INEZ
With a big effort I managed to pull myself together, and much to
Miralda’s surprise I covered my momentary confusion with a hearty laugh
and a sentence spoken for the benefit of the other two who were now
within earshot.
“I’m afraid I’ve bored you frightfully, but I couldn’t resist sparing
a few minutes from this concession-mongering business. And after your
saying that the viscontesse remembers our chats in Paris, I shall
certainly ask her to allow me to call.”
I succeeded in speaking in the tone of a quite casual acquaintance, and
I turned to find two pairs of eyes fixed intently upon me.
Whether the fellow who now called himself Major Sampayo recognized me I
could not tell, but his companion did, and I waited for her to decide
whether we were to acknowledge that we had met.
She made no sign and I made my bow to Miralda and was moving off when
the major intervened.
“Will you present me to your friend, Miralda?”
I could have kicked him for the glib use of her name. I paused and
turned with a smile, as if highly pleased by the request. If I knew
myself, the kicking would come later.
“Mr. Donnington, may I introduce Major Sampayo?” said Miralda, a little
nervously.
I bowed and smirked, but behind the entrenchment of English reserve I
made no offer to take his hand.
“I am glad to meet you, Mr. Donnington.”
“I consider myself equally fortunate, Major Sampayo.”
I saw then that he had an uneasy feeling that we had met somewhere
before, and his eyes moved from side to side as he searched his memory
to place my voice or face or name.
“Is that really Mr. Donnington?” exclaimed his companion, with a
delightful assumption of interested surprise. “My dear Miralda, please
don’t leave me out.”
“My friend the Contesse Inez Inglesia,” said Miralda.
She held out her hand and as I took it she looked straight into my
eyes with a most cordial smile. “I have heard so much about you, Mr.
Donnington, that I have been questioning every one I know to find a
mutual friend, and wandering all over the rooms to find you.”
Which meant that she knew I had been a long time with Miralda.
“I have such an implicit faith in Portuguese sincerity, contesse, that
you will turn my head if you flatter me so. The fact is I have been
making an unconscionable bore of myself with Mademoiselle Dominguez. I
met her and the viscontesse in Paris last spring, and I was so glad to
find a face I knew to-night, that I could not resist the temptation for
a chat.”
“Have you been long in Lisbon, sir?” asked Sampayo, still worrying
himself about me.
“Two days, major, that’s all. I came in my yacht.”
“Surely you’ve heard about Mr. Donnington, major,” said the contesse.
“He’s the millionaire who has come about the mining concessions in
Beira, or somewhere.”
“No, I had not heard that,” he replied, with a little start, as if this
might have suggested a clue to his problem. “Have you been in Beira,
sir?”
I smiled and shrugged my shoulders. “I suppose I ought not to own it,
but I was never there in my life.”
“Major Sampayo knows every inch of South Africa, Mr. Donnington,” said
the contesse. “He was out there at the time your country was at war
with the Boers.”
“Oh, indeed,” said I, as if in great surprise. I knew that well enough.
“Then I shall hope to get some wrinkles from him.”
“You served in that war, didn’t you, Mr. Donnington?” asked Miralda,
evidently feeling she ought to say something.
“For a few months. I was in Bloemfontein and Mafeking.” I purposely
named places as distant as possible from the spot where I had seen him.
I did not wish him to recognize me yet.
“Were you out at the finish of the campaign?” he asked at the prompting
of his uneasy fears.
“About the middle. I was sent down country after the relief of
Mafeking.” This was half truth but also half lie. I had gone up again
almost immediately. But it appeared to ease his unrest.
“I have a curious feeling that we have met somewhere,” he said; “and
was wondering whether it could have been out in South Africa. That was
the reason for my rather inquisitive questions.”
I laughed. “Oh, I should have recognized you in a moment if that had
been the case. I never forget a face.”
This made him uneasy again, but, as the band struck up, he gave his arm
to Miralda.
“Thanks for a delightful chat, mademoiselle,” I said lightly to
Miralda. “May I take you to your partner, madame?” I asked, offering my
arm to the Contesse.
Instead of accepting it she said to Miralda. “If you see Vasco tell him
I’ll give him another waltz for this. I am going to sit this out with
Mr. Donnington--that is, of course, if he is willing.”
“I’ll tell him, Inez,” replied Miralda over her shoulder as she walked
away.
Inez was silent until they were out of hearing, and then she said very
meaningly: “What an excellent actor you are, Mr. Donnington.”
“May I return the compliment? I saw that you wished it to appear that
we were complete strangers. And with your permission that is just what
we have been up to the moment of this introduction.”
Another pause followed by a surprise for me.
“So you are Miralda’s Englishman!”
But I was too well on my guard to betray myself. “Am I really?” I asked
with an easy laugh. “We had a jolly time for a week or two, but--that’s
four months ago.”
“You are fond of camelias, Mr. Donnington.”
“I am wearing one, as you see,” I replied pointing to my buttonhole.
But I had often given camelias to Miralda in those three weeks; and
this handsome, dangerous, stately creature with hazel eyes, which were
open and frank or diabolically sly at will, knew it.
Again she paused once more as the preface to a shot.
“What do you know about Major Sampayo, Mr. Donnington?” She flashed the
question at me, her eyes searchlights in their intensity.
“I think he’s quite a handsome man and looks awfully well in that
rather gorgeous uniform; and I presume those orders on his chest show
that he is as distinguished a soldier as he looks.”
“Spoken without even a shadow of hesitation. I declare that every
moment I admire your acting more.” She let her eyes rest on mine and
half closed the lids. “I think I am glad I am not Major Sampayo,” she
said slowly.
“I should imagine you have every reason to be satisfied with your own
delightfully handsome personality. But if it comes to that, I am also
glad I am not the major.”
“Not even with Miralda thrown in?”
“Not even with Miralda thrown in,” I repeated with a laugh. “She’s
a very charming girl and exceedingly pretty and all that. She was
acknowledged to be one of the prettiest girls in Paris last spring, you
know, and I admire her tremendously.”
“A frank admission of unconcerned admiration is very clever, of course,
but I am not deceived by it, Mr. Donnington.”
“No? Well then shall I confess that I worship her, that the ground her
foot touches is changed to holy soil; that when she smiles I am in
heaven, and when she frowns, in hell; and that for four months I have
only existed on the hope of seeing her again; that she fills my heart,
inspires my every thought, dominates my every action, permeates my
being, and is the end-all and be-all of my life?” I declaimed all this
with a lot of extravagant gesture; and then added in a different tone:
“And why on earth do you want to insist that I am in love with her?”
“It is necessary that I know exactly the relationship between you?”
“My relationship is precisely the same as between you and myself,
madame.”
“What do you mean?”
“Are we not all cousins in more or less remote degree--in our descent
from Adam and Eve?”
She rustled her shoulders impatiently. “Don’t you understand what I
mean? You know how we first met.”
“Oh ho, and is the fair Miralda one of you?” I laughed. “But I thought
that subject was taboo?”
“You know my secret and I can therefore talk freely to you.”
“I would very much rather that you did not, if you please.”
“I am under the deepest of all obligations to you, Mr. Donnington;
you saved my life and I wish to be your friend. If you have any such
feeling for Miralda as you have burlesqued, I owe it to you to let
you understand things and be warned in time. It is not possible for a
foreigner to know the undercurrents of life here at present.”
“My dear lady, I am only trying to swim on the surface. I find myself
to-night in the house of one of the staunchest supporters of the
Government at a gathering intended to strengthen the position of the
loyalist body--the National League of Portugal.”
“I am one of the acknowledged leaders of that League.”
I could not restrain a start of astonishment at this; and she noticed
it, of course.
“You are surprised. But many of those here are my friends--my political
friends, I mean. It was my public connexion with the League which led
me into the trouble last night. The men who threatened me knew of my
position in it, but not of my sympathies with them--that of course is
as close a secret as possible--and by a trick decoyed me to a house
where I was seized and brought to where you found me. The intention
was to kill me and then carry me into the streets to make it appear
that I had been killed in the rioting. You will understand from this
the dangerous forces that are at work. Some of those men suspect you
of being a spy and you will be well advised not to prolong your stay
in Lisbon. And your friendship with M. Volheno will not add to your
safety.”
“Cannot an Englishman come here without being taken for a spy?”
“You know that one of your best English detectives has been employed
by the Spanish Government to reorganize the detective force there.
One story I have heard is that you yourself are an English detective
engaged by M. Volheno to help in unearthing some of the conspiracies
here, and that your desire to obtain some concessions in Africa is a
mere blind.”
“It would be difficult to go much further away about me, anyway.”
“Yet those who seek concessions from a Government do not usually
advertise the fact far and wide. You are a man of courage and resource:
we have had proof of that. You have learnt some of our secrets and one
of our haunts. You have some secret knowledge about Major Sampayo that
threatens him; and you are more than clever enough to sustain the part
of an Englishman of wealth and position.”
“And do you mean that you yourself believe this preposterous story?”
“No; but I should like to know the real reason for your coming here.”
“And that Dr. Barosa, does he take me for a spy?”
“No, we have already made inquiries about you from our friends in
England. But, like myself, he wishes to know why you are here. You will
do well to give me your confidence.”
“And your other colleague--Major Sampayo?”
“I did not tell you that he was with us.”
“Not in so many words. And really I don’t care.”
“He will remember where he has met you before, and the facts may help
us to know more about you--for your benefit or otherwise.”
“My dear madame, if you mean that for a threat, it does not in the
least alarm me. Let me tell you once for all I am not a member of
the English detective force; my presence here has not the remotest
connexion with your politics or your plots; and I have no sort of
sympathy with them one way or another. I am just an average Englishman;
and as such claim the right to go where I will when I will, so long as
I mind my own business. And as an Englishman I can take care of myself
and must decline to be frightened out of doing what I wish to do either
by charming, cultured and handsome ladies, like yourself, or by such
gutter scum as I had the tussle with last night.”
“Then you refuse to give me your confidence?”
“Let me put it rather that I have really no confidence worth giving. I
shall hold absolutely secret what you have told me--that on my honour.
And now do you mind if we talk about the scenery?”
“You will have cause to regret it, Mr. Donnington.”
“My dear madam, I have arrived at the mature age of twenty-seven, and
probably twenty-six of them are full of regrets for lost chances. But
there is a question of real seriousness I should like to put to you,” I
said very gravely.
“Well?”
“What is the name of the third, no the fourth bluff, to the north of
the river mouth?”
She turned and bent those strange eyes of hers upon me with an intent
stare. “You mean me to understand that you regard everything I have
said--my warning, my questions, everything--as a mere jest.”
“I mean that, although I am by the way of being a wilful person, I am
not an ungrateful one; and that if you would do me the honour one day
of making up a little party to view that bluff from the deck of my
yacht, it would give me great pleasure and I hope promote that better
understanding between us which I should like to think you desire as
much as I.”
“I accept willingly,” she replied with a smile; but even then she could
not resist a thrust. Looking at me out of the half-veiled corners of
her eyes she asked: “May I bring Major Sampayo?”
“By all means, and Dr. Barosa and any others of your colleagues--even
the fair Miralda; and I will have cosy corners specially fitted up for
you all where you may talk politics or personalities as you prefer.”
Again her strange eyes fastened on mine, searchingly. “What do you
really mean by that?” she asked, with tense earnestness.
“Oh, please don’t let us get serious again, and read grave meanings
into mere trifling banalities,” I exclaimed with a laugh. “I mean no
more than that I should try to give you all a good time and let you
enjoy it in your own way.”
“If I am to enjoy it, Mr. Donnington, you must ask Miralda’s brother,
Lieutenant de Linto.”
“My dear lady, I’ll ask the whole regiment if you wish it.”
“Here he comes, you can ask him now. I suppose you know him?”
A young fellow in the uniform of a lieutenant had entered the palm
house and came hurrying toward us. I did not care for his looks.
Tall and slight of figure, a foppish and affected manner, anæmic and
dissipated in looks with a narrow, retreating forehead, no chin to
speak of, and prominent eyes, in one of which he had an eyeglass, I set
him down as weak, unstable, shallow, and generally undesirable. But he
was Miralda’s half-brother and thus to me a person of consideration.
“I say, Inez, this is too bad. I’ve been hunting for you everywhere and
the dance is all but over.”
She beamed on him with one of her richest smiles. “I own my fault,
Vasco, but I sent word to you by Miralda. I simply could not resist the
opportunity of a chat with the distinguished Englishman every one is
talking about. Mr. Donnington, Lieutenant de Linto.”
I had risen and shook hands cordially, expressing my pleasure at
meeting him. “I fear that unwittingly I have taken your place,
lieutenant,” I added. “Pray pardon me.”
“Here’s my card, Vasco. Take two dances for the one we have missed.”
“That’s all right then,” he said, as he took her card eagerly and
scribbled his initials on it. “I think after all I’m obliged to you,
Mr. Donnington,” he added with a vacuous smile which he intended to be
pleasant.
“Mr. Donnington has asked me to make up a little yachting party one
day, Vasco, and I was just mentioning your name as you came up.”
“Oh, I say, but I’m a rare bad sailor,” he replied doubtfully.
“We’ll choose a fine day then, Vasco. And of course I couldn’t go
without you.” She laid her hand on his arm and glanced up into his face
with a yearning look which convinced him of her perfect sincerity and
fetched a sigh out of him that told its own tale.
I excused myself promptly, and as I turned away he took the chair by
her side, feasting his big eyes on her beauty and letting his little
senses surfeit themselves in the glamour of her charms.
She had his scalp right enough. He was hers, body and soul and honour.
But why had she taken the trouble? She cared for him even less than I
cared for her; and the night before I had seen her look at Barosa with
the light which only one man can bring to a woman’s eyes. Only one at a
time, anyway.
Why then should she fool this little insignificant creature? Of course
she had a purpose. She was not the woman to waste her time and her
glances for nothing.
Was it those confounded politics again? One of the little wheels within
the big one which was to have its part to play when the whole machinery
of plot and conspiracy was set in motion.
Fools can be useful at times.
What part had this one to play?
It was nothing to me--and yet it might be much. He was Miralda’s
brother; and nothing which concerned her could be indifferent to me.