Читать книгу The Kings of the East - Sydney C. Grier - Страница 4

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Returning to his hotel, Cyril found a letter awaiting him in the handwriting of his brother, Lord Caerleon.

“What’s up?” he said to himself, as he opened the envelope and drew out the closely written sheets. “Something must be wrong for Caerleon to favour me with such an imposing epistle. Probably some kind mischief-maker on this side of the Channel has told him that I have given myself over body and soul to the Jews, and he is trying to avert the catastrophe. It would save time to burn the letter and wire to him that the deed is done, but that might hurt his feelings, so here goes!”

He lit a cigar and sat down with the air of a martyr to read the letter, but his brow cleared when he found that it contained none of the anxious entreaties he had expected. His brother needed his help, it seemed, and the occasion of the request was curiously connected with the subject of his conversation with the Chevalier Goldberg.

“You may remember,” wrote Lord Caerleon, “a young fellow named Mansfield, who prepared Usk for college, and was staying with us when you were here two years ago. He is a thoroughly nice chap, and as we all took a fancy to him, Usk has brought him down again two or three times since he has been at Cambridge. That was all very well, but why should he take it into his head to fall in love with Phil? I suppose you will smile your superior smile when you read that sentence; but I give you my word that the thought of such a thing had never entered my mind. It’s only yesterday that Phil was about as high as the table, and running wild about the park with her hair flying loose. How is an unsuspecting parent to know that she has suddenly grown up, and is actually old enough to contemplate matrimony? I can tell you it was a frightful shock to Nadia and me. We sat looking at one another in consternation, until Nadia rallied sufficiently to remind me in a faint voice that the child will be twenty-one next month. Many girls are married before that, as she very truly added, but what comfort does that afford when one finds oneself all at once regarded as a stern and venerable elder? Well, as I said, we can have no possible objection to young Mansfield himself, except on the ground that he has nothing to do. He is a distant connection of Forfar’s, and has the promise of a private secretaryship when a vacancy occurs, but that may not be for years. He has been hanging on at Cambridge since he took his degree, writing prize essays and (at least this is my private idea) keeping Master Usk up to the mark; but he sees as clearly as I do that that can’t go on. He came to me very honourably when he first discovered the state of his feelings, and said that he did not dare ask me to sanction an engagement at present, but if he could get some settled employment, might he speak to Philippa? You know that desperation will make the most guileless of men artful, and therefore you won’t wonder that I resorted to a mean expedient in order to keep my daughter a little longer. I said that Phil was so very young for her age, and had seen so little of the world (this is absolutely true, you know), that I should prefer him not to speak to her for a year in any case. In the meantime he might be getting something to do, and she should have a London season, and pay a visit to her godmother in Germany. It was a bitter pill, I could see, but he took it very well, and left Llandiarmid without saying a word to Phil, so that she knows nothing about the business. At least, that is my contention; but Nadia is under the impression that Phil has her own ideas on the subject. Still, the child is not pining, or I should give way at once. No doubt she sees, like a sensible girl, that it is the best possible thing for the young fellow not to be at a loose end any longer. Well, old man, you see by this time what I want of you. Do you know any one among your acquaintances who would take an Englishman as secretary, who is nothing very great in the way of attainments, but has the memory of a second-class in Modern Languages to fall back upon? He has travelled a good deal, and is a thoroughly pleasant fellow, rather too literary for my taste, but there’s no harm in that. He has something of his own since his father’s death, so that a high salary is not an object; what he wants is to be set to regular work, and taught to run in harness. If you know of anything suitable, I will bless you for ever, for my conscience is pricking me (and I believe Nadia, in her secret thoughts, blames me too) for condemning Phil and this inconvenient youth to a lengthy separation just because I don’t want to lose the child.” ...

Long before he had reached this point, Cyril’s mind was made up, and his answer to his brother’s letter contained his response to the appeal made to him:—

“I want a second secretary, and your Mansfield is the very man for me. Please write to him at once, and let him meet me at the Hôtel Waldthier at Ludwigsbad this day week. We shall not haggle about terms, though Paschics will continue to do most of the work. By the bye, if association with me is likely to do your young friend harm in the future, don’t let him come, but if there is no risk of his suffering in that way, he may take my word for it that he will learn a good deal that will be of use to him.”

About two o’clock the next day Cyril presented himself at Count Temeszy’s house for his interview with the Hercynian Imperial Chancellor, who was paying a strictly private visit of twelve hours or so to his sister. When Cyril’s request was sprung upon him at the Opera, Gyula Temeszy had declared roundly that there was no prospect of his brother-in-law’s visiting Vindobona at present. When it appeared, however, that Cyril was well acquainted with the Baron’s movements, he not only promised him the desired interview, but invited him to lunch. This invitation Cyril refused, in view of the complications which might ensue when Baron de la Mothe von Elterthal had told his hosts of his discoveries at Czarigrad, and he had reason to congratulate himself upon his foresight. The Temeszy servants, who had hitherto bowed almost to the ground before him, received him on this occasion with a perfunctory civility that was little less than insulting; and when they turned him over to Baron de la Mothe von Elterthal’s personal attendant, the man’s manner showed a scarcely veiled insolence. Ushering Cyril into an unoccupied room, he promised to carry the noble Count’s name to his master, but added that his Excellency was very much engaged, and might not be able to see him. For a quarter of an hour Cyril waited impatiently, within earshot of the luncheon-room in which, to judge from the noise and laughter, the Baron was the life and soul of a jovial party, then he rose and rang the electric bell sharply.

“Present my compliments to his Excellency,” he said, watch in hand, when the servant appeared, “and tell him that as the fifteen minutes I was able to spare him have expired, I regret not to be able to see him.”

The man, taken aback by this turning of the tables, poured forth a torrent of apologies and entreaties, but Cyril waved them aside, and passed down the grand staircase with a calm hauteur of demeanour which compelled the respect of the servants in the hall. This time none of them failed in the due observances, and he left the house like an honoured guest. Before he had gone more than a few steps, Count Temeszy ran after him, bare-headed.

“Pray come back, Mortimer. I can’t think what the servants were doing, that they didn’t send in your name.”

“Sorry I have no time to spare.”

“Nonsense; come back. I can’t let Caerleon’s brother be turned away from my door like this.”

Count Temeszy spoke with evident embarrassment, and Cyril was quick to draw the inference that he was now only to be tolerated as Caerleon’s brother. He withdrew his arm from the Hungarian’s grasp.

“Thanks, Temeszy; but there are doors enough open to me without darkening those where I am unwelcome. I will tell Caerleon how faithful you are to your ideas of friendship.”

“But my brother-in-law is most anxious to see you. He is awaiting you at this moment with the greatest eagerness.”

“My dear Count Temeszy, you only increase my regret that I cannot possibly spare him another moment. I am lunching at the Café Viborg, and you must excuse me if I hurry away.”

Leaving Count Temeszy disconsolate on the pavement, Cyril disengaged himself with a ceremonious bow, and walked on. It was without any surprise that, when he was seated at his lunch a little later, he saw the Count and his brother-in-law enter the café. Glancing in his direction as if accidentally, they crossed the room to speak to him, and almost immediately a friend on the other side of the place claimed Count Temeszy’s attention. With a muttered apology, he joined him at his table, and Baron de la Mothe von Elterthal sat down casually opposite Cyril.

“You had something to say to me, I believe?” he remarked.

“Not that I know of,” was the disconcerting reply. “Hearing that you would be in Vindobona, I set aside a quarter of an hour for you for the sake of auld lang syne, but that was all.”

“My brother-in-law understood that you were most anxious to see me. In fact, he was lamenting all morning that you had refused his invitation to lunch, until I reminded him that it was perhaps just as well, for at such short notice it would be difficult to ensure that there should be no pork on the table.”

Cyril smiled. “You are in good spirits to-day, Baron. Still, I would advise you, as a friend, to let your jokes remain entirely between ourselves. Other people might fail to appreciate them.”

“That is as I please,” snapped the Baron. “Once more, have you anything to say to me?” as Cyril raised his eyebrows in well-bred surprise at his tone.

“Nothing whatever,” said Cyril, choosing a cigarette with care. “Allow me to offer you—— You will not? No?”

“Perhaps,” said the Baron darkly, leaning across the table, “you are not aware that I know all about your visit to Czarigrad, and the part you played there?”

“My dear Baron, this is ancient history. I am not aware that there is any reason why the whole world should not know as much.”

“You have no objection to the world’s knowing that you have sold yourself to the Jews, that you are the paid agent of the enemies of Christendom?”

“If it was true, I should probably object very much. As things are, I can only admire your simple faith, Baron.”

“At least,” said the Baron, changing his tactics suddenly, “neither you nor your new allies will benefit by your diplomacy on this occasion. I fancy I have put a spoke in your wheel, my dear Count.”

“What!”—there was unmistakable alarm in Cyril’s voice—“you have not been so unwise as to interfere? When it was suggested to me the other day that you might possibly do so, I laughed at the notion. ‘The Baron is my friend and a man of sense,’ I said, ‘he could not do such a foolish thing.’ And now you wish me to understand that you have done it? My dear Baron, I am deeply concerned. Is there no way in which we can release you from this very unfortunate impasse?”

“I don’t understand you,” with evident anxiety. “Surely you are confusing my position with your own?”

“Baron, this is not the time for joking. Is it possible that in the course of your researches at Czarigrad you never discovered that the Palestine scheme and your Anatolian concession stand or fall together?”

“Pray, what do you know about the Anatolian concession, Count?”

“Just as much as I need to know. I am aware that it is of a very far-reaching character, and that a high and illustrious personage in Hercynia is determined to obtain it. You could not imagine, Baron, that I, your friend, could remain ignorant of your troubles of the last few months? Do you think I don’t know of the immense difficulties you have had to encounter, and the fact that your Emperor is graciously pleased to believe that you are secretly opposing his will and encouraging the Grand Seignior to refuse to grant the concession? Your continuance in office depends upon your obtaining it, I am well aware, and now you have deliberately postponed it for an indefinite time. This is terrible!”

“The whole thing is your doing!” burst from the Chancellor. Cyril eyed him with mild reproof.

“This accusation is unworthy of you, Baron, when I am doing my best to extricate you from your deadlock.”

“Tell me exactly what your threats are worth. Whether you are a paid agent of the Children of Zion, or a Quixotic philanthropist,” sneeringly, “the trap is yours, I know that.”

“I have neither the power nor the necessity to threaten. I simply say that if our concession is refused, yours will be refused also, or if ours is merely delayed, yours will suffer in the same way. If ours is granted——”

“Yes?” with intense eagerness.

“Yours will also be granted when the time comes, and Baron de la Mothe von Elterthal will continue to be the chief ornament of the Hercynian bureaucracy and the favoured adviser of his sovereign.”

“What are they paying you for this?” broke out the Baron. “Thunder and lightning, man! if you are hard up, why not apply to us? We would have found some place for you, or screwed a decent subsistence out of ungrateful Thracia. Why accept the first offer, instead of waiting for a higher?”

“You are agitated, my dear Baron. Take one of these cigarettes, just to please me, and calm yourself. Did you ever, in the course of our former dealings together, find that any good came of trying to insult me?”

“Never; I always paid for it dearly. Yes, you are right, I am a fool. No doubt I am expiating at this moment the errors of my last interview with you. What?” as Cyril’s impassive face relaxed slightly, “I am right. Oh, pray consider all that I said about money withdrawn. You are taking your revenge upon Europe, I see. You would destroy the world, if you could, to punish the faults of mankind towards you.”

“This is very interesting, Baron, but not particularly practical.”

“No? Well, tell me, how can you and your Children of Zion, with their hoarded centimes and kopecks and piastres, hope to oppose yourselves to the power of the Hercynian empire? We can tire you out at Czarigrad, simply because we have a longer purse.”

“I will let you into a secret, Baron. Try your experiment, and oppose our concession. You will find that it is not you who will tire us out, but we you, and for this reason, that you will be pitting yourself against all the Jews in the world. The Children of Zion are backed by a syndicate composed of the capitalists of all nations, and Hercynia would scarcely be well advised to enter on a war with them. I don’t ask you to accept this merely on my authority. Make the experiment, and you will see whether the result bears out my warning.”

“This is a very serious matter, Count.” The Baron had sat lost in wonder, supporting his chin on his hand, for some minutes. “Do you see that you are practically declaring war on Europe?”

“Not quite, Baron. It is not necessary for all Europe to oppose itself to the United Nation. Think of the other side of the picture. What a future would lie before the country which had the support of all the Jews in the world!”

Baron de la Mothe von Elterthal drew a long breath. “You dazzle me, Count! Am I to understand this as an offer?”

“As a conditional offer,” said Cyril, rising; “conditional on your supporting us at Czarigrad. I will leave you to think it over, for I must get back to my hotel, unless I am to lose the train for Charlottenbad.”

“We part as—as friends, I hope? Gyula,” as Count Temeszy paused near them, in the course of an impatient promenade up and down the room, “I am venturing to ofter Count Mortimer a seat in your carriage. We might drive him to his hotel.”

“With the greatest pleasure,” said Count Temeszy, in hopeless bewilderment, and presently the servants were edified to behold Count Mortimer seated beside the Hercynian Chancellor in their master’s carriage, and not only escorted up the steps of the hotel by the man who had denounced him that morning as a pervert to Judaism, but fervently embraced at parting. As for Cyril himself, it did not surprise him in the least to receive, a week later, a cipher telegram from the Chevalier Goldberg to the following effect:—