some surprise, but I explained that I had been obliged to postpone my visit into the country.
“Miss Delora has asked twice about you this morning, sir,” he announced. “I gave her your country address.”
“Quite right,” I answered. “By the bye, is Mr. Delora visible yet?”
“Not yet, sir,” the man answered. “Rather a curious thing about his return, sir,” he added. “Not a soul has even seen him yet.”
I nodded, but made no remark. Presently the boy who had taken my card up returned.
“Miss Delora would be glad if you would step upstairs, sir,” he announced.
I followed him into the lift and up to number 157. Felicia was there alone. She rose from the couch as I entered, and waited until the door had closed behind the disappearing page. Then she held out her hands, and there was something in her eyes which I could not resist. I was suddenly ashamed of all my suspicions.
“So you have come back,” she said softly. “That is very kind of you, Capitaine Rotherby. I have been lonely–very lonely, indeed.”
“I have come back,” I answered, taking her hands into mine and holding them for a moment.
“I am nervous all the time, and afraid,” she continued, standing close by my side and looking up. “Only think of it, Capitaine Rotherby,–it is this journey to London to which I have been looking forward for so many, many years, and now that it has come I am miserable!”
“Your uncle–” I asked.
“They told me what was not true!” she exclaimed. “He is not back. I am here all alone. He does not come to me, and he will not let me go to him. But you will sit down, Capitaine Rotherby?” she added. “You are not in a hurry? You are not going away again?”
“Not just yet, at any rate,” I admitted. “Do you know that after all this is a very small world! I have come to pay you a formal call on behalf of my brother who is an invalid.”
Her eyes grew round with surprise.
“But I do not understand!” she said.
I told her of my brother’s letter from South America. She listened with interest which seemed mingled with anxiety.
“It is very strange,” she said, when I had finished,–“very delightful, too, of course!” she added hurriedly. “Tell me, is it my uncle Maurice or my uncle Ferdinand of whom your brother spoke most in his letter?”
“He did not mention the Christian names of either,” I told her. “He simply said that one of the Mr. Deloras and his niece were coming to London, and he begged us to do all we could to make their visit pleasant. Do you know,” I continued, “that as I came along I had an idea?”
“Yes?” she exclaimed.
“Why shouldn’t you come down into the country,” I said, “to my aunt’s? She will send you a telegram at once if I tell her to, and we could all stay together down at Feltham,–my brother’s house in Norfolk. You are out of place here. You are not enjoying yourself, and you are worried to death. Beside which,” I added more slowly, “you are mixed up with people with whom you should have nothing whatever to do.”
“If only I could!” she murmured. “If only I could!”
“Why not?” I said. “Mr. Delora comes here with an introduction which precludes my criticising his friends or his connections, however strange they may be, but it is very certain that you ought not to be left here alone to rely upon the advice of a head-waiter, to be practically at the beck and call of men of whose existence you should be unconscious. I want you to make up your mind and come away with me.”
A little flush of color stole into her cheeks, and her eyes danced with excitement.
“I do no good here!” she exclaimed. “Why not? You, too, Capitaine Rotherby,–you would come?”
“I would take you there,” I answered, “and I would do my best, my very best, to keep you entertained.”
“I shall ask!” she exclaimed. “To-night I shall ask.”
“Ask whom?” I inquired. “Louis?”
She shook her head.
“My uncle,” she answered.
“You will not see him!” I exclaimed.
“He will telephone,” she answered. “He has promised.”
I reached over towards her and took her hands into mine.
“Felicia,” I said boldly, “I am your friend. The letter I have told you of should prove that. I am only anxious for your good. Tell me what reason your uncle can have for behaving in this extraordinary way, for allowing himself to be associated even for a moment with such people as Louis and his friends?”
Everything that it had made me so happy to see in her face died away. She was once more wan and anxious.
“I cannot tell you,” she said,–“I cannot, because I dare not! I have promised! Only remember this. My uncle has lived in Paris for so many years–“
“But I thought that he had just come from South America!” I interrupted.
“Yes, but before that,” she explained breathlessly,–“before that! He loves the mysterious. He likes to be associated with strange people, and I do believe, too,” she continued, “that he has business just now which must be kept secret for the sake of other people. Oh, I know it must all seem so strange to you! Won’t you believe, Capitaine Rotherby, that I am grateful for your kindness, and that I would tell you if I could?”
“I must,” I answered, with a sigh. “I must believe what you tell me. Listen, then. I shall wait until you hear from your uncle.”
“Have you come back to your rooms?” she asked timidly.
“I shall do so,” I announced, “but I hope that it will be only for the night. To-morrow, if all goes well, we may be on our way to Norfolk.”
There was a knock at the door. She started, and looked at me a little uneasily. Almost immediately the door was pushed open. It was Louis who entered, bearing a menu card. He addressed me with a little air of surprise. I was at once certain that he had known of my visit, and had come to see what it might mean.
“Monsieur has returned very soon,” he remarked, bowing pleasantly.
“My journey was not a long one, Louis,” I answered. “What have you brought that thing for?” I continued, pointing to the menu card. “Do you want an order for dinner? Miss Delora is dining elsewhere with me!”
My tone was purposely aggressive. Louis’ manners, however, remained perfection.
“Miss Delora has engaged a table in the cafe,” he said. “I have come myself to suggest a little dinner. I trust she will not disappoint us.”
She looked at me pathetically. There was something which I could not understand in her face. Only I knew that whatever she might ask me I was prepared to grant.
“Will you not stay and dine here with me?” she said. “Louis will give us a very good dinner, and afterwards I shall have my message, and I shall know whether I may go or not.”
The humor of the idea appealed to me. There was suddenly something fantastic, unbelievable, in the events of last night.
“With pleasure!” I answered.
Louis bowed, and for a moment or two seemed entirely engrossed in the few additions he was making to the menu he carried. Then he handed it to me with a little bow.
“There, monsieur,” he said. “I think that you will find that excellent.”
“I have no doubt that we shall, Louis,” I answered. “I will only ask you to remember one thing.”
“And that, monsieur?” he asked.
“I dine with mademoiselle,” I said, “and our appetites are identical!”
Louis smiled. There were times when I suspected him of a sense of humor!
“Monsieur has not the thick neck of Bartot!” he murmured, as he withdrew.
CHAPTER XXIII
FELICIA
It seemed to me that Felicia that night was in her most charming mood. She wore a dress of some soft white material, and a large black hat, under which her face–a little paler even than usual–wore almost a pathetic aspect. Her fingers touched my arm as we entered the restaurant together. She seemed, in a way, to have lost some of her self-control,–the exclusiveness with which she had surrounded herself,–and to have become at once more natural and more girlish. I noticed that she chose a seat with her back to the room, and I understood her reason even before she told me.
“I think,” she said, “that to-night it would be pleasant to forget that there is any one here who disturbs me. I think it would be pleasant to remember only that this great holiday of mine, which I have looked forward to so long, has really begun.”
“You have looked forward to coming to London so much?” I asked.
“Yes!” she answered. “I have lived a very quiet life, Capitaine Rotherby. After the Sisters had finished with me–and I stayed at the school longer than any of the others–I went straight to the house of a friend of my uncle’s, where I had only a _dame de compagnie_. My uncle–he was so long coming, and the life was very dull. But always he wrote to me, ‘Some day I will take you to London!’ Even when we were in Paris together he would tell me that.”
“Tell me,” I asked, “what is your uncle’s Christian name?”
“I have three uncles,” she said, after a moment’s hesitation,–“Maurice, Ferdinand, and Nicholas. Nicholas lives all the time in South America. Maurice and Ferdinand are often in Paris.”
“And the uncle with whom you are now?” I asked.
I seemed to have been unfortunate in my choice of a conversation. Her eyes had grown larger. The quivering of her lips was almost pitiful.
“I am a clumsy ass!” I interrupted quickly. “I am asking you questions which you do not wish to answer. A little later on, perhaps, you will tell me everything of your own accord. But to-night I shall ask you nothing. We will remember only that the holiday has begun.”
She drew a little sigh of relief.
“You are so kind,” she murmured, “so very kind. Indeed I do not want to think of these things, which I do not understand, and which only puzzle me all the time. We will let them alone, is it not so? We will let them alone and talk about foolish things. Or you shall tell me about London, and the country–tell me what we will do. Indeed, I may go down to your home in Norfolk.”
“I think you will like it there,” I said. “It is too stuffy for London these months. My brother’s house is not far from the sea. There is a great park which stretches down to some marshes, and beyond that the sands.”
“Can one bathe?” she asked breathlessly.
“Of course,” I answered. “There is a private beach, and when we have people in the house at this time of the year we always have the motor-car ready to take them down and back. That is for those who bathe early. Later on it is only a pleasant walk. Then you can learn games if you like,–golf and tennis, cricket and croquet.”
“I should be so stupid,” she said, with a little regretful sigh. “In France they did not teach me those things. I can play tennis a little, but oh! so badly; and in England,” she continued, “you think so much of your games. Tell me, Capitaine Rotherby, will you think me very stupid in the country if I can do nothing but swim a little and play tennis very badly?”
“Rather not!” I answered. “There is the motor, you know. I could take you for some delightful drives. We should find plenty to do, I am sure, and I promise you that if only you will be as amiable as you are here I shall not find any fault.”
“You will like to have me there?” she asked.
Her question came with the simplicity of a child. She laughed softly with pleasure when I leaned over the table and whispered to her,–
“Better than anything else in the world!”
“I am not sure, Capitaine Rotherby,” she said, looking at me out of her great eyes, “whether you are behaving nicely.”
“If I am not,” I declared, “it is your fault! You should not look so charming.”
She laughed softly.
“And you should not make such speeches to a poor little foreign girl,” she said, “who knows so little of your London ways.”
Louis stood suddenly before us. We felt his presence like a cold shadow. The laughter died away from her eyes, and I found it difficult enough to address him civilly.
“Monsieur is well served?” he asked. “Everything all right, eh?”
“Everything is very good, as usual, Louis,” I answered. “The only thing that is amiss you cannot alter.”
“For example?” he asked.
“The atmosphere,” I answered. “It is no weather for London.”
“Monsieur is right,” he admitted. “He is thinking of departing for the country soon?”
“It depends a little upon mademoiselle,” I answered.
Louis shook his head very slowly. He had the air of a man who discusses something with infinite regret.
“It would be very delightful indeed,” he said, “if it were possible for mademoiselle to go into Norfolk to your brother’s house. It would be very good for mademoiselle, but I am not sure–I fear that her uncle–“
“How the mischief did you know anything about it?” I asked in amazement.
Louis smiled–that subtle, half-concealed smile which seemed scarcely to part his lips.
“Why should not mademoiselle have told me?” he asked.
“But I have not!” she declared suddenly. “I have not seen Louis since you were here this afternoon, Capitaine Rotherby.”
Louis extended his hands.
“It is true,” he admitted. “It is not from mademoiselle that I had the news. But there, one cannot tell. Things may alter at any moment. It may be very pleasant for Monsieur Delora that his niece is able to accept this charming invitation.”
“So you have been in communication with Mr. Delora, Louis?” I asked.
“Naturally,” Louis answered. “He told me of mademoiselle’s request. He told me that he had promised to reply at ten o’clock this evening.”
“Perhaps you can tell us,” I remarked, “what that reply will be?”
Louis’ face remained absolutely expressionless. He only shook his head.
“Mr. Delora is his own master,” he said. “It may suit him to be without mademoiselle, or it may not. Pardon, monsieur!”
Louis was gone, but he had left his shadow behind.
“He does not think,” she murmured, “that I may come!”
“Felicia,–” I said.
“But I did not say that you might call me Felicia!” she interrupted.
“Then do say so,” I begged.
“For this evening, then,” she assented.
“For this evening, then, Felicia,” I continued. “I do not wish to worry you by talking about certain things, but do you not think yourself that your uncle is very inconsiderate to leave you here alone on your first visit to London,–not to come near the place, or provide you with any means of amusement? Why should he hesitate to let you come to us?”
“We will not talk of it,” she begged, a little nervously. “I must do as he wishes. We will hope that he says yes, will we not?”
“He must say yes!” I declared. “If he doesn’t I’ll find out where he is, somehow, and go and talk to him!”
She shook her head.
“He is very much engaged,” she said. “He would not like you to find him out, nor would he have any time to talk to you.”
“Selling his coffee?” I could not help saying.
“To-night, Capitaine Rotherby,” she answered softly, “we do not talk of those things. Tell me what else we shall do down at your brother’s house?”
“We shall go for long walks,” I told her. “There are beautiful gardens there–a rose garden more than a hundred years old, and at the end of it a footpath which leads through a pine plantation and then down to the sea marshes. We can sit and watch the sea and talk, and when you find it dull we will fill the house with young people, and play games and dance–dance by moonlight, if you like. Or we can go fishing,” I continued. “There is a small yacht there and a couple of sailing-boats.”
She listened as though afraid of losing a single word.
“Tell me,” I asked, “have you been lonely all your life, child?”
“All my life,” she answered, and somehow or other her voice seemed to me full of tears, so that I was almost surprised to find her eyes dry. “Yes, I have always been lonely!” she murmured. “My uncle has been kind to me, but he has always some great scheme on hand, and Madame Muller–she would be kind if she knew how, I think, but she is as though she were made of wood. She has no sympathy, she does not understand.”
“I wonder,” I said reflectively, “what made your uncle bring you here.”
“It was a promise,” she said hurriedly,–“a promise of long ago. You yourself must know that. Your letter from your brother in South America said, ‘Mr. Delora and his niece.'”
“It is true,” I admitted. “But why he should want to bring you and then neglect you like this–But I forgot,” I interrupted. “We must not talk so. Tell me, you have been often to the theatre in Paris?”
“Very seldom,” she answered, “and I love it so much. Madame Muller and I go sometimes, but where we live is some distance from Paris, and it is difficult to get home afterwards, especially for us two alone. My uncle takes us sometimes, but he is generally so occupied.”
“He is often in Paris, then?” I asked.
She started a little.
“Yes!” she said hurriedly. “He is often there, of course. But please do not forget,–to-night we do not talk about my uncle. We talk about ourselves. May I ask you something?”
“Certainly!” I answered.
“If my uncle says ‘No!’–that I may not come–do you go away altogether, then, to-morrow?”
“No,” I answered, “I do not! I shall not leave you alone here. So long as you stay, I shall remain in London.”
She drew a little breath, and with a quick, impetuous movement her hand stole across the table and pressed mine.
“It is so good of you!” she murmured.
“I am afraid that it is selfishness, Felicia,” I answered. “I should not care to go away and leave you here. I am beginning to find,” I added, “that the pleasures in life which do not include you count for very little.”
“You will turn my head,” she declared, with a delightful little laugh.
“It is the truth,” I assured her.
“I am quite sure now,” she murmured, “that my great holiday has commenced!”
CHAPTER XXIV
A TANTALIZING GLIMPSE
Felicia laid down the receiver and looked at me. There was scarcely any need for words. Her disappointment was written into her white face.
“You are not to come!” I said.
“I am not–to come,” she repeated. “After all, my holiday is not yet.”
“Will you tell me,” I asked, “where I can find your uncle?”
She shook her head.
“You must not ask me such a thing,” she declared.
“Remember,” I said, “that I have really called to make his acquaintance as a matter of courtesy on behalf of my brother. What excuse do you give me for his absence? Tell me what it is that you are supposed to say in such a case?”
“Simply that he is away for a few days, engaged in the most important business,” she answered. “He will rejoin me here directly it is settled.”
“And in the meantime,” I said thoughtfully, “you are left in a strange hotel without friends, without a chaperon, absolutely unprotected, and with only a head-waiter in your confidence. Felicia, there is something very wrong here. I am not sure,” I continued, “that it is not my duty to run away with you.”
She clasped her hands.
“Delightful!” she murmured. “But I mustn’t think of it,” she added, with a sudden gravity, “nor must you talk to me like that. What my uncle says is best to be done. He knows and understands. If he has had to leave me here alone, it is because it is necessary.”
“You have a great deal of faith in him,” I remarked.
“He has always been kind to me,” she answered, “and I know that the business upon which he is engaged just now is hazardous and difficult. There are men who do not wish it to go through, and they watch for him. If they knew his whereabouts they would try to stop him.”
“Felicia, do you know what that business is?” I asked.
“I have some idea of it,” she answered.
Her answer puzzled me. If Felicia really had any idea as to the nature of it, and was content to play the part she was playing, it certainly could not be anything of an illicit nature. Yet everything else which had come under my notice pointed to Delora’s being associated with a criminal undertaking. I paced the room, deep in thought. Felicia all the time was watching me anxiously.
“You are not going to leave me?” she asked very softly.
I came to a standstill before her.
“No, Felicia,” I said, “I am not going to leave you! But I want to tell you this. I am going to try and find out for myself the things which you will not tell me. No, you must not try to stop me!” I said, anticipating the words which indeed had trembled upon her lips. “It must be either that or farewell, Felicia. I cannot remain here and do absolutely nothing. I want to find your uncle, and to have some sort of an explanation from him, and I mean to do it.”
She shook her head.
“There are others who are trying to find him,” she said, “but I do not think that they will succeed. The young man who was here the other night, for instance.”
“If I fail, I fail,” I answered. “At any rate, I shall be doing something. I must go back to my brother’s to-night, Felicia, because I have promised to stay with him. In a day or two I shall return to my rooms here, and I shall do my best to find out the meaning of your uncle’s mysterious movements. It may seem impertinent to you to interfere in anybody else’s concerns. I cannot help it. It is for your sake. The present position is impossible!”
“You are not staying here to-night?” she asked.
“To-night, no!” I answered. “I will let you know directly I return.”
“There is one thing else, Capitaine Rotherby. Could you promise it to me, I wonder?”
“I will try,” I answered.
“Do not quarrel any more, if you can help it,” she begged, “with Louis!”
Her question forced a laugh from my lips. Quarrel with Louis, indeed! What more could I do in that direction? Then I frowned, in temporary annoyance. I hated to hear her speak of him as a person to be considered.
“Louis is a venomous little person,” I said, “but I certainly should not quarrel with him more than I can help. I am, unfortunately, in his debt, or I should have dealt with him before now.”
I glanced at the clock and jumped up. It was very much later than I had thought. She gave me her hands a little wistfully.
“I do not like to think of you here alone,” I said. “I wish that I could persuade you to engage a maid.”
She shook her head.
“My uncle would not allow it,” she said simply. “He says that servants are always prying into one’s concerns. Good night, Capitaine Rotherby! Thank you so much for taking me out this evening. After all, I cannot help feeling that it has been rather like the beginning of this holiday.”
I held her hands tightly in mine.
“When it really begins,” I answered, “I shall try and make it a little more interesting!”
I declined a taxicab and turned to walk back to my brother’s hotel. Certainly in the problem of these two people who had come so curiously into my life there was very much to give me matter for thought. I believed in the girl, and trusted her. More than that I did not dare to ask myself! I should have believed in her, even if her uncle were proved to be a criminal of the most dangerous type. But none the less I could not help realizing that her present position was a singularly unfortunate one. To be alone in a big hotel, without maid or chaperon, herself caught up in this web of mystery which Louis and those others seemed to have woven around her, was in itself undesirable and unnatural. Whatever was transpiring, I was quite certain that her share in it was a passive one. She had been told to be silent, and she was silent. Nothing would ever make me believe that she was a party to any wrong-doing. And yet the more I thought of Delora the less I trusted him. At Charing Cross Station, for instance, his had not been the anxiety of a man intrusted with a difficult mission. His agitation had been due to fear,–fear abject and absolute. I had seen the symptoms more than once in my life, and there was no mistaking them. I told myself that no man could be so shaken who was engaged in honest dealings. Even now he was in hiding,–it could not be called anything else,–and the one person with whom I had come in touch who was searching for him was, without a doubt, on the side of law and justice, with at least some settled position behind him. Delora’s deportment was more the deportment of a fugitive from justice than of a man in the confidence of his government.
Walking a little carelessly, I took a turn too far northward, and found myself in one of the streets leading out of Shaftesbury Avenue. I was on the point of taking a passage which would lead me more in my proper direction, when my attention was attracted by a large motor-car standing outside one of the small foreign restaurants which abound in this district. I was always interested in cars, but I noticed this one more particularly from the fact of its utter incompatibility with its surroundings. It was one of the handsomest cars I had ever seen,–a sixty to eighty horse-power Daimler,–fitted up inside with the utmost luxury. The panels were plain, and the chauffeur, who sat motionless in his place, wore dark livery and was apparently a foreigner. I slackened my pace to glance for a moment at the non-skidding device on the back tire, and as I passed on I saw the door of the little restaurant open, and a tall _commissionnaire_ hurried out. He held open the door of the car and stood at attention. Two men issued from the restaurant and crossed the pavement. I turned deliberately round to watch them–vulgar curiosity, perhaps, but a curiosity which I never regretted. The first man–tall and powerful–wore the splendid dress and black silk cap of a Chinese of high rank. The man who followed him was Delora. I knew him in a second, although he wore a white silk scarf around his neck, concealing the lower part of his face, and a silk hat pushed down almost over his eyes. I saw his little nervous glance up and down the street, I saw him push past the _commissionnaire_ as though in a hurry to gain the semi-obscurity of the car. I stopped short upon the pavement, motionless for one brief and fatal moment. Then I turned back and hastened to the side of the car. I knocked at the window.
“Delora,” I said, “I must speak to you.”
The car had begun to move. I wrenched at the handle, but I found it held on the inside with a grip which even I could not move. I looked into the broad, expressionless face of the Chinaman, who, leaning forward, completely shielded the person of the man with whom I sought to speak.
“One moment,” I called out. “I must speak with Mr. Delora. I have a message for him.”
The car was going faster now. I tried to jump on to the step, but the first time I missed it. Then the window was suddenly let down. The Chinaman’s arm flashed out and struck me on the chest, so that I was forced to relinquish my grasp of the handle. I reeled back, preserving my balance only by a desperate effort. Before I could start in pursuit, the car had turned into the more crowded thoroughfare, and when I reached the spot where it had disappeared a few seconds later, it was lost amongst the stream of vehicles.
I went back to the restaurant. It was like a hundred others of its class–stuffy, smelly, reminiscent of the poorer business quarters of a foreign city. A waiter in a greasy dress-suit flicked some crumbs from a vacant table and motioned me to sit down. I ordered a Fin Champagne, and put half-a-crown into his hand.
“Tell me,” I said, “five minutes ago a Chinaman and another man were here.”
The man laid the half-crown down on the table. His manner had undergone a complete change.
“Perhaps so, sir,” he answered. “We have been busy to-night. I noticed nobody.”
I called the proprietor to me–a little pale-faced man with a black moustache, who had been hovering in the background. He hastened to my side, smiling and bowing. This time I did not ask him a direct question.
“I am interested in the restaurants of this quarter,” I said. “Some one has told me that your dinner is marvellous!”
He smiled a little suspiciously. The word was perhaps unfortunate!
“I am bringing some friends to try it very soon,” I said.
The waiter brought my Fin Champagne. I drank it and ordered a cigar.
“You have all sorts of people here,” I remarked. “I noticed a Chinaman–he was very much like the Chinese ambassador, by the bye–leaving as I came in.”
The proprietor extended his hands.
“We have people of every class, monsieur,” he assured me. “One comes and tells his friends, and they come, and so on. I believe that there was a Chinese gentleman here to-night. One does not notice. We were busy.”
I paid my bill and departed. The _commissionnaire_ pushed open the door, whistle in hand. He looked at me a little curiously. Without doubt he had watched my attempt to speak to Delora. I drew a half-sovereign from my pocket.
“Tell me,” I said, “do you want to earn that?”
He was a German, with a large pasty face and a yellow moustache. His eyes were small, and they seemed to contract with greed as they looked upon the coin.
“Sir!” he answered, with a bow.
“Who was the Chinese gentleman with the splendid motor-car?” I asked.
The man spread out his hands.
“Who can tell?” he said. “He dined here to-night in a private room.”
A private room! Well, that was something, at any rate!
“You do not know his name or where he comes from?” I asked.
The man shook his head, glancing nervously towards the interior of the restaurant.
“The other gentleman?” I asked.
“I do not know his name, sir,” the man declared with emphasis. “He has been here once or twice, but always alone.”
I put the half-sovereign in my pocket and drew out a sovereign. The man stretched out an eager hand which he suddenly dropped. He pointed down the street. The swing door of the restaurant remained closed, but over the soiled white curtain I also could see the face of the proprietor peering out.
“It is the second turn to the left,” the man said to me.
“And if you want that sovereign made into five,” I said carelessly, “my name is Captain Rotherby, and I am going from here to Claridge’s Hotel.”
I walked down the street and left him looking after me. At the corner I glanced around. The proprietor and the _commissionnaire_ were talking together on the pavement.
CHAPTER XXV
PRIVATE AND DIPLOMATIC
The following evening I dined alone with my brother, who was, for him, in an unusually cheerful frame of mind. He talked with more interest of life and his share in it than he had done–to me, at any rate–since the tragedy which had deprived him of a home. Toward the end of dinner I asked him a question.
“Ralph,” I said, “how could I meet the Chinese ambassador here?”
He stared at me for a moment.
“Why, at any of the diplomatic receptions, I suppose,” he said, seeing that I was in earnest. “He is rather a pal of Freddy’s. Why don’t you ring up and ask him?”
“I will, the moment after dinner,” I answered.
“Why this sudden interest in Orientalism?” Ralph asked curiously.
“Curiously enough, it is apropos of these Deloras,” I answered. “I called to-day, but only found the girl in. The man I saw later with a Chinaman whom I believe to be the ambassador.”
“What is the girl like?” my brother asked.
“Charming!” I answered. “I am writing Aunt Mary to invite her down to Feltham. The difficulty seems to be to get hold of Delora.”
“So you’ve written Aunt Mary, eh?” Ralph remarked, looking up at me. “Austen, I believe you’re gone on the girl!”
“I believe I am,” I admitted equably. “So would you be if you saw her.”
Ralph half closed his eyes for a moment. It was a clumsy speech of mine!
“Seriously, Austen,” he continued, a few moments later, “have you ever thought of marrying?”
“Equally seriously, Ralph,” I answered, “not until I met Felicia Delora.”
“Felicia Delora!” my brother repeated. “It’s a pretty name, at any rate. I suppose I must go and see her myself.”
“Wait for a day or two, Ralph,” I begged. “She is a little upset just now. Her uncle seems to be neglecting her for some precious scheme of his.”
“I wonder if, by any chance, you are in earnest, Austen?” my brother asked.
“I should not be surprised,” I admitted.
“It’s an interesting subject, you know,” Ralph continued gravely. “Considering my accident, and other things which we need not allude to, I think we may take it for granted that there’s no chance of my ever having an heir. It’s our duty to look ahead a little, you know, Austen. There isn’t any manner of doubt that some time between now and the next ten years you will have to take up my place. I only hope you won’t make such a hash of it.”
“Don’t talk rubbish, Ralph!” I answered.
“It isn’t rubbish,” he said firmly. “You go and talk to my doctor if you don’t believe me. However, I hadn’t meant to say anything about this to-night. Your mentioning the girl put it into my head. I want you, of course, to know that I am not forgetful of my responsibilities. Your two thousand a year may do you very well as a bachelor, but you are heir apparent to the title now, and if you should think of marrying, the Fakenham estates are yours, and the house. They bring in between six and seven thousand a year, I think,–never less.”
“It’s very good of you, Ralph,–” I began.
“It’s nothing of the sort,” he answered. “It’s your rightful position. The Fakenham estates have been held by the heir apparent for generations. Tell me a little about this Miss Delora.”
“I’ll bring her to see you presently, Ralph,” I answered.
“You are in earnest, then?” he remarked, with a smile.
“I believe so,” I answered.
He looked at me once more, searchingly.
“There is something on your mind, Austen,” he said,–“something bothering you. I believe it is about these Deloras, too. Is there something about them which you can’t understand, eh?”
“There is, Ralph,” I admitted. “You saw what Dicky said. They are people of consequence in their own country, at any rate, yet over here the man seems to behave like a hunted criminal.”
“Dicky also said,” Ralph remarked, “that the man was intrusted with some business over here for his government. Nasty underhand lot, those republics of the Southern Hemisphere. I dare say he is driven to be a bit mysterious to carry the thing through.”
“I shall know more about it soon, I hope,” I answered. “I’ll go and ring Freddy up, if you don’t mind, now.”
Ralph nodded.
“I’m off to my room, at any rate, old chap,” he said. “Groves is going abroad for a month’s holiday, and he has brought some papers for me to look through. See you some time to-morrow.”
I made my way into the little sitting-room which belonged to the suite of rooms my brother had placed at my disposal. There I rang up Lord Frederic Maynard, my first cousin, and a junior member of the government. The butler told me that Lord Frederic was dining, but would doubtless speak to me for a moment. In a minute or two I heard his familiar voice.
“Freddy,” I said, “I want to meet the Chinese ambassador.”
“Eleven till one to-night here,” he answered. “What the devil do you want with him?”
“Do you mean that he is coming to your house to-night?” I asked.
“Exactly,” Freddy answered. “We’ve a political reception, semi-diplomatic. I saw our old friend only yesterday, and he reminded me that he was coming.”
“You’re a brick, Freddy!” I answered. “I’ll be round.”
“You have not answered my question,” he reminded me.
“I’ll tell you later,” I answered, and rang off.
I was at Maynard House very soon after eleven, and, after chatting for a little while with my hostess, I hung around near the entrance, watching the arrivals. About midnight His Excellency the Chinese ambassador was announced, and I felt a little thrill of exultation. I was right! The tall, powerful-looking man whom I saw bowing over my cousin’s hand was indeed the person whom I had seen with Delora a few hours ago. I ran Freddy to ground, and presently I found myself also bowing before His Excellency. He regarded me through his horn-rimmed spectacles with a benign and pleasant expression. I had been in the East, and I talked for a few moments upon the subjects which I thought would interest him.
“Your Excellency, I dare say, is well acquainted with London,” I remarked, apropos of something he said.
“I know your great city only indifferently,” he answered. “I am always anxious to take the opportunity of seeing more of it.”
“Last evening, for instance,” I remarked, “Your Excellency was, I think, exploring a very interesting neighborhood.”
“Last evening,” he repeated. “Let me think. No, not last evening, Captain Rotherby! I was giving a little dinner at my own house.”
I looked at him for a moment in silence. There was nothing to be learned from his expression.
“I thought,” I said, “that I saw your Excellency in a street near Shaftesbury Avenue, leaving a small foreign restaurant,–the Cafe Universel. Your Excellency was with a man named Delora.”
Very slowly the ambassador shook his head.
“Not me!” he said. “Not me! I did dine with the younger members of the Legation in Langham Place. What name did you say?”
“A man named Delora,” I repeated.
Once more the ambassador shook his head, slowly and thoughtfully.
“Delora!” he repeated. “The name is unknown to me. There are many others of my race in London now,” he continued. “The costume, perhaps, makes one seem like another to those who look and pass by.”
I bowed very low. It was the most magnificently told lie to which I had ever listened in my life! His Excellency smiled at me graciously as I made my adieux, and passed on. Despite my disappointment, I felt that I was now becoming profoundly interested in my quest. The evidence, too, was all in favor of Delora. It seemed, indeed, as though this undertaking in which he was involved might, after all, be connected with other things than crime!
CHAPTER XXVI
NEARLY
It was past one o’clock in the morning when I returned to the hotel, yet the porter who admitted me pointed toward the figure of a man who stood waiting in the dimly lit hall.
“There is a person here who has been waiting to see you for some hours, sir,” he said. “His name is Fritz.”
“To see me?” I repeated.
The man came a step forward and saluted. I recognized him at once. It was the _commissionnaire_ at the Cafe Universel.
“It is quite right,” I told the porter. “You had better come up to my rooms,” I added, turning to Fritz.
I led the way to the lift and on to my sitting-room. There I turned up the electric lights and threw myself into an easy-chair.
“Well, Fritz,” said I, “I hope that you have brought me some news.”
“I have lost my job, sir,” the man answered, a little sullenly.
“How much was it worth to you?” I asked.
“It was worth nearly two pounds a week with tips,” he declared, speaking with a strong foreign accent.
“Then I take you into my service at two pounds ten a week from to-night,” I said. “The engagement will not be a long one, but you may find it lucrative.”
The man fingered his hat and looked at me stolidly.
“I am not a valet, sir,” he replied.
“If you were I should not employ you,” I answered. “You can make yourself very useful to me in another direction, if you care to.”
“I am very willing, sir,” the man declared,–“very willing indeed. I have a wife and children, and I cannot afford to be out of employment.”
“Come, then,” I said. “The long and short of it is this. I want to discover the whereabouts of the man who was with the Chinaman at your restaurant last evening.”
The man looked at me with something like surprise in his face.
“You do not know that?” he said.
“I do not,” I admitted. “Your business will be to find out.”
“And what do I get,” the man asked, “if I do discover the staying place of that gentleman?”
“A ten-pound note,” I answered, “down on the nail.”
A slow smile suffused Fritz’s face.
“I will tell you now,” he said. “You have the ten pounds, so?”
“I have it ready,” I answered, rising to my feet. “Come on, Fritz, you are a brave fellow, and I promise you it shall not end at ten pounds.”
“You are serious?” Fritz persisted. “This is not a joke?”
“Not in the least,” I assured him. “Why should you think so?”
The smile on the man’s face broadened.
“Because,” he said, “that gentleman–he is staying here, in this very hotel.”
For a moment I was silent. The thing seemed impossible!
“How on earth do you know that, Fritz?” I asked.
“I will tell you,” Fritz answered. “There was a night, not long ago, when he did come to the restaurant with the Chinese gentleman. They talked for a long time, and then I was sent for into the private room where they were taking dinner. The gentleman he wrote a note and he gave it to me. He said, ‘You will take a hansom cab and you will drive to Claridge’s Hotel. You will give this to the cashier, and he will hand you a small parcel which you will bring here.’ I told him that I could not leave my post, but he had already seen the proprietor. So I came to this very hotel with that note, and I did take back to the restaurant a small parcel wrapped in brown paper.”
“Fritz,” I said, “sit down in that easy-chair and help yourself to whiskey and soda. I am sorry that I have not beer, but you must do the best you can with our own national drink. Take a cigar, too. Make yourself quite comfortable. I am going downstairs to the reception office. If I find that what you have told me is true, there will be two five-pound notes in my hand for you when I come back.”
“So!” Fritz declared, accepting my hospitality with calm satisfaction.
I descended into the hall of the hotel and made my way to the reception office. The one clerk on duty was reading a novel, which he promptly laid aside at my approach. It occurred to me that my task, perhaps, might not prove so easy, as Delora would scarcely be staying here under his own name.
“I wanted to ask you,” I said, “if you have a gentleman here named Delora.”
The man shook his head.
“There is no one of that name in the hotel, sir,” he answered.
“I scarcely expected that there would be,” I remarked. “The fact is, the gentleman whom I want to find, and whom I know is or was staying here, is using another name which I have not heard. You know who I am?”
“Certainly, Captain Rotherby!” the man replied. “You are Lord Welmington’s brother.”
“You will understand, then,” I said, “that if I ask questions which seem to you impertinent, I do so because the matter is important, and not from any idle curiosity.”
“Quite so, sir,” the man answered. “I shall be pleased to tell you anything I can.”
“This gentleman of whom I am in search, then,” I answered, “he would have arrived probably last Wednesday evening from the Continent. I do not know what name he would give, but it would probably not be the name of Delora. He is rather tall, pale, thin, and of distinctly foreign appearance. He has black eyes, black imperial, and looks like a South American, which, by the bye, I think he is. Does that description help you to recognize him?”
“I think so, sir,” the man answered. “Do you happen to know whether, by any chance, he would be a friend of the Chinese ambassador?”
“I should think it very likely,” I answered. “He is staying here, then?”
“He was staying here until a few hours ago, sir,” the man answered. “He came in about ten o’clock and went at once to his rooms, sent for his bill, and left the hotel in a great hurry. I remember the circumstance particularly, because he had said nothing about his going, and from the manner of his return and his hasty departure it is quite clear that he had not expected to leave so soon himself.”
I was a little staggered. It seemed hard luck to have so nearly succeeded in my search, only to have failed at the last moment. It was maddening, too, to think that for all these hours I had been in the same hotel as the man whom I so greatly desired to find!
“Tell me, did he leave any address?” I asked.
“None whatever, sir,” the man answered. “Our junior clerk here asked him where he would wish letters to be forwarded, and he replied that there would not be any. I think he said that he was leaving for abroad almost at once, but would call before he sailed in case there were any letters or messages for him.”
“Tell me under what name he stayed here?” I asked.
“Mr. Vanderpoel,” the man told me.
“He was quite alone, I suppose?” I asked.
“Absolutely,” the man answered. “He had a few callers at different times, but he spent most of his time in his rooms. If you are particularly anxious to discover his whereabouts,” the clerk continued, “the night porter who would have started him off is still on duty.”
“I should like very much to speak to him,” I said.
The clerk touched a bell, and the porter came in from outside.
“You remember Mr. Vanderpoel leaving this evening?” the clerk asked.
“Certainly, sir,” the man answered. “He went at about eleven o’clock.”
“Did he go in a cab?” the clerk asked.
“In a four-wheeler, sir,” the porter answered.
“Do you remember what address he gave?”
The porter looked dubious for a moment.
“I don’t absolutely remember, sir,” he said, “but I know that it was one of the big railway stations.”
The clerk turned to me.
“Is there anything else you would like to ask?” he inquired.
I shook my head.
“No, thanks!” I answered. “I am afraid there is nothing more to be learned.”
The porter went back to his duties, and I bade the clerk good night. Up in my room Fritz was waiting anxiously.
“You were right and wrong,” I announced. “Mr. Delora has been staying here and left to-night.”
“He has gone!” Fritz exclaimed.
“He left at eleven o’clock,” I answered. “He saw me, and I suppose he knew that I was looking for him. Here’s half your money, anyhow,” I continued, giving him a five-pound note. “The next thing to do is to find out where he has gone to. I think you could help here, Fritz.”
“What must I do?” the man asked.
“First of all,” I said, “go to the big railway hotels and try and find out from one of the porters–you Germans all stick together–whether any one arrived in a four-wheel cab at between eleven and twelve this evening, whose description coincides with that of Mr. Delora. I reckon that will take you most of to-morrow. When you have finished come to me at the Milan Court, and let me know how you have got on.”
“So!” the man remarked, rising from his seat. “To-morrow morning I will do that. They will tell me, these fellows. I know many of them.”
“Good night, Fritz, then!” I said. “Good luck!”
CHAPTER XXVII
WAR
Early on the following morning I moved back to my rooms in the Milan Court. Curiously enough I entered the building with a sense of depression for which I could not account. I went first to my own rooms and glanced at my letters. There was nothing there of importance. In other words, there was nothing from Felicia. I descended to the fifth floor and knocked at the door of her room. As I stood there waiting I was absolutely certain that somehow or other a change had occurred in the situation, that the freeness of my intercourse with Felicia was about to be interfered with. I was not in the least surprised when the door was at last cautiously opened, and a woman who was a perfect stranger to me stood on the threshold, with the handle of the door still in her hand.
“I should like to see Miss Delora,” I said. “My name is Captain Rotherby.”
The woman shook her head. She was apparently French, and of the middle-class. She was dressed in black, her eyes and eyebrows were black, she had even the shadow of a moustache upon her upper lip. To me her appearance was singularly forbidding.
“Miss Delora cannot see you,” she answered, with a strong foreign accent.
“Will you be so good as to inquire if that is so?” I answered. “I have an appointment with Miss Delora for this morning, and a motor-car waiting to take her out.”
“Miss Delora cannot receive you,” answered the woman, almost as though she had not heard, and closed the door in my face.
There was nothing left for me but to go down and interview my friend the hall-porter. I commenced my inquiries with the usual question.
“Any news of Mr. Delora, Ashley?” I asked.
“None at all, sir,” the man replied. “A companion has arrived for Miss Delora.”
“So I have discovered for myself,” I answered. “Do you know anything about her, Ashley?”
The man shook his head.
“She arrived here yesterday afternoon,” he said, “with a trunk. She went straight up to Miss Delora’s room, and I have not seen them apart since.”
“Do they come down to the cafe?” I asked.
“So far, sir,” the man answered, “they have had everything served in their sitting-room.”
I went back to my room and rang up number 157. The voice which answered me was the voice of the woman who had denied me admission to the room.
“I wish to speak to Miss Delora,” I said.
“Miss Delora is engaged,” was the abrupt answer.
“Nonsense!” I answered. “I insist upon speaking to her. Tell her that it is Captain Rotherby, and she will come to the telephone.”
There was a little whirr, but no answer. The person at the other end had rung off. By this time I was getting angry. In five minutes time I rang up again. The same voice answered me.
“Look here,” I said, “if you do not let me speak to Miss Delora, I shall ring up every five minutes during the day!”
“Monsieur can do as he pleases,” was the answer. “I shall lay the receiver upon the table. It will not be possible to get connected.”
“Do, if you like,” I answered, “but how about when Mr. Delora rings you up?”
The woman muttered something which I did not catch. A moment afterwards, however, her voice grew clear.
“That is not your business,” she said sharply.
I tried to continue the conversation, but in vain. Nothing came from the other end but silence. I busied myself for a time glancing at a few unimportant letters, and afterwards descended to lunch in the cafe. I fancied, for a moment, that Louis’ self-possession was less perfect than usual. He certainly showed some surprise when he saw me, and he came to my table with a little less alacrity.
“Louis,” I said, “I shall order my lunch from some one else, not from you.”
“Monsieur has lost confidence?” he asked.
“Not in your judgment, Louis,” I answered.
Louis looked me straight in the eyes. It was not a practice which he often indulged in.
“Captain Rotherby,” he said, “you should be on our side. It would not be necessary then to interfere with any of your plans.”
He looked at me meaningly, and I understood.
“It is you, Louis, I presume, whom I have to thank for the lady upstairs?” I remarked.
Louis shrugged his shoulders.
“Why do you seek the man Delora?” he asked. “What concern is it of yours? If you persist, the consequences are inevitable.”
“If you will take the trouble to convince me, Louis,–” I said.
Louis interrupted me; it was unlike him. His little gesture showed that he was very nearly angry.
“Monsieur,” he said, “sometimes you fail to realize that at a word from us the hand of the gendarme is upon your shoulder. We would make use of your aid gladly, but it must be on our terms–not yours.”
“State them, Louis,” I said.
“We will tell you the truth,” Louis answered slowly. “You shall understand the whole business. You shall understand why Delora is forced to lie hidden here in London, what it is that he is aiming at. When you know everything, you can be an ally if you will. On the other hand, if you disapprove, you swear upon your honor as a gentleman–an English gentleman–that no word of the knowledge which you have gained shall pass your lips!”
“Louis,” I said, “I will have my lunch and think about this.”
Louis departed with his customary smile and bow. I ordered something cold from the sideboard within sight, and a bottle of wine which was opened before me. There scarcely remained any doubt in my mind now but that some part of Delora’s business, at any rate, in this country, was criminal. Louis’ manner, his emphatic stipulation, made it a matter of certainty. Again I found myself confronted by the torturing thought that if this were so Felicia could scarcely be altogether innocent. Once when Louis passed me I stopped him.
“Louis,” I said, “let me ask you this. Presuming things remain as they are, and I act independently, do you intend to prevent my seeing Miss Delora?”
“It is nothing to do with me,” Louis lied. “It is the wish of her uncle.”
“Thank you!” I answered. “I wanted to know.”
I finished my luncheon. Louis saw me preparing to depart and came up to me. My table was set in a somewhat obscure corner, and we were practically alone.
“I will ask you a question, Louis,” I said. “There is no reason why you should not answer it. There are laws from a legal point of view, and laws from a moral point. From the former, I realize that I am, at this moment, a criminal–possibly, as you say, in your power. Let that pass. What I want you to tell me is this,–the undertaking in which Mr. Delora is now engaged, is it from a legal point of view a criminal one, or is it merely a matter needing secrecy from other reasons?”
Louis stood thoughtfully silent for some few moments.
“Monsieur,” he said at last, “I will not hide the truth from you. According to the law in this country Mr. Delora is engaged in a conspiracy.”
“Political?” I asked.
“No!” Louis answered. “A conspiracy which is to make him and all others who are concerned in it wealthy for life.”
“But the Deloras are already rich,” I remarked.
“Our friend,” Louis said, “has speculated. He has lost large sums. Besides, he loves adventures. What shall you answer, Captain Rotherby?”
“It is war, Louis,” I said. “You should know that. If I have to pay the penalty for taking the law into my hands over the man Tapilow, I am ready to answer at any time. As for you and Delora, and the others of you, whoever they may be, it will be war with you also, if you will. I intend, for the sake of the little girl upstairs, to solve all this mystery, to take her away from it if I can.”
Louis’ eyes had narrowed. The look in his face was almost enough to make one afraid.
“It is a pity,” he said. “Even if you had chosen to remain neutral–“
“I should not do that unless I could see as much of Miss Delora as I chose,” I interrupted.
“If that were arranged,” Louis said slowly,–“mind, I make no promises,–but I say if that were arranged, would it be understood between us that you stopped your search for Mr. Delora, and abandoned all your inquiries?”
“No, Louis,” I answered, “unless I were convinced that Miss Delora herself was implicated in these things. Then you could all go to the devil for anything I cared!”
“Your interest,” Louis murmured, “is in the young lady, then?”
“Absolutely and entirely,” I answered. “Notwithstanding what you have told me, and what I have surmised, the fact that you stood by me in Paris would be sufficient to make me shrug my shoulders and pass on. I am no policeman, and I would leave the work of exposing Delora to those whose business it is. But you see I have an idea of my own, Louis. I believe that Miss Delora is innocent of any knowledge of wrong-doing. That I remain here is for her sake. If I try to discover what is going on, it is also for her sake!”
“Monsieur has sentiment,” Louis remarked, showing his teeth.
“Too much by far, Louis,” I answered. “Never mind, we all have our weak spots. Some day or other somebody may even put their finger upon yours, Louis.”
He smiled.
“Why not, monsieur?” he said.
CHAPTER XXVIII
CHECK
In my rooms a surprise awaited me. Felicia was there, walking nervously up and down my little sitting-room She stopped short as I entered and came swiftly towards me. In the joy of seeing her so unexpectedly I would have taken her into my arms, but she shrank back.
“Felicia!” I exclaimed. “How did you come here?”
“Madame Muller went down for lunch,” Felicia answered. “I said that I had a headache, and stole up here on the chance of seeing you.”
“They are making a prisoner of you!” I exclaimed.
“It is your fault,” she answered.
I looked at her in surprise. Her face was stained with tears. Her voice shook with nervousness.
“You have been making secret inquiries about my uncle,” she said. “You have been seen talking to those who wish him ill.”
“How do you know this, Felicia?” I asked calmly.
“Oh, I know!” she answered. “They have told me.”
“Who?” I asked. “Who has told you?”
“Never mind,” she answered, wringing her hands. “I know. It is enough. Capitaine Rotherby, I have come to ask you something.”
“Please go on,” I said.
“I want you to go away. I do not wish you to interest yourself any more in me or in any of us.”
“Do you mean that, Felicia?” I asked.
“I mean it,” she answered. “My uncle has a great mission to carry out here. You are making it more difficult for him.”
“Felicia,” I said, “I do not trust your uncle. I do not believe in his great mission. I think that you yourself are deceived.”
She held her head up. Her eyes flashed angrily.
“As to that,” she said, “I am the best judge. If my uncle is an adventurer, I am his niece. I am one with him. Please understand that. It seems to me that you are working against him, thinking that you are helping me. That is a mistake.”
“Felicia,” I said, “give me a little more of your confidence, and the rest will be easy.”
“What is it that you wish to know?” she asked.
“For one thing,” I answered, “tell me when your uncle left South America and when he arrived in Paris?”
“He had been in Paris ten days when you saw us first,” she said, after a moment’s hesitation.
“And are you sure that he came to you from South America?” I demanded.
“Certainly!” she answered.
“To me,” I said slowly, “he seems to have the manners of a Parisian. Two months ago I lunched at Henry’s with some old friends. Can you tell me, Felicia, that he was not in Paris then?”
“Of course not!” she answered, shivering a little.
“Then he has a wonderful double,” I declared.
“What is this that is in your mind about him?” she asked.
“I believe,” I answered, “that he is personating some one, or rather I have believed it. I believe that he is personating some one else, and is afraid of being recognized by those who know.”
“Will it satisfy you,” she said slowly, “if I tell you, upon my honor, Capitaine Rotherby, that he is indeed my uncle?”
“I should believe you, Felicia,” I answered. “I should then feel disposed to give the whole affair up as insoluble.”
“That is just what I want you to do,” she said. “Now, listen. I tell you this upon my honor. He is my uncle, and his name is truly Delora!”
“Then why does he leave you here alone and skulk about from hiding-place to hiding-place like a criminal?” I asked.
“It is not your business to ask those questions,” she answered. “I have told you the truth. Will you do as I ask or not?”
I hesitated for a moment. She was driving me back into a corner!
“Felicia,” I said, “I must do as you ask me. If you tell me to go away, I will go away; but do you think it is quite kind to leave me so mystified? For instance,” I added slowly, “on the night when that beast Louis planned to knock that young Brazilian on the head, and leave me to bear the brunt of it; he was up here talking to you, alone, as though you were equals.”
“It is my uncle who makes use of Louis,” she said.
“I’m hanged if I can see how he can make use of a fellow like that if his business is an honest one,” I answered.
“It is not for you to understand,” she answered. “You are not a policeman. You are not concerned in these things.”
“I am concerned in you!” I answered passionately. “Felicia, you drive me almost wild when you talk like this. You know very well that it is not curiosity which has made me set my teeth, and swear that I will discover the truth of these things. It is because I see you implicated in them, because I believe in you, Felicia, because I love you!”
She was in my arms for one long, delicious moment. Then she tore herself away.
“You mean it, Austen?” she whispered.
“I mean it!” I answered solemnly. “Felicia, I think you know that I mean it!”
“Then you must be patient,” she said, “for just a little time. You must wait until my uncle has finished his business. It will take a very short time now. Then you may come and call again, and remind us of your brother. You will understand everything then, and I believe that you will be still willing to ask us down to your country home.”
“And if I am, Felicia?” I asked.
“We shall come,” she murmured. “You know that. Good-bye, Austen! I must fly. If Madame Muller finds that I have left the room I shall be a prisoner for a week.”
I opened the door. Even then I would have kept her, if only for a moment; but just as I bent down we heard the sound of footsteps outside, and she hurried away. I sat down and lit a cigarette. So it was over, then, my little attempt at espionage! My word was pledged. I could do no more.
I walked round to Claridge’s later in the evening and saw my brother.
“Ralph,” I said, “if your offer of the shooting is still good, I think I will take a few men down to Feltham.”
“Do, Austen,” he answered. “Old Heggs will be ever so pleased. It seems a shame not to have a gun upon the place. I shall come down myself later on. What about those people, the Deloras?”
“The uncle is away,” I answered, “and the girl cannot very well come by herself. Perhaps we may see something of them later on.”
Ralph looked at me a little curiously, but he made no remark.
“You won’t be lonely up here alone?” I asked.
He shook his head.
“I have plenty to do,” he answered. “I shall probably be down myself before the end of the month. Whom shall you ask?”
I made a list of a few of the men whom I knew, and who I believed were still in town, but when I sat down to write to them I felt curiously reluctant to commit myself to staying at Feltham. Even if I were not to interfere, even if I were to stand aside while the game was being played, I could not believe that the scheming of Louis and the acquiescence of Felicia went for the same thing, and I had an uncomfortable but a very persistent conviction to the effect that she was being deceived. Everything from her point of view seemed reasonable enough. What she had told me, even, seemed almost to preclude the fear of any wrong-doing. Yet I could not escape from the conviction of it. Some way or other there was trouble brewing, either between Delora and Louis, or Delora and the arbiters of right and wrong. In the end I wrote to no one. I determined to go down alone, to shoot zealously from early in the morning till late at night, but to have no house-party at Feltham,–to invite a few of the neighbors, and to be free myself to depart for London any time, at a moment’s notice. It would come! somehow or other I felt sure of it. I should receive a summons from her, and I must be prepared at any moment to come to her aid.
I went into the club after I had left Claridge’s, and stayed playing bridge till unusually late. It was early in the morning when I reached the Milan, and the hotel had that dimly lit, somewhat sepulchral appearance which seems to possess a large building at that hour in the morning. As I stood for a moment inside the main doors, four men stepped out of the lift on my right, carrying a long wooden chest. They slunk away into the shadows on tiptoe. I watched them curiously.
“What is that?” I asked the reception clerk who was on duty.
He shrugged his shoulders.
“It was a man who died here the day before yesterday,” he whispered in my ear.
“Died here?” I repeated. “Why are they taking his coffin down at such an hour?”
“It is always done,” the man assured me. “In hotels such as this, where all is life and gayety, our clients do not care to be reminded of such an ugly thing as death. Half the people on that floor would have left if they had known that the dead body of a man has been lying there. We keep these things very secret. The coffin has been taken to the undertaker’s. The funeral will be from there.”
“Who is the man?” I asked. “Had he been ill long?”
The clerk shook his head.
“He was a Frenchman,” he said; “Bartot was his name. He had an apoplectic stroke in the cafe one day last week, and since then complications set in.”
I turned away with a little shiver. It was not pleasant to reflect upon–this man’s death!
CHAPTER XXIX
AN UNSATISFACTORY INTERVIEW
Before I was up the next morning I was informed that Fritz was waiting outside the door of my room. I had him shown in, and he stood respectfully by my bedside.
“Sir,” he said, “I have once more discovered Mr. Delora.”
“Fritz,” I answered, “you are a genius! Tell me where he is?”
“He is at a small private hotel in Bloomsbury,” Fritz declared. “It is really a boarding-house, frequented by Australians and Colonials. The number is 17, and the street is Montague Street.”
I sat up in bed.
“This is very interesting,” I said.
Fritz coughed.
“I trusted that you would find it so, sir,” he admitted.
I thought for several moments. Then I sprang out of bed.
“Fritz,” I said, “our engagement comes to an end this morning. I am going to pay you for two months’ service.”
I went to my drawer and counted out some notes, which Fritz pocketed with a smile of contentment.
“I am obliged to give up my interest in this affair,” I said, “so I cannot find any more work for you. But that money will enable you to take a little holiday, and I have no doubt that you will soon succeed in obtaining another situation.”
Fritz made me a magnificent bow.
“I am greatly obliged to you, sir,” he announced. “I shall take another situation at once. Holidays–they will come later in life. At my age, and with a family, one must work. But your generosity, sir,” he wound up, with another bow, “I shall never forget.”
I dressed, and walked to the address which Fritz had given me. As I stood on the doorstep, with the bell handle still in my hand, the door was suddenly opened. It was Delora himself who appeared! He shrank away from me as though I were something poisonous. I laid my hand on his shoulder, firmly determined that this time there should be no escape.
“Mr. Delora,” I said, “I want a few words with you. Can I have them now?”
“I am busy!” he answered. “At any other time!”
“No other time will do,” I answered. “It is only a few words I need say, but those few words must be spoken.”
He led the way reluctantly into a sitting-room. There were red plush chairs set at regular intervals against the wall, and a table in the middle covered by papers–mostly out of date. Delora closed the door and turned toward me sternly.
“Captain Rotherby,” he said, “I am quite aware that there are certain people in London who are very much interested in me and my doings. Their interests and mine clash, and it is only natural that they should plot against me. But where the devil you come in I cannot tell! Tell me what you mean by playing the spy upon me? What business is it of yours?”
“You misunderstand the situation, sir,” I answered. “More than ten days ago you left me in charge of your niece at Charing Cross, while you drove on, according to your own statement, to the Milan Hotel. You never went to that hotel. You never, apparently, meant to. You have never been near it since. You have left your niece in the centre of what seems to be a very nest of intrigue. I have the right to ask you for an explanation of these things. This morning I have a special right, because to-day I have promised to go away into the country, and to take no further interest in your doings.”
“Let us suppose,” Delora said dryly, “that it is already to-morrow morning.”
“No!” I answered. “There is something which I mean to say to you. You need not be alarmed. The few words I have to say to you are not questions. I do not want to understand your secrets,–to penetrate the mystery which surrounds you and your doings. I will not ask you a single question. I will not even ask you why you left your niece in such a fit of terror, and have never yet dared to show your face at the Milan.”
“A child would understand these things!” Delora exclaimed. “The Milan Hotel is one of the most public spots in London. It is open to any one who cares to cross the threshold. It is the last place in the world likely to be a suitable home for a man like myself, who is in touch with great affairs.”
“Then why did you choose to go there?” I asked.
“It was not my choice at all,” Delora answered. “Besides, it was not until I arrived in London that I understood exactly the nature of the intrigues against me.”
“At least,” I protested, “you should never have brought your niece with you. Frankly, your concerns don’t interest me a snap of the fingers. It is of your niece only that I think. You have no right to leave her alone in such anxiety!”
“Nor can I see, sir,” Delora answered, “that you have any better right to reproach me with it. Still, if it will shorten this discussion, I admit that if I had known how much trouble there was ahead of me I should not have brought her. I simply disliked having to disappoint her. It was a long-standing promise.”
“Let that go,” I answered. “I have told you that I have handed in my commission. I have nothing more to do with you or your schemes, whatever they may be. But I came here to find you and to tell you this one thing. Felicia says that you are her uncle, she scouts the idea of your being an impostor, she speaks of you as tenderly and affectionately as a girl well could. That is all very well. Yet, in the face of it, I am here to impress this upon you. I love your niece, Mr. Delora,–some day or other I mean to make her my wife,–and I will not have her dragged into anything which is either disreputable or against the law.”
“Has my niece encouraged you?” Delora asked calmly.
“Not in the least,” I answered. “She has been kind enough to give me to understand that she cares a little, and there the matter ends. Nothing more could be said between us in this state of uncertainty. But I came here for this one purpose. I came to tell you that if by any chance Felicia should be mistaken, if you play her false in any way, if you seek to embroil her in your schemes, or to do anything by means of which she could suffer, I shall first of all shake the life out of your body, and then I shall go to Scotland Yard and tell them how much I know.”
“About Mr. Tapilow, also?” Delora asked, with a sneer.
“Do you think I am afraid to take the punishment for my own follies?” I asked indignantly. “If I believed that, I would go and give myself up to-morrow. Louis can give me away if he will, or you. I don’t care a snap of the fingers. But what I want you to understand is this. Felicia is, I presume, your niece. I should have been inclined to have doubted it, but I cannot disbelieve her own word. I think myself that it is brutal to have brought such a child here and to have left her alone–“
“She is not alone,” Delora interrupted stiffly. “She has a companion.”
“Who arrived yesterday,” I continued. “She has spent some very bad days alone, I can promise you that.”
“I have telephoned,” Delora said, “twice a day–sometimes oftener.”
I laughed ironically.
“For your own sake or hers, I wonder,” I said. “Anyhow, we can leave that alone. What I want you to understand is this, that if there is indeed anything illegal or criminal in your secret doings over here, you must take care that Felicia is safely provided for if things should go against you. She is not to be left there to be the butt of a great criminal action. If I find that you or any of your friends are making use of her in any way whatever, I swear that you shall suffer for it!”
Delora smiled at me grimly. He seemed in his few dry words to have revealed something of his stronger and less nervous self.
“You terrify me!” he said. “Yet I think that we must go on pretty well as we are, even if my niece has been fortunate enough to enlist your sympathies on her behalf. Never mind who I am, or what my business is in this country, young man. It is not your affair. You should have enough to think about yourself in this country of easy extradition. My niece can look after herself. So can I. We do not need your aid, or welcome your interference.”
“You insinuate,” I declared indignantly, “that your niece is one of your helpers! I do not believe it!”
“Helpers in what?” he asked, with upraised eyebrows.
“God knows!” I exclaimed, a little impatiently. “What you do, or what you try to do, is not my business. Felicia is. That is why I have warned you.”
“Am I to have the honor, then?” Delora asked, with a curl of his thin lips,–
“You are,” I interrupted, “if you call it an honor, although to tell you frankly, as things are at present, I am not inclined to go about begging too many different people’s permission. If it were not that my brother Dicky has just written over from Brazil to ask me to be civil to you and your niece, you wouldn’t have left this place so easily.”
“Your brother!” Delora said, looking at me uneasily. “Say that again.”
“Certainly!” I answered. “My brother Dicky, who is now out in Brazil, and who has written to me about you. You met him there, of course?” I added. “He stayed with you at–let me see, what is the name of your place?” I asked suddenly.
“Menita,” Delora answered, without hesitation. “Now you mention it, of course I remember him! If he has written you to be civil to us, you can do it best by minding your own business. In a fortnight’s time I shall be free to entertain or to be entertained. At present I am on a secret mission, and I do not wish my work to be interfered with.”
I moved toward the door.
“I have said all that I wish to say,” I remarked. “If I hear nothing from you I shall come back to London in fourteen days.”
“You will find me with my niece,” Delora said, “and we shall be happy to see you.”
I left him there, feeling somehow or other that I had not had the best of our interview. Yet my position from the first was hopeless. There was nothing for me to do but to keep my word to Felicia and let things drift.
I drove to the club on my way to the station, where I had arranged for my baggage to be sent. As I crossed Pall Mall I met Lamartine. He was standing on the pavement, on the point of entering a motor-car on which was piled some luggage.
“So you, too, are leaving London,” I remarked, stopping for a moment.
He looked at me curiously.
“I am going to Paris,” he said.
“A pleasure trip?” I asked.
He shook his head.
“Not entirely,” he said. “Only this morning I made a somewhat surprising discovery.”
“Concerning our friend?” I asked.
“Concerning our friend,” Lamartine echoed.
He seemed dubious, for a moment, whether to take me into his confidence.
“You have not found Delora yet?” I asked.
“Not yet,” he answered. “And you?”
“I have seen him,” I admitted.
“Are you disposed to tell me where?” Lamartine asked softly.
I shook my head.
“I have finished with the affair,” I told him. “I finish as I began,–absolutely bewildered! I know nothing and understand nothing. I am going down into the country to shoot pheasants.”
Lamartine smiled.
“I,” he remarked, entering the car, “am going after bigger game!”
CHAPTER XXX
TO NEWCASTLE BY ROAD
I found several of my brother’s friends staying at Feltham, who were also well known to me, and my aunt, who was playing hostess, had several women staying with her. We spent the time very much after the fashion of an ordinary house-party during the first week of October. We shot until four o’clock, came home and played bridge until dinner-time, bridge or billiards after dinner, varied by a dance one night and some amateur theatricals. On the fifth day a singular thing happened to me.
The whole of the house-party were invited to shoot with my uncle, Lord Horington, who lived about forty miles from us. We left in two motor-cars soon after breakfast-time, and for the last few miles of the way we struck the great north road. It was just after we had entered it that we came upon a huge travelling car, covered with dust, and with portmanteaus strapped upon the roof, hung up by the side of the road. Our chauffeur slowed down to find out if we could be of any use, and as the reply was scarcely intelligible, we came to a full stop. He dismounted to speak to the other chauffeur, and I looked curiously at the two men who were leaning back in the luxurious seats inside the car. For a moment I could not believe my eyes! Then I opened the door of my own car and stepped quickly into the road. The two men who were sitting there, and by whom I was as yet unobserved, were Delora and the Chinese ambassador!
I walked at once up to the window of their car and knocked at it. Delora leaned forward and recognized me at once. His face, for a moment, seemed dark with anger. He let down the sash.
“What does this mean?” he asked. “Have you forgotten our bargain?”
I laughed a little shortly.
“My dear sir,” I said, “it is not I who have come to see you, but you to see me. I am within a few miles of my own estate, on my way to shoot at a friend’s.”
He stared at me for a moment incredulously.
“Do you mean to tell me,” he said, in a low tone, “that you have not followed us from London?”
“Why I have not been in London, or near it, for five days,” I told him. “I slept last night within thirty miles from here, and, as I told you before, am on my way to shoot with my uncle at the present moment.”
“I know nothing of the geography of your country,” Delora said shortly. “What you say may be correct. His Excellency and I are having a few days’ holiday.”
“May I hope to have the pleasure of seeing you at Feltham?” I inquired.
“I am afraid not,” Delora answered. “If we had known that we should have been so near, we might have arranged to pay you a visit. As it is, we are in a hurry to get on.”
“How far north did you think of going?” I asked.
“We have not decided,” Delora answered. “Remember our bargain, and ask no questions.”
“But this is a holiday trip,” I reminded him. “Surely I may be permitted to advise you about the picturesque spots in my own country!”
“You can tell me, at any rate, what it is that has happened to our car,” Delora answered. “Neither His Excellency nor I know anything about such matters.”
I walked round and talked to the two chauffeurs. The accident, it seemed, was a trivial one, and with the help of a special spanner, with which we were supplied, was already rectified. I returned and explained matters to Delora.
“Have you come far this morning?” I asked.
“Not far,” Delora answered. “We are taking it easy.”
I looked at his tired face, at the car thick with dust, at the Chinese ambassador already nodding in his corner, and I smiled to myself. It was very certain to me that they had run from London without stopping, and I felt an intense curiosity as to their destination. However, I said no more to them. I made my adieux to Delora, and bowed profoundly to the Chinese ambassador, who opened his eyes in time solemnly to return my farewell. The chauffeur was already in his place, and I stopped to speak to him. I saw Delora spring forward and whistle down the speaking-tube, but my question was already asked.
“How far north are you going?” I asked.