Читать книгу For the Queen - E. Phillips Oppenheim - Страница 4

Table of Contents

It was on my plate when I came down to breakfast. I saw it there when I entered the room, neatly cut and folded, by the side of a little pile of letters. How I hated the sight of it, hated the thought of touching, of opening it! The Morning Post is not a paper given over to sensationalism. I knew that whatever had occurred would be temperately and truthfully chronicled; yet none the less I shrank with positive dread from opening those innocent pages. Nor were my apprehensions ill founded. When at last I summoned up courage to take the paper into my hands, my worst fears were instantly confirmed. At the head of a column, in thick black type, it stared me in the face:—

TERRIBLE MURDER AT THE HOTEL MAURICE!

For a moment I was incapable of reading. I was dizzy and everything swam before my eyes. Then I pulled myself together. I gripped the paper with both hands and read with fierce eagerness every line.

"Early this morning the body of a gentleman, a visitor at the Hotel Maurice, was discovered in his room under circumstances which leave little room for doubt as to the manner of his death. We are at present without full particulars of the tragedy, but such information as we have makes it perfectly clear that a brutal murder has been committed. The deceased was found stabbed to the heart with a long, thin dagger of foreign make. He had only arrived at the hotel during the afternoon, and had registered under the name of Maxime De Carteret.

"Later. Further particulars are to hand with reference to the murder early this morning at the Hotel Maurice. The deceased was seen talking during the afternoon to a lady visitor at the hotel, who had herself only just arrived, and who had registered under the name of Lichenstein. The two were apparently on the most cordial terms and dined together in the restaurant, and subsequently left the hotel together for the Covent Garden Ball. They returned quite early, and went up in the lift to their respective rooms, which were in the same wing and on the same floor of the hotel. They were accompanied by a third person, who had also arrived during the day, and registered under the name of Jules Van Drooden, of Brussels. The three were last seen together talking on the landing outside their rooms, but about half an hour later the lady, still in her fancy dress, rang for the lift and descended to the ground floor. She asked the hall-porter to call her carriage, remarking that the gentleman with whom she had been to the ball had been taken ill, and she had been compelled to return with him, but as she had friends there, she was going back for an hour or two. She drove off, and up to the hour of going to press had not returned to the hotel. We understand also that Mr. Van Drooden, who, together with the lady, was last seen with the murdered man, has disappeared.

"On inquiry early this morning our representative learned that, although the clothes and belongings of the deceased had apparently been searched through, his money, jewellery and papers were untouched. On reference to the latter, it has been ascertained that his real name is Shalders, and that he was a valet in the service of the Hon. Reginald Lessingham, who is attached to the Embassy at Marianburg."

The paper slipped from my fingers. It was as bad as—even worse than I had feared. It was a horrible and unpardonable deed; not only that, but it was an ineffective one. If he had ever had the letters, he must have parted with them. Whatever his motive for the robbery might have been, he had met with a terrible retribution.

The door opened and Reggie walked in, followed by a servant with the breakfast. In the clearer daylight I was shocked to see how great a change the anxiety of the last few days had wrought in him. His eyes were set in deep hollows, his cheeks were thin and haggard. However it all might end, he would carry the marks of agony with him to the grave.

"Reggie," I said, "there is something here which I want you to read."

He held out his hand. I gave him the paper.

"Read it carefully," I said, "and tell me what you think of it."

He devoured it with a sort of fierce joy, mingled with amazement. His eyes glittered with an unnatural light. I saw that I must keep him going as much as possible. Action of some sort was absolutely necessary for him. He was on the verge of madness.

"Very good! very good!" he exclaimed. "It is the man who robbed me whom they have killed. Very good! It is magnificent! Dead, is he? I am glad!"

"You must remember, Reggie," I said, "that this may be a very just retribution, but it scarcely looks as though it were going to help you. Let me tell you this. I have seen Marie Lichenstein since. He had not the letters. It seems as though he had parted with them."

"Vengeance is something," Reggie muttered; but he was white once more to the lips and his voice faltered.

"There were two telegrams for you," I remarked with a sudden thought. "Have you had them?"

"No! Give them to me!" he cried.

I fetched them myself from the library. He tore them open. As he read his expression changed into one of blank bewilderment.

"Listen to this!" he cried.

"'Your servant, Shalders, discovered yesterday in the attic at Embassy, gagged and chloroformed. Was attacked in your room on Sunday evening. Cannot identify assailant. Very weak and exhausted, but will probably recover.'"

Reggie looked piteously at me, holding one hand to his forehead.

"What in God's name does it mean?" he cried.

"Open the other telegram," I answered.

He held it out.

"There is nothing in it," he declared. "It is only about Harris. He has been back, but applied for extension of leave, and left again. Damn Harris!"

"There have been wishes," I murmured softly, "whose accomplishment has been more distant."

I declined to discuss the matter further until after breakfast, although, so far as my brother was concerned, the meal was little better than a farce. He made a pretence of eating, but all the time his eyes were following me. It was pitiful to watch him.

"Reggie," I said at last, filling my pipe, "in the first place, are you completely satisfied that your telegrams from Marianburg are to be relied upon?"

"They are unimpeachable," he answered. "I would answer for their truthfulness with my life."

"In that case," I said, "this means work for you, Reggie. If Shalders is really in Marianburg, we must find out who it was who robbed you and has paid the penalty."

He sprang up at once.

"I am ready!" he cried. "What shall I do?"

"Go to the Hotel Maurice," I said, "give your card and ask to be allowed to identify your servant. If it is Shalders—well, some one from Marianburg must be sending you false information. If it is not Shalders, say nothing at all. Be very careful that you show no surprise."

Reggie went out, and I heard Groves whistle a hansom up for him. I lit a pipe and studied carefully for some time certain numbers of The Times which I had sorted out from the pile. Just as I began to see a glimmering of light, Groves drew back the curtains which divided my rooms and announced a visitor.

"It is a lady to see you, my lord," he announced. "She says that her business is urgent and important."

"Her name?" I asked.

"She says that you would not know it, but that she must see you at once. She inquired first of all if Mr. Reginald were here."

"You can show her in, Groves," I directed.

A woman swept into the room almost as I was speaking, waving my servant away with an imperious gesture. She was plainly dressed in black and closely veiled. I could only see that she was young, and that she carried herself with the ease and grace of a beautiful woman. I rose to my feet.

"You are Lord Cravon?" she said quietly. "Will you send your servant away? I wish for a few minutes' conversation with you."

I looked at Groves and he withdrew at once.

She waited until the door was closed, and then she raised her veil.

"You do not know me?" she asked.

I shook my head. She was certainly a very beautiful woman, and of a rare type. Her hair was red gold and her eyes and eyebrows dark. Her features were delicately cut, and of patrician type; she carried herself in such a manner that my rooms seemed the smaller for her presence. Suddenly a very brilliant smile parted her lips, and at the same time I realized that her face was perfectly familiar to me! Where had I seen it?

"You are not like your brother," she said.

A vague uneasiness crept over me.

"You came—to see him?"

She shook her head. Her face hardened a little.

"I do not wish to see your brother ever again in my life," she said. "He has broken a promise to me."

"You—you are not—"

She held out her hand.

"That will do," she said. "I come from Marianburg."

I bowed low, but I was overwhelmed with embarrassment and dismay.

"Your welcome is scarcely flattering," she remarked with a smile.

"Madam," I answered, "I fear that your presence is a token that the worst has happened."

"On the contrary," she answered me, "nothing has happened at all. It was the waiting for news which wearied me so. I had arranged for an incognito visit to Paris, and I came over here by the night boat. Tell me, what news have you?"

I showed her the telegrams, and I told her of Marie Lichenstein and the murder at the Hotel Maurice. She listened without emotion or interruption of any sort. When I had finished, she was silent for several minutes.

"If your brother's servant was not the thief," she said at length, "I shall be inclined to believe that this is a political plot."

"Your majesty," I answered, "should be the best judge of that. It is hard to believe that there are people who would do you a wanton injury."

"Oh, I have enemies enough, no doubt," she remarked lightly. "The pity of it is that a woman in my position is never conscious of them."

"Is there any reason," I asked respectfully, "why you should have political enemies?"

"Yes."

She seemed indisposed to say more. I glanced towards the pile of papers at my side.

"I have been trying," I said, "to understand the politics of your country."

She glanced at them with contempt.

"Tear them up," she said; "they will not help you."

"They have given me an idea," I ventured to say.

"When," she asked, with apparent irrelevance, "shall you know who this unfortunate man at the Hotel Maurice was?"

"In less than half an hour," I replied. "Reginald has gone there now."

"I shall wait to know," she said; "but I do not want to see your brother, or to have him know that I am in England."

"It would certainly be wiser," I agreed.

She shrugged her shoulders.

"It is not," she said, "a question of wisdom. Your brother is a foolish boy, and he has disobeyed me. I shall not forgive him."

"He is terribly distressed," I ventured to say.

"I am glad to hear it," she answered.

"Do not think," I continued, "that I wish to defend him; but his motive for keeping those letters was, at least, excusable."

She shrugged her shoulders, and looked at me with a smile; but there was no tenderness in her face.

"Such sentiment!" she exclaimed mockingly. "Yet, perhaps, if I cared for him still, it might mean something to me. But that is all over. He has grown too dismal, he does not amuse me. And, my friend," she continued, leaning her head upon her shapely fingers, "Marianburg is very dull. It is very respectable, but it is exceedingly dull."

"I have always understood," I murmured, "that your majesty's court was a brilliant one."

She yawned.

"If I return to Marianburg," she said, "you shall come and judge for yourself. I will introduce you to the most beautiful women in my country. To look at they are adorable, but for wit, for conversation—well, you will find them nothing but statues. My court reminds me of a wonderful automatic model I once saw. You drop a penny somewhere, behind, and little waxen figures come out and promenade, exchange stiff curtsies and wooden speeches, and bow one by one before their king and queen, whose hands go up and down with the regularity of clockwork. There are times," she continued, speaking in a lower key, "when I have prayed for something of this sort to happen. If it were not for the scandal—well, I should fear nothing."

"It is the scandal, madame," I said, "which we must prevent. My brother would break his heart if you should suffer through his weakness and indiscretion."

She raised her eyebrows and smiled at me.

"And you?"

"Madam," I answered, "I would ask for no greater happiness than to serve you."

I could not keep the admiration from my face and tone, for she was very beautiful and very gracious. She looked away with the smile still lingering upon her lips.

"I wonder," she said, "what news I am most anxious to hear? If those letters are in the hands of enemies, if they are to be given to my husband? well, I shall be a free woman."

"Your freedom," I said, "would be bought at a great price."

She looked at me earnestly.

"My friend," she said, "there is but one life; and if you believe that to be a queen is to be a happy woman, let me tell you that you are very ignorant. Let me tell you this—royalty is the nearest approach to slavery which this century permits. I have felt, oh, many and many a time, that for one hour of real life I would give the rest of my days!"

"Your majesty," I said respectfully, "the price is too great."

She bowed her head.

"What is—is," she murmured. "I shall be none the worse woman if Europe has this story thrown to her scandal-mongers. Really," she continued, with a soft laugh, "it would be amusing. There have been princesses before who have—well, become independent, but a queen—never! Imagine the sensation! The music-halls would bid record prices for me, and great managers would discover that I was a genius, and they would beg me to go on the stage. I"

"Your majesty "I protested.

She threw me a swift, sweet glance.

"My friend," she said, "forgive me. You are right. Believe me, if I ever did gain my freedom, my feet would never tread any stage, nor should I ever occupy the throne of the demi-monde. Would you like me to tell you what I should do?"

"Very much," I answered truthfully.

"I should desire," she said softly, "to disguise myself in some way, so that no one who had known me as I am to-day would recognize me in my new life. I would be perfectly free, and I would have a studio in Paris, so that I might paint when I was in the humour for it; a yacht always ready, so that I might sail when I chose; a cottage in Devonshire, that I might enjoy Nature when I was in the mood; and friends who cared enough for me to come when I summoned them, and leave when I desired it. Ah! when I dream of this, half the dread of the present vanishes."

I rose suddenly to my feet. I had heard a hansom stop at the door.

"It is my brother, madam," I exclaimed. "If you still desire not to meet him, will you come this way?"

She followed me across the hall and into my drawing-room.

"My presence, I trust, does not inconvenience you, Lord Cravon?" she said. "You are, I believe, a bachelor?"

"Your majesty's presence would be an honour in any case," I answered, "and a pleasure. I have the happiness to be unmarried."

She smiled, and sank into an easy chair.

"You will bring me the news?" she said.

"In a very few moments," I answered. "Your majesty—"

She checked me.

"I am Valerie Nevenstein for to-day, if you please," she begged. "If to-morrow I become a queen again, you will call me what you will." I bowed.

"I am not a courtier," I admitted, "and, with your gracious permission, Mademoiselle Nevenstein will come more easily to me."

"Valerie Nevenstein," she reminded me.

"It is a long name," I said thoughtfully. She looked up at me and laughed. At that moment I realized that she was really only a girl.

"If you should find it too long," she said softly, "you may choose which half you will."

Reggie's voice was in the hall. I was forced to go.

"There is no name in the world I like so well as —Valerie," I said, with my hand upon the door.

"Very well," she said, smilingly dismissing me; "you have chosen."

I found Reggie, as I had expected, in a state of great excitement. He was walking up and down the room when I entered, muttering to himself. He stopped short at once, trembling all over.

"I believe you knew!" he cried. "You knew who it was!"

I nodded.

"It was Harris, I suppose?"

Reggie sank back into a chair.

"Yes, it was Harris," he declared with a little shudder. "They sent me to Charing Cross Hospital —he had been moved there."

"You did not tell them who he was?"

"No. I simply said that it was not Shalders. Do you suppose that it was Harris whom I followed to England—Harris who stole the letters?"

"I never had the least doubt about it," I answered. "The shooting party was a myth. He came back with or without an accomplice, opened the safe with the Embassy keys, or with a false one, which he could easily have had made. He gagged and chloroformed Shalders, and when he was helpless got him somehow up into the attic. Then he started for England, giving the name of Shalders to put you off the scent. He was followed, of course, by agents of the secret police of Marianburg, and the end of that you know. The all-important question to us is, What had he done with the letters? Now I am beginning to be afraid that he either disposed of them or sent them somewhere through the post from Paris."

"But for what purpose?" Reggie exclaimed. "Granted that he was blackguard enough to steal them, what was his object? What use could they have been to him?"

"As to that," I answered, "I have a theory which I am going to test before I explain it to you. It will take me the rest of the day. How can you occupy yourself?"

"I shall write—to her," he said.

I laid my hand upon his shoulder.

"If I were you, Reggie," I said, "I would employ my time more profitably. If you write to her, I do not think that she will read it."

"What do you mean?" he cried fiercely.

"It is no use being angry," I said. "You will have to face facts. I have had direct communication with her since I have seen you. She will never forgive you!"

He dropped into a chair and covered his face with his hands. He asked no questions. He was, I think, already convinced of her unchanging anger. I laid my hand upon his shoulder.

"Come," I said, a little impatiently, perhaps— almost roughly, "come. You did not seriously intend to drivel away your life, the cavalière servante even of a queen. You have offended, and she will not forgive you. In the end you will be glad of it, but for the sake of the past, you owe her something. Don't give way like a girl. See this matter through first. There is just a chance left."

He sat up, pale and red-eyed, and listened to what I had to say.

"I want you," I said, "to describe the packet to me as carefully as you can."

"It is about eight inches square," he said, "quite thin, and it is tied up with white ribbon. The packet itself is of Japanese white silk, stained a good deal with crushed violets. The loose letter was just folded up and slipped underneath the ribbon. There is a ring inside, up in the left hand corner."

I nodded slowly.

"I shall remember that," I said. "Now, Reggie, I shall be away, perhaps, for the rest of the day. I want you to go to the club, and wait there for me. I might want you at any moment, and I want to be sure of finding you."

"Cannot I stay here?" he asked. "I don't want to see a lot of fellows I know."

"No," I answered firmly. "I want you to be at the club, and to show yourself. I want you out of the house, Reggie, in ten minutes."

"You will send for me," he begged, "as soon as you can?"

"As soon as I can—I promise that," I answered. "It may be some time. The longer I am, the greater the chance of success. Remember that, and it will help to pass the time."

Reggie left the house in a few minutes. Then I went back into the drawing-room. My visitor was still there, but she was lying upon the couch, and did not look up at my entrance. I walked softly up to her. Her eyes were closed, her head was thrown back upon the cushions—she was asleep. I walked softly away towards the door, but before I reached it some instinct prompted me to return. I stood looking over her for several minutes. After all, was my brother's infatuation so wonderful a thing? Even here, asleep, and in her travelling clothes, she was a beautiful woman. I could very well believe that, as the central and all-important figure of a brilliant court, she would be almost irresistible.

She woke, and found me looking steadfastly at her. Without any trace of embarrassment she sat up and smiled at me.

"Well," she said, "is there news yet?"

"Of a kind," I answered, "there is news. The man who was murdered at the Hotel Maurice was Leonard Harris."

"What, Sir Henry's secretary?" she exclaimed.

"Yes."

"And the packet?"

"There were no signs of it."

"The young man, Harris," she said to herself softly. "Well, after all, it is the insects who are venomous."

"He had cause, perhaps?" I ventured.

"Oh, I was rude to him once," she interrupted. "He was a boorish young man, and he presumed. But if it was he who stole the packet, I do not see why it was not in his possession."

I sat down by her side. She had moved her skirts in a manner which indicated her desire that I should do so.

"Your majesty," I said, "I fear the natural presumption is that he had parted with them."

"In which case," she remarked, with a look which rebuked my inadvertence, "they are in the hands of my enemies."

"I have," I said hesitatingly, "a vague theory as to what may have become of them. It sounds so far-fetched, and it is in itself so improbable, that I would rather say nothing to you about it for the present. But, with your permission, I will spend the morning testing it."

"You will leave me again so soon?"

She certainly had wonderful eyes. I found it safer to look downwards at the carpet.

"In your service," I murmured, "and with the utmost regret."

"You will be—as quick as possible?"

"You may be sure of it," I answered.

"And am I to remain here until your return?"

"If you will. I shall give you into the charge of my own servant, and will see that you are undisturbed."

I rose from the sofa. She gave me both her hands.

"My friend," she said earnestly, "you are very good to me! Whether I remain a queen or become a woman, I shall not forget it!"

In less than half an hour I was riding slowly down the Row, exchanging the barest greetings with the people whom I knew and carefully avoiding every one likely to detain me. There were a great many on horseback and a crowd of promenaders, but for a long time my search was a fruitless one. I had almost arrived at the conclusion that I must try some other means when, at the corner, I came face to face with two girls riding slowly and followed by a groom. The elder one, dark and moderately handsome, but without any special distinction, bowed to me graciously, and, to her evident surprise, I reined in my horse beside her.

"Good morning, Miss Ogden," I exclaimed, "I was beginning to think that you had given up your morning rides. You were not here yesterday, were you?"

"Yesterday, and the day before, and the day before that," she laughed. "There are so many people, and you seem to know them all!"

"They are a great nuisance sometimes," I remarked. "Don't you think that it is a great mistake to have too many friends?"

She shook her head. "Perhaps. My sister and I are not troubled in that way, are we, Carrie?"

The younger girl agreed, a little dolefully. I leaned over in my saddle.

"Won't you introduce me to your sister?" I asked.

Miss Ogden did so at once.

"Yesterday," she remarked, "you were riding with the Countess of Appleton. I think that if I were a man and riding with the Countess of Appleton, I should not see any one else. She is very beautiful, is she not?"

"She is my cousin, so I am scarcely a fair judge," I remarked, turning my horse. "May I come with you a little way?"

She was surprised, but frankly acquiescent. I had the advantage of belonging to a set of which they were not members, and my offer, therefore, especially as my acquaintance with Miss Ogden was of the slightest, was obviously welcome. I had danced with her a few nights ago to oblige a worried hostess, and had found her a pleasant, sensible girl.

She did not hesitate, as we rode slowly down under the trees, to admit their somewhat doubtful social position.

"It is quite interesting for us to be with some one who knows everybody," she remarked. "You see, this is only our second season, and until this year we never had a house in town. I suppose that is one reason why we know so few people outside the political set. Politicians may be useful creatures, but they are not amusing."

I laughed softly. Sir James Ogden was a politician who had worked his way up from the ranks. He had been a provincial manufacturer, mayor of his city three times, and knighted for a liberal entertainment of royalty. He had gone into Parliament, and, with the aid of a fluent tongue and a large business capacity, had worked his way into office. His methods were not altogether to the liking of his party, and he was yet to a certain extent unproven. But, on the whole, his success had been remarkable.

Unfortunately, he had married early in life, and his social prospects were hampered by a good-natured but uneducated wife. As usual, it was the daughters who suffered. London was a fascinating but unknown world to them, and there was no one to be their sponsor.

I rode slowly down between the two girls, receiving a good many surprised salutations, and doing my best to make myself agreeable—a task which, under the circumstances, was not difficult. They fully expected, as I could see, that I should leave them in a minute or two; but I did nothing of the sort. I answered my cousin's imperious little movement of her whip with a bland smile and an indifferent wave of my hat, thereby offending her grievously, and remained with them until the people began to thin off. Then, as we were walking our horses and talking under the trees, a stout, red-faced old lady rose up from a chair and waved to us. Miss Ogden's cheek flushed, but she reined in her horse at once.

"It is my mother," she remarked. "I quite forgot that she was looking out for us. I am afraid that we must go to her."

"By all means," I answered cheerfully. "By the bye, I have not the pleasure of knowing Lady Ogden. Won't you present me?"

"With pleasure," she answered readily. "Come, Carrie."

We rode up to the railings, and I was formally introduced. Lady Ogden was flustered but good natured. As it happened, nothing could have been more fortunate for me than this meeting. Lady Ogden was nothing if not hospitable, and before we had exchanged half a dozen words I was asked to luncheon. The two girls exchanged glances of resigned dismay, which speedily changed to surprise when I at once accepted the invitation. In a few minutes we rode off together again with Lady Ogden's carriage close behind.

I am free to confess that my behaviour that morning was the behaviour of a snob. Regarded from a certain point of view, it was inexcusable; yet, under similar circumstances, I know that I should do precisely the same again. I traded upon my position with the object of ingratiating myself with Lady Ogden and her daughters. I promised them cards for certain forthcoming events (a promise, by the bye, which was faithfully kept), and I was able to give them a good many useful hints and information with regard to their new position, its possibilities and obligations. I am quite sure that my luncheon at their house that day was regarded, both by Lady Ogden and her daughters, as the most important event which had happened to them since their arrival in London; and if to a certain extent I allowed them to be deceived as to my motives, I have at least made a very full atonement. The present social position of Lady Ogden and her family is largely owing to my efforts; and if Miss Louise looks a little reproachfully at me in the Park, when for several mornings I fail to speak to her, she is at least frankly grateful for the services which I have rendered them. Further, Lady Ogden can always rely upon me for one of her dinners; and nothing would induce me to be absent from any social function at her house to which I am bidden. I have been to a certain extent their good angel, and there are now very few houses in London which are not open to Lady Ogden and her daughters. Still, I fancy that none of them—except Sir James, who will keep his own counsel—have ever quite understood that morning. And beyond the fact that I have striven so hard to atone for my abuse of their first act of hospitality, there was my motive—strong enough surely to make a man unscrupulous. There was always before me the remembrance of my brother's white face, and the image of the woman who waited for my final effort. A queen to-day, tomorrow, if I failed, an outcast. No! I behaved like a cad, but I am only thankful for the inspiration which suggested this forlorn hope.

Luncheon was prolonged to its utmost limits. I talked to interest Lady Ogden and her daughters, and I succeeded. Sir James listened with a somewhat forced air of attention, but on the whole I could see that my presence also gratified him. He professed to be too busy, to have no tastes for society; but it was easy to see that as an ambitious man he was annoyed and irritated to find himself so small a figure here, and his social pretensions ignored, after his provincial triumphs. Evidently he had been told to make himself specially agreeable to me; he did his best, but, during luncheon at least, he had but little opportunity. The girls were really bright and naturally well-bred. They talked by no means badly, and we found plenty to say.

After luncheon, which was protracted as long as possible, Sir James proposed a cigar and cup of coffee in his room. I took my leave of the ladies, and followed him into the library.

"I have just one hour which I can call my own," he remarked, wheeling out a chair for me. "As a rule it is the only idle one of my day. I am old fashioned enough to enjoy my luncheon more than my dinner."

A servant brought liqueurs and coffee, and Sir James produced some cigars and cigarettes. I helped myself, and, whilst I sipped my coffee, looked around the room curiously. On the table was a black dispatch-box. Sir James, with a word of apology to me, took a bunch of keys from his pocket, and opened it. The match with which I was lighting my cigarette went out in my fingers, and my heart gave a quick beat. I was right then! A strong odour of crushed violets floated out into the room.

Sir James looked steadily into the box for several moments, with a faint smile on his lips. Then he carefully pushed it a little further back upon the table, and, lighting a cigar, stretched himself out in an easy chair opposite to mine. He began to talk at once on different subjects. Without being in any sense of the word a politician, I had made several speeches in the House of Lords upon subjects interesting to me, one of which had provoked considerable discussion. Sir James and I, being of the same party, our conversation naturally drifted into political channels. A chance remark from Sir James very soon gave the opening I desired. As carefully as possible I led the conversation up to the subject of our relations with a certain foreign power.

"If I were a genuine politician," I remarked— "that is to say, if I possessed the requisite ability to become one—I should be interested more than anything in foreign affairs. Diplomacy has always been a very fascinating study to me, although, of course, I have had no experience, and am ignorant even of its rudimentary principles. By the way, I was interested in what I heard last week—you can guess where—about a treaty with the power in question. There are some peculiar complications, are there not?"

"There have been some very peculiar complications and some unusual difficulties," Sir James remarked, smoking his cigar with evident relish, and gazing, with the ghost of a smile still upon his lips, into the depths of the open dispatch-box by his side.

"Well, it is a pity," I remarked. "The advantages of the treaty to us are very obvious just now. Is it permitted to ask you—unofficially—whether the difficulties are insuperable?"

Sir James removed the cigar from his mouth. He leaned a little forward; I could see that he was about to become confidential.

"The whole history of our negotitations will never become known," he said. "The fact is, a certain royal personage, whom I need not name to you, was very much opposed indeed to the signing of the treaty. All along we have had to contend with a strong antagonism from—after all, I do not see why I should conceal it from you — from the queen."

"The queen," I repeated; "I did not know that her majesty was a politician! One hears of her chiefly as an European beauty, and a giver of magnificent entertainments."

"I can assure you that her majesty is underrated," Sir James replied grimly. "She has had her finger on the weak spot in the treaty from the first. If the matter rested with her, it would have been torn in two long ago. Her influence, as you may be aware, is great, and while it remains so our relations are liable at any moment be become strained. It is one of those things which we have always had to contend with, of which the public know nothing at all, and for which, of course, they make no allowance."

"The public are hard taskmasters," I remarked; "I often wonder that they are so zealously and faithfully served. By the bye, Sir James, I noticed that you used the past tense. Is there any chance, do you think, of getting the treaty signed in the face of such opposition?"

There was a distinctly triumphant smile upon Sir James' thin, hard lips, as he glanced into the depths of the dispatch-box. It was standing at his elbow, and he had been carelessly playing with the lid. The perfume of violets, faint and sweet, seemed to be filling the room.

"The treaty will be signed within a few days now," he said quietly. "I do not think that we shall ever again have any trouble in that quarter. Of course, you will understand that I do not wish this to go any further at present; but, speaking to you in confidence, I may say that means have come into our hands which will put a summary end now and for ever to the opposition I spoke of. I cannot say more, even to you, at present; but the whole affair will be public property before long."

I leaned back in my chair, and nerved myself for what was to come. I had learned all that I needed to know. This was the climax.

"I trust not," I said slowly.

Sir James let fall the lid of his dispatch-box with a bang, and looked up at me in amazement.

"I beg your pardon," he said; "I think that I do not quite understand."

"I repeat that I trust not," I said. "The means to which you allude"—I looked hard into the dispatch-box—" are means of which no use must be made."

Sir James drew a bunch of keys from his pocket, and calmly double-locked the dispatch-box. Then he rose to his feet, and turned a frowning face upon me.

"I am completely at a loss to understand you, Lord Cravon," he said coldly. "Be so good as to explain yourself."

"I am here to do so," 1 answered firmly. "I am here for no other purpose. The means to which you allude are these. You have obtained possession of compromising letters, written by a certain personage to my brother, Reginald Lessingham."

"To—your brother?"

"Yes. You have probably overlooked the fact, Sir James, that my family name is Lessingham; and it is my brother, Reginald Lessingham, who is the senior attache at Marianburg."

"The fact," Sir James remarked, "was unknown to me. I may add that it is also a matter of indifference. If the young gentleman has been imprudent, as he certainly appears to have been, he must accept the consequences."

"He is perfectly willing to do so," I answered. "At present that is not the point. Those letters to which you have referred, made public, would be the ruin of any woman, even a queen. You propose to make them public, and to ruin her! It is very simple. You are a patriot and a politician, and you would rise one step higher in the estimation of your party upon the wreck of a woman's honour."

There was a bright light in Sir James' grey eyes, a flush upon his cheeks. The lines upon his face had contracted and hardened. He remained cool, but he was desperately angry.

"Continue, sir."

"Diplomacy might sanction your use of these letters in such a case, Sir James," I proceeded, "if they had come into your hands by other means."

"You seem to be remarkably well informed, Lord Cravon. Can you tell me then exactly how I did receive them?"

"I believe so," I replied. "They were either sent you from Paris, or brought to you by a young man, named Harris, a distant connexion of your own, and one of the Embassy secretaries at Marianburg. Now I know you be an honest as well as a shrewd politician, Sir James, and I am perfectly sure that you have been misled as to how these letters came into young Harris' possession."

"He found—never mind, I will hear what you have to say first, Lord Cravon."

"You are wise, Sir James. He probably assured you that he found them. He did not. His zeal in your service led him further than that. He, or an accomplice, chloroformed and gagged my brother's servant, and abstracted these letters from his private safe, opened with the Embassy keys. In other words, he committed a gross and criminal burglary. It is in your interests that I bring this information, Sir James. I think you will admit that such methods are a little in front of the times; that they are, to say the least of it, not defensible."

Sir James resumed his seat. His hard, worn face was puckered up with thought. He was silent for several moments. I could see that I was correct in my supposition. What I had just revealed was news to him. Harris' story had been a different one!

"My nephew's conduct," he said, looking up at last, "was indiscreet and exceedingly ill-advised. If necessary, he must answer for it. I cannot shield him, nor should I attempt to do so. At the same time the violence that was offered was within the walls of our own Embassy. That is the crux of the matter. I admit that the means were deplorable, but the end which has been gained is great. I am sorry for your brother, Lord Cravon, on whose behalf I suppose you are here; but in the face of the great national gain, the welfare of individuals must go to the wall. I shall hold to my course."

"Think well, Sir James," I said. "I have many powerful friends, and, however much I may blame my brother for his folly, I am with him in this to the end. I shall not let the matter drop. The story will get about. Our methods will be decried throughout the whole civilized world. You must admit that the letters were stolen. With this knowledge, shall you dare to use them?"

"I am ignorant of the fact that they were stolen," Sir James answered coolly. "I have no cognizance of it. It is not necessary. The letters are here. As an officer of the State, I owe no one any explanation as to how they reached me. I have not investigated, or discovered any theft. Such work belongs to the Secret Service Department. I hold the letters for my purpose, and you will pardon my adding that I have no more to say to you, Lord Cravon."

He laid his hand upon the bell, but I checked him.

"Then prepare yourself for a further shock, Sir James," I said. "Last night your nephew paid the penalty for his over-zealousness. He was murdered by an agent of the Secret Police of Marianburg at the Hotel Maurice."

Sir James had sunk back into his chair, pale to the lips. It was I now who was standing. I took a newspaper from the library table and showed it to him.

"There is a full account of the affair, Sir James," I said. "I am very sorry to shock you, but you left me no alternative."

He took the paper from my hand with trembling fingers. Suddenly a little exclamation broke from his lips.

"The name is Shalders," he exclaimed. "My nephew's name is Harris. This has nothing to do with him."

"It has everything to do with him," I answered gravely. "Shalders is the name of my brother's valet, who was chloroformed and maltreated at the Embassy. Your nephew took his name, and even dressed to resemble him, when he left Marianburg. When I read that paragraph, I knew at once who the unfortunate man was. My brother went to the Charing Cross Hospital this morning and identified him. There is no room for any doubt in the matter."

"It was?"

"It was your nephew, Leonard Harris, Sir James. He took the name of Shalders when he left for England, and he intended to keep his visit here a profound secret from every one in Marianburg. He had laid his plans well. He had a fortnight's leave of absence from his chief, and he was supposed to be in the country on a shooting expedition. Unfortunately for him, he was matched against a Secret Service which is perhaps the finest in the world. He had, after all, scarcely a chance. He was doomed from the moment he left Marianburg!"

Sir James rose to his feet. He had regained his composure, but he was evidently shaken. I made a final effort.

"You have those letters," I said. "Good! Now ask yourself what they have cost you! First of all a burglary with violence; then a life—the life of your own nephew. If they had been secretly stolen, and the thief was unknown, I admit that you might have used them safely. As it is, I warn you that to use them is to terminate, once and for ever, your career as a politician. We do not live in the days of Richelieu, or Mazarin. Such methods as have been used in this matter will never be tolerated in this country, or by international opinion."

"It is impossible to connect me in any way with my nephew's blundering," he answered. "I was not the instigator, or the abettor. All I know is, that these letters were placed in my hands, and it is my duty to use them for the benefit of my country. Of their history I am completely ignorant. I shall certainly not give them up."

"Very well, Sir James," I declared, "your refusal leaves me but one alternative. I have an audience with the premier at four o'clock. It is now within a few minutes of that hour. I shall go to him, tell him all I know, and get him to wire orders that the seals which I have already had placed on your nephew's belongings are not disturbed until a special envoy has been through his correspondence. You may not have been his instigator! That is to be proved. In any case, Sir James, your resignation will be demanded within the next twenty-four hours."

Sir James walked to the window, and came back again. Slowly he drew from his pocket a bunch of keys, and unlocked the dispatch-box. With the little packet in his hand he lingered even now, as though loth to part with it. Then with a slight bow he handed it to me across the table, and the perfume of crushed violets had never seemed to me so sweet before.

"You are quite right, Lord Cravon," he said drily. "My position is untenable. Present those letters to your brother, with my most profound apologies for the manner in which they came into my hands. You can understand the reluctance with which I part with them; but I would like to assure you of this, I simply advised my poor nephew from time to time that any means of weakening the Queen's influence would be grateful to me, and would tend to his own advancement. Such means as he adopted were utterly unsanctioned by me. The limit of my instigation I have told you. In justice to myself, I desire to make it clear. Permit me to ring for your carriage."

Our leave-takings were not cordial. Sir James remained standing upon his hearth-rug in grim silence, with the empty dispatch-box before him. I drove swiftly homewards, and hastened into the library. Reggie was sitting there waiting for me, and, when I held out the box to him, he gave a great cry, and tore it open with passionate haste.

"They are all there?" I asked.

"Every one," he sobbed. "Every one! Thank God."

I left him watching a smouldering mass of ashes, fearful lest even a single line which could ever be deciphered should remain. Then I went to her. She rose to meet me, and her face, too, was drawn with emotion.

"Your majesty," I said, bowing low. "You have but half an hour to catch the boat train."

She drew a long breath. There was a look in her face which I have never forgotten, but which I have never understood. Only it seemed to me rather the look of the woman who bows her head once more to step back into the stone cell of a nunnery, after a little wandering in the rose gardens of life.

"You have succeeded?" she asked in a low tone.

"Your majesty," I answered, "has no longer any cause for uneasiness. The letters by this time are ashes."

She took my hands in hers, and held them tightly.

"My Lord Cravon," she said sweetly," may every woman in distress find a cavalier so generous and so wise as yourself!"

I felt a burning spot upon my hands, the delicate perfume of a woman's hair brushed against my cheek, the rustling of a silken gown swept the floor. I heard the door close, and I knew that she was gone.