CHAPTER VIIITHE COUNTESS IN ACTION
FOR a moment the Countess Rémond did not speak, and Selden could see that her thoughts were turned inward, as though seeking some starting-point, some end to get hold of in the unravelling of a tangled web. He did not suspect that, realizing her moment was at hand, she was gathering her forces to meet it and casting a final glance over her plan of campaign.
“Why did you send for me last night?” he prompted.
“I wanted to thank you.”
“Yes—but there was something else.”
“I was going to implore your assistance in saving a people’s freedom,” she answered, smiling as if at her own impulsiveness.
“And you no longer need it?”
“I no longer believe their freedom is in danger.”
“You are speaking of your own people, of course.”
“Yes.”
“You mean, then, that this new plot of Lappo’s, whatever it is, will come to nothing?”
“On the contrary, he will succeed; and the country will be better off.”
“He told you last night what his plans are?”
“Yes—some of them.”
“He expects, of course, to put the king back?”
“Of course.”
“It is difficult to take the king seriously,” said Selden. “He has always been a sort of comic-opera king, posing as the primitive chieftain of a splendid primitive race.”
“Perhaps it was not a pose,” the countess suggested.
“Perhaps not—but one can’t help suspecting a man with such a genius for publicity. And he was not always primitive. He was the cleverest intriguer in Europe; even in the war he tried to be on both sides at once.”
“Because he wanted to save his country. How can one serve a little country like that except by intrigue?”
Selden took a few reflective puffs.
“Well, I don’t know,” he said at last. “I’ve never met him, so perhaps I’m prejudiced. But I do know this—while he was on the throne, the country was absolutely his to do as he pleased with. He was good-natured, democratic, interested in his people—even Jeneski admits that!—but he had his evil moments when frightful injustices were done. Anybody who disagreed with him was exiled. But the principal vice of the whole system was that the people had no voice in their government.”
“How much voice have they now?” inquired the countess.
“Not much, I grant you, because they’re too ignorant. But as they grow more fit, they’ll take a larger and larger part.”
“Perhaps—if they do not starve meanwhile.”
“Anyway,” added Selden, “it isn’t merely a questionof the old king. Nobody would object if he could gather up a few millions somewhere and go back and spend them on his country. But he won’t live long, and then it will be a question of Danilo. What about him? Is he the sort of man to save a country from starvation?”
“He would have Lappo,” pointed out the countess.
“It’s a shame,” mused Selden, “that Lappo can’t work with Jeneski. What a team that would make!”
“But he cannot,” said the countess. “He would consider himself a traitor.”
Selden nodded.
“Yes, I know.”
The two fell silent, gazing thoughtfully out over the sea.
“You have told me nothing about yourself,” he said at last.
“Do you want to know?” and she cast him a quick glance.
“I can’t help wondering....”
“About that man you discovered signalling to the Germans?”
Selden nodded without looking at her.
“That man was Lappo’s son,” said the countess.
Selden stared.
“Lappo’s son?”
“The son of a woman he loved very much. He had made a state marriage—a very unhappy one—and had a legitimate son, so he could not acknowledge the other. But he got for him a little estate and the courtesy title of Count Rémond. Afterwards he had reason to be glad he had not acknowledgedhim, for Rémond’s mother died, and he developed a streak of madness, became involved in frightful scandals and was finally sent to America. Practically all our people in America had settled in one place—at a little town in Montana where there was a great copper mine. Rémond came there. We met each other and—were married. He was not without fascination of a sort—and I was very young. Then came the war, and Rémond was soon travelling about the country in what he told me was the Allies’ secret service. I saw him very little. When America entered the war, he enlisted. I was very proud of him. I never suspected what he was really doing until I heard....”
“But how could you hear?” asked Selden. “It was a military secret.”
“The baron found out. He had sources of information.”
“Then he knows....”
“That you were the one who denounced Rémond? But of course!”
Selden involuntarily glanced behind him.
“Oh, do not fear,” said the countess with a smile. “He is glad the traitor was caught so soon. He may even speak to you about it.”
Yes, that would be like the baron! Here, then, was one of the skeletons concealed in his private closet! Selden wondered how many more there were.
“Well,” he said, at last, “and afterwards?”
“Afterwards,” the countess paused an instant; “afterwards the baron was very kind to me. He sent me money, he invited me to place myself underhis protection—but he himself was soon an exile, for the Austrians overran the country, and he had time to think only of his king. So it was not until Jeneski came back that I could return.”
“You came with Jeneski?” asked Selden curiously, wondering what the baron had thought of that.
The countess nodded, her lip caught between her teeth.
“He and my father had been dear friends,” she explained. “When my father died, Jeneski in a way adopted me. So he took me back with him, and succeeded in having my little estate restored to me.”
A very seductive adopted daughter, Selden thought; a rather disturbing one. The countess’s story had rung true up to this point, but here it was not quite convincing.
“The estate—it is an attractive one, I hope?” he queried.
“It is not bad—but I could not stay there.” The note of passion was in her voice again, and her hands were clenched. “It was impossible. I could not do it. So I came away to Paris—to Monte Carlo—to amuse myself—to forget!”
“One can amuse oneself better here, that is true,” Selden agreed, searching for a clue to her emotion. “But weren’t you interested in seeing how Jeneski’s experiment works out?”
“Jeneski!” she repeated hoarsely. “Ah, you do not know him! He is not a man—he is a machine which crushes people who get in his way. He....”
She stopped abruptly, struggling for self-control.
“Yes,” said Selden, “I suppose all fanatics are more or less like that.”
“I have known some who were human,” said the countess more quietly, and closed her lips tightly, as though determined to say no more.
Selden could only ponder what she meant. How had she got in his way? What had he done to her? To him Jeneski had seemed very human—possessed by his idea, of course, ready to make for it any sacrifice; but full of fire, of sympathy, of understanding. Full of passion, too, unless his full red lips belied him.
“However,” the countess was saying, “we need not concern ourselves about Jeneski. He will soon be replaced.”
“I am not so sure of it.”
“Baron Lappo is sure of it. I do not think you understand, Mr. Selden, what an extraordinary man the baron is. Nothing is concealed from him. He is in his way a great artist.”
“I hope to know him better,” Selden observed.
“And the king—he is not at all what you think. But you will see!”
“Yes—the baron has promised to arrange an interview.”
“It will be to-night; the baron is giving a dinner.”
“How did you know?” asked Selden, looking at her in some astonishment.
“I am to be there. You also are invited, are you not?”
“Yes.”
“Well—you can make your observations! I advise you to keep your eyes very wide open.”
Selden rubbed a reflective hand across his forehead.
“I confess,” he said, “that these intrigues are too subtle for my intelligence. I don’t seem to be able to find the key. However I shall do my best. I don’t suppose you can tell me any more?”
“Only in confidence. You would not want that.”
“No,” agreed Selden slowly, “I wouldn’t want that. I must be free to use whatever I find out, if I think it necessary.”
“I understand, and you are right,” she nodded, and glanced at her watch. “Come, we must be going. This dinner is a most important one for me. I must dress for it carefully.”
“Do you know who will be there?”
“The king, Danilo, Lappo, yourself, myself, and—two or three other women.”
“Madame Ghita, perhaps?” hazarded Selden, and watched her face.
She could not suppress a little start.
“You know Madame Ghita?”
“She was enquiring for the prince at the Sporting Club last night. I happened to hear her.”
“Ah,” said the countess; “then of course you can guess who she is!”
“Yes, I suppose so,” said Selden slowly, with a little sinking of the heart. He had hoped against hope that there might be some other explanation. Ah, well, if she were Danilo’s mistress that ended it.
The countess was looking at him curiously.
“Then you knew perfectly well that she will not be at the dinner to-night. Were you setting a trap of some sort?”
“No—but I wondered who she was. I wasn’t sure.”
“Well, you are now!” she said, and held out her hand to him, and he helped her down the rocky descent to the town. She permitted herself to lean against him once or twice, but he was too preoccupied to notice. Madame Ghita—the mistress of the prince!
The countess looked at him occasionally, trying to read his thoughts, but she did not speak again until they were seated in the motor-car which was awaiting them.
“You saw the prince last night?” she asked.
“Yes; I went over to the Sporting Club after I finished my work. The prince was playing.”
“And losing, of course?”
“No, he was winning heavily. He must have won two hundred thousand francs.”
“Was he alone?”
“No, there was a young fellow named Davis with him.”
“An American?”
“Yes—obviously.”
“So it was from him he got the money!” she murmured, half to herself.
“I suppose so,” laughed Selden. “Do you know him?”
“No, I have never met him.”
“He is very young and callow, but I fancy he will get plenty of experience before long. First from the prince, and then from a girl who has him in her net.”
“Did the baron see him?”
“Oh, yes; he seemed to know him quite well.”
“And he was very much annoyed, was he not?”
Selden looked at her.
“How did you know that?”
“Oh, I guessed it! But please go on and tell me what happened.”
“The principal thing that happened,” said Selden, laughing a little at the recollection, “was that the baron made the prince repay the money he had borrowed—a considerable sum. The prince was very much annoyed.”
“He would be,” nodded the countess. “He has always found more amusing uses for his money than paying his debts with it. It must have been a new experience! But in this case it was necessary,” she added, thoughtfully.
“I am glad you understand it so well,” said Selden drily.
The countess laughed and tapped his hand playfully.
“Do not be cross,” she said. “You will find it much more amusing to piece together the puzzle for yourself. And I am sure you will find the key at the dinner to-night!”
“I am not cross; I am only wondering if I shall see you to-morrow.”
She glanced at him from under lowered lashes.
“If you wish,” she said softly.
He moved a little nearer to her. Since Madame Ghita was unattainable, and this amusement offered....
“When will you be free?” he asked.
“All day.”
“Shall we say dinner, then, at Ciro’s?”
“That will be lovely!”
“Thank you,” said Selden. “You are being very nice to me!”
“Ah, I have a good heart!” she laughed. “And perhaps I have some secret reason!”
They were speeding down the slope into the Condamine, when another motor panted past them so rapidly that Selden caught but a glimpse of its occupant. But his companion’s eyes had been quicker.
“Did you see who that was?” she asked.
“No.”
“It was Madame Ghita. And this is the road to Nice.”
“What of it?”
“But it is at Nice the dinner is to take place!” cried the countess. “Surely you are not so stupid as you seem!”
Selden could only look at her. And suddenly the car jerked to a stop.
“We have arrived,” she said. “Till to-night—and thank you for a delightful afternoon!”
And she ran quickly up the steps into the hotel.