Mysterious Mr. Sabin Part 20

"Tell me the man's name."

"Why?"

"I will get you the letter."

"He would not give it you. You could not make him."

Wolfenden's eyes flashed with a sudden fire.

"You are mistaken," he said. "The man who holds for blackmail over a woman's head, a letter written twenty years ago, is a scoundrel! I will get that letter from him. Tell me his name!"

Lady Deringham shuddered.

"Wolfenden, it would bring trouble! He is dangerous. Don't ask me. At least I have kept my word to him. It was not my fault that we were disturbed. He will not molest me now."

"Mother, I will know his name!"

"I cannot tell it you!"

"Then I will find it out; it will not be difficult. I will put the whole matter in the hands of the police. I shall send to Scotland Yard for a detective. There are marks underneath the window. I picked up a man's glove upon the library floor. A clever fellow will find enough to work upon. I will find this blackguard for myself, and the law shall deal with him as he deserves."

"Wolfenden, have mercy! May I not know best? Are my wishes, my prayers, nothing to you?"

"A great deal, mother, yet I consider myself also a judge as to the wisest course to pursue. The plan which I have suggested may clear up many things. It may bring to light the real object of this man. It may solve the mystery of that impostor, Wilmot. I am tired of all this uncertainty. We will have some daylight. I shall telegraph to-morrow morning to Scotland Yard."

"Wolfenden, I beseech you!"

"So also do I beseech you, mother, to tell me that man's name. Great heavens!"

Wolfenden sprang suddenly from his chair with startled face. An idea, slow of coming, but absolutely convincing from its first conception, had suddenly flashed home to him. How could he have been so blind? He stood looking at his mother in fixed suspense. The light of his knowledge was in his face, and she saw it. She had been dreading this all the while.

"It was Mr. Sabin!--the man who calls himself Sabin!"

A little moan of despair crept out from her lips. She covered her face with her hands and sobbed.

CHAPTER x.x.x.

THE GATHERING OF THE WAR-STORM.

Mr. Sabin, entering his breakfast-room as usual at ten o'clock on the following morning, found, besides the usual pile of newspapers and letters, a telegram, which had arrived too late for delivery on the previous evening. He opened it in leisurely fas.h.i.+on whilst he sipped his coffee. It was handed in at the Charing Cross Post Office, and was signed simply "K.":-- "Just returned. When can you call and conclude arrangements? Am anxious to see you. Read to-night's paper.--K."

The telegram slipped from Mr. Sabin's fingers. He tore open the St. James's Gazette, and a little exclamation escaped from his lips as he saw the thick black type which headed the princ.i.p.al columns:-- "EXTRAORDINARY TELEGRAM OF THE GERMAN EMPEROR TO MOENIG! GERMAN SYMPATHY WITH THE REBELS! WARs.h.i.+PS ORDERED TO DELAMERE BAY! GREAT EXCITEMENT ON THE STOCK EXCHANGE!"

Mr. Sabin's breakfast remained untasted. He read every word in the four columns, and then turned to the other newspapers. They were all ablaze with the news. England's most renowned ally had turned suddenly against her. Without the slightest warning the fire-brand of war had been kindled, and waved threateningly in our very faces. The occasion was hopelessly insignificant. A handful of English adventurers, engaged in a somewhat rash but plucky expedition in a distant part of the world, had met with a sharp reverse. In itself the affair was nothing; yet it bade fair to become a matter of international history. Ill-advised though they may have been, the Englishmen carried with them a charter granted by the British Government. There was no secret about it--the fact was perfectly understood in every Cabinet of Europe. Yet the German Emperor had himself written a telegram congratulating the State which had repelled the threatened attack. It was scarcely an invasion--it was little more than a demonstration on the part of an ill-treated section of the population! The fact that German interests were in no way concerned--that any outside interference was simply a piece of gratuitous impertinence--only intensified the significance of the incident. A deliberate insult had been offered to England; and the man who sat there with the paper clenched in his hand, whilst his keen eyes devoured the long columns of wonder and indignation, knew that his had been the hand which had hastened the long-pent-up storm. He drew a little breath when he had finished, and turned to his breakfast.

"Is Miss Sabin up yet?" he asked the servant, who waited upon him.

The man was not certain, but withdrew to inquire. He reappeared almost directly. Miss Sabin had been up for more than an hour. She had just returned from a walk, and had ordered breakfast to be served in her room.

"Tell her," Mr. Sabin directed, "that I should be exceedingly obliged if she would take her coffee with me. I have some interesting news."

The man was absent for several minutes. Before he returned Helene came in. Mr. Sabin greeted her with his usual courtesy and even more than his usual cordiality.

"You are missing the best part of the morning with your Continental habits," she exclaimed brightly. "I have been out on the cliffs since half-past eight. The air is delightful."

She threw off her hat, and going to the sideboard, helped herself to a cup of coffee. There was a becoming flush upon her cheeks--her hair was a little tossed by the wind. Mr. Sabin watched her curiously.

"You have not, I suppose, seen a morning paper--or rather last night's paper?" he remarked.

She shook her head.

"A newspaper! You know that I never look at an English one," she answered. "You wanted to see me, Reynolds said. Is there any news?"

"There is great news," he answered. "There is such news that by sunset to-day war will probably be declared between England and Germany!"

The flush died out of her cheeks. She faced him pallid to the lips.

"It is not possible!" she exclaimed.

"So the whole world would have declared a week ago! As a matter of fact it is not so sudden as we imagine! The storm has been long brewing! It is we who have been blind. A little black spot of irritation has spread and deepened into a war-cloud."

"This will affect us?" she asked.

"For us," he answered, "it is a triumph. It is the end of our schemes, the climax of our desires. When Knigenstein came to me I knew that he was in earnest, but I never dreamed that the torch was so nearly kindled. I see now why he was so eager to make terms with me."

"And you," she said, "you have their bond?"

For a moment he looked thoughtful.

"Not yet. I have their promise--the promise of the Emperor himself. But as yet my share of the bargain is incomplete. There must be no more delay. It must be finished now--at once. That telegram would never have been sent from Berlin but for their covenant with me. It would have been better, perhaps, had they waited a little time. But one cannot tell! The opportunity was too good to let slip."

"How long will it be," she asked, "before your work is complete?"

His face clouded over. In the greater triumph he had almost forgotten the minor difficulties of the present. He was a diplomatist and a schemer of European fame. He had planned great things, and had accomplished them. Success had been on his side so long that he might almost have been excused for declining to reckon failure amongst the possibilities. The difficulty which was before him now was as trifling as the uprooting of a hazel switch after the conquest of a forest of oaks. But none the less for the moment he was perplexed. It was hard, in the face of this need for urgent haste, to decide upon the next step.

"My work," he said slowly, "must be accomplished at once. There is very little wanted. Yet that little, I must confess, troubles me."

"You have not succeeded, then, in obtaining what you want from Lord Deringham?"

"No."

"Will he not help you at all?"

"Never."

"How, then, do you mean to get at these papers of his?"

"At present," he replied, "I scarcely know. In an hour or two I may be able to tell you. It is possible that it might take me twenty-four hours; certainly no longer than that."

She walked to the window, and stood there with her hands clasped behind her back. Mr. Sabin had lit a cigarette and was smoking it thoughtfully.

Presently she spoke to him.

"You will get them," she said; "yes, I believe that. In the end you will succeed, as you have succeeded in everything."

There was a lack of enthusiasm in her tone. He looked up quietly, and flicked the ash from the end of his cigarette.

"You are right," he said. "I shall succeed. My only regret is that I have made a slight miscalculation. It will take longer than I imagined. Knigenstein will be in a fever, and I am afraid that he will worry me. At the same time he is himself to blame. He has been needlessly precipitate."

She turned away from the window and stood before him. She had a look in her face which he had seen there but once before, and the memory of which had ever since troubled him.

"I want you," she said, "to understand this. I will not have any direct harm worked upon the Deringhams. If you can get what they have and what is necessary to us by craft--well, very good. If not, it must go! I will not have force used. You should remember that Lord Wolfenden saved your life! I will have nothing to do with any scheme which brings harm upon them!"

He looked at her steadily. A small spot of colour was burning high up on his pallid cheeks. The white, slender fingers, toying carelessly with one of the breakfast appointments, were shaking. He was very near being pa.s.sionately angry.

"Do you mean," he said, speaking slowly and enunciating every word with careful distinctness, "do you mean that you would sacrifice or even endanger the greatest cause which has ever been conceived in the heart of the patriot, to the whole skin of a household of English people? I wonder whether you realise the position as it stands at this moment. I am bound in justice to you to believe that you do not. Do you realise that Germany has closed with our offer, and will act at our behest; that only a few trifling sheets of paper stand between us and the fullest, the most glorious success? Is it a time, do you think, for scruples or for maudlin sentiment? If I were to fail in my obligations towards Knigenstein I should not only be dishonoured and disgraced, but our cause would be lost for ever. The work of many years would crumble into ashes. My own life would not be worth an hour's purchase. Helene, you are mad! You are either mad, or worse!"

She faced him quite unmoved. It was more than ever apparent that she was not amongst those who feared him.

"I am perfectly sane," she said, "and I am very much in earnest. Ours shall be a strategic victory, or we will not triumph at all. I believe that you are planning some desperate means of securing those papers. I repeat that I will not have it!"

He looked at her with curling lips.

"Perhaps," he said, "it is I who have gone mad! At least I can scarcely believe that I am not dreaming. Is it really you, Helene of Bourbon, the descendant of kings, a daughter of the rulers of France, who falters and turns pale at the idea of a little blood, shed for her country's sake? I am very much afraid," he added with biting sarcasm, "that I have not understood you. You bear the name of a great queen, but you have the heart of a serving-maid! It is Lord Wolfenden for whom you fear!"

She was not less firm, but her composure was affected. The rich colour streamed into her cheeks. She remained silent.

"For a betrothed young lady," he said slowly, "you will forgive me if I say that your anxiety is scarcely discreet. What you require, I suppose, is a safe conduct for your lover. I wonder how Henri would----"

She flashed a glance and an interjection upon him which checked the words upon his lips. The gesture was almost a royal one. He was silenced.

"How dare you, sir?" she exclaimed. "You are taking insufferable liberties. I do not permit you to interfere in my private concerns. Understand that even if your words were true, if I choose to have a lover it is my affair, not yours. As for Henri, what has he to complain of? Read the papers and ask yourself that! They chronicle his doings freely enough! He is singularly discreet, is he not?--singularly faithful!"

She threw at him a glance of contempt and turned as though to leave the room. Mr. Sabin, recognising the fact that the situation was becoming dangerous, permitted himself no longer the luxury of displaying his anger. He was quite himself again, calm, judicial, incisive.

"Don't go away, please," he said. "I am sorry that you have read those reports--more than sorry that you should have attached any particular credence to them. As you know, the newspapers always exaggerate; in many of the stories which they tell I do not believe that there is a single word of truth. But I will admit that Henri has not been altogether discreet. Yet he is young, and there are many excuses to be made for him. Apart from that, the whole question of his behaviour is beside the question. Your marriage with him was never intended to be one of affection. He is well enough in his way, but there is not the stuff in him to make a man worthy of your love. Your alliance with him is simply a necessary link in the chain of our great undertaking. Between you you will represent the two royal families of France. That is what is necessary. You must marry him, but afterwards--well, you will be a queen!"

Again he had erred. She looked at him with bent brows and kindling eyes.

"Oh! you are hideously cynical!" she exclaimed. "I may be ambitious, but it is for my country's sake. If I reign, the Court of France shall be of a new type; we will at least show the world that to be a Frenchwoman is not necessarily to abjure morals."

He shrugged his shoulders.

"That," he said, "will be as you choose. You will make your Court what you please. Personally, I believe that you are right. Such sentiments as you have expressed, properly conveyed to them, would make yours abjectly half the bourgeois of France! Be as ambitious as you please, but at least be sensible. Do not think any more of this young Englishman, not at any rate at present. Nothing but harm can come of it. He is not like the men of our own country, who know how to take a lady's dismissal gracefully."

"He is, at least, a man!"

"Helene, why should we discuss him? He shall come to no harm at my hands. Be wise, and forget him. He can be nothing whatever to you. You know that. You are pledged to greater things."

She moved back to her place by the window. Her eyes were suddenly soft, her face was sorrowful. She did not speak, and he feared her silence more than her indignation. When a knock at the door came he was grateful for the interruption--grateful, that is, until he saw who it was upon the threshold. Then he started to his feet with a little exclamation.

"Lord Wolfenden! You are an early visitor."

Wolfenden smiled grimly, and advanced into the room.

"I was anxious," he said, "to run no risk of finding you out. My mission is not altogether a pleasant one!"

CHAPTER x.x.xI.

"I MAKE NO PROMISE"

A single glance from Mr. Sabin into Wolfenden's face was sufficient. Under his breath he swore a small, quiet oath. Wolfenden's appearance was unlooked for, and almost fatal, yet that did not prevent him from greeting his visitor with his usual ineffusive but well bred courtesy.

"I am finis.h.i.+ng a late breakfast," he remarked. "Can I offer you anything--a gla.s.s of claret or Benedictine?"

Wolfenden scarcely heard him, and answered altogether at random. He had suddenly become aware that Helene was in the room; she was coming towards him from the window recess, with a brilliant smile upon her lips.

"How very kind of you to look us up so early!" she exclaimed.

Mr. Sabin smiled grimly as he poured himself out a liqueur and lit a cigarette. He was perfectly well aware that Wolfenden's visit was not one of courtesy; a single glance into his face had told him all that he cared to know. It was fortunate that Helene had been in the room. Every moment's respite he gained was precious.

"Have you come to ask me to go for a drive in that wonderful vehicle?" she said lightly, pointing out of the window to where his dogcart was waiting. "I should want a step-ladder to mount it!"

Wolfenden answered her gravely.

"I should feel very honoured at being allowed to take you for a drive at any time," he said, "only I think that I would rather bring a more comfortable carriage."

She shrugged her shoulders, and looked at him significantly.

"The one you were driving yesterday?"

He bit his lip and frowned with vexation, yet on the whole, perhaps, he did not regret her allusion. It was proof that she had not taken the affair too seriously.