Seaman did not at once start on his mission to the Princess. He made his way instead to the servants' quarters and knocked at the door of the butler's sitting-room. There was no reply. He tried the handle in vain. The door was locked. A tall, grave-faced man in sombre black came out from an adjoining apartment.
“You are looking for the person who arrived this evening from abroad, sir?” he enquired.
“I am,” Seaman replied. “Has he locked himself in?”
“He has left the Hall, sir!”
“Left!” Seaman repeated. “Do you mean gone away for good?”
“Apparently, sir. I do not understand his language myself, but I believe he considered his reception here, for some reason or other, unfavourable. He took advantage of the car which went down to the station for the evening papers and caught the last train.”
Seaman was silent for a moment. The news was a shock to him.
“What is your position here?” he asked his informant.
“My name is Reynolds, sir,” was the respectful reply. “I am Mr. Pelham's servant.”
“Can you tell me why, if this man has left the door here is locked?”
“Mr. Parkins locked it before he went out, sir. He accompanied—Mr. Miller, I think his name was—to the station.”
Seaman had the air of a man not wholly satisfied.
“Is it usual to lock up a sitting-room in this fashion?” he asked.
“Mr. Parkins always does it, sir. The cabinets of cigars are kept there, also the wine-cellar key and the key of the plate chest. None of the other servants use the room except at Mr. Parkins' invitation.”
“I understand,” Seaman said, as he turned away. “Much obliged for your information, Reynolds. I will speak to Mr. Parkins later.”
“I will let him know that you desire to see him, sir.”
“Good night, Reynolds!”
“Good night, sir!”
Seaman passed back again to the crowded hall and billiard-room, exchanged a few remarks here and there, and made his way up the southern flight of stairs toward the west wing. Stephanie consented without hesitation to receive him. She was seated in front of the fire, reading a novel, in a boudoir opening out of her bedroom.
“Princess,” Seaman declared, with a low bow, “we are in despair at your desertion.”
She put down her book.
“I have been insulted in this house,” she said. “To-morrow I leave it.”
Seaman shook his head reproachfully.
“Your Highness,” he continued, “believe me, I do not wish to presume upon my position. I am only a German tradesman, admitted to the circles like these for reasons connected solely with the welfare of my country. Yet I know much, as it happens, of the truth of this matter, the matter which is causing you distress. I beg you to reconsider your decision. Our friend here is, I think, needlessly hard upon himself. So much the greater will be his reward when the end comes. So much the greater will be the rapture with which he will throw himself on his knees before you.”
“Has he sent you to reason with me?”
“Not directly. I am to a certain extent, however, his major-domo in this enterprise. I brought him from Africa. I have watched over him from the start. Two brains are better than one. I try to show him where to avoid mistakes, I try to point out the paths of danger and of safety.”
“I should imagine Sir Everard finds you useful,” she remarked calmly.
“I hope he does.”
“It has doubtless occurred to you,” she continued, “that our friend has accommodated himself wonderfully to English life and customs?”
“You must remember that he was educated here. Nevertheless, his aptitude has been marvellous.”
“One might almost call it supernatural,” she agreed. “Tell me, Mr. Seaman, you seem to have been completely successful in the installation of our friend here as Sir Everard. What is going to be his real value to you? What work will he do?”
“We are keeping him for the big things. You have seen our gracious master lately?” he added hesitatingly.
“I know what is at the back of your mind,” she replied. “Yes! Before the summer is over I am to pack up my trunks and fly. I understand.”
“It is when that time comes,” Seaman said impressively, “that we expect Sir Everard Dominey, the typical English country gentleman, of whose loyalty there has never been a word of doubt, to be of use to us. Most of our present helpers will be under suspicion. The authorised staff of our secret service can only work underneath. You can see for yourself the advantage we gain in having a confidential correspondent who can day by day reflect the changing psychology of the British mind in all its phases. We have quite enough of the other sort of help arranged for. Plans of ships, aerodromes and harbours, sailings of convoys, calling up of soldiers—all these are the A B C of our secret service profession. We shall never ask our friend here for a single fact, but, from his town house in Berkeley Square, the host of Cabinet Ministers, of soldiers, of the best brains of the country, our fingers will never leave the pulse of Britain's day by day life.”
Stephanie threw herself back in her easy-chair and clasped her hands behind her head.
“These things you are expecting from our present host?”
“We are, and we expect to get them. I have watched him day by day. My confidence in him has grown.”
Stephanie was silent. She sat looking into the fire. Seaman, keenly observant as always, realised the change in her, yet found something of mystery in her new detachment of manner.
“Your Highness,” he urged, “I am not here to speak on behalf of the man who at heart is, I know, your lover. He will plead his own cause when the time comes. But I am here to plead for patience, I am here to implore you to take no rash step, to do nothing which might imperil in any way his position here. I stand outside the gates of the world which your sex can make a paradise. I am no judge of the things that happen there. But in your heart I feel there is bitterness, because the man for whom you care has chosen to place his country first. I implore your patience, Princess. I implore you to believe what I know so well,—that it is the sternest sense of duty only which is the foundation of Leopold Von Ragastein's obdurate attitude.”
“What are you afraid that I shall do?” she asked curiously.
“I am afraid of nothing—directly.”
“Indirectly, then? Answer me, please.”
“I am afraid,” he admitted frankly, “that in some corner of the world, if not in this country, you might whisper a word, a scoffing or an angry sentence, which would make people wonder what grudge you had against a simple Norfolk baronet. I would not like that word to be spoken in the presence of any one who knew your history and realised the rather amazing likeness between Sir Everard Dominey and Baron Leopold Von Ragastein.”
“I see,” Stephanie murmured, a faint smile parting her lips. “Well, Mr. Seaman, I do not think that you need have many fears. What I shall carry away with me in my heart is not for you or any man to know. In a few days I shall leave this country.”
“You are going back to Berlin—to Hungary?”
She shook her head, beckoned her maid to open the door, and held out her hand in token of dismissal.
“I am going to take a sea voyage,” she announced. “I shall go to Africa.”
The morrow was a day of mild surprises. Eddy Pelham's empty place was the first to attract notice, towards the end of breakfast time.
“Where's the pink and white immaculate?” the Right Honourable gentleman asked. “I miss my morning wonder as to how he tied his tie.”
“Gone,” Dominey replied, looking round from the sideboard.
“Gone?” every one repeated.
“I should think such a thing has never happened to him before,” Dominey observed. “He was wanted in town.”
“Fancy any one wanting Eddy for any serious purpose!” Caroline murmured.
“Fancy any one wanting him badly enough to drag him out of bed in the middle of the night with a telephone call and send him up to town by the breakfast train from Norwich!” their host continued. “I thought we had started a new ghost when he came into my room in a purple dressing-gown and broke the news.”
“Who wanted him?” the Duke enquired. “His tailor?”
“Business of importance was his pretext,” Dominey replied.
There was a little ripple of good-humoured laughter.
“Does Eddy do anything for a living?” Caroline asked, yawning.
“Mr. Pelham is a director of the Chelsea Motor Works,” Mangan told them. “He received a small legacy last year, and his favourite taxicab man was the first to know about it.”
“You're not suggesting,” she exclaimed, “that it is business of that sort which has taken Eddy away!”
“I should think it most improbable,” Mangan confessed. “As a matter of fact, he asked me the other day if I knew where their premises were.”
“We shall miss him,” she acknowledged. “It was quite one of the events of the day to see his costume after shooting.”
“His bridge was reasonably good,” the Duke commented.
“He shot rather well the last two days,” Mangan remarked.
“And he had told me confidentially,” Caroline concluded, “that he was going to wear brown to-day. Now I think Eddy would have looked nice in brown.”
The missing young man's requiem was finished by the arrival of the local morning papers. A few moments later Dominey rose and left the room. Seaman, who had been unusually silent, followed him.
“My friend,” he confided, “I do not know whether you have heard, but there was a curious disappearance from the Hall last night.”
“Whose?” Dominey asked, pausing in the act of selecting a cigarette.
“Our friend Miller, or Wolff—Doctor Schmidt's emissary,” Seaman announced, “has disappeared.”
“Disappeared?” Dominey repeated. “I suppose he is having a prowl round somewhere.”
“I have left it to you to make more careful enquiries,” Seaman replied. “All I can tell you is that I made up my mind last night to interview him once more and try to fathom his very mysterious behaviour. I found the door of your butler's sitting-room locked, and a very civil fellow—Mr. Pelham's valet he turned out to be—told me that he had left in the car which went for the evening papers.”
“I will go and make some enquiries,” Dominey decided, after a moment's puzzled consideration.
“If you please,” Seaman acquiesced. “The affair disconcerts me because I do not understand it. When there is a thing which I do not understand, I am uncomfortable.”
Dominey vanished into the nether regions, spent half an hour with Rosamund, and saw nothing of his disturbed guest again until they were walking to the first wood. They had a moment together after Dominey had pointed out the stands.
“Well?” Seaman enquired.
“Our friend,” Dominey announced, “apparently made up his mind to go quite suddenly. A bed was arranged for him—or rather it is always there—in a small apartment opening out of the butler's room, on the ground floor. He said nothing about leaving until he saw Parkins preparing to go down to the station with the chauffeur. Then he insisted upon accompanying him, and when he found there was a train to Norwich he simply bade them both good night. He left no message whatever for either you or me.”
Seaman was thoughtful.
“There is no doubt,” he said, “that his departure was indicative of a certain distrust in us. He came to find out something, and I suppose he found it out. I envy you your composure, my friend. We live on the brink of a volcano, and you shoot pheasants.”
“We will try a partridge for a change,” Dominey observed, swinging round as a single Frenchman with a dull whiz crossed the hedge behind them and fell a little distance away, a crumpled heap of feathers. “Neat, I think?” he added, turning to his companion.
“Marvellous!” Seaman replied, with faint sarcasm. “I envy your nerve.”
“I cannot take this matter very seriously,” Dominey acknowledged. “The fellow seemed to me quite harmless.”
“My anxieties have also been aroused in another direction,” Seaman confided.
“Any other trouble looming?” Dominey asked.
“You will find yourself minus another guest when you return this afternoon.”
“The Princess?”
“The Princess,” Seaman assented. “I did my best with her last night, but I found her in a most peculiar frame of mind. We are to be relieved of any anxiety concerning her for some time, however. She has decided to take a sea voyage.”
“Where to?”
“Africa!”
Dominey paused in the act of inserting a cartridge into his gun. He turned slowly around and looked into his companion's expressionless face.
“Why the mischief is she going out there?” he asked.
“I can no more tell you that,” Seaman replied, “than why Johann Wolff was sent over here to spy upon our perfect work. I am most unhappy, my friend. The things which I understand, however threatening they are, I do not fear. Things which I do not understand oppress me.”
Dominey laughed quietly.
“Come,” he said, “there is nothing here which seriously threatens our position. The Princess is angry, but she is not likely to give us away. This man Wolff could make no adverse report about either of us. We are doing our job and doing it well. Let our clear consciences console us.”
“That is well,” Seaman replied, “but I feel uneasy. I must not stay here longer. Too intimate an association between you and me is unwise.”
“Well, I think I can be trusted,” Dominey observed, “even if I am to be left alone.”
“In every respect except as regards the Princess,” Seaman admitted, “your deportment has been most discreet.”
“Except as regards the Princess,” Dominey repeated irritably. “Really, my friend, I cannot understand your point of view in this matter. You could not expect me to mix up a secret honeymoon with my present commitments!”
“There might surely have been some middle way?” Seaman persisted. “You show so much tact in other matters.”
“You do not know the Princess,” Dominey muttered.
Rosamund joined them for luncheon, bringing news of Stephanie's sudden departure, with notes and messages for everybody. Caroline made a little grimace at her host.
“You're in trouble!” she whispered in his ear. “All the same, I approve. I like Stephanie, but she is an exceedingly dangerous person.”
“I wonder whether she is,” Dominey mused.
“I think men have generally found her so,” Caroline replied. “She had one wonderful love affair, which ended, as you know, in her husband being killed in a duel and her lover being banished from the country. Still, she's not quite the sort of woman to be content with a banished lover. I fancied I noticed distinct signs of her being willing to replace him whilst she has been down here!”
“I feel as though a blight had settled upon my house party,” Dominey remarked with bland irrelevancy. “First Eddy, then Mr. Ludwig Miller, and now Stephanie.”
“And who on earth was Mr. Ludwig Miller, after all?” Caroline enquired.
“He was a fat, flaxen-haired German who brought me messages from old friends in Africa. He had no luggage but a walking stick, and he seems to have upset the male part of my domestics last night by accepting a bed and then disappearing!”
“With the plate?”
“Not a thing missing. Parkins spent an agonised half hour, counting everything. Mr. Ludwig appears to be one of those unsolved mysteries which go to make up an imperfect world.”
“Well, we've had a jolly time,” Caroline said reminiscently. “To-morrow Henry and I are off, and I suppose the others. I must say on the whole I am delighted with our visit.”
“You are very gracious,” Dominey murmured.
“I came, perhaps, expecting to see a little more of you,” she went on deliberately, “but there is a very great compensation for my disappointment. I think your wife, Everard, is worth taking trouble about. She is perfectly sweet, and her manners are most attractive.”
“I am very glad you think that,” he said warmly.
She looked away from him.
“Everard,” she sighed, “I believe you are in love with your wife.”
There was a strange, almost a terrible mixture of expressions in his face as he answered,—a certain fear, a certain fondness, a certain almost desperate resignation. Even his voice, as a rule so slow and measured, shook with an emotion which amazed his companion.
“I believe I am,” he muttered. “I am afraid of my feelings for her. It may bring even another tragedy down upon us.”
“Don't talk rubbish!” Caroline exclaimed. “What tragedy could come between you now? You've recovered your balance. You are a strong, steadfast person, just fitted to be the protector of anything so sweet and charming as Rosamund. Tragedy, indeed! Why don't you take her down to the South of France, Everard, and have your honeymoon all over again?”
“I can't do that just yet.”
She studied him curiously. There were times when he seemed wholly incomprehensible to her.
“Are you still worried about that Unthank affair?” she asked.
He hesitated for a moment.
“There is still an aftermath to our troubles,” he told her, “one cloud which leans over us. I shall clear it up in time,—but other things may happen first.”
“You take yourself very seriously, Everard,” she observed, looking at him with a puzzled expression. “One would think that there was a side of your life, and a very important one, which you kept entirely to yourself. Why do you have that funny little man Seaman always round with you? You're not being blackmailed or anything, are you?”
“On the contrary,” he told her, “Seaman was the first founder of my fortunes.”
She shrugged her shoulders.
“I have made a little money once or twice on the Stock Exchange,” she remarked, “but I didn't have to carry my broker about in my pocket afterwards.”
“Seaman is a good-hearted little fellow, and he loves companionship. He will drift away presently, and one won't see anything of him for ages.”
“Henry began to wonder,” she concluded drily, “whether you were going to stand for Parliament on the Anglo-German alliance ticket.”
Dominey laughed as he caught Middleton's reproachful eye in the doorway of the farmer's kitchen in which they were hunching. He gave the signal to rise.
“I have had some thoughts of Parliament,” he admitted, “but—well, Henry need not worry.”
The next morning saw the breaking-up of Dominey's carefully arranged shooting party. The Prince took his host's arm and led him to one side for a few moments, as the cars were being loaded up. His first few words were of formal thanks. He spoke then more intimately.
“Von Ragastein,” he said, “I desire to refer back for a moment to our conversation the other day.”
Dominey shook his head and glanced behind.
“I know only one name here, Prince.”
“Dominey, then. I will confess that you play and carry the part through perfectly. I have known English gentlemen all my life, and you have the trick of the thing. But listen. I have already told you of my disapproval of this scheme in which you are the central figure.”
“It is understood,” Dominey assented.
“That,” the Prince continued, “is a personal matter. What I am now going to say to you is official. I had despatches from Berlin last night. They concern you.”
Dominey seemed to stiffen a little.
“Well?”
“I am given to understand,” the Ambassador continued, “that you practically exist only in the event of that catastrophe which I, for one, cannot foresee. I am assured that if your exposé should take place at any time, your personation will be regarded as a private enterprise, and there is nothing whatever to connect you with any political work.”
“Up to the present that is absolutely so,” Dominey agreed.
“I am further advised to look upon you as my unnamed and unsuspected successor here, in the event of war. For that reason I am begged to inaugurate terms of intimacy with you, to treat you with the utmost confidence, and, if the black end should come, to leave in your hands all such unfulfilled work as can be continued in secrecy and silence. I perhaps express myself in a somewhat confused manner.”
“I understand perfectly,” Dominey replied. “The authorities have changed their first idea as to my presence here. They want to keep every shadow of suspicion away from me, so that in the event of war I shall have an absolutely unique position, an unsuspected yet fervently patriotic German, living hand in glove with the upper classes of English Society. One can well imagine that there would be work for me.”
“Our understanding is mutual,” Terniloff declared. “What I have to say to you, therefore, is that I hope you will soon follow us to London and give me the opportunity of offering you the constant hospitality of Carlton House Gardens.”
“You are very kind, Prince,” Dominey said. “My instructions are, as soon as I have consolidated my position here—an event which I fancy I may consider attained—to establish myself in London and to await orders. I trust that amongst other things you will then permit me to examine the memoirs you spoke of the other day.”
“Naturally, and with the utmost pleasure,” the Ambassador assented. “They are a faithful record of my interviews and negotiations with certain Ministers here, and they reflect a desire and intention for peace which will, I think, amaze you. I venture now upon a somewhat delicate question,” he continued, changing the subject of their conversation abruptly, as they turned back along the terrace. “Lady Dominey will accompany you?”
“Of that I am not sure,” Dominey replied thoughtfully. “I have noticed, Prince, if I may be allowed to say so, your chivalrous regard for that lady. You will permit me to assure you that in the peculiar position in which I am placed I shall never forget that she is the wife of Everard Dominey.”
Terniloff shook hands heartily.
“I wanted to hear that from you,” he admitted. “You I felt instinctively were different, but there are many men of our race who are willing enough to sacrifice a woman without the slightest scruple, either for their passions or their policy. I find Lady Dominey charming.”
“She will never lack a protector in me,” Dominey declared.
There were more farewells and, soon after, the little procession of cars drove off. Rosamund herself was on the terrace, bidding all her guests farewell. She clung to Dominey's arm when at last they turned back into the empty hall.
“What dear people they were, Everard!” she exclaimed. “I only wish that I had seen more of them. The Duchess was perfectly charming to me, and I never knew any one with such delightful manners as Prince Terniloff. Are you going to miss them very much, dear?”
“Not a bit,” he answered. “I think I shall take a gun now and stroll down the meadows and across the rough ground. Will you come with me, or will you put on one of your pretty gowns and entertain me downstairs at luncheon? It is a very long time since we had a meal alone together.”
She shook her head a little sadly.
“We never have had,” she answered. “You know that, Everard, and alas! I know it. But we are going on pretending, aren't we?”
He raised her fingers to his lips and kissed them.
“You shall pretend all that you like, dear Rosamund,” he promised, “and I will be the shadow of your desires. No! No tears!” he added quickly, as she turned away. “Remember there is nothing but happiness for you now. Whoever I am or am not, that is my one aim in life.”
She clutched at his hand passionately, and suddenly, as though finding it insufficient, twined her arms around his neck and kissed him.
“Let me come with you,” she begged. “I can't bear to let you go. I'll be very quiet. Will you wait ten minutes for me?”
“Of course,” he answered.
He strolled down towards the gun room, stood by the fire for a moment, and then wandered out into the courtyard, where Middleton and a couple of beaters were waiting for him with the dogs. He had scarcely taken a step towards them, however, when he stopped short. To his amazement Seaman was there, standing a little on one side, with his eyes fixed upon the windows of the servants' quarters.
“Hullo, my friend!” he exclaimed. “Why, I thought you went by the early train from Thursford Station?”
“Missed it by two minutes,” Seaman replied with a glance towards the beaters. “I knew all the cars were full for the eleven o'clock, so I thought I'd wait till the afternoon.”
“And where have you been to for the last few hours, then?”
Seaman had reached his side now and was out of earshot of the others.
“Trying to solve the mystery of Johann Wolff's sudden departure last night. Come and walk down the avenue with me a short way.”
“A very short distance, then. I am expecting Lady Dominey.”
They passed through the thin iron gates and paced along one of the back entrances to the Hall.
“Do not think me indiscreet,” Seaman began. “I returned without the knowledge of any one, and I kept out of the way until they had all gone. It is what I told you before. Things which I do not understand depress me, and behold! I have found proof this morning of a further significance in Wolff's sudden departure.”
“Proceed,” Dominey begged.
“I learned this morning, entirely by accident, that Mr. Pelham's servant was either mistaken or willfully deceived me. Wolff did not accompany your butler to the station.”
“And how did you find that out?” Dominey demanded.
“It is immaterial! What is material is that there is a sort of conspiracy amongst the servants here to conceal the manner of his leaving. Do not interrupt me, I beg! Early this morning there was a fresh fall of snow which has now disappeared. Outside the window of the room which I found locked were the marks of footsteps and the tracks of a small car.”
“And what do you gather from all this?” Dominey asked.
“I gather that Wolff must have had friends in the neighbourhood,” Seaman replied, “or else—”
“Well?”
“My last supposition sounds absurd,” Seaman confessed, “but the whole matter is so incomprehensible that I was going to say—or else he was forcibly removed.”
Dominey laughed softly.
“Wolff would scarcely have been an easy man to abduct, would he,” he remarked, “even if we could hit upon any plausible reason for such a thing! As a matter of fact, Seaman,” he concluded, turning on his heel a little abruptly as he saw Rosamund standing in the avenue, “I cannot bring myself to treat this Johann Wolff business seriously. Granted that the man was a spy, well, let him get on with it. We are doing our job here in the most perfect and praiseworthy fashion. We neither of us have the ghost of a secret to hide from his employers.”
“In a sense that is true,” Seaman admitted.
“Well, then, cheer up,” Dominey enjoined. “Take a little walk with us, and we will see whether Parkins cannot find us a bottle of that old Burgundy for lunch. How does that sound?”
“If you will excuse me from taking the walk,” Seaman begged, “I would like to remain here until your return.”
“You are more likely to do harm,” Dominey reminded him, “and set the servants talking, if you show too much interest in this man's disappearance.”
“I shall be careful,” Seaman promised, “but there are certain things which I cannot help. I work always from instinct, and my instinct is never wrong. I will ask no more questions of your servants, but I know that there is something mysterious about the sudden departure of Johann Wolff.”
Dominey and Rosamund returned about one o'clock to find a note from Seaman, which the former tore open as his companion stood warming her feet in front of the fire. There were only a few lines:
“I am following an idea. It takes me to London. Let us meet there within a few days.
“S.”
“Has he really gone?” Rosamund asked.
“Back to London.”
She laughed happily. “Then we shall lunchà deuxafter all! Delightful! I have my wish!”
There was a sudden glow in Dominey's face, a glow which was instantly suppressed.
“Shall I ever have mine?” he asked, with a queer little break in his voice.
Terniloff and Dominey, one morning about six months later, lounged underneath a great elm tree at Ranelagh, having iced drinks after a round of golf. Several millions of perspiring Englishmen were at the same moment studying with dazed wonder the headlines in the midday papers.
“I suppose,” the Ambassador remarked, as he leaned back in his chair with an air of lazy content, “that I am being accused of fiddling while Rome burns.”
“Every one has certainly not your confidence in the situation,” Dominey rejoined calmly.
“There is no one else who knows quite so much,” Terniloff reminded him.
Dominey sipped his drink for a moment or two in silence.
“Have you the latest news of the Russian mobilisation?” he asked. “They had some startling figures in the city this morning.”
The Prince waved his hand.
“My faith is not founded on these extraneous incidents,” he replied. “If Russia mobilises, it is for defence. No nation in the world would dream of attacking Germany, nor has Germany the slightest intention of imperilling her coming supremacy amongst the nations by such crude methods as military enterprise. Servia must be punished, naturally, but to that, in principle, every nation in Europe is agreed. We shall not permit Austria to overstep the mark.”
“You are at least consistent, Prince,” Dominey remarked.
Terniloff smiled.
“That is because I have been taken behind the scenes,” he said. “I have been shown, as is the privilege of ambassadors, the mind of our rulers. You, my friend,” he went on, “spent your youth amongst the military faction. You think that you are the most important people in Germany. Well, you are not. The Kaiser has willed it otherwise. By-the-by, I had yesterday a most extraordinary cable from Stephanie.”
Dominey ceased swinging his putter carelessly over the head of a daisy and turned his head to listen.
“Is she on the way home?”
“She is due in Southampton at any moment now. She wants to know where she can see me immediately upon her arrival, as she has information of the utmost importance to give me.”
“Did she ever tell you the reason for her journey to Africa?”
“She was most mysterious about it. If such an idea had had any logical outcome, I should have surmised that she was going there to seek information as to your past.”
“She gave Seaman the same idea,” Dominey observed. “I scarcely see what she has to gain. In Africa, as a matter of fact,” he went on, “my life would bear the strictest investigation.”
“The whole affair is singularly foolish,” the Prince declared, “Still, I am not sure that you have been altogether wise. Even accepting your position, I see no reason why you should not have obeyed the Kaiser's behest. My experience of your Society here is that love affairs between men and women moving in the same circles are not uncommon.”
“That,” Dominey urged, “is when they are all tarred with the same brush. My behaviour towards Lady Dominey has been culpable enough as it is. To have placed her in the position of a neglected wife would have been indefensible. Further, it might have affected the position which it is in the interests of my work that I should maintain here.”
“An old subject,” the Ambassador sighed, “best not rediscussed. Behold, our womenkind!”
Rosamund and the Princess had issued from the house, and the two men hastened to meet them. The latter looked charming, exquisitely gowned, and stately in appearance. By her side Rosamund, dressed with the same success but in younger fashion, seemed almost like a child. They passed into the luncheon room, crowded with many little parties of distinguished and interesting people, brilliant with the red livery of the waiters, the profusion of flowers—all that nameless elegance which had made the place society's most popular rendezvous. The women, as they settled into their places, asked a question which was on the lips of a great many English people of that day.
“Is there any news?”
Terniloff perhaps felt that he was the cynosure of many eager and anxious eyes. He smiled light-heartedly as he answered:
“None. If there were, I am convinced that it would be good. I have been allowed to play out my titanic struggle against Sir Everard without interruption.”
“I suppose the next important question is to whether it is to be peace or war is, how did you play?” the Princess asked.
“I surpassed myself,” her husband replied, “but of course no ordinary human golfer is of any account against Dominey. He plays far too well for any self-respecting Ger—”
The Ambassador broke off and paused while he helped himself to mayonnaise.
“For any self-respecting German to play against,” he concluded.
Luncheon was a very pleasant meal, and a good many people noticed the vivacity of the beautiful Lady Dominey whose picture was beginning to appear in the illustrated papers. Afterwards they drank coffee and sipped liqueurs under the great elm tree on the lawn, listening to the music and congratulating themselves upon having made their escape from London. In the ever-shifting panorama of gaily-dressed women and flannel-clad men, the monotony of which was varied here and there by the passing of a diplomatist or a Frenchman, scrupulously attired in morning clothes, were many familiar faces. Caroline and a little group of friends waved to them from the terrace. Eddy Pelham, in immaculate white, and a long tennis coat with dark blue edgings, paused to speak to them on his way to the courts.
“How is the motor business, Eddy?” Dominey asked, with a twinkle in his eyes.
“So, so! I'm not quite so keen as I was. To tell you the truth,” the young man confided, glancing around and lowering his voice so that no one should share the momentous information, “I was lucky enough to pick up a small share in Jere Moore's racing stable at Newmarket, the other day. I fancy I know a little more about gee-gees than I do about the inside of motors, what?”
“I should think very possibly that you are right,” Dominey assented, as the young man passed on with a farewell salute.
Terniloff looked after him curiously.
“It is the type of young man, that,” he declared, “which we cannot understand. What would happen to him, in the event of a war? In the event of his being called upon, say, either to fight or do some work of national importance for his country?”
“I expect he would do it,” Dominey replied. “He would do it pluckily, whole-heartedly and badly. He is a type of the upper-class young Englishman, over-sanguine and entirely undisciplined. They expect, and their country expects for them that in the case of emergency pluck would take the place of training.”
The Right Honourable Gerald Watson stood upon the steps talking to the wife of the Italian Ambassador. She left him presently, and he came strolling down the lawn with his hands behind his back and his eyes seeming to see out past the golf links.
“There goes a man,” Terniloff murmured, “whom lately I have found changed. When I first came here he met me quite openly. I believe, even now, he is sincerely desirous of peace and amicable relations between our two countries, and yet something has fallen between us. I cannot tell what it is. I cannot tell even of what nature it is, but I have an instinct for people's attitude towards me, and the English are the worst race in the world at hiding their feelings. Has Mr. Watson, I wonder come under the spell of your connection, the Duke of Worcester? He seemed so friendly with both of us down in Norfolk.”
Their womenkind left them at that moment to talk to some acquaintances seated a short distance way. Mr. Watson, passing within a few yards of them, was brought to a standstill by Dominey's greeting. They talked for a moment or two upon idle subjects.
“Your news, I trust, continues favourable?” the Ambassador remarked, observing the etiquette which required him to be the first to leave the realms of ordinary conversation.
“It is a little negative in quality,” the other answered, after a moment's hesitation. “I am summoned to Downing Street again at six o'clock.”
“I have already confided the result of my morning despatches to the Prime Minister,” Terniloff observed.
“I went through them before I came down here,” was the somewhat doubtful reply.
“You will have appreciated, I hope, their genuinely pacific tone?” Terniloff asked anxiously.
His interlocutor bowed and then drew himself up. It was obvious that the strain of the last few days was telling upon him. There were lines about his mouth, and his eyes spoke of sleepless nights.
“Words are idle things to deal with at a time like this,” he said. “One thing, however, I will venture to say to you, Prince, here and under these circumstances. There will be no war unless it be the will of your country.”
Terniloff was for a moment unusually pale. It was an episode of unrecorded history. He rose to his feet and raised his hat.
“There will be no war,” he said solemnly.
The Cabinet Minister passed on with a lighter step. Dominey, more clearly than ever before, understood the subtle policy which had chosen for his great position a man as chivalrous and faithful and yet as simple-minded as Terniloff. He looked after the retreating figure of the Cabinet Minister with a slight smile at the corner of his lips.
“In a time like this,” he remarked significantly, “one begins to understand why one of our great writers—was it Bernhardi, I wonder?—has written that no island could ever breed a race of diplomatists.”
“The seas which engirdle this island,” the Ambassador said thoughtfully, “have brought the English great weal, as they may bring to her much woe. The too-nimble brain of the diplomat has its parallel of insincerity in the people whose interests he seems to guard. I believe in the honesty of the English politicians, I have placed that belief on record in the small volume of memoirs which I shall presently entrust to you. But we talk too seriously for a summer afternoon. Let us illustrate to the world our opinion of the political situation and play another nine holes at golf.”
Dominey rose willingly to his feet, and the two men strolled away towards the first tee.
“By the by,” Terniloff asked, “what of our cheerful little friend Seaman? He ought to be busy just now.”
“Curiously enough, he is returning from Germany to-night,” Dominey announced. “I expect him at Berkeley square. He is coming direct to me.”