Читать книгу Whoso Findeth a Wife - William Le Queux - Страница 8

When at noon, in accordance with the urgent and strangely-worded telegram I had received from the Earl of Warnham, I alighted at Horsham Station, in Sussex, I found one of the carriages from the Hall awaiting me. As I entered it, I was followed by a man I knew slightly, Superintendent Frayling, chief of the Criminal Investigation Department at Scotland Yard, who had apparently travelled down by the same train from Victoria.

Greeting me, he took the place beside me, and a moment later the footman sprang upon the box and we sped away towards the open country. To my question as to his business with the Earl, he made an evasive reply, merely stating that he had received a telegram requesting an immediate interview.

“This summons is rather unusual,” he added, smiling. “Has anything serious occurred, do you know?”

“Not that I’m aware of. Perhaps there’s been a burglary at the Hall?” I suggested.

“Hardly that, I think,” he replied, with a knowing look, stroking his pointed brown beard. “If burglars had visited the place, he would have asked for a clever officer or two, not for a personal interview with me.” With this view I was compelled to agree, then, lighting cigarettes, we sat back calmly contemplating the beautiful, fertile country through which we were driving. The road, leaving the quaint old town, descended sharply for a short distance, then wound uphill through cornfields lined by high hedges of hawthorn and holly. On, past a quaint old water-mill we skirted Warnham Pond, whereon Shelley in his youthful days sailed paper boats, then half-a-mile further entered the handsome lodge-gates of Warnham Park. Through a fine avenue, with a broad sweep of park on either side well stocked with deer, emus and many zoological specimens, we ascended, until at last, after negotiating the long, winding drive in front of the Hall, the carriage pulled up with a sudden jerk before its handsome portico.

As I alighted, old Stanford, the white-haired butler, came forward hurriedly, saying—

“His Lordship is in the library awaiting you, sir. He told me to bring you to him the moment you arrived.”

“Very well,” I said, and the aged retainer, leading the way along a spacious but rather cheerless corridor, stopped before the door of the great library, and throwing it suddenly open, announced me.

“At last, Deedes,” I heard the Earl exclaim in a tone that showed him to be in no amiable mood; and as I entered the long, handsome chamber, lined from floor to ceiling with books, I did not at first notice him until he rose slowly from a large writing-table, behind which he had been hidden. His face, usually wizened and pale, was absolutely bloodless. Its appearance startled me.

“I wired you last night, and expected you by the 9:18 this morning, Why did you not come?” was his first question, uttered in a sharp tone of annoyance.

“The sudden death of a friend caused me to lose the train I intended to catch,” I explained.

“Death!” he snapped, in the manner habitual to him when impatient. “Is the death of a friend any account when the interests of the country are at stake? On the night my wife was dying I was compelled to leave her bedside to travel to Balmoral to have audience of Her Majesty regarding a document I had sent for the Royal assent. When I returned, Lady Warnham had been dead fourteen hours. In the successful diplomat there must be no sentiment—none.”

“The five minutes I lost when I discovered my friend dead caused me to miss my train from Staines to London,” I explained.

“But you received my telegram, and should have strictly regarded its urgency,” he answered, with an air of extreme dissatisfaction. “The fact of its being in cipher was sufficient to show its importance.”

“I was out dining, and my man brought it along to me,” I said.

“Why did he do so?” he inquired quickly.

“Because he thought it might be urgent.”

“Did he open it?”

“No. Even if he had it was in cipher.”

“Is your man absolutely trustworthy?” he asked.

“He has been in the service of my family for fifteen years. He was my father’s valet at the Hague.”

“Is his name Juckes?” he inquired.

“Yes.”

“Ah! I know him. He is absolutely trustworthy; a most excellent man.”

The Earl’s manner surprised me. His face, usually calm, sphinx-like and expressionless, betrayed the most intense anxiety and suspicion. That my delay had caused him great annoyance was apparent, but the anxious expression upon his ashen, almost haggard face was such, that even in moments of extreme perplexity, when dealing with one or other of the many complex questions of foreign policy, it had never been so intense.

Standing with his back to one of the great bay windows that commanded extensive views of the picturesque park, he was silent for a moment, then turning his keen, grey eyes upon me, he suddenly exclaimed, in a tone of extreme gravity—

“Since yesterday, Deedes, a catastrophe has occurred.”

“You briefly hinted at it in your telegram,” I answered. “What is its nature?”

“The most serious that has happened during the whole of my administration,” he said in a voice that plainly betrayed his agitation. “The clauses of the secret defensive alliance which Hammerton brought from Berlin yesterday are known in St. Petersburg.”

“What!” I cried in alarm, remembering the Earl’s words, and his elaborate precautions to preserve its secrecy. “Surely they cannot be already known?”

“We have been tricked by spies, Deedes,” he answered sternly. “Read this,” and he handed me a telegram in the private cipher known only to the Minister himself. Its transcript was written beneath, and at a glance I saw it was from a Russian official in the Foreign Office at St. Petersburg, who acted as our secret agent there and received a large sum yearly for his services. The dispatch, which showed that it had been handed in at Hamburg at six o’clock on the previous evening—all secret messages being sent in the first instance to that city—and re-transmitted—read as follows:—

“Greatest excitement caused here by receipt by telegraph an hour ago of verbatim copy of secret defensive alliance between England and Germany. Have seen telegram, which was handed in at 369, Strand, London, at 3:30. Just called at Embassy and informed Lord Strathavon. Council of Ministers has been summoned.”

“It is amazing,” I gasped, when I had read the dispatch. “How could our enemies have learned the truth?”

Without replying he took from his writing-table another message, which read:—

“From Strathavon, St. Petersburg. To the Earl of Warnham, London.—Defensive alliance known here. Hostilities feared. French ambassador has had audience at Winter Palace, and telegraphed to Paris for instruction. Shall wire hourly.”

One by one he took up the telegraphic dispatches which, during the night, had been re-transmitted from the Foreign Office over the private wire to the instrument that stood upon a small table opposite us. As I read each of them eagerly, I saw plainly that Russia and France were in complete accord, and that we were on the verge of a national disaster, sudden and terrible. With such secrecy and rapidity were negotiations being carried on between Paris and St. Petersburg, that in Berlin, a city always well-informed in all matters of diplomacy, nothing unusual was suspected.

A further telegram from our secret agent in the Russian Foreign Office, received an hour before my arrival at Warnham, read:—

“The secret is gradually leaking out. The Novosti has just issued a special edition hinting at the possibility of war with England, and this has caused the most intense excitement everywhere. The journal, evidently inspired, gives no authority for its statement, nor does it give any reason for the startling rumour.”

I laid down the dispatch in silence, and as I raised my head the Minister’s keen, penetrating eyes met mine.

“Well,” he exclaimed, in a dry, harsh tone. “What is is your explanation, sir?”

“My explanation?” I cried, in amazement, noticing his determined demeanour. “I know nothing of the affair except the telegrams you have shown me.”

“Upon you alone the responsibility of this catastrophe rests,” he said angrily. “It is useless to deny all knowledge of it and only aggravates your offence. Because you come of a diplomatic family I have trusted you implicitly, but it is evident that my confidence has been utterly misplaced.”

“I deny that I have ever, for a single instant, betrayed the trust you have placed in me,” I replied hotly. “I know nothing of the means by which the Tzar’s army of spies have obtained knowledge of our secret.”

He snapped his bony fingers impatiently, saying—

“It is not to be expected that you will acknowledge yourself a traitor to your country, sir; therefore we must prove your guilt.”

“You are at liberty, of course, to act in what manner you please,” I answered. “I tell you frankly, however, that this terrible charge you bring against me is as startling as the information I have just read. I can only say I am entirely innocent.”

“Bah!” he cried, turning on his heel with a gesture of disgust. Then, facing me again, his eyes flashing with anger, he added, “If you are innocent, tell me why you were so long absent yesterday when registering the dispatch; tell me why, when such an important document was in your possession, you did not remain in the office instead of being absent over an hour?”

“I went out to lunch,” I said.

“With the document in your pocket?”

“Yes. But surely you do not suspect me of being a spy?” I cried.

“I do not suspect you, sir. I have positive proof of it.”

“Proof!” I gasped. “Show it to me.”

“It is here,” he answered, his thin, nervous hands turning over the mass of papers littering his writing-table, and taking from among them an official envelope. In an instant I recognised it as the one containing the treaty.

“This remains exactly as I took it from the safe with my own hands and cut it open.”

With trembling fingers I drew the document from its envelope and opened it.

The paper was blank!

I glanced at him in abject dismay, unable to utter a word.

“That is what you handed me on my return from the Cabinet Council,” he said, with knit brows. “Now, what explanation have you to offer?”

“What can I offer?” I cried. “The envelope I gave you was the same that you handed to me. I could swear to it.”

“No, it was not,” he replied quickly. “Glance at the seal.”

Taking it to the light I examined the seal carefully, but failed to detect anything unusual. It bore in black wax the Warnham coat of arms impressed by the large, beautifully-cut amethyst which the Earl wore attached to the piece of rusty silk ribbon that served him as watch chain.

“I can see nothing wrong with this,” I said, glancing up at him.

“I admit that the imitation is so carefully executed that it is calculated to deceive any eye except my own.” Then, putting on his pince-nez, he made an impression in wax with his own seal and pointed out a slight flaw which, in the impression upon the envelope, did not exist.

“And your endorsement. Is it not in your own hand?” he inquired.

I turned over the envelope and looked. It bore the designation “B27,893,” just as I had written it, and the writing was either my own or such a marvellously accurate imitation that I was compelled to confess my inability to point out any discrepancy.

“Then the writing is yours, eh?” the Earl asked abruptly. “If it is, you must be aware who forged the seal.”

“The writing certainly contains all the characteristics of mine, but I am not absolutely sure it is not a forgery. In any case, I am confident that the document you gave me I handed back to you.” Then I explained carefully, and in detail, the events which occurred from the time he gave the treaty into my possession, up to the moment I handed it back to him.

“But how can you account for giving back to me a blank sheet of paper in an envelope secured by a forged seal?” he asked, regarding me with undisguised suspicion. “You do not admit even taking it from your pocket, neither have you any suspicion of the friend with whom you lunched. I should like to hear his independent version.”

“That is impossible,” I answered.

“Why?” he asked, pricking up his ears and scenting a mystery.

“Because he is dead.”

At that moment our conversation was interrupted by the sharp ringing of the bell of the telegraph instrument near us, and an instant later the telegraphist in charge entered, and seated himself at the table.

Click, click, click—click—click began the needle, and next moment the clerk, turning to the Earl, exclaimed—

“An important message from St. Petersburg, your Lordship.”

“Read it as it comes through,” the Earl replied breathlessly, walking towards the instrument and bending eagerly over it.

Then, as the rapid metallic click again broke the silence, the clerk, in monotonous tones, exclaimed—

“From Lobetski, St. Petersburg, via Hamburg. To Earl of Warnham.—A proclamation signed by the Tzar declaring war against England has just been received at the Foreign Office, but it is as yet kept secret. It will probably be posted in the streets this evening. Greatest activity prevails at the War Office and Admiralty. Regiments in the military districts of Charkoff, Odessa, Warsaw and Kieff have received orders to complete their cadres of officers to war strength, recalling to the colours all officers on the retired list and on leave. This is a preliminary step to the complete mobilisation of the Russian forces. All cipher messages now refused.”

The Earl, with frantic effort, grasped at the edge of the table, then staggered unevenly, and sank back into a chair, rigid and speechless.