CHAPTER XIX
As Miss Eleanor Byrd soon found, her duties as social secretary to Miss Pratt were no sinecure. The Pratts had been in Washington thirteen years, the Senator having just started on his third term in the upper house of the national government, but they had not cared much for social affairs until their daughter was ready to make her bow to society. Then they discovered, to their amazement, that while they could command a certain amount of consideration as a senator’s family, there were yet many circles into which they could not penetrate. These circles, although really little if any better than those to which they had access, naturally became at once exceedingly desirable to both Mrs. Pratt and her daughter. Especially did they desire, as all Washington women do, to get into the diplomatic set, and when chance—they thought it was chance—threw the Countess Elsa in their way, they were ready to grapple her to themselves with hooks of steel—or gold. When, instead of making demands upon them, the countessappeared to lay herself out to please them, they were overjoyed; and when she proposed to visit them in their Washington home, their delight knew no bounds; even Senator Pratt, hard-headed business man as he was, was pleased, but partly because the countess always treated him with a consideration as grateful as it is rare to the average American father and husband. It was Senator Pratt who a few months before had openly thanked God that he didn’t keep a dog. “Because,” he said, “my wife comes first, my daughter second, and if we kept a dog, I’d come fourth.”
Pleased the Senator was, but not carried beyond his depths. Life-long habits are strong, and more than once he had asked himself what there was “in it” for the countess. When McNew offered an answer, his suggestion fell on fertile ground.
But he wanted a quid pro quo, nevertheless. If he paid Miss Byrd $100 a month to manage his daughter’s social affairs, he wanted her to earn the money. And as neither his daughter nor his wife had any idea as to the social secretary’s real mission, she found her hands full.
A week passed without significant event—or at least without event that seemed significant to Miss Byrd. Twice a week the ladies served teainformally to all who liked to drop in, and on these occasions the members of the various legations and embassies were always present in good numbers. But they clustered around Miss Pratt—who was both pretty and interesting—almost as numerously as they did about the countess, although the latter had been the attraction that had drawn them to the house. The talk was necessarily polyglot, though mostly in either French or English, but so far as Miss Byrd could see, the countess indulged in no private conversations with any one. What she did when away from home Miss Byrd could not always tell, for of course she was not invited to many of the entertainments attended by the countess and Miss Pratt. However, she knew that McNew had other spies there.
As the days went by, the anxiety of those who were watching grew apace. The rebels in Brazil were steadily becoming more and more powerful, and the German newspapers were advocating their recognition as belligerents.
The Japanese were growing more insistent in their demands. Some of the papers were clamoring for war. If there was really anything in the supposed plot, the crisis must be drawing near.
Thinking over it all, Risdon made up his mindthat the arrival of Ouro Preto, who was still speeding northward, would be followed by important events. And still no clue could be discovered.
At last, however, partial enlightenment came. The Pratt parlors had been crowded that afternoon, but the crowd had thinned out until only half a dozen callers remained. Three of these were grouped around Miss Pratt, and the other three around the countess. With a sudden shock Miss Byrd, sitting at the tea table noticed that these latter three were the German and Japanese ambassadors and the latter’s wife; suddenly she remembered that the last, though for forty years married to a Japanese, was German by birth.
As she bent her face over the teacups, to hide the flush that rose in her cheeks at the sudden realization of what this might mean, the countess leaned toward the Japanese ambassador. “Did you see Maude Adams last night, Baron?” she asked. “How do you like her?” Then without the slightest change in her sprightly tones she slipped into German; “and, Baron,” she questioned; “when do you present your demands to the President?”
In spite of herself, Miss Byrd started. Instantly she realized that here was the unsuspectedchannel of communication. Relying on the ignorance of the rest of the household of rapid vernacular German, the countess, with insolent daring, had done her plotting under the eyes of everybody.
But the Japanese ambassador was speaking, and there was no time for considering other things.
“Charming!” he said in English; but—he changed to German—“I shall never present them.”
The countess showed no vexation. “Isn’t she?” she asked. “Why not?” in German.
“She assuredly is. I wanted to see her in Joan of Arc, but my duties kept me here. Because,” in German, “I have convinced my government that this country is its best friend and have conveyed to it the assurance of the President that he will see that my countrymen in California receive all their treaty rights.” “You did not go either, Countess, did you?” in English.
“No! I was too busy. And your excellency!” She turned to the German ambassador. “What do you think of her?”
The German scowled. “I do not like her,” he sputtered; “but she has many friends. I supposeyour ideas are fixed, Baron, and that no argument could possibly alter them.”
The Jap shook his head. “None!” he answered. “My opinion is absolutely fixed!”
“Then—But I am making an unconscionably long stay. I leave the Baron in your hands, countess. Perhaps you may persuade him.”
The countess smiled mysteriously. “Perhaps,” she said. “Perhaps!”
That night Miss Byrd left the house and hurried down to Risdon’s office; and laid the story before him. When she got back she learned that the countess was suffering with a headache and had decided not to go out that night. The next day her maid reported that she was still feeling badly. That afternoon a doctor—the doctor attached to the German embassy—was called in. The countess, however, did not improve. She kept her room and begged to be excused from seeing any one—even Miss Pratt. It was not until five days later that Miss Byrd suspected that she was no longer in the house. But by that time the countess was three thousand miles away from Washington.