Chapter Eighteen.Some Surprises.Several weeks passed uneventfully. In fulfilment of my promise to Sonia I had obtained the required permit and taken it personally to Pembroke Road on the same evening, but on arrival there discovered that the pretty Russian had been unexpectedly summoned to the bedside of a sick friend. She had, however, left a note with the English maid asking me to enclose the document in an envelope and leave it.“I regret it is impossible for me to be at home to receive you,” she wrote in French, “but I have every confidence that you will secure me what I require. If you leave it for me I will, in return, write down and send you the facts I promised to reveal. Time presses, therefore kindly excuse my haste. I shall always remember your kindness and be ready to render you any service in return.”This was disappointing. I had hoped to hear from her own lips her promised revelations, but this being impossible, I enclosed the special permit in an envelope, sealed it and left it, together with a brief note warning her that she was being carefully watched by police agents, and promising to call next day and bid her farewell.When on the following morning I presented myself at her house, I was informed by the maid that mademoiselle had left early to visit her sick friend, and that she would not return till evening. Inquiry showed that she had received my letter, and when at eight o’clock that night I again called in the expectation of obtaining the fulfilment of her promise to tell me of Ella, I found her still absent, and gathered from the servant that she had taken a travelling-trunk with her. I concluded that she had left secretly for Russia.From day to day I waited in the expectation of a letter from her, but although I remained in anxiety and doubt for more than a month, none came, and I was at last compelled to admit that I had actually been tricked, as Paul had predicted. He was right after all. Sonia, the innocent-looking girl with the sad, dark eyes and dimpled chin, was a woman internationally notorious, who, soft-voiced, had posed as my friend in order to attain her own ends, and had then departed without carrying out her part of the compact. As the weeks passed I gradually began to realise the force of Paul Verblioudovitch’s words when he had tried to impress upon me the necessity of accepting her statements with caution. Without doubt she was a heartless adventuress, therefore I bitterly reproached myself for having allowed her libellous allegations against Ella to arouse suspicion within me, and at length determined upon regarding all her words as false, uttered merely for the purpose of enlisting my assistance to procure here re-entry into her own country. My anger that I should have allowed myself to fall into such a trap, and make such a demand upon a friend’s goodwill, knew no bounds. I went to the Embassy, and to Paul admitted that my hopes had not been realised. In reply, he laughed heartily, saying,—“I warned you, my dear fellow, of the kind of woman with whom you were dealing. Thank your stars that she has discarded you so easily, and be careful of pretty refugees in future. No harm has apparently been done, for inquiries I’ve made showed that she crossed the frontier at Verjbolovo without detection.”“I must confess I doubted the truth of your words before you issued the permit, but of course it is all plain now,” I said.“You don’t believe her lies about Miss Laing, eh?” he inquired bluntly, but a trifle earnestly, I thought.“No, I don’t,” I smiled; and then our conversation had drifted into a different channel. It was clear enough now, patent to everybody, that the girl I had fancied so pure, so unworldly—the goddess that sat in the clouds regarding all earth with clear, immaculate eyes—was simply an adventuress, a wretched creature, on the lookout for victims.The popular excitement consequent from the belief that war was to be declared had died down, although in the Foreign Office the reason of the sudden abandonment of Russia’s intentions remained an inscrutable mystery, while the panic on the Stock Exchange had enriched a few and ruined many. Parliament had risen for the recess, and Beck had taken a party in his yacht to the Norwegian fiords, Ella and Mrs Laing declining his invitation to join them. This course had been adopted at my suggestion. When Ella had spoken to me of their proposed cruise, I at once demurred, for although I had also been asked, I found absence from the Foreign Office impossible, owing to several delicate negotiations at that moment proceeding, and therefore urged her to remain in London. This she did at once, declining the invitation on behalf of both herself and her mother. The latter, who was not a good sailor, secretly thanked me for rescuing her from what she termed “three weeks of misery,” and, truth to tell, although no longer jealous of Beck’s attention to Ella, I was glad to have her remain in town.Through the hot, stifling August days, when London was what is termed “empty,” Mrs Laing and her daughter still lived in Pont Street. During the first three weeks following my visit to Sonia I called only twice, but meantime Ella was, I know, suffering tortures of doubt and anxiety. She had been trained in a school of self-repression, and it now stood her in good stead. She could not, however, prevent her cheeks being pale, neither could she help her eyes looking dilated and odd. Speech was difficult and smiles impossible; otherwise she held her own, and only I felt the difference, and knew that there lay a deep gulf of suspicion between us.On the two occasions on which I had called we had no confidential chat, and the formal hours went by almost in silence. I had received positive proof from Renouf that she had been a constant visitor to Sonia, and it was impossible to talk with frivolity in that oppressive atmosphere of doubt. Mrs Laing, I noticed, hung her goldpince-nezhigh upon her nose in wonder. Ella was thus consuming herself with anxiety, while I, struggling along from day to day, saw my last hope growing thinner and yet more shadowy, and looming through it—despair.Then at last, five weeks after Sonia’s flight, I called at Pont Street and demanded of Ella the reason she had visited the house in Pembroke Road. Her reply was quite unexpected. She told me quite calmly that they had been schoolfellows at Neuilly, and that, finding Sonia had lost both her parents, she went to Pembroke Road each day to bear the bereaved girl company. She was in ignorance regarding Sonia’s life since she had left the French school, and expressed surprise that she should have departed suddenly without telling her of her destination. Her replies to my inquiries set my mind at rest upon several points. It appeared quite plain that Ella herself had told Sonia of her engagement to me and had described the tragic incident at Staines, therefore the pretty refugee had been enabled to drop those ingenious hints at mystery that had so sorely puzzled me, and had cleverly secured my interests on her behalf.When I realised how artfully I had been tricked, I ground my teeth, and Ella, standing statuesque on the opposite side of the drawing-room in strong relief against a background of dark, glossy palms and broad-leaved tropical plants, noticed my anger. The light fell upon her red-brown hair and upon her slightly upturned face, showing its delicate modelling in its almost childish roundness. Her profile was quite as charming as her full face, perhaps more so, as it had the advantage of the curl and sweep of the eyelashes and of the fine line of the upper lip.She eyed me gravely, but spoke no word.Yet in that instant I knew I had misjudged her, that through those long, anxious weeks while I had entertained dark suspicions she had nevertheless still loved me honestly and truly. I know not what words I uttered, but a few moments later I found her sobbing in my fond embrace. Her tears were tears of joy.The silence was long. We had so much to think about that we forgot to speak, but presently, when she dried her blue eyes with her flimsy lace handkerchief and seated herself, I took the tiny hand lying idly in her lap and laid my cheek down on the tender, rosy palm.“How I wish that this night could last for ever,” I said, with a sigh of supreme contentment. “In my memory it will live always.”“Always?” she echoed, looking tenderly into my face; then for the first time she put her arms around me and held me tightly pressed against her heart.“Yes, always,” I said. “Until I die.”“Ah! Don’t speak of death,” she whispered. “If you died, I—I should die also, Geoffrey. I could not live without you. How I have endured these dark, weary weeks I scarcely know.”Together we remained a long time, while I reproached myself for entertaining suspicion that her friendliness with Dudley or with Beck was anything but platonic, declaring that my love had ever been unwavering, that my recent actions had been due to a mad and unjust jealousy for which I craved her forgiveness.With her eyes still wet she told me how fondly she had always loved me, and urged me to think no more of the strange events that had led to Dudley’s tragic end.“It is my duty to ascertain the truth and clear up the mystery,” she said. “I have promised you a solution of the enigma, and you shall have it some day.”“For the present, dearest, I am content to wait,” I answered, and in the same breath repeated the question I had asked her months ago—whether she would be my wife.“Alas! I fear you do not trust me sufficiently, Geoffrey,” she answered in a low, intense tone, tears still welling in her blue eyes.“I do,” I cried. “I know that all the time I have been a jealously brutal fool you have loved me as truly as ever.”“I told you long ago that I loved you,” she answered earnestly.“Yes, I believe it now, darling,” I said. “That is why I ask you to become my wife. Tell me once more that you will.” In a whisper, as her handsome head pillowed itself upon, my arm, she repeated her promise, then burst into a torrent of tears, while I, in joyful ecstasy, still held her in my arms.It was an idyllic evening, this first one of love and trust; a brief dream such as one has in the moment before waking. Bowing before my idol, I had humbly acknowledged myself wrong, and my well-beloved had frankly forgiven and forgotten. There was a long silence, deep and impressive, broken only by the confused sound from the street that came in through the open window. Then, when she stirred again and raised her head, I told her of my position at the Foreign Office, and the probability of my appointment to a diplomatic post abroad.She listened, her clear, trusting eyes fixed upon me. She, too, was ambitious.“It’s a great responsibility for any woman,” she said at last, “to think she is to be part of a career. I will help you, my darling,” then she buried her face again in my coat-collar, protesting fervently, “I will never, never allow myself to hinder you; but will do my utmost to help you to success, only you must have patience with me.” Suddenly she raised her head again, continuing, “I know there is one strange episode in my past that is a mystery to you, nay, to all. My misfortune is that I am unable yet to reveal the truth, because I fear the consequences of such disclosure. Some day you shall know everything, but until then think only of me as the woman who loves you with all her soul.”She spoke with a terrible earnestness, her slim fingers clutching my arm convulsively, and as I gave my promise to regard her always as a pure and upright woman, and forget the mystery surrounding her, I sealed our compact with a long, passionate kiss.Mrs Laing, stiff and stately in black satin, entered the room a few moments later, and Ella, having whispered and obtained my consent, forthwith made a full and complete statement to her mother of the position of affairs. The old lady listened attentively in silence, inclining her head now and then with a gesture indicative of approbation, but when her daughter had concluded her face brightened.“I am indeed glad to think that dear Ella is to marry you after all, Geoffrey,” she said. “Once, not so very long ago, I feared that you two would never again be reconciled, for Ella moped day after day, crying, and quite spoiling her complexion. But the old saying about the course of true love contains much truth, and now that your little differences are readjusted, there can be no cause for any further regret. That Ella loves you dearly, I, as her mother, have had better opportunity for knowing than anyone else and were it not for the fact that I am convinced you both will be happy, I should never give my consent to your marriage. But I am absolutely sure that this marriage is one that Ella’s father would have approved, therefore you have my entire consent and heartiest congratulations.”“Thank you, Mrs Laing,” I answered. “I, too, am convinced that we love each other sufficiently well, and I can only promise to be a sympathetic and devoted husband.”Ella, who, standing beside her mother’s chair, had entwined her arms affectionately around her neck, slowly released her, and walked across the room to turn the lamp higher. Then, deeming it but just that they both should know the reason of my recent coolness and suspicion, I told them in confidence of the mysterious theft of the secret convention, the strange and tragic events that followed, the discovery of the seal on the body of Dudley Ogle, and my absurd belief that Ella had, in some way, been implicated in the ingenious efforts of the spy.“Do you actually suspect poor Dudley of having been in the pay of the Russian Government?” Mrs Laing asked, open-mouthed, in dismay.“I do,” I was constrained to reply. “There is no shadow of doubt that he was a spy. He tricked you as he did myself. I was his best friend, yet he nearly ruined all my prospects in the Service.”While we had been speaking the door had opened, and as I glanced from Ella across to Mrs Laing, I saw a grey-haired man-servant in the act of handing her a letter.As he turned from her to leave he glanced at me suddenly. Our eyes met in mutual recognition, and I think I must have started perceptibly, for his brows suddenly contracted as if commanding me to silence; then he made his exit, closing the door noiselessly behind him.“You haven’t seen my new man Helmholtz before, Geoffrey,” Mrs Laing exclaimed when he had gone. “He seems a perfect treasure, although he is a German. But, after all, German servants are more useful, and quite as trustworthy as English. I should certainly advise Ella to have one.”“Yes,” I answered mechanically.The man was none other than Ivan Renouf, the great Russian detective.
Several weeks passed uneventfully. In fulfilment of my promise to Sonia I had obtained the required permit and taken it personally to Pembroke Road on the same evening, but on arrival there discovered that the pretty Russian had been unexpectedly summoned to the bedside of a sick friend. She had, however, left a note with the English maid asking me to enclose the document in an envelope and leave it.
“I regret it is impossible for me to be at home to receive you,” she wrote in French, “but I have every confidence that you will secure me what I require. If you leave it for me I will, in return, write down and send you the facts I promised to reveal. Time presses, therefore kindly excuse my haste. I shall always remember your kindness and be ready to render you any service in return.”
This was disappointing. I had hoped to hear from her own lips her promised revelations, but this being impossible, I enclosed the special permit in an envelope, sealed it and left it, together with a brief note warning her that she was being carefully watched by police agents, and promising to call next day and bid her farewell.
When on the following morning I presented myself at her house, I was informed by the maid that mademoiselle had left early to visit her sick friend, and that she would not return till evening. Inquiry showed that she had received my letter, and when at eight o’clock that night I again called in the expectation of obtaining the fulfilment of her promise to tell me of Ella, I found her still absent, and gathered from the servant that she had taken a travelling-trunk with her. I concluded that she had left secretly for Russia.
From day to day I waited in the expectation of a letter from her, but although I remained in anxiety and doubt for more than a month, none came, and I was at last compelled to admit that I had actually been tricked, as Paul had predicted. He was right after all. Sonia, the innocent-looking girl with the sad, dark eyes and dimpled chin, was a woman internationally notorious, who, soft-voiced, had posed as my friend in order to attain her own ends, and had then departed without carrying out her part of the compact. As the weeks passed I gradually began to realise the force of Paul Verblioudovitch’s words when he had tried to impress upon me the necessity of accepting her statements with caution. Without doubt she was a heartless adventuress, therefore I bitterly reproached myself for having allowed her libellous allegations against Ella to arouse suspicion within me, and at length determined upon regarding all her words as false, uttered merely for the purpose of enlisting my assistance to procure here re-entry into her own country. My anger that I should have allowed myself to fall into such a trap, and make such a demand upon a friend’s goodwill, knew no bounds. I went to the Embassy, and to Paul admitted that my hopes had not been realised. In reply, he laughed heartily, saying,—
“I warned you, my dear fellow, of the kind of woman with whom you were dealing. Thank your stars that she has discarded you so easily, and be careful of pretty refugees in future. No harm has apparently been done, for inquiries I’ve made showed that she crossed the frontier at Verjbolovo without detection.”
“I must confess I doubted the truth of your words before you issued the permit, but of course it is all plain now,” I said.
“You don’t believe her lies about Miss Laing, eh?” he inquired bluntly, but a trifle earnestly, I thought.
“No, I don’t,” I smiled; and then our conversation had drifted into a different channel. It was clear enough now, patent to everybody, that the girl I had fancied so pure, so unworldly—the goddess that sat in the clouds regarding all earth with clear, immaculate eyes—was simply an adventuress, a wretched creature, on the lookout for victims.
The popular excitement consequent from the belief that war was to be declared had died down, although in the Foreign Office the reason of the sudden abandonment of Russia’s intentions remained an inscrutable mystery, while the panic on the Stock Exchange had enriched a few and ruined many. Parliament had risen for the recess, and Beck had taken a party in his yacht to the Norwegian fiords, Ella and Mrs Laing declining his invitation to join them. This course had been adopted at my suggestion. When Ella had spoken to me of their proposed cruise, I at once demurred, for although I had also been asked, I found absence from the Foreign Office impossible, owing to several delicate negotiations at that moment proceeding, and therefore urged her to remain in London. This she did at once, declining the invitation on behalf of both herself and her mother. The latter, who was not a good sailor, secretly thanked me for rescuing her from what she termed “three weeks of misery,” and, truth to tell, although no longer jealous of Beck’s attention to Ella, I was glad to have her remain in town.
Through the hot, stifling August days, when London was what is termed “empty,” Mrs Laing and her daughter still lived in Pont Street. During the first three weeks following my visit to Sonia I called only twice, but meantime Ella was, I know, suffering tortures of doubt and anxiety. She had been trained in a school of self-repression, and it now stood her in good stead. She could not, however, prevent her cheeks being pale, neither could she help her eyes looking dilated and odd. Speech was difficult and smiles impossible; otherwise she held her own, and only I felt the difference, and knew that there lay a deep gulf of suspicion between us.
On the two occasions on which I had called we had no confidential chat, and the formal hours went by almost in silence. I had received positive proof from Renouf that she had been a constant visitor to Sonia, and it was impossible to talk with frivolity in that oppressive atmosphere of doubt. Mrs Laing, I noticed, hung her goldpince-nezhigh upon her nose in wonder. Ella was thus consuming herself with anxiety, while I, struggling along from day to day, saw my last hope growing thinner and yet more shadowy, and looming through it—despair.
Then at last, five weeks after Sonia’s flight, I called at Pont Street and demanded of Ella the reason she had visited the house in Pembroke Road. Her reply was quite unexpected. She told me quite calmly that they had been schoolfellows at Neuilly, and that, finding Sonia had lost both her parents, she went to Pembroke Road each day to bear the bereaved girl company. She was in ignorance regarding Sonia’s life since she had left the French school, and expressed surprise that she should have departed suddenly without telling her of her destination. Her replies to my inquiries set my mind at rest upon several points. It appeared quite plain that Ella herself had told Sonia of her engagement to me and had described the tragic incident at Staines, therefore the pretty refugee had been enabled to drop those ingenious hints at mystery that had so sorely puzzled me, and had cleverly secured my interests on her behalf.
When I realised how artfully I had been tricked, I ground my teeth, and Ella, standing statuesque on the opposite side of the drawing-room in strong relief against a background of dark, glossy palms and broad-leaved tropical plants, noticed my anger. The light fell upon her red-brown hair and upon her slightly upturned face, showing its delicate modelling in its almost childish roundness. Her profile was quite as charming as her full face, perhaps more so, as it had the advantage of the curl and sweep of the eyelashes and of the fine line of the upper lip.
She eyed me gravely, but spoke no word.
Yet in that instant I knew I had misjudged her, that through those long, anxious weeks while I had entertained dark suspicions she had nevertheless still loved me honestly and truly. I know not what words I uttered, but a few moments later I found her sobbing in my fond embrace. Her tears were tears of joy.
The silence was long. We had so much to think about that we forgot to speak, but presently, when she dried her blue eyes with her flimsy lace handkerchief and seated herself, I took the tiny hand lying idly in her lap and laid my cheek down on the tender, rosy palm.
“How I wish that this night could last for ever,” I said, with a sigh of supreme contentment. “In my memory it will live always.”
“Always?” she echoed, looking tenderly into my face; then for the first time she put her arms around me and held me tightly pressed against her heart.
“Yes, always,” I said. “Until I die.”
“Ah! Don’t speak of death,” she whispered. “If you died, I—I should die also, Geoffrey. I could not live without you. How I have endured these dark, weary weeks I scarcely know.”
Together we remained a long time, while I reproached myself for entertaining suspicion that her friendliness with Dudley or with Beck was anything but platonic, declaring that my love had ever been unwavering, that my recent actions had been due to a mad and unjust jealousy for which I craved her forgiveness.
With her eyes still wet she told me how fondly she had always loved me, and urged me to think no more of the strange events that had led to Dudley’s tragic end.
“It is my duty to ascertain the truth and clear up the mystery,” she said. “I have promised you a solution of the enigma, and you shall have it some day.”
“For the present, dearest, I am content to wait,” I answered, and in the same breath repeated the question I had asked her months ago—whether she would be my wife.
“Alas! I fear you do not trust me sufficiently, Geoffrey,” she answered in a low, intense tone, tears still welling in her blue eyes.
“I do,” I cried. “I know that all the time I have been a jealously brutal fool you have loved me as truly as ever.”
“I told you long ago that I loved you,” she answered earnestly.
“Yes, I believe it now, darling,” I said. “That is why I ask you to become my wife. Tell me once more that you will.” In a whisper, as her handsome head pillowed itself upon, my arm, she repeated her promise, then burst into a torrent of tears, while I, in joyful ecstasy, still held her in my arms.
It was an idyllic evening, this first one of love and trust; a brief dream such as one has in the moment before waking. Bowing before my idol, I had humbly acknowledged myself wrong, and my well-beloved had frankly forgiven and forgotten. There was a long silence, deep and impressive, broken only by the confused sound from the street that came in through the open window. Then, when she stirred again and raised her head, I told her of my position at the Foreign Office, and the probability of my appointment to a diplomatic post abroad.
She listened, her clear, trusting eyes fixed upon me. She, too, was ambitious.
“It’s a great responsibility for any woman,” she said at last, “to think she is to be part of a career. I will help you, my darling,” then she buried her face again in my coat-collar, protesting fervently, “I will never, never allow myself to hinder you; but will do my utmost to help you to success, only you must have patience with me.” Suddenly she raised her head again, continuing, “I know there is one strange episode in my past that is a mystery to you, nay, to all. My misfortune is that I am unable yet to reveal the truth, because I fear the consequences of such disclosure. Some day you shall know everything, but until then think only of me as the woman who loves you with all her soul.”
She spoke with a terrible earnestness, her slim fingers clutching my arm convulsively, and as I gave my promise to regard her always as a pure and upright woman, and forget the mystery surrounding her, I sealed our compact with a long, passionate kiss.
Mrs Laing, stiff and stately in black satin, entered the room a few moments later, and Ella, having whispered and obtained my consent, forthwith made a full and complete statement to her mother of the position of affairs. The old lady listened attentively in silence, inclining her head now and then with a gesture indicative of approbation, but when her daughter had concluded her face brightened.
“I am indeed glad to think that dear Ella is to marry you after all, Geoffrey,” she said. “Once, not so very long ago, I feared that you two would never again be reconciled, for Ella moped day after day, crying, and quite spoiling her complexion. But the old saying about the course of true love contains much truth, and now that your little differences are readjusted, there can be no cause for any further regret. That Ella loves you dearly, I, as her mother, have had better opportunity for knowing than anyone else and were it not for the fact that I am convinced you both will be happy, I should never give my consent to your marriage. But I am absolutely sure that this marriage is one that Ella’s father would have approved, therefore you have my entire consent and heartiest congratulations.”
“Thank you, Mrs Laing,” I answered. “I, too, am convinced that we love each other sufficiently well, and I can only promise to be a sympathetic and devoted husband.”
Ella, who, standing beside her mother’s chair, had entwined her arms affectionately around her neck, slowly released her, and walked across the room to turn the lamp higher. Then, deeming it but just that they both should know the reason of my recent coolness and suspicion, I told them in confidence of the mysterious theft of the secret convention, the strange and tragic events that followed, the discovery of the seal on the body of Dudley Ogle, and my absurd belief that Ella had, in some way, been implicated in the ingenious efforts of the spy.
“Do you actually suspect poor Dudley of having been in the pay of the Russian Government?” Mrs Laing asked, open-mouthed, in dismay.
“I do,” I was constrained to reply. “There is no shadow of doubt that he was a spy. He tricked you as he did myself. I was his best friend, yet he nearly ruined all my prospects in the Service.”
While we had been speaking the door had opened, and as I glanced from Ella across to Mrs Laing, I saw a grey-haired man-servant in the act of handing her a letter.
As he turned from her to leave he glanced at me suddenly. Our eyes met in mutual recognition, and I think I must have started perceptibly, for his brows suddenly contracted as if commanding me to silence; then he made his exit, closing the door noiselessly behind him.
“You haven’t seen my new man Helmholtz before, Geoffrey,” Mrs Laing exclaimed when he had gone. “He seems a perfect treasure, although he is a German. But, after all, German servants are more useful, and quite as trustworthy as English. I should certainly advise Ella to have one.”
“Yes,” I answered mechanically.
The man was none other than Ivan Renouf, the great Russian detective.
Chapter Nineteen.A Blade of Grass.Nearly three months had slipped away. It was mid-November. The cloud that had darkened my days had lifted, the sun shone out, and life and hope sprang up and ran riot in my heart. The long, anxious weeks were over, for Ella was now my wife, and our lives were full of joy and love. With utter contempt for the warning words of the ingenuous Russian who left so mysteriously without fulfilling her promise, I had taken the dearest other half of my soul, happy in the knowledge that I would be a solitary wretch no more.After a quiet wedding at St Peter’s, Eaton Square, at which, however, a large number of our friends were present, including Paul Verblioudovitch, the reception had been held at Pont Street, and we left to spend our honeymoon on the Continent while our house in Phillimore Gardens, Kensington, was being prepared. I loved my wife with the whole strength of my being. Her beauty was incomparable, her grace charming, and I could not doubt that she loved me with her whole soul, and that her vows came direct from her heart.The reason of Renouf’s presence in Mrs Laing’s household was an enigma. Since the night when I had first seen him there I had visited Pont Street each day, and on several occasions had managed to speak with him alone. To all my inquiries, however, he remained dumb.One night, when I had called and found Ella and her mother had gone to the theatre, I closed the door of the room into which I had been ushered, and asked him point-blank whether his presence there was not calculated to arouse suspicions in my mind. With an imperturbable smile he replied,—“There is no allegation whatever against mother or daughter, therefore set your mind entirely at rest. We desire to ascertain something. That is all.”His manner angered me.“If I were to denounce you as a spy you would be thrown out of this house very quickly,” I said, indignant that this ill-featured man should, for some mysterious reason, watch every action of my well-beloved.He glanced at me with an amused expression, as he answered in a half whisper,—“By betraying me, m’sieur would betray one of his closest friends.”“Oh! How’s that?”“A word from you to either of these women,” he exclaimed, with brows slightly knit, “and the department in St Petersburg will know the reason that Sonia Korolénko was enabled to pass the frontier at Verjbolovo; they will know that Paul Verblioudovitch, the Secretary of Embassy, has assisted a criminal to escape.”“You scoundrel!” I cried, facing him fiercely. “You listened to our conversation!”He shrugged his shoulders, and with the same grim smile, answered,—“My ears are trained, m’sieur. It is part of my profession.”“But why do you remain here, in a peaceable household?” I demanded. “Surely neither Mrs Laing nor Ella have incurred the Tzar’s displeasure or the hatred of those in authority! They know nothing of Russia; they have never set foot in the country.”The man’s features relaxed, and turning from me, he busied himself among some bottles on the sideboard.“I desire an answer,” I continued.“I have my instructions,” he replied, without looking towards me.“From whom?”“From headquarters.”“Well,” I exclaimed. “We are not in Russia, therefore, when the ladies return, I shall explain who and what you are.”“You dare not,” he said, regarding me suddenly with dark, penetrating gaze.“Miss Ella will soon be my wife, and I will not allow her actions to be noted upon one of those formidable forms of yours that are too often the death-warrants of your victims.”“These ladies are not my victims, as you are pleased to term them,” he protested, laughing at my anger.“Victims or friends, they shall no longer remain under your accursed surveillance,” I cried hotly. “You may practice your espionage upon your suspected compatriots; but I will never allow you to keep observation upon my friends here in England.”“Very well,” he said, quite calmly, with that cynical expression that was so tantalising. “Act as you think fit. We, of the secret service, take no step before due consideration of its consequences, a policy it would be wise for you also to adopt.” Then, with a show of mock politeness, he opened the door of the dining-room, and, bowing, exclaimed, “Madame is out, will m’sieur remain, or call again?”Our eyes met, and I saw in his a look of triumph.“I’ll call again,” I replied, and walked out into the hall, gaining the street a moment later.The first passing hansom I hailed, and drove at once to Chesham House, where I was fortunate to find Paul. When we were closeted together, I told him of the police officer’s threat, and my announcement caused him considerable astonishment.“Curious,” he repeated, as if to himself. “Very curious that Renouf should be installed in that family, above all others.”“Above all others,” I echoed. “Why?”“I—I mean that Mrs Laing could not possibly have done anything to offend our Government,” he said, quickly correcting himself. “It is certainly very strange. Renouf is not a man to be trifled with,” he added quickly. “There must be some very strong reason, known only to himself, that has induced him to act in this manner. If the motive were not a strong one, he would delegate the menial position he has had to assume to one of his subordinates. I know he has his hands full of important inquiries just now, and it therefore surprises me that he is calmly reposing as butler in Mrs Laing’s service.”“But knowing him to be a spy, I cannot allow him to remain longer in daily contact with those two defenceless women,” I exclaimed.“Have they ever been in Russia?”“Never!” I replied. “Only the other evening they were asking me about St Petersburg, and both expressed a wish to visit your country.”Paul, with his hands behind his back, and head bent in thought, paused for a moment, and then said,—“From what I know of Ivan Renouf, I believe that were you to do him an evil turn, and obtain his dismissal from Pont Street, he would at once expose to the Ministry of the Interior how Sonia Korolénko obtained her passport. If he did so, the result would be disastrous to me, especially just at a time when our frontier regulations are extremely rigid.”“What, then, is the best course to pursue?” I asked.He was silent, looking moodily into the fire. Then turning with a sudden movement, he said, with emphasis,—“You are my friend, Geoffrey. My future is in your hands.”“Which means that my silence is imperative,” I observed reflectively.Paul Verblioudovitch nodded, but uttered no word. If I denounced Renouf it was plain that my friend who had seriously imperilled his position at my urgent request, must undoubtedly suffer. In order to shield him I must therefore remain silent. With intense chagrin I saw myself ingeniously checkmated.I dared not allow one single syllable of suspicion regarding the German servant, who was, according to Mrs Laing, “a treasure,” to escape my lips, and thus, as the weeks passed preceding my marriage, I was compelled to watch and wait without any outward sign.The reason of his vigilance was an inscrutable mystery. With Ella as my wife I had passed six blissful weeks, visiting many of the quaint, old-world towns in Central France. It had been Ella’s fancy to do this. She hated the glare and glitter of Paris, and would only remain there the night on our outward and homeward journeys; indeed, cities had no charm for her, she preferred the lethargic provincial towns, from which we could make excursions into the country and spend the bright autumn days at old-fashioned inns. Fearing that she was becoming bored, I endeavoured to induce her to go to Biarritz or Pau, but to no avail. The crowdedtable-d’hôte, of the popular resort possessed no attraction, and I rejoiced in secret, for we spent a far happier time wandering through the country than if installed in some garish hotel in the neighbourhood of a casino.Once, and only once since our marriage, had I made any mention of the death of Dudley Ogle. We were driving into the ancient town of Chateauroux, in the Indre, on the lumbering, dusty, old diligence that has performed the same daily journey for perhaps a century, when I chanced to incidentally utter his name, and express wonder when the mystery would be solved.We were speaking in English, not a word of which could be understood by our driver, but instantly she turned to me with a look of reproach, and, placing her little gloved hand on my mouth in haste, exclaimed,—“No, Geoffrey. Do not recall that terrible tragedy. Promise never again to mention his name; it only brings sadness to both of us, while the mystery surrounding the crime is irritating and puzzling. You have already told me that he was not your friend, although he posed as such, therefore forget him. I have not forgotten; nor shall I ever cease to think and to strive towards the solution of the problem.”“But cannot I help you to search and investigate?” I suggested. “Why should you strive to elucidate this mystery alone, now that you are my wife?”“Because it is my ambition,” she answered, regarding me earnestly with clear, trusting eyes. “You will, I know, allow me to retain one object in life apart from you.”“Certainly,” I answered, surreptitiously pressing her hand, although puzzled at her strange words. In the few weeks we had been together I had discovered that she was a woman of moods and curious fancies. Once or twice she had exhibited a strong desire to walk alone at night when the moon shone, and because I objected she had pouted prettily, scorning the idea that she was not able to take care of herself. Except when in this mood she was always eager to fulfil my every wish, and I had quickly arrived at the conclusion that her strange desires were but natural to one of a slightly hysterical temperament, and therefore troubled myself but little about them.Thus after an enjoyable trip through one of the most beautiful districts of France, unknown to the average Briton, we returned and settled comfortably at our new home in Kensington. My duties at the Foreign Office took me away the greater part of the day, but Ella was not lonely, for she drove out frequently with her mother, who visited her almost daily. Of interference or maternal influence I had nothing whatever to complain, yet Ella’s desire to wander about alone, aimless and absorbed, soon again seized her. We had been settled about a month when I made this discovery from the servants, who, on my arrival home earlier than usual on several occasions, told me, in answer to questions, that their mistress had gone out by herself. But on her return she betrayed no surprise, mentioning quite incidentally that she had been shopping in High Street, or that she had been to her milliner’s in Bond Street, or elsewhere.So frequently did this occur that at last I became puzzled, and on making further inquiries found that on many occasions she had been absent the whole day, returning only just in time to change her dress and receive me with that bright, winning smile that always held me entranced.One bright December afternoon I returned at three o’clock, and found she had been absent since eleven that morning. I took a cab to Pont Street, but ascertaining she had not been there, returned home, and impatiently awaited her until nearly six. As soon as I heard her light footstep I seized a book that lay nearest and pretended to read. She burst in like a ray of sunshine, her face aglow with laughter, and in her hand an immense bunch of sweet-smelling violets.The book chanced to be a Koran in Arabic. She came across to kiss me, but I waved her off with dignity, and went on translating the Word of the Prophet.Ella stood back indignant, and with her flowers in front of her waited at the other side of the table.After a pause I commenced, “You went out this morning ten minutes after I had gone; it is now six o’clock. You have been absent seven hours.”Ella nodded.“And how have you employed your time?” I asked. “Have you been shopping, as usual?”Ella again nodded.“Seven hours is a long time. Where did you get those flowers?” I asked, sniffing contemptuously at the huge bunch of sweet-smelling blossoms she had let fall before me.“I bought them at Scott’s.”“That is a bunch specially made up for presentation,” I said. “Someone gave them to you.”“Yes, the shopman,” she laughed. “I gave him two shillings for them.” Then she took off her hat and, impaling it with a long pin, cast it heedlessly upon the table.“It has not occupied seven hours to buy a bunch of violets,” I said ruthlessly. “Where have you been?”Ella looked round laughing, and said in a quiet voice, “I have been to see a friend.”“Another aunt—eh?” I asked, suspiciously.She took a chair and sat down opposite; then, with her head leaning upon her hands, she said demurely, “Yes, it was an aunt.”There was silence. Ella had picked up her bunch of violets, and every time I looked up she was watching me over them.“Well,” I exclaimed at last, “where does this aunt live—at Highgate?”“No, not that one. She is poor. She lives in Camberwell.”“I don’t believe it,” I said, standing up suddenly.Ella raised her eyebrows in interrogation. There was an ominous look in her blue eyes, and I put forth my hand to snatch the flowers and cast them into the fire. Instead, I sat down again and turned over another hundred pages of my Koran.“Geoffrey,” she said at length in a low, timid voice I perused my book with stolid indifference.“Geoffrey,” she repeated, “why are you angry with me without cause?”Raising my head, I saw that her fine eyes were dimmed by tears, and almost unconsciously I reached, took her hand, and pressed it. Then Ella, rising slowly, came round and sat upon my knee.“You see,” she whispered, with her arms around my neck, “this is how it was. Last night I said to myself,—“This poor, dear Geoffrey—he is so busy with his country’s affairs, and works so hard—he will be away all day; therefore I will go over to call upon my aunt in Camberwell and take her a bottle of wine and some tea, for she is a great invalid and in poverty. Since my marriage I haven’t seen her, and as she is in great straits I know dear Geoffrey will not object.”Here Ella stopped to nestle closer to me, and went on,—“And to-day I took a cab down to Camberwell, to a dreary row of drab, mournful-looking houses, and all day long I have sat by her bedside trying to cheer her. Ah! she is so ill, and so sad. Then on my return I called at Scott’s and bought these flowers for my darling, serious old boy who has been working all day in his dreary office with its window overlooking the dismal grey quadrangle. And I am so tired, and it was not at all amusing for me without him.”The flowers smelt so sweet in front of me; and Ella was so sweet, childlike and full of happiness, that I took her soft face between my hands, as was my habit, and kissed her.But later that evening, on going to her room alone to fetch something for her, I noticed that her high-heeled French boots, thrown aside, as she had cast them off, were unusually muddy, although, strangely enough, it had been a dry day. I took them up, and upon examining the soles found them caked with damp clay in which were embedded some blades of grass.I slowly descended the stairs engrossed by my own thoughts. Grass does not grow in the streets of Camberwell.
Nearly three months had slipped away. It was mid-November. The cloud that had darkened my days had lifted, the sun shone out, and life and hope sprang up and ran riot in my heart. The long, anxious weeks were over, for Ella was now my wife, and our lives were full of joy and love. With utter contempt for the warning words of the ingenuous Russian who left so mysteriously without fulfilling her promise, I had taken the dearest other half of my soul, happy in the knowledge that I would be a solitary wretch no more.
After a quiet wedding at St Peter’s, Eaton Square, at which, however, a large number of our friends were present, including Paul Verblioudovitch, the reception had been held at Pont Street, and we left to spend our honeymoon on the Continent while our house in Phillimore Gardens, Kensington, was being prepared. I loved my wife with the whole strength of my being. Her beauty was incomparable, her grace charming, and I could not doubt that she loved me with her whole soul, and that her vows came direct from her heart.
The reason of Renouf’s presence in Mrs Laing’s household was an enigma. Since the night when I had first seen him there I had visited Pont Street each day, and on several occasions had managed to speak with him alone. To all my inquiries, however, he remained dumb.
One night, when I had called and found Ella and her mother had gone to the theatre, I closed the door of the room into which I had been ushered, and asked him point-blank whether his presence there was not calculated to arouse suspicions in my mind. With an imperturbable smile he replied,—
“There is no allegation whatever against mother or daughter, therefore set your mind entirely at rest. We desire to ascertain something. That is all.”
His manner angered me.
“If I were to denounce you as a spy you would be thrown out of this house very quickly,” I said, indignant that this ill-featured man should, for some mysterious reason, watch every action of my well-beloved.
He glanced at me with an amused expression, as he answered in a half whisper,—
“By betraying me, m’sieur would betray one of his closest friends.”
“Oh! How’s that?”
“A word from you to either of these women,” he exclaimed, with brows slightly knit, “and the department in St Petersburg will know the reason that Sonia Korolénko was enabled to pass the frontier at Verjbolovo; they will know that Paul Verblioudovitch, the Secretary of Embassy, has assisted a criminal to escape.”
“You scoundrel!” I cried, facing him fiercely. “You listened to our conversation!”
He shrugged his shoulders, and with the same grim smile, answered,—
“My ears are trained, m’sieur. It is part of my profession.”
“But why do you remain here, in a peaceable household?” I demanded. “Surely neither Mrs Laing nor Ella have incurred the Tzar’s displeasure or the hatred of those in authority! They know nothing of Russia; they have never set foot in the country.”
The man’s features relaxed, and turning from me, he busied himself among some bottles on the sideboard.
“I desire an answer,” I continued.
“I have my instructions,” he replied, without looking towards me.
“From whom?”
“From headquarters.”
“Well,” I exclaimed. “We are not in Russia, therefore, when the ladies return, I shall explain who and what you are.”
“You dare not,” he said, regarding me suddenly with dark, penetrating gaze.
“Miss Ella will soon be my wife, and I will not allow her actions to be noted upon one of those formidable forms of yours that are too often the death-warrants of your victims.”
“These ladies are not my victims, as you are pleased to term them,” he protested, laughing at my anger.
“Victims or friends, they shall no longer remain under your accursed surveillance,” I cried hotly. “You may practice your espionage upon your suspected compatriots; but I will never allow you to keep observation upon my friends here in England.”
“Very well,” he said, quite calmly, with that cynical expression that was so tantalising. “Act as you think fit. We, of the secret service, take no step before due consideration of its consequences, a policy it would be wise for you also to adopt.” Then, with a show of mock politeness, he opened the door of the dining-room, and, bowing, exclaimed, “Madame is out, will m’sieur remain, or call again?”
Our eyes met, and I saw in his a look of triumph.
“I’ll call again,” I replied, and walked out into the hall, gaining the street a moment later.
The first passing hansom I hailed, and drove at once to Chesham House, where I was fortunate to find Paul. When we were closeted together, I told him of the police officer’s threat, and my announcement caused him considerable astonishment.
“Curious,” he repeated, as if to himself. “Very curious that Renouf should be installed in that family, above all others.”
“Above all others,” I echoed. “Why?”
“I—I mean that Mrs Laing could not possibly have done anything to offend our Government,” he said, quickly correcting himself. “It is certainly very strange. Renouf is not a man to be trifled with,” he added quickly. “There must be some very strong reason, known only to himself, that has induced him to act in this manner. If the motive were not a strong one, he would delegate the menial position he has had to assume to one of his subordinates. I know he has his hands full of important inquiries just now, and it therefore surprises me that he is calmly reposing as butler in Mrs Laing’s service.”
“But knowing him to be a spy, I cannot allow him to remain longer in daily contact with those two defenceless women,” I exclaimed.
“Have they ever been in Russia?”
“Never!” I replied. “Only the other evening they were asking me about St Petersburg, and both expressed a wish to visit your country.”
Paul, with his hands behind his back, and head bent in thought, paused for a moment, and then said,—
“From what I know of Ivan Renouf, I believe that were you to do him an evil turn, and obtain his dismissal from Pont Street, he would at once expose to the Ministry of the Interior how Sonia Korolénko obtained her passport. If he did so, the result would be disastrous to me, especially just at a time when our frontier regulations are extremely rigid.”
“What, then, is the best course to pursue?” I asked.
He was silent, looking moodily into the fire. Then turning with a sudden movement, he said, with emphasis,—“You are my friend, Geoffrey. My future is in your hands.”
“Which means that my silence is imperative,” I observed reflectively.
Paul Verblioudovitch nodded, but uttered no word. If I denounced Renouf it was plain that my friend who had seriously imperilled his position at my urgent request, must undoubtedly suffer. In order to shield him I must therefore remain silent. With intense chagrin I saw myself ingeniously checkmated.
I dared not allow one single syllable of suspicion regarding the German servant, who was, according to Mrs Laing, “a treasure,” to escape my lips, and thus, as the weeks passed preceding my marriage, I was compelled to watch and wait without any outward sign.
The reason of his vigilance was an inscrutable mystery. With Ella as my wife I had passed six blissful weeks, visiting many of the quaint, old-world towns in Central France. It had been Ella’s fancy to do this. She hated the glare and glitter of Paris, and would only remain there the night on our outward and homeward journeys; indeed, cities had no charm for her, she preferred the lethargic provincial towns, from which we could make excursions into the country and spend the bright autumn days at old-fashioned inns. Fearing that she was becoming bored, I endeavoured to induce her to go to Biarritz or Pau, but to no avail. The crowdedtable-d’hôte, of the popular resort possessed no attraction, and I rejoiced in secret, for we spent a far happier time wandering through the country than if installed in some garish hotel in the neighbourhood of a casino.
Once, and only once since our marriage, had I made any mention of the death of Dudley Ogle. We were driving into the ancient town of Chateauroux, in the Indre, on the lumbering, dusty, old diligence that has performed the same daily journey for perhaps a century, when I chanced to incidentally utter his name, and express wonder when the mystery would be solved.
We were speaking in English, not a word of which could be understood by our driver, but instantly she turned to me with a look of reproach, and, placing her little gloved hand on my mouth in haste, exclaimed,—
“No, Geoffrey. Do not recall that terrible tragedy. Promise never again to mention his name; it only brings sadness to both of us, while the mystery surrounding the crime is irritating and puzzling. You have already told me that he was not your friend, although he posed as such, therefore forget him. I have not forgotten; nor shall I ever cease to think and to strive towards the solution of the problem.”
“But cannot I help you to search and investigate?” I suggested. “Why should you strive to elucidate this mystery alone, now that you are my wife?”
“Because it is my ambition,” she answered, regarding me earnestly with clear, trusting eyes. “You will, I know, allow me to retain one object in life apart from you.”
“Certainly,” I answered, surreptitiously pressing her hand, although puzzled at her strange words. In the few weeks we had been together I had discovered that she was a woman of moods and curious fancies. Once or twice she had exhibited a strong desire to walk alone at night when the moon shone, and because I objected she had pouted prettily, scorning the idea that she was not able to take care of herself. Except when in this mood she was always eager to fulfil my every wish, and I had quickly arrived at the conclusion that her strange desires were but natural to one of a slightly hysterical temperament, and therefore troubled myself but little about them.
Thus after an enjoyable trip through one of the most beautiful districts of France, unknown to the average Briton, we returned and settled comfortably at our new home in Kensington. My duties at the Foreign Office took me away the greater part of the day, but Ella was not lonely, for she drove out frequently with her mother, who visited her almost daily. Of interference or maternal influence I had nothing whatever to complain, yet Ella’s desire to wander about alone, aimless and absorbed, soon again seized her. We had been settled about a month when I made this discovery from the servants, who, on my arrival home earlier than usual on several occasions, told me, in answer to questions, that their mistress had gone out by herself. But on her return she betrayed no surprise, mentioning quite incidentally that she had been shopping in High Street, or that she had been to her milliner’s in Bond Street, or elsewhere.
So frequently did this occur that at last I became puzzled, and on making further inquiries found that on many occasions she had been absent the whole day, returning only just in time to change her dress and receive me with that bright, winning smile that always held me entranced.
One bright December afternoon I returned at three o’clock, and found she had been absent since eleven that morning. I took a cab to Pont Street, but ascertaining she had not been there, returned home, and impatiently awaited her until nearly six. As soon as I heard her light footstep I seized a book that lay nearest and pretended to read. She burst in like a ray of sunshine, her face aglow with laughter, and in her hand an immense bunch of sweet-smelling violets.
The book chanced to be a Koran in Arabic. She came across to kiss me, but I waved her off with dignity, and went on translating the Word of the Prophet.
Ella stood back indignant, and with her flowers in front of her waited at the other side of the table.
After a pause I commenced, “You went out this morning ten minutes after I had gone; it is now six o’clock. You have been absent seven hours.”
Ella nodded.
“And how have you employed your time?” I asked. “Have you been shopping, as usual?”
Ella again nodded.
“Seven hours is a long time. Where did you get those flowers?” I asked, sniffing contemptuously at the huge bunch of sweet-smelling blossoms she had let fall before me.
“I bought them at Scott’s.”
“That is a bunch specially made up for presentation,” I said. “Someone gave them to you.”
“Yes, the shopman,” she laughed. “I gave him two shillings for them.” Then she took off her hat and, impaling it with a long pin, cast it heedlessly upon the table.
“It has not occupied seven hours to buy a bunch of violets,” I said ruthlessly. “Where have you been?”
Ella looked round laughing, and said in a quiet voice, “I have been to see a friend.”
“Another aunt—eh?” I asked, suspiciously.
She took a chair and sat down opposite; then, with her head leaning upon her hands, she said demurely, “Yes, it was an aunt.”
There was silence. Ella had picked up her bunch of violets, and every time I looked up she was watching me over them.
“Well,” I exclaimed at last, “where does this aunt live—at Highgate?”
“No, not that one. She is poor. She lives in Camberwell.”
“I don’t believe it,” I said, standing up suddenly.
Ella raised her eyebrows in interrogation. There was an ominous look in her blue eyes, and I put forth my hand to snatch the flowers and cast them into the fire. Instead, I sat down again and turned over another hundred pages of my Koran.
“Geoffrey,” she said at length in a low, timid voice I perused my book with stolid indifference.
“Geoffrey,” she repeated, “why are you angry with me without cause?”
Raising my head, I saw that her fine eyes were dimmed by tears, and almost unconsciously I reached, took her hand, and pressed it. Then Ella, rising slowly, came round and sat upon my knee.
“You see,” she whispered, with her arms around my neck, “this is how it was. Last night I said to myself,—
“This poor, dear Geoffrey—he is so busy with his country’s affairs, and works so hard—he will be away all day; therefore I will go over to call upon my aunt in Camberwell and take her a bottle of wine and some tea, for she is a great invalid and in poverty. Since my marriage I haven’t seen her, and as she is in great straits I know dear Geoffrey will not object.”
Here Ella stopped to nestle closer to me, and went on,—
“And to-day I took a cab down to Camberwell, to a dreary row of drab, mournful-looking houses, and all day long I have sat by her bedside trying to cheer her. Ah! she is so ill, and so sad. Then on my return I called at Scott’s and bought these flowers for my darling, serious old boy who has been working all day in his dreary office with its window overlooking the dismal grey quadrangle. And I am so tired, and it was not at all amusing for me without him.”
The flowers smelt so sweet in front of me; and Ella was so sweet, childlike and full of happiness, that I took her soft face between my hands, as was my habit, and kissed her.
But later that evening, on going to her room alone to fetch something for her, I noticed that her high-heeled French boots, thrown aside, as she had cast them off, were unusually muddy, although, strangely enough, it had been a dry day. I took them up, and upon examining the soles found them caked with damp clay in which were embedded some blades of grass.
I slowly descended the stairs engrossed by my own thoughts. Grass does not grow in the streets of Camberwell.
Chapter Twenty.Undercurrents of Diplomacy.A few nights later we went together to a ball at the Russian Embassy. Perhaps of all the functions in London a ball at Chesham House is one of the most brilliant and imposing, for it is always on a scale in keeping with the dignity of the representative of the Tzar.The spacious state rooms with their great crystal chandeliers and heavy gilding, were filled to overflowing with pretty women and men in uniform of hues as varied as those of the ladies’ dresses, from the black coat of the United States Minister to the bright yellow jacket of the Emperor of China’s representative. All the diplomatic body were present, as well as many personages well-known in English society. At the head of the grand staircase Monsieur Grodekoff, the Russian Ambassador, a striking figure in his spotless white uniform, his breast glittering with orders set in brilliants, including the much-coveted ribbon of St Andrew, stood with his daughter receiving their guests, and as we advanced the courtly, white-haired old gentleman, whom I had met on many occasions in my official capacity, shook me heartily by the hand and congratulated us upon our marriage.“I heard, Deedes, of your good fortune,” he said, after greeting Ella. “I trust that you and your wife will have long life and every happiness.”“Thanks, your Excellency,” I answered, smiling contentedly. “There is no doubt, I think, concerning our happiness.”“You should take madame to St Petersburg,” the aged diplomatist laughed. “She would enjoy it, especially with you, who know our country.”“I hope to go very soon,” Ella said. “I have heard so much about it, and am longing to see it.”“Go now,” he urged. “This is just the season; plenty of snow, and skating and sledging and suchlike sports that delight us in the North.”We both laughed in chorus, while the representative of the White Tzar, dismissing us into the ballroom with a low bow, turned to greet the tall, full-bearded representative of his Imperial master’s ally, the French Republic. In the corridor there was bustle everywhere. Gaily-uniformed servants hurried here and there, young attachés, their breasts decorated with crosses and ribbons of every combination of colour, lounged along with pretty women on their arms, while older diplomats of every shade of complexion from white to black, exchanged greetings as they met.From the gay cosmopolitan throng in the ballroom rose the mingled odour of a thousand perfumes with the chatter of laughing women, and ere we had entered, Paul Verblioudovitch, erect, spruce and smart in his pale-blue uniform, and wearing many decorations, elbowed his way through the crush towards us.We had not met since the wedding reception at Pont Street, and as we strolled through the brightly-litsalons, Ella, radiant and enthusiastic, began telling him of our idle days and explorations in the old-world French towns.“Permit me, madame, to congratulate you,” he exclaimed presently.“Upon what?” asked Ella, in surprise.“Upon being the prettiest woman it has ever been our honour to entertain here upon this small square of territory belonging to our Imperial Master,” he said, bowing and smiling with that inbornfinessewhich was one of his chief characteristics.“Ah, you diplomatists always flatter,” she laughed lightly behind her fan. “Is it really wise of you to make a woman vain?” she asked, inclining her head slightly.I felt compelled to admit that Paul had spoken the truth, for as we passed along I had not failed to notice that Ella’s beauty was everywhere remarked. Her gown of cream satin, a trifledécolleté, with the corsage thickly embroidered with pearls and edged with flowers, suited her admirably, and the instant consciousness of success in that brilliant circle of society unfamiliar to her heightened the colour of her cheeks and added lustre to her eyes.“The majority of the women who honour us with their presence on these occasions are vain enough,” my friend admitted, adding in a low voice, “even though some of them are absolute hags.”“Mr Verblioudovitch is, I believe, past-master of the art of flattery,” Ella observed, laughing, turning towards me. “He could make a dowager-duchess believe herself as youthful and attractive as a girl of eighteen.”“It is necessary sometimes, madame,” he answered, amused. “Quite necessary, I assure you.”At that moment a quietly-dressed elderly lady of pronounced Teutonic type and matronly proportions was struggling to pass us, but, recognised by Paul, was introduced to Ella. It was a woman with whom I was well acquainted, the Countess Landsfeldt, wife of the German Ambassador. She at once joined our little group, and commenced to chat with a strong accent.“We have not met, madame, for quite an age—three months, is it?” Paul exclaimed presently. “You have been away, I believe.”“Ah! yes. For a month I was in Berlin, and afterwards, just as I was returning to London, my youngest daughter fell ill, and I was compelled to spend two months with her in Ehrenburg, our schloss on the Mosel.”“The Ehrenburg!” exclaimed Ella, enthusiastically. “I know it quite well. How romantic and charming it looks perched high up upon its solitary rock. My mother and I drove from Brodenbach along the valley to see it last year.”“Ah, you did not enter?”“No,” my wife answered, smiling. “I had not then the honour of madame’s acquaintance.”“Inside, we are back in mediaeval days, with dungeons, torture-chambers, and all sorts of relics of barbarism; while the legends connected with the place are legion. Some day, if you are interested in ancient castles, you and your husband must visit me in Germany.”“It is the most carefully preserved stronghold of the middle ages extant,” Paul observed.“Ah, yes,” replied the Countess, “but it is gloomy and dull—ugh!” and, shrugging her shoulders, she pulled a little grimace. “I prefer Berlin—or even London.”“You say even London, Countess,” exclaimed Paul. “I quite agree. London istristeafter Vienna or St Petersburg. Is his Excellency with you this evening?”“No. My husband is—oh, so busy. We only returned from Lord Maybury’s this morning, and dispatches accumulate so fast in his absence.”“He has received another decoration from the Emperor, I hear,” Verblioudovitch observed.“Yes, the Iron Cross,” replied the Countess, looking at him sharply. Then she added quickly,—“But who told you? He only received His Majesty’s intimation three days ago, and I thought for the present it was a profound secret.”Upon Paul’s face there spread that imperturbable smile that he could assume at will, as he answered,—“It is the object of a diplomatist to ascertain the nature of all secrets.”The Countess gave vent to a forced laugh as she exclaimed, “My husband, I think, fully deserved the honour.”“Certainly, madame,” replied the Tzar’s official, courteously, his hands clasped behind his back. “The completion of the secret convention with England was, I admit, a master-stroke, and even though directed against us, the rapidity and cleverness with which it was effected were worthy of reward.” And he smiled at her mysteriously.“Ah,” she exclaimed, fanning herself slowly with a sudden hauteur; “no secret seems safe from you, m’sieur. Nothing escapes the Embassy of Russia.” And bowing slightly, her stiff silks swept past us, and a moment later she became lost in the chattering, well-dressed crowd.“You see, my dear Geoffrey,” laughed Paul, when the Countess was out of hearing, “we are accredited with the omnipotence of the Evil One himself quite unduly. I particularly desired to learn whether her husband had been decorated by his Emperor for that convention which nearly cost Europe a war; therefore I hazarded a single remark. Whereupon she at once told me all about it, and having done so, in her next breath denounced us and all our works. But, there,” and he gave his shoulders a shrug, “women are such strange creatures.”“How cleverly you managed to ascertain what you desired,” observed Ella.But the fine Viennese orchestra had struck up, and my wife, being engaged to him for a dance then commencing, he led her off, and I failed to overhear his reply.For the next hour I did not dance, but wandering about the rooms I exchanged greetings and chatted with those I knew, until at length I came across Lady Farringford, the wife of Sir Henry Farringford, our Minister in Washington, sitting with her daughter Mabel. We were old friends, and Mabel quickly responded to my invitation to waltz. She was a smart girl, and rumour said that she had become engaged to a wealthy American, a statement which, in reply to my inquiry, she frankly confirmed. As we waltzed and lounged together I noticed Ella dancing first with Paul, and afterwards with several young attachés of my acquaintance. Once or twice we exchanged smiles, and I knew by the expression on her face how thoroughly she was enjoying her first night in the diplomatic circle. The scene was brilliant and full of colour, the music excellent, and the scent of exotics almost overpowering. Everyone seemed intoxicated with gaiety. In that cosmopolitan crowd hearts were lighter and talk more free than in the ordinary London ballroom, although experienced ones knew that here, amid this brilliant assembly, there were many strange undercurrents affecting the prestige of monarchs and the welfare of nations.“So, you are to marry, Mabel,” I observed when, after waltzing, I led her into an ante-room, and she sat down to eat an ice.“Yes, at last,” she sighed, looking up at me with a pair of mischievous dark eyes. She was about twenty-two, and rather pretty. “I’m to be married in June, and we are coming to Europe for a twelve months’ tour. You are married already. I’d so much like to meet your wife. Since I’ve been here this evening I’ve heard nothing but admiration of her. You’re the envy of all your male friends, Geoffrey.”I laughed. I confess that by the sensation Ella had caused I felt flattered.“I’ll introduce you when I have a chance,” I said. “Our congratulations are mutual. You are to have a husband; I have already a wife.”“I hope you’ll find the Biblical quotation correct,” she laughed, peering at me over her gauzy fan. “Do you know the words?”“No,” I replied, “I’m not good at remembering quotations.”“Well, the Bible says, ‘Whoso findeth a wife, findeth a good thing.’ I hope you’ll be no exception to that rule.”“Thanks,” I replied. “I don’t know what it says about husbands, but, however it may be worded, you have my heartiest wishes for long life and good luck.”At that instant Ella, on the arm of a young Italian marquis, possessed of a longer title than his rent-roll, entered. I sprang up at once and introduced her, and soon we all four were chatting merrily. When, a quarter of an hour later, we rose to return to the ballroom, Ella, radiant and happy, walked beside me. In reply to my question, she declared that she was enjoying herself immensely, but as we were re-entering thesalonshe clutched my arm, and in a half-frightened whisper exclaimed,—“Look! Geoffrey. Look at that servant in uniform over there. Why, it’s our man, Helmholtz!”I glanced in the direction she had indicated, and sure enough there was the detective Renouf, who, in the Laing household, posed as Carl Helmholtz, in the handsome blue-and-gold livery of the Embassy, handing an ice to a lady. Instantly I grasped the situation.“It is a striking resemblance, dearest,” I said; “nothing more.”“But I’m certain it’s Helmholtz,” she declared excitedly. “Take me closer to him.”“When we were at Pont Street this afternoon, Helmholtz was there, wasn’t he?”“Yes. He brought tea into the drawing-room.”“Well, no doubt he is at home now. This fellow may be his brother, or something.”For a moment we stood watching, and saw him make a servile bow. Fortunately he turned his back upon us, hastening to execute some command, otherwise he must have come towards us and met us face to face.“I’m certain it is Helmholtz,” Ella exclaimed, in a tone of conviction.“Without doubt it is a very striking resemblance,” I admitted. “But the servants of an Embassy are not recruited from the nearest registry office. Besides, they would never employ a German here.”At that moment Paul approached and claimed her for the next dance, while I wandered on alone amid the crowd, my mind full of strange thoughts.Presently, while watching the dancers, I chanced to glance aside and recognised a sparse, well-known figure approaching. It was the Earl of Warnham. Attired in plain evening dress of a rather antiquated cut, he wore no decorations, save the broad blue ribbon across his narrow strip of shirt-front, the highest honour his Sovereign had bestowed upon him. I was surprised to find him there, for I had believed him to be at Osborne in attendance on Her Majesty.“Ah, Deedes,” he exclaimed in a low voice, with a slight smile upon his colourless, wizened face. “In the enemy’s camp—eh?”“Yes, my wife wished to come,” I explained.“Of course. Women like this sort of thing. I have never met her. You must introduce her presently.”“She will esteem it an honour,” I said, adding, “She is over there in a cream dress, dancing with Verblioudovitch.”He glanced in their direction, and started perceptibly. For some moments his keen eyes followed her. Then I noticed that his grey brows contracted, and his usually expressionless face wore a strange, ominous look such as I had never before detected upon it.“Is that your wife?” he asked huskily, turning and eyeing me curiously.“Yes.”“Was it she who alleged that your friend Ogle was the victim of foul play?” he inquired with emphasis, in a voice that betrayed dismay.“It was,” I replied.The Foreign Minister sighed. As he again turned his eyes upon the pair at that moment gliding down the room to the strains of the latest fashionable refrain his brow darkened, and his teeth were firmly set. A silence fell between us.
A few nights later we went together to a ball at the Russian Embassy. Perhaps of all the functions in London a ball at Chesham House is one of the most brilliant and imposing, for it is always on a scale in keeping with the dignity of the representative of the Tzar.
The spacious state rooms with their great crystal chandeliers and heavy gilding, were filled to overflowing with pretty women and men in uniform of hues as varied as those of the ladies’ dresses, from the black coat of the United States Minister to the bright yellow jacket of the Emperor of China’s representative. All the diplomatic body were present, as well as many personages well-known in English society. At the head of the grand staircase Monsieur Grodekoff, the Russian Ambassador, a striking figure in his spotless white uniform, his breast glittering with orders set in brilliants, including the much-coveted ribbon of St Andrew, stood with his daughter receiving their guests, and as we advanced the courtly, white-haired old gentleman, whom I had met on many occasions in my official capacity, shook me heartily by the hand and congratulated us upon our marriage.
“I heard, Deedes, of your good fortune,” he said, after greeting Ella. “I trust that you and your wife will have long life and every happiness.”
“Thanks, your Excellency,” I answered, smiling contentedly. “There is no doubt, I think, concerning our happiness.”
“You should take madame to St Petersburg,” the aged diplomatist laughed. “She would enjoy it, especially with you, who know our country.”
“I hope to go very soon,” Ella said. “I have heard so much about it, and am longing to see it.”
“Go now,” he urged. “This is just the season; plenty of snow, and skating and sledging and suchlike sports that delight us in the North.”
We both laughed in chorus, while the representative of the White Tzar, dismissing us into the ballroom with a low bow, turned to greet the tall, full-bearded representative of his Imperial master’s ally, the French Republic. In the corridor there was bustle everywhere. Gaily-uniformed servants hurried here and there, young attachés, their breasts decorated with crosses and ribbons of every combination of colour, lounged along with pretty women on their arms, while older diplomats of every shade of complexion from white to black, exchanged greetings as they met.
From the gay cosmopolitan throng in the ballroom rose the mingled odour of a thousand perfumes with the chatter of laughing women, and ere we had entered, Paul Verblioudovitch, erect, spruce and smart in his pale-blue uniform, and wearing many decorations, elbowed his way through the crush towards us.
We had not met since the wedding reception at Pont Street, and as we strolled through the brightly-litsalons, Ella, radiant and enthusiastic, began telling him of our idle days and explorations in the old-world French towns.
“Permit me, madame, to congratulate you,” he exclaimed presently.
“Upon what?” asked Ella, in surprise.
“Upon being the prettiest woman it has ever been our honour to entertain here upon this small square of territory belonging to our Imperial Master,” he said, bowing and smiling with that inbornfinessewhich was one of his chief characteristics.
“Ah, you diplomatists always flatter,” she laughed lightly behind her fan. “Is it really wise of you to make a woman vain?” she asked, inclining her head slightly.
I felt compelled to admit that Paul had spoken the truth, for as we passed along I had not failed to notice that Ella’s beauty was everywhere remarked. Her gown of cream satin, a trifledécolleté, with the corsage thickly embroidered with pearls and edged with flowers, suited her admirably, and the instant consciousness of success in that brilliant circle of society unfamiliar to her heightened the colour of her cheeks and added lustre to her eyes.
“The majority of the women who honour us with their presence on these occasions are vain enough,” my friend admitted, adding in a low voice, “even though some of them are absolute hags.”
“Mr Verblioudovitch is, I believe, past-master of the art of flattery,” Ella observed, laughing, turning towards me. “He could make a dowager-duchess believe herself as youthful and attractive as a girl of eighteen.”
“It is necessary sometimes, madame,” he answered, amused. “Quite necessary, I assure you.”
At that moment a quietly-dressed elderly lady of pronounced Teutonic type and matronly proportions was struggling to pass us, but, recognised by Paul, was introduced to Ella. It was a woman with whom I was well acquainted, the Countess Landsfeldt, wife of the German Ambassador. She at once joined our little group, and commenced to chat with a strong accent.
“We have not met, madame, for quite an age—three months, is it?” Paul exclaimed presently. “You have been away, I believe.”
“Ah! yes. For a month I was in Berlin, and afterwards, just as I was returning to London, my youngest daughter fell ill, and I was compelled to spend two months with her in Ehrenburg, our schloss on the Mosel.”
“The Ehrenburg!” exclaimed Ella, enthusiastically. “I know it quite well. How romantic and charming it looks perched high up upon its solitary rock. My mother and I drove from Brodenbach along the valley to see it last year.”
“Ah, you did not enter?”
“No,” my wife answered, smiling. “I had not then the honour of madame’s acquaintance.”
“Inside, we are back in mediaeval days, with dungeons, torture-chambers, and all sorts of relics of barbarism; while the legends connected with the place are legion. Some day, if you are interested in ancient castles, you and your husband must visit me in Germany.”
“It is the most carefully preserved stronghold of the middle ages extant,” Paul observed.
“Ah, yes,” replied the Countess, “but it is gloomy and dull—ugh!” and, shrugging her shoulders, she pulled a little grimace. “I prefer Berlin—or even London.”
“You say even London, Countess,” exclaimed Paul. “I quite agree. London istristeafter Vienna or St Petersburg. Is his Excellency with you this evening?”
“No. My husband is—oh, so busy. We only returned from Lord Maybury’s this morning, and dispatches accumulate so fast in his absence.”
“He has received another decoration from the Emperor, I hear,” Verblioudovitch observed.
“Yes, the Iron Cross,” replied the Countess, looking at him sharply. Then she added quickly,—
“But who told you? He only received His Majesty’s intimation three days ago, and I thought for the present it was a profound secret.”
Upon Paul’s face there spread that imperturbable smile that he could assume at will, as he answered,—
“It is the object of a diplomatist to ascertain the nature of all secrets.”
The Countess gave vent to a forced laugh as she exclaimed, “My husband, I think, fully deserved the honour.”
“Certainly, madame,” replied the Tzar’s official, courteously, his hands clasped behind his back. “The completion of the secret convention with England was, I admit, a master-stroke, and even though directed against us, the rapidity and cleverness with which it was effected were worthy of reward.” And he smiled at her mysteriously.
“Ah,” she exclaimed, fanning herself slowly with a sudden hauteur; “no secret seems safe from you, m’sieur. Nothing escapes the Embassy of Russia.” And bowing slightly, her stiff silks swept past us, and a moment later she became lost in the chattering, well-dressed crowd.
“You see, my dear Geoffrey,” laughed Paul, when the Countess was out of hearing, “we are accredited with the omnipotence of the Evil One himself quite unduly. I particularly desired to learn whether her husband had been decorated by his Emperor for that convention which nearly cost Europe a war; therefore I hazarded a single remark. Whereupon she at once told me all about it, and having done so, in her next breath denounced us and all our works. But, there,” and he gave his shoulders a shrug, “women are such strange creatures.”
“How cleverly you managed to ascertain what you desired,” observed Ella.
But the fine Viennese orchestra had struck up, and my wife, being engaged to him for a dance then commencing, he led her off, and I failed to overhear his reply.
For the next hour I did not dance, but wandering about the rooms I exchanged greetings and chatted with those I knew, until at length I came across Lady Farringford, the wife of Sir Henry Farringford, our Minister in Washington, sitting with her daughter Mabel. We were old friends, and Mabel quickly responded to my invitation to waltz. She was a smart girl, and rumour said that she had become engaged to a wealthy American, a statement which, in reply to my inquiry, she frankly confirmed. As we waltzed and lounged together I noticed Ella dancing first with Paul, and afterwards with several young attachés of my acquaintance. Once or twice we exchanged smiles, and I knew by the expression on her face how thoroughly she was enjoying her first night in the diplomatic circle. The scene was brilliant and full of colour, the music excellent, and the scent of exotics almost overpowering. Everyone seemed intoxicated with gaiety. In that cosmopolitan crowd hearts were lighter and talk more free than in the ordinary London ballroom, although experienced ones knew that here, amid this brilliant assembly, there were many strange undercurrents affecting the prestige of monarchs and the welfare of nations.
“So, you are to marry, Mabel,” I observed when, after waltzing, I led her into an ante-room, and she sat down to eat an ice.
“Yes, at last,” she sighed, looking up at me with a pair of mischievous dark eyes. She was about twenty-two, and rather pretty. “I’m to be married in June, and we are coming to Europe for a twelve months’ tour. You are married already. I’d so much like to meet your wife. Since I’ve been here this evening I’ve heard nothing but admiration of her. You’re the envy of all your male friends, Geoffrey.”
I laughed. I confess that by the sensation Ella had caused I felt flattered.
“I’ll introduce you when I have a chance,” I said. “Our congratulations are mutual. You are to have a husband; I have already a wife.”
“I hope you’ll find the Biblical quotation correct,” she laughed, peering at me over her gauzy fan. “Do you know the words?”
“No,” I replied, “I’m not good at remembering quotations.”
“Well, the Bible says, ‘Whoso findeth a wife, findeth a good thing.’ I hope you’ll be no exception to that rule.”
“Thanks,” I replied. “I don’t know what it says about husbands, but, however it may be worded, you have my heartiest wishes for long life and good luck.”
At that instant Ella, on the arm of a young Italian marquis, possessed of a longer title than his rent-roll, entered. I sprang up at once and introduced her, and soon we all four were chatting merrily. When, a quarter of an hour later, we rose to return to the ballroom, Ella, radiant and happy, walked beside me. In reply to my question, she declared that she was enjoying herself immensely, but as we were re-entering thesalonshe clutched my arm, and in a half-frightened whisper exclaimed,—
“Look! Geoffrey. Look at that servant in uniform over there. Why, it’s our man, Helmholtz!”
I glanced in the direction she had indicated, and sure enough there was the detective Renouf, who, in the Laing household, posed as Carl Helmholtz, in the handsome blue-and-gold livery of the Embassy, handing an ice to a lady. Instantly I grasped the situation.
“It is a striking resemblance, dearest,” I said; “nothing more.”
“But I’m certain it’s Helmholtz,” she declared excitedly. “Take me closer to him.”
“When we were at Pont Street this afternoon, Helmholtz was there, wasn’t he?”
“Yes. He brought tea into the drawing-room.”
“Well, no doubt he is at home now. This fellow may be his brother, or something.”
For a moment we stood watching, and saw him make a servile bow. Fortunately he turned his back upon us, hastening to execute some command, otherwise he must have come towards us and met us face to face.
“I’m certain it is Helmholtz,” Ella exclaimed, in a tone of conviction.
“Without doubt it is a very striking resemblance,” I admitted. “But the servants of an Embassy are not recruited from the nearest registry office. Besides, they would never employ a German here.”
At that moment Paul approached and claimed her for the next dance, while I wandered on alone amid the crowd, my mind full of strange thoughts.
Presently, while watching the dancers, I chanced to glance aside and recognised a sparse, well-known figure approaching. It was the Earl of Warnham. Attired in plain evening dress of a rather antiquated cut, he wore no decorations, save the broad blue ribbon across his narrow strip of shirt-front, the highest honour his Sovereign had bestowed upon him. I was surprised to find him there, for I had believed him to be at Osborne in attendance on Her Majesty.
“Ah, Deedes,” he exclaimed in a low voice, with a slight smile upon his colourless, wizened face. “In the enemy’s camp—eh?”
“Yes, my wife wished to come,” I explained.
“Of course. Women like this sort of thing. I have never met her. You must introduce her presently.”
“She will esteem it an honour,” I said, adding, “She is over there in a cream dress, dancing with Verblioudovitch.”
He glanced in their direction, and started perceptibly. For some moments his keen eyes followed her. Then I noticed that his grey brows contracted, and his usually expressionless face wore a strange, ominous look such as I had never before detected upon it.
“Is that your wife?” he asked huskily, turning and eyeing me curiously.
“Yes.”
“Was it she who alleged that your friend Ogle was the victim of foul play?” he inquired with emphasis, in a voice that betrayed dismay.
“It was,” I replied.
The Foreign Minister sighed. As he again turned his eyes upon the pair at that moment gliding down the room to the strains of the latest fashionable refrain his brow darkened, and his teeth were firmly set. A silence fell between us.
Chapter Twenty One.In Kensington Gardens.On our return home in the early hours, Ella sat before the fire in her cosy boudoir, her opera-cape still about her shoulders, resting her tired head upon a cushion, and staring thoughtfully into the dying embers, while I lounged near, smoking a final cigarette. Times out of number I tried to account for the Earl’s agitation when he had encountered her. It was evident they were not strangers, although when I had introduced them he treated her with studied courtesy. There were, I remembered, many suspicious incidents connected with her as yet unexplained, nevertheless, from that memorable evening when Dudley and I had dined at “The Nook” and we had become reconciled, I had never doubted that she loved me. Perhaps I had been foolish, I told myself. I ought to have obtained full explanation of the several circumstances that had caused me such uneasiness before marriage, yet I had abandoned all active effort to ascertain the truth, because of the intensity of my passion. Her beauty had captivated me; her voice held me spellbound, and because I loved her I could not bring myself to suspect her. For a long time she sat, reflecting gravely upon the events of the evening; then, shivering slightly, rose and went to her room, leaving me alone to ponder over her sudden seriousness.Sometimes a slight shadow of suspicion would flit across my mind, as it often had on finding her absent, yet when she spoke caressingly to me I at once found myself laughing at the foolishness of my thoughts, basking in the sun of her brilliant beauty, heedless and content. Prior to our marriage, I had been madly jealous of every slight attention paid to her by one of my own sex, of whatever age, but now, recognising how marvellously fair she was, and that wherever she went she became the centre of attraction, I was no longer angry with any of our guests who paid court to her. Beck dined with us frequently, always gay and amusing, while once or twice Verblioudovitch had also accepted our invitation, and treated Ella with the courtliness of the polished diplomatist. I did not invite the latter often, because of her antipathy towards him. When, after his first visit, I had asked her what she thought of him, she had replied,—“There is something about him I don’t like, dearest. I cannot explain what it is. Perhaps it is his excessive politeness; or it may be his profuse flattery that bores me; nevertheless, I seem to have a feeling that I ought to avoid him.”“He’s one of the best of fellows, darling,” I said, laughing at her misgivings. “In my bachelor days we were very close friends.”“I don’t like him,” she answered frankly. “I hate all Russians.”“I thought you said once you would like to go to Russia?”“Yes, I am anxious to see the country, but the Russians I have met I have always detested,” she said, adding, with seriousness, “Now that I am your wife I may speak plainly, may I not?”“Of course, darling.”“Then, in your own interests, promise me to avoid Paul Verblioudovitch as much as possible.”“Why?” I asked, surprised.“Because—well,” she answered in hesitation; “because I have some curious, inexplicable feeling that he is not your friend.”Then it occurred to me that they had been sitting together that evening in a cosy-corner in the drawing-room, deep in conversation, and it might be that Paul had uttered some compliments meant to be polite, but which she had misconstrued into flirtation. In that case, it was only natural that, loving me so deeply as she did, she should warn me that Paul was not my friend.“In what way do you suspect him of being my enemy?” I inquired.“He is untrustworthy,” she replied, an answer that tended to confirm my supposition. On several other occasions I laughed at her fears, but she always made the same reply, that she believed he was not straightforward, and even went so far as to ask me not to invite him to our house in future. This caused me some little annoyance, for of all men Paul Verblioudovitch was one of my most valued friends; and, further, while she had conceived a violent dislike towards him, she nevertheless allowed herself to be flattered by the man of whom I had once been madly jealous—Andrew Beck.Thus the early days of our married life proceeded, blissful and full of love, but with one tiny cloud of mystery that, although growing no larger, still cast its ominous shadow ever between us. Sometimes when alone I pondered deeply, wondering whether my confidence had after all been ill-placed, puzzled over one or two incidents such as I have already described. Trifling as they were in themselves, they nevertheless caused me much uneasiness, yet when Ella entered, bright and radiant, greeting me with an affectionate caress, I could not doubt her. I knew that, however suspicious her actions might appear in my eyes, she loved me honestly, with a passion as fierce and uncontrollable as my own.Meanwhile Renouf, who explained his absence on the night of the Embassy ball to Ella’s complete satisfaction, still continued to remain in service at Pont Street, and each time we dined there he hovered about us noiselessly and ever watchful, like a spirit of evil. When our eyes met, I saw in his a cold glance of contemptuous triumph, for he had already seen that I feared to denounce him for Paul’s sake, and he was pursuing his mysterious investigations, whatever they were, without let or hindrance. Mrs Laing, sighing as stout ladies will, was always loud in his praise, declaring him to be the most steady and attentive servant that had ever been in her service, while Ella expressed a wish that we could meet with a man possessed of similar virtues. A dozen times I longed to take my wife and her mother into my confidence, but dared not, for the silence imposed upon me was absolutely imperative.One day, early in January, I had received a message from Lord Warnham to call at his house in Berkeley Square, but when I arrived found a note stating that he had been compelled unexpectedly to go down to Lord Maybury’s seat in Hertfordshire to consult him. Therefore I left, and it being a cold but invigorating afternoon I resolved to walk home. Proceeding along Piccadilly and Knightsbridge, I skirted the Park, and entering Kensington Gardens by the Alexandra Gate, strolled towards Kensington in the full enjoyment of a cigar. Ella had, I knew, gone to Pont Street, her mother being rather unwell, therefore I walked leisurely beneath the leafless, smoke-blackened trees. The short, gloomy day was now fast drawing to a close, and, with the falling gloom, a chill wind had sprung up, whistling mournfully through the bare branches, causing me to turn up my coat-collar and draw on my gloves. I fancied myself alone, for at four o’clock in winter the place is dismal and deserted. Having passed Queen’s Gate, I was approaching the Broad Walk, when I was attracted by two figures strolling slowly together in front of me, a man and a woman. At first I took no heed, and would in a few moments have overtaken them, when it occurred to me that the silhouette of the woman was familiar even in the dusk. Again I looked, and noticed that she was fashionably dressed in a dark-brown tailor-made gown, a sealskin cape and close-fitting hat. Next second I realised the amazing truth.The woman walking before me was Ella.Her companion, a tall, broad-shouldered young man, wore a long drab overcoat of distinctly “horsey” cut, a silk hat of the latest shape, and displayed a good deal of shirt cuff. He was evidently a fop, and his whole exterior, from his varnished boots to the velvet cuffs of his overcoat, pronounced him to be a cad. Leisurely he strode by her side, smoking a cigarette, and earnest in conversation, now and then emphasising his words by striking the palm of one gloved hand with his fist.Once, as I dogged their footsteps, my teeth clenched in fierce anger, I heard her give vent to a rippling peal of laughter that echoed among the black, gaunt tree trunks. I knew by that laugh she was tantalising him. My first impulse was to rush up to them and demand an explanation, but my second thought had been to hold my anger in control, and ascertain the true extent of her perfidy. Was not this the second time I had detected Ella walking alone with a man in lover-like attitude?I loved her with all my heart, and had believed implicitly that she reciprocated my affection, yet here, in this single moment, the cup of happiness was dashed from my lips. I knew I had been the victim of base deception. While I, fool that I had been, had fondly imagined that she loved me; she had abandoned all self-respect and allowed herself to walk in a public garden with a chance-met acquaintance. Sonia’s ominous words recurred to me, and I saw how I had been tricked and betrayed. The pretty refugee was right, notwithstanding the denunciations of the diplomatist and the spy, both of whom had some motive in discrediting her statements.With eager eyes and heavy heart I followed the pair cautiously, fearing each moment lest either should turn and detect my presence. Apparently they were too deeply engrossed in each other’s talk, which, although carried on in a tone so low that I could catch no single word, seemed scarcely of an amatory nature, judging from the man’s gestures. To me it appeared rather as if he were urging her to do something from which she shrank. Once, while he spoke, she stopped short and stretched out both hands towards him in an attitude of supplication. But he did not heed her, for, giving vent to a low laugh, he continued, emphasising his words as before. Then, clenching her hands, she stamped her foot in anger, and tossing her head in contempt, walked forward again, heedless of her companion’s threatening attitude.From that moment both grew calmer, for the man, uttering words of forgiveness, snatched up her hand and imprinted a kiss upon it. For a brief second she allowed her hand to linger in his grasp, then withdrew it gently, but firmly, regarding him with earnestness the while. This action aroused my anger to a fierce, murderous hatred. With difficulty I managed to preserve an outward calm, because, in my state of mind, I felt compelled to watch and wait. Yet, if I had had a weapon ready to my hand at that moment, I verily believe that I must have thrown myself upon this arrogant cad, and mercilessly killed him.The manner in which his hat was set upon his head, slightly askew, in the manner of the London “’Arry,” and his over-burdening mannerism, were in themselves sufficient to show the type of lover my wife cultivated. As I stepped softly behind them in the gloom, I told myself that she must leave my house that night, or I should. I felt in my throat a choking sensation, for I had loved her so fervently that this discovery of her falseness had utterly unnerved me, and even in those moments of fierce anger and hatred I confess that tears welled in my eyes. Ella was the only woman I had ever loved, yet she who had taken her marriage vows only a few short months before had already discarded me for this overdressed idiot, who would be termed in vulgar parlance a “bounder.”Perhaps he did not know her to be married. This thought took possession of me. When their quarrel ended it became manifest that Ella herself was endeavouring to fascinate and hold him, just as she had charmed me, by the softness of her speech, her exquisite grace, and her wonderful beauty. She spoke quietly, with her dainty finger-tips laid lightly upon his arm, while he listened, gazing earnestly into her face, enchanted.To-night, I told myself, the bonds uniting me to Ella should be for ever severed. I remembered the many occasions when she had been absent, visiting imaginary friends; I recollected the evening she brought home the violets and preserved them carefully in water until they smelt so faint that she was compelled to throw them away; I had not forgotten the fact that blades of grass did not grow in the squalid, overcrowded streets of modern Camberwell. I glanced around at the grass on every side. Perhaps she frequented that place, and took clandestine walks daily with her lover beneath those leafless trees. The thought provoked my bitter hatred, and I know not how I refrained from facing the pair. I managed, however, to hold myself back, watching them exchange a tender farewell at the gate that led into Kensington High Street, next the Palace Hotel, and while the man raised his hat politely and, turning, walked away in the direction of Knightsbridge, Ella, her face radiant and happy, bowed and set out homeward in the opposite direction.Beneath the lamp in the gateway I had, in those brief seconds, obtained a glimpse of his face. It was that of a young man of about two-and-twenty, with strongly marked features, fair-haired, and of quite a different type than I had conjectured. The features were rather refined, by no means those of a cad, but rather those of a well-bred young idler, who affected the dress and manners of that class of youths who frequent the Café Monico on Sunday evenings, the slaves of the counter.Once he glanced back to Ella, but she did not turn; then he went on and was lost in the darkness, while I followed my wife’s neat figure through the bustling throng of foot-passengers.
On our return home in the early hours, Ella sat before the fire in her cosy boudoir, her opera-cape still about her shoulders, resting her tired head upon a cushion, and staring thoughtfully into the dying embers, while I lounged near, smoking a final cigarette. Times out of number I tried to account for the Earl’s agitation when he had encountered her. It was evident they were not strangers, although when I had introduced them he treated her with studied courtesy. There were, I remembered, many suspicious incidents connected with her as yet unexplained, nevertheless, from that memorable evening when Dudley and I had dined at “The Nook” and we had become reconciled, I had never doubted that she loved me. Perhaps I had been foolish, I told myself. I ought to have obtained full explanation of the several circumstances that had caused me such uneasiness before marriage, yet I had abandoned all active effort to ascertain the truth, because of the intensity of my passion. Her beauty had captivated me; her voice held me spellbound, and because I loved her I could not bring myself to suspect her. For a long time she sat, reflecting gravely upon the events of the evening; then, shivering slightly, rose and went to her room, leaving me alone to ponder over her sudden seriousness.
Sometimes a slight shadow of suspicion would flit across my mind, as it often had on finding her absent, yet when she spoke caressingly to me I at once found myself laughing at the foolishness of my thoughts, basking in the sun of her brilliant beauty, heedless and content. Prior to our marriage, I had been madly jealous of every slight attention paid to her by one of my own sex, of whatever age, but now, recognising how marvellously fair she was, and that wherever she went she became the centre of attraction, I was no longer angry with any of our guests who paid court to her. Beck dined with us frequently, always gay and amusing, while once or twice Verblioudovitch had also accepted our invitation, and treated Ella with the courtliness of the polished diplomatist. I did not invite the latter often, because of her antipathy towards him. When, after his first visit, I had asked her what she thought of him, she had replied,—
“There is something about him I don’t like, dearest. I cannot explain what it is. Perhaps it is his excessive politeness; or it may be his profuse flattery that bores me; nevertheless, I seem to have a feeling that I ought to avoid him.”
“He’s one of the best of fellows, darling,” I said, laughing at her misgivings. “In my bachelor days we were very close friends.”
“I don’t like him,” she answered frankly. “I hate all Russians.”
“I thought you said once you would like to go to Russia?”
“Yes, I am anxious to see the country, but the Russians I have met I have always detested,” she said, adding, with seriousness, “Now that I am your wife I may speak plainly, may I not?”
“Of course, darling.”
“Then, in your own interests, promise me to avoid Paul Verblioudovitch as much as possible.”
“Why?” I asked, surprised.
“Because—well,” she answered in hesitation; “because I have some curious, inexplicable feeling that he is not your friend.”
Then it occurred to me that they had been sitting together that evening in a cosy-corner in the drawing-room, deep in conversation, and it might be that Paul had uttered some compliments meant to be polite, but which she had misconstrued into flirtation. In that case, it was only natural that, loving me so deeply as she did, she should warn me that Paul was not my friend.
“In what way do you suspect him of being my enemy?” I inquired.
“He is untrustworthy,” she replied, an answer that tended to confirm my supposition. On several other occasions I laughed at her fears, but she always made the same reply, that she believed he was not straightforward, and even went so far as to ask me not to invite him to our house in future. This caused me some little annoyance, for of all men Paul Verblioudovitch was one of my most valued friends; and, further, while she had conceived a violent dislike towards him, she nevertheless allowed herself to be flattered by the man of whom I had once been madly jealous—Andrew Beck.
Thus the early days of our married life proceeded, blissful and full of love, but with one tiny cloud of mystery that, although growing no larger, still cast its ominous shadow ever between us. Sometimes when alone I pondered deeply, wondering whether my confidence had after all been ill-placed, puzzled over one or two incidents such as I have already described. Trifling as they were in themselves, they nevertheless caused me much uneasiness, yet when Ella entered, bright and radiant, greeting me with an affectionate caress, I could not doubt her. I knew that, however suspicious her actions might appear in my eyes, she loved me honestly, with a passion as fierce and uncontrollable as my own.
Meanwhile Renouf, who explained his absence on the night of the Embassy ball to Ella’s complete satisfaction, still continued to remain in service at Pont Street, and each time we dined there he hovered about us noiselessly and ever watchful, like a spirit of evil. When our eyes met, I saw in his a cold glance of contemptuous triumph, for he had already seen that I feared to denounce him for Paul’s sake, and he was pursuing his mysterious investigations, whatever they were, without let or hindrance. Mrs Laing, sighing as stout ladies will, was always loud in his praise, declaring him to be the most steady and attentive servant that had ever been in her service, while Ella expressed a wish that we could meet with a man possessed of similar virtues. A dozen times I longed to take my wife and her mother into my confidence, but dared not, for the silence imposed upon me was absolutely imperative.
One day, early in January, I had received a message from Lord Warnham to call at his house in Berkeley Square, but when I arrived found a note stating that he had been compelled unexpectedly to go down to Lord Maybury’s seat in Hertfordshire to consult him. Therefore I left, and it being a cold but invigorating afternoon I resolved to walk home. Proceeding along Piccadilly and Knightsbridge, I skirted the Park, and entering Kensington Gardens by the Alexandra Gate, strolled towards Kensington in the full enjoyment of a cigar. Ella had, I knew, gone to Pont Street, her mother being rather unwell, therefore I walked leisurely beneath the leafless, smoke-blackened trees. The short, gloomy day was now fast drawing to a close, and, with the falling gloom, a chill wind had sprung up, whistling mournfully through the bare branches, causing me to turn up my coat-collar and draw on my gloves. I fancied myself alone, for at four o’clock in winter the place is dismal and deserted. Having passed Queen’s Gate, I was approaching the Broad Walk, when I was attracted by two figures strolling slowly together in front of me, a man and a woman. At first I took no heed, and would in a few moments have overtaken them, when it occurred to me that the silhouette of the woman was familiar even in the dusk. Again I looked, and noticed that she was fashionably dressed in a dark-brown tailor-made gown, a sealskin cape and close-fitting hat. Next second I realised the amazing truth.
The woman walking before me was Ella.
Her companion, a tall, broad-shouldered young man, wore a long drab overcoat of distinctly “horsey” cut, a silk hat of the latest shape, and displayed a good deal of shirt cuff. He was evidently a fop, and his whole exterior, from his varnished boots to the velvet cuffs of his overcoat, pronounced him to be a cad. Leisurely he strode by her side, smoking a cigarette, and earnest in conversation, now and then emphasising his words by striking the palm of one gloved hand with his fist.
Once, as I dogged their footsteps, my teeth clenched in fierce anger, I heard her give vent to a rippling peal of laughter that echoed among the black, gaunt tree trunks. I knew by that laugh she was tantalising him. My first impulse was to rush up to them and demand an explanation, but my second thought had been to hold my anger in control, and ascertain the true extent of her perfidy. Was not this the second time I had detected Ella walking alone with a man in lover-like attitude?
I loved her with all my heart, and had believed implicitly that she reciprocated my affection, yet here, in this single moment, the cup of happiness was dashed from my lips. I knew I had been the victim of base deception. While I, fool that I had been, had fondly imagined that she loved me; she had abandoned all self-respect and allowed herself to walk in a public garden with a chance-met acquaintance. Sonia’s ominous words recurred to me, and I saw how I had been tricked and betrayed. The pretty refugee was right, notwithstanding the denunciations of the diplomatist and the spy, both of whom had some motive in discrediting her statements.
With eager eyes and heavy heart I followed the pair cautiously, fearing each moment lest either should turn and detect my presence. Apparently they were too deeply engrossed in each other’s talk, which, although carried on in a tone so low that I could catch no single word, seemed scarcely of an amatory nature, judging from the man’s gestures. To me it appeared rather as if he were urging her to do something from which she shrank. Once, while he spoke, she stopped short and stretched out both hands towards him in an attitude of supplication. But he did not heed her, for, giving vent to a low laugh, he continued, emphasising his words as before. Then, clenching her hands, she stamped her foot in anger, and tossing her head in contempt, walked forward again, heedless of her companion’s threatening attitude.
From that moment both grew calmer, for the man, uttering words of forgiveness, snatched up her hand and imprinted a kiss upon it. For a brief second she allowed her hand to linger in his grasp, then withdrew it gently, but firmly, regarding him with earnestness the while. This action aroused my anger to a fierce, murderous hatred. With difficulty I managed to preserve an outward calm, because, in my state of mind, I felt compelled to watch and wait. Yet, if I had had a weapon ready to my hand at that moment, I verily believe that I must have thrown myself upon this arrogant cad, and mercilessly killed him.
The manner in which his hat was set upon his head, slightly askew, in the manner of the London “’Arry,” and his over-burdening mannerism, were in themselves sufficient to show the type of lover my wife cultivated. As I stepped softly behind them in the gloom, I told myself that she must leave my house that night, or I should. I felt in my throat a choking sensation, for I had loved her so fervently that this discovery of her falseness had utterly unnerved me, and even in those moments of fierce anger and hatred I confess that tears welled in my eyes. Ella was the only woman I had ever loved, yet she who had taken her marriage vows only a few short months before had already discarded me for this overdressed idiot, who would be termed in vulgar parlance a “bounder.”
Perhaps he did not know her to be married. This thought took possession of me. When their quarrel ended it became manifest that Ella herself was endeavouring to fascinate and hold him, just as she had charmed me, by the softness of her speech, her exquisite grace, and her wonderful beauty. She spoke quietly, with her dainty finger-tips laid lightly upon his arm, while he listened, gazing earnestly into her face, enchanted.
To-night, I told myself, the bonds uniting me to Ella should be for ever severed. I remembered the many occasions when she had been absent, visiting imaginary friends; I recollected the evening she brought home the violets and preserved them carefully in water until they smelt so faint that she was compelled to throw them away; I had not forgotten the fact that blades of grass did not grow in the squalid, overcrowded streets of modern Camberwell. I glanced around at the grass on every side. Perhaps she frequented that place, and took clandestine walks daily with her lover beneath those leafless trees. The thought provoked my bitter hatred, and I know not how I refrained from facing the pair. I managed, however, to hold myself back, watching them exchange a tender farewell at the gate that led into Kensington High Street, next the Palace Hotel, and while the man raised his hat politely and, turning, walked away in the direction of Knightsbridge, Ella, her face radiant and happy, bowed and set out homeward in the opposite direction.
Beneath the lamp in the gateway I had, in those brief seconds, obtained a glimpse of his face. It was that of a young man of about two-and-twenty, with strongly marked features, fair-haired, and of quite a different type than I had conjectured. The features were rather refined, by no means those of a cad, but rather those of a well-bred young idler, who affected the dress and manners of that class of youths who frequent the Café Monico on Sunday evenings, the slaves of the counter.
Once he glanced back to Ella, but she did not turn; then he went on and was lost in the darkness, while I followed my wife’s neat figure through the bustling throng of foot-passengers.