Her Majesty's Minister Part 44

Sous les eclats de la foudre On vit tomber, noir de poudre, Le dernier de ces vaillants, Il cria: Vive la France!

Et l'echo repondit: France!...

En avant!... Serrez vos rangs!...

I paused for a moment to glance at them. Truly the public spirit in Paris was everywhere anti-English. Fashoda had never been forgotten, and out of our difficulties with the Transvaal much capital was being made by the rabid organs of the Press.

Then I walked on until, at the corner of the Avenue de la Grande Armee and the Rue des Acacias, I suddenly became aware of two men walking slowly in front of me in earnest conversation. They were speaking in Italian, a language which I knew well, and it was a sentence I overheard which attracted my attention and caused me to glance at them.

Both were shabbily attired, and presented the signs of those hungry night-birds who creep forth at set of sun and slink about the boulevards. One wore a grey, soft felt hat stuck a trifle askew, as if its owner aimed at a rakish appearance, while the other wore a crumpled silk hat with a flat brim, the headgear typically Parisian.

Together, walking arm-in-arm, absorbed in their conversation, they pa.s.sed beneath the big electric lamp which lit the street-refuge, and as the light fell upon them I drew back quickly in order to escape observation.

Those words in Italian had attracted me, and I now saw in front of me the two men whom I most desired to meet. The man who wore the high silk hat was none other than Rodolphe Wolf, while the other was that ingenious adventurer whom I had discovered at Ryburgh, Paolo Bertini.

They strolled along in a casual manner, as though well aware that out of doors they could talk freely. The fact that they spoke in Italian proved their desire to escape eavesdroppers. At the moment of recognition I had drawn back and allowed them to advance some distance in front; then, lounging along slowly, I followed them across the Avenue des Termes, up the narrow Rue Poncelet, and, traversing the Avenue Wagram, pa.s.sed through a number of small streets until they suddenly halted before a small and uninviting-looking little cafe in the Rue Legendre, a few doors from the Mairie of Batignolles.

I was surprised to discover that Wolf was actually in Paris, while the presence of Bertini seemed to bear out all that Kaye had told me earlier in the evening. During the walk the Italian had pulled from his pocket a paper, which he handed to his companion, who stood for a moment beneath a street lamp reading it. Then he laughed lightly, folded it, and handed it back with an air of satisfaction. As neither of the interesting pair had once turned back, I had followed them entirely unnoticed.

Fortunately for me I was wearing a new overcoat, the astrakhan collar of which was turned up, the wind being chilly, so that my features were half-concealed. But the shabby appearance of the pair was in itself suspicious. Wolf had always been something of a fop, and it was scarcely possible that if he were a secret agent he could have fallen upon evil days.

I glanced at their boots. Those worn by Bertini were good ones of russet leather, while those of his companion were a smart pair of "patents." This fact told me that for some unknown reason they had a.s.sumed the garb of loungers rapidly, and had not had time to change their boots. They had been, or were going, to some place where to be dressed well would arouse undue attention. That seemed certain.

I was standing back in the shadow of a doorway watching them, when suddenly, after some consultation, as it seemed, they entered the little cafe.

It was a frowsy, dirty place, at the window of which hung faded red blinds, much stained and fly-blown. From where I stood I could see that the ceiling, once white, was brown and discoloured by the gas, and the gilt decorations blackened and smoke-begrimed. It was called the Cafe de l'Etoile.

Dare I enter and risk detection?

Now that I had discovered them I intended to watch and find out where they were staying, so that Kaye and his staff might keep them under observation. The reason for their presence in Paris was without doubt a sinister one. Of all the men in the whole world who were my enemies the man Wolf was the bitterest; and next to him was this dark-faced Italian, with whom he had been walking so confidentially arm-in-arm.

As I stood in hesitation, an ill-dressed, unkempt fellow reeled out of the cafe, singing in a husky voice a vagabond song. His hat was askew, and he beat time with his finger:

Qu' ca peut vous faire ou qu' nous allons?

Ca vous r'garde pas, que j' suppose.

D'abord, j'allons ou qu' nous voulons...

... Ou qu' vous voulez... c'est la mem' chose.

Vous etes d' ceux qu'ont des etats?

Ben! que qu' vous voulez qu' ca nous foute?

Des etats!... j'en connaissons pas...

Nous, not' metier, c'est d'marcher su' la route.

I strolled past the place and peered inside. A quick scrutiny sufficed to show that the two men were not visible; therefore, I concluded that they were at a table close behind the door. Thrice I pa.s.sed and repa.s.sed, until I became convinced of the fact. The red blinds were drawn, and, although the door was half open, I could not, from the pavement, see who was sitting at the table behind it. In Paris, however, it is often a trick of those who lounge in cafes and desire to pa.s.s unnoticed to sit close behind the door with their backs to it, thus occupying a position which does not in the least expose them to pa.s.sers-by.

Presently, emboldened by the fact that the little place seemed sleepy and half-deserted, I lit a cigarette, and, slipping into the doorway, stood with my ears open to catch every sound. Yes, they were there, as I had supposed. I heard words in Italian spoken rather low and confidentially. I distinctly heard my own name mentioned, together with that of the Princess von Leutenberg. Wolf it was who spoke of her sneeringly.

"I've seen her of late in Vienna," he laughed. "Retirement at Rudolstadt did not suit her."

"Is there any truth in what is said regarding the reason of her stay at Chantoiseau?"

"Certainly," replied Wolf.

"Serious for her--eh?" remarked his companion.

"Very. She will be taught a lesson," was the response.

"And at the British Emba.s.sy, what do they know?" asked Bertini.

"They are, as usual, utterly unsuspecting, and will remain so until the mine explodes. We have laid it cleverly this time, and it cannot fail."

"I wonder whether the Princess told Ingram anything while he was a guest at Chantoiseau?" asked Bertini.

"She dare not. But what of the English girl? It is said she loves him."

"No," replied the Italian quickly, "I have her completely in my power.

She cannot utter a word."

"She's a useful agent, I suppose?"

"Yes, at times. A girl of her character and appearance is never suspected."

"And of Yolande? She was in London a month ago a.s.sisting me. Where is she now?"

"In Rome, I think; but I am not certain," was the response. "Some little time ago I met Lord Barmouth's daughter, with a view to bringing them together as friends, for by so doing I saw that we might gain some valuable information," Wolf said. "The project, however, unfortunately failed, because of Ingram."

"May an accident occur to him!" exclaimed Bertini, using an Italian oath. "He stands in our way at all times. I have not forgotten how cleverly he tricked me in Brussels and obtained the negatives of half a dozen doc.u.ments from other emba.s.sies."

"He is more dangerous to our plans than Kaye and the whole British secret service put together," Wolf remarked. I could hear that, by way of emphasis, he struck the table heavily as he spoke these words. "If we could only contrive to suppress him!"

"Ah, but how?"

A silence fell between the pair.

"In some countries," remarked Wolf in a low voice, "he would die suddenly. Here, in Paris, it would be dangerous."

These men were actually plotting to take my life; I stood there motionless, my ears strained to catch every word, my feet rooted to the spot. "Why so dangerous?" asked the Italian.

"Because the English girl might betray us, or, failing her, there is the Princess."

"The Princess! Bah!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Bertini.

"She would never utter a syllable. She has too much to gain by silence."

"But the girl Austin? What of her?"

"I admit that she might instantly give us away if one of these days her lover was found mysteriously dead. Nevertheless, if the situation becomes acute, well, we must resort to a desperate remedy, that's all."

I smiled within myself. Happily I had overheard this extremely interesting conversation, and should now be on my guard against both spies and a.s.sa.s.sins. It was lucky for me that they feared Edith; otherwise murder would have been a mere nothing to them. That they were not discussing an impossibility I well knew, for during my career as a diplomatist I had known of at least half a dozen cases where persons had been found dead under mysterious circ.u.mstances; and also that the crime of murder had actually been brought home to the members of the secret service of the various Powers. They are unscrupulous gentlemen, these spies, and hesitate at nothing in their feverish desire to do the bidding of their masters and obtain the rewards so temptingly offered to them.

The men dropped their voices so low that for a few minutes I could distinguish nothing, while another vulgar-looking, ruffianly fellow opened the door suddenly and emerged. As long as I heard their voices in consultation I felt secure from discovery. I determined to remain there in the doorway calmly smoking, as though awaiting the arrival of a friend.