold to Brenda by telling him I
could keep you from accusing him of the murder!"
"And can you?" sneered Van Zwieten. He was fighting every inch.
"I am sure I can. I have your box, remember. For my husband's sake I
spare you now. I don't want an honorable name to be smirched through
him. I don't want to be pointed at as the widow of a spy and a
traitor, otherwise I would denounce you as the spy and the murderer I
truly believe you to be. This is my bargain, Mr. van Zwieten. You
leave England at once, cease to persecute Captain Burton and his wife
and I will hold my tongue."
"And if I refuse?" he asked sullenly.
"If you refuse I will have you arrested as you leave this house. You
think I can't do that, but I can. I have made all my preparations. I
have left nothing to chance. One does not leave things to chance in
dealing with a man like you, Mr. van Zwieten," she sneered. "Wilfred
Burton is outside with a couple of policemen. I have only to whistle
and they will come up."
But Van Zwieten was not so easily bluffed. "On what grounds, may I
ask?" he said. "If you wanted to keep this matter quiet for the sake
of your husband, you would not have told the police."
"I have told them nothing about your spying business," she said
calmly. "You will be arrested on a charge of being concerned in the
murder of my husband, and I can assure you that if you are so arrested
I will press the charge. On the other hand, if you agree to my terms,
I will let you go free. I can easily make things right with the police
by telling them that I have been mistaken. Oh, all this is not
regular, I know; but I have some little political influence, and I am
using it for my own benefit--and for yours, if it comes to that."
He looked at her savagely. Had he obeyed his inclinations he would
have wrung her neck. It was gall and wormwood to him to be beaten so
thoroughly by a woman. But being in England, and not in a country like
the Transvaal, where such a trifling matter as murder would be winked
at, he had to suppress his homicidal desires. Quickly reviewing the
situation, he could see nothing for it but to yield to the superior
power of the enemy. Twist and wriggle as he might, there was no chance
of escaping from the trap she had prepared for him. The game was up
and there remained only the Transvaal.
"Well!" Lady Jenny asked imperiously, "what have you to say? Will you
give me your promise to leave Brenda and her husband unmolested and to
leave England at once, or will you allow yourself to be arrested and
have all the world know what manner of life yours has been?"
"If you had me exposed, you also would suffer."
"My husband's name would be smirched. I know that, but I am prepared
to run that risk. If I had the misfortune to be the wife of a
scoundrel, that was not my fault. But I am getting tired of all this.
I give you five minutes to make up your mind."
Van Zwieten assumed a cheerful demeanor. He would take the sting of
this defeat by accepting it with a good grace. "There is no need for
me to consider the matter, dear lady," he said, "I am willing to
accept your terms."
"Very good. Then you leave England----"
"To-morrow morning."
"And you will make no further accusations against Captain Burton?"
"No. It would appear that he is innocent."
"And you will not annoy his wife?"
"Since she is his wife, I will promise that also."
"In that case I need detain you no longer, Mr. van Zwieten."
"One moment. My papers; what about them? Am I not to have them?"
The audacity of this demand took away the little woman's breath. "No!
Certainly not," she replied sharply. "I should lose my hold over you
if I gave them up. Besides, you have given quite enough information to
your friend Dr. Leyds. You shall not give any more if I can help it."
"Then what security have I that you will let me go free?"
"You have my word. And, after all, there are no guarantees on either
side. What security have I for your silence save the holding of these
papers? I know very well that as soon as you think you are safe you
will do what injury you can to Captain Burton. But I can thwart you
there too, Mr. van Zwieten. Your wish is to go to the British camp as
a war correspondent. You would betray all our plans to the enemy.
Well, sir, I forbid you to stay with my countrymen. If I hear--as I
assuredly will hear that you are in our camp, I will at once disclose
the contents of the box, and instructions shall be sent to the front
for your arrest. I can checkmate you on every point."
"What about Captain Burton's life? You can't protect that. If you
drive me to join the Boers, I can easily have him shot."
Seeing there was no more to be said, he rose to go. At the door he
paused. "You have forced me to consent to what you wished," he said,
"as I can do nothing against the power you have unlawfully gained over
me by stealing my papers. But I give you fair warning that I love
Brenda madly, and that I intend to make her my wife in spite of
Captain Burton. Once in the Transvaal, I shall join hands openly with
my adopted country. Then let Burton look to himself, for I will do my
best to make his wife a widow."
"The future is in the hands of God," Lady Jenny said solemnly. "You
can go, Mr. van Zwieten."
He bowed ironically and went without another word. He was glad to have
escaped so easily; for, after all, he could do as he liked when he was
beyond the reach of pursuit. Once he was in the Transvaal, Lady Jenny
might show the papers as much as she wished. Had she been wise, he
thought, she would have kept him as a hostage. But she had let her
chance slip, and he was free to plot and scheme. Needless to say, he
intended to keep none of the promises he had made.
Then he went out into the night, slipped past three men, whom he
recognized as Wilfred and the constables, and so took his departure
like a whipped hound.