The Golden Face Part 28

My destination was Sofia, the Bulgarian capital, and the journey by the Orient Express across Europe was a long and tedious one.

I was much occupied with the piece of scheming which I had undertaken to carry out in Sofia. My patriotism had led me to attempt a very difficult task--one which would require delicate tact and a good deal of courage and resource, but which would, if successful, Rayne had said, mean that a loan of three millions would be raised in London, and that British influence would become paramount in that go-ahead country, which ere long must be the power of the Balkans.

The tentacles of the great criminal octopus which Rayne controlled were indeed far-spread. In this he was making a bid for fortune, without a doubt.

To the majority of people, the Balkan States are, even to-day, _terra incognita_. The popular idea is that they are wild, inaccessible countries, inhabited by brigands. That is not so. True, there are brigands, even now after the war, in the Balkans, but Belgrade, the Serbian capital, is as civilized as Berlin, and the main boulevard of Sofia, whither I was bound, is at night almost a replica of the Boulevard des Italiens.

I knew, however, that there were others in Sofia upon the same errand as myself, emissaries of other Governments and other financial houses.

Therefore in those three long, never-ending days and nights which the journey occupied, my mind was constantly filled with the thoughts of the best and most judicious course to pursue in order to attain my object.

The run East was uneventful, save for one fact--at the Staatsbahnhof, at Vienna, just before our train left for Budapest, a queer, fussy little old man in brown entered and was given the compartment next to mine.

His nationality I could not determine. He spoke in a deep guttural voice with the fair-bearded conductor of the train, but by his clothes--which were rather dandified for so old a man--I did not believe him to be a native of the Fatherland.

I heard him rumbling about with his bags in the next compartment, apparently settling himself, when of a sudden, my quick ear caught an imprecation which he uttered to himself in English.

A few hours later, at dinner in the _wagon-restaurant_, I found him placed at the same little table opposite me, and naturally we began to chat. He spoke in French, perfect French it was, but refused to speak English, though, of course, he could had he wished.

"Ah! _non_," he laughed. "I cannot. Excuse me. My p.r.o.nunciation is so faulty. Your English is so ve-ry deefecult!"

And so we talked in French, and I found the queer old fellow was on his way to Sofia. He seemed slightly deformed, his face was distinctly ugly, broad, clean-shaven, with a pair of black, piercing eyes that gave him a most striking appearance. His grey hair was long, his nose aquiline, his teeth protruding and yellow; and he was a grumbler of the most p.r.o.nounced type. He growled at the food, at the service, at the draughts, at the light in the restaurant, at the staleness of the bread we had brought with us from Paris, and at the b.u.t.ter, which he declared to be only Danish margarine.

His complaints were amusing. At first the _maitre d'hotel_ bustled about to do the bidding of the newcomer, but very quickly summed him up, and only grinned knowingly when called to listen to his biting sarcasm of the Compagnie Internationale des Wagons-Lit and all its works.

Next day, at Semlin, where our pa.s.sports were examined, the pa.s.sport officer took off his hat to him, bowed low and _vised_ his pa.s.sport without question, saying, as he handed back the doc.u.ment to its owner:

"Bon voyage, Highness."

I stared at the pair. My fussy friend with the big head must therefore be either a prince or a grand duke!

As I sat opposite him at dinner that night, he was discussing with me the harmful writings of some newly discovered Swiss author who was posing as a cheap philosopher, and denouncing them as dangerous to the community. He leaned his elbow upon the narrow table and supported his clean-shaven chin upon his fingers, displaying to me--most certainly by accident--the palm of his thin right hand.

What I discovered there caused me a great deal of surprise. In its center was a dark, livid mark, as though it had been branded there by a hot iron, the plain and distinct imprint of a pet dog's pad!

It fascinated me. There was some hidden meaning in that mark, I felt convinced. It was just as though a small dog had stepped in blood with one of its forepaws and trodden upon his hand.

Whether he noticed that I had detected it or not, I cannot say, but he moved his hand quickly, and ever after kept it closed.

His name, he told me, was Konstantinos Va.s.sos, and he lived in Athens.

But I took that information _c.u.m grano_, for I instinctively knew him to be a prince traveling incognito. Before the pa.s.sport officer at Semlin, every one must pa.s.s before entering Serbia.

But if actually a prince, why did he carry a pa.s.sport?

There is no good hotel at Sofia. The best is called the Grand Hotel de Bulgarie, kept by a pleasant old lady, and in this we found ourselves next night installed. He, of course, gave his name as Va.s.sos, and to all intents and purposes was more of a stranger in the Bulgarian capital than I myself was, for I had been there previously once just before the war.

Now Rayne had given me a letter of introduction to a certain Nicolas t.i.teroff, who contrived rather mysteriously to get me elected to the smart diplomats' club--the Union--during my stay.

The days pa.s.sed. From the first morning of my arrival I found myself at once in the vortex of gayety; invitations poured in upon me--thanks to the black-bearded t.i.teroff--cards for dances here and there and receptions and dinners, while I spent each afternoon with t.i.teroff and a wandering Englishman named Mayhew, who told me he was an ex-colonel in the British Army.

All the while, I must confess, I was working my cards carefully.

Thanks to the mysterious t.i.teroff I had received an introduction to Nicholas Petkoff, the grave, grey-haired Minister of Finance, who had early in life lost his right arm at the battle of the s.h.i.+pka Pa.s.s--and he was inclined to admit my proposals. A French syndicate had approached him, but Petkoff would have none of them.

The mission entrusted to me by Rayne was one which, if I could obtain the Government Concession which I asked, would mean the formation of a great company and a matter of millions. And it seemed to me that my black-bearded friend t.i.teroff, and Mayhew, were both pulling the strings cleverly for me in the right direction. Often I considered whether they were both crooks and members of the gang organized by Rayne. I could not determine.

One night at the weekly dance at the Military Club--a function at which the smart set of Sofia always attend, and at which the Ministers of State themselves with their women-folk put in an appearance--I had been waltzing with the Minister Petkoff's daughter, a pretty, dark-haired girl in blue, whom I had met at t.i.teroff's house--when presently the Turkish attache, a pale-faced young man in a fez, introduced me to a tall, very handsome, sweet-faced girl in a black evening gown.

Mademoiselle Balesco was her name, and I found her inexpressibly charming. She spoke French perfectly, and English quite well. She had been at school in England, she said--at Scarborough. Her home was at Galatz, in Roumania.

We had several dances, and afterwards I took her down to supper. Then we had a couple of fox-trots, and I conducted her out to the car that was awaiting her and bowing, watched her drive off, alone.

But while doing so, there came along the pavement, out of the shadow, the short, ugly figure of the old Greek, Va.s.sos, with his coat collar turned up, evidently pa.s.sing without noticing me.

A few days later when in the evening I was chatting with Mayhew at the hotel, he said:

"What have you been up to, Hargreave? Look here! This letter was left upon me, with a note, asking me to give it to you in secret. Looks like a woman's hand! Mind what you're about in this place, old chap.

There are some nasty pitfalls, you know!"

With a bachelor's curiosity he was eager to know who was my fair correspondent. But I refused to satisfy him.

Suffice it to say that that same night I went alone to a house on the outskirts of Sofia, and there met, at her urgent request, Marie Balesco. After apologizing for thus approaching me and throwing all the _convenances_ to the wind, she seemed to be highly interested in my welfare, and very inquisitive concerning the reasons that had brought me to Bulgaria.

Like most women of to-day, she smoked, and offered me her cigarette-case. I took one--a delicious one it was, but rather strong--so strong, indeed, that a strange drowsiness suddenly overcame me. Before I could fight against it, the small, well-furnished room seemed to whirl about me, and I must have fallen unconscious. Indeed, I knew no more until, on awakening, I found myself back in my bed at the Hotel de Bulgarie.

I gazed at the morning suns.h.i.+ne upon the wall, and tried to recollect what had occurred.

My hand seemed strangely painful. Raising it from the sheets, I looked at it.

Upon my right palm, branded as by a hot iron, was the sign of the dog's pad!

Horrified, I stared at it! It was the same mark I had seen upon the hand of old Va.s.sos! What could be its significance?

In a few days the burn healed, leaving a dark red scar, the distinct imprint of a dog's foot. From Mayhew I tried, by cautious questions, to obtain some information concerning the fair-faced girl who had played such a trick upon me. But he only knew her slightly. He amazed me by saying that she had been staying with a certain Madame Sovoff, who was something of a mystery, but had left Sofia.

Va.s.sos, who was still at the hotel, annoyed me on account of his extreme politeness, and the manner in which he appeared to spy upon my movements.

I came across him everywhere. Inquiries concerning the reason of the ugly Greek's presence in Bulgaria met with a negative result. One thing seemed certain, he was not, as I believed, a prince incognito.

How I longed to go to him, show him the mark upon my hand, and demand an explanation. But my curiosity was aroused, therefore I patiently awaited developments, my revolver always ready in my pocket in case of foul play.

The mysterious action of the pretty girl from Galatz also puzzled me.

At last the Cabinet, after much political jugglery, being deposed, the Council were in complete accord with Petkoff regarding my proposals.

All had been done in secret from the party in opposition, and one day I had lunched with His Excellency the Minister of Finance at his house in the suburbs of the city.

Nevertheless, I was obsessed by the strange mark which had been so mysteriously placed upon my hand--the same mark as that borne by the mysterious Va.s.sos.

"You may send a cipher dispatch to London if you like, Mr. Hargreave,"

said the Minister Petkoff, as we sat over our cigars. "The doc.u.ments will be all signed at the Cabinet meeting at noon to-morrow. In exchange for this loan raised in London, all the contracts for the new quick-firing guns and ammunition go to your group of London financiers."